The Twelfth Imam Read Online Free Page A

streets of Tehran. He had no idea what to do, where to turn. He passed Shahr Park, one of his favorites, where he and Claire had often strolled and taken picnic lunches. He passed the Golestan Palace, one of the oldest and most beautiful complexes of historical monuments in the capital, dating back to the sixteenth century. But all the joy of being in this exotic country was now gone.
    As he drove, Charlie cursed Iran. He cursed the Ayatollah. He cursed the Revolution. His wife was dying. The fanatical followers of the imam were trying to kill him, too. Everything he believed about the efficacy of diplomacy and “building bridges of friendship among the nations of the world” had just gone up in the flames of his government-issued sedan.
    But then the name Mohammad Shirazi came to mind.
    Charlie immediately tried to banish it from his thoughts. It was crazy. The man might be his neighbor, but he was an Iranian. He was a Muslim. The man’s wife, Nasreen, might be a fantastic chef, and she seemed to have taken a real liking to Claire—even caring for Claire sacrificially on some of the worst days of her morning sickness—but the Shirazis were Shias. They were enemies now.
    Still, Mohammad was a doctor—an impressive cardiologist. He was young, to be sure—no more than thirty, Charlie guessed—but highly regarded throughout the city. His practice was not far away. Charlie and Claire had actually been there just a few weeks earlier for a little party celebrating the grand opening of Mohammad’s new, state-of-the-art medical clinic. Perhaps he should head there and ask for help. It was risky, but what choice did he have? The Shirazis might be his only hope.
    Charlie eased off the gas, downshifted, slowed to a safe speed, and did an illegal U-turn. Six blocks later, he pulled into the parking lot beside Dr. Shirazi’s clinic. He saw only three cars, one of which he knew to be his neighbor’s. Charlie glanced in his rearview mirror. A truck filled with soldiers was passing and slowed as it did. Charlie put his head down and held his breath. The truck stopped for a moment. Charlie wasn’t sure he even believed in God, but he said a silent prayer anyway, begging for mercy for himself, for his wife, and for the little life in her womb. A moment later, the soldiers sped away.
    Breathing a sigh of relief, Charlie pulled the VW close to the clinic’s back door and turned off the engine. Then he slipped inside the clinic and found himself face-to-face with a woman receptionist who was veiled and clearly devout. In the waiting room, the TV was on. Regular programming had been interrupted by news of the latest developments at the American Embassy.
    “May I help you?” the receptionist asked in Farsi.
    “I need to see Dr. Shirazi,” Charlie replied in kind.
    “Do you have an appointment?” she asked.
    “I’m sorry, I don’t,” he stammered. “But I’m a friend—a neighbor, actually. And it’s a bit of an emergency.”
    “What kind of an emergency?”
    Charlie didn’t want to say. Not to this woman. Not now. But he didn’t know what else to do. He hadn’t thought that far ahead.
    Charlie glanced at his watch. He had to move fast. Claire needed serious medical attention and quickly—before the secret police tracked down the VW. He glanced around the room. There was just one older man sitting in the waiting room to his left, watching the TV coverage and shaking his head. He didn’t look religious. He didn’t look angry. Perhaps Charlie could take a chance, he thought. Perhaps he could . . .
    Just then Charlie heard Dr. Shirazi’s voice calling to his receptionist. “Who is my next patient?”
    Charlie turned his head and saw his neighbor stepping out of his office, and surprise registered on the man’s face.
    “Charlie Harper?” he said. “What a pleasure to see you, my friend.”
    The doctor greeted Charlie with a traditional Persian hug and a kiss on both cheeks.
    “Is everything all right,