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policies. Sometime next week, we will bomb two Israeli embassies.”
    The surprises kept coming. “Where?”
    “One Africa, one Asia. There was supposed to be a third, in Bulgaria, but it got pulled. Security was too tight. That’s how I know.”
    “This is Hezbollah or the Guard?” Iran used Hezbollah, a Lebanese militia, for most of its attacks on Israel.
    “Hezbollah. But we’re helping even more than usual. It’s complicated. Two simultaneous bombs, two continents. Also they’re very focused on Syria right now.”
    “Why not delay, then?”
    “If we had any choice, we would, but the orders come from the top. A message to the Israelis, stop shooting our scientists.”
    “Which embassies?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Bombs? Does that mean truck bombs, suicide bombs?”
    “Bulgarian was truck. I think the others, too.”
    “This is confirmed? Two embassies?”
    Reza turned to Taylor, raised his sunglasses so they were eye-to-eye. “I don’t have much respect for your agency. Technology, yes. Officers, no. You, you speak Turkish, your Farsi isn’t bad, so I hope you’re not stupid. Then you ask questions like this. Yes, it’s confirmed.” Reza took a last drag of the L&M, crunched it under his heel. “I must go.”
    “Reza, I need to know more about you.
We
need to know more. Why you’re offering this information—”
    “I’m sick of these fanatics who run my country. I don’t like the idea of a nuclear war. You need more reasons?”
    “If you have them.”
    “A friend of mine, the Basij-e
beat his cousin to death during the Green protests.” Following a disputed election in the summer of 2010, college students and other young Iranians filled Tehran with anti-government protests that became known as the Green Wave. The regime struck back with paramilitary gangs called the Basij-e Mostaz’afin—the name meant Mobilization of the Oppressed
.
The Basij-e were poor and devout and hated the protesters, who were wealthier and less religious. They attacked viciously, killing dozens and wounding hundreds more. The police didn’t stop the violence. Sometimes they even worked with the Basij-e.
    “At least tell me your name.”
    “I’ve told you the truth. You don’t believe me, watch the news next week. See that bag behind that piece of concrete.” Taylor followed Reza’s gaze to a brown paper bag. “A phone for you. I’ll call when I have something. It may be a while.”
    “I can’t—”
    “It’s not a bomb. Just a phone I bought today. Still in the package.”
    “I need a way to reach you.”
    “I don’t want you to reach me. Or pay me. Or take my photo. Or put my DNA in a file.” Reza picked up his crushed cigarette butts, tucked them in his pocket. “The Guard have a prison near Qom, underground. They keep rabid dogs. They take off your clothes, handcuff you to a post, open the cage. They tell about the rabies so you’ll know what happens after the bite.”
    “We can’t protect you if we don’t know who you are.”
    Reza pushed his sunglasses down. “Tell the Israelis. The end.”
    Three pumps down, a taxi had just finished filling up. Reza strode to it, spoke to the cabbie. He slid inside and didn’t look back as the taxi rolled off.
    Taylor squatted down beside the paper bag. He couldn’t see what was inside. Anyway, what was he expecting? That it would be ticking? He unrolled the top, nudged it over with his sneaker. A little mobile slid out in a clamshell case. Taylor decided to take a cab back to the consulate, just in case. If the phone blew up, there’d be less collateral damage.
    —
    When the Marines at the consulate’s front gate scanned the phone for explosives, it came back clean. Taylor left it with the station’s techs. “Make sure it’s not bugged.”
    “Can I take it apart?” Ronaldo said.
    “Do what you want, long as you don’t break it. You break it, I break you.”
    Hunt waited in the conference room, two digital tape recorders on the table.