The Caspian Intercept

by R G Ainslee

  Azad made his way to the toilet in a near trance. He entered and threw up, sick with fear. His first thought was to destroy the tape, but he couldn't, it was his only hope. He leaned against the wall and tried to regain his poise. He would have to think of a different approach. But what? They were watching the American. Then it struck him. Are they watching me too?

  * * *

  Sam returned by his regular route to the embassy, not checking to see if the men followed, but he could feel their presence. He threaded through the mob, no one seemed to pay him any mind, and entered the front gate. Pausing a moment to speak to the Marine guard, he glanced back to the street. The second man stood amid the crowd, the first man, nowhere to be seen.

  Inside, Sam reported the afternoon's events to his CIA supervisor. "Today there were two men, not the same as before, and these guys were more professional. They seemed to know what they were doing. What really freaked me out was the one that followed me into the place. He sat there and stared at me. I mean I… I think my cover may be blown."

  The field officer, a veteran of years in the field, nodded as Sam told his tale. As Sam finished, he clasped his hands together and rocked back in his chair. "So, you think your cover is blown." He paused and held up a stack of papers. "You are only the fourth person today reporting increased surveillance. That's just the way the game is played. You're just going to have to get used to it. I know this is your first time in the field and you've done well so far. My advice is, keep your cool. They're trying to unnerve you, make you make a mistake." He flicked his index finger at Sam. "Don't let that happen. Understand?"

  Sam, feeling chastened nodded in agreement. "What about the tape? Any word from Langley?"

  "Not yet. It's out of our hands, someone else will decide on that. Just maintain a casual level of contact with this Azad and wait. That's the way it works in the field, be patient and wait. We don't always have control over the situation, just be ready to exploit the opportunity when it comes along."

  "Do you think these demonstrations will get out of hand, it seemed a bit more intense as I came through the crowd."

  "No, just your imagination, they got on your nerves and now everything will seem more intense. Don't sweat it, nothing is going to happen."

  Sam left, unconvinced. He had read reports issued before the revolution. The CIA concluded that Iran was not in a revolutionary or even a pre-revolutionary situation. They had been wrong before, and in his heart, he knew trouble was brewing. He had visited people in the city over the last few months, ordinary people, the decision to allow the deposed Shah to seek treatment in New York genuinely angered the people he met. He feared what was about to happen.

  7 ~ Hansen

  29 October 1979: Washington, D.C.

  Colonel Hansen's office on the third floor of the Executive Office Building, next to the White House, was modest, but that didn't matter. Hansen was at the top of his game after being eased out of his role as SSRP's liaison with the National Security Agency. He survived, kicked upstairs after he botched an attempt to analyze a recording of a Soviet missile test, and to top it off — promoted to full bird colonel.

  Now, the Special Assistant to the Policy Advisor to the Deputy National Security Advisor for Intelligence held court, peering disdainfully at the man sitting across from him. Colonel Wayne Wilson, a tall imposing man who wore the wings of a combat pilot. The ribbons on his uniform, including the Silver Star and Distinguished Flying Cross, combat earned in Vietnam. Wilson dealt with Hansen before and not easily intimidated by anyone, especially a brown-nosing butt kisser like Hansen.

  Hansen finished reading the report, snarled, and flipped it back to Wilson. "In my opinion, this is just a waste of time. Not even worth the gas you used to drive over here. You and I both know this data is too old and won't be of any use whatsoever. We can't expend precious resources to track down every hare-brained rumor some Iranian comes up with. That country is going to hell in a hand-basket—"

  "Colonel, I am well aware of the situation in Iran, I've been there." And you haven't, he thought to himself. "Brannan is of the opinion—"

  Hansen sniffed derisively, Ross Brannan was not on his Christmas card list, as a matter of fact they hated each other's guts. "Yeah, you know what they say about opinions they're like a—"

  "I know what they say. I'm just informing you as a courtesy, the decision has already been made. We are going to try to obtain this tape," Wilson paused and took a deep breath, "if it exists."

  "That's a mighty big if, don't you think?"

  "Yes, it is, but that's our job. SSRP was designed for just this sort of a mission. I plan to send two men to Tehran and determine if it is worth pursuing. Both Langley and Meade have concurred."

  "You're not going to send that punk Brannan, are you? We don't need to start any more wars over there."

  Wilson, his temper about to light the afterburners, said, "No, Richards and Ruiz can handle it fine, they both speak some Farsi and have been there before."

  Hansen shook his head. "Those two … just don't let them shoot up the place like last time."

  Wilson bored his eyes in on Hansen. "I take it the White House will not pose any objection to this mission."

  Hansen smirked. "No go ahead. We'll pose no objection." I'm giving you just enough rope to hang yourself. He glanced at his watch, "Have to go now, meeting in the Oval Office in five."

  Wilson left without comment. Hansen strolled to the coffee pot and poured another cup, wondering if he would ever have a chance to visit the Oval Office on official business. He smiled. Wilson didn't have to know.

  29 October 1979: Albuquerque, New Mexico

  The phone rang. Ross answered. Alice said it was Colonel Wilson calling from Bolling.

  The line clicked. Wilson, eager to go as usual, started before Ross had a chance to speak. "Brannan, get your troops ready ASAP. I need them here this evening. I want to get this show on the road and we have no time to spare."

  "Yes sir, Barker already has the aircraft on standby." He glanced up at the clock. "Should be airborne in a couple of hours. What's the latest on the situation in Iran?"

  "Smith talked with one of his friends at Langley before he left for Frankfurt. The official word is that everything is copacetic, but you know how that is. He said his friend is not so optimistic."

  "How's that sir?"

  "The friend actually has been in Iran. Apparently, he's not one of these beltway commandos, if you know what I mean."

  "Yes sir, I do." Ross hung up the phone and walked down the hall to the arms room. Jack and Amadeo sat at a table cleaning their nine-mil Browning Hi-Power pistols. Ross walked around the table in silence and took up a seat at the far end.

  Jack looked up, "Any word from The Man?" Wilson affectionately known as The Man to everyone except Ross, he had his reasons.

  "The official word: it's a go."

  Amadeo glanced at Jack and said something in Farsi. Jack laughed. Ross tried to ignore them.

  "When do we leave?" said Jack.

  It was Ross' time to laugh. "Barker and Sergeant George are prepping the Aero Commander as we speak. If you can get those things back together, you leave in a couple of hours."

  Amadeo said, "Two hours' notice is cutting it a little tight. I got some things I need to take care of first.

  "You can buy some clean underwear in DC."

  Jack grimaced, "What if we have ah… social plans for tonight?"

  Amadeo responded, "Maybe Joe can take care of your date for you." Tech Sergeant Joe Hardy, a twenty-something redneck from Georgia, was one of the technical specialists."

  "Hardy ain't even gonna get a look at Doreen."

  Ross halted at the door, turned and grinned, "Think of all the money you'll save. From what I hear, she has expensive tastes."

  Amadeo let out a hoot. "That's right she likes to eat at places that have table cloths."

  Jack said, "How the hell do you know that."

  "Word gets around."


  "Two hours, be ready," said Ross. "You'll change planes and fly on to Frankfurt. John Smith is already there making arrangements. He's got you booked on a Lufthansa flight to Tehran."

  8 ~ Under Suspicion

  30 October 1979: Tehran, Iran

  Sam closed the door and sat down. The daily briefing, just completed, had been a tense affair. Members of the embassy staff were getting antsy. The situation outside the gates had not improved — it was getting worse.

  The supervisor handed Sam a yellow teletype sheet. "Here, read this."

  Sam read the message. Langley had decided to follow up on Azad's tape. He wasn't sure if he was pleased with the development. Close surveillance had intensified over the last two days. He no longer relished the idea of meeting with Azad again. He handed the paper back without comment.

  "You don't look very happy about it, thought that was what you wanted."

  Sam sighed. "It may prove more difficult than I anticipated."

  "Don't worry, they're sending out a couple of hot-shots from Langley. They'll handle the dangerous part. All you have to do is contact this guy and steer him in the right direction."

  "It says they'll be here on the second. Do I need to meet them?"

  "Yes, but you don't need to attract too much attention. We need to have as much separation from them as possible. They'll be staying at the Intercontinental, so you need to find a way to contact them and brief them on what to do. In the meantime, make arrangements with Azad. Tell him his visa and exit permit will be expedited if his information proves useful. But don't give him a time-line. He doesn't need to know too much."

  Sam said, "Tomorrow is Eid-e-Gorban. I hear a large rally is scheduled. Looks like trouble."

  "Yeah, they've turned the Islamic holiday celebrating the feast of sacrifice into a day of anti-US demonstrations. Following the rally, they plan to march to the embassy. We're prepared for up to a million demonstrators. All non-essential personnel have been ordered off the compound and the Marines concentrated inside to protect the Chancery. You might stay away from the embassy and feel around the edges, but don't get involved. Check back in after it clears out."

  "Listening to the television and radio, there's been a lot more official criticism from the government over the shah's situation."

  "We've told everyone in the government that admitting the Shah was a humanitarian gesture, nothing more. But that hasn't satisfied any of them. These guys see a conspiracy in everything we do. In the end, they regard Shah as a criminal and want to place him on trial. The hard-core radicals believe our admitting the Shah for medical treatment is just a cover to hide some conspiracy aimed at overthrowing their revolutionary regime." He paused and shook his head. "They actually accept as the gospel truth that the prime minister and foreign minister have been conspiring with the CIA to return the Shah to power. Can you believe that?"

  "Sure can. That coincides with what one of my contacts has been telling me. The guy, an educated professional, one you would think could think rationally, insists that the CIA, through the Shah from exile, controls the Iranian Government. What's really strange is that they believe Khomeini is just an interim lapdog until the CIA installs a new Shah."

  "Yeah, that’s what drives you nuts about this place, looks to me like they should be celebrating their holidays with their families and praying in the mosque. But instead they use them as platforms for political action. Even friendly pro-American Iranians can be difficult to reason with, seems they can… Oh, what the hell, I'll never fathom how Iranians view the world."

  * * *

  That afternoon, Sam returned to the restaurant, following his routine to the letter. This time he counted three men tailing him, he was too scared to check for more.

  Azad approached apprehensively as two of Sam's watchers took up a table near the door. He handed Sam the menu without comment and started to walk away.

  "Do you have any fish from the Caspian today?" asked Sam.

  Azad froze. Fear ate at his inner being. He knew the men were watching. He took a step towards the kitchen, paused, and thought. It's my only chance. I have no choice. Allah be with me. He returned to the table. "I am sorry, not today. We expect some soon."

  Sam made a pretense to appear annoyed, "I have told some friends that this place has the best fish in Tehran. I would not be pleased if they were disappointed. Please have some in the next few days. Do you understand?"

  Azad bowed. "Yes sir, I will do my best."

  Sam ordered his usual stew, ate, paid, and left.

  One of the men approached Azad and spoke to him in his native tongue, "Why do you let the American Satan speak to you that way?" Azad almost collapsed in fear. "Do not bow to them, you are not their slave. The time has come to teach them lesson, you will see."

  Azad gulped, barely able to speak. "Yes, we will defeat the American Satan. May Allah give me strength."

  "This man eats here often?"

  "Yes."

  "We may want to speak with you later. You may be of some use to the revolution." He eyed Azad sternly, turned, and left the restaurant.

  Azad, finally able to breathe again, inhaled. What am I to do. They are watching me. But it is my only chance. If the Mujahidin find I worked for the Americans… He put the thought out of his mind, the consequences too awful to consider.

  9 ~ Cover Story

  Thursday, 1 November 1979: Frankfurt, Germany

  Construction on the IG Farben building began in 1928, for several decades, it remained the largest office building in the world. The story is that the Allies spared the building from destruction during bombing raids, saving it for future use. Post-war, it became the major allied headquarters building, among its current tenants, a variety of U.S. intelligence agencies including the CIA.

  John Smith spent the past few days at the IG Farben making necessary arrangements and had just completed briefing Jack Richards and Amadeo Ruiz on their trip to Tehran. "Okay let's go over it one more time. Jack. Who are and who do you work for?"

  "Mike Bolton, Canadian citizen from Calgary, Alberta. My employer is Fabrique National out of Brussels, Belgium. I am here to inquire about the status of existing small arms contracts… Say, is this a real Canadian passport?"

  "Yes, and the visa stamp is real too. One of the agency people obtained the visa stamp from the Iranian embassy in Brussels, just yesterday."

  "What do the Canadians think about this?"

  "The Canadian government has approved the use of Canadian passports by non-citizens for humanitarian purposes."

  "We're on a humanitarian mission?"

  "As far as the Canadians are concerned, yes we are." John was getting exasperated, "Okay, Amadeo—"

  "Felix Fernandez… Who came up with these names?"

  "Some genius upstairs. Don't worry, your cover legends will hold up just fine." He nodded to Amadeo and said, "Continue."

  "Félix Fernández, de Bilbao, España. Mi empleador … You sure this is going to work? Sounds phony to me."

  "Like I said, the geniuses upstairs came up with it. The good part is, it's boringly uninteresting and shouldn't arouse too much curiosity. Anyway, it's too late to change it now. Besides, there's so much chaos in Tehran—"

  Jack broke in, "Yeah, we know. We know." They really did know, having been in Iran, earlier in the year, during the hottest moments of the revolution.

  "Look, you won't be the only Westerners traveling to Tehran. You got European business people, a whole gaggle of news idiots, and then the usual bunch of revolutionary hanger-on's and do-gooders from all over the globe. They're more interested in domestic enemies right now. They won't give you a second … or maybe third look."

  Jack glanced at Amadeo with a grin, "You really think you can sound like a full-blooded Spaniard?"

  "I am, as you put it, a full-blooded Spaniard."

  "Yeah… but that Miami Cuban accent."

  "Like they have forensic linguists working the gates at the airport."

  "Nah, I mean, yo
u think you can pull it off?"

  "How 'bout you, think you can sound like a Canuck."

  "Hey, I'm from Montana, been to Calgary several times. No problem — eh, eh, eh — all I got to do is stick in one of those, every sentence and say aboot once in a while. What do they say, talk softly and carry a big hockey stick?"

  "Okay enough of that," said an exasperated John Smith. "Those Iranians ain't gonna know the difference from you and Hogan's goat."

  "Who the hell is Hogan's goat?"

  Never mind, here's your tickets. Lufthansa economy class. Got you sitting several rows apart. Remember, you don't know each other. No contact till you get to the hotel."

  John, we know—"

  "Indulge me, please. I'm repeating everything for my benefit as much as yours. You know I want to go with you, but they might remember me from February."

  Amadeo piped up, "Yeah, you don't think they have our pictures. All Jack did was try to start a Russian invasion and they could easily place me with you."

  "And you still think it's too risky to travel unarmed?" said Jack.

  "From what I hear, they've improved their security apparatus considerably. The chances of some paranoid cop or security agent taking you in is just too great to risk it."

  "I told you, he'd say that," said Amadeo to Jack.

  "You boys are the best we've got. You've done it before and can do it again. Besides, if it gets to the point of using weapons, it's all over anyway. — What do you always say Jack?"

  Jack grimaced and answered, "It's easier to get out of jail than to get out of dead."

  'Right — let's go over this one more time. Amadeo what's your role in Tehran?"

  "Maintain sight-only contact. Be ready to back him up if needed. If necessary, I have the option to go under cover again."

  Jack grinned, "Sure, you can steal a cab and make some dough."