City of Lies Read Online Free

gawping.
    Dariush looked embarrassed. He had taken his eye off the ball.
    ‘Don’t worry, it’s always a shock to see these young kids behaving like animals while their country goes to shit. And you’re the one who’s going to be saving us all, right?’ He smirked and then lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘I know your mission. Jahangir briefed me. Call me Kian. You know the drill.’
    They ate their food in silence, and without waiting for the bill Kian left a stack of notes on the table and walked out. Dariush followed him north up Vali Asr where the road bends to the east towards Tajrish Square. They passed the gardens of the old palace of Bagh Ferdows, the fresh breeze licking their ankles. Vali Asr was bursting with the signs of spring: dazzling green buds sprouting out of the trees, the sticky smell of the sweet sap that coated the year’s new leaves; mounds of unripe almonds, jade-coloured plums, apricots and figs from the south, and bunches of tarragon and mint spilt out of boxes in front of shops.
    They turned left and into the backstreets of the old neighbourhood of Shemiran, and entered a square grey block of flats; the air was filled with the smell of frying onions. Up to the sixth floor. From the balcony, hundreds of high-rise rooftops looked like toy houses in the shadow of the mountains, a coating of winter’s snow still stubbornly clinging to their peaks.
    ‘The flat’s clean, no bugs, I checked it last night.’ A shroud of dust covered the room. Kian took a plastic cover off an old leather sofa. From his jacket pocket he unfolded a map, discoloured by summer sun. He smoothed out the creases as he laid it out on the table.
    ‘They told me to give you this. It’s marked up so don’t leave it lying around. Learn where you have to go, then burn it.’
    Dariush studied the map, tracing his hand along Tehran’s perimeter, marvelling at its unfamiliar new shape; fat fingers of concrete and brick poking up into the mountains, out towards the desert and into the plains and the countryside. In the centre, two black circles marked the home and workplace of his target: Tehran’s former police chief.
    ‘Here are a few SIM cards. Don’t use any of them for more than two weeks. Don’t order cabs, just hail them in the streets. That’s it from me. Good luck.’
    Dariush’s head jerked, ‘You’re leaving? Is that it? What about a gun? The getaway driver?’
    ‘Don’t tell me they haven’t arranged that for you? They’ve got to sort their shit out.’
    Dariush slammed his hand on the table, scattering a cloud of dust. ‘This is a joke! We’re working our guts out over there, I’m putting my life on the line for the cause, and it seems you don’t even give a fuck!’
    Kian lit a cigarette and took a deep drag before resting his head in the palms of his hands. He did not bother looking up. ‘Brother, I appreciate what you’re doing. I really do. Things are just different here. It’s not what they’ve been feeding you. You know how much pressure we’re under? The old boys are monitored twenty-four-seven. You’re lucky they didn’t give you some young gun with no experience who would have landed you in prison.’ He scribbled down a number on a scrap of paper. ‘Say Pedram says the shop’s been opened again. That’s all you have to say. I’ll sort out the driver.’ He turned round when he got to the door. ‘Just so you know, don’t be surprised when you hear people don’t much like us here. And by the way, this isn’t the first time the
sazman
has fucked up.’ He walked out shaking his head.
    If someone had told Dariush two years ago that he would become involved with the MEK, he would have laughed at them. Dariush had never been interested in politics; at least, no more than any other exiled Iranian who grew up with revolution talk. His childhood in Virginia had been uneventful. Arezou had changed everything.
    He had met Arezou at university, where he was studying computer