Sam Khan grips Ali’s arm in the gathering gloom and begins reciting “The Lord is my Shepherd…”
Having ignited this turbulence with their volley of bullets, the troops now stagger into each other, eyes stinging and throats burning from the acrid discharge. A wind finally begins to whisk away the smoke.
A soldier in the first rank is the first to announce an even more astonishing sight. “The Rasul has disappeared!”
The Rasul is gone. The taut rope, having been severed by the bullets, now lies on the ground as limp as a dead serpent.
Bewildered and afraid, the spectators now begin to shout, “He has vanished! The Rasul has been taken from our sight!”
Rubbing his smarting eyes, Ali orders Sam Khan to launch a search of the barracks. He doesn’t know how the Rasul has accomplished this trick, but there will be no escape.
Ali races to the Rasul’s cell with the head footman, imagining that some clue to the matter may have been left behind. His mind is reeling and he is angry. Revenge has been plucked from his hands.
When the two men arrive at the Rasul’s moldering cell, they are shocked. Behind the open cell door, composed and unsullied, the Rasul sits next to his amanuensis. He has emerged unscathed from the shower of bullets and is calmly speaking to his friend.
An astonished footman enters the cell. The Rasul looks up and says, “I have finished my conversation with Siyyid Husayn. Now you may fulfill your intention.”
The trembling footman, certain that he has witnessed a miracle, wheels and runs from the cell.
Ali calls for the guards.
Sam Khan is the first to arrive. Upon seeing the Rasul in his cell, Sam Khan falls to his knees and says, “I have been relieved of my perplexity.”
“I don’t understand,” Ali replies.”
“You never will. My regiment will be leaving the barracks immediately. If you ask us to repeat this ungodly assignment, I will refuse.”
Guards rush in and frantically secure the door.
Ali follows Sam Khan into the quadrangle. “You believe in Him, don’t you?” Ali calls out.
“Under the penalty of death—I do.” Sam Khan pauses. “God saved Him from your predictable treachery.”
With a look of disgust, Sam Khan marches toward the remnant of his regiment.
Ali’s mind is a riot of conflicting thoughts. Perhaps the spectacle of the firing squad was not a miracle at all. The Christian troops may simply have shot to miss.
All of them?
Nothing has changed.
Yes, everything has changed! God still betrays those who love Him, and the Rasul is still His stooge.
Yet God has protected the Rasul.
Ali tries to focus his thoughts. The entire barracks shudders in chaos. Spectators are still screaming and soldiers still aimlessly race back and forth.
In his mind, Ali can still see the smoke from the musket fire, the ropes rent into pieces by a hail of bullets, the Rasul peacefully completing his interrupted conversation.
Impossible!
And yet he and thousands of others have witnessed this implausible event. Who but God could be the author of such an audacious drama?
Ali will not play the scripted part of the defeated villain. This scene will not be the conclusion to this unfolding tale. He races through the scattering soldiers and finds Khamsih, the colonel of the body guard.
“Sam Khan and his Christians have fled in fear,” he explains. “I need a man of courage to lead a Muslim regiment in completing this execution.”
Khamsih, a portly man of immense ambition, bows to Ali and says, “You can trust me.”
News of the second attempt flows through the crowds. Within two hours, Khamsih has assembled in the quadrangle another regiment of seven hundred fifty men.
“We will not fail as the Christians did,” he explains to his men. “If even one of you misses your target, every one of you will become food for the bullets of another firing squad. Am I clear?”
Jonathon again is stationed with his camera next to Ali. “Maybe the real event will go better than the practice round,” he says.
Ali ignores him.
Khamsih angrily storms to the Rasul’s cell and removes the condemned man, striking the Rasul in the face before marching him to the execution spot.
Ali stands to the side, again watching the spectacle unfold.
A rope is slung over the spike. The victim is hoisted into the air and suspended from the rope.
As the troops prepare their muskets, the Rasul turns his face. Ali is certain that the Rasul is looking directly at him. The Rasul’s serene, almost loving gaze makes Ali shiver in the hot noon sun.
“The day will come when you will have recognized me,” the Rasul says to the crowd. “That day I shall have ceased to be with you.”
Ali cannot stop looking into the Rasul’s eyes. There is no fear or anger in them, but sadness. And love. This is not the countenance of a mocking God, nor the reflection of a betraying God. The kind face shimmers behind watery waves of heat that slowly ascend toward heaven.
Khamsih barks an order and the troops immediately stand at attention, muskets to their sides.
The Rasul’s face, through the mirage of the rising heat, wrinkles and shifts, and then becomes the beautiful face of Ali’s mother, who is smiling radiantly. Ali feels a tight knot growing in his chest. Anisa is not frightened or angry but seems delighted to see her son again. Ali wants to speak to her, even takes a step forward, but then the glimmering face transforms into the exquisite visage of Mary Rogers, with her penetrating gaze and coquettish grin. She is alert and happy and forgiving, as if her death had been the smallest of inconveniences.
The day will come…
Khamsih gives another order. With a rustling sound like a gust of wind in the forest, muskets are raised into position. The glare of the sun heats the bricks of the quadrangle pavement. Heat waves continue to rise in ripples.
The image unfolding before Ali shifts again, becoming the soft and lovely face of Ali’s cherished wife. She has tears in her eyes, and Ali believes they are from pain or sadness until Alice smiles and her face dissolves into the round red face of an infant. Ali knows immediately that this is his unborn daughter.
…when you will have recognized me.
Protected, all of these loved ones. Safe and waiting. Revealing their love and understanding and forgiveness. Inviting through their tears and smiles a joyous reunion.
Khamsih orders the firing squad to take aim.
The face revealed in the mirage changes again. Ali sees a fox he had hunted at Chillington-hall, the meek surrender of its face as Ali raised his weapon to kill the guiltless creature. He remembers the unexpected bloodlust during the chase, and the intensity of the confrontation.
A sudden and horrible revelation sweeps over him. Ali has been blaming the prey for the hardships of the forest and the hunt.
Like a ruptured kaleidoscope, a flurry of images bursts into his mind. Free at last of guilt and anger, Ali sees himself as a child with his mother. At the breakfast table with Mary and Phebe. In bed with his pregnant wife on a cold wintry night.
A sudden peace descends upon him like a gentle rain.
He can choose to spare the fox.
Ali finds that he has closed his eyes. When he opens them, he is flung back into the horror of the barracks square. The executioners are pointing their muskets at the Rasul.
That day I shall have ceased to be with you.
He watches Khamsih’s mouth beginning to open for the final order…
He desperately turns to the firing squad and shouts, “Nooooooo!” But his voice is drowned in the roar of musket fire.
Clouds of smoke rise again, but this time a swirling wind whisks away the gray mist, revealing the body shattered by hundreds of bullets.
Ali drops to his knees as the massive crowd begins to cheer. The applause masks his weeping.
The wind suddenly becomes a gale.
As the body is lo
wered, it is buffeted by the powerful wind that is stirring up the city. A dense whirlwind of dust begins to obscure the sun, plunging all of Tabriz into darkness. Ali imagines that this is God mourning the loss of his Promised One.
Moments ago, Ali would have rejoiced at inflicting on God such enormous pain, but now he prays for forgiveness.
The storm and the eerie darkness last from noon until night.
At dawn the next day, the body is lashed to a ladder by order of the grand vizier and paraded through the streets, then dumped into a moat outside the city gate. Sentinels are ordered to guard it day and night.
At the moat, Jonathon is permitted to photograph the body as evidence for the shah. While Ali watches, Jonathon positions his camera near the body. This is his first close look at the corpse, and he is astonished to find that the body is horribly mangled and yet the Rasul’s face is untouched.
After removing his camera from the moat, Jonathon approaches Ali, who appears extremely agitated.
“Your work is finished,” Jonathon says in English. “If you can find a way to get Ishaq released, I suppose you will go home now. Are you all right? You look terrible.”
“Jonathon, I can’t let the Rasul’s body lie in this moat for the dogs.”
“They’ll shoot anyone who tries to take the body, you know that. Those are the orders of the grand vizier.”
Ali’s eyes glisten with moisture as he says, “If I’m killed, will you try to get Ishaq home safely?”
“I’ll be there with you. If you want to save Ishaq, both of us will have to survive this adventure.”
Ali’s plan is simple. Under the cover of darkness, he and Jonathon will station a cart about fifty yards from the body and then creep silently into the moat, waiting for the guards to pass. When it is safe, they will wrap the body and carry it out of the moat to the cart.
“Not much of a plan,” Jonathon says.
“Maybe this time God will be on our side.”
Jonathon shows up that evening with two Rasuli friends who have volunteered to assist the mission. They station a cart as planned, and then silently enter the shadows of the moat system. The sentinels are positioned near the Rasul‘s body and show no signs of leaving.
“What now?” Jonathon whispers.
“I have another plan,” Ali says. “When the guards are distracted, remove the body quickly.”
Before Jonathon can stop him, Ali stands and briskly walks toward the guards, who immediately raise their weapons and order him to stop.
“I am Ali, representative of the shah!” he calls out. “Lower your weapons and let me approach.”
Confused, the sentinels lower their muskets.
Ali walks up to the captain and says, “The grand vizier has changed your orders. There is no longer any need to guard the body. You may go home.”
“Let me see the authorization,” the captain demands.
Jonathon knows that Ali has no such authorization.
Ali rears up in his most regal posture. “Are you countermanding me, captain?” he roars. “I order you at once to abandon your posts so that the dogs may dine on this infidel’s carcass.”
The captain begins to shrink, but then puffs up his chest and says, “Without a written order, I must stay on guard.”
Ali looks down at his feet, then looks up, glaring at the captain. “Then here is your direct order.” He slams his fist into the captain’s jaw.
Three sentinels pounce on Ali, who fights furiously, kicking two of them away. Another two join the melee. The rest of them stand and watch.
While all eyes are on the noisy fight, Jonathon and the Rasulis slip out of a deep shadow and slide the body away, replacing it with sacks of straw. In the gloom, it is hard to distinguish the sacks from the body.
Finally, one of the soldiers cracks the butt of his musket into Ali’s skull, stunning him. The soldiers begin to argue about what to do next.
“We execute him!” the captain shouts. “Take him up and shoot him.”
Five of the men carry Ali’s limp body out of the moat.
Jonathon and the Rasulis are near the cart when Jonathon faintly hears the shouted order. He stops and looks at his friends.”
“I can’t let them do this,” he whispers.
“He has chosen to sacrifice himself to save the remains of the Promised One,” says one of the Rasulis. “We should complete his mission.”
The Rasulis gently place the body into the cart as Jonathon stares into the blackness.
A shot reverberates in the night.
And then they quietly push the cart away.
Chapter 27
Their slippers make a scuffing sound on the marble floor as they walk to the shah’s chamber. The meeting with the British consul had gone as expected: muted outrage over the execution of the Rasul, and tepid warnings about the Qajar crackdown on the Rasulis. All of it, the grand vizier explains to the young shah, is mere diplomatic rhetoric.
“Gordon, did you detect any hostile inflection that you may not have communicated to us?” the grand vizier asks the interpreter.
Green-robed Gordon Cranston trails by several steps, but now the shah and grand vizier stop and turn, awaiting his reply. “None whatsoever,” Gordon answers. “But I found it interesting that Colonel Sheil specifically asked about Ali. Does he know something?”
“I doubt it,” the grand vizier says. “Both of them are British, that’s all. I think he was just making small talk.”
“At some point Sheil will notice that Ali has disappeared completely from the shah’s court,” Gordon says.
“I suppose. And then we will have to tell him that the Englishman chose to return home with our best wishes after many years of service to the shah. I am glad Sheil did not inquire about Ali’s son, though.”
“What will you do with Ishaq now that his father is…”
The grand vizier turns to face the shah. “That matter I leave to the Pivot of the Universe,” he says.
The boy-king stares at the grand vizier for a moment, then looks at Gordon and says, “Ishaq betrayed me when he chose to follow the Rasul. He will be killed, as we have killed the other Rasulis.”
Yes, thousands of them, Gordon thinks. “But Ishaq was your friend, your teacher. His father helped you win the throne. You would execute him as if he were just a common criminal?”
“His father also became my enemy,” the shah replies.
“Still, Ishaq never took up arms against you. He did not fight with the Rasulis at Hujjat. He never preached rebellion.”
“Only because he was in custody.”
“So his offense is that he was imprisoned?”
“Enough! His heart betrayed our friendship.” The boy-king looks genuinely hurt.
“I believe he is still your friend,” Gordon says.
The shah glares at Gordon, and then spins with a flurry of robes and begins to walk away. After a few steps, though, he turns again and says, “I am a merciful shah. I will spare him a painful hanging. An assassin will silently kill him while he sleeps. He will not suffer.”
The shah storms down the long corridor followed by the grand vizier.
Persian mercy, Gordon says to himself.
In the harem—his prison—Ishaq sleeps deeply, dreaming of the meadows of Chillington-hall. For weeks he has mourned the loss of Zarrin, and now, having had no news of his father for many days, he allows himself a short night-time visit to Ali’s bucolic estate. It is a way of connecting with a man that he despises yet also loves intensely.
The moon is full, and its blue light streams across Ishaq’s slumbering body. As he dreams, a dark figure creeps into his sleeping chamber and hovers over him, watching Ishaq’s chest slowly rise and fall in shallow breaths. The man sits there for a moment as if considering his next move. And then the man reaches out his right hand and covers Ishaq’s mouth.
Ishaq awakes suddenly, but the hand prevents him from crying out. Ishaq reaches for the man’s arm and struggles, but the man is s
trong. Looking up at the man, Ishaq can see his eyes glimmering in the moonlight. They are familiar eyes—creased and squinting.
“Isaac!” the man whispers loudly. “Stop fighting me.”
“Gordon?” Isaac says.
“Keep your voice down,” Gordon says. “We are leaving.”
“Leaving—why? What’s going on?”
Isaac discovers that he is speaking in English. It has been a long time since he spoke his native tongue.
“Don’t ask questions. It’s urgent that we leave immediately.”
Isaac sits up and stares at Gordon. His mind is still at Chillington-hall, but his eyes are seeing his moonlit sleeping quarters in Tehran.
“The guard will never let me leave.”
“Let me worry about the guard.”
“I’m not going anywhere unless you explain what’s going on!” Isaac says firmly.
“The shah has ordered an assassin to kill you—perhaps this very evening.”
“What? The shah would never do that.”
“Believe me—he wants to exterminate every Rasuli in Persia.”
Isaac considers this for a moment. “What about my father? Will he be leaving, too? Or is he behind this scheme.”
Gordon realizes Isaac is unaware of his father’s fate. He knows there is no time to explain. “Your father has switched sides,” Gordon says. “I can’t explain now, but he became a follower of the Rasul.”
Isaac sighs. Tears fill his eyes. “I prayed every night that he would come to understand the truth,” he says. “God has answered my prayers. Will my father be joining us?”
“You will see him again, I promise,” Gordon says, though he adds in thought, but not in this life.
“Where is he?” Isaac asks.
Gordon feels time running out. “Isaac, I want you to listen very carefully. We are escaping an assassin. God willing, this is your own Midnight March to Freedom. If we do not leave right now, I may not be able to help you. Now do as I say!”
He hands Isaac a chador.
“This is a woman’s!” Isaac protests.
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