One Step Back: A Titus Ray Thriller

by Luana Ehrlich

  “You should hire Chaman’s decorator to furnish it for you.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “No, I promise you won’t regret it. You should see Chaman’s apartment. It’s very understated.”

  I hadn’t told Farid about my visit to see his girlfriend, and, evidently, she’d failed to mention it to him as well.

  “What do you mean Chaman’s apartment is understated?” I said. “Since when do you know anything about decorating?”

  He shrugged. “I’m just repeating what Chaman told me. She’s been trying to convince me to hire her decorator to redo my own apartment.”

  “If Chaman’s decorator is so good, why haven’t you hired her?”

  He smiled. “My father hates the way my apartment looks. Why should I change it?”

  I shook my head. “Thanks anyway, but I’d rather do my own decorating.”

  When Farid began texting someone, I figured that was the end of our discussion, but, a few minutes later, he said, “I’ve just texted Chaman and asked her to meet us at the tea house. If you don’t want to use her decorator, maybe she’ll have another suggestion for you. I’ve been to your apartment, Hammid. Trust me, if you’re going to live in Shemiran, you need a decorator.”

  I had more important things to discuss with Farid than decorating, so I didn’t argue with him.

  “Okay, sure,” I said. “I’ll look forward to hearing her suggestions.” I pointed over to an empty park bench. “If Chaman’s going to meet us at the tea house, we should do the exchange here.”

  As soon as we sat down, Farid pulled a manila envelope out of his jacket and handed it to me. “I found the video pretty boring. It’s just two old men discussing the future of Iran. I could only stand to watch a few minutes of it.”

  I knew one of the old men Farid had seen in the video was the UN Secretary-General. During his recent visit to Iran, he’d stayed in the Parisian Asadi Hotel in downtown Tehran. As soon as he’d left Tehran, Carlton had instructed me to have Farid get a copy of the surveillance video from his room.

  I asked Farid, “You didn’t have any problem getting this, did you?”

  He shook his head. “None. I told the hotel’s security chief my father wanted the surveillance tapes from several rooms on that date. I’ve done this many times, and they’ve never questioned me about it. I’m sure they think I’m some kind of perverted voyeur.”

  After slipping the envelope containing the DVD inside my coat pocket, I pulled out another envelope—this one containing American dollars—and handed it to Farid.

  Although he’d never turned down cash, I knew money wasn’t his motivation for passing me intel. Like any good case officer, I also tried to ensure Farid’s continuing cooperation by supplying him with the kind of motivation tailored specifically for him.

  “I assure you, Farid, one day, when these videos are made public, your father will be disgraced.”

  He nodded. “I’m counting on that.”

  Chaman arrived in the tea house about five minutes after Farid and I had been seated. When she breezed in the room, she looked every bit as beautiful as one of the models featured on the pages of Afrand, Iran’s fashion magazine.

  As required by the mullahs, Chaman was fully covered from head to toe, but her attire pushed the limits of what was considered acceptable clothing. Without a doubt, it bore little resemblance to the black chador worn by most Muslim women in the small Iranian towns outside of Tehran.

  Her head covering, a bright orange headscarf, barely covered her dark brown hair and only drew attention to her heavily made-up eyes. She was also wearing a silky floral manteau, a long-sleeved, loose garment resembling a coat, and underneath the manteau, she had on a pair of dark trousers and a cream-colored blouse.

  Farid and I both stood up and greeted her when she arrived.

  After she was seated, she turned to me and said, “Hammid, I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  “It’s been awhile.”

  “How’s your business? Have you enlisted any more investors?”

  “A few.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  She lifted up the sleeve of her manteau and said, “See the present I bought for myself.”

  I smiled when I saw she was wearing a limited edition Salimi watch. “You made an excellent choice, Chaman. That watch is from our new Marit collection, and it suits you perfectly.”

  She admired it for a few minutes. “Yes, I thought so too.”

  After a waiter brought our order, Farid said, “Hammid purchased an apartment in Shemiran. You should give him the name of your decorator.”

  “In Shemiran?” she said. “That’s not far from where I live.”

  “Really?” I said, playing her game. “Where do you live?”

  “I’m in Shahre Tower on Maryam Street.”

  I nodded. “That’s a nice neighborhood.”

  Chaman lifted her cup of steaming Chai tea to her lips and stared at me for a moment.

  Once she’d taken a sip, she shook her head and said, “I’m sorry, Hammid. Until I’ve actually seen your apartment, I won’t know which decorator I should choose for you.”

  Farid, who seemed oblivious to the flirtatious game Chaman was playing, said, “Shemiran is only twenty minutes away. When we’re finished here, why don’t we go see your apartment?”

  Chaman smiled at me and said, “Yes, why don’t we?”

  Why not?

  Chapter 7

  The apartment the Agency had purchased for me in Shemiran was located in Building C, directly across the parking lot from Amir’s apartment in Building B.

  At first, I was disappointed when Carlton told me my apartment wasn’t in the same building as Amir’s, but when I realized one of the windows in my guest bedroom had a perfect view of the outside entrance to Amir’s apartment building, then I changed my mind and decided Building C might be an ideal location after all.

  When I showed Chaman and Farid my apartment, both of them commented on how roomy it was. Even though I agreed with them, I knew I’d be spending most of my time at the window in the guest bedroom scanning Amir’s building with my binoculars.

  “This is a great apartment,” Farid said, opening up the empty refrigerator and looking inside. “I might have to move in here myself.”

  “Doesn’t Amir Madani live in Shemiran?” Chaman asked Farid.

  He nodded. “Yes, I believe so. When he spoke at the university, he mentioned that.”

  An innocent-looking smile played across Chaman’s face when she looked over at me and asked, “Do you know Amir Madani?”

  Chaman seemed to be having too much fun keeping secrets from Farid to drop her little conspiratorial drama, and I continued to indulge her.

  “I met him a few weeks ago when Farid and I were having lunch at Zafaranieh Plaza.”

  Farid glanced down at his watch. “Speaking of Zafaranieh Plaza, they’re holding a jacket for me at Versace. I should head over there before they close.”

  He leaned over and gave Chaman a demur peck on the cheek. “Choose a good decorator for Hammid. I promise you, he’ll thank you for it later.”

  She laughed. “Oh, I plan to do everything I can for Hammid.”

  Farid shook his finger at me. “You should listen to her.”

  The moment Farid was out the door, I walked over to where Chaman was standing.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, as she began removing the orange scarf from around her head.

  She gave me a mischievous smile. “I’m taking off my headscarf. It’s warm in here.”

  “You know that’s not what I’m asking you.”

  “Then what are you asking me?”

  “Why didn’t you tell Farid I came by your apartment the other day?”

  Chaman took a step closer to me. “Did you want me to tell him?”

  “Do what suits you.”

  She reached over and placed both hands around my neck. As she touched her
lips to mine, she said, “This is what suits me.”

  When I wrapped my arms around her and returned her kiss with more passion than she might have expected, she quickly stepped away from me.

  Retrieving her headscarf, she said, “You won’t be sorry if you let me hire my own decorator to furnish this apartment for you.”

  I shrugged. “Do what suits you.”

  The next day, Chaman arrived at my apartment with her decorator in tow. She introduced her as Uzan. That was it. I wasn’t given her last name. However, when I had the Ops Center check her out, I learned it was Darzi.

  After I apologized to Chaman and Uzan for having nothing to offer them in the way of refreshments, Uzan asked me to describe my preference in decorating styles.

  I tried not to laugh. “I’m not picky,” I said. “All I ask is that you keep things simple.”

  “He doesn’t really mean that,” Chaman said, taking Uzan by the arm and leading her into the dining room.

  Uzan swept her arm across the room. “This is such an elegant space,” she said. “It needs to be furnished with lots of classical pieces.”

  Uzan used the Farsi word for classical that meant ornate, and I immediately envisioned her filling the room with handcrafted solid wood furniture adorned with elaborate carvings.

  As I listening to her discussing her ideas with Chaman, it soon became apparent Uzan’s services were about to cost the American taxpayers a boatload of cash.

  I’d already purchased a chair—which Uzan told me she hated—so, while the two ladies wandered through the rooms, I sat down and began scripting out how I was going to explain my furniture expenses to Carlton.

  Once they were finished touring my apartment, the ladies returned to the living room, where Uzan sketched out how she was envisioning each room.

  After winding up her sales spiel, she said, “My main decorating goal will be to have each room reflect the exquisite tastes of the man who lives here.”

  I knew she couldn’t possibly achieve that goal, but when she gave me her bottom line, I immediately agreed to let her decorate the place. When Chaman heard this, she looked both pleased and surprised.

  Uzan just looked pleased.

  I asked her, “Would you prefer to be paid in Iranian rials, Swiss francs, or American dollars?”

  “My banker would prefer American dollars,” she replied with a smile.

  I nodded. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

  I walked the ladies down the hall to the elevator.

  Less than a minute after I returned to my apartment, I heard a knock on my door and found Chaman standing outside.

  When I invited her in, she said, “I told Uzan I left my phone in here. She’s waiting for me downstairs.”

  I glanced around the empty living room. “You didn’t leave your phone in here.”

  “I know,” she said with a smile. “It’s in my purse.”

  “Why would you lie to her?”

  She moved closer to me and ran her finger slowly down my cheek. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  I grabbed her hand. “You need to stop playing games, Chaman. I know you care about Farid.”

  She laughed. “Of course I care about Farid, but I also like playing games, if that’s what you want to call this.”

  She caressed my lips with a soft kiss.

  Before I had a chance to respond, she turned and walked out the door.

  For the next two weeks, I didn’t have to make a decision about how I was going to handle Chaman.

  Although Uzan and her crew were at my apartment every day, Chaman didn’t make an appearance, and I used that time to consider what I should do about Farid’s girlfriend before I found myself alone with her again.

  While I wasn’t about to let Chaman jeopardize my relationship with Farid, I decided I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to use her reckless behavior to further my mission.

  It was only after I experienced an unexpected encounter with Amir Madani that I realized how useful she might be to me.

  While Uzan and her crew were hanging draperies, moving in furniture, and putting down carpet, I took refuge from the mayhem in the Viuna Café, a restaurant down the street from Shemiran.

  I wasn’t concerned about leaving the decorators alone in my new residence since all my personal possessions, including my Agency laptop and communication devices, were still at my old place.

  Besides that, before Uzan and her crew had started working on the apartment, I’d installed pinhole cameras in every room.

  Now, no matter where I was, I was able to watch everything the decorators were doing on my Agency sat phone. So far, it appeared they were doing nothing more than making my apartment look hideous.

  I hadn’t told Douglas Carlton about the cameras. If I had, he might have insisted I give the Ops Center their access codes.

  I couldn’t do that.

  I wasn’t about to allow the Agency to watch me 24/7.

  They were already in my head enough as it was.

  One day, as I was walking back to my apartment from the restaurant, I spotted Amir Madani walking toward me. He was looking down at his mobile phone, and I wasn’t sure he’d seen me.

  For a moment, I considered slipping inside the doorway of a florist shop and avoiding him. But, since I’d been mapping out how I could manage to accidently run into him around the apartment complex, I made a quick decision and let the encounter play itself out as naturally as possible.

  As we approached each other, he looked up and appeared to recognize me. I looked away for a moment, and then I did a double take and pretended to recognize him as well.

  I stopped on the sidewalk in front of him and extended my hand. “It’s Amir, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right,” he said, shaking my hand. Pointing toward the watch on my arm, he smiled and said, “Salimi watches.”

  I nodded. “Hammid Salimi. We met one day when I was having lunch with Farid Kazim in Zafaranieh Plaza.”

  “How is Farid? I haven’t seen him in awhile.”

  “Neither have I. I’ve been busy moving into my new apartment.” I pointed across the street. “I just bought a place in Shemiran. Well, actually, my parents bought it for me.”

  He looked surprised. “That’s where I live. Which building are you in?”

  “Building C. I’m up on the second floor.”

  “I’m just across from you in B. My apartment’s also on the second floor. I wonder if we have the same floor plan.”

  “I’d invite you up for a cup of coffee, but my decorator’s in there now, and I don’t think she’s ready for me to have guests yet.”

  “You hired a decorator?”

  I laughed. “I was forced into it. After Farid saw the way I’d decorated my old apartment, he insisted I hire his girlfriend’s decorator to furnish this one.”

  “His girlfriend? You mean Chaman Bijan?”

  “That’s right.”

  He smiled. “I’m surprised they’re still together. When I met them at the university, they didn’t seem that well suited for each other.”

  I nodded. “You’re right. They don’t share many interests.”

  “I was thinking more about their personalities. Chaman strikes me as someone who likes to challenge the status quo, and Farid seems content with the way things are.”

  “You’re right about Farid, but I don’t know Chaman all that well, except I can tell you, she wouldn’t let me say no to her decorator.”

  He laughed. “Chaman is someone I wouldn’t mind getting to know a little better. I like a woman with strong beliefs.”

  I gestured over at my apartment. “I promised Farid and Chaman I’d have them over for dinner as soon as I had a workable kitchen. Maybe you could join us.”

  He seemed startled by my invitation, which made me wonder if I was rushing things too much.

  “Oh,” he said, “I don’t do much socializing. My work keeps me far too busy for that.”

  I smiled. “Everybody has to eat.”


  He pointed up the street at the Viuna Café. “Speaking of eating, that’s where I was headed. I recommend it. It’s the best restaurant in the neighborhood.”

  “I was just there myself.”

  As he started to walk away, he said, “Let me know when you get moved in. I’m in 205B.”

  Yes!

  I moved into my newly decorated apartment a week later, but I waited a few days before making contact with Amir. I wanted to see if he might decide to pay me a visit instead.

  When that didn’t happen, I began looking for an opportunity to show up at his doorstep, preferably, when he’d be forced to invite me inside.

  One evening, after Amir had pulled his Mercedes into his garage, I saw him get out of his car carrying an armful of groceries. I figured that meant he planned to cook dinner for himself, and I saw that as the opportunity I’d been waiting for.

  I gave him thirty minutes to start his meal, and then I walked across the parking lot, entered Building B, and took the elevator up to the second floor.

  There was a brass doorknocker on the door of 205B, and, after tapping it a couple of times, I stepped back and waited for him to appear.

  When he didn’t come to the door after a minute or so, I knocked again. A peep hole was centered above the doorknocker, and, for a moment, I saw it darken, as if someone inside had looked through the fish-eye lens at me.

  At that point, I fully expected Amir to open the door. When he didn’t, I walked back down the hall to the elevator and pushed the button.

  I wasn’t sure what to make of Amir’s behavior.

  I had planned to invite him to have dinner with me at the Viuna Café, but since I figured the bag of groceries meant he was staying in and cooking for himself, I was hoping he might suggest we eat at his place instead.

  From a tradecraft standpoint, that scenario would have been ideal. If a potential asset invited me inside their residence, the chances of recruiting that asset greatly increased. In fact, a potential asset seldom took the bait I offered them until that had happened.