Best Man

by Doug Raber

  “You speak with some accuracy, Mr. O’Connor. But I do not understand the point of your statements.”

  “There may be no specific point. But this afternoon there will be a discussion of American missiles with multiple warheads. That topic will assuredly be of interest to your government, and they would certainly want to obtain whatever information they could on the design specifications for those missiles.”

  Reza seemed ready to argue with my observation, or at least to distance himself from committing to any particular policy position. But then his eyes changed, as if a light bulb had been turned on behind them. There was a trace of a smile on his face, and he made a simple response.

  “I think perhaps I understand your point after all.”

  Then he turned and walked away. I noticed his hand was in his pocket. It was the pocket in which he had placed the cassette. The pocket that contained the complete technical specifications of our warheads.

  My network had expanded to three agents. Josef in Prague, Vasili in Moscow, and Reza in Teheran. The total would have been four if I included Pamela, but I have never considered her an operative. In my burgeoning espionage activities, she, much like Miss Huffington, was but a messenger, and an unwitting messenger at that.

  • • • • •

  This major step forward in my career coincided with another with another event. My exhilaration at the expansion of my network was short-lived. Shortly after my return to the States, I was sitting in my office when the phone rang. I thought back to an earlier time and reached for the receiver, hoping it might be Cynthia. Remember, this was in a time before we had caller ID.

  It wasn’t Cynthia, although I recognized the voice. Another voice from the past.

  “Is this Timothy O’Connor?”

  I felt paralyzed and could barely breathe, as an intense wave of anxiety washed over me. It reminded me of a phrase I had heard as a child. It’s how you know when Satan is near.

  “This is Timothy O’Connor.”

  “Timothy … this is Father Brennan … In Washington.”

  “I know who you are. Why are you calling?”

  “It’s your mother.”

  I interrupted. “Has something happened? To my mother?”

  “I’m sorry Timothy. She’s gone.”

  “Gone? Gone where? I don’t understand.”

  “I mean, she has passed, Timothy. It was all very sudden. It was her heart, they think.”

  “They? Who are ‘they’?”

  “The doctors. At Georgetown. That is where the ambulance took her. They called an ambulance right away.”

  “They?” Once again. “Who are ‘they’?”

  “Forgive me, Timothy. The parishioners. It was at church. She had come to Mass this morning as she almost always did. At the conclusion of the service I was waiting to greet the congregants, and she did not appear. I looked inside the church and she was lying on the floor. It was really quite overwhelming. Her arms were outstretched, toward the altar. She was reaching out to Our Lord, Timothy. Thanking Him for all that He had given her. We had just completed the Mass. She was in a state of grace. She is in a better place now, Timothy. She is with God.”

  I was in some sort of a trance at that point. A state of shock, certainly. It was barely sufficient to subdue my anger. But the anger was there. She was not in a better place! She was dead!

  In my bewilderment, I lacked the energy to muster my long-held and deep-seated intellectual arguments. I was being lectured to, treated as a child, by the same man — no, not man, but beast — who had taken my own childhood from me. And now he was telling me that he had played a central role in taking my mother from me as well.

  “Services … A funeral, I mean.”

  “We’ll take care of that, Timothy.”

  Again, I had no appetite for debate. She would have wanted the rites that the church would perform. She had no quarrel with Father Brennan. She never knew what he had done. And now, I could be certain she never would.

  “When?”

  “On Tuesday, Timothy.”

  “Yes,” I answered. “I can be there. I’ll come down this weekend. I’ll be at the house.”

  “I’ve already called your Uncle Christopher, Timothy. Your mother always spoke so highly of him. He’ll be here also. Is there anyone else?”

  Anyone else? I didn’t know what to think. I hadn’t lived at home for years. This man — this monster — knew more about my mother than I did.

  “No. Nobody else.”

  “I’ll call you at the house, Timothy. When the arrangements are complete, I mean.”

  “Yes.”

  I would not offer him the courtesy of saying ‘thank you.’ I disconnected the call.

  • • • • •

  A few weeks after the funeral, I was sitting at my desk in New York going through some paperwork, when my secretary nervously stepped into my office.

  “Excuse me, Mr. O’Connor. I hate to disturb you, but Mr. Biggers just phoned to ask if you could come up to his office.”

  “Did he say when?”

  “I think he meant right now. He just said to tell you he wanted to speak with you.”

  “Of course. Please call up to his office and say I’m on my way, Miss Johnson. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  Such requests from the senior partner at the firm were uncommon, and I’m certain Miss Johnson thought I was about to be fired. But I was not concerned about such a possibility, and I took the elevator to the top floor with a sense of excitement rather than dread.

  His administrative assistant immediately ushered me into his inner sanctum. He was seated behind a massive desk in front of a window that overlooked New York Harbor, where the Statue of Liberty stood proudly in the distance.

  Mr. Biggers smiled broadly and walked around the desk with his hand extended.

  “It’s good to see you again, Timothy.”

  He clasped my hand warmly and then placed his other hand on my shoulder.

  “Let me express once again my condolences on your loss.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Biggers.”

  I realized that this was the first face-to-face meeting we’d had since the day he recruited me to lead the firm’s business ventures beyond the Iron Curtain.

  “Timothy,” he said in a tone that was admonishing while remaining warm. Almost fatherly.

  “You’ve been with us now for how long? I think it must be more than a decade. It is no longer appropriate for you to call me ‘Mister Biggers.’ My name is Jonathan, and that is the name you shall use from now on. After all, such familiarity is essential among the firm’s partners.”

  My astonishment was genuine, and I have no doubt that he enjoyed it. He continued before I could even muster a response.

  “Yes, Timothy. You heard me correctly. We’re making you a partner in the firm. A junior partner, to be sure, but a partner, nonetheless. You’ve done well here. For yourself and for us. And it is appreciated. Now it will also be rewarded.”

  “I don’t know what to say sir … Jonathan.”

  “Not much to say, really. Other than to accept the promotion.”

  This time I was able to get the words out, even if they lacked eloquence.

  “Well, of course. Absolutely. I’m delighted. Thank you.”

  He laughed gently. “I’m glad, Timothy. You have a good future here with us.”

  He paused, and his face took on a more serious look. “There’s something else, Timothy.”

  He saw my reaction and was quick to allay my concern.

  “Nothing bad, Timothy. Not at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. As part of this promotion, we’d like you to head up a new office of the firm in Washington, D.C. We won’t burden you with all the chores of management, but everyone will understand that you’re the top dog when it comes to international trade and development.”

  “So, you’ll want me to continue my activities? The projects I’ve been working on?”

  “Absolutely. Your efforts h
ave brought in significant profits, and you’ve been an absolute marvel working with our friends on both sides of the ocean. You’ve demonstrated incredible mastery in the arts of communication, Timothy. You’ve kept it going in both directions, and we all appreciate it. Everyone does.”

  “Thank you.” I wasn’t quite sure how to respond to the compliment, so I left it at that.

  “Any thoughts as to where you might want to live, Timothy? The firm will gladly assist with relocation expenses.”

  “It’s very sudden.”

  I hesitated for a bit before continuing.

  “But probably, I’d like to live in my mother’s house. I guess it’s actually mine, now. I’d have to do some remodeling, but probably not anything major. A few repairs and some repainting.”

  “Permit me a suggestion, Timothy. You may find it advantageous to have space for entertaining. Especially in your role as head of the Washington office. If I recall from a conversation with your uncle some time ago, your family house was relatively small. Why not take this opportunity to expand it a bit? Everything would be covered under the firm’s relocation policy. It would still be your childhood home, with all its wonderful memories, but it could be a truly elegant residence. A place for business as well as the pleasures of daily living.”

  I smiled. It was a thought I had once expressed to my mother, but it was little more than a young boy’s fantasy.

  “That sounds like a marvelous idea, Jonathan. Permit me to think about it for a few days, but almost certainly, my answer will be affirmative.”

  “Excellent, Timothy. Excellent. This is going to make it a lot easier for you to keep up with some of your key contacts. And you know what? It’s not true what they say.”

  “What is that?”

  “They say you can’t go home again. You’re going to prove just how wrong that is. You’re going to go back home, and you’re going to have that town in the palm of your hand. Washington is going to be your oyster, Timothy. Nobody’s going to be able to stop you from doing the things you’ve set out to do.”

  “Thank you, Jonathan.”

  Already it was easier for me to use his given name.

  “I appreciate your confidence in me. I won’t let you down.”

  * * *

  28

  Germany

  As soon as my move to Washington was finalized, I began traveling internationally more frequently than ever before, and this allowed me to carry out the renovations on my house with a minimum of inconvenience. Almost the entire time the structure was uninhabitable, I was on the other side of the Atlantic. Paris, Vienna, and Berlin were frequent destinations, as was Teheran.

  The latter visits did not show on my passport, because I had obtained, courtesy of Pamela Tremont, an official government passport. The Iranian trips were carried out under a veil of secrecy, at least as far as my European contacts were concerned. Quite obviously, Pamela knew of them, and she believed it was important that I keep that part of my international work separate from the continuing tasks in Europe. My government passport showed a frequent traveler to Iran, but my personal passport, when viewed by security officials throughout Eastern and Western Europe, never offered the slightest hint of a Teheran connection.

  One piece of my portfolio with Biggers & Hayes over the preceding years had been to supervise the expansion of a Swiss company by the name of Crypto AG.* As you might suspect from its name, their expertise was cryptography, and they sold electronic devices that could encode messages between trusting partners that could not be read by a third party, even if the message were intercepted somehow. As international trade and diplomacy expanded dramatically in the last quarter of the twentieth century, this was a small but lucrative opportunity for the company.

  Governments around the world were increasingly concerned that their private communications might fall into the hands of their adversaries or competitors. And we were facilitating the sale of devices that could offer them protection. I had previously brokered agreements between Crypto and government agencies in Czechoslovakia, Hungary, and Romania, and expressions of interest had been broached in a number of other countries European countries as well.

  Such developments were always mentioned in the reports I provided to Pamela Tremont, and on one occasion, she made a point of telling me that Mr. Albertson and his associates were keenly interested in this.

  “Now keep in mind, Timothy, that anything to do with codes and encryption is all highly classified, so this is a tightrope that you must walk very carefully. We want our allies and even our adversaries to feel that their communications are safe from prying eyes. At the same time, the United States would not wish many of these countries to have an encryption system that would be completely invulnerable to the efforts of our cryptanalysts.”

  “I’m not sure I follow your logic,” I answered.

  “Crypto makes two levels of coding machines. Certainly, you’ve noticed that in your business dealings. When the sales have been approved, only the most trusted American allies have received the higher-end models. Even most of our NATO allies can only purchase the less secure versions. But we want you to continue working to help Crypto AG in their sales program to all these countries.”

  I quickly understood the implications of what she was saying. And also, what she wasn’t telling me at all. Somehow, our intelligence agencies had the capability of intercepting and decrypting communications of those who were using the lesser machines. The higher-level coding machines were invulnerable and were available only to our own agencies and their closest partners. Moreover, Crypto AG, despite being a Swiss company, was somehow under the control of the U.S. intelligence community. It was quite a coup.

  I played my part diligently in this exercise, and Reza Kashani was my valued partner. We worked with the sales experts at Crypto, and they sold many of their machines to organizations throughout Iran. The Iranians were happy to have what they felt were secure communications capabilities, and I was earning profits for Biggers & Hayes, while assisting the American government in its intelligence efforts.

  • • • • •

  For several years, I had so many assignments as a technical advisor for the U.S. government that it was difficult for me to keep up with my business obligations at Biggers & Hayes. Fortunately, the trusted members of my network continued to steer me toward significant business opportunities, and I brokered new trade deals with less effort than otherwise would have been required. This was particularly true in the case of Josef, as the Czech government increasingly supported trade with the West.

  My assignments as a technical advisor seemed to alternate between two topics, both of which were of enormous international significance. Negotiations on nuclear arms control continued, of course, but the two topics of overwhelming priority were German reunification and controls on chemical weapons.

  Chemical weapons provided my first challenge. The negotiations were complex, involving well more than one hundred nations and lasting more than a decade. Some of the greatest progress grew out of a bilateral agreement between the Americans and the Soviets, but the contributions I made took place during 1989 at the Paris Chemical Weapons Conference.*

  The large number of participating countries ensured that the process would be cumbersome, but it also guaranteed that I would be able to exchange information with the members of my network without fear of being caught. I much preferred cities like Paris, because the security services were more reasonable. It wasn’t like Moscow, where every other participant and nearly every member of the staff in every hotel was likely a secret informant. And if caught transporting illicit material in Moscow, or even if suspected of that activity, the stone floors of the Lubyanka were likely to await the transgressor.

  In contrast, outright discovery of a comparable act in Paris or another Western city would likely result in no more than expulsion. Not that I ever thought lightly of such an outcome, because it would have ended several aspects of my highly successful career. Nevertheless, ban
ishment to a life of comfort in Washington was nothing to dread when compared to torture in a Soviet prison that would only end with a bullet in the head.

  Consequently, as you have certainly ascertained, I was always cautious and always discreet. Sometimes, it was necessary to be unusually vigilant. For instance, consider the time when I was told that Secretary of State Baker was preparing to call for a conference at which government and industry representatives would discuss ways to limit manufacture and international trade of chemicals that could be used for the production of chemical weapons. He also called for expedited removal of chemical weapons from West Germany, and he demanded that the Soviets destroy their ‘excessive stocks’ of chemical munitions.

  Any of these three proposals alone might have been sufficient to create a diplomatic firestorm, and I became alarmed upon learning that the three together would soon be proposed in a public statement outside the ongoing negotiations in which I was assisting. It was necessary for me to transmit this information to the other side on an emergency basis, and I was forced to go outside my normal procedures and place an actual telephone call to Josef.

  It was fortunate that he was already in Paris, assigned to assist the Czech representatives in a manner similar to the way I aided those from the United States. To provide a semblance of cover, I went for a morning walk along the Champs-Élysées and found a man who was selling two tickets to a chamber-music concert that evening. I paid cash, almost certainly at a price well above market value, and the man almost certainly felt he had bilked a gullible American tourist. I, on the other hand, was able to leave a message for Josef, asking he could join me that evening, as an acquaintance had given me two tickets he was unable to use.

  We met at the concert hall and enjoyed the music together, but we left during the intermission. As we exited the hall, I gave him my copy of the musical program, making a point of handing it to him openly, so it would not look suspicious. Later he would remove the extra sheet of paper I had inserted, and I had no doubt he would be as shocked as I had been.