Epilogue

Teheran, Iran

Present day.

Saeed stood in a manner of parade rest, high up in the observation room. Discipline was order, and it was Saeed's job to maintain both for the good of the state. He wore tan trousers, a tan tunic, and black leather boots to the knees. Even though this was a civilian supervisory post, Saeed was allowed to wear his Victory Cross and veteran's bars, which he'd earned with honor as an artillery captain in the Holy War against

Iraq. Saeed wore the medals with pride.

Now that there was peace, Saeed was assigned to this important civilian station, the city's central post office-the largest mail-processing center in the country. Down below, through the long window, his handlers manned the sorters and conveyers, focused in their tasks.

A sharp rap came at the door.

"Enter," Saeed said.

The floor supervisor came into the room and stood at attention with a package under his arm.

"What is it?" Saeed asked in authoritative monotone.

"A package, sir. Improperly marked according to postal regulations."

"Set it down and leave it to me," Saeed ordered. "And return to your work. The work of the state is Allah's work."

"Yes, sir," the man said and left.

Packages and mail that weren't properly marked were taken into the custody of the state. Illegibility and a lack of return addresses proved the most consistent violations. Private marketeers often tried to mail opium-base to pickups in the larger cities-a capital crime. It was Saeed's job to properly inspect any suspect package.

What have we here ? he wondered.

Saeed wasn't worried. On rare occasions, enemy religious factions would send mail bombs to government buildings, and if this were such a package.

Allah will protect me, Saeed felt certain.

He walked to the table on which the package had been placed.

It was an oddly shaped box, oblong. It was wrapped in plain brown paper. There was no return address, and the postmark appeared smeared; Saeed couldn't make out the postal zone it had been mailed from.

He lifted the box in his hands. It had some weight to it-ten to fifteen pounds, perhaps-but it felt oddly balanced.

Saeed opened the box and looked inside. . .