He wanted to draw Kella closer to him by sharing those childhood memories.
17. Tehran: Canadian Embassy
“Please come this way,” Charles Mulcahy, the Canadian Commercial Attaché, said as he led Steve and four other men to a conference room down the corridor from his office. A thin grey-haired man with half glasses over which lively eyes surveyed the newcomers sat at the head of a long mahogany table.
Mulcahy introduced each of the men in turn. “Ambassador Hill, I asked all the Canadian businessmen I could reach on short notice this morning to come in, as you requested. Christopher Breton is our most recent arrival.”
The ambassador, tall, rather gaunt, with a few white hairs decorating his otherwise bald pate, looked around the table with an uneasy grin.
“Gentlemen, welcome to all of you. My meetings with our business people are all too rare. Unfortunately, what brings us together today is not good news. I know you are busy and I will get to the bottom line,” he grinned at his use of a business expression. “I just had a meeting with the Iranian President, and I want to share with you the brunt of his message. Last night, our Prime Minister in Ottawa made some comments about the arrest of twenty Bahais in Iran a few days ago. He said that their arrest was ‘unacceptable.’”
Steve saw heads shaking around the table. He heard the word “stupidity” from one of the other businessmen. The ambassador ignored the comment and continued.
“As I could have told him, his remarks are creating a minor firestorm here. There are three hundred thousand Baha’is in Iran. According to the Baha’i leadership, more than two hundred have been executed or killed since the 1979 revolution. Many have left and over thirty thousand have resettled in Canada. So the treatment of the Baha’is in Iran has become a relevant political issue in Ottawa. Our Baha’i community is continuously asking the Canadian authorities to ensure that their relatives and co-religionists are treated according to the Universal Declaration of Human Rights.”
A man seated to Steve’s right, who he guessed had been the source of the prior interruption, said, “With all due respect, Mr. Ambassador, what’s the real bottom line?”
“The president lectured me at some length that Canada’s behavior itself was unacceptable, that Canada had breached the rules of diplomacy, and that there would be ‘consequences.’ I wouldn’t have called you here except that one of his options is to boot all Canadians out of the country, an all-inclusive persona non grata.”
The same man, heavy set with a beefy face and thinning black hair, said, “Well, my wife will be delighted. When do we leave?”
“Don’t pack your bags yet. I doubt that everyone will have to leave. It would be a first in the history of international relations. The president said he was seeking advice from his intelligence chief or, since he’s currently under arrest, Ali Mousavi, the security chief for the IRGC. Mousavi and the president seem to be allies.”
Another businessman said, “Kicking out foreign business may make him feel good, but it hurts Iran as much as us.”
“That is a point I made. Since the P.M. passed the baton to Mousavi, I suspect that the decision will not be made on economic grounds but on his perception of national security.”
“In what way?” Steve asked
“If any of you, or anyone on my staff, has been in touch with the Baha’i community here in Iran, Mousavi won’t think twice about taking action.”
Steve thought all this to be a waste of his time, that it had nothing to do with him and that the likely “PNG” candidates were either Ambassador Hill himself or one of his officers. On the other hand, being called in with other businessmen reinforced his cover and he resisted fidgeting.
The meeting was coming to a close when a matronly woman with reddish hair and a green dress opened the door to the room. She motioned to the ambassador and said, “You have a phone call.” Hill didn’t move and she added, “that you need to take.”
Hill motioned to everyone to wait then left the room.
He returned five minutes later with a somber mien. “The situation has moved faster than I thought. I am summoned again. They want to kick out Charley,” he nodded toward Mulcahy, “and you.” This time, he looked at Steve. “You’re both accused of having had unauthorized contacts with the Baha’i Community.”
18. Langley: Director’s Office
Deuel picked up his phone after Mary’s voice on his intercom informed him, “Aaron Glick is on.” Glick was the managing editor of the Washington Tribune, and Deuel had initiated the call.
“Aaron, your reporter David Bonifacio called our Public Affairs office to ask for comments on his article, the one about Iran. Why do I have this déjà-vu feeling? He gives us a short fuse deadline, one that he knows we can’t possibly meet so that he can say in his column, “The CIA was offered the opportunity to comment but declined.”
“Why, Walter. What a pleasure. It’s been too long.”
“No, not long enough.” He laughed. “You’re like my dentist, the less I see you, the better I feel.”
“You have to admit, Wally, I’m essential to the basic wellbeing of the Republic.”
Deuel’s father had encouraged Walter to follow in his footsteps, to be a foreign correspondent. “Be where the action is,” he said. Walter had worked for the Tribune one summer and decided that the newspaper business was just another business. He had no problems with the profit motive but not when it masqueraded as the soul of the nation and, self-elected, claimed the inalienable right to influence policy under the guise of informing the American people. He decided that he would rather support the elected government of the United States by stealing other countries’ secrets to enable policy makers to reach wise foreign policy decisions. That had always brought him to where the action was.
Dismissing Glick’s jocular tone, Deuel said, “What about Bonifacio’s article? You can’t possibly be serious about publishing it. The security of the Republic to which you claim to be essential will suffer. Your article will interfere with our mission to protect this Republic.”
“Are you now confirming the facts of the article? That the CIA has a deep cover officer in Iran working on the nuclear program?”
Deuel assumed that Glick was recording the conversation, or he had it on speaker phone with the paper’s General Counsel in the room taking notes, or both. He could imagine the editor gesturing and pointing at the phone! He got up and began pacing, the cordless phone in one hand and his dead cigar in the other.
“You know I’m not confirming anything of the sort. That we have deep cover operatives in various countries is well known. All spy services do. If all the ghost officers that your and other publications maintain that we have really existed, they could all link hands and circle the world and our budget would be higher than the national deficit. Have you thought of doing an article on the hostile operatives in this country? Now, that would help the Republic.”
Sounding disappointed, Glick said, “Walter, in the past, we have not been as aggressive as we should have. We could have prevented the Iraq War, a mistake of historical proportions, and the sad events at Abu Ghraib would not have taken place. Lives would have been saved. We would have been spared the Guantanamo abuses. Need I go on? This is our chance to avoid another gigantic mistake.”
Deuel stopped in front of his picture window and gazed absentmindedly at a cardinal circling and landing in the branches of the oak below. He said, “Without reliving the events leading to the war, let me remind you that the lesson of 9/11 was that we were at war. We really had been at war for some time, but we willingly ignored the killings of CIA officers and other Americans abroad, and the attack on the U.S.S. Cole. After 9/11, the priority was to prevent another attack.
Everyone agreed that Iraq was a potential supplier of chemical, biological and nuclear weapons to the terrorists.”
His voice rose in sound and passion. “Christ! Aaron, we’re still at war! Iran wants to be the dominant power in the Middle East and is ready to annih
ilate Israel to do it. Even if the Islamic Republic doesn’t attack the Jewish State, it would still become an irresistible force. Don’t think that Saudi Arabia, Egypt, and others won’t get their own nukes. Will this make the world safer? I’m telling you that your article will harm the country. It’s your country too, isn’t it?”
A hawk circling above the oak seemed to have the cardinal in his sights. “Now Walter, don’t wave the flag at me. This operation, if indeed you have one in Iran, will cause unintended consequences.”
“Why does your publication always assume either that we are wrong or that we will fail? We are a risk-taking organization. By definition, results from risk-taking are never a sure thing, or it wouldn’t be called risk, would it? That’s our job. Unfortunately, that’s the type of information that earns Pulitzers. Aaron, I’m asking you not to print this article.”
“Walter, I don’t think that I can do that. Let me review it one more time. I will hold it for a day or so. No other promises. Let’s be clear.”
“Aaron, just one more thought. If you run this story and we don’t succeed, I will remind you of this conversation. One way or the other, Aaron, you’ll never be able to go back to Israel.” Deuel knew that Glick’s son had celebrated his Bar Mitzvah in Israel the year before.
There was slight pause. “Walter, are you threatening?”
Speaking with less volume but equal intensity, Deuel replied, “Absolutely not. I thought we were talking about unintended consequences.”
“We’ll pick this up tomorrow. Goodbye.”
The cardinal emerged from his branch heading toward the trees around the VIP parking lot. The hawk curled his wings and plunged like a missile to intercept his prey. They both disappeared from Deuel’s sight, and he returned to his desk.
In his office, Aaron Glick picked up the draft article from his desk and read it again.
THE CIA AND RISK/REWARD IN IRAN, by David Bonifacio The CIA’s HUMINT, human spying – the only sure way to learn what the enemy’s intentions are – has always been suspect; witness Iraq. However, the CIA has recently decided to blunder ahead, this time in Iran. The CIA is risking our foreign policy in the Middle East on its ability to do HUMINT right. Has it heard of the risk-reward approach, weighing the potential risk against the potential reward?
Spying, or as KGB spy Kim Philby described it, “Acquiring secrets illegally,” has never been America’s favorite pastime, nor its strength. As a people, we have never gone beyond the principle expressed by former Secretary of State Henry L. Stimson, ‘Gentlemen don’t read each other’s mail’.
He skimmed ahead.
However, a high definition satellite photograph of tanks doesn’t inform policy makers whether the tanks will attack. Capabilities are easy. Intentions are harder.
Espionage is illegal in all countries. To do their jobs without getting caught, spies need cover like the human body needs air. Would it be rational to populate our new Interest Section in the Swiss Embassy in Tehran with spies, in effect giving them diplomatic cover? Wasn’t that our mistake in 1979? Is the national memory long enough to recall “The Nest of Spies” episode? Or will the CIA send its spies under business cover, what the CIA terms “out-of-embassy”? If they get arrested, how will we react? Deny their existence and let them die in the name of incompetence? Submit to Iranian blackmail to save them? In any case, the hope for fruitful bilateral relations with the most dangerous country in the Middle East could be destroyed.
Is the CIA making a grievous error and leading us into problems much more serious, and lethal, than not knowing exactly the number of atomic weapons that Iran is building? If this administration is successful in engaging Iran in a civil diplomatic exchange – we know that threats and bullying have not worked (Surprise!) –we will finesse the danger that the CIA may very well trigger. A high level official has stated anonymously that we already know what we need to know about Iran’s intentions. Their saber rattling is mostly for domestic consumption, bluster without the ability to back it up.
Iran is now in the middle of a political campaign. It would dearly like to catch an American spy and put him up in front of the world’s cameras to ridicule the Great Satan yet again. Will we never learn?
Is the military-industrial complex looking for a reason to “nuke Iran”? Is the danger of possible war worth the questionable reward of a high-risk HUMINT operation managed by an organization with a poor track record?
Glick put the paper back on his desk. It was more of an op-ed. than a news article, but it still belonged on the front page. He stood, took a step outside of his office and said, “Rachel, tell Bonifacio to come up.”
19. Tehran: Mousavi’s Office
Ambassador Hill’s driver took the Modares Expressway north, then Hemmat Highway east, and then entered the VEVAK complex, the former headquarters for SAVAK, the Shah’s internal security service. Since the arrest of the Minister for Intelligence, Seyyed Mahmoud Hashemi Shahroudi, for not having foreseen and prevented the murder of a radical imam and of several hard line politicians, Mousavi was temporarily occupying Shahroudi’s offices.
Steve, Mulcahy, and the ambassador stepped out of the car. Milad Tower, at 435 meters and one of the tallest structures in the world, loomed a bit farther to the west. The ambassador had allowed himself to be persuaded to seek the appointment with Mousavi based on the words of both Mulcahy and Steve that neither had anything to do with the Baha’i issue and that there was some mistake. Steve, convinced that he could carry out his mission successfully, was damned if he would leave without a fight.
Knowing he was blameless of the charge against him, he felt confident yet apprehensive. After all, this was the guy who would move heaven and earth to find an American spy in Iran. Well, one was about to walk in his office. Steve wondered if he wasn’t outsmarting himself. Mousavi had an impressive reputation, no a bloody reputation. Yet, Steve told himself, he can’t read minds.
As they walked to the front gate, he glanced at Mulcahy, who winked at him with a thin grin.
With Ambassador Hill leading the way, they were met in front of the security office by a tall thin man in a suit, white shirt but no tie. He bowed slightly but ceremoniously to the ambassador, nodded at Steve and Mulcahy when introduced, and took them past the guards to a winding and carpeted stairway. They made a right into a somber corridor on the first floor. Steve could barely see the framed art on the walls, their frames and mats dwarfing the actual paintings. By getting very close, he was able to make one out depicting two turbaned horsemen charging each other.
The aide brought them to a waiting room and said, “I will tell the minister that you are here.” He disappeared behind a door that gave them a glimpse of a large office on the other side. They all looked at each other reacting to his apparently new title.
Twenty minutes later, the aide returned and motioned them into Mousavi’s office. Near to the door and near the wall was a chess table. The pawns were foot soldiers armed with short swords and shields. The knight pieces were warriors on rearing battle steeds. All were finely crafted in onyx, and each was different.
Steve paused a moment to admire them. Each side, white and black, had taken one move and apparently abandoned the game to return later. Steve quickened his step to catch up with the ambassador. They walked over a large Iranian rug toward a desk in the back that looked to Steve as if it could be from a movie set depicting the office of Cardinal Richelieu, except that Louis XIII’s eminence rouge probably didn’t have a picture of an ayatollah wearing a black turban on his wall.
Mousavi seemed undecided whether to rise from his chair but did when the men reached his desk. The aide introduced the three Canadians. Without smiling, Mousavi motioned them to a couch and two chairs to one side of the desk. He motioned to his aide who backed up to a position near the door but stayed inside.
The ambassador congratulated Mousavi on his new position in reaction to which Mousavi, in a futile gesture, tried to pat down his unruly hair.
As a
young boy dressed in white trousers and long sleeve shirt brought a tray with tea and tea cups, Mousavi asked each of his guests how long they had been in Iran. When Steve said, four days, Mousavi seemed surprised.
“Have you travelled out of Tehran? Have you seen the culture of our country?”
“No, sir. I have been making appointments with officials about my business here. I hope to interest your government in economizing on energy costs.”
Mousavi took a lighter out of his pocket and began to manipulate it absentmindedly. “Energy? We have oil. We soon will have nuclear power, in spite of the Americans. How can you help?” He smiled indulgently.
“Sir, all industries are affected by temperatures. Both people and machinery need a constant temperature to work at their most efficient rate, especially high tech industries such as nuclear power, and any activity that uses large computers. My company has set the standard for temperature controls. For example, we can make computers operate longer without failures by maintaining constant cool temperatures plus or minus one-tenth of a degree.”
Mousavi, still turning the lighter in his hand, said, “It is too bad, Mr. Breton, that you will not be able pursue this business matter. It sounds interesting.” He looked at his aide, then at the ambassador. “Why does your government believe it has the right to criticize what happens in Iran? We don’t interfere with your internal affairs, and if Canada wishes to maintain an embassy here, neither will Canada interfere with ours.”
Hill looked pained but replied, “That is completely understood, Mr. Minister. I met with your President two days ago. My Prime Minister was merely reflecting the human rights principles that all peoples’ rights be upheld. The view was expressed by some Canadian citizens that their co-religionists in Iran be treated fairly. This is not an extraordinary standard. It is part of the U.N.’s Declaration of Human Rights”
Satan's Spy (The Steve Church saga Book 2) Page 10