“How far in advance?”
“Not later than 11 Moharram. Your 12 December. That will get us beyond the holy days of Tasu’a and Ashura, which I expect to pass without incident.”
“Don’t you expect the usual parades, demonstrations?”
“You need not look so worried.” Score another for the colonel, thought Frank. He hadn’t realized his concern showed so apparently. “We have had recent demonstrations in Qom, Mashhad, other cities, without violence,” added Kasravi. “Inshallah, we shall again during Moharram.”
“Inshallah.” Frank wished he could be as optimistic as the colonel. “Moharram 11.”
“Correct,” said Colonel Kasravi. “Your 12 December. And not one day later.”
“May I suggest, sir, that we move that deadline up a bit? If we give my government until December 12 to respond, they will take until December 12, which would only leave a little more than two weeks to prepare for publication.”
“I leave that up to you. Our publication deadline will remain 7 Safar, our Islamic calendar.”
“Very good,” said Frank, wondering if Kasravi’s promotion to deputy prime minister had forged the steel he now displayed. He also wondered what else he could negotiate. “Sir,” he tried, “if possible, could we begin preliminary work on the project even sooner, on a tentative basis? Planning for a new publication, recruiting journalists, all that will take time.”
“I have thought of all that. We will begin the project with a single newspaper, in English only. We will assign you the staff and facilities of Kayhan International, our English-language daily. As you know, the military government shut it down along with the other newspapers when we came to power. It will remain shut down, but you will have the opportunity to take its staff and create a new newspaper. Also its printing and distribution facilities.”
“That … that sounds great,” said Frank.
“It remains to be seen how great it will be. You will have to be very careful with the staff. The editor is a good man, loyal to the Shah and respected by other journalists, but some of the others … they include some left-wing riffraff who like to stir up trouble. That’s why we want an English-language newspaper you can monitor yourself. We will also assign a senior information officer from the prime minister’s office and, of course, someone from Savak to work with you.”
Oh, well, thought Frank. I’ve worked with censors before. And survived.
“You said your government would require a more detailed proposal before making a final commitment on your availability. Our operational plan is spelled out in this document, which I have had translated into English for you.” He slid the loose-leaf binder across the table to Frank. “Can you convey these details to your government at once?”
“Of course,” said Frank. “I’ll have to make arrangements at the embassy, but I’m sure they’ll get a cable off today and have this material sent immediately by diplomatic pouch.”
“Good,” said the colonel. “Since I have done all this for you…” Kasravi hesitated. He held his hands out before him, palms upward, as though praying, or studying the lines for guidance. “There is another matter, a matter of some delicacy.” He touched the sealed envelope that sat before him on the table. “In this envelope…” He withdrew his hand. “Admiral Hayati, who heads our Royal Navy, asked Captain Irfani to handle this matter. Munair, Captain Irfani, thought it unwise.”
Because he doesn’t trust the Americans. Frank wondered what would come next.
“Munair has told me that he asked your Jayface colleague Major Anwar Amini to give you a tape made by Khomeini. He thought it would help you understand the situation we face.”
“It proved very helpful.”
“Good. But this other matter, it involved material Major Amini is not cleared to handle. Only because Munair, Captain Irfani, is so close to Admiral Hayati … You see, it is a proposal, a proposal drafted by Admiral Hayati himself.”
“And you want me to have it?”
“No,” said Kasravi. “Not I. Admiral Hayati wants you to have it. For a special reason. He wants you to have it because of your special relationship to His Imperial Majesty.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“This package contains a document, a thirty-page plan Admiral Hayati presented to the Shah in October. A plan that calls for a military takeover of the government, the withdrawal of the Shah to a naval base in the south until such time as it takes for the military to secure the monarchy. It calls for the arrests of hundreds of corrupt people, plus thousands of revolutionaries and radical clergy.”
“What did the Shah say?”
“It is my understanding that he said it would be against the constitution. He said he did not want the blood of his people on his hands just to save the monarchy.”
“Then there won’t be a coup.”
“Perhaps. Admiral Hayati reported to his colleagues that the Shah did not say no to his plan. Only that it must be considered in light of the constitution.”
“I still don’t understand why Admiral Hayati wants us to have his plan.”
“It is our hope, Admiral Hayati’s hope, that you will find the opportunity to discuss his plan with His Imperial Majesty.”
Frank’s paranoia kicked in. “That sounds risky.” He glanced at the sealed package as though it contained a bomb.
“Perhaps. But if the Shah knows the Americans have it, he may be forced to act on it.”
“I suspect he would want to know how I got it.”
“If you tell him, Admiral Hayati, myself, perhaps others, would face grave trouble.”
Interesting word choice, thought Frank. Grave trouble. If the Shah finds out, we may all be dead men.
“I suspect,” said Frank, “that if the Shah thought the Americans had the plan, he would ask the Americans on a very high level, maybe through the ambassador, for advice on what they think he should do.”
“What would the advice be?”
Frank shook his head. Shrugged. Muttered, “No idea.”
“I see.” Kasravi studied him closely. “If the opportunity should present itself, you must use your own judgment.”
“Agreed.”
“Unfortunately, we do not have a translation for you, but Admiral Hayati has authorized me to summarize it for you.”
Another job for Belinsky, thought Frank.
Kasravi placed his right hand on the sealed package, as though taking an oath on its contents. “The plan calls for the navy to take over the oil fields if the workers resume their strike and to take over the ports. Admiral Hayati would also be responsible for taking over key factories and the electrical grid that supplies the nation. The Imperial Guard would secure Dowshan Tappeh. There is concern about the loyalty of some elements there. Particularly homafaran. Here in Tehran, the army will seal off the university, secure the airport, the military ordnance department in Abbas-Abad, the military installations and reservoir near Yusefabad, the radio masts near Qasar Prison.”
Frank scribbled furiously in his self-taught Speedwriting, cursing, but understanding, Kasravi’s refusal to allow a recording of his words.
“It doesn’t say so here,” Kasravi continued, “but the prisons will be left unprotected.”
“Prisoners will be released?”
“That will be up to the prisoners and their guards. I suspect arrangements will be made.”
“I suspect.” If possible, in American dollars, thought Frank.
“J2 will work with the Shah’s personal intelligence group. Savak will have no role.”
“Interesting.”
“Yes. J2 suspects some Savak agents talk to Khomeini’s people And others to the Russians.”
* * *
“Your Colonel Kasravi buddy might want you to get yourself killed,” said Rocky. He and Frank hunched over the glass-topped table, alone in the bubble. “Accordin’ to the ambassador, the fuckin’ Shah already thinks Jimmy Carter and the CIA are plottin’ with the mullahs to get him kicke
d out. Shah finds out we got this coup proposal he’ll think for sure we’re tryin’ t’ fuck him. He might think we wrote it.”
“In Farsi?”
“We got translators. Look, I put Belinsky on alert. I want to get him up here. Belinsky confirms this stuff is real, I may think about lettin’ the Shah know we got it. Understood?”
“Understood,” said Frank. He wondered why Rocky would consider changing his mind so abruptly. Maybe he wants to get me killed.
Rocky installed Frank in a vacant office close to his. He said he wanted to get Frank’s cable about the proposed coup off as soon as possible. His alacrity puzzled Frank. He’d grown used to Rocky’s resistance to most of what he wanted to file. Then he realized that what Kasravi had told him fit neatly into the requirements laid down by Langley: details confirming plans for a military coup. Nothing that contradicted previous reporting about the central role of the Soviet Union in Iran’s troubles. Even Kasravi’s report of possible Soviet infiltration of Savak had cheered Rocky. The secret of good reporting, thought Frank. Intelligence that fits policy requirements.
* * *
Rocky confirmed his suspicions. He read Frank’s cable quickly, changed nothing, and muttered, “Just what the fuckers want. Now what about this newspaper business?”
Frank, Rocky, Chuck Belinsky, Ambassador O’Connor, Fred, and Gus now crowded the bubble. Frank summarized what Kasravi had told him about the approval of their proposal for the Armed Forces Times.
“Near East may not like it,” said Rocky, nodding in the direction of Frank and Gus, “but Covert Action will fuckin’ love it, and since that’s your shop, that’s what counts. Lemme see a cable on it before you get outta here. How soon do you want your approval?”
“Can we get it by Monday?” said Frank. “December fifth. That gives us most of a week to get cranking before Ashura hits the fan.”
“We’ll get it done,” promised Rocky.
“And it purely will hit the fan,” said Belinsky. “I don’t know if all of you heard about it, but the government announced this morning, like Frank told us last week, it will ban all demonstrations during Moharram. If the government sticks to that, sir,” said Belinsky, addressing the ambassador, “I suggest you may want to take extra security precautions to protect the embassy.”
“Well, I don’t want us to go into a panic mode that might create more panic.”
Though they sat around the large rectangular table in Rocky’s bubble, the ambassador had already asserted control by calling for a discussion of security problems during Moharram. The problems seemed abstract to Frank. He worried more about his own safety and security at the university. Tomorrow, he thought. Seven in the evening. The first of Moharram. Not far away. The thought made the security problems the others discussed seem less abstract.
“Sir, I was fortunate enough just a while ago to get through to Ayatollah Shariat-Madari,” said Belinsky. “He laughed when I told him about the ban. Said it was absurd that the faithful needed the government’s permission to honor the martyrdom of Imam Hossein. ‘Let them refuse permits,’ he said. ‘We have no need for their permits.’ He said he would make this his message at the Friday prayer meeting tomorrow. He’ll also be on the phone urging other religious leaders around the country to do the same. I asked if this would mean confrontations with the military. He said, ‘Inshallah.’”
God’s will gets blamed for a lot these days, thought Frank. He wondered if the same message would be delivered at the prayer meeting at the university. Please, Allah, let there be no confrontation with the military tomorrow.
“Good work, Chuck,” said the ambassador. “We’ll need you to do a cable on this.”
“I’ve already done a draft, sir. Bu I thought I should wait till after this meeting to finalize.”
“Good,” said the ambassador. “I’m having lunch with the Shah tomorrow. I’ll get a reading from him on how he sees this Ashura business. We also have a security expert from Washington just arrived. We can discuss embassy security needs with him tomorrow, after I see the Shah.”
“Balls,” said Rocky. “I know these Foggy Bottom security creeps. Their only function is to convince everybody everything is fucking hunky-dory and then get out of town before the rest of us get our asses shot off.”
Frank said a silent prayer of thanks, grateful that Rocky had aimed his firmly pronounced final g’s at someone else.
“I’m with Chuck,” continued Rocky. “If he says the shit will fucking hit the fan if the military tries to ban a holy day parade, I say we fucking batten down the hatches. What would happen to New York if the Pope said too many Irishmen get fucking stinko and got the city to ban the St. Patrick’s Day drunk fest up Fifth Avenue? The fucking micks would tear up the fucking city, fucking cathedral and all.”
“I agree with you about that,” said the ambassador, laughing with the others, except, Frank noted, for Rocky. Rocky did not laugh. He glowered.
“Oh, Rocky. And Frank. Another matter,” said the ambassador as his own smile faded. “Also tomorrow, after I return from the palace, I’ll need to meet with you two privately, in my office. Ambassador Hempstone will be with me. I understand he and his wife will be leaving soon, but evidently he has some news for us.”
“Good?” said Rocky. “Bad?”
“I don’t know,” said the ambassador.
* * *
Frank and Rocky sat alone in the bubble.
“What d’ya think?” mumbled Rocky. He’d turned his hearing aid back up.
“I dunno,” responded Frank, wishing he and Rocky could talk openly about tomorrow. And Lermontov. “Any word from home?”
“Not yet. But it figures the Brits might’ve given their ambassador a chance to respond t’ whatever they said before givin’ our gang a tinkle.”
Frank studied him, concluding that Rocky had sent the eyes-only cable to Brzezinski and that Brzezinski or someone high up had acted on it.
“Meantime,” said Rocky, “my so-called buddy Gerry Mosley’s ducking me. Never happened before. Most times he’s the eager buddy-buddy beaver. Not this time. Worries me. Eagle-1 tells me he talked to him. Told him I needed t’ meet. Still nothing.”
Frank could feel Rocky working up his anger. He didn’t know what to say but ventured, “Mosley must want Lermontov bad as we do.”
“I don’t want Lermontov bad. I want him good. And soon. Very fucking soon.”
“You pissed at me?” said Frank.
“Should be. But I’m not.”
“Why should you be?” asked Frank.
“I dunno,” said Rocky, fishing. “You tell me.”
With a good spy’s paranoia, Frank wondered if Rocky had gotten word of his plan to take Belinsky to Anwar’s home that evening. I should have told Rocky, he thought, or I should have asked Belinsky not to tell the ambassador. He’d done neither.
“You seemed awful pissed when the ambassador talked about meeting with this State Department security expert.”
“Yeah, well, that was real. This security creep—he comes out of State, and State’s job is to represent the U.S. of fucking A. t’ the rest of the world. And to do that and have enough jobs to keep every Foggy Bottom faggot on the payroll, you have to have functioning embassies all over the globe even if it means keeping open embassies like this one where people stand a good goddamn chance of getting their ass shot off. Right here, just for example, back in seventy-one, I was in Rome back then. The ambassador, Douglas fucking MacArthur, damn near got whacked right here. The guy what had that map you so elo-fuckin’-quently wrote about in that atmospherics cable. Friend of mine was here told me about it later. Same story. Embassy had just been briefed by some old boy out of Foggy Bottom about how hunky-dory everything was. MacArthur came outta the feel-good meetin’ and was headin’ up to see his buddy the King of Kings when he got jumped by a carload of leftist ragheads. Managed to get out of it with his ass intact and got the hell out of Iran for good pretty soon after. Moral: Whenever you hear a
State Department security expert say everything is hunky-dory and security is tight as a virgin’s vagina, wrap a bulletproof vest around your ass and duck. Besides that, why didn’t you tell me about takin’ Belinsky to your buddy’s tonight?”
Here it comes, thought Frank. “’Cause I fucked up. I should’ve told you.”
“Yeah, you shoulda, but with everything else you pulled lately I can’t get but just so pissed when you pull somethin’ new, ’specially when I’m already pissed to the eyeballs about this Foggy Bottomless insecurity expert.”
“Sorry,” said Frank.
“You do good work, Sullivan. Sometimes. But you didn’t have to try this shit with Belinsky and your Iranian buddy behind my backside. I woulda said okay and I still say okay. I mean, I don’t mind if you get this Anwar’s ass in a sling or get yourself jammed up, but if you get Belinsky jammed up the ambassador will chew my ass out from here to Langley and back again, and that kind of shit I don’t need. Belinsky was smart enough to tell the ambassador, which means it would’ve been smart to let me know about it, because the ambassador told me after tellin’ Belinsky t’ forget about it. But the ambassador owes me a few, so I convinced him to let Belinsky go through with it. It’ll make this Anwar even more helpful for as long as we’re all here, and he and his wife might be useful stateside, if any of us get there alive. But the ambassador said he’d have my scalp if anything happened to Belinsky. You got any idea how you’re gonna get the two of you there and back?”
“I’ve got an idea,” said Frank.
“That’s what you told me about bringin’ Lermontov back in. And we still haven’t seen his Russian ass.”
I’ll see his Russian ass tomorrow night, thought Frank. I hope.
* * *
Frank’s idea for getting Belinsky to Anwar’s seemed simple. Bill Steele, driving a nondescript van, picked up Belinsky at the Damavand. Steele took extreme evasive measures and saw no signs of a tail. By the time they drove onto the base at Dowshan Tappeh, Belinsky had edged his way into the back of the van, where he could not be seen from the outside.
The Peregrine Spy Page 28