Page 1 of Grave Danger
Prologue
Tehran
October 2022
Ava Bazzi hurried across Keshavarz Boulevard in the center of Tehran, her daughter’s tiny fingers clamped tightly in her own. The asphalt was warm beneath the thin leather soles of her tan pumps, and the sidewalk was even hotter. A headscarf would not have been her personal preference on this unusually warm autumn morning, but religious law required it.
The Bazzi family—Ava, her husband, Farid, and their four-year-old daughter, Yasmin—had been living in London since Yasmin was an infant, so the return to Iran was a bit of an adjustment. Still, it wasn’t the way her friends in London thought, all with the Western misconception that black was the only acceptable color for head coverings. Ava favored fashionable and colorful compliance with the Islamic Republic’s modesty laws. A yellow scarf with a hint of jasmine flowers. Capri pants cut just above the ankle. And a loose-fitting silk blouse with three-quarter-length sleeves, a neckline that showed no cleavage, and a tail long enough to cover the curve of her behind.
The street vendors were in good spirits, singing and calling out to potential customers. The familiar aroma of thick black coffee wafted from a small café. Some things in Tehran never change, but so much of what Ava remembered from her childhood had become almost unrecognizable. Keshavarz was once a tree-lined boulevard of pristine beauty and elegance, home to the elite of the Islamic Republic. But now many of the magnificenttrees had been cut down, and the grandiose buildings had been turned into government offices and classrooms.
“You’re hurting my hand, Mommy,” said Yasmin.
Ava was squeezing too tight, for sure. It was an overreaction to the more worrisome changes she’d noticed on her return from London.
Barely a month had passed since the arrest of Mahsa Amini, a twenty-two-year-old woman who committed the crime of showing her hair in violation of the modesty laws. Her senseless death in custody, at the hands of the brutal morality police, triggered worldwide outrage and mass protests across the country. The Iranian regime’s ruthless crackdown on demonstrators only fueled further protests. Right on Keshavarz, not far from Yasmin’s school, sixteen-year-old Nika Shakarami had joined street protesters and was last seen being shoved into a police van. Ten days later, the morality police delivered her battered body to her family, claiming that Shakarami had committed suicide by jumping off a building. Soon after, Sarina Esmailzadeh, also sixteen, was bludgeoned to death with batons by security forces at a protest in Karaj. The crackdown then moved from the streets to the classrooms as security forces raided the Shahid girls’ high school in Ardabil and demanded that a group of students sing a pro-regime song. Sixteen-year-old Asra Panahi refused and was beaten to death. Human rights groups estimated that, since Amini’s arrest on September 13, victims of the regime numbered in the hundreds, and the murder of schoolgirls had every mother in Iran worried sick—including Ava.
“Walk faster,” said Ava.
“I can’t go any faster,” said Yasmin.
An old woman dressed in a black charoud passed Ava on the sidewalk, clicking her tongue in disapproval of the younger woman’s interpretation of “modest” attire. A rectangular opening in her black veil revealed only the woman’s eyes, though in just that passing glance, Ava felt the weighty glare of an entire society: a tradition that must be kept, a truth that cannot be questioned, a morality whose nature is absolute, a law that cannot be broken, changed, or resisted.
They stopped at the iron gate just off the boulevard. The sign at the entrance to the playground readGirls’ School, Shahid. Compulsory education in Iran did not begin until age six, but Ava and her husband were in agreement that Yasmin would start pre-primary at four. The large two-story building was made of white bricks, with heavy entrance doors and orange shutters that flanked the windows. The second floor was for older girls, ages nine to thirteen. A black hijab was mandatory starting in kindergarten. A simple white headscarf with a red headband singled out Yasmin and her classmates as preschoolers.
As they entered through the gate, the atmosphere in the schoolyard was noticeably tense. The teachers seemed nervous, and the girls were huddled together in small groups, whispering.
“I don’t want to go to school,” said Yasmin.
Ava took a deep breath, trying to push away the fear that had become a permanent fixture in her mind. She knew that Yasmin’s education was crucial, but she also knew that the safety and well-being of her daughter could not be guaranteed in a place where girls were beaten and killed for simply expressing themselves.
“Mommy, did you hear me? I don’t want to go to school.”
Ava gently stroked Yasmin’s hair and crouched down to meet her daughter’s eyes. “I know it’s scary right now, but it’s important to keep going to school and learning. You’re going to be strong and smart, and if you go to school, you can be anything you want to be when you grow up.”
Yasmin’s expression softened. “Can I be an astronaut?”
“Sure.”
“A doctor?”
“Without a doubt.”
“A lawyer?”
“We’ll talk.”
Yasmin’s teacher came to greet them in the yard. Ava gave her daughter a kiss, handed her over to the teacher, and watched withtrepidation as they disappeared into the building through the double doors.
As Ava turned to leave, she caught sight of a familiar face. Javad, a childhood friend she hadn’t seen in years, was dropping off his daughter. They made eye contact, and a smile spread across Javad’s face.
“Ava, it’s good to see you!” Javad said. “I thought you and Farid were living in London.”
“We just moved back.”
“How did Farid’s hotel business work out?”
Farid and his business partners owned six boutique hotels in Iran that catered to international travelers, each with a high-end Persian restaurant. With Ava’s support and encouragement, he’d developed a business plan to expand to London.