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gold-domed Astane, built over four hundred years ago in honor of the Imam Reza’s sister Fateme, who died in 816. Non-Muslims are not even admitted to the hotels around this shrine, and photography in any form is absolutely forbidden. Ayatollah Khomeini studied there for fifteen years under the legendary Muslim theologian Shayk Abdul-Karim Ha’eri.
    The train waited in Qum for only a few minutes, and, four hours later, Eilat arrived in Isfahan, checked into the great, ornate Hotel Abbassi, and made his phone call. He agreed to meet the student he had called at 11:00 A.M. , and together they would find the hojjat.
    Early the following morning Eilat purchased a soft leather traveling bag and some new, expensive robes in the Iranian style. He also bought a turban, new underwear, socks, and shirts, and laid siege to a city pharmacy, acquiring after-shave, toothpaste and toothbrush, shaving foam, eau de cologne, and expensive bath oil. On reflection, he decided, he was glad to be shut of the life of a traveling Bedouin peddler.
    When he met the talabeh at the correct time in the hotel foyer, he was wearing the new robes and feeling clean and comfortable for the first time since the night he had dealt with the Iraqi government’s assassins, more than seven weeks ago. The new student was taller than he, a slim youth of just twenty-one, from Tehran, who walked along reading an open book, saying nothing whatsoever. Eilat saw no reason to disturb these theological ponderings and stayed just behind, taking in the sights of a place he had known only in Muslim folklore.
    Isfahan was once the most glorious city in the Middle East, and it still contained the greatest concentration of Islamic buildings in Iran. Beautiful, translucent blue tiles decorated much of the architecture. Like most tourists, Eilat had never seen anything to match the ancient splendors of the city.
    Eilat and his guide walked along winding streets, to Imam Khomeini Square, a majestic shop-lined area of 20 acres, right in the middle of the town, the second most dramatic urban square in the world, after Tiananmen. They crossed its entire length, and Eilat actually thought he had walked enough by now, and asked in Arabic how far to the meeting place.
    “One more mile, sir,” replied the talabeh. And Eilat considered it would have been churlish to quibble since he had just walked more than 300 miles without a word of complaint.
    They kept heading north for another fifteen minutes, and finally turned into the precincts of the Great Mosque of Isfahan, the Masjed-e Jame, a truly monumental building with its twin minarets towering over the pale blue-tiled exterior. This most glorious of mosques is unique for many reasons, particularly its unfathomable eleventh-century north dome, which is still regarded as a geometric miracle, and was designed using structural theories developed at that precise time in Isfahan by the eminent local mathematician and poet, Omar Khayyam.
    Eilat and his guide entered from the east and walked across the great courtyard into the large covered area in the southeastern quadrant. It was cool in there, and some parts were in deep shade, almost darkness. Standing beside one of the ornate stucco pillars, his face completely hidden, was the hojjat whom Eilat had come to meet.
    He did not move from the shadows, but did offer a formal greeting, and Eilat stepped forward to enfold the eminent cleric’s outstretched hand in both of his, in the ancient Muslim way. The talabeh was dismissed somewhat curtly, and the learned man moved swiftly to business. “It’s quiet in here, and private,” he said. “We will speak in Arabic. If that’s agreeable?”
    “Perfectly,” replied Eilat. “How would you like me to begin?”
    By now he could see the face of the hojjat. And it was the face of a masterful man. Even with the white turban, the high intelligent forehead was obvious. The mouth was thin and even, the dark eyes steady but alive. He might have been