Rafik Hariri, the billionaire Lebanese tycoon who rebuilt war-damaged Beirut and twice served as Lebanon's prime minister had just left Café de l'Etoile outside the Lebanese parliament in downtown Beirut and boarded his armoured S-600 Mercedes. It was just past noon on a warm Valentine's Day, 2005, and his convoy of five well-armed vehicles sped off toward the city's seafront and his personal headquarters in West Beirut.
At the café, Mr. Hariri, who was trying to form a new government, let it be known to some journalists and political operatives that his relations with Damascus were at an all-time low. He said he planned to drop some pro-Syrian MPs from his prospective coalition and objected strongly to Syria wanting to extend the term of the sitting Lebanese president beyond its constitutional mandate of six years. The president, Emile Lahoud had always been closely linked to Syria's new president, Bashar al-Assad, even when Mr. Lahoud was Lebanon's army chief, and Bashar was a president in training under his father.
The blast that killed Mr. Hariri and 21 others that day as the convoy sped past the seaside St. George hotel could be heard for miles around. There had been lots of bombings during the Lebanese civil war but nothing as powerful as this, not since the 1983 bombing of the U.S. marine barracks in Beirut that killed 241.
Reverberations from the blast still are being felt.
On Thursday, this week, in a former basketball court outside The Hague, four men associated with the powerful Shia militia group Hezbollah went on trial in absentia, charged with carrying out the deadly Hariri bombing. (A fifth defendant, named a year ago, has not yet been included in the trial.)
None of the men has been apprehended or turned over to authorities but, after nine years of investigation and $325-million, it is hoped the Special Tribunal for Lebanon, authorized by the United Nations Security Council, will bring a modicum of justice to the nation.
In some ways the proceedings are a charade. Should any of the men be convicted, then turn up or surrender later, they would be entitled to a completely new trial, in order to defend themselves, in keeping with the standards of international justice.
Of course, it is unlikely the men ever will surface. More likely, they are buried somewhere in the Bekaa Valley on Lebanon's eastern border with Syria. Those who ordered the assassination of the man called Mr. Lebanon aren't likely to take a chance on the hit men remaining silent.
Ten years before Mr. Hariri's death, I sat with the then-prime minister during his heady first term in office.
It was a Friday, the Muslim day of rest, and the one concession he made to his Sunni Islamic faith was not to go to his office on the Sabbath. The office, however, came to him. A steady stream of officials, MPs and diplomats filed into his lush garden that afternoon, forcing us to put our conversation on pause.
Work had just begun on the massive urban reconstruction project that only now is nearing completion, and it was clear Mr. Hariri was facing opposition to his plans – some people called it too grand and expensive; others noted the absence of any hospitals or schools in the grand design.
Mr. Hariri was a man of great ambition but little tolerance for critics. Asked about some of these objections, he rose from his chair and walked off his anger before he carefully answered.
He recalled the building of modern Paris at the end of the 19th century. "People criticized that project, too," he said. "Now it is the most beautiful city in the world."
When criticism of his scheme had reached a new high in Parliament a few weeks earlier, the prime minister simply announced he was resigning and stormed out of his office.
Walking out "is my only source of power," he told me, smiling. He banked on his critics still wanting his financial backing for the project.
After several days, it was Hafez al-Assad, then ruler of Syria, who persuaded Mr. Hariri to return to work.
Syria agreed to support Mr. Hariri's request that Parliament vote to amend the constitution and extend the term of the then-president, Elias Hrawi.
Mr. Hariri liked working with Mr. Hrawi but, more than that, he wanted to avoid having the pro-Syrian army chief, Emile Lahoud, becoming president for as long as possible.
The confident Mr. Hariri never wanted the Syrian military and secret police in Lebanon but, as long as they were there, he believed he could make deals with their leaders.
He believed it even on that fateful day in 2005. But Syrian President Bashar al-Assad appears to have an even lower tolerance for critics.
While the Hariri grave, not far from the Café de l'Etoile, is a popular spot for visitors to Beirut's resurrected financial district, it is not the only grave to which people make pilgrimage in the capital.
In Dahieh, at the south end of the city, amid the poor apartment buildings of the country's burgeoning Shia population and the headquarters of Hezbollah, is the grave of Imad Mughniyeh, a former Hezbollah military commander.
Mr. Mughniyeh was among the very first Lebanese Shiites to be trained by Iran's Republican Guard in the days following Israel's 1982 invasion. Mr. Mughniyeh, who became a founder of Hezbollah, masterminded that 1983 truck bomb attack on the U.S. Marine barracks, along with several other western and Israeli targets. Mr. Mughniyeh, himself, was killed by a car bomb in Damascus in 2008.
On Monday, as representatives from many Western countries paid their last respects to Ariel Sharon, the Israeli commander who had masterminded that Israeli invasion, Iranian Foreign Minister Mohammad Zarif paid a visit to Beirut and made a point of laying a wreath at Mr. Mughniyeh's gravestone.
It was a stark reminder of Iran's paternal relationship with Hezbollah, and a warning that Tehran will protect its protegé, as it protects Syria, from the Special Tribunal for Lebanon or any other body that threatens it.