Then They Came for Me_ A Family's Story of Love, Captivity, and Survival - Maziar Bahari [101]
The Guards had chosen three people to connect the reformists with foreign governments. I was supposed to be the media connection, Tajbakhsh was the connection to foreign nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), and Hossein Rassam, a political adviser to the British embassy, was the connection to foreign embassies in Tehran.
Part of Rassam’s job as political adviser was to meet different political figures in the country and write papers for the British embassy staff based on those conversations and his own analyses. Rassam had held that position for years with no interference, until two weeks after the election, when he was arrested and charged with espionage. By arresting the three of us and parading us in front of television cameras, the Guards hoped to convince Iranians that the postelection unrest had been provoked by foreigners.
Rassam was going to be tried on a later day, but Tajbakhsh and I were among the first to be put on trial. I was taken to the Imam Khomeini Judicial Complex, in central Tehran, and led to a small office in the back of the building. As I followed the guard, I caught a glimpse of Tajbakhsh in a smaller room across the hall. He was sitting at a small table with Rosewater, going through a series of notes. I was surprised to see Rosewater there, and his presence confirmed one of my fears: that he was a high-ranking member of the Revolutionary Guards, responsible for high-level prisoners. I wished for the chance to speak to Tajbakhsh, but knew it would not come. He was being guarded by several men.
One of the guards in the room where I was taken had been part of the team who had raided my house and arrested me. He’d been in charge of keeping an inventory of my confiscated DVDs and equipment.
“How are you, Mr. Bahari?” he asked with a smile. “How is your mother? Have you seen her since that day?” I thanked him and said that she’d visited me a few days ago.
“Mr. Bahari’s mother is a very strong woman,” the guard told another man. The mention of Moloojoon’s name made me really proud. There was a newspaper lying on the table, and I managed to read one headline before the guard grabbed it: something about the dangers of swine flu for pilgrims in Mecca.
“I guess the swine flu is a real problem,” I said to the guard, hoping to distract him so I could focus on watching Rosewater and Tajbakhsh in the other room. From what I could hear, Rosewater was telling Tajbakhsh what to say.
Rosewater glanced up and caught my eye. “Don’t look!” he yelled as he jumped up and ran at me. I lowered my head, preparing for his punch. Instead, he leaned over me and moved his jacket so I could see his gun in its holster.
“Do you know him?” Rosewater asked, referring to Tajbakhsh.
“Not personally,” I said. “Is it Kian Tajbakhsh?”
“No, it’s my aunt!” he answered.
Rosewater told the other guards in the room to leave. “Listen, Maziar,” he said. “There are dozens of former ministers and members of parliament in the courtroom right now. They’re all admitting to their crimes and dishing the dirt about each other. Why do you think you’re so different from them?” He ran his fingers through my gelled hair. “Nice haircut,” he said. “It will be such a pity if the last time your mother sees her beautiful son is on television.” Then he slapped me hard on the head.
“Listen, you bacheh khoshgel”—you pretty boy—“you either name everyone on the list I gave you and apologize to the supreme leader for breaking his heart, or you’re going to be sentenced today and executed a few days from now.” He slapped me on the head again and opened the door. “It’s your choice to live and see your mother, or die for Mousavi and Rafsanjani.” He shut the door behind