70: Chapter 67 Three Lines, One Net

January 25, 1979, Tehran.

Reza arrived in Tehran in the early hours of that day without notifying anyone in advance.

Hassan had left twelve hours earlier to scout the route, confirming every point, every corner, and every potential blind spot in surveillance that Reza would pass.

Upon returning, he said only one word: "Clear."

Only the two of them entered the city this time.

Their accommodation was arranged in advance by Karimi.

It was not in the city center but in an ordinary residential area on the western edge.

Externally, it was an address rented by a merchant as a temporary warehouse.

The room was empty, containing only two beds and a table, but it had one advantage: it was only six blocks away from the Motahari Mosque, where Ayatollah Khomeini was temporarily staying.

The first thing Reza did upon entering the city was not to rest, but to meet three people.

The first was Karimi himself.

Karimi had waited from two in the morning for Reza to arrive.

He poured him a cup of cold tea and began to report the core developments in Tehran over the past forty-eight hours: Ayatollah Khomeini had arrived in Tehran from Qom and was staying at the Motahari Mosque, receiving various political figures and foreign journalists every day, and every speech he delivered was like adding fuel to the fire.

Bakhtiar was still holding down the Prime Minister's Office, but his cabinet was effectively paralyzed; half of the civil servants in various departments hadn't come to work, and there was no administrative control on the streets, only the spontaneously organized revolutionary committees maintaining basic order.

"Who is organizing these revolutionary committees?" Reza asked.

"All sorts of people," Karimi said, "There are Ayatollahs from the mosques, activists from student unions, the group that Ayatollah Khomeini brought back from Paris, and also—" He paused. "People from SAVAK."

"SAVAK?"

"A portion of the SAVAK personnel," Karimi said, "Those who cut ties with the old institutions in time before the regime collapsed. They are now mixed into the revolutionary committees; some are trying to whitewash themselves, while others are—" He thought about how to phrase it. "Looking for a new direction."

Reza noted this down and mentally marked a priority level: medium-low, but if not handled now, it would become a variable later.

The second person was Bakhtiar—the liaison sent by Ayatollah Khomeini, though not through him, but a direct face-to-face meeting.

The meeting time was four in the morning, and the location was Bakhtiar's own home, an ordinary two-bedroom apartment with no one else inside.

Bakhtiar got straight to the point, saying that Ayatollah Khomeini had decided not to respond to any of Bakhtiar's cabinet proposals and would formally declare the cabinet "illegal" in the coming days.

At that time, Bakhtiar himself would face political liquidation—not being killed, but his political life would effectively be over.

"The Master asked me to ask you," Bakhtiar said, "at this juncture, how do you intend to appear in Tehran?"

This question was precise.

The fact that Bakhtiar knew Reza was in Tehran meant that Ayatollah Khomeini's side already knew Reza's whereabouts but hadn't taken any action, only asking through Bakhtiar—this was a test and also an invitation.

Reza's reply was only one sentence: "I need a window that allows me to meet with the Master."

Bakhtiar noted this down and left.

The third person was Farrokhzad.

The meeting time was five in the morning, in the backyard of an ordinary teahouse.

When Reza arrived, Farrokhzad was already there, dressed in plain clothes and without anyone else.

The first sentence he said was: "Today is the last day for the Bakhtiar cabinet; tomorrow, Ayatollah Khomeini will announce the establishment of a provisional government."

This news had not yet been confirmed by Reza, but Farrokhzad was not the type of person to make things up.

"The military's attitude?" Reza asked.

"Divided," Farrokhzad said, "Some are already in contact with the revolutionary committees, some are waiting and watching, and others are preparing to run. The Iranian military is not a truly professional army; its loyalty has always been attached to the royal family. With the royal family gone, the anchor of this army's loyalty is gone."

"And you?" Reza looked directly at him. "What is your anchor?"

Farrokhzad did not avoid this direct question.

He was silent for a few seconds and said: "I need to know who will be in charge of this country next, in order to decide my stance."

"If it is a regime that can truly return oil to the hands of the Iranians, that can keep the country from being manipulated by foreign powers, and that can give a place to everyone who speaks the truth," Reza said, "which side would you stand on?"

"If such a regime really exists," Farrokhzad said, "you don't need to ask which side I would stand on."

"Then wait," Reza stood up, "When the time comes, you will see what it looks like."

Farrokhzad did not see him off; he just nodded.

There was something in that nodding motion—not trust, but an open attitude of non-opposition.

For Reza, this was enough.

At six in the morning, Reza returned to his residence and reviewed the three people he had contacted overnight in his notebook.

Karimi: Intelligence channels are clear, high mastery of the situation in Tehran.

Bakhtiar: Ayatollah Khomeini is waiting for him to appear and has arranged a "meeting window" for him, but it is not yet certain what role the other side intends for him to play in that window.

Farrokhzad: The most reliable piece of the puzzle in the military; all he lacks is direction.

Three lines, three different directions, but all pointing to the same point in time: the next three to five days.

Reza closed the notebook and said one sentence to Hassan:

"Tell Karimi that I will make a public appearance tomorrow."

Hassan did not ask where, how, or how people would react to seeing him.

He knew Reza had already calculated all of this; he only needed to execute it.

"In what capacity?"

"Use the title of Governor of Khuzestan Province," Reza said, "Issue a statement to the whole country. The content has only one theme: The oil of Khuzestan cannot become a bargaining chip for anyone to seize power. Before a new national regime is formed, the fate of this land must be decided by the people who live on this land."

Hassan noted this content down and went out to find Karimi.

Reza stood alone in the room for a while, then walked to the window, watching the sky outside gradually brighten.

The dawn of Tehran was different from that of Ahvaz.

The dawn of Ahvaz was light on the wilderness, spreading slowly; the dawn of Tehran was the city's noise waking up first, the sound of horns and the call to prayer from distant mosques mixing together, dragging the whole city out of its sleep.

In a few more days, this city would have a new master.

And he must find his place before that master took his seat.