* * *
“Tomorrow, we will announce that Shapour Bakhtiar heads our new government.”
The Shah stood behind his oak desk, looking trim in a gray wool suit that fit him well. “You knew it would happen, but now it happens. And we wanted to tell you something else because it will directly affect you.”
The Shah’s next words surprised Frank.
“Tell us about your newspaper.” said the Shah.
“Well…” Frank fumbled for words. “
Armed Forces Times
. We’ve made good progress. Developed story ideas, done mockups for a twelve-page first edition. For sure we can make the January 7 target date.”
“An interesting target date,” said the Shah. “On that date a year ago, on the Islamic calendar, one of our Farsi newspapers,
Ittilaat,
published an article about Mr. Khomeini.”
“I’d heard of that,” said Frank.
“Did you also know the Grand Ayatollah has called for a day of mourning two days from now for some mosque students supposedly killed in Qom last year protesting that article?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We may steal a bit of his thunder and lightning by instituting our new civilian government the day before. But the clergy will urge everyone to join in the Day of Mourning marches. This Day of Mourning, we fear, may begin a time of mourning for our throne.”
He paused, pursed his lips, and said softly, “
Armed Forces Times
. But now, you see, by January 7, we will no longer have a military government. Your newspaper has existed, we hope you realize, only as a cover for you to continue to be here. We are the real reason for you to be here, and soon we will not be here. The time will never come for your
Armed Forces Times
. As part of the return to power of a civilian government, publication of all our newspapers will resume. Amusingly enough, the newspapers will begin appearing again on January 7. Perhaps
Ittilaat
can do another article for their first edition on Mr. Khomeini.”
If I feel like this, thought Frank, how must he feel? I lost a newspaper. He lost an empire.
“When will you leave?” he asked.
“Soon,” said the Shah, still standing, looking very much in control. “Very soon. A week. Perhaps two.”
“Where will you go?”
“Ask your government. Perhaps we can fly together to America.”
Frank smiled. “I don’t have a plane.”
“I do,” said the Shah. He did not smile.
* * *
“It’s true,” said Belinsky. He huddled next to Frank in the confessional confines of the bubble. They both faced Rocky.
“It started up in Tabriz. My wife was pretty unhappy. I thought I could use the extra money to try and make … make things a little less grim for her. Financed a trip to London, Rome, Paris for her. Yeah, transiting Russia. Gave her a big wad of shopping money. And when she got back I had that red Mercedes waiting for her. She was pretty damn happy. For a while.”
“I can’t believe you’d do something like this,” said Rocky.
“Neither can I,” said Belinsky. “But it seemed … I mean, the way it worked, no one got hurt. The travelers still got a bargain. Aeroflot still made its money.”
“And you made yours,” said Rocky.
“Yes. Yes, I did,” said Belinsky. “What happens now?”
“Sullivan here has an idea. He’s been full of ideas lately. Can you arrange a meet with your Soviet consulate buddy?”
Chuck looked from Rocky to Frank and back to Rocky.
“What for?”
“Can you fucking do it?”
“Yeah. I guess. He still calls me once in a while. See if I’ve got any business for him.”
“Can you call him?”
“Yeah. I guess. Professional courtesy. One consular officer to another.”
Frank watched the verbal Ping-Pong, glad that Rocky required nothing of him, other than his presence. He did not want to torture Belinsky.
“Good,” said Rocky. “I’m glad you can call him. What I’m about to tell you … what I’m about to tell you I want you to do, if you say you can handle it, I’m going to have to get an okay on it from the powers that be back home, or anyway one power. If we get the green light, and you pull it off, I’ll do everything I can, move heaven and earth, to get you a deal that lets you resign, reasons of health, get whatever you got comin’ in the way of pension, and everybody concerned keeps his mouth shut for ever and ever. Okay?”
“What … what do I have to do?”
“You call your fellow consular officer and say you need to urgently meet with him, some public place where maybe you met before, to discuss an important matter involving visas.”
Belinsky nodded. “I can do that.”
“You let us know when and where. I give you a big envelope. You tell your buddy your conscience bothers you about the money you took. You want to give it all back to him. You can’t give it all back at once, but you want to give it all back to him. And you give him the envelope and get the hell out of there.”
Belinsky glanced at Frank. “That’s it?”
“That’s it,” said Frank.
“We figure your buddy’s venal enough he’ll take the fuckin’ envelope with no questions asked.”
“Can I ask what’ll be in the envelope?”
“No,” said Rocky. “Oh, and Chuck. You may get your picture taken.”
“By
Savak?
” asked Belinsky.
No, thought Frank. By one of Lermontov’s Iranian agents.
“Savak?”
said Rocky. “Yeah. Somethin’ like that.”
“I’ll do it,” said Chuck. “And Frank, about the Aminis. Three days, four seats, counting the late switch for Anwar. It won’t be easy. Some poor bastards will get bumped, but we’ll do it. If they don’t shut down the airports before then.”
* * *
“This comes off,” said Rocky, “you still think you’re gonna need that stuff showin’ up in
Near East Weekly?
”
“Lermontov does,” said Frank. He and Rocky had remained in the bubble after a shaken Belinsky left. “He says otherwise the GRU will try to just sweep their boy’s problem under the rug. That would leave the question of identifying the Soviet recruiting target still open. But if their boy gets nabbed taking an envelope of Ben Franklins from an American, and gets publicly identified in a news magazine, he’s under arrest and Lermontov’s off the hook.”
“And Moscow figures the guy their mole fingered is the GRU thug.”
“Right,” said Frank.
“I hope James goes for all this shit,” said Rocky.
“He has to.”
“What’s this magazine story gonna say?”
“Won’t name the GRU guy, but Lermontov’s given me enough details that everyone in his embassy, and in Moscow, will get the picture. And it’ll quote an American consular officer who knows him well.”
“When do I see it?” asked Rocky.
“I’ll draft it tonight. Drop it off before I go to our Jayface meeting in the morning.”
“Jayface? You still workin’ that dog?”
“It’s my day job.”
* * *
The air force guards lived in a gated compound. Three taps on the horn, and a small panel in the metal gate opened. Several moments passed before unseen hands pulled one side of the gate open. A short, slender Iranian in pressed khakis crossed the open space. Frank noticed a walkie-talkie in his left hand. The other half of the gate gave way.
“No worries about your car being firebombed at the curb,” said Gus, as they pulled in.
The sprawling, two-story stone house with a long open porch and metal shutters at all its windows looked as if it could shelter a small army. Frank counted four chimneys, all smoking.
Todd Waldbaum stood in the open front doorway and called out, “Welcome to our formidable abode.” I feel safer already, thought Frank.
* * *
He also felt worried. Three uneventful days since the Christmas Eve attack on the embassy had convinced him something had to happen soon. Three smooth Jayface meetings; one meeting but no urgent news from Lermontov. And no new word about the still unknown and still dangerous penetration agent at Langley. Something has to go wrong, he thought, as he crossed the threshold of the air force bachelors’ quarters.
At least for that evening, though, nothing did. The meal—meat loaf, mashed potatoes, carrots, and peas—had been pleasantly seasoned and decently cooked. The dessert, apple pie à la mode, would have pleased Anwar. Cans of Budweiser kept appearing, and young men came and went as the meal progressed in a spacious wood-paneled dining room warmed by a glowing fireplace. At various times, from twelve to fifteen men, not counting himself and Gus, sat around the table. Todd told him twenty-four air force guards, including three putative guards like Corporal Cantwell, lived there.
“But we’re never all here at the same time,” he said. They sat opposite each other at the now littered table. Gus and several young guards sitting nearby followed their conversation.
Frank had been introduced to so many he knew he would never remember all the names. “Cantwell, you never know when he’ll get here.”
“That’s for sure,” drawled Dwight. “Him and Bill Steele and Colonel Troy had to go down the embassy tonight. Don’t know what’s goin’ on, but I got a hunch somethin’s goin’ on.”
“Tell me,” said Frank. “If anything messy does come down, Gus and I live on a block, kind of isolated halfway between here and Dowshan Tappeh. We’re the only Americans around, and the neighbors have already taken to the rooftops at night shouting
Allah-o akbar
.”
“We got some ’round here, too,” said Dwight.
“But if it does get messy,” said Todd, “you’d be a lot better off here. Just jump in your car and come on over. Hit the horn same way you did tonight. We’ll let the guys on the gate know to keep an eye out for your Fiat.”
“Any time, day or night,” said another of the guards.
“Can’t say the door’s always open,” added Dwight. “But we can sure as hell get it open right quick.”
* * *
His next meeting with Lermontov, in their recent pattern of every-other-day sessions at KGB safe houses, moved quickly. The envelope Lermontov had stashed for Frank under the passenger’s seat in his Peugeot was heavier than usual. In the quiet, concrete confines of Rocky’s office, Frank opened the envelope labeled “For You.”
We must make plans for our final meeting. We will need a place where we can have an open discussion. Arrange to have your safe house available on short notice. I will come without a wire, and we may have to repeat some things at a later meeting at a Soviet facility.
My
rezident
believes Khomeini’s return, which we expect within a few weeks, will mean the withdrawal of the entire American community. The Soviet Embassy will maintain its presence here. We will maintain and expand the good relations we have established with Khomeini’s camp in Neauphle-le-Château and put the National Voice of Iran Radio in Baku at their disposal. (There are detailed reports for you on these topics.) Also pay particular attention to the report on Afghanistan. It includes information that could be of vital importance to your embassy there.
“Whatcha got?” said Rocky, entering abruptly.
Frank indicated the stack of envelopes in his briefcase.
“Looks like quite a haul.”
“And this.” Frank handed him Lermontov’s note.
“Interesting,” said Rocky as he studied it. “Wonder what this is on Afghanistan? I’ll check it. Meantime, we need t’ talk about Belinsky.”
“What’s happening?” said Frank, fearing the worst.
“Lots. The Holy Ghost likes our scenario for gettin’ Lermontov off the hook. I cabled him the story you drafted for
Near East Weekly Review,
and he said he’d handle it. I talked to Belinsky and told him to get in touch with the GRU crook. He said he’d do it.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Frank. “It all sounds too good.”
“Yeah, well, it all sounds too good t’ me, too. I worry about Belinsky holdin’ up his end.”
“How so?”
“Dunno. Just Belinsky … well, he seems out of it. He says all the right things, but he’s always lookin’ off into space. Like his mind is someplace else.”
“You ask him about it?”
“Yeah, but when I do he looks me right in the eye and says everything’s fine.”
“Want me to try talking to him?”
“Yeah,” said Rocky. “I get kinda pissed when I think about the things people tell you they won’t tell me. When you talk to him, see if you can figure out what ails him.”
“He can’t be feeling too good about himself right now,” said Frank.
“He’s still got a job to do,” said Rocky.
* * *
Rocky set up a meeting for Frank and Belinsky in the bubble, then left them alone on the excuse that he had to attend to some urgent cables in the communications room.
“Be back in a few,” he said.
“I have good news for you,” said Belinsky.
“Oh?”
“It all went well for your friends, the Aminis. By the time I got to the airport, the wife, good as her word, had already cleared customs and immigration and boarded with the kids. Our guy at the Pan Am counter did his job. The switch from a ticket in my name to Anwar’s went off just fine.”
“Your name?” said Frank.
“Well, yeah,” said Belinsky. “I had to use some name. Hey, don’t look at me like that. I didn’t plan to use the ticket.”
“But maybe, if for some reason the Aminis didn’t show…”
“I thought about it,” said Belinsky. “I really didn’t want to meet with that Yevteshenko bastard. But where could I go? So I waited till the plane took off. Waited a little longer to make sure the control tower didn’t order it back.”
He’s a conniver, thought Frank. Till that moment, Belinsky’s involvement in the Aeroflot racket had seemed out of character. Now Frank wondered. He felt empty, and his thoughts jumped from Belinsky to Anwar and Mina. He’d never said good-bye. He’d never embraced Anwar. He’d never kissed Mina, and then he remembered Mina had once kissed him.
“Anwar gave me this for you.” Belinsky handed him a plain white letter-size envelope.
“Thank you,” said Frank. “I’ll read it later. To tell you the truth, I’m more concerned about your other assignment.”
“What other assignment?” Belinsky’s tone was sharp.
“Meeting with the GRU guy.”