Welch, D [Shadow People 02] Shadow Spies

by Doug Welch

  “Welcome to Her Majesty’s Embassy in Tehran.”

  A short, portly man with brown hair fringed around his nearly bald head, held out his hand.

  Edward Rowan grasped it. The man’s sweaty hand flopped like a boneless fish against his firm clasp. Repulsed by the contact, he thought, one can learn a lot by a handshake.

  The man flopped back in his desk chair like he’d become exhausted by the effort it took to stand. His hazel eyes stared up through frameless spectacles at Edward. “My name is Rolly Pincade, fourth undersecretary to the secretary of the Political Section. I’ve been tasked to assist you in getting settled and answer any questions you might have.”

  Hesitant to reveal anything, Edward feared he’d entered unknown territory. He speculated as to how much Pincade knew about him and about his mission. As a pilot, he’d gloried in his mastery of the skies and his familiarity with the splendid machine he’d controlled. After his grounding, the analysis of information for MI5 had served to keep his restless mind occupied, but now as an amateur in the spy business, he felt lost and uncertain.

  “As I understand, my immediate superior is Commander Rice of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy? Shouldn’t he be the one to orient me? How do I find him?”

  Pincade appeared bewildered. “Ah… quite, Lieutenant – I, quite frankly, wouldn’t know. My job is only to see you settled. Who your superior is, I have no need to know. –I understand you speak fluent Farsi?”

  Edward grew suspicious. How did Pincade know that? He’d been ordered to report to the Iranian Embassy because he spoke the language. But it might jeopardize his mission if the fact were widely known, so he prevaricated.

  “I think, Mister Pincade, someone has been misleading you. I don’t speak a word of it.”

  Pincade looked surprised. “Ah…yes. Well, that’s what I was told…” Pincade seemed about to argue the point.

  Edward hardened his gaze. “Not a word.”

  Pincade looked about his office, apparently not willing to meet Edward’s eyes. “Quite – Not a word. My information must have been incorrect.”

  He cleared his throat. “Well! Let me escort you to your quarters and get you settled. The compound is quite large and it’s easy to lose your way…”

  * * *

  Edward emerged from his surprisingly comfortable lodgings in the Embassy compound and walked through the lush late summer gardens toward the main buildings. As he walked, he examined the new security badge dangling from his uniform tunic to make sure it displayed properly. His destination was the Office of Military Liaison, but he didn’t have any idea as to where to find it.

  Briefly glancing at the wide mirror-pond fronting the Embassy building, he climbed the steep stairs leading to the entrance and opened the doors. Wandering around the foyer looking for some assistance, he passed by a closed door which abruptly opened.

  A hurried, diminutive figure emerged and collided with him. A flurry of pages scattered like a snow storm from the person’s grasp and fluttered to the marble floor.

  Bending to help pick them up, his head cracked against that of his assailant. The force of the collision caused both of them to sprawl back on their behinds, sitting on the floor and facing each other.

  At the sight of his victim rubbing her head, a thrill ran though him, bringing a flush of heat to his cheeks. He couldn’t help but stare. The person who sat facing him had to be, unquestionably, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life. What a bloody, chance, stupid encounter!

  Startling violet eyes crowned by arching eyebrows and graceful high cheek bones, formed a classically beautiful face, which at the moment scowled at him through thick waves of deep-black hair. Her tresses had cascaded forward, dislodged from their pinning by the force of the collision and attractively framed her cheeks. She wore a white blouse of some shiny material and a blue pleated skirt which had ridden up past her knees, revealing her shapely legs.

  After staring at her for a moment, he finally found his voice.

  “I thoroughly apologize, Miss…?”

  She didn’t reply; she just rubbed the place on her head that had met his hard noggin, and began to rise to her feet. Edward jumped up and extended a hand to help her, but she waved it off and silently began to gather her lost pages.

  Holding in the mirth that fought to escape his lips, he adopted a sober tone. “Shall we begin from opposite corners and then agree to meet in the middle?”

  She still refused to reply, so he walked to the furthest pages and began to gather them.

  Working in silence, he met her at a midpoint, held out the pages, and cocked his head to one side with a slight smile on his lips.

  “Shall I apologize again? It was dreadfully rude of me to spoil your day Miss..?”

  He thought he saw her lips twitch, a slight beginning of a smile, but it quickly settled to a neutral expression. “Baraghani.”

  He cocked a quizzical eyebrow, waiting for her to speak again.

  She blushed. “Baraghani… my name’s Dorri Baraghani. –And you are..?”

  “Edward Rowan, Flight Lieutenant, RAF at your service.” He bowed slightly, his smile growing larger.

  Her mouth nearly followed suit but frowned when she apparently remembered who she talked to.

  “And why, Lieutenant, did you knock me down in the Embassy foyer?”

  “I believe, Miss Baraghani, that technically, it could be classified as a mutual knocking, although I do seem to have a harder head than yours.”

  She raised a hand to gingerly touch the place she’d been rubbing. “Why were you wandering around the foyer in the first place?”

  “I seem to have lost my way. You don’t perchance happen to know where the Office of Military Liaison is, do you?”

  She hesitated, examined his badge and then nodded. “I’m on my way to the Political Section and I’ll pass right by it. You can tag along if you want.” Without further words she turned on her heel and strode off toward another door.

  Edward scurried to catch up with her. “Your accent’s not British, Miss Baraghani, are you an American?”

  She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and opened the door. “No. I was educated in the United States, but I’m Iranian.”

  Edward licked his lips. “Extraordinary. –If you’ll pardon me for saying it, you don’t look Iranian.”

  She paused midstride and turned to look at him, definitely not smiling.

  “And how does an Iranian look, Lieutenant Rowan?”

  He felt the heat rise in his cheeks. Put your bloody foot in it again, you idiot! “I – that is... I mean, I knew Iranian women were beautiful, but I couldn’t have possibly imagined how beautiful, until I met you.”

  The color rose in her cheeks, enhancing her attractiveness and bringing forth a slight smile. “And how many women do you say that to daily, Lieutenant?”

  Edward grinned. “Including today, only two, my mother and now you.”

  She blushed again and resumed her walk down the corridor, obviously to hide her nervousness. Edward hurried after her to catch up.

  She spoke over her shoulder. “Persia has been invaded many times by people of all nationalities, Lieutenant. There are blond Iranians, red-haired Iranians... My mother just happened to be British, so I inherited some of her genes.”

  “Your mother must be a very lovely woman.”

  Dorri bit her lip. “She was. She passed away some years ago.”

  Edward winced. “It seems I’m having to apologize with every step. I’m sorry if I opened old wounds.”

  She stopped walking. “As I said, it was a long time ago.” She pointed to an office door. “I believe this is your destination.” Then she turned and walked down the corridor.

  Edward didn’t want her to leave. “Wait! How do I find you?”

  She stopped, turned and cocked her head. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Perhaps we could get together over a drink and talk. Get to know each other.”

  Turning ba
ck, she called over her shoulder as she continued down the corridor. “I don’t drink alcohol, Lieutenant.”

  Edward watched, admiring the view, as she disappeared around a corner.

  Shaking his head, he turned his attention to the unmarked door, realizing he’d never have found it alone and opened it. Inside, he found a room staffed with several people, likely secretaries, busy at their desks. None of them rose to greet him. He looked around, hoping to catch someone’s attention and noticed several closed doors that led from the office, all of them unmarked.

  How does one find his way around in this bloody place?

  At that moment, one of the doors opened and a man in civilian clothes emerged. He looked quizzically at Edward, glancing at his uniform.

  “Can I help you, Lieutenant?”

  “I’d be most grateful if you could. I’m supposed to report to Commander Rice. Is this the right place?”

  The man finally smiled. “A little confusing, what? The Embassy’s in a security mode and all the sensitive areas have had their designations removed.” He held out his hand. “I’m Major Henry Owens of Her Majesty’s Welsh Guards and you are?”

  Owens appeared a little older than him and an inch shorter. He sported a thin, brown moustache and had brown hair that he’d apparently air-dried and combed to hide a bald spot. But when Edward shook his hand, the steady, firm grip felt confident. “Lieutenant Edward Rowan. Pleased to meet you.”

  Owens studied him again. “Didn’t anyone tell you we don’t wear uniforms?”

  “No, Sir, I just arrived. I was escorted to my quarters by some fourth undersecretary named Pincade, but he didn’t mention a word about dress.”

  “Ah...that explains it. Do you have civilian clothes with you, Lieutenant?”

  “Yes, Sir. Shall I return to my quarters and change?”

  “That won’t be necessary right now. The country is in a state of unrest and the Head of Mission deemed it prudent to display limited military presence. Hence the lack of designations on the doors and the requirement we all wear civilian attire. Bloody nuisance if you ask me.”

  Edward hesitated, unsure how to respond. He decided on a neutral reply. “Sir, is Commander Rice available?”

  He pointed to a slim sandy haired woman wearing horn-rimmed glasses, busily typing on an electric typewriter. “Ask her, she’s the Commander’s information specialist.”

  Edward glanced over at the woman and back at Owens. “Is there anything else I need to be aware of, Sir?”

  “I suspect Commander Rice will tell you all you need to know. Welcome to Embassy duty Mister Rowan. –I’ve a meeting to attend. Glad to have been of assistance.” He turned to leave and then paused. “By the way, you haven’t seen a certain woman on your way here perchance? She’s unmistakable, quite beautiful actually, coal black hair, violet eyes...?”

  I should have known, likely she has the attention of every man here. Feeling strangely perverse, he lied.

  “No, Sir. No one by that description.”

  Owens nodded. “Very well then, carry on.”

  Edward approached the sandy haired clerk who subsequently ignored him and continued to type. She wore her hair pulled back, clasped in a clip behind her head. Her brown eyes, magnified by the glasses, stared, fixed upon the notes placed next to her.

  He cleared his throat. “Excuse me Petty Officer but were you never trained in how to greet a senior officer?”

  The clerk blinked as though waking from a dream and leaped to her feet. “Oh! Pardon me, Sir!” She waved to the typewriter. “It’s just that I need to get this report typed up by this afternoon and I was concentrating...” She removed her glasses, straightened and stood at attention. “Petty Officer Specialist, Emily Robbins, how may I be of service, Sir?”

  Without the thick glasses, Robbins revealed an attractive pixie-like face with expressive brown eyebrows that were currently knotted with frown lines.

  Edward smiled. “Stand at ease Miss Robbins. I’m sorry if I interrupted, but I need to report to Commander Rice. Is he available?”

  “Yes Sir, but we usually don’t stand on formality here.” She indicated her desk and then pointed at one of the doors. “There’s no intercom to announce you. Just knock on the door and wait for him to acknowledge it.”

  Edward nodded. “Thank you Miss Robbins. Please, return to you duties. My apologies for interrupting.”

  Robbins blushed and her features relaxed. “That’s quiet alright. It’s just... when I’m concentrating, I lose all awareness of the world around me.”

  Smiling once more at the flustered woman, Edward moved to the door and knocked twice.

  A faint voice issued from behind the closed door. “Bloody hell! What now? –Enter!”

  He opened the door, stepped into the office, and stood at attention with his peaked cap tucked under his arm.

  When Rice looked up from his desk he saluted. “Flight Lieutenant Rowan reporting for duty, Sir!”

  Rice paused, looking up at him. His eyes traveled up and down Edwards erect form.

  “So... you’re the one. Close the door, Lieutenant, and sit.”

  Rice waited until Edward had shut them off from the busy inner office and sat down, before speaking.

  “I couldn’t believe it when MI5 said they were sending an agent.”

  Edward laid his cap on the desk. “You couldn’t have been more surprised than me, Sir. Normally I serve in the analysis section, but they needed someone who spoke fluent Farsi, so...” He spread his hands and shrugged.

  Rice leaned back in his chair and folded his hands. “Do you have any military experience, Mister Rowan? After all, you are posing as a military liaison.”

  “RAF, Sir. I flew Harriers before being grounded for a supposed heart murmur. That’s why I joined the intelligence services.”

  Rice’s eyebrows rose. “And what was your rank in the RAF?”

  Edward paused for a moment, assessing Commander Rice’s rugged, ruddy features under a bushy crown of red hair. His pale blue eyes stared back at Edward waiting for him to respond. Edward didn’t know how much to reveal, but he felt his military experience might fit in the ‘need to know’ category.

  “My true rank is Wing Commander, Sir, but the Home Office thought that posing as an older Flight Lieutenant would be viewed by the Iranian officials as an officer not competent enough to be promoted. –Not fall under suspicion, as it were.”

  “I see. –I suppose we should continue with the subterfuge then. How old are you...Flight Lieutenant?”

  “Thirty-two, Sir. I’ll be thirty-three in December.”

  Rice remained silent for a while. “You must have been quite an aviator to have been promoted to Wing Commander at such a young age. I suppose my next question concerns your mission. Just what are you expected to accomplish here?”

  “Sir, my job is to listen and analyze. Since I’m fluent in Farsi, I’m to play dumb, listen to conversations and assess the mood of the people, particularly the military. The Home Office is uneasy. They feel that something is brewing under the surface unrest in the Muslim population and the Shah’s position may be precarious.”

  Edward carefully didn’t mention that his university studies had armed him with extensive knowledge of Middle Eastern history, culture and conflicts. Most of his graduate work had centered on the complex interplay of Western culture with the more conservative Muslim traditions. Fluent in more languages than just Farsi, his intelligence analysis of the situation in Iran had been one of the primary motivations for the Home Office to dispatch him to the center of the crisis.

  Rice chuckled. “I don’t think you’ll have much opportunity to mix with the Iranians, Lieutenant. The Embassy is currently at a confidential security status. That’s why we military have been confined to these cramped, unmarked offices and required to wear civilian garb. It’s so we won’t antagonize the Iranians.”

  “Nevertheless, Sir, at the first opportunity, I need to be included in any ambassadorial mission that in
volves the military.” Edward knew that the preliminary groundwork had already been laid for just such a mission. On the surface, the purpose involved negotiations for the Iranian military to buy Harriers from British manufacturers. It was up to him to make the most of it.

  Rice appeared skeptical. “Very well Mister Rowan, you’ll be included – assuming that is, that such a mission occurs. –Now do you have anything to ask of me?”

  “Just a few items, Sir. I’ll need a non-descript office, something small to emphasize my low status, and access to the secure communications facility.”

  “I’ll see to it. We’ll need your clearance of course. Anything else?”

  Edward thought for a moment. “Just one thing, Sir, a certain Embassy official seemed to know I spoke Farsi. I’d prefer it if that fact was not widely know.”

  Rice’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? And who, pray tell, was this official?”

  “An undersecretary named Pincade.”

  “Snoopy bugger! I know who you mean. Rest assured Rowan, it will be dealt with.”

  “Thank you, I believe that’s all Sir.”

  Rice stood and extended his hand to Edward. “Very well Lieutenant Rowan. Why don’t you change into civilian attire and then return? I’ll have someone escort you around the complex and we’ll settle you in. Welcome to the Embassy.” They shook hands.

  Chapter 2

  Tehran – Summer 1977

  Edward’s daily duties consisted of menial tasks, sometimes supervising the security of Embassy mail and at others as the watch commander of the Royal Marines guarding the compound. He occasionally spied Dorri around the offices but often in the company of an over-eager Major Owens, endeavoring to gain her attention.

  In his free time, he explored the city, surreptitiously listening to comments made by the locals to try and assess their mood. So far his efforts had proved fruitless.

  Now, he sat at an open air cafe, sipping coffee and pretending to read an English language newspaper. The coffee shop catered to expatriates and Embassy personnel of the various countries represented in Iran. He didn’t expect to discover anything new about the Muslim population, but the varied opinions of the people gathered here interested him. The only Iranians seated at the tables worked for the embassies and their muted conversations were for the most part unintelligible.