by REZA KAHLILI
“It might take six months to a year,” Carol said. “I will be in touch.”
While the wait sounded long, Somaya seemed perfectly relaxed about it. She would happily be patient about getting to America as long as we were a family again and we could live together away from all that had separated us these past years. I knew she was especially happy that I’d agreed to an arrangement that would keep me out of Iran permanently, or at least until the current regime was gone.
On the way back home, we held hands and talked more about the future. We decided to rent our own place in London while we waited for the final paperwork. We also thought it would be a good idea to not tell anybody, even Somaya’s parents, about how we were getting to America. We would simply let them know that we were planning to move there soon.
At the dinner table that night, while Somaya was happily announcing our plans, the phone rang. Zari Khanoom answered in the kitchen and let me know that the call was for me.
I picked up the phone and my blood chilled. After I finished the conversation, I stared at the wall.
I should have known. He did tell me he would be in touch. He did say he would not just leave me alone. How in the world did I think I could get away from him and my contorted past?
Rahim was in London. And he wanted to see me.
26
BACK INTO THE COLD
THE FACT THAT Rahim wanted to see me at the Iranian embassy alarmed me. The Guards used this tactic regularly to bring in people of interest, kidnap them, and transfer them to Iran and then on to Evin Prison. Was I walking directly toward my doom? Did I have any choice? I couldn’t avoid this meeting, regardless of my sense of trepidation.
I needed to call Carol and inform her that I was to meet Rahim the next morning. This required some finesse, as I had to do this without drawing the attention of Somaya or my in-laws. After I helped clean up the dinner table, I told Somaya that I was going out to get a pack of cigarettes.
“I thought you just bought a pack this afternoon,” she said with a puzzled expression. “You need to quit this soon.”
I kissed her forehead and told her that I would.
When I called Carol, she assured me that even on such short notice, she would provide me with as much protection as she could. “If you don’t come out by the time they shut down the place, we will take action. Our people will be there.”
The taxi driver dropped me off at the corner of Ennismore Mews and Princes Gardens. I walked west, checking for lookouts. On the left side of Exhibition Road, a man in a black corduroy jacket was reading a magazine. I presumed he was one of the lookouts. On the other side, at the corner of Prince Consort Road, a man in a beige trench coat was carrying a map. Carol had said that I should look for the men with big overcoats holding newspapers or magazines. Because she was putting this together so quickly, she couldn’t give me any more detail than this.
Before I got to Princes Gate, at the first entrance to Montrose Court, I saw a familiar-looking woman in a red suit waiting for a cab. I held my head down and tried to compose myself. I never imagined Carol herself would be there. I felt more secure knowing that the CIA was watching out for me, but I also knew I could never be fully secure as long as I was in the orbit of the Revolutionary Guards.
Around the corner, Rahim caught my eyes. He was standing next to the iron fence that surrounded the embassy, smoking a cigarette. He was wearing a buttoned-up white dress shirt under his army jacket and his black pants were creased in several spots. I turned my head to see if I could still locate any of my lookouts, regretting this instantly, as I realized that I was acting suspiciously and that Rahim might notice.
Rahim greeted me with a hug and a pat on the back. “Salam, Baradar Reza. It is so nice to see you.” He kissed either side of my face. “Let’s go in. Baradar Amiri is waiting for us.” He crushed his cigarette butt under his shoes.
We went to the second floor, where we were to meet Amiri in his office. Amiri, a short, skinny man with a unibrow and a full black beard, got up and hugged Rahim when we arrived. He looked to be in his early forties. Amiri seemed to know a great deal about me, mentioning my service in the Guards, my relationship to Moheb Khan, and the Mujahedin attack that killed Kazem.
We sat down and Rahim immediately went off on an extended monologue about how every devoted Muslim needed to pay his dues to our revolution and about how we had enemies in every corner of the world. “It’s our duty to look out for our country no matter where we are. And, Baradar Reza, you are a devotee and you owe it to your country to start being active soon. You are still a member of the Guards, and you have had enough time to recover from the terrible experience you had in Tehran. I think you should start working forran right away. Your stay here will be questioned by the Sepah back home. As your commander, I have to make sure you continue to serve your country.”
As shocked and terrified as I was by the gravity of Rahim’s tone, I gave him an affirmative smile. “Of course, Baradar Rahim.” I cleared my throat. “I am and will be at your service, and will do anything you ask me to do.”
Rahim turned to Amiri. “Baradar Reza will be in your hands now. The work we need from him will be quite different from what he did at home, but he is a smart guy and a fast learner.” He laughed.
He then looked back in my direction and regarded me ominously. “By the way, how long did you plan to stay here?”
“My wife is still in school for a while,” I said nervously, “but it shouldn’t be too much longer.”
“I am sure you will do as great a job here as you did back home. We will then see what’s best for you and what you need to do.”
Rahim then told me about the vicious bloodbaths that had taken place in the couple of months that I’d been away from home. “Baradar Reza, God took revenge for the unjust killing of Shahid Kazem and all the other crimes. Imam Khomeini issued a fatwa.”
When Khomeini had announced the campaign, he said, “If the person at any stage or at any time maintains his [or her] support for the Munafeqin [Mujahedin], the sentence is execution. Annihilate the enemies of Islam immediately.” He also ordered the deaths of leftists because they were apostate. The fatwa led to the execution of thousands of innocent men and women of all ages in a very short period. Among them were girls as young as Parvaneh and Roya, raped before their bodies swayed on the hook of the cranes. Innocent young men like Naser and his brother, Soheil, were lined up for several hours before they were hanged. This massacre was one of the most heinous acts of Khomeini’s rule, yet the rest of the world paid little attention to it. This was the first I’d heard of this barbarism, and I learned that the British media had barely reported it.
To legitimize this act, a Death Commission carried out mock trials behind closed doors. They interrogated prisoners about their associations, affiliations, and allegiances with a series of questions designed to elicit an answer that assured the death sentence: Are you willing to denounce the Munafeqin on television? Are you willing to name and identify other active members? Are you willing to help us arrest these people? Are you willing to die for Islam? A negative answer led to immediate condemnation. But answering positively eventually led to the same, as the questions had been designed to generate only one result. The prisoners had no idea why they were being questioned, and many of them had been arrested for minor infractions and were coming to the ends of their original sentences.
Amiri shook his head as Rahim described this, adding, “Yes, God took revenge. And hopefully we will soon arrest and execute the rest of them.”
“Inshallah!” Rahim said.
“Inshallah,” I replied, feeling shame, remorse, and repulsion.
Amiri and Rahim continued to talk about how important it was to identify those who opposed us outside the country and punish them in the same way. I felt an ache in my heart. These criminals were running rampant while the superpowers turned a blind eye. How could there ever be peace in this world as long as this was the case?
When this insane
discourse was over, Rahim rose and shook Amiri’s hand. “Okay, then. You let Baradar Reza know what you need, and he will be at your service. I’ll leave you two to work out the details.” He turned back toward me. “Reza, I have your phone number and will be in touch before I leave.”
I watched Rahim exit, feeling disoriented by my sudden and quite involuntary conscription back into service. Amiri got down to business immediately, suggesting that if I did not have a car, I should rent one.
“Two of our brothers are here in London to purchase some material, and I’d like you to take them where they need to go. They are staying with Baradar Sadri.” He handed me a piece of paper. “Here is his address and phone number. Tell him Amiri asked you to call him. We will reimburse you for any costs you incur.”
I nodded as Amiri directed me, but as he spoke, I kept wondering why they were giving me such an assignment. What I did for them in Iran had nothing to do with driving dirty bearded criminals around town. Why did they think I was the right person for this? I had to assume it was because Rahim trusted me. And this was because of Kazem. I wish Kazem were here, I thought as Amiri continued with his instructions. He’d always been my safe harbor with the Guards. Now I needed to navigate these waters by myself and I wasn’t at all sure I could handle it.
Later that day, I called Carol to arrange another meeting right away. I felt as though she was my only source of support at this point. I needed some additional reassurance that the CIA had my back. I also felt an obligation to inform her about the underground activity going on in England. Carol set our rendezvous at a safe house. When I got there, another agent was waiting with her. Eric seemed affable and easygoing, and I quickly learned that he would be my new contact. While I’d had a number of contacts in my tenure in the CIA, I’d been with Carol for all of my active spying days. Given how uneasy I was feeling at this point, I didn’t need this kind of switch now. I had felt very close to Carol and I worried that a new handler wouldn’t have the same commitment to me. But like the rest of the events happening in my life at that time, I knew I needed to put myself in the hands of destiny.
I told Carol and Eric about the meeting at the embassy and about how Rahim had put conditions on my stay in London by insisting on my cooperation with the Guards.
“Wally, I think it just makes sense that you do what they want,” Carol said. “It’s going to take some time to prepare the papers for your move to America, so meanwhile you could continue your work here with us.”
“I don’t know, Carol. I promised Somaya that we were starting a new life. To endanger my family again by getting involved with the Guards here … I am just not sure.”
Carol gave me a warm smile. “It’s your decision, Wally. But remember that you are out of Iran now and that we will protect you and your family. I don’t think you want the Guards to become too suspicious about your stay in London.”
“Wally, you have nothing to fear,” Eric added. “We will take care of you. You have done a great job so far and your commitment to your country and your cooperation with us is much appreciated.”
In spite of their assurances, I felt like a vulnerable child seeking shelter and security. I’d hoped Carol would have better ideas about what to do in my situation, but her only solution was for me to dive back into the world I longed to leave. Again, I felt I had no choice but to comply. I was leading two lives, but neither of them was my own.
Before I left, Carol stood and gave me a hug.
“I wish you luck and hope to see you back in the States,” she said warmly. That would be the last time I ever saw her.
Explaining my decision to Somaya that night was another task. On my way home, I tried out various stories, but all of them seemed artificial and transparent. I so hated lying to my wife, especially because my lies once again had the potential for dire consequences for both her and Omid.
I finally decided to avoid preparing anything in advance. Instead, I would come up with something on the spot. When I saw Somaya, I told her that Rahim was in town and needed my help. At first she said nothing in response. Then her expression darkened.
“Why didn’t you tell him no?” she said with barely controlled anger.
I tried to hold her hands, but she pulled away.
“You know that I did not quit the Guards when I came here,” I said. “I just asked for a few months off because that was safer.”
“So what? You are here and don’t want to go back. In fact, you cannot go back now. You said you were through with them! They are not even paying you anymore.”
I reached for her hands again, beseeching her to sit next to me on the bed.
“It’s not that easy with the Guards. Rahim said … You know I am still officially part of the organization.”
She turned her head away from me. “I can’t believe you, Reza. I don’t know what is in your empty head. I wish you did not even come here.”
“I’m just going to do this until our paperwork is ready. I told Rahim that as soon as my wife is finished with school I am done with the Guards, and he agreed.” The pain of that lie gnawed at me.
Somaya glanced in my direction, narrowed her green eyes, and shook her head. Without another word, she got into the bed, covered her head with the blanket, and turned her back to me. Once again, guilt overwhelmed me.
That sleepless night, I thought once more about the complicated journey I’d chosen to take. There was no way I could say no to Rahim without raising dangerous suspicions. There was also no way I could witness the Guards’ activities in England and not let the CIA know about it. If only I could explain it all to Somaya, I knew she would understand. But this wasn’t an available option, and none of the explanations I created instead of the truth satisfied her in any way. She was sticking with me because she loved me, but I was giving her every reason to question her continued loyalty.
The next morning, I stood in front of Sadri’s small apartment building off Queen’s Road by Richmond Park. A tall, skinny man in striped blue pajamas opened the door. I had called Sadri the night before and he was expecting me. He threw down his cigarette butt, gave me a quick hug, and guided me inside. “Come in, Reza jon,” he said, the first time any Guards member had ever addressed me with this term of endearment rather than the usual “Baradar.” Something about Sadri made me even more uncomfortable than I already was. My instincts told me that I shouldn’t trust him, and I’d learned to pay close attention to my instincts.
The two Guards I’d been assigned to drive around were inside, sitting at a small square dining table having tea and English muffins. Even though Sadri knew Amiri had sent me, he started questioning why I was in England and where I was staying, and asking details about my family. I answered calmly, offering enough information to placate him and nothing more. I suppose I passed some sort of test, because after this he gave me the directions to a chemical factory in Billingham, a city about two hundred miles northeast of London.
“The meeting has been arranged with a sales manager named Charles Winston,” Sadri said. “If you just take them there, they will deal with the salesperson themselves.”
Sadri told me that the two men were in agriculture and that they had come to England to purchase a chemical to protect and preserve the soil of their farmlands. I pretended to believe this story and went about my job. I drove them to Billingham and waited several hours outside the factory for them to return.
On the way back, I sharpened my ears to listen to their whispered conversation, trying to read their lips via the rearview mirror as well.
“Sadri was right,” the man sitting directly behind me said. “This Winston guy seemed easier to deal with than the one in Manchester.”
“They are all stupid,” the other man said with a smirk. “This white powder will turn all of them into fertilizer.”
I peeked at the man behind me again, and this time our eyes met. This startled me, so I quickly shot my eyes to the rearview mirror, elaborately surveying the road behind us. “That stupid c
ar!” I said agitatedly. “Did you see that?” They both turned their heads to check the road. “The British think they are the best drivers in the world, but he was about to hit the car next to him.” I shook my head and hoped this ruse stifled any suspicion.
Later, when I met Eric at a safe house outside London, I told him what I overheard on the trip back from Billingham about the chemical they sought to purchase. Eric recognized the compound right away, as well as its more nefarious function.
“The white powder—ammonium nitrate—is a dual compound chemical. It’s mainly used in agriculture as a fertilizer, but it is also used as an explosive agent. Having an agricultural use gives it certain legitimacy and makes it easier to acquire. Smart people!”
In our next meeting, Eric told me that Sadri was a fake name and that the apartment at Queen’s Road was a safe house. I never saw Sadri again and I never learned his real name.
Rahim left London a few days after I drove the two agents to Billingham without my seeing him. He just called to say good-bye, telling me that I should take care of Amiri.
Amiri was in touch with me constantly, and I met with him nearly every week. I joined him in meetings held in the back rooms of mosques, in safe houses, and at the embassy. The Guards were infiltrating the opposition groups, especially the Mujahedin. They tracked the supporters of the Iranian monarchy who had made London a hub for their operations. They were also recruiting radical Muslims from the Pakistani and Afghan communities in England for their aid in transferring arms and explosives, assassinating Iranian opposition members, and plotting terrorist acts.
I’d come to London to initiate my escape from the Guards. Instead, I was becoming enmeshed in their dealings at a higher level. Meanwhile, I was reporting their activities to the CIA with increased fervor. I was once again fully ensconced in my double life.