Waterworks

by Jack Winnick

  Suddenly, a large figure in uniform appeared at her door. She instantly recognized the sinister major about whom Tom had warned her: Sarash Asani. He tapped lightly on the glass and entered, his uniform cap under his arm, a warm smile on his face.

  “Sorry to startle you,” he said in a friendly manner. “I am Major Asani. Sarash, if you would. I work for General Gharoub. Perhaps you know of me.”

  Lara, a little unsettled, tried to maintain her composure. “A pleasure, Major, I’m sure. How can I help you?”

  “The general himself would have introduced us, but, unfortunately, he is away on some urgent matter in the field.” He handed her a simple business card with his picture in the top left corner and his title below: Maj. Sarash Asani, Head, Counterintelligence Division. A phone number was printed at the bottom right.

  Lara compared the photo with the man standing before her, smiled, and offered him a chair. She did not extend her hand to him. He returned the smile and sat down, placing his cap on his lap.

  “You are Ms. Daria Haddad, are you not?”

  “I am, yes. How can I be of assistance?” she repeated.

  Asani was not put off at all by her curt manner; he continued unfazed. “The general has given me glowing assessments of your capabilities; I am indeed overwhelmed with your skills, even at this early time in your employment here.” Again, the warm, toothy smile. “There is much you can do to help us in our fight against the Western interlopers. Believe me, we can certainly use your assistance. Here is a letter of introduction from General Gharoub.” He handed her an envelope with the general’s embossed name and title. She opened it and removed a smoothly creased letter stating exactly what the major had told her, followed by a request to give him any aid that she could. It was signed in his hand; she compared it with a memo she had from him on her desk.

  Lara could not help but be pleased with this introduction. The head of counterintelligence might be of even greater use to her. Warning or not, she would like to see what this man had to offer. “All right, Major, I would be happy to do whatever I can.”

  “Please excuse me if this seems at all forward, but I would like to discuss what I have in mind in a less public place. The Divan restaurant on Fayazi Boulevard. Do you know of it?”

  “Yes, of course. I have not been there myself, but I understand it is quite nice.” She had indeed heard of it; it was one of the most expensive restaurants in Tehran. “When did you have in mind?”

  “Tomorrow night if it is convenient, say, seven p.m.?”

  “I would like to check with General Gharoub, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all,” the courteous Asani responded. “You have his direct line?”

  “Yes, I do, thanks. I’ll phone him this afternoon.”

  “Well, then,” Asani said smiling broadly, “until tomorrow. Oh, would you like my driver to pick you up?”

  “Thank you, but I prefer to take a taxi, if that’s all right.”

  “Of course,” he said happily, rising from his chair. “Until then. Oh, if there is some problem, you can contact me at the number on my card.”

  * * *

  Lara finished work that day without further interruption and cleared her desk. There were no messages of any importance in the transcriptions she read through in the afternoon, mainly arrival times of packages that were already available to the Iranians from their satellites and drones. She logged them in anyway and then headed home as usual, eager to relay the day’s events to Tom. Sara met her at the door, curious about her day at work. Lara’s position in the secret fortress in the foothills of the mountains held a fascination for all the residents of Tehran. Few, however, had ever even seen it, let alone been inside.

  Of course, Lara told her nothing about her job. But she did offer her the news of the dinner invitation she had for the following night. Major Asani, it happens, was a local celebrity, often seen hosting starlets and other lovely young women at various nightclubs. Sara was near breathless. She immediately offered Lara a lovely crimson head scarf for the evening. It would go well, actually, with the floral blouse she had decided to wear; she accepted gracefully. But first, she had to keep her word about phoning General Gharoub about the dinner plan. She went to her room, and after washing up and cleaning her lenses, she used her local phone to reach Gharoub. One of his lieutenants answered on two rings. She explained the details of her meeting with Asani; the lieutenant asked her to wait for him to confer with the general. After what seemed like twenty minutes but what was actually about five, he returned to the line to say that all was well, and she could accept the invitation to dinner.

  That bit of business finished, she placed a call to Tom on her secure phone. Typical of him, he answered instantly; she knew well how vital her assignment was. When he heard of the invitation to dinner, he seemed delighted. “By all means!” he exclaimed. “I wonder what’s on his mind . . . you know what I mean.”

  “Of course.” She laughed. “I’ll be careful. It’s a very public place, you know. And no alcohol.”

  “All for the best. Call when you get home, OK?”

  “You bet, Tom,” she said, as if she were a teenager on her first date. Refreshed and relaxed after these calls, she changed and went down to dinner, hoping not to have to field any more details of her day at work.

  Chapter 17

  The next day flew by as Lara plowed through more mundane communiqués intercepted by the Iranian field offices. She did contact Major Asani’s staff and left a message saying their “meeting” that night was confirmed. The lieutenant who took the call sounded as though he was used to hearing of such meetings. Oh well. She left work slightly early in an attempt to beat the traffic and be at the restaurant, which was in a well-known mall, on time. Arriving home in a hurry, much to the amusement of her hosts, she hustled upstairs to wash up, change, and make it to the restaurant on time, or close to it. There was no time to call Tom; she had really nothing to tell him, anyway. She looked herself over in the mirror; the red head scarf really did set off the rest of her outfit. She looked a bit glamorous, she thought, but certainly not provocative.

  Not wanting to advertise where she was living, Lara walked to a small shopping center three blocks from home before making a call for a taxi. The cool air coming down from the mountains felt pleasant on her face, especially after a day in the office air-conditioning. Only a few people were out in the darkling twilight, and she was able to gather her thoughts as she walked. This was the first real chance she’d had to consider what Major Asani was up to. She certainly hoped it was work-related and not a date.

  It was already past 6:00 p.m., so Lara hoped the traffic would allow her to be reasonably prompt. She didn’t want to appear too eager; at the same time, there was no point in being rudely late. The taxi appeared in ten minutes. She gave the driver the name of the large mall where the Divan was located but not the restaurant name. As she feared, the traffic was bad, and she arrived at the mall ten minutes late. She paid the driver and made sure he was gone from the mall parking lot before she headed to the elegant restaurant, one of the finest in the city.

  She entered and instantly saw a beaming Major Asani waiting patiently for her. This time, she allowed him to take her hand as a staff member led them to the VIP “Red Room.” Lara couldn’t help but be impressed with the opulence that exuded from this remarkable location. Only four tables were set in this two-story chamber; they were led to a table for two in the back of the room, away from the door but not isolated. The high ceilings and ornate chandeliers seemed to keep the carpeted room luxuriously quiet. Huge portraits of Persian kings and, of course, current political and religious leaders hung on the walls between the enormous, finely draped windows. Through the north-facing window, she was able to see the snow-covered Alborz mountains under the bright full moon. It was quite impressive.

  Their table, like all the others, was black-lacquered, as were the chairs. A fine white linen cloth along with two matching napkins graced the table, she note
d, as the host deftly held her chair for her. Only after he left did Asani speak to her. “You look lovely,” he said, his eyes gleaming.

  Oh no, thought Lara, not a pass, please.

  “Please don’t misunderstand. I mean that only as a compliment, nothing more.” He smiled as though asking for understanding. She returned the smile graciously.

  He quickly changed the subject when he saw her discomfort. “Would you allow me to order for us?” he asked as the impassive waiter silently slid menus in front of them.

  “Yes, that would be fine,” she said, noticing he was wearing a glistening chest full of medals she hadn’t seen before. She didn’t know whether he was trying to impress her or the waitstaff.

  “Would you like to start with a cocktail? Nonalcoholic, of course,” he added quickly. Alcohol was legally banned in all of Iran. Which meant it existed only on the sly.

  “Yes, do they serve ma’osh sha’ir? I prefer the lemon flavor.” This was a fermented zero-alcohol brew she had tasted at her temporary home.

  Asani instantly ordered two of the fruit-flavored drinks for them; they appeared almost as quickly, in cocktail glasses with slices of lemon on the lip. They appeared for all the world like drinks served to teenagers anywhere else. As Lara sipped the ice-cold drink, Asani quietly indicated to the waiter the items on the menu he would like to order. Lara had a chance to glance at the prices; they were astonishing for Iran. A modest dinner would cost the equivalent of $100 a person! He was going all-out, it seemed.

  The waiter left them, and the major proceeded with small talk, asking about her accommodations and how she was finding life in the big city. “Just fine,” she replied. Her hosts had been selected for her by the Homeland assets after she had been selected for the interview. She had decided to stay on with the two women after she was chosen for the job. Lara neglected to tell him where precisely this was, but implied it was within the city in an agreeable location. This seemed to satisfy him, as the first course of their expensive dinner arrived.

  Grilled chicken appetizers served on pastries came first. They were delicious—tasty and delicate. Lara was impressed. The portions were small, just as Lara preferred. A cold pitcher of rosewater was brought to the table at the same time as their cocktails were removed, and their wineglasses filled with the subtle liquid. They had barely finished the chicken before the next course appeared: lamb shank in a saffron sauce. Again, the portions were small and carefully presented on colorful vegetables. Lara hardly had time to compliment Asani on his choices before their plates were removed and the main course appeared. This was the beef kebab kateh: skewered filet mignon cubes served on crispy rice and steamed vegetables. Once again, the portions were small enough for Lara to comfortably eat all she wanted.

  “Be sure to allow for dessert,” Asani said with a gracious smile as she finished. “It’s fantastic.”

  “Oh, I don’t know . . .”

  “At least give it a try. You must.” He signaled to the waiter, who promptly had the attendant remove the dishes, after which he presented them with dishes of fruit-colored ice cream surrounded by slices of local fresh fruit and sprigs of flowers. It was breathtaking. Against her better judgment, she managed to consume about half her portion.

  It was only after the table was cleared that Asani assumed an attitude that indicated he had something to present to her. The few other diners in the Red Room had already left, and they were quite alone. Major Asani had apparently arranged for the bill beforehand. Lara held her breath, hoping it was not what she feared. “You know,” he said quietly, leaning over the table, “your performance so far is even more impressive than your excellent credentials led us to believe. I say this with all sincerity; you have surpassed our highest expectations.”

  Lara raised her hand in silent protest.

  “No, I am serious.” He paused and looked carefully around the room, then said in even a lower voice: “You know, of course, of our coming plans?”

  Lara just nodded, taken aback by this change in the direction of the conversation. She assumed he was referring to the coming attack on the San Francisco waterworks. In the few seconds of silence, she directed her full attention at the major as she waited for his next words.

  “We failed dismally in our last attempt, as you know.” Lara did not respond; she hung on the ensuing presentation. He must have had this place checked out for bugs, she thought to herself. “Well, I know you’ve been informed, at least casually, about our coming campaign in the . . . north.” Her body language indicated agreement. “Well, for us to fully utilize your skills, I feel you should see our capabilities in this regard.”

  Lara went into high-alert mode; she hoped he did not detect it.

  “Tomorrow, I would like to take you on a tour of our facilities so you can see for yourself what we intend to do. It should help you; that is, as you do your job, to see what our . . . adversaries . . . know and do not know.”

  This was almost too good to be true. Lara was transfixed.

  “Of course, Major. I should be very interested to learn our plans.” He seemed relieved at her response.

  “Well, then, I know you have an early day at work tomorrow; shall we say noon for our little tour? I will pick you up at the general’s office.” He rose and stepped over to take her chair as she placed her napkin on the table. She agreed, albeit somewhat reluctantly, with Asani’s offer to drive her home. He walked her out to the curb where an official-looking limousine was waiting, complete with a middle-aged female chaperone. They drove her to her home, Lara on a seat next to the woman, the major on the opposite bench. With a minimum of conversation, they glided swiftly into her residential neighborhood.

  The major held the door for her as she exited the limo. Lara could already see her two hosts watching through the window curtains. “Until tomorrow, then . . .” Asani said, standing politely, tipping his cap as she headed to her house.

  “Oh my!” exclaimed Faezeh as she entered the house. Sara was smiling broadly at their guest’s royal arrival. They knew Lara was not about to disclose the nature of her business with the famous major, but the women were eager to her of her sumptuous dinner. She agreed to share the details of the famous Divan restaurant and the exorbitant meal. Neither of them had ever been there, but they were well aware of its lavishness. They gasped as she went through the various courses of the feast and the graciousness of her host. But that was it. She excused herself, saying she had to get to bed as she had an early day coming up.

  Lara fled to her room, eager to call Tom and deliver the news of her remarkable dinner date. He answered on the first ring; he was in his office as it was now near noon in New York. “My gosh, you sound excited,” he exclaimed as she blurted out some of the more astounding details of her dinner conversation. “So, he’s actually going to take you on some sort of tour tomorrow? You must really have impressed them with your capabilities. Call me as soon as you can afterward. We need to set wheels in motion here before they get started on their next campaign. By the way, he didn’t indicate any other reasons for . . .”

  “Tom, he was a perfect gentleman. But he does know exactly where I live now; I hope the ladies have adequate cover.”

  “Chances are, they already knew that; I’m fairly sure you’ve been under surveillance since you started working there.”

  “Of course,” she said. “I know our agents here have done a thorough job of ‘vacuuming’ the house and my hosts here. I’d probably be in prison by now otherwise.” The color rose in her face as she recognized the fragile nature of her presence in this hostile country, let alone the nature of her workplace.

  It was the way with intelligence work everywhere. She often remembered the astonishing case of Israeli spy Eli Cohen, who, in the middle of the twentieth century became the most trusted aide of the brutal Syrian leader Hafez al-Assad. So trusted was Cohen that Assad, defense minister at the time, actually gave him a tour of their military positions on the Golan Heights just before the Six-Day War in 1967. Co
hen’s information allowed the Israelis to destroy the fortifications and occupy, then later annex, the strategic seven-hundred-square-mile clifftops. The Heights had for years been used by the Syrians to bombard the Israeli farms below and act as a secure buffer against their hated foe.

  She also remembered the tragic end for Cohen when his true identity was disclosed. He was hanged in a public square in Damascus, his body open to public viewing for days before being taken down. She felt chills every time she thought of it. Long after her conversation with Tom ended, she lay sleepless, thinking of the day ahead.

  * * *

  Lara’s night was filled with wild dreams; she awakened to find her covers twisted and strewn around the bed. Her body was covered with a patina of cold perspiration. But by morning, she had recovered herself, and by noontime, she was ready for her excursion with the dapper major. Asani showed up right on time. To the intense interest of the onlookers in her department, he escorted Lara, dressed in her usual conservative apparel, to the front door of the building where his staff car was waiting. To her great relief, the major made no attempt to touch her, not even helping her into the car; a female lieutenant was there for that duty. She also sat next to Lara in the spacious car; the major sat in front, next to the driver.

  There was little conversation, and that was limited to the usual discussion about the brown cloud of smog that hung over the city. It was even more evident from their location in the foothills to the north. The drive lasted about thirty minutes. Lara could tell they were moving east along the north edge of the city but could not see street signs and deliberately did not make an attempt to view landmarks.