by Doug Raber
“It is not so simple. But your statement defines much of the line of conflict that is developing. It is a conflict in which neither side is the instigator, yet both are aggressors. And do not think that is so simple as a struggle for dominance between Islam and Christianity. Could you be unaware of the hostilities between two branches of Christianity in Ireland? They are not reluctant to kill each other. And the same is true for Shiite and Sunni Muslims. It is much of the reason for the never-ending conflict between my country and Iraq, and it only has worsened since the secular government was eliminated by the Islamic Revolution in 1979.”
He stopped to sip his drink, providing a few moments for his comments to have their desired effect.
“What do you propose?”
“You must come back, Timothy. You must come back to the negotiations. Only if we work together, you and I, can we exchange the information that will guide our countries toward a safer destiny. I have no doubts that your government would like to have you back at the table.”
“Which table? There are many.”
“Here in Switzerland. Not in Bern, but in Geneva. I have been participating, and it is not far. One hundred fifty kilometers. It remains possible for me to return to my flat here in Bern in the weeks when there is a pause. But I cannot do this alone. I must have help. From someone who knows the secrets on the other side.”
He had convinced me.
“I will look into it, Reza. As soon as I return to Washington. I don’t know if they will have me, but I will try.”
“It is a good thing. I have faith in you that we will soon be working together again.”
• • • • •
I spent much of my waking hours for the next two days trying to come up with a way to insinuate myself back into the negotiations. I thought it would be too clumsy for me to go directly to those already at the table. They would suspect my motives, and all would be lost. What I needed was a subterfuge, but I could think of none.
To my surprise, the problem resolved itself without any action by me whatsoever. I was pacing my office at Biggers & Hayes in Washington, when the telephone rang. My secretary advised me that the caller had not given her name.
“Timothy, we have to meet.”
It was Pamela Tremont.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“I’m participating in a two-day interagency roundtable at the Capital Hilton.”
“Should I come there?”
“No. It’s too public. I’m staying overnight at the Madison. Room 459. Six o’clock. Call me from the lobby.”
She disconnected without waiting for an answer.
I continued my mental explorations for a way to bring up the negotiations, but I still could not think of an approach that would not raise suspicions. I decided to wait and see if an opportunity might arise during our meeting.
I called from the lobby, and she answered on the first ring.
“Are you downstairs?”
“Yes.”
“Come up now. I’ll be waiting at the door.”
Clearly, there was some urgency, and I was mystified. The door to room 459 opened as I walked along the hotel corridor, and she pointed to a chair as soon as I entered. She nodded to me, and that was the extent of her greeting.
As soon as I was seated, she focused her eyes on me with an intense and steely gaze.
“Are you feeling better? Since your period of relaxation?”
“Yes.”
“Then I have no choice, Timothy. I have a request, and it is one that you dare not refuse. We need you.”
“What is it?”
I was puzzled, but I knew she would tell me in her own time.
“Chemical weapons. The Conference on Disarmament is meeting in Geneva,* and there are some roadblocks. We need you there as a technical advisor.”
I was so shocked by her request that I could not utter a coherent answer.
“I don’t know if …” I stammered.
Yet it was exactly the assignment I was seeking to obtain. My composure returned in an instant.
“The answer is yes, Pamela. Without hesitation. If you need me, I will go.”
She had remained standing, and she turned to the credenza and picked up a stack of papers.
“Take a quick look at these.”
I spent about five minutes leafing through the pages, and I began to understand.
“Roadblocks,” I said.
“Yes. This isn’t like negotiations in the past that involved only the Soviets. We are trying to put together something that will receive support from more than a hundred nations. And without any major opposition.”
“These papers suggest that opposition already exists.”
“Exactly. Everyone knows that some countries already have stockpiles of chemical weapons. We do, and so do the Russians. Historical foes who do not trust one another. It is the same between Iran and Iraq, and also between Syria and Israel. None of these countries wants to surrender their weapons when they do not trust their adversaries.”
“But there is already general agreement on eliminating these weapons?” I asked.
“Correct. But ‘general’ is the operative word. The participants in the negotiations are having difficulty with specifics. Fortunately, we have great support from the many countries that do not have chemical weapons.”
“Which countries seem to present the greatest obstacles?”
“Some will never give their full support, although they may not attempt to prevent an agreement. We believe Russia and Iran are the obstacles. They want to move forward, but their willingness to compromise has been limited. Their leaders can be stubborn.”
“I think I can help.”
“Excellent. I knew we could count on you, Timothy.”
She paused and then spoke hesitantly, the way someone talks when they need to deliver bad news.
“There’s something else, Timothy. Something very important. When you get to Geneva, you must deliver some information to your friend Reza Kashani. He will be there as an adviser for Iran.”
I said nothing.
“There is a problem with the Crypto machines. The Iranians suspect that they have been deceived, and they have arrested a technical representative from Crypto AG. You must assist in negotiations to gain his freedom. And you must help to convince the Iranian authorities that those Swiss encryption machines remain effective and secure.”
“How? I can speak like a salesman, but I cannot develop scientific arguments that would convince them. Especially since they’ve never had the top machines.”
“Exactly so, Timothy. They don’t even know that there’s a difference in the capabilities or vulnerabilities of the two kinds of machines. But it’s essential to the national security of the United States that the Iranians continue to employ their Crypto machines. We will provide you with documents that you can share discreetly with Kashani. They will afford convincing evidence that is the opposite of the truth. The documents will show that the Iranian encoding machines are too secure and are preventing the U.S. from decrypting intercepted messages. And it will reemphasize the American policy of never paying ransom for a hostage. We will direct you to another source of funds for the ransom that avoids any U.S. involvement. If this works, the hostage will be released, and the Iranians will continue as loyal customers of Crypto AG.”
“I can do that, also,” I said.
“Excellent. I knew we could count on you.”
“Perhaps we could go out for a nice dinner tonight,” I suggested.
“Dinner, yes. But going out, no. I’ve already ordered dinner for us from room service. It will be delivered in an hour. In the meantime, it is not only your country that needs you.”
As she said this she had walked across the room, and as she stood by the bed, she began to unbutton her blouse. I sat there mesmerized, while she proceeded to remove her skirt, then her shoes and stockings, and finally her slip. When she removed her bra, she stood there facing me, her breasts offering an
invitation that had not yet been spoken aloud. Finally, she took off her panties and stood there, fully naked.
“Don’t make me wait any more, Tim. Come here and take off your clothes.”
Her urgency seemed to border on necessity as she moved to help me undress more quickly, and we caressed each other hungrily, touching and kissing in the most intimate ways. Our passion was intense, and it ended all too quickly.
A few minutes later, she said we should shower.
“There are robes in the bathroom, so we don’t have to dress. We can come back to bed again after dinner.”
When I left that evening, I carried a portfolio with the background information and official negotiating positions that I would need for my work in Geneva. A second package with details on the Crypto problem would be delivered to my office in the next day or two. As it turned out, I remained in D.C. for only one week before my return to Europe.
* * *
31
Geneva
When I attended my first sessions in Geneva, it quickly became apparent that I was far behind in my understanding of the situation. As with any of the negotiations I had advised over the preceding years, my role was not one of speaking out in public. Nevertheless, it took me several days of careful watching and listening before if felt I had determined the lay of the land. At that point, I was ready to begin playing my role, although it was not entirely the role that others had expected of me.
I had met many of the participants previously, but in most cases they were only nodding acquaintances. There were two exceptions. The first, as I knew well ahead of time, was Reza Kashani, and the second, unsurprisingly, was Vasili Yevchenko. Two of the four men I considered to belong to my stable of agents. I made a point of saying hello to each of them in the same manner I greeted my other colleagues.
“Good morning, Mr. Kashani. I hope all is well with you.”
And to Vasili, “Zdravstvuyte, I am pleased to see you again.”
There would be ample opportunity to speak privately with each of them, and there would be many chances to pass information among us. It was what others expected of us.
By the end of those first several days, I began to gain a firm understanding of the issues that were preventing universal agreement, particularly those issues that I thought were the most important obstacles to be overcome. I had already constructed a broader list of such roadblocks, which I basically took as all those concessions to which every party must agree and the actions and obligations they would have to accept.
Every party would disclose any possession or research on chemical agents. They would have to renounce first use of these weapons and would have to forswear their use under any circumstance. Each signatory would be required to disclose the entire contents of weapons stockpiles and precursor chemicals, and they would have to set a time frame for their destruction. All of these actions would be monitored externally, and the signatories would agree to both regular and unannounced inspections.
I believed that Iran posed the most acute concern for progress in the negotiations. We knew that they were not being forthright in their disclosures, so the greatest obstacle, was not even on the table. It was not chemical agents but nuclear weapons. And the greatest fears arose not from the activities of the superpowers but from a country that never admitted to having nuclear weapons — Israel. It meant that we had to negotiate around a participating country that would not officially reveal its possession of weapons of mass destruction, either chemical or nuclear.
I decided to work on the Iranian problem first, in part from a sense of obligation. After all, Reza was the person responsible for bringing me back into this game. The Iranian government asserted that it no longer had such weapons programs, but their claims were considered suspect by the U.S. and other nations. I could not imagine stronger arguments for why it was necessary for me to work directly with Reza. Nor for us to do so in secret.
Reza arranged a very strange meeting. During an afternoon coffee break, he discreetly passed me a short handwritten note.
Not safe to meet in public. Seven tonight at Club Venus. Tell hostess Mr. Timothy wishes a bottle of champagne with Katya.
I was puzzled, but I understood that I must trust Reza’s judgment. I had my suspicions, but they were not confirmed until I reached Club Venus that evening. The place was a brothel. Why had Reza asked me to go there? And who was Katya?
A middle-aged woman greeted me warmly at the door, took my overcoat, and showed me into the bar, where a younger woman, attractive and scantily clad, approached me to ask if I would like something to drink.
“Champagne,” I answered. “With Katya. Mr. Timothy would like to have a bottle of champagne with Katya.”
She nodded and told me to wait. A half minute later, another woman walked over to me. She was tall, blond, quite pretty, and she wore a dress that was almost sheer.
“I am Katya. Please come with me.”
She led me down a hallway and opened the door to a room that was furnished with little more than a bed, a chair, and a sofa. I sat on the chair, not wishing to encourage any physical interactions with Katya.
“Wait please, one minute,” she said, and she left the room. I heard another door open and close, and a few seconds later, Reza walked into the room.
“What is going on?” I asked quietly, but with obvious concern. “Why have you brought me here?”
“Because it is not safe to meet elsewhere. The world has gone mad, Timothy.”
“I don’t understand.”
“My country is not stable. Ever since the Islamic revolution, more than ten years now, there are factions. At one end of the spectrum we have the religious leaders and the fundamentalists. At the other end, there are intellectuals and others who would prefer a secular society with personal freedoms. Anyone who speaks too openly on any topic is at risk of attack from extremists on either side.”
“When you say attack …”
“I don’t mean with words, Timothy. Less than two years ago, one of my countrymen, an outspoken supporter of human rights, was shot to death. It was broad daylight, right here in Geneva, as he drove to his home on the outskirts of the city.”
“Who shot him?”
“The security service. The Iranian government. They cannot accept any deviation from official policy.”
“And what you and I are discussing?”
“They would take me as a traitor. They would execute me without hesitation.”
“Even though you are trying to help your country?”
“Not if they think I am in violation of their policy. My world is very complex, Timothy.”
“How is this place any different? Would they not also take retribution if they learned you had been to a brothel?”
“They do not permit logic to interfere with their policies. If a man seeks a woman, it is only necessary for him to go to another country. If it does not happen in Iran, it can be overlooked. If someone saw me enter this establishment, they would only nod their head and perhaps be envious of my masculinity. There would be no political concerns. You and I arrived separately, and we will leave separately. We will be safe here.”
“Then we must talk. Have you learned if Iran is willing to sign the CW agreement as it is now being drafted?”
“We accept the elimination of chemical weapons. But the hard-liners will never allow Americans to engage in inspections. You are the Great Satan.”
“The U.S. believes Iranian support is essential for the success of the negotiation. Our delegates would probably agree to some of your demands. Perhaps inspections would not be necessary if Iran assured us that its stockpile had been destroyed.”
“It is possible the clerics might provide such assurances. However, they would want more.”
“They believe the greatest threat comes from Israel,” I said. “Perhaps the U.S. could provide guarantees that it would hold Israel in check and prevent it from attacking Iran.”
“They would not agree to any kind of peace
accord, Timothy. It is beyond all possibilities.”
“That part could remain private,” I said. “Other countries would not learn of these bilateral agreements with the U.S., but it would provide the assurances that Iran requires. It would look as though the Americans were making a concession. And neither Iran nor Israel would learn that the other had made such a side deal with the Americans.”
“It is not enough, Timothy. Our leaders do not trust the West. They will demand more.”
“There is more, although they will not like it. Yet they must support the agreement if this document is to remain a secret.”
I showed him the report.
“This is our proof that Iran did not completely eliminate its CW program after the war with Iraq. If we share this report openly with the entire conference, the talks might collapse, and Iran would face a future in which many of its neighbors in the Middle East are armed with chemical weapons.”
It was little more than the information Reza had discussed with me a day earlier, but his negotiating team did not know that. They would only know that the U.S. had discovered the Iranian deception. My secret would win out over their lie.
Reza studied it for a few moments before responding.
“This should be enough to convince the clerics.”
The document was a blockbuster, something that could be held over the heads of the Iranians like a sword. They needed the agreement that was being hammered out, even if they did not like every one of its provisions. They needed its protection, and they would have no choice.
Before we departed from the Club Venus, I gave Reza a small gift. It was a simple paperweight, but it was embossed with the seal of the U.S. State Department.
“It is very nice, Timothy,” he said with a smile. “It will show my masters that I have established good relationships with the Americans.”
“It’s more than that,” I said. “Anyone with suspicions will focus on the trinket and its depiction of the Great Seal of the United States. It’s so obviously American that it will seem innocent. And it is. But it will also divert their curiosity from the box, which has a small piece of microfilm in the cover.”