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like that. Because he knew that, after this drink, he had a job to do.
    He was Devlin.

C HAPTER T WO
    Tehran, Iran
    The Grand Ayatollah paused and waited for the reaction from his subalterns. Like all great imams—and none was greater than he, certainly not those Sunni infidels in Cairo, no matter their exalted titles at Al-Azhar University. Unbelievers, all of them. As they—and the world—would soon discover.
    He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts, making sure they were in accordance with the sacred word of Allah, divinely revealed through his Prophet, Mohammed. He took a deep breath. How wonderful to have been freed of Western superstition—the blasphemy they called “science”—by revelation. Those years spent in England, at the London School of Economics—what a waste. How foolish had been his country and his countrymen, still in thrall to the throne of England, upon which, in just a few decades or, Allah (PBUH) willing, a few years, the new caliph would sit, resplendent in his glory and beckoning to the twelfth Imam, the Mahdi, the expected one, to deliver the world from iniquity and unbelief.
    How close it all was.
    “O Muslims,” he began, his intonation stentorian, as befit his station. Another pause. He looked out upon the sea of humanity—all male—that faced him expectantly. Hanging on his every word. Watching him for signs and wonders. Never was he more conscious of his station, or of his sacred duty.
    The Grand Ayatollah Ali Ahmed Hussein Mustafa Mohammed Fadlallah al-Sadiq said a silent prayer to Mohammed ibn al-Hasan al-Mahdi, still occulted at the bottom of his well in Qom. Soon, my lord, soon will you come again, accompanied by Issa to unite the world of holy Muslims and benighted Christians against the Jews and infidels, ushering in the final era of peace and submission to Allah’s holy will.
    Soon.
    “O Muslims,” he began again. “For thirteen hundred years have we, the Faithful, awaited this holy day. For thirteen centuries, O my brothers, have we patiently and faithfully observed the strictures and commandments of the one true faith. Triumphant have we been, and oppressed by the lies of the Jews and infidels, who have taken from us the holy cities of al-Quds, of al-Andalus. We have patiently awaited the day of deliverance, the day on which even the rocks and the trees cry out to alert us to the presence of the Jew, and reveal to our holy warriors his infernal hiding place, that we might kill him, his women, and his children.”
    The crowd rose and cheered its approval. The Faithful could always be counted upon.
    “Signs and portents were we promised by the Prophet and his holy Imams. And today I stand before you, Ali Ahmed Hussein Mustafa Mohammed Fadlallah al-Sadiq, to bring you the joyous news of fulfillment. O Muslims, I bring you the news of our Brother Arash Kohanloo, a glorious martyr to the sacred cause, who has struck a great blow against the Great Satan, the United States—such a blow as not even the Great Atta and his fellow martyrs on that happy day of September 11, 2001, could have dreamed.”
    An enormous roar rumbled up from the crowd of the Faithful, here in Azadi Square, beneath the great tower of Freedom. Let the infidels of New York call their blasphemous tower, still rising after more than a decade, a sign of their surpassing impotence and of the immanence of the Twelfth Imam, call their pitiful attempt at reconstruction the Freedom Tower. Here was the heart of true freedom, brought by the Arabs a millennium and a half ago but since purged and purified of their desert savagery. The destruction of the Sassanid Empire and the abolition of the Zoroastrian religion was a small price to pay for enlightenment.
    Thus spake Zarathustra? Only in the infidel lands. Here, only Allah spoke, and always spoke the truth, immutable and eternal and preserved forever in the Holy Qu’ran.
    From here he could see the Alborz Mountains to the north, from what used to be called