فصل بیست و هشت... Or something. I don't speak fluent Persian, believe it or not.
As soon as the portkey activated, Ziad knew something was up. For one thing, they weren't immediately deposited at the intended destination.
Perhaps more worryingly was the fact that the mental picture Ziad had used when making the portkey was blurring. Ziad's mind felt like it was being sifted through by some third party entity, looking for a suitable location.
Images flashed through his mind.
A street in Tokyo from a movie he'd seen in his childhood.
A building in Cape Town Ziad had seen in a world atlas.
Rio de Janeiro.
Southern Algeria.
Ljubljana, Slovenia.
Stockholm, Sweden.
The great plains of America.
Lisbon, Portugal.
Volgograd, Russia.
Some mountain somewhere.
Ziad tried to force the images out of his head, but was unsuccessful. He had completely lost control over the portkey and had no idea where it was taking him. He tried to stop. Ziad concentrated on stopping.
And finally... A city square.
Ziad's legs were unsteady, and a massive headache was developing.
"Oh... God... My head..." he moaned.
Shlomi looked around.
"Uh oh," he muttered.
Ziad looked up and took in his surroundings.
The small group was in a massive public square, dominated by a vast white tower-gate-memorial-monument thing. It looked like the post-modernist love-child between the Arc-de-Triomphe in Paris and the Gateway Arch in St. Louis.
Distant brown mountains lurked on the horizon.
On the far side of the arch was a stage, ringed by policemen and soldiers, with a number of suited political-types giving speeches. Beyond the stage was a vast crowd, growing larger by the second.
Around Ziad's group people made their way to join the crowd. A number of people had stopped moving and were staring at the people who had appeared from nowhere in their midst nearly all of whom were armed, not to mention the uniformed Russian soldiers.
"Where in God's name are we?" asked Captain Karpukhin.
"We're in Tehran. Iran," said Shlomi.
Ziad stared at the people walking by.
"Iran? How in the hell... Captain, were there any warning labels near or on this wand you gave me?"
The Russian turned his attention from the white structure and crowd to Ziad.
"Yes, there was a label that said 'For Research Purposes Only—DO NOT USE!"
Ziad stared.
"Two exclamation marks?"
"Yup."
"Well ain't that just grand."
"At least we're not getting shot by other Russian soldiers in some secret laboratory," said Karpukhin in a wounded tone.
"There is that."
Shlomi accosted one of the people walking by, speaking in what Ziad assumed was Persian. After a brief conversation Shlomi turned back to the group.
"Apparently the President and the Ayatollah Khamenei are giving speeches up there right now. The Ayatollah will be showing up soon- along with about a battalion of soldiers as bodyguards. There's going to be a big protest against them, too. My guess is that the soldiers are going to put it down pretty hard. We should get out of here."
At that moment a convoy of sleek black cars slid up, depositing dozens of black-suited men, clearly bodyguards. Military trucks appeared behind them, and hundreds of soldiers climbed out, setting up a secure perimeter. The doors opened on the third car from the front, and an old man wearing flowing robes and with an equally flowy beard got out and adjusted his glasses. He began walking towards the stage, and the bodyguards and soldiers set up a ring of protection around him.
"That must be Khamenei," said Shlomi. "Shit's about to get real up in here."
As Khamenei climbed up on the stage and began giving a speech, the crowd became increasingly loud, shouting slogans and drowning out the voice of the old man.
Ziad, without thinking, began walking towards the back of the stage.
"Ziad! No, don't!" shouted Shlomi.
One young man advanced through the crowd, pushed through the ring of soldiers and threw a rotten fruit at the stage. The fruit splashed off the podium.
The young man was immediately enveloped in soldiers and viciously beaten.
The crowd got wilder.
The soldiers raised their weapons as what appeared to be a motorcycle gang carrying long chains zoomed towards the increasingly agitated crowd.
"Oh... Crap." muttered Shlomi as he stopped trying to restrain Ziad.
"Who are those guys?"
"That's the Basij. Basically a paramilitary group who beat up protesters," explained Shlomi.
"Wonderful."
Captain Karpukhin was watching the events with a pained expression on his face.
"If there's one thing I hate in this world... It's when people gun down protesters." he muttered. He yanked the charging handle on his rifle and advanced, followed by his soldiers.
Ziad, Shlomi, Dave, and Karpukhin's sister followed.
"You say you want a revolution..." Ziad sang under his breath.
"Wee-eell you know, we all wanna change world..." Dave continued.
"You tell me that it's evolution, well you know. We all wanna change the woo-oorld!" Shlomi belted out.
"But when you talk about destruction..." continued Ziad.
"Don't you know that you can count me IN!" shouted Karpukhin.
The motorcycle gang, the Basij, was among the protesters now, laying about with their chains. The soldiers were involved as well, knocking people about with their rifle-butts. The politicians and the Ayatollah watched impassively.
Captain Karpukhin and his soldiers passed under the massive white arch and hopped up on to the stage. Ziad and company climbed up after him.
Akbar Hashemi Rafsanjani, President of Iran, watched his policemen, soldiers, and militia destroy the protesters.
He was startled, therefore, to feel a cold hard thing nudge the back of his head.
He turned around and saw a young man, probably a teenager, with dark, unkempt hair and sun-browned olive skin, wearing a camouflage pants and a t-shirt with black combat boots, smile as he jammed his rifle further into Rajsanjani's skull.
The teenager spoke in English.
"Why don't you call off those soldiers? I'd rather not give that nice clean white monument a red paint-job."
Ziad held his rifle to the President's head.
The rest of the politicians were being held by Dave and Shlomi. Karpukhin and his men scanned the soldiers, bodyguards, and policemen who had stopped beating the protesters and instead stared at the apparitions that had taken the highest levels of their government hostage.
The protesters slowly recovered themselves, stunned at their apparent victory.
One of the protesters approached the stage and called out in Persian. Shomi responded.
"Why can't we go somewhere where everyone speaks English?" whined Dave as he adjusted his grip on the pistol he held to some politician's head.
Shlomi finished his conversation with the protester and turned to the group.
"Well, it turns out they weren't attempting to overthrow the government and get true secular democratic government like I'd hoped. They were protesting something way, way, way less important. They are, however, grateful that we've effectively got the entire nation at our mercy right now."
"Well... Shit, man." said Ziad, almost speechless, "I didn't know revolution was so easy."
"It usually isn't."
Shlomi sighed.
"Well, my friends, I'm afraid we kind of have to overthrow the entire government of Iran now. If we let them go we're signing our own death warrants, as well as those of the protesters. Plus, as a member of the Israeli security establishment, by setting up a pro-western government here I kind of reduce my workload by eighty percent."
GOVERNMENT OF IRAN HELD HOSTAGE- NEW PROVISIONAL GOVERNMENT TAKES POWER
-Protest in Azadi Square ends in revolution
UN SENDS OFFICIALS TO OVERSEE IRANIAN PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION
-Mere days after revolution and the abolishment of the Ayatollah, Iran holds democratic elections
SALIM GHAZI SAEEDI ELECTED PRESIDENT OF IRAN
-After running on the platform of warming relations with the western powers, particularly the United States and Israel, Saeedi was elected with 58% of the vote on Saturday
Ziad put down the newspaper and took a sip of coffee.
They sat in a hotel cafe, piles of newspapers strewn across the table.
Shlomi yawned.
"Isn't today your birthday?" he asked.
"What's the date?" responded Ziad.
"May fifth, 1997."
"I suppose it is, then. Seventeen. Woooooo."
"Wanna go do something to celebrate? We've been sitting in this hotel room reading and watching the news for two weeks now. Let's go outside, for once."
"I spent a couple of weeks outside driving across western China. That was enough sun for me." responded Ziad.
"But I'm getting bored now, especially since Dave flew back to Ireland. I actually kind of liked that guy, despite the whole 'overthrow Britain' thing."
Ziad sighed and set the coffee down on the table.
"Fine. Let's go do something. But I'm only doing it so you stop complaining. And remember- the last time I did something like this was last summer, in Jerusalem. Do you remember what happened then? Yeah. I got blown up by terrorists. That was super fun."
Shlomi laughed, "Yeah, I don't think that's happening this time. Let's go."
They paid for the coffee and left the hotel.
As Ziad pushed open the door, he spotted a man wearing jeans and a button-down shirt getting out of a car. The man turned towards Ziad and Shlomi.
A faint smirk crossed his face.
Recognition hit Ziad like a ton of bricks.
"Oh, shit."
I suppose I'll have to bring Ziad back to Hogwarts eventually. But right now I'm enjoying having him meander around Asia too much.
Don't worry, though. He'll have to go back soon.