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the crowd. A moment later, virulent yellow and green gas pooled on the ground and quickly lifted into the air.
    Liora pulled her green hijab up over her lower face to block the noxious fumes. It didn’t help much. The gas filled her eyes with tears and burned her nose and mouth.
    Filled with terror and pain, the crowd became an animal in a trap, striking out at the source of fear and agony. Men pushed at the Basij in an attempt to break through their ranks. That was all the paramilitary men had been waiting for. As soon as contact was made, the batons came out. Blood flew into the air and coated their Plexiglas shields.
    Coughing and nauseous, dizzy and barely able to stand, Liora swayed and tried to stay upright. She searched for Reza, but the crowd’s fearful surging had separated them. Someone jostled her and knocked her into the line of Basij . The man she’d yelled at clutched his assault rifle in his fists. He raised the weapon and brought it down across her head and shoulder.
    The impact drove Liora to her knees. Pain cascaded through her skull so badly that even her teeth hurt. Instinctively, she reached for the man ahead of her, caught his jacket, and started trying to pull herself back to her feet.
    Wild with fear, the man turned and tried to push her away. A baton smashed into his face and turned it to bloody mush. Broken teeth rained down on Liora, and she screamed. Blindly, the man staggered into the Basij , who thrust the barrel of his assault rifle into the protestor’s stomach and squeezed the trigger.
    The weapon’s familiar staccato booms exploded and deafened Liora, but she heard the sudden mirroring of the sound all around her as the protest turned into a massacre. She shoved the dead man from her. His blood covered her clothing and her hands. Unable to stop herself, she screamed and cried out for Reza. She thought she might have heard his voice crying out for her, but she wasn’t certain.
    ‘Do you still want to pay your respects to Neda Agha-Soltan, girl?’ The Basij grinned and pointed his AK-47 at her. ‘Maybe they’ll put you in the grave next to her.’
    His finger tightened on the trigger. Liora never saw the gunfire. Pain screamed through her mind, then a black pit opened up under her. Her body felt like it was on fire, and she remembered Neda Agha-Soltan’s final words:
    ‘I’m burning! I’m burning!’

6
    Ruling Palace of the Supreme Leader
    Tehran
    The Islamic Republic of Iran
    July 24, 2011
    As he watched the bloody mess the Neda Agha-Soltan protest had turned into on his plasma television, Grand Ayatollah Mohammad Khamenei’s flushed with rage.
    At least there was satisfaction in watching his Basij kill and maim the protestors. They were obstacles to all of the Muslim world reuniting and become one faith strong enough to stand against the West and bringing the cleansing faith of the jihad against all nonbelievers.
    ‘Supreme Leader.’ Allameh Rajai stood at the door. A tall man with a black beard and round-lensed glasses, he carried himself with military erectness. Most of the scars on his face were hidden by his beard, but others showed where he’d been hit by shrapnel and knife blades. A bullet had caromed through his left jaw and required reconstructive surgery. He’d been twelve at the time, already fighting for his faith.
    The Ayatollah had been so engrossed in the television program that he hadn’t heard his aide enter. He muted the news broadcast and waved the man over. ‘What is it, Allameh?’
    ‘Your son Vali awaits your audience.’
    Khamenei smiled and stroked his graying beard. Vali had been an unexpected prize, and he enjoyed the boy’s company immensely. So curious and so dutiful. ‘Please show him in.’
    ‘I also have news of Colonel Davari.’
    ‘Give me the report first. My son will wait a few minutes. Patience is a strength.’
    ‘I have had contact with Colonel Davari. He is on the ground in the Gaza Strip and expects shortly to be meeting with