Whiplash

5

There was no grand funeral for Rafi Luo, no fine oration or long march to the mausoleum trailed by weeping women and bereft children. Like the majority of people who had died in the Coliseum, his body was eventually dumped in a potter’s grave, unmarked and unremembered. The Rome authorities would never know who he was, let alone why he had been killed. As far as they were concerned, his death was an insult and an expense, nothing more.

His demise did not provoke a great deal of emotion from his business associates, either. Many of them did not even know he was dead for quite some time. Only one of his partners was aware that Luo was bound for Italy, and his initial reaction was both selfish and completely in character: profit would have to be shared one less way.

Luo’s demise did, however, provoke the interest of one man. His name was Bani Aberhadji, and he had never met Rafi Luo, though he was Luo’s greatest benefactor and even, in a sense, his protector.

Bani Aberhadji drew a paycheck as a low-ranking functionary in the Iranian ministry responsible for motor vehicles, ostensibly helping to oversee the registration and inspection of trucks in the port city of Bushehr. Unlike many of his coworkers in the ministry, Aberhadji came to work every day, and could usually be found at his desk immediately following morning prayers. This made him a singularly punctual motor vehicle clerk, and not just in Iran. In fact, Aberhadji was unusually precise and efficient in his duties. A person with a registration problem could not expect him to bend the law, but he could at least receive a prompt answer to any request. He would not have to proffer a bribe to receive it; in fact he would find that a bribe would neither be welcomed or accepted.

Aberhadji’s official duties consumed perhaps thirty minutes of his time on the busiest days. The rest of his office hours were spent on his second job — coordinator of special projects for the Iranian Revolutionary Guard, and as a member of the Guard’s ruling council. He was also the commanding officer of Brigade 27. It was in this capacity that he had dealt with Rafi Luo, though never directly.

The Revolutionary Guard — or Pasdaren — was established following the overthrow of the Shah in 1979. The Guards’ role in the country’s vanguard had been cemented during the 1980s war with Iraq, when thousands of volunteers defended the country against Saddam Hussein. Its political influence, however, had begun to wane over the past few years, until many in government considered it completely irrelevant.

The government’s recent signing of the nuclear disarmament treaty was seen by many, even inside the organization, as the ultimate sign of its fall from influence. Aberhadji had a different view. To him, it showed just how necessary the group was. The Revolutionary Guard was the country’s — and Islam’s — last hope against the encroaching Western forces of decadence and apostasy.

It was critical in these difficult times for members of the organization to adhere strictly to the tenets of their religious beliefs, to perform all of their duties as effectively as possible, and to appear as model citizens in all ways. These requirements suited Aberhadji perfectly. He had been pious from the womb. Many called him imam, or teacher, though in fact he was not formally attached to any mosque and did not, as a general rule, lead prayers when he attended. Piety was simply part of his being.

The people he generally dealt with were anything but pious. Brigade 27 did not have a regular base or even regular members. It was concerned with spreading the Revolution beyond the geographical boundaries of Iran. Its forebears had funded and encouraged movements among Shiites in several places, most notably Palestine, Lebanon, and the Horn of Africa. Today, its most successful project was in the Sudan, where the long-running Revolution showed signs of spreading to Egypt, long a goal of the deeply committed.

Luo was one of several dealers whom Aberhadji had funded, through middlemen, as part of the general campaign to help the Sudanese Brothers, the umbrella organization of the Shiite freedom fighters. But his interest in Luo’s network had gone further than that. For Aberhadji had made use of his network in his other capacity as head of special projects.

Secretive even for the highly secretive upper echelons of the Guard, Aberhadji’s project had a singular goal: the creation of an Iranian stockpile of nuclear weapons to replace the ones being signed away by the government.

This, of course, was forbidden by the agreement the government and the Grand Ayatollah had signed. But Aberhadji and others among the Guard’s elite believed the agreement was illegal, and they had evidence that the Ayatollah himself wanted them to proceed. There was no question that the agreement had been signed under duress. Iran was suffering from the worst depression in its history, with famine rampant thanks to an embargo on oil sales that made it impossible for Iran to sell its petroleum at market prices. It still sold, of course — China was more than willing to break the embargo if the price was right and the transactions were carried out in secret — but the severe discounts forced on the country hardly made it worth pumping from the ground. The United States, the Satan Incarnate and the Revolution’s traditional enemy, had engineered the boycott, changing its own energy policies to dramatically reduce its dependence on oil and make it possible.

Luo’s demise did not directly threaten Aberhadji’s project. His organization supplied only a very few of the many items required, and it had been months since Aberhadji used them. Many people would have cause to kill Luo, including his own associates. But Aberhadji immediately began making inquiries.

Aberhadji’s main agent in Africa, a slightly disreputable yet ultimately reliable Guard member named Arash Tarid, had checked into the murder only hours after it happened. He believed the Egyptian secret service had been involved. But that belief appeared to be based only on rumors.

Aberhadji decided that he would take the opportunity to visit his deputies involved in the special project. He was due to make his rounds within a month anyway; doing so now, to make sure everything was secure, would put his own fears to rest. He’d pay special attention to the posts in the Sudan, even visiting the facilities personally.

And so he went to see his superior at the motor vehicle bureau to ask for unscheduled time off.

Like many in the ministry, Rhaim Fars had gotten his job because he was related to someone in the central government, in his case an uncle who was close to the Iranian president. That president had left office nearly a decade before, but Fars retained his position for several reasons, not least of which was his generosity and benevolence toward those he suspected had better political connections than he did. Still, Aberhadji’s request for an indefinite leave tested his goodwill.

“Perhaps we should put a limit on it,” said Fars, gesturing to his underling to have a seat. He poured him some water, then took a sip of his own. Fars did not know that Aberhadji was even a member of the Revolutionary Guard, and would have been surprised to find out how important he really was.

“I am not sure how long my business will take,” said Aberhadji.

“And it’s of a personal nature?”

Aberhadji said nothing. He would not lie, but he would also not say anything that would reveal either his position or his interests. Obtaining the vacation time was merely a matter of being persistent.

“We are approaching our renewal time,” said Fars. “There will be demands for our paperwork.”

“Mine are in order.”

The true issue for Fars was not the paperwork, but the inspections that followed; the minister liked to see the entire staff at his welcoming party.

On the other hand, Aberhadji would not contribute to his “present”—a sizable amount of money that would be presented “spontaneously” at the party. This was little more than a kickback by the employed to maintain their status. To smooth the waters, Fars had made up Aberhadji’s share the last two years. And come to think of it, Aberhadji had left very early the year before, so early that the minister surely saw him go — something more noticeable, and therefore more insulting, than his not showing up at all. So Fars reasoned that perhaps it was not important that Aberhadji be there after all.

“You have personal time accrued,” said Fars, deciding he would find an excuse that would allow the vacation. “That was my point in asking the question. You have not taken any time to tend to your family, and a man like you, a pious man, has a great deal of obligations, thanks be to the Prophet.”

Aberhadji nodded. He had no immediate family and had had none since he was young. His father had died in the war against Iraq, and his mother passed away a year later, mostly out of grief.

“Well then, let us put you down for a week. The matter is decided,” said Fars.

“It should be stated as indefinite.”

“Yes, well, we will say two. If, at the end of two weeks—”

“It should say indefinite. It may be less than two.”

“Well then, two weeks can cover it for the moment.”

“It should say indefinite.”

Fars could not grant someone an indefinite leave except for a medical emergency. Aberhadji’s honesty was a problem.

Fars decided it need not be. He could prepare two versions of the request — one for Aberhadji to sign, the other for the Tehran bureaucrats. Problem solved.

“So, indefinite. And should we put down that the business is a matter of a personal nature? Clearly, you’re not going on a vacation. I only have to ask,” Fars added, “because you know I have to make these reports each week to Tehran. In this economy, I think they are always throwing problems in to keep us on our toes.”

“It is a private matter. Certainly.”

“Good,” said Fars, choosing to interpret that as personal. “I will take care of it,” he added, rising. “Don’t worry. Take whatever time you need.”