A TIME TO BETRAY (28 page)

I told him about the nature of my trip and that I had only a short amount of time to spend with my aunt and help her transition to the assisted-living facility. I mentioned that I’d met with my old roommates, assuming he already knew that.

We talked about the student association for a while and I learned that Abbass was a committee head of the association and attended some of the meetings on the same days I was there. There was a surreal feeling to this conversation. I’d entered the office believing that they were about to ship me to hell, yet we spoke in a relaxed manner, like nothing more than two people with common acquaintances.

Javad, however, had a point to press. “Some of those students joined the Mujahedin, and the rest of them are working for Zionist America,” he said sharply.

As he said that, I remembered that Johnny, my college roommate, had mentioned something about someone named Farhad—I didn’t know anyone named Farhad—who’d joined the Mujahedin with his sister. I now realized that Johnny was talking about Farzin. Johnny told me that Farhad/Farzin had been arrested and killed in Iran.

So that’s what this is all about. They’re trying to connect me to Farzin with trick questions.

Javad continued, insisting that all Iranians who studied abroad were criminals and had no decency.

Impatiently, Abbass turned and said, “Javad, we have many Guards who have been educated all over the world and are serving our country well and with pure belief.” He was obviously offended.

This exchange only increased the tension in the room from
my perspective. I still didn’t know what was going on. Had Javad brought me here to set me up, hoping I’d say something out of nervousness that would indict me? If so, had I already said something to compromise myself? Or did Abbass know more than he was letting on, in which case his friendliness was just a sham before they destroyed me.

Just as Abbass started to ask another question, a loud knock at the door interrupted us and two tall and well-built
pasdar
entered the room. Their machine guns were hanging on their backs, and they had small guns at their waists. Their arrival immediately led me to believe that my time of reckoning had come. I felt all my resolve leave me; I was suddenly ready to surrender, to admit anything they wanted to know or confirm everything they already believed.

Long moments passed with the gaze of these
pasdar
seemingly boring a hole into me. Then Abbass approached them, handed over a folder, and whispered something to one of them. I had never felt so vulnerable in my life. I was certain that I had failed to meet Abbass’s scrutiny. I stared at the floor, feeling numb; my ears, mouth, eyes—my whole body was senseless. I couldn’t think of anything, not even my son. The image of Somaya’s smile didn’t bring back my strength. Naser’s unjust death meant nothing at that moment. I couldn’t think of any ifs—if I survived this, if I got to go home, if I could just see my family one more time …

“Okay, then. Come on, we’re going now,” Javad said, tapping my shoulder.

Resigned to my fate, I got up, thinking I was leaving with the two Guards. That’s when I saw that they were no longer in the room. I had missed their departure in my panicked reverie. Then Abbass got up and rearranged the papers on his desk, grabbed a folder, put it under his arm, and shook my hand.

“I should be leaving as I have to be in my office soon,” he said. He then patted Javad’s shoulder and told him that he would be in touch.

Still feeling numb, I said good-bye to Abbass, and Javad and I left.

Back in the car, my senses started to return. “Are we going back to the base?” I asked, still wondering if Javad might be taking me elsewhere.

Javad threw me an arched eyebrow. “Where else do you want to go?”

“Nowhere,” I said quickly. “I promised Rahim that I’d fix his computer sometime today. I just didn’t know if you needed to go somewhere first.”

Javad scratched his mustache with his bottom teeth, rolled his eyes, and kept driving. We returned to the base and I got on with the rest of my day.

As much as I tried, I couldn’t begin to understand what this experience was all about.

That night at home I told Somaya that I would be staying in my study to take care of some unfinished work and that I would not be coming to the bedroom at all. I could see that she wasn’t sure what to make of this. I’d rattled her with the phone call earlier in the day, and my explanation when I got home about a delay in our mission to the front hardly seemed to mollify her. But she simply nodded her understanding. I promised myself that I would explain things to her better later, but I didn’t have the strength to do so tonight.

Alone in my study, I pondered for hours. I’d made any number of monumental decisions over the past few years and it was time for me to make another one—maybe the toughest of my life. I chain-smoked an entire pack of cigarettes, and when I lit my last one, I realized that I knew what I had to do.

[Letter #—]

[Date: ———]

Dear Carol,

You might be surprised to see that the format of this letter is different—no numbering and no outlines. I was at Evin Prison today. I am not certain as to what happened or what is about to happen.

I have told you about Javad, the guy who constantly asks me questions. He has connections in the Intelligence Unit and he took me to Evin Prison today. I thought that I would never come out again. He introduced me to a guy named Abbass Karmani. I don’t know who he is or what his exact position is, but he was a member of the Islamic Students’ Association in Los Angeles while I was studying there. He works at the Intelligence Headquarters now. While I was there, two other Guards came in to check me out. I am not sure whether they think of me as a member of the Mujahedin or if they suspect me of spying. But as much as I want to believe the whole thing is a game that Javad is playing to shake me up, I have to be careful.

I am especially worried about my family. I am going to talk to my wife and try to convince her to move to London. I will be transferring the codebook out of my house, and will not be sending any mail or listening for any messages. If things get worse, I will destroy the codes. Please remember that I will need one favor and one favor only. Should anything happen to me, I beg of you to look after my wife and son.

I will continue my daily life here, as I have no other choice. I am being sent to the front again soon. You will hear from me if I verify this was a one-time incident and I feel I am safe.

God bless,

Wally

THE INCIDENT AT
Evin Prison left me stunned. Javad had drawn a bull’s-eye on my back and I felt more unsafe than I’d ever felt in my life. The comfortable routine I’d settled into of collecting information and passing it on to Carol was no longer an option. I’d been aware of the consequences before, but now they seemed so much more real. I had to think of something to do to protect my family in case the Guards arrested me. When they caught people doing what I was doing, they tortured them in unimaginable ways. They would subject my wife and son to the same treatment, and I would be forced to watch until I confessed. The idea of that caused me levels of emotional pain I didn’t think I was capable of feeling. How could I have ever put them in this position?

I remembered Steve’s warning at the outset of my engagement with the CIA: “I want you to be completely aware of the consequences if things go wrong, Wally. The United States government will deny any relationship with you. There won’t be a navy fleet coming to your rescue.”

In other words, no one would save me from a horrific fate.

There was one thing—perhaps the only thing—I could do: commit suicide. Sometimes defeat is not a man’s choice, but to die with pride and dignity is. The only way I could protect my family in the event I was arrested was to kill myself. The Guards wouldn’t torture Somaya and Omid to force a confession out of me if I were already dead. So I drove to a local drugstore and purchased rat poison. I
filled four gel capsules with the powder and carried them with me from then on.

Next I had to hide the codebooks. If the Guards were on to me or had any suspicions about me, they would ransack my home looking for evidence. I needed to get the books to a place where they’d be less likely to look, and I decided that my mother’s condo was the most secure place available to me. I asked Somaya to get Omid ready to visit my mother.

I spent the entire drive to my mother’s contemplating my life decisions and the path on which I’d placed those I loved. Because of me, Omid’s future was like a dangling leaf on a bare tree with a storm fast approaching. As though to underscore the role I played in putting him in harm’s way, I was using his diaper bag to transfer the codebooks, the very vouchers of my betrayal.

My mind was racing, and I must have exhibited this outwardly, because Somaya touched me on the arm and said, “Is something wrong, Reza? You don’t seem to be yourself.”

“It’s nothing. I’m just concerned about going to the front again. I’m not sure when I’m going and there’s so much to do before I leave. I’m a little stressed trying to figure out how to get it all done. It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

She gave me an understanding pat and let it go.

When we arrived, Somaya and Mom quickly started fussing over Omid. I took the codebooks up to the closet in what had been my room before I got married. I had other items stored there—school-books, letters, photos—things I wanted to keep but didn’t have the room for at my place. Before I stored the codebooks, I labeled the package “Ideas for Computer Programs” just in case my mother should find it. Then I went back to my family and tried to enjoy the simplicity of playing with a child.

In the following weeks, I took extra precautions. I made sure my daily routine of getting to and from work remained the same. This included dropping off letters to my aunt, though I was no longer using them to obscure the letters I was sending to Carol. At work, I
stayed focused on my assignments. Not knowing what Javad was up to, I needed to appear to be the model Guard. I had barely seen him since we returned from Evin, but I still felt his presence.

During this silent period, many things happened that I’d been unable to report to Carol. One was the formation of the Ministry of Intelligence and Security (MOIS) in August 1984. The regime was consolidating most of their intelligence work into the ministry, which was to become the center of all that activity, though the Guards would continue to have an intelligence presence at every base. With the formation of MOIS, Javad and Rasool, along with a few others from our base, were transferred to the ministry. The fact that Javad was now working in the Ministry of Intelligence gave me chills because it meant he had more authority and autonomy. Kazem remained at our base as part of the Guards’ Intelligence Unit.

Though it took longer than expected, Kazem informed me that Rahim had finally issued the order for us to go to the front. There was no particular reason why he chose us for this mission other than that he wanted all of the Guards under his command to be in close contact with martyrdom regularly. He felt that “getting close to heaven purifies the soul. Should you be worthy enough, you will become a martyr and join our great prophet Mohammad, Imam Ali, Imam Hussein, and all God’s martyrs in heaven. But only if you are worthy enough.”

When Kazem told me that Javad had volunteered to join us on this trip, it did not shock me, even though he was no longer in our unit. It simply confirmed that he was still watching me, and that he would continue to do so until he found something.

The night before I left, I was packing my bag. Somaya had put Omid in his crib for the night and now she sat quietly on our bed, watching me. She seemed terribly sad, her fingers playing with the end of her shirt, rolling it up and down. I knew she wanted to say something, perhaps something she’d wanted to say for a long time. I stopped packing and sat next to her. She bent her head and looked at her hands, but she remained quiet. I wrapped my arm around her
and kissed her head. I couldn’t think of what to say and ended up saying nothing. But I sat next to her for a long while. Finally, she broke the silence.

“You come back home in one piece, Reza,” she whispered.

Her lower lip curled, her eyelids turned red, and a tear rolled down her cheek. I wiped the tear away, leaned my head on her forehead, held on to her hands, and then let her cry on my shoulder, too overwhelmed by a suite of emotions to do anything other than embrace her.

I reported directly to Kazem’s office early the next morning. When I arrived, his expression was unlike any I’d seen on his face in a long time. His eyes were gleaming, and he seemed happy in a very different way from how he appeared after the regime scored a great victory.

“What’s gotten into you?” I asked as I put down my bag.

Kazem got up from his chair. “My parents went
khastegari
for me a couple of weeks ago. I did not tell you before because I was not sure if they would be successful.”

The chance to talk to Kazem about something as human as marriage warmed me. “Why would anybody reject a great man like you?” I said with a huge smile. “Who is the lucky bride?”

“Her name is Zohreh,” he said excitedly. “She was introduced to my mom at a Quran reading. Mom thinks she is a very devoted Muslim and would make a great housewife. We are getting married after I come back from
jebheh.
”

I reached out and gave him a hug, genuinely happy for him. When we were kids, we’d talked many times about getting married. It felt so good to bring those memories back now. He told me a little more about Zohreh, and we were both still smiling as we put our baggage in the back of the Toyota SUV supplied by the Guards. My good mood faded when Javad arrived, acknowledged me with a stiff hello, and climbed into the backseat.

Throughout the long drive to Ahwaz, a city in the southwest of Iran close to the border with Iraq, I worried about what Javad
might bring up. Though we were going to the front, Javad’s presence was the greatest source of my anxiety. He was mysteriously quiet, though. Kazem, who drove, listened to the news on the radio, and I pretended to be asleep most of the way, inventing the excuse that Omid had been up all night crying.