The Peregrine Spy

by Edmund P. Murray

  “Neither ever had a following worthy of the name. Rabble. Street thugs. Some leftists. Russians backing both. Foreigners wanting a weak government so they could exploit our oil.”

  “The course of action we’ve plotted benefits from lessons learned during the Mosaddeq episode,” said Kasravi.

  “We hope your government understands our need for support,” said the Shah.

  “I share your hope, sir.”

  “Ambassador Zahedi, who is here for consultations, tells us we can count on Mr. Brzezinski to push for support, but that your President remains…”

  The Shah looked to Kasravi for help, who in turn looked to Frank. “Wishy-washy?” said Kasravi. “Is there such a term?”

  “Your ambassador’s picked up well on American idiom,” said Frank.

  “It means indecisive?”

  “Correct, general. And some of President Carter’s critics say that about him. But I’ve also heard he’s a very meticulous, careful man. He may want to make sure the Iranian military can initiate a successful coup before committing support.”

  “We recognize that we need American support to succeed,” said the Shah. “By now even President Jimmy must recognize that.”

  “What kind of support will you need?” asked Frank. He realized he’d begun to tread on the territory of Americans far senior, including Ambassador O’Connor and the visiting General Weber. But he saw no way of avoiding the Shah’s determination to involve him.

  “Perhaps only symbolic,” said the Shah. “Certainly not troops. Possibly no more than your country provided during the overthrow of the tyrant Mosaddeq.”

  “Covert support?” said Frank.

  “That could be helpful,” said the Shah. “Savak’s abilities in that line have … diminished.”

  “And perhaps symbolic support,” said Kasravi. “A carrier task force in the Gulf. Flyovers by American planes, both from the carrier and from your base at Incirlik.”

  “The capacity of our air force…” The Shah hesitated.

  “Also has diminished,” said Kasravi.

  “And you see, even though we may leave, we hope you will stay. Maintain contact with General Kasravi. He will work with our new chief of staff, General Gharabaghi, a man the Americans, including this General Weber, think highly of, and with General Bardri. We must maintain a difficult balance. The covert support must remain invisible. The symbolic support must be highly visible.”

  “Sir, Your Imperial Majesty, General Kasravi, all this goes way out of my league. My competence. You should be talking to others.”

  “You have proved effective in our effort to move your official representatives,” said the Shah. “Since we have begun also to communicate through you, they pay much more attention to what we have to say. We do not want to lose that channel.”

  “I’ll do my best,” said Frank. Great, he thought. I get to stay and give some crazy Savak types more time to kill me. “Sir,” he managed to say aloud, “when you leave, where will you go?”

  The Shah smiled. “As you know, we had hoped to go to America. But in view of the plans of our military, we shall stay in the neighborhood. We will let you know where. General?”

  “I think you have covered everything very well, Your Imperial Majesty.”

  “In that case, we can proceed to the other business at hand. As General Kasravi has told you, we plan to continue the mandate of the…” The Shah glanced at a sheet of paper on his desk. “The Joint Armed Forces Ad Hoc Committee on Enlightenment. Today we will present decorations to all its members. Including you.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  General Kasravi again cleared his throat.

  “Yes. General Kasravi brought up the delicate matter of…”

  “Commander Simpson,” said the general.

  “Yes. We had not considered that question. After discussing the question with General Kasravi, and with our chief of protocol, we have a solution that differs from the plans General Kasravi outlined to you yesterday. Commander…?”

  “Simpson,” interjected Kasravi.

  “Yes. He, too, will receive a decoration. Which we will entrust you to bring to him.”

  “The Fourth Order of Homayoon,” said General Kasravi. “The Royal Decoration.”

  Good, thought Frank. He hoped there might be less flak at home about his getting a medal if Gus got one, too.

  “Accordingly,” said the Shah, “rather than the Order of Homayoon, we have decided to award you the Third Order of Taj.”

  “The Decoration of the Crown,” said Kasravi. “It is the highest honor His Imperial Majesty can bestow on a foreigner.”

  Not so good, thought Frank. He stood and bowed. “I’m deeply honored, Your Imperial Majesty.”

  “That’s true,” said Kasravi, looking up at him. “You truly are.”

  “We are not doing this purely out of the goodness of our heart,” said the Shah, “or even out of our admiration for you. Please be seated.” Frank sat. “In doing this, we also send another message to your government. The protocol officer at your embassy, we are certain, will explain the significance of what we have done to your ambassador. You need not tell anyone about it. Our press officer will make an official announcement, as we customarily do on the rare occasions when we bestow an award of this magnitude. Your government will realize the degree of respect and trust we have in you. They will have to honor accordingly all that you report to them.”

  As long, thought Frank, as my reporting doesn’t contradict policy.

  * * *

  “We can’t put all that shit in a cable,” said Rocky. “Look, Sully, you draft like you did yesterday. I’ll do a heavy edit. Concentrate on this cockamamie coup idea. Leave out you askin’ the questions you did. Just report everything the Shah and his Bodyguard general had to say, includin’ the Shah wantin’ you to maintain contact with Kasravi when His Imperial Candy Ass leaves for wherever the hell he’s goin’. Looks like you guys are gonna be here a while. Can’t exactly ship you out if the Shah tells his key military leave-behind to stay in touch with you.”

  “You can ship me out,” said Gus.

  “No chance,” said Rocky. “Sullivan’s got me convinced he needs you. Sully, put in your cable what Kasravi said about U.S. planes out of Incirlik buzzin’ Iran just so Washington can see how pipe-dreamy these guys are. No way in hell the Turks will sit still for us buzzin’ Iran out of a base on their territory. Do a separate cable on the awards for everybody. They can find out about you gettin’ anointed when the palace makes its announcement. We can act like it’s no big thing, but they’ll get the fuckin’ message the Shah wanted them to get.”

  “Thank Allah for little things,” said Gus, studying the medal Frank had brought to him.

  “And gimme both the fuckin’ medals. They get pouched back t’ Langley.” Gus and Frank surrendered their medals. “Maybe you’ll get’m back someday.” Rocky gave them no chance to protest. “Sully, I need to talk to you about your Lermontov meet. Gus, can you take care of a cable on the Jayface business?”

  “Can do.”

  “I got a typewriter all set up for you, brand-new ribbon, in an empty office two doors down. Just be sure the ribbon—and the ball—get back in my safe.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” Gus grunted as he heaved himself up from his chair.

  “You’re gettin’ old, Commander,” said Rocky.

  “Tell me about it,” said Gus.

  * * *

  “I got some good news for you,” said Rocky, as he and Frank settled into the bubble. “The Holy Ghost says you and Belinsky get to stay. Listen. Information in your previously cited cable notwithstanding, Ident A and Ident B, while observing all due precautions, should, in view of the importance of their current obligations, remain in place.”

  “I guess that’s good news,” said Frank. “If you consider staying here good news.”

  “You’re the guy wants t’ recruit Lermontov. Speaking of which, more good news. The Holy Ghost okayed giving Lermonto
v a sanitized version of your palace cable from the other day. Also, I drafted a note for Lermontov. About the stuff he gave you last time on Afghanistan.”

  “I still don’t know what that was about.” He realized he’d put more edge in his voice than he’d intended.

  “Keep your pants on. I’m about to let you know. Scary shit. You know the Soviets installed a government in Afghanistan couple months back. But the puppets ain’t dancin’ so good. They’ve got a strong Islamic opposition, almost like here. The holy warriors want to attract some attention, and they figure the best way to do that is to go after some high-profile foreigners. KGB has some Dari-speakin’ Soviet Muslims inside the opposition. They say American officials look like the target of choice. Moscow worries that America might start payin’ attention t’ Afghanistan if the Afghanis knock off a couple of high-level Americans. The Soviets would just as soon we didn’t pay any attention and let them take over the country in peace.”

  “I have to admit,” said Frank, “I’m more worried about the Iranians knocking off a couple of midlevel Americans.”

  “Hey, didn’t the Holy Ghost himself just tell us not to worry about that?”

  “Okay,” said Frank. “I won’t worry about that.”

  “Good,” said Rocky. “Anyhow, my note to Lermontov, which you better read ’cause I tried to make it look like it came from you, asks him to keep those cards and letters comin’ on Afghanistan, updates as often as possible. I figure we got a responsibility to warn our buddies in Kabul to lock their doors at night even though I know it won’t do any fuckin’ good. State will do a security check and find out that everything is hunky-dory, and next day the ragheads will park a ninety-ton truck bomb in front of the embassy.”

  “You truly do love the State Department, don’t you?”

  “Good and bad, like any shop,” said Rocky, “but their security people strike me as all bad. If I were a betting man, I’d bet they’ve got more Americans killed than all the terrorists in the world put together. Meanwhile, the Holy Ghost’s gettin’ as antsy as I am about Belinsky settin’ up this GRU meet. He better make it happen soon.”

  * * *

  Rocky’s harsh words about the State Department security apparatus had echoed in Frank’s mind when Lermontov laid into him with his own harsh words about the recent take.

  “You give us intelligence we already have. We know the Shah soon will leave. Because you talk to him about it doesn’t make your information any more valuable.”

  “I thought you found the information I’ve provided useful,” Frank had said weakly.

  “Until recently. Moscow asks, seriously, if this relationship is worth continuing.”

  “I’ll try to do better,” Frank had said.

  “You better.”

  * * *

  Frank had returned to the embassy, fearful they might be on the verge of losing Lermontov. Now, as they sat in the bubble, Rocky let him know things he had never known before about how the superpowers played the Great Game at this level.

  “They’re pullin’ your chain,” said Rocky. “Classic agent handling. Give him some money. Get him salivating. Then tell him he ain’t worth shit.”

  “What’s the point?”

  “What they want out of you is more product for less money.”

  “Like the capitalist robber barons,” said Frank.

  “Exactly,” said Rocky, “’cause that’s what they are. Exploiters of the proletariat. And you, my friend, in their eyes, are a fuckin’ prol’. You came back in here with your tail between your legs and your head hangin’, like you’d been whipped for not barkin’ loud enough. Your Soviet buddy played you because he was playin’ for the video cameras his residenza and Moscow will look at. They’ll say, ‘Attaboy, Vassily. You sure played that American boychik like a pro.’ And you, you asshole, took it all for real.”

  “I guess I did,” said Frank. “But I still think, for Moscow’s sake, we ought to try to get him some hard stuff.”

  “I’ll send a prayer up to the Holy Ghost,” said Rocky, “see what he comes up with, but you better tighten up your asshole. The game gets rough around now. And we still don’t know what games Lermontov may be playin’.”

  Lermontov had proffered no bonus, but the envelope under the passenger’s seat weighed heavily in the briefcase Frank carried up to the bubble.

  “Let’s see what we’ve got,” said Rocky.

  Frank took little interest in the take. He worried about what games Lermontov, Henry James, and Rocky might be playing. I wanted to play with the big boys, he thought. I got what I wanted.

  Rocky opened an envelope marked “Eyes Only” and handed Frank the single page it contained. On it was a one-word question.

  Belinsky?

  * * *

  Ali dropped them at Dowshan Tappeh after their morning Jayface meeting. For a change, they found Stan Rushmore in his office.

  “Well, hello, stranger,” said Gus. “Who told you you could use our office?”

  “These days,” said Rushmore, “I gotta believe you guys see more of it than I do. Hey, Sullivan, you know the papers are back on the street?”

  “January 7, right?” said Frank. “I knew today was the day, but I haven’t seen any.”

  “I picked you up a copy of the one in English. Figured you might want to see it.”

  “I appreciate that,” said Frank, though in truth the prospect of looking at it depressed him. Nice to see a local paper, he thought as he skimmed, but it wasn’t the Armed Forces Times.

  * * *

  After another taxi ride with Lermontov’s gofer, Frank emptied his false-bottom briefcase on the table in another nondescript safe house.

  “I think you’ll be happy with today’s take. It includes special analyses on the probable local impact of a Khomeini takeover from our chiefs of station in Moscow, Kabul, Baghdad, and a dozen other Mideast capitals.”

  He hefted the huge envelope that had come by pouch onto the table. Rocky had told him James had the Near East Division working on it for weeks.

  “You’re serious,” said Lermontov. He tore open the envelope and began glancing through the individual reports.

  “It’s meant for internal briefings with one set going to the National Security Council and from there maybe a précis to the White House.” Frank guessed that James would have had it laced with a shrewd blend of actual but sanitized reporting and carefully calculated disinformation. “There’s an overall executive summary and separate summaries for each country.”

  “If the reports turn out as good as they look, this will mean a special bonus for you. The mere fact you could get them says a lot for you.”

  “How big a bonus?” said Frank.

  “That depends on a final evaluation,” said Lermontov, his head buried in the reports. “Tripoli looks interesting. They say Qadaffi will shut down your station, and the embassy, within a month.” He opened another report. “But Kabul seems to appreciate little of what’s going on there.”

  “I didn’t say all our stations were great. Just that this gives you an idea of the best they can come up with.”

  “The best,” muttered Lermontov, “from the not very bright.”

  * * *

  “I’ve got a virgin safe house on hold for any meets you have with Lermontov about his defection, or about Belinsky and our penetration agent,” said Rocky, secure with Frank in the bubble. He handed Frank a sealed envelope. “It’s all in there, location, two sets of directions. One for you. One for Lermontov. Set of keys. Never been used as a safe house before. The embassy took it over from the Germans when they closed down their Goethe Institute couple months ago. I talked the ambassador into lettin’ us have it. He owes me, so he said yes. It’s even got a phone that works. But the house isn’t wired, so bring your trusty little tape recorder. Draft a note to Lermontov and slip him his stuff at your next meet.”

  “Will do,” said Frank. “Thanks.”

  * * *

  Lermontov himself picked up
Frank for their next meeting at a prearranged street corner near the British Embassy. Heavy, wet snow had fallen earlier in the day, downing power lines, then turning to slush as rising temperatures turned the white flakes to gray rain.

  “No need to bother with the glasses,” said Lermontov. “Your people know where I live, and that’s where I’m taking you. I have good news for you.”

  Lermontov broke out both vodka and caviar, plus a loaf of black Russian pumpernickel. “Baked fresh at the embassy,” he said. “Just for you. I can’t chew the pumpernickel, but my rezident, and Moscow, want me to toast you. Na zdarovye.”

  “Na zdarovye,” Frank responded. They clinked glasses and, Russian fashion, bolted down the vodka.

  “You’re getting better,” said Lermontov. “More Russian. The material you brought me from your various Near East stations strongly impressed everyone at our embassy who has looked at it, at least on a preliminary basis.”

  “Good,” said Frank. “You had me thinking I let you down lately.”

  “You had. But you redeemed yourself. Here.”

  He tossed an envelope in Frank’s direction. Frank ripped it open and began counting. Fifty twenties. Frank counted it again. “It’s only a thousand.”

  “Interesting, how quickly traitors become greedy,” said Lermontov, heaping caviar onto a spoon.

  “I wish you wouldn’t use that word.”

  “Traitor? You are too sensitive. But what is your expression? To call a spade a spade, no?”

  “No,” said Frank. “In polite circles we call a spade an implement for digging. And in polite circles we acknowledge that the material I gave you deserves much more than a thousand.”

  “Preliminary,” said Lermontov. “I can assure you, if it stands up under analysis in Moscow, you will receive more.”

  “Good,” said Frank. He hoped he sounded convincing, but he’d begun to hate playing the role of greedy traitor.

  * * *

  Frank wondered if the general had another first name, but he had never heard him referred to as anything other than Fritz Weber. When he met him the next afternoon, he saw why. The nickname fit like his well-tailored air force uniform. His brush-cut gray hair stood at attention, an extension of his ramrod posture. The soft folds in his leathery face contrasted with the cutting-edge creases in his trousers. Frank tried to determine the color of his hooded eyes. He could do no better than dark.