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Commander Meshal.’
    ‘Good, good. Everything is proceeding according to plan.’ The Ayatollah clasped his hands behind him and took a deep breath as he centered himself. The images on the television continued to play.
    Despite the violence and stupidity displayed there, he didn’t like the idea of people dying because they were not well enough informed. If they only knew everything he did, if he had Mohammad’s Koran, the violence between the different Muslim factions would end. God willing, he would have the Book soon.
    He turned back to Allameh. ‘What about the infidel?’
    Allameh picked up the reference smoothly. ‘Klaus Von Volker will meet with Colonel Davari in Lebanon. His people have brought another shipment in to Commander Meshal’s people.’
    ‘Instruct Colonel Davari to enlist Von Volker’s aid in the apprehension of that Jewish dog, Lev Strauss. He has gone to ground in Jerusalem, and our agents attract too much attention from the Mossad. They will never find Strauss in time.’
    ‘Of course.’ Allameh bowed.
    ‘Send in my son. His smile is given to me by God, and he will brighten my day.’
    A few minutes later, young Vali stood just inside the room. Seven years old, he stood straight and tall, and his father proudly took note of the warrior already blossoming in his son. His hair was thick and black, his eyes deep brown pools in his handsome face.
    The Ayatollah motioned. ‘Come to your father, boy. I would tell you a story.’
    ‘Of course, Father.’ Obediently, the boy walked to the Ayatollah’s side. ‘I have heard there were protests today.’
    ‘It is nothing. My people are taking care of it even as we visit.’ The Ayatollah smiled at his young son.
    ‘I wish I were old enough to fight our enemies.’
    ‘One day, my son, you will be. Until then, you will be your father’s joy, and I will thank God for every day we have.’
    ‘Yes, Father.’
    ‘Join me in the garden.’ The Ayatollah dropped a hand to the boy’s shoulder and guided him into the private garden that abutted the rooms.
    The rectangular garden contained an abundance of flowers, shrubs, and trees. It was surrounded by a high wall, and closed-circuit television as well as human guards watched over every inch.
    The Ayatollah loved the garden because it reminded him of the old stories in the Koran. The modern world, especially all Western things, were kept at bay. He sat at the edge of a fountain built on an artesian well. The flowing water burbled and sparkled on the leaves of the acacia shrubs that lined the fountain except in the sitting areas.
    ‘I have told you the miraculous story of Mohammad before, my son.’
    The child grinned. ‘Many times, Father. But it is all right. I never tire of hearing you tell it.’
    Leaning forward, the Ayatollah ruffled the boy’s hair. ‘It is one of my favorite stories, too. My father told it to me all my life. I wish that he had lived to tell it to you.’
    ‘When we get to heaven, he will tell it to me then.’
    The Ayatollah smiled. ‘Yes, that will be so. However, you are in for a treat today, for I am going to tell you a part of the story I have never told you before.’
    The child’s eyes shone in expectation.
    One of the Ayatollah’s eldest wives – not the boy’s mother – brought out a plate of fruits, honey, and bread, and a carafe of fresh water. She placed the plate between them without a word, then left.
    The Ayatollah waved to the plate, and the boy chose a date and popped it into his mouth.
    ‘And so it came to pass that God laid a heavy burden on the soul of Mohammad.’ The Ayatollah gave himself over to the story, picturing the events in his mind. ‘During the night at Mount Hira, the angel Gabriel visited Mohammad, who was an old man living in Medina at this time.’
    ‘Older even than you, Father?’
    The Ayatollah chuckled. ‘Yes, older than me, but not for much longer, I’m afraid. I’m swiftly catching up.’ He paused. ‘So Gabriel talked