One Night in Tehran: A Titus Ray Thriller

by Luana Ehrlich

  “Got a problem?” he asked.

  “Just a question.”

  He gestured for me to follow him, and we went back to his lair in the communications room. As soon as he sat down in front of the security monitors, I saw him glance up at the feed coming from the kitchen video. He noted the time on a yellow pad.

  Then he pointed toward a chair. “Have a seat.”

  The chair he indicated faced a wall of wide-screen monitors displaying video from several different news agencies. The headlines scrolling across the screens indicated something newsworthy was happening in North Korea, and I was sorely tempted to feast my eyes on every word and satisfy my curiosity.

  However, I resisted. I knew I was about to break one of the house rules, and one broken rule a day was my self-imposed quota.

  Jim looked amused when I repositioned the chair so I was facing him instead of the screens. “What’s your question?”

  “Before I ask it, I want you to know I’m assuming several things, which will be obvious to you when I ask the question. If I’m assuming incorrectly, and you don’t want to answer the question, then know for certain I won’t think less of you.”

  He considered my statement for a couple of seconds, and then he nodded. “Okay.”

  “Tony Fowler.”

  Jim blinked his eyes several times.

  I continued with my question. “Have I been playing around in his backyard?”

  This time Jim’s reaction was to stare at me without blinking. He did this for what seemed like a long time, but it was probably only twenty seconds or so.

  I knew he’d been monitoring the feed from the video in the debriefing room during the morning session. That was his job. He could also lose his job if he revealed the identity of the outside observer to me.

  However, if Jim had truly “been in my shoes,” as he’d indicated to me on Sunday, then he also knew the position I was in with Tony Fowler. He understood how valuable this little bit of information was to me as I continued my narrative in the afternoon session.

  He continued to hold my gaze.

  I waited.

  “Yes,” he finally said.

  I suddenly realized I’d been holding my breath. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  He pointed toward the security feed from the kitchen. “When you go back out there, I’ll run this back and erase it when you move away from the kitchen sink.”

  “That should do it.”

  I still had some time before my debrief was scheduled to resume, so I slipped upstairs to my bedroom. I needed a few minutes alone to get my head around what I’d discovered.

  The information Jim had just confirmed for me was that Tony Fowler was head of the Nuclear Security Division (NSD). Now, it made sense why he had reacted so strongly when I’d mentioned meeting the Iranian nuclear scientist, Amir Madani.

  Fowler’s portfolio at NSD included running agents in any country seeking nuclear weapons, and he should have been well acquainted—at least by name—with all of Iran’s nuclear personnel. Fowler’s division had a number of covert operatives in Iran responsible for developing assets in their nuclear program. Perhaps one of them had even tried to recruit Amir.

  Of course, from a geographic standpoint, having such a broad scope to his job description meant Fowler was required to coordinate his operations with other regional divisions. Otherwise, an operative from the Middle East Division and an operative from NSD might be targeting the same asset.

  For example, imagine that Carlton had a covert intelligence officer in place in Tehran. Now imagine this officer had accidently met a nuclear scientist at a café and decided to develop him as an asset. In such a scenario, the correct Agency procedure called for Carlton to inform NSD of said encounter. However, Carlton could not just walk across the hall to the NSD and discuss the matter with Tony Fowler in person. No, the Agency would never allow such a direct communication between divisions. Instead, protocol called for Carlton to inform Robert Ira. Ira, in turn, was responsible for notifying Fowler and the NSD that an agent wished to pursue contact with a nuclear scientist.

  If Fowler had no objection—such as he was pursuing the asset himself or had some information on him that precluded contact—Ira would then relay the message to Carlton, who would authorize his intelligence officer to develop the asset.

  Now, the picture was becoming clearer.

  Either Carlton had never notified Robert Ira of my request to pursue Amir—which was unlikely because Carlton had emphatically affirmed in the morning session that he’d authorized my contact—or Ira had never informed Fowler that a Middle Eastern operative was asking permission to target a nuclear scientist.

  Thinking back on Fowler’s behavior in the morning session, I came to the conclusion Fowler had not known about my pursuit of Amir as a CIA asset until I’d mentioned it. Was that the reason Robert Ira was at my debriefing? Had he failed to inform Fowler I was pursuing Amir Madani?

  If so, why didn’t the DDO follow the correct procedure and coordinate with Fowler’s office on such a critical issue? For the whole field of operations to work smoothly, there had to be cooperation among the different divisions. Otherwise, operatives and assets would overlap, and it would be chaotic and dangerous for everyone, especially in a hostile environment like Iran.

  Iran was one of the most difficult countries in the world in which to gather intelligence. Civilians and military personnel were taught—by the propaganda arm of Iran’s elite Revolutionary Guards Corps—to be constantly on the alert for “infiltrators” and “enemies” who wanted to penetrate all aspects of society so they could exploit Iran’s “secrets.” In such an atmosphere, human intelligence gathering, especially in regards to Iran’s nuclear program, was abysmal—so sparse as to be non-existent. Government agencies were forced to rely on satellite surveillance or the occasional defector, like Komeil Haddadi, to obtain even an inkling of what was going on inside Iran’s nuclear community.

  Such a shortage of intelligence had been foremost on my mind when I’d originally contacted Carlton about checking out Amir and possibly targeting him as a source. Since the NSD had done such a lousy job of finding and developing assets, now I wondered if Robert Ira had taken things a step further and simply cut the NSD division out of the loop entirely, never even informing Fowler that an intelligence officer—namely, me—had requested permission to pursue an Iranian scientist as a potential asset.

  If my suspicions were correct and Ira had given Carlton the green light without informing Tony Fowler, then he’d blatantly disregarded crucial inter-division communication and had jeopardized my life. Far more importantly, his decision had contributed to—if not caused—the murder of my assets.

  Now, I had a big decision to make.

  CHAPTER 5

  I stepped into the bathroom and splashed some cold water on my face. Then, I sat down in the overstuffed chair in front of the bedroom’s fireplace and mapped out how I was going to proceed with my narrative in the afternoon session.

  I could go back down to my debrief and spin my tale in such a way everyone would be placated, and no one would be blamed for the debacle of my mission.

  If I took that route, I would have to minimize my contact with Amir and blame the rolling up of my network on my sloppy tradecraft. While distasteful, such a strategy would probably satisfy everyone.

  Of course, using this tactic meant I would have to weave a tapestry of lies.

  That would not be a problem for me.

  Lying is second nature and I do it very well.

  Then I considered the alternative—telling the truth.

  However, I wasn’t sure what the repercussions of such a decision would be. Was it even a viable option?

  Whatever I decided to do, I knew my future at the Agency was about to change dramatically.

  I’d been preparing myself for such a change from the moment Javad’s family had come into their living room to pray for me just hours before I was to make my escape from Te
hran. That night, Javad and Darya, their teenage son, Mansoor, along with Rahim, had joined hands and prayed a beautiful, fervent prayer for my well-being and safe travel through the mountains of Iran to safety in Turkey.

  Javad, along with several of his relatives, owned a fruit and vegetable stand in one of Tehran’s open-air markets, and Darya was a nurse who worked at a neighborhood clinic. I had been forced to live with these Iranian Christians for three months in a safe house, while hiding out from Iran’s Revolutionary Guard Corps.

  Each night, from my bed in a corner of their tiny living room, I had observed them at their kitchen table praying and reading their Bible together before going to bed. However, they didn’t keep their beliefs private. In fact, they seemed to have an insatiable desire to share their faith—especially with me. They did this even though their pastor, Youcef, was in prison because of his proselytizing. However, they were doing something even more dangerous. Not only were they proselytizing, they were also harboring an American spy and facilitating his escape from Iran.

  Before leaving them, I had thanked them profusely for their help. I had also commended them because, even though they were required to go to work every day and pretend they were just harmless Iranian citizens, they had practiced excellent tradecraft in keeping me safe.

  Javad had responded to my gratitude by saying, “Oh, Hammid, it’s not difficult for us to do this because we remember the words of Jesus. He said we were to be like sheep living among the wolves. He told us to be as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves.”

  Now, as I left my room to face my debriefers once again, I decided those words—to be both shrewd and innocent—might be good advice for me as well.

  In reality, when it came to events in Tehran, I was both.

  Deputy Ira and Carlton were huddled together on one side of the table when I reentered the conference room. They were engaged in a whispered conversation, and from their body language, it appeared the two men had come to some sort of mutually satisfactory understanding.

  I decided not to disturb them.

  Instead, I walked over to the refreshment table where Katherine was pouring herself a cup of coffee.

  “Enjoy your lunch?” I asked.

  She tore open a packet of sweetener and dumped it into her coffee.

  “I had a delicious salad, thank you. How about you?”

  “I had a chicken salad sandwich with a side of contemplation.”

  She smiled. “I’ll bet you did.” Gesturing toward my leg, she asked, “Are you feeling okay? How’s your leg?”

  “It’s getting there.”

  Katherine cut her eyes over to where Carlton and Ira were standing. Then, in a half whisper, she said, “I’m sorry for what happened to you, Titus.”

  I didn’t reply because I thought she was about to add something to her statement. Instead, she abruptly turned and walked away, taking her seat at the conference table.

  I poured myself a glass of lemonade and followed her over to the table, stopping to exchange greetings with Komeil. As I sat down, I realized Tony Fowler was not in the room.

  I quickly ran through the possibilities of what Fowler’s absence might mean.

  I immediately discarded the notion he was simply playing hooky, because since the debriefing process had already begun, it would take an act of God or the intervention of the Director himself to get Fowler out of his selection as the outside observer.

  However, since he must have realized the DDO had not followed the correct protocol in regards to Amir, he could have contacted Legal during lunch and stirred up a real hornet’s nest. In that case, I fully expected Fowler to return to the debrief in the company of two or three other suits. If that happened, I would simply take my place in the audience, because, at that point, the ensuing confrontation between Ira and Fowler would be center stage.

  As I was about to consider another possibility, Fowler walked in.

  He was alone.

  Rushing over to his seat, he said, “Sorry. Traffic was a mess.”

  Carlton placed the document he’d been holding on the pile of papers in front of him. Using both hands, he carefully aligned the edges of the stack. Finally, he looked up and addressed the group.

  “We’re running behind schedule,” he said, “but before Titus begins his narrative again, let me explain how I like to run these debriefing sessions.”

  He looked down at his stack of papers again.

  Nothing had moved.

  “I’m a detail kind of person,” he continued, “and that’s why I believe in taking the time to tease out the little things. Sometimes,” he looked across the table at Fowler, “it’s the little things that really matter.”

  Fowler was giving Carlton his full attention. He hadn’t even opened his iPad.

  Carlton turned and addressed me directly. “Titus, go back and review for us what you knew about Amir Madani before you requested permission to approach him. Once you do that, explain what occurred after the two of you were introduced.”

  I nodded.

  Once again, Deputy Ira opened up his laptop. Only this time, he didn’t touch his keyboard. Instead, he peered across the table at Tony Fowler.

  Did Fowler know he was in the deputy’s crosshairs?

  I would know soon enough.

  “Session Two. This is Operations Officer, Douglas Carlton, in the intelligence debrief of Titus Alan Ray, Level 1 covert operative, for Operation Torchlight.”

  I began the afternoon session. “When Komeil and I were discussing the backgrounds of the nuclear scientists who appeared in his conference photographs, I was intrigued by Amir Madani because he was young, he was rich, and Komeil said he was new school. I memorized his face because he seemed to be exactly the type of asset we’d profiled in the operation. Granted, since he was a scientist he wasn’t really in the category of Iran’s elite. However, that was the very thing that made him so interesting to me. He was both wealthy and a prominent scientist in the nuclear energy field.”

  “What do you mean by new school?” Katherine asked.

  I smiled at her. “That’s a good question.”

  She smiled back.

  “As I understand it, the younger scientists in today’s modern Iran aren’t happy with their government’s dependence on other nations for nuclear research and development. The regime’s deference to Russia is a perfect example of this. To put it simply, they see relinquishing control of any aspect of Iran’s nuclear capabilities as old school. The younger bucks are eager to show how brilliant they are in their own right.”

  “It’s also economics,” Komeil added. “Too much money goes out of Iran for such technology, and the young people of today want a strong economy so they can buy more Western music and clothes. The youth in today’s Iran do not know of hardship. I can tell you many stories of how—”

  Carlton cut him off. “Thank you, Mr. Haddadi.”

  Then, Carlton turned to me. “So, Titus, what happened after you met Amir Madani?”

  “I didn’t contact anyone at the Agency immediately,” I said. “I wanted to make sure it was going to be worth the extra effort on my part to approach him. I had my hands full developing the six assets I was running, and I didn’t want to take Amir on unless it was going to pay big dividends.”

  Carlton nodded. “And how did you go about doing that?”

  I spent a few minutes explaining about my efforts to discover where Amir lived and worked. Then I described the way I went about putting him under surveillance for several days.

  “I determined he was more involved in atomic research than Komeil had realized, and the more I observed him, the more I realized he was a very appealing prospect for recruitment. What I wasn’t able to learn, however, was the origin of his wealth. He lived in Shemiran, a luxury apartment complex north of Tehran, and drove an expensive car. He certainly didn’t live the lifestyle of a scientist, but I knew if he had inherited his wealth, being approached by a wealthy businessman would probably seem very natural to
him.”

  Carlton asked, “Was this the point at which you contacted me about Amir?”

  I looked directly at Fowler.

  “Yes, that’s the timeline,” I said. “I wanted to know if the Agency had any data on him, if NSD had any knowledge of him, if an approach on my part was warranted. It bothered me about his finances and the source of his money. I wanted our analysts to do a deep data mine on that.”

  “And that’s when my office entered the picture,” Katherine said. “I found nothing in our databases indicating his money came from any outside sources, such as Iran’s intelligence agency, VEVAK, or any other ministry. We scanned everything we could find. He appeared to be clean.”

  Fowler stood up quickly, almost tipping over his chair.

  “I need to take a break,” he said in a shaky voice. “I’m sorry. I’ll just be a minute.”

  As Fowler headed for the door, Deputy Ira gave Carlton a look I’d seen several times before—usually after receiving news a terrorist we had been tracking had just been eliminated by a drone strike.

  The reek of washroom soap was still clinging to Fowler’s hands when he reentered the room few minutes later. Once he sat back down, he pulled a white handkerchief out of his back pocket and started cleaning his glasses.

  Carlton cleared his throat and said, “Titus, resume the narrative.”

  Now it was about to get ugly.

  CHAPTER 6

  “I knew Amir had probably been warned about the security risks of befriending strangers, so when I arranged to accidently run into him outside our apartment building, I immediately mentioned the friendship we both shared with Farid.”

  Carlton showed approval of my approaching Amir in this way by vigorously nodding his head. Fowler ignored him.

  “At first, Amir seemed suspicious of me, but when I told him I’d recently purchased an apartment in the same building, he seemed to loosen up. He even gave me directions to his favorite neighborhood restaurant.”