A TIME TO BETRAY (30 page)

Not all of Kazem’s animosity toward the West lacked validity. England once wielded enormous power in the Middle East. It went so far as to divide countries, draw new borders, choose sheiks to run these oil-rich nations, and coordinate coups (in Iran, among others). England chose to divide and conquer, and its most divisive action was to enflame sectarian violence and to promote division within ethnicities and religions such as the Shiites and Sunnis.

America had its own culpability in sending mixed signals and promoting a confusing foreign policy. For example, it supported dictators to the detriment of the citizens of those nations—Suharto in Indonesia, Augusto Pinochet in Chile, Manuel Noriega in Panama, Hosni Mubarak in Egypt, the shah in Iran, Saddam Hussein in Iraq, and many others in Africa, Asia, and Latin America. American policies were also to blame for helping the Mujahedin in Afghanistan, which then led to the creation of the Taliban and Al Qaeda. Thousands (probably hundreds of thousands) of people lost their lives because of these policies.

However, many Iranians still saw America as a friend, a
superpower that respected and defended democracy, where people of different ethnicities and different ideologies lived in peace together. They hoped that somehow, some way, America would help rid Iran of the mullahs and end our long nightmare.

I was one of those Iranians.

SHORTLY AFTER RETURNING
home from the front, I went over to my mother’s condo to retrieve the hidden documents. No one had approached me since the Evin Prison incident, so I’d begun to believe that the entire thing had been less menacing than I’d originally perceived. And now that Javad was no longer a threat, I felt somewhat safer.

Even though I knew I had to be ever vigilant and prepared to deal with dangers even greater than any posed by Javad, I thought it was essential that I start writing to Carol again. Since I’d completely cut off communications, she might have assumed the worst about me and I needed to ease her mind. Most important, though, I had a great deal of information to convey. In a short letter, I told her what had happened to Javad and shared my belief that the threat was over. I also let her know that I would resume filing my reports. I promised not to let my guard down.

It was now important to focus on my family, whom I had neglected since the chilling experience at Evin. I’d been so fearful of what might happen to them if I were caught that I’d managed to push them away. I was physically there, but I’d retreated into myself. What they saw was a tense man with little ability to engage with them and share his soul with them. I needed now to show them how lucky I felt to be alive and to have them in my life. Somaya seemed happy to have my full attention again. How happy could we be if I
were not living two lives and if we weren’t under constant threat of having our world turned upside down?

I sent another letter to Carol a few days after I reopened communications, updating her about everything that had happened in the past several weeks, including the formation of the MOIS, and the transfer of Rasool and many other Guards to the ministry. I’d actually heard a rumor that Rasool was going to be on the move yet again. Someone told me that he was leaving the country to pursue his education, which surprised me a little. I bumped into him one day leaving Rahim’s office, and I almost didn’t recognize him. He was nicely groomed, he’d shaved his beard, and he was dressed in a business suit. Something was going on.

“
Salam,
Baradar Reza,” he said brightly. “I’m glad I saw you. I wanted to say good-bye to you.” He shook my hand and reached to give me a hug, overwhelming me with his size.

I tried not to look too surprised by his new appearance. “
Salam,
big guy. I heard you were going to England to continue your education. When are you leaving?”

“
Inshallah,
this afternoon.”

Kazem validated my suspicion when he told me the same day that Rasool had been prepped to become an agent in England. This would be valuable news to pass on to Carol, and I needed to find a way to uncover more details about Rasool’s mission. Getting Kazem to talk would not be difficult, but he seemed very busy at the time. As it turned out, Rahim was also traveling to England, which meant Kazem had extra work preparing to fill in, which he did whenever the commander was away.

When I finally got Kazem alone in his office, he told me that Rasool’s new assignment was to infiltrate the Iranian opposition groups in England to learn about their activities. He also said that the reason for Rahim’s travel was to meet with the Guards’ agents in London. The Guards had gone abroad to confront the Mujahedin and others challenging the Iranian government. The Mujahedin were active in Europe, conducting a campaign aimed at toppling the
Islamic regime. They were also busy helping to coordinate assassinations of Islamic officials in Iran.

“Reza, we have the approval of several European governments to go after the opposition,” Kazem told me.

“You mean we can take them out at will?”

“As long as we do not jeopardize the security of those countries or their citizens, we can.”

This seemed incredible to me. I wondered how the West justified helping fanatics who could just as easily turn on them. As I thought this, I flashed on something Naser had said during the early days of the revolution: “Why would the West—or even the East, for that matter—want Iran to progress when they can take advantage of our oil while having stupid people rule the country?” If his observation were true, it seemed that the West was being incredibly shortsighted.

Kazem maintained that the Europeans raised no objection to Iranian agents’ murdering the opposition—members of the Mujahedin as well as former officers and monarchists—inside their countries. This would result in the Guards’ killing hundreds in Europe and around the globe, with bombs planted in their cars, by attacking them in their homes, by beheading them, or by shooting them execution-style. Some they abducted, tortured, and killed, dumping their bodies in remote areas. Among the many they assassinated was General Gholam Oveissi, the former commander of the shah’s army, along with his brother, on the streets of Paris. But there would be many, many more. The most notable figure, assassinated some years later, was the last prime minister under the shah, Shahpour Bakhtiar. He’d escaped the country after the revolution and stayed active in Paris promoting opposition to the mullahs. The Guards finally caught up to him, stabbing him thirteen times in the neck and shoulder, and cutting his throat with a kitchen knife.

While we were talking, two Guards entered the room. Kazem got up excitedly and welcomed them. They shook hands and then hugged.

“Reza, these brothers are from the Central Command,” Kazem
said as he introduced them to me. He then went on to brag about how my contributions helped set up the computer infrastructure that facilitated the Guards’ activities throughout the country. At first I was worried that this might be another trick, but when they continued with their unfiltered conversation, I was relieved and felt they regarded me as one of them.

One of the Guards mentioned that Iraq was receiving military aid from the West, especially France. This included new fighter jets to target Iranian naval ships and oil tankers in the Persian Gulf. The Iraqis had also purchased jets that could drop bombs from high altitude, therefore remaining immune to antiaircraft guns. What he said next stunned me:

“Baradar Kazem, our intelligence has learned through arms dealers in the black market that Saddam is desperately looking for the technology to build an atomic bomb. We have verified this with our sources in Iraq.”

“An atomic bomb in the hands of a madman,” Kazem said, shaking his head.

“We won’t let it go unanswered,” the Guard continued. “We already have approval from the Supreme Leader, Imam Khomeini, to strengthen our capabilities with such technology. Don’t worry,
Baradar,
Islam will conquer the evil forces. Saddam and his boss,
Amrika,
will be defeated,
inshallah
.”

Later that night, I wrote Carol again. This was the third letter in as many days, but with significant news I felt could not wait.

[Letter #—]

[Date:———]

Dear Carol,

1—Rasool has been sent to London from MOIS as an agent to infiltrate the opposition groups.

2—His duties are to identify group leaders,
sympathizers, and individuals connected to them who travel in and out of Iran. This information is used by MOIS to arrest members and sympathizers upon their arrival in Iran and to assassinate opposition leaders abroad.

3—Kazem told me that Rahim has also traveled to London to meet with Guards’ agents. Rahim is becoming increasingly involved with the activities abroad.

4—Kazem told me that there is an unwritten pact with the European governments, especially France, England, and Germany, that allows Guards’ agents to assassinate opposition members without interference of those governments’ security services.

5—While in Kazem’s office, two Guards from Central Command showed up with news that Saddam is looking for nuclear technology and desperately wants nuclear bombs. This has been confirmed by Guards’ agents in Iraq and Guards’ contacts with arms dealers in the black market. Consequently, the Guards have also started their pursuit of the nuclear bomb with the approval of Imam Khomeini.

God Bless,

Wally

My preoccupation with the flurry of vital information I’d been receiving distracted me from Kazem’s upcoming wedding. As the day approached, I realized that I’d have to prepare my grandfather for the celebration, as he was quite old now and reluctant to go out. He was slightly stooped and needed a cane to walk. His snow-white hair and wrinkles testified to a lifetime of changes and experiences, from the invasion of Iran by the Allies in World War II, to the shahs’ monarchies, to the mullahs he’d never respected now ruling his country.

As I did regularly, I flashed back on the long-ago summertime gatherings when Agha Joon and Davood would discuss their differences about the shah, democracy in Iran, and their favorite subject, the influence of Arabs and Islam in our society. As a kid, I didn’t appreciate the extent of this influence and how it was changing the
vision of our nation. This great country—once ruled by Cyrus the Great and known for its rich culture and literature—was regressing now because of religion.

Although a Muslim, like many other Iranians, Agha Joon did not feel obligated to practice Islam the way my grandmother had. He didn’t go to the mosque or pray five times daily, and he didn’t think he was going to go to hell because of this. But he did live by the highest tenets of our religion: he always helped the poor, he never lied, he never stole anything—and, above all, he was not a betrayer. Agha Joon believed strongly in the separation of religion and politics. He would say, “Religion is in the heart. It cannot be forced upon the people. It is a private relationship between a man and his creator. You find the love within God, and with that love, you cherish life.”

At first Agha Joon told me that he wasn’t going to go to Kazem’s wedding. He was uncomfortable being where henchmen of the Islamic government would be gathered. Unlike my mother, Agha Joon had never expressed his disappointment in my joining the Guards. He always gave me a warm smile, saying, “
Pesaram,
hopefully you’ll find a better place to work.” But he did not hesitate to show his resentment against the Islamic regime and the crimes it committed. When I told him that it would mean a lot to Kazem, and that Kazem’s father had sent a special invitation for him, Agha Joon finally agreed to accompany me.

The ceremony was at the bride’s house. When we arrived, a brand-new black Mercedes pulled up in front of us. At this point in the revolution, the regime had stopped the import of foreign cars for ordinary citizens. Only the authorities and high-ranking clergy were able to special-order the latest models and drive them. It did not surprise me when a chubby mullah exited the car. He was wearing a long black chenille robe and holding on to his white turban. He draped his prayer beads, shining on a gold string, in his hand. Two Guards escorted him out of the car, one opening the door and the other holding his hand to guide him out.

A small crowd, perhaps the bride’s family, immediately surrounded the mullah. Agha Joon nudged me, winked, and with a wide grin said, “Look at this son of a dog. He steals people’s money, drives a Mercedes, and I’ll bet he has an honorary Ph.D. or a law degree, too.”

“Agha Joon, please, hush.” I was afraid someone who knew me would overhear him.

Kazem’s father hustled toward the mullah. “
Bah bah,
Hojatoleslam Yazdi, you honor us today by your coming.”

I looked at Agha Joon, who was now reaching into his pocket for his glasses. He mumbled
“Hojatoleslam!”
derisively spitting the honorific title representing authority in Islam. In those days, any mullah who had moved up in rank by any means received it.

Agha Joon finally found his glasses, stared out, and then turned to me in disbelief. “Reza
jon,
this is our own Mullah Aziz!”

Shocked, I looked closer and realized that he was right. It was Mullah Aziz—upgraded from a donkey to a Mercedes and with his title changed from Mullah to Hojatoleslam. I just shook my head.

Kazem came out to welcome the guests. He greeted us and took us over to Mullah Aziz.

“
Bah bah,
Agha Joon,” the mullah said with great enthusiasm. “It is so nice to see you again.”

“
Salam,
Mullah Aziz,” Agha Joon said, not caring that calling this man “Mullah” rather than “Hojatoleslam” and using his first name was a sign of disrespect.

Mullah Aziz reddened at being addressed that way in front of his escorts. But I jumped in, trying to avoid any further embarrassment that would jeopardize my position. I paid my respects and introduced myself, certain the mullah would not recognize me.