The Peregrine Spy

by Edmund P. Murray

  “What’s happened?” asked Frank, wondering about the abrupt leap from Lermontov to Nazih.

  “Major Nazih has been detained. We will need another means to contact you. Can we rely on your ambassador?”

  “Of course,” said Frank. “But why has the major been detained?” As soon as the words escaped, he realized the Shah might consider the question rude.

  “In our own house. Our own court.” His tone had sharpened. “He had been playing too many games in too many different directions, including the game he tried to play with you.”

  “What game was that, Your Imperial Majesty?”

  “He tried to put you in a bad light with us. Apparently at the urging of this Russian, who has his own games to play. But it is not important. Others far more important will soon be arrested. What does the arrest of someone as small as your Major Nazih matter? Besides, it has a strategic value. It sends a message to the Russians. And it isolates this Lermontov. That should help you.”

  “I hope … I hope I haven’t contributed to the major’s problem.”

  “Rubbish. Others have also been detained.”

  His voice began to fade. He removed his dark glasses and turned to face Frank. His eyes looked sunken.

  “What must I do to contain this cancer? Lance it? Spill more blood? What would you do?”

  I would get the hell out of here, thought Frank. “Perhaps a new government,” he said. “With a role for the popular but moderate religious leaders.”

  “Do you think that might work?” the Shah asked.

  The question stunned Frank. “You would know far better than I,” he said.

  The Shah turned in his chair and looked for a moment toward the sun-glazed window behind him. Frank knew he could see nothing beyond the glare of the snow.

  “We wonder. Perhaps a vacation. We might discuss your idea with our prime minister…” The Shah hesitated, seeming to have lost his thought. Frank offered a name.

  “General Azhari.”

  “Yes. We can trust General Azhari. The Immortals. We can trust the Immortals. Admiral Hayati thinks we should take a vacation at a naval base in the south and let the Immortals and the soldiers put down this rebellion.”

  “Will you take his advice?”

  “We see blood on the snow. When we look behind us and the sun sets and strikes the hills, that is what we see. We see blood on the snow. A strange treatment for cancer, isn’t it?” His shoulders hunched. The turtle shrank into his shell.

  * * *

  From the sound of the laboring motor, Frank knew that Ali kept the car in low gear as they descended the Elborz Hills from the palace toward the city. Snow that had melted under the midday sun now had begun to freeze over as the evening cooled. He hoped Ali would not ask what had happened to Major Nazih, but soon discovered that Ali knew more than he did.

  “Major Nazih left in a blue Mercedes,” he volunteered. “With three men in black leather overcoats. Others also left in a Savak van that followed the Mercedes.”

  “Do you know the man with the white hair? Wears a formal suit with tails?”

  Ali nodded. “He is one of two or three deputy ministers of the court. Since the death of Assadolah Alam, there has been no minister. I do not know his name. He left, with others, in the Savak van. One of the Imperial Guards, a nephew of mine, said the rumor makers say they were all involved with the Russians in some way.”

  And Lermontov survives, thought Frank. How? Why?

  “Major Sullivan, sir.”

  “Yes?”

  “This makes me worried.” The car skidded on an icy patch, but Ali accelerated out of the spin. “Am I also in trouble?”

  “No.” He started to say, “Not as far as I know,” but held back. He managed a smile. “And I don’t think I’m in trouble either.”

  “Good,” said Ali. “Are you a family man, sir?”

  “Yes, and I know you must be worried about your family.” Jake. Jackie. For the first time in days, he thought about his family.

  “Yes,” Ali agreed. “I must worry about my family.”

  “I’ll do my best to keep us both out of trouble.”

  I have to, thought Frank. For Jake.

  “Thank you, sir. I will also do my best.”

  * * *

  The arrests forced Frank to drive from Dowshan Tappeh to a bubble meeting with Rocky.

  “And you better have Gus ride shotgun,” Tom Troy had advised.

  Since Gus had challenged the need-to-know wall between them, Frank had agreed they would work better together by keeping each other informed. He outlined all that had happened at the palace and confessed that he worried, despite himself, about Nazih; worried what General Merid’s reaction would be; worried about the gracious majordomo and what role he might have played in whatever web Nazih had spun. He even wondered if Lermontov had somehow found a way to arrange the arrests as a means of making his position with the Soviets seem in jeopardy.

  * * *

  Rocky, as Frank had suspected, had heard about the arrests from Savak’s Eagle-1. But Savak had provided few details, only that those arrested had been in contact with Noureddin Kianouri and other exiled leaders of the Tudeh party.

  They left Gus behind in Rocky’s office and climbed to the bubble.

  “So maybe your KGB buddy’s out of the loop,” said Rocky. “Maybe the Sovs have given up on Kianouri and the Tudeh.”

  “But the other day Lermontov flat out told me Nazih works for him.”

  “Well, if the Shah’s intelligence branch didn’t already know it, they must have been listening when Lermontov told you about it.”

  “So?”

  “So maybe the Shah wants to do us—or you—a favor. Maybe he figures it’s better for us to let Lermontov hang around here rather than PNG him back to Moscow where you and I can’t get at him. I’ve got a sit-down meet with Eagle-1 tomorrow. I’ll get more then. We’re on for the day after tomorrow with Lermontov?”

  Frank nodded. “Meeting’s set for Friday, seven-thirty, the safe house.”

  “You think he’ll show?”

  “I think he’ll show.”

  * * *

  Frank, in an office next to Rocky’s, began his cable drafting with a brief report on his meeting with Lermontov. Begging Gus to bear with him, he spent over an hour drafting a carefully nuanced narrative of his conversation with the Shah. He drew no conclusions, but Rocky did.

  “It sounds like he’s lost it and he knows it.”

  Frank kept his cables on meeting Colonel Kasravi and on the apparent arrests by Savak brief, almost telegraphic. Rocky added a station comment confirming the arrests and citing his own earlier cable based on information from Eagle-1.

  “I don’t think anyone’s ever met this Kasravi character before,” said Rocky. “The ambassador sure hasn’t, and none of the military attachés know him. You realize he could give you a pipeline into the prime minister’s office?”

  “We’ll see what happens,” said Frank.

  “Gus tell you what he’s got goin’?”

  Frank looked his way.

  “Haven’t had a chance,” said Gus.

  “Your buddy oughta know about it,” said Rocky.

  “’Course,” said Gus. “Just haven’t had the chance. It’s our waiter, this Hamid character I asked Anwar about. Seems he’s also the waiter for the big brass, the generals up on the third floor.”

  “Seems he speaks English,” said Rocky. “Gus got the full name, date and place of birth, the usual, and we asked for traces. Nothin’ on him, so I told Gus to go ahead and pitch him.”

  “Sounds good,” said Frank. “He go for it?”

  “Haven’t had a chance to get him alone since I got the go-ahead,” said Gus. “Been meanin’ to tell you about it, but you’ve been pretty busy. Up at the palace and all.”

  “Yeah,” said Frank, “I guess. We do have some time in the evening, though, don’t we?”

  “Anyway,” said Gus, “till we find out if he goes for i
t or not, there won’t be much to tell.”

  “If it works out,” said Rocky, “with one of you talkin’ to Kasravi and the other with a snitch who listens to the generals, looks like maybe I won’t be able t’ get rid of you two bastards.”

  * * *

  General Merid, nervous when he arrived for their meeting the next day, became even more agitated when an Imperial Bodyguard corporal interrupted to announce that Colonel Kasravi wanted to see Major Sullivan in his third-floor office at nine hundred hours.

  “Why … why does he want to see you?”

  “I have no idea,” said Frank. “I didn’t even know he had an office upstairs.”

  The general tugged at the hem of his jacket. Tension furrowed his usually smooth forehead. “I see. Then he will want me to attend the meeting as well. To escort you.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m sure you’re right.”

  “Yes. At zero nine hundred hours. Well, that still gives us an hour. Shall we begin our own meeting? Our own discussions?”

  No one mentioned the absence of Major Nazih. General Merid eased into his chair and looked from one American to the other. Frank tried to imagine how he would feel if someone close to him, his son, perhaps, had been picked up for some unknown reason. Jake, disappeared into the black hole of a secretive juvenile detention system. He shuddered. Please be okay, he prayed. The silence around the table weighed like a damp shroud. Gus did his best to stir up interest in civic action programs he’d been involved with in Vietnam.

  “Vietnam?” said Munair. “Wasn’t that a disaster for your country?”

  * * *

  As they started their climb to the third floor, Frank said softly to General Merid, “As I’m sure you know, yesterday … yesterday Major Nazih and I did not return from the palace together.”

  “What can you tell me?”

  “Only what our driver saw. Major Nazih left in a blue Mercedes with three other men. And other members, members, he thought, of the Imperial Court also left in a van.”

  “Under Savak control,” said the general.

  “Do you have any idea why?”

  “No. But Colonel Kasravi can enlighten us. He has excellent contacts.”

  * * *

  Colonel Kasravi, however, had other plans for his meeting. “Thank you, general, for showing Major Sullivan the way,” he said moments after they entered his tiny, sparsely furnished office. “I will see he gets back to your meeting as quickly as possible. Perhaps you and I can meet here this afternoon. Let us say thirteen hundred hours?”

  “But Colonel Kasravi, sir…”

  “Thirteen hundred hours,” Kasravi repeated.

  Frank felt the general’s embarrassment and looked away. He sensed more steel in Colonel Kasravi than General Merid and Major Nazih had indicated when they had joked about the chicken colonel. Perhaps that had been one of Nazih’s mistakes.

  “Yes, colonel. Thirteen hundred hours.” Frank heard General Merid open the door behind him. Kasravi did not even give General Merid time to close it before addressing Frank.

  “Thank you for being prompt. Please be seated.”

  “Yes, Your Excellency.”

  “Please. I’m only a deputy prime minister. You don’t have to salam-ta me.”

  Frank nodded and took a seat across the small, gunmetal desk that Kasravi sat behind. A single file folder sat open on the desk. Kasravi glanced at its contents and closed it.

  Frank took his tape recorder from a jacket pocket and asked, “Will this be okay?”

  “Yes. In fact, it will be a good idea. I have certain information to convey to you, and it is important that you report it accurately.”

  Frank nodded, pressed the play and record buttons, and opened up the notebook he’d also brought with him.

  “I’ve been instructed to inform you in the matter of Major Nazih,” said the colonel. “The information I am about to give you may be conveyed to your government. But it may not be conveyed to any of your counterparts on Jayface, including the general, or to any other Iranians or any foreign nationals or uncleared Americans. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Frank. NOFORN, he thought, anticipating his cable heading.

  “Major Nazih, along with several members of the Imperial Court, all, I might add, or nearly all, members of a tight little Qazvini Mafia, have been detained.”

  Frank circled “Qzn Mfa” on his notepad, wondering what that meant.

  “They had conspired with elements of the Tudeh party to undermine the Imperial Government of Iran, to establish links to renegade mullahs and to smuggle the leader of the Tudeh party back into the country by boat from Baku across the Caspian with plans to land on a beach near the city of Rasht. We have this morning informed the Russian Embassy of our knowledge and displeasure concerning this plot. We plan no retaliation or public announcement, but we have told the Russians we expect them to refrain from any similar activities, particularly as it may concern support of certain renegade mullahs. His Imperial Majesty’s private security branch initiated this action with the assistance of military intelligence. Savak had no involvement except for taking the detainees into custody. In fact, J2, our military intelligence, has detained certain members of Savak who themselves have been involved in this conspiracy. We believe your embassy has no prior knowledge of what we have done. The primary Soviet agent in this plot is Vassily Lermontov, whom, of course, you know.”

  “Of course. Is he under surveillance?”

  “Of course,” said Kasravi. “So are you. But, at His Imperial Majesty’s specific instructions, in deference to you, your KGB friend will not be expelled.”

  “But why, why in deference to me?”

  “That is all I have been instructed to say.”

  “Yes, sir. But may I … may I ask one other question? What’s a…” He glanced quickly at his notepad. “A Qazvini Mafia?”

  “I have no instructions on that.” For a moment, the steel melted and the colonel smiled. “But you might consult a map.”

  * * *

  They wrote their cables in Stan Rushmore’s office at Dowshan Tappeh. Frank covered his meeting with Kasravi; Gus handled the Jayface meeting.

  “And one more on Hamid,” said Gus. “He went for it. Cash on the barrelhead. American dollars.”

  “Good,” said Frank. “Hope he’s productive.”

  “He may be,” said Gus. “But look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right up front. Guess I was still pissed at you keepin’ me in the dark about Lermontov.”

  “You made your point,” said Frank. “You didn’t have to rub it in.”

  * * *

  Frank’s Timex, which tended to run fast, read seven-thirty-five when the flash of car lights from the street sent him scuttling down the steps to the garage. He heaved the doors up and stepped aside as a white Peugeot eased its way in alongside the blue Fiat. Frank tugged on the rope that lowered the doors, slipped the padlock through the hasp, and clicked it shut.

  “I hope I’m not late,” said Lermontov, as he squeezed his huge frame out of the Peugeot 504. In his bulky overcoat and lamb’s-wool cap he looked even more overwhelming than usual.

  “You’re right on time,” said Frank. He led the way upstairs. Despite his bulk, Lermontov mounted the stairs so quietly that Frank had to glance over his shoulder to make sure the Russian had followed him. Frank bypassed the closed kitchen door and turned into the large front room.

  “Looks like a nice place,” said Lermontov.

  “Yes, and I suspect I owe it all to you.”

  “Me?”

  “Well, yes. The station must have felt you rated special treatment. This is a whole lot nicer, and bigger, than the house they gave us to live in.”

  “I know. Is this the room that’s bugged?”

  “Far as I know, the whole house is bugged.”

  “I doubt. You had no instructions to confine our conversations to this room?”

  “No.”

  “Interesting. Do you mind if I look aroun
d?”

  “Help yourself.”

  Lermontov put his worn soft-leather briefcase on the large walnut-stained dining room table and dropped his coat and cap onto a chair. He opened the briefcase, dug into it, and extracted a black plastic device with a red bulb at one end. He ran it over the table top, then around the sides, also checking as he went with his fingers.

  “There’s something here, but nothing happens. That bulb should be flashing.” An opaque vase with blue plastic flowers stood on the table. “Does that look familiar?”

  “Yes,” said Frank, remembering the similar arrangement in the room assigned to them outside the Shah’s offices.

  “The Americans sell the Iranians their leftovers. Everything from fighter jets to bugs.” He circled the vase with his scanning device. The red bulb remained dark. Like a housewife testing fruit at a market, he squeezed each flower. “This one,” he said. “Feel it.”

  Frank touched the soft plastic and could feel metal. Lermontov circled the room, checking the radiant-heat floor vents, examining the mantel over the fake fireplace, tapping the walls. “Something here, but nothing happens. Have you used the phone?”

  Frank shook his head, and Lermontov picked up the black phone on a bookstand next to a blue Naugahyde armchair. “Dead, but in Tehran that isn’t unusual. We’re lucky the lights are on.” He unscrewed the mouthpiece. “There’s another. Very amusing. Because the electric power here is so unreliable, all the listening devices must be battery operated. It appears the bugs are more or less permanent installations, but your technicians forgot to activate them.”

  Batteries not included, thought Frank. He’d encountered such agency incompetence before, but he would not admit that to Lermontov.

  “Maybe your scanning device hasn’t been activated.”

  “No. I do not leave such things to technicians. I tested it before I left the embassy. You must inform your rezident—chief of station, I mean. He should have someone shot.”

  “He may,” said Frank.

  “It’s the same man, isn’t it? Who was in Rome when you tried to clean up that stupid book operation?”

  “Would you like to meet him?”

  “I would rather die,” said Lermontov. He handed Frank an envelope, pointing to three neatly printed words. ‘Read later alone.’ Frank put the envelope in his inside jacket pocket.