According to Nurin’s file, Ibrahim Hamedi would present Iran’s case to the world from this stage. At seven in the evening, two days from now, he would stand at a podium in the grand hall and, in all probability, lie about Iran’s program of nuclear weaponization. He would then mingle with the invitees for precisely twenty-three minutes—this also from the file—before being hustled to a side entrance and a waiting motorcade. Three cars, or possibly four, would turn up Avenue de France and make two miles at speed before merging onto Quai du Mont Blanc. There, minutes removed from his diplomatic duty, Iran’s chief nuclear designer would be deposited at Lake Geneva’s northern shore and walk, amid a thick and watchful security contingent, to his next appearance.

And there the kidon would be waiting.

Chapter 38

THIRTY-EIGHT

The A-320 airliner slid smooth and true through the thin air at 35,000 feet. A distracted Ibrahim Hamedi looked through the oval window and saw the Black Sea to his left. On the right he could just discern the distant Caspian Sea, and so the thin mountain range before him, capped by Mount Elbrus, had to be the Caucuses.

Hamedi had always been good with geography, and on long flights he found it a useful diversion to reckon his position. A pilot had once taught him the trick. You started with the most prominent features—mountain ranges, oceans, and lakes—and then applied an approximate compass orientation. With a basic knowledge of natural features, the rest quickly fell into place. It worked well enough, he supposed, but over the years had become a less pleasurable exercise. For Hamedi it only emphasized the world’s overriding problem—if topography was unwavering, the underlying political and cultural lines were far more unsettled. The Caucuses were a case in point, once claimed by Iran and later dominated by Russia, it was one of the most ethnically and linguistically divided regions on earth. Yet from where Hamedi sat, with his God’s-eye view, things looked peaceful, even bucolic. He supposed it was something of a metaphor for the human condition. Appearances can be illusory.