Ambush (Michael Bennett #11)(90)

“Then explain it to us,” I said.

“Yes. Just please stop.”

Cohen lowered the pliers.

She said, “When I met Arvin, I was a widow living in Iran with my daughter. I was there to help my father negotiate a contract with the Iranian government. This was two years before the revolution.” Her eyes turned red, and she blinked. “Arvin was home after studying in the US. We fell in love. Got married. At first, everything was good. Arvin adopted my daughter. We were happy. Then we began to hear rumors of rebellion.”

“And Arvin was part of that.”

“Not at first. But he changed. As an engineer, he was highly respected. Useful. Men came to him shortly before the shah fell. They flattered him, told him how important he was. But what they really wanted was Valor’s weapons. I told Arvin this, but he was a fool. He listened to their flattery.”

I let loose of her and straightened. The flat light of the sun filtering through the blinds felt oddly cool. “If you were worried, why didn’t you leave?”

“I meant to. I was going to walk away from Arvin and take my daughter and get out of there. But I had to close down our offices, get our staff out of the country. I thought I had time.” Her gaze went away, staring into the past. “Then the embassy fell.”

The picture came into focus. “Much later, he let you leave. But he kept your daughter.”

“Miriam,” she whispered. “He took her from me.”

Her shoulders dropped, and her fear for herself slipped away. In its place came an expression I’d seen once or twice on my own mother’s face. A naked panic you find only in a parent’s eyes.

“He placed her with a family. I was allowed to see her only every month or so. He promised it was just for six months. Then a year.” Her head sank to her manacled hands. She spoke into her fingers. “Then three. I was helpless. I had no rights in the new Iran. After three years he sent me back to Texas. He needed me to make sure the ayatollah’s government got what it wanted. He kept Miriam so that I would do as he asked.”

“And did you?”

“What choice did I have? Miriam. . . . she and I talk. She doesn’t understand why I left. She has no idea what Arvin did. But she is healthy. Happy.”

I looked at her bowed head. The sensible haircut and shoes. The heavily veined hands with the neatly trimmed nails I’d been angry enough to actually rip out. This woman had permitted the deaths of American troops. Had ordered the torture and deaths of who knew how many others. By any definition, she was a monster.

But for a few moments, she was also a mother. And what wouldn’t a mother do to save her child? What wouldn’t she sacrifice, even if what she ransomed wasn’t hers to give?

A terrible story of treachery and deceit, with a child standing on each end. Miriam, the first bargaining chip. Malik, the final pawn.

And Laura Almasi in the middle, determined to sacrifice one to protect the other.

Cohen handed me the pliers and moved away to look out the window.

“Anyone?” I asked him.

“Not yet.”

To Almasi I said, “And Arvin is still in Iran?”

“Mexico. He left three months ago.”

My heart was already racing, but it managed to find the accelerator. “He’s hunting for Malik.”

“Yes. But I imagine he’s also recruiting for one of Iran’s terrorist organizations. That’s what he does.”

I pictured Zarif’s compound. The privacy. The security. His determination not to be seen with me, and his insistence that I leave the country. Maybe he, too, was a hunter, looking for men like Arvin Almasi.

“Given how many people you’ve killed,” I said, “I’m surprised your husband is still breathing.”

“He dies of anything but natural causes, Miriam dies, too.”

Of course.

“You’ve done as he’s asked for years,” I said. “Would he really hurt Miriam now? You could take this to the Feds. Offer a plea deal—Arvin for you. Expose him for what he is. Then take it all the way to the White House and have them demand your daughter’s return. Why keep making this worse?”

“He will hurt her. When she was twenty, I told Arvin this had to stop. I said I would tell Miriam what he’d done. He hired a man to snatch her off the street, to rough her up. A warning.” She was blinking faster now, holding back the tears. The rage had dissolved, and pain held full sway. “She has her own life now. A husband and children. My silence buys her life and that of her family. Valor is all I have left. And my brother. If I am in prison, we lose everything. And the Iranians win.”

“This place here. You’re training men who will turn around and train the Saudis?”

She lifted her chin. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

“James will win that contract to help the Saudis. We will teach them. Arm them. I cannot guarantee Saudi Arabia will try to destroy Iran. But with James’s help, I can promise that Iran will never get the thing it most craves. It will never be the leader of the Muslim world.”

Cohen spun away from the window. He bore down on us, his eyes ablaze with murder. He thrust out his hands, and I thought he would slam the table into Almasi.

Then he stopped abruptly. He lowered his hands and gave a soft shake of his head.