“We’ve got a chain of conversation going that will hopefully lead to the dirties releasing Nicole.” Tzadik held up his phone as if to emphasize his point, then shoved it into his pocket. “I’ve talked directly to the ramsad, so this is being dealt with all the way at the top of the Mossad. He’s contacting a deputy director of Italy’s intelligence agency, AISE, who owes him a favor. He’ll ask him to reach out to someone he trusts in one of the Milan fashion houses. The plan is for that person to contact Italy’s state department to tell them they employ a South African model who has been arrested by the Iranian authorities.”

“Why doesn’t the Italian intelligence guy contact the state department directly?”

“We’re trying to protect Nicole’s cover for future operations. Think about it. If the AISE asks the state department for help directly, Nicole will be flagged in Italy and most other countries for the rest of her life.”

Nir wasn’t so sure Nicole’s washing out of the Mossad would be such a bad thing, but he said, “Makes sense.”

“Protocol dictates that Italy’s state will contact South Africa’s state to tell them one of their citizens is being unjustly held in Iran and has been assaulted. South Africa and Iran have a very good relationship, and the Tehran regime won’t want to risk that. We’re hoping South Africa’s state department will be able to leverage that to get Nicole out.”

Nir’s head was swimming. “That’s a lot of steps, and every minute Nicole is in their custody puts her more at risk. Where are we in the process?”

“Bogged down in Italy’s state department. It’s only 7:30 a.m., and no one is taking calls until eight.”

Incredulous, Nir took a step back. “You have got to be joking. Don’t we have someone who can go wake somebody up?”

“Quiet, Tavor.” Tzadik continued in a hushed voice. “This is informational, remember? We’re working on it. I’ll keep you up-to-date as more happens.”

“Understood, Ha’mefaked. Thank you.”

The commander nodded, then slipped his phone back out of his pocket as he moved on.

Nir returned to his chair, sitting down and lacing his fingers behind his head. It seemed like such a long shot, but right now it appeared to be the only shot they had—at least before Isayev’s people would have to step in.

From across the room, Tzadik yelled into his phone, “Well, don’t we have someone who can go wake somebody up?”

Go get them, boss, Nir thought as he stood to check the current status of the coffeepot.

Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

POLICE STATION, MARZANABAD, IRAN—11:40 / 11:40 A.M. IRST