The Tehran Initiative
““Maybe we should just stay here,” David said. “We have a lot to cover and very little time.”
“Nonsense,” the old man said. “You need a little fresh air, and so do I.”
Birjandi led the way, and soon they were outside, slowly making their way up Birjandi’s quiet street. There were no sidewalks.
“I need to ask you a question,” David began. “Have you ever heard the names Jalal Zandi or Tariq Khan?”
“I have not. Who are they?”
“Nuclear scientists. Worked for Saddaji on the warheads.”
“High-value targets.”
“They are.”
Birjandi cocked his head and turned his face to the setting sun. “It smells like a beautiful day,” the old man said, one hand on his cane, the other on David’s arm.
“Yes, it is,” David said.
“Of course, it belies the storm that is coming.”
“War?”
“Yes.”
“How soon?”
“By Monday at the latest.”
David stopped in his tracks, taken aback by Birjandi’s specificity. “Why do you say Monday? How do you know?”
“You heard about the Washington Post story?”
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