“I’m a reporter,” said Frank, finally able to see into the general’s eyes, a blue so flat and dark they seemed purple. “I only report what various Iranians, including the Shah, have told me.”
“Maybe, just maybe,” said the general, “if you spent more time doing whatever the hell your outfit sent you over here for instead of sucking up to the Shah, we might have a better idea of what the hell is going on here. You’re supposed to be in the air force, right?”
Frank wondered if he should salute. “Air force major,” he said.
“I can tell you, you’d never be in any air force I had anything to do with.” Weber turned to Rocky. “You better get some new cover for him. Or ship him the hell out of here.”
“Fritz, you must allow me to say…” Again, the ambassador did not get a chance to complete his thought.
“Mr. Ambassador, allow me to say, chain of command, order of battle. You talk to the Shah. Your military attachés talk to their Iranian counterparts. I come over here with specific instructions to contact high-level Iranian military leaders, most of which I’ve known for a long time. I’ve met with them all, and I can tell you the Shah made a great choice in naming Gharabaghi his chief of staff. The man’s a natural military leader, and he managed to open lines of communication to some of these raghead religious leaders. We will have a coup, and we will not have bloodshed, because General Gharabaghi has it covered on both ends. A military solidly with him and a religious leadership that won’t oppose him.”
“That sounds very optimistic,” said the ambassador.
“If we had the gumption to be optimistic in Vietnam,” said the general, “we’d still be there.”
The ambassador closed his eyes. Rocky, hands folded on the table, looked blank. This guy’s crazy, thought Frank.
“I’ll report what the Shah told us,” Weber continued. “Just what he told us, with no contradictions from the CIA. And there won’t be any contradictions because Sullivan here won’t be seeing the Shah anymore.”
“We might agree that Frank won’t seek a meeting with the Shah,” said the ambassador, ‘but that doesn’t preclude the possibility the Shah will seek a meeting.”
“Yeah, well, your chief of station here can preclude that possibility by shipping Sullivan out of here on the next plane.”
That sounds like a great idea, thought Frank. Quick. Before someone kills me.
Rocky stared blankly at the general. “Do you read me?” shouted Weber. Rocky nodded, and Frank guessed Rocky did read the general, but only his lips.
The general spent close to an hour telling the ambassador how to conduct the business of his embassy and telling Rocky how to run his station.
“Thank you for your comments,” said the ambassador.
Rocky, deaf to all Weber had said, read the ambassador’s lips and echoed, “Thank you for your comments.”
When the general finally left, Rocky led Frank up to the bubble. “Let’s give it a minute to make sure that kraut got his ass the hell out of here. Then let’s see if we can get his nibs up here. This shit with the Shah, we gotta work this out.”
“You heard what Weber said about shipping me out?”
“No,” said Rocky. “Anybody asks, my hearing aid must not have been working. But Langley’s cleared him for access to our reporting. So we can’t ask the ambassador to set up a meeting for you with the Shah or Weber will go ballistic. Can you talk to Kasravi?”
“That’s what the Shah said I’m supposed to do. Stay in touch with Kasravi even after he goes on vacation.”
“Good. Tell Kasravi you need to see the Shah A-SAP. If he asks why…”
“He won’t,” said Frank.
“You fucking assume he won’t. But if he does, tell him the truth. In fact, even if he doesn’t ask, tell him you need to clear up confusion in embassy reporting about the Shah’s departure. He may offer somethin’ interestin’ himself, but you say you have to get it direct from the Shah. How soon can you get to him?”
“Tomorrow,” said Frank. “It may mean blowing another meeting with Lermontov, but Kasravi should be able to get me in to see the Shah.”
“Good,” said Rocky. “Lermontov can wait. If the Shah does plan to go direct to the States, we may just say nothin’. No need to stir up General Fritz if we don’t have to. But if the Shah doesn’t plan to go to the States, we gotta let the boys back home know it real quick before someone in the White House or the NSC says or does somethin’ dumb on the basis of what the ambassador and Weber file. What do you know about this General Gharabaghi?”
Frank shrugged. “Not much. Kasravi seems to think he’s a good man.”
“So does Washington,” said Rocky. “He’s our next hero on a white horse. Ever since George Washington, whenever we have a fuckin’ political problem we start lookin’ for a general on a white horse to solve it. Win a war. Stage a coup. Same way in Vietnam. Chile. Greece. If we can’t get a general, we’ll settle for a colonel. Give us a guy on a white horse we can put on a pedestal. Carved in stone. Anyway, this General fuckin’ Gharabaghi is the latest.”
“I kind of wonder about how great he is,” said Frank, “if General Fritz is so high on him.”
“Yeah, well, I wonder, too. But the word from Washington says Gharabaghi is supposed to be the one guy everybody respects. Mr. Clean. Religious, a man of honor, all that. Word is, and this comes out of National Security Council, Gharabaghi is supposed to be everybody’s favorite candidate for the guy to ride back in on his white-ass horse and lead the coup. Force the Shah to bring his kid in as regent with a government of national unity with the National Front up front. So what NSC wants and flat-out asks for is reporting from here that verifies the speculation in Washington.”
“Isn’t that kind of ass-backwards?”
“Yeah,” grumbled Rocky. “In the best of all possible worlds, policy oughta be based on intelligence. But back in Foggy Bottom, the EOB and the Oval fuckin’ Office, they want it the other way round. Yeah, Langley, too. At least some of the time. They want field intelligence that’s based on headquarters policy. Policy calls for a military coup. Fuckin’ Gharabaghi on a white horse. So after you talk to the Shah your reporting better come up with good odds for a coup led by General Gharabaghi. And don’t forget the white horse. Let’s make your friend General Fritz happy.”
“Does he have a real first name?” asked Frank.
“Weber? Yeah, first name, Charles. But nobody ever calls him that. He’s a fuckin’ Fritz.”
* * *
Frank had enlisted Kasravi’s aid in arranging a meeting with the Shah. At the scheduled time of five, the new majordomo ushered Frank into the Shah’s office.
“We’re glad you could come,” said the Shah, seated at his vast oak desk. “In fact, we would have sent for you, but our time grows crowded, and short.” His voice seemed assured; he sat tall, shoulders squared in his chair. Only his pale features betrayed the cancer. “Please sit.”
Frank pulled a chair close to the desk.
“We had a most unsatisfactory meeting yesterday with your ambassador and this General Weber person. Since General Kasravi told us why you sought a meeting today, we assume you know some of what happened here yesterday.”
“What was the problem?”
“The problem was General Weber. Your President sent him, it would seem, to pressure our military leaders to stage a coup, a coup that would preserve our government, but not, it would seem, our throne. So be it. But when our military men ask General Weber what support the United States would provide, the good general offers nothing. This lack of support offends us. We do not like or trust this general and will not confide our plans to him.” The Shah indulged a rare smile. “We had, we must admit, another reason for saying our plans now include flying directly to the United States.”
Frank replied with his own smile and waited for the Shah to continue.
“We wanted to see if we would be welcomed in the United States. Our visitors assured us your country would cooperate in every possible way.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“We were not. For we were not sure we could trust their words.”
“I don’t think they would try to deceive you,” said Frank, but in truth he wondered.
“In any event, we do not want to deceive your country. We hope your report on this meeting will make it clear we will not go directly to the United States. In fact, you may report we confirmed our intention to leave for a vacation somewhere in the Middle East. Your government’s capacity to leak sensitive information to the press makes us unwilling to say exactly where. We do not want to complicate our host’s security arrangements.”
“Sir, I believe we can take the proper measures to ensure confidentiality.”
“What measures?”
Good question, thought Frank. “Emphasize the extreme sensitivity. Limit distribution.”
“Eyes only and all of that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Not good enough, we fear.”
Probably not, thought Frank.
“Today is what?” mused the Shah. “January twelfth?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Come in two days. Sunday, the fourteenth. We have a lunch scheduled for the fifteenth with the British ambassador, who is leaving Iran, and with your ambassador. But you come the fourteenth. Here, in the morning. Can you arrange nine?”
“I will arrange it, sir.”
“It will be, we are afraid, our farewell.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, sir.”
“We wish you could accompany us. But stay in close touch with General Kasravi. He will need you and he will be useful to you.”
* * *
“I’d love to burn Weber’s ass, but we can’t put all that stuff the Shah said about him in a cable he’s likely to read.”
Rocky and Frank had cloistered themselves in the bubble.
“How ’bout the stuff about pressuring the Iranian military to stage a coup but offering no U.S. support?”
“Don’t say ‘pressuring.’ Say ‘discussing’ a coup. You get anything about Gharabaghi?”
“I asked. He looked out the window and said discuss that with Kasravi.”
“Better leave that out. Least till you talk to Kasravi again. All the other stuff goes in, including the bit about the British ambassador leaving. It’ll get to James and let him know that may mean one less threat to our nailin’ Lermontov. But no derogatory stuff about General Fritz.”
“Got it,” said Frank. “Can Lermontov have it?”
“Better wait till after your Sunday meet with the Shah. Give me time to cover my ass, clear the idea with James. By then, if we get the okay, maybe you can even tell him where Our Imperial Majesty will go.”
“Sad,” said Frank.
“Yeah,” said Rocky. “I guess it is kinda sad.”
* * *
Their Sunday morning meeting proved short. Both stood throughout. “President Sadat has invited us to stay in Egypt.” The Shah stared at the Mercator projection on the far wall that showed Iran at the center of the world. “Egypt is not far. We leave in two days, with our Queen and a few others. We can go there and return quickly should we be called. If not, after a few days, we will proceed to the United States.” He turned to Frank. “But we will give you our opinion. Our military, without American support, will not be able to manage a coup. And we believe America will render no such support.” He looked back toward the wall. “I wonder what will happen to my map.”
He turned again and, in a rare gesture, extended his hand to Frank. His eyes misted as their hands touched, and he said, “Good-bye, good friend.”
“Good-bye,” said Frank.
“Perhaps we will meet again,” said the Shah. “Someday in America.”
* * *
He had not expected to choke up saying good-bye to a man he knew bore responsibility for the deaths of thousands, including Major Nazih, at the hands of
Savak,
the police, and the military. My search for a father, he thought. My weakness for emperors.
“You visit the Shah often these days,” said Ali, as he drove Frank back toward the embassy.
“I guess,” said Frank.
Ali turned toward him briefly. “Does that mean he will soon be leaving?”
“No. But you know you shouldn’t ask questions like that.”
“Yes, sir. I know. But I have to think about my own leaving. And yours.”
“I don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon.”
“All the Americans will have to go when the Imam arrives.” The Imam, thought Frank. Even to Ali. “I will stay with you for just now,” said Ali. “You will need me. But I must soon leave Tehran and join my family.”
“What about the army?” said Frank.
“There is no army,” Ali responded.
* * *
Frank found Gus in Stan Rushmore’s office, finishing up a cable on the Jayface meeting.
“Jayface worries me,” said Gus.
“How so?”
“We miss your creative presence. You do a better job than the rest of us keeping up the pretense of a post-coup civic action program.”
“Jayface still gives us a platform,” said Frank.
“I know, but General Merid’s wondering out loud if Jayface really has any function.”
“Maybe you should recruit him,” said Frank.
“What an outstanding idea,” said Gus. “Like I said, we need your creative presence.”
* * *
“Where were you yesterday?” said Lermontov harshly once he stood in the eye of the hidden video camera. He had again brought Frank to his home.
“At the palace,” said Frank. “Sucking up to the Shah, as my favorite American general put it to me.”
“What is this about?”
Frank described his confrontation with General Weber and the Shah’s comments on the general. “Some of this is in a cable I’ve brought you, which also deals with the Shah’s departure. He’s going to Egypt. Leaving in two days.”
“Interesting. Let me see it.”
Frank pried the day’s take from the false bottom of his briefcase. It included a thick but bland series of Near East situation updates prepared by the division.
Lermontov seemed interested only in the cable on the Shah. “This is a first-rate piece of intelligence. No matter what your stupid general says, you should suck up to the Shah more often.”
“Not much chance of that,” said Frank. “We said our good-byes.”
“Wth him gone, how long can you hope to stay?”
“The Shah asked me to keep in touch with General Kasravi, Imperial Bodyguard. Liaison between General Bardri, who now heads both the Bodyguard and the army, and General Gharabaghi, the new chief of staff. Key people in plans for the coup. It’s in the cable.”