A TIME TO BETRAY (36 page)

“Kazem?” I gave him a gentle push. “Kazem?”

I moved his head and saw the blood running down his neck where the assailants had shot him.

“Oh my God! Kazem!”

Smoke rose from under the smashed hood. I tried to open the door to get us out, but it was jammed. I removed my jacket and took off my shirt to wrap it around Kazem’s neck.

Hesitantly, I reached for his pulse. There was none. I pressed on his wrist harder looking for a beat, moving my finger around. Nothing. I checked the pulse on his neck, but found nothing there, either.

I crumpled.
How many atrocities do I have to witness?
I screamed to the God in my head.
How many friends and family members do I have to bury? God, I am so tired of this! I am so tired.

I submit myself to you, as I no longer have the strength.

I barely remember what happened in the ensuing days. Our base announced that Kazem fell victim to a Mujahedin attack. Rahim moved back to our base, telling me to take a few days off.

“Baradar Reza, you did what you could to save your brother. We all know you and Kazem were close. It must be very hard on you, as it is on all of us. We lost a great
pasdar.
He was a true Muslim and now he’s a martyr.”

But what Rahim did not know was that Kazem had saved my life and that I had not attempted to reciprocate. In the moments before the attack, I learned that he’d also protected me all those years. With the faith he had in me, he made it possible for a group of hard-core radicals to believe that Reza was like them, and perhaps even more
dedicated than they were. He’d erased the damage Javad had caused. He’d secured for me the respect of Rahim, a shrewd commander of one of the most dangerous divisions of the Islamic Republic government. He’d saved my life more than once.

I stayed home for a few days, unsure what to feel. My relationship with Kazem had stopped being simple a long time ago. But as it turned out, he had never stopped acting as a friend. It would take me a very long time to process this and mourn it properly.

One thing was certain, though. With Kazem gone, I had no more security. If I were going to leave now, I would need Rahim’s approval, and I assumed that this would be exponentially harder to attain than it would have been from Kazem. I decided that the only approach I could take was to have the evenhanded conversation I’d intended to have with Kazem before my fury overwhelmed me.

“Baradar Rahim, I know it’s a very tense time with Kazem not being here, but I hope you understand that my family needs me
in London, if I can have your permission. My wife is going back to school and my son has not seen me for a few years. They need me. …”

Rahim stopped me. “Baradar Reza, I know it has been hard for you to lose Kazem. I understand. You look so miserable. I think it is a good idea that you go there for a while. Be with your family.”

I couldn’t believe it had gone that easily.

“Leave your phone number and address with me and I’ll be in touch,” Rahim continued. “I know Moheb Khan and where he lives, but if I have your number, I can call should something come up. And perhaps while staying there, I’ll connect you with some good brothers and you can remain active with the Guards.”

Rahim’s words sent me plummeting back to earth. How was I going to navigate my way through this? I decided that I couldn’t worry about it at that moment. I had his permission to leave and I’d make the most of that. I made plans to leave the country in a few weeks, though I still didn’t call Somaya to tell her so. I felt that I couldn’t let her know what I was doing until after my plane landed in London because until that very moment things could go horribly wrong. I had Rahim’s permission, my ticket, and the voucher of my freedom, but I had learned that none of this was a guarantee in Iran anymore. I just couldn’t bear the devastation it would cause her if I got her hopes up and then someone with power over me squashed those hopes.

I was so anxiety-riddled in the time leading up to my departure that I could barely sleep. And when sleep did come, soul-ripping nightmares awoke me, leaving me stunned in bed. About a week before my flight, I woke up soaked to the bone in the middle of the night. I held my chest tightly because it felt as though my heart were about to burst out of it. I ran the sheet across my face to wipe off the sweat and sat up in bed, remembering the dream I had.

I am in a desert. There is nothing around me. I am stuck in a hole from the waist down. I feel something hit my head from the back and I feel intense pain. Then something hits me in the forehead. I see blood. Then something else hits me in the back of my head.

I turn and sigh. Kazem is standing behind me in his soccer jersey. He is ten or eleven years old. He has a soccer ball in one hand and is throwing rocks at me with his other. Another rock hits me in the forehead. This comes from Naser, who is standing in front of me. He looks skinny and old. He is behind bars and throwing rocks at me from a distance.

I scream, “I don’t want to be the goalie anymore!”

Khanoom Bozorg approaches me. “Reza
jon,
you should have done your namaz before getting in that hole.”

Agha Joon walks up and grabs Khanoom Bozorg’s hand. “Khanoom, leave him alone. He is an adult and he knows what’s right and what’s wrong. He is in this hole just to be a goalkeeper.”

Then Somaya comes toward me carrying a birthday cake. I try to blow out the candles from the hole, but no matter how strong I blow, I cannot do it. The fire is still there. The candles are burning and burning!

“I don’t want to be the goalie anymore!” I scream again.

MY LANDLORD WAS
upset when I gave her short notice, but my offer to let her keep all of my furniture appeased her. Although I planned to be away for a long time, I packed light. I didn’t want to take much. I even wished I could leave my memories behind, burying them with all of the people I loved whom I’d buried. All I wanted was a new future and for the past to hide in its own darkness.

Once on the plane, I closed my eyes and thought of Somaya and Omid’s surprise at seeing me—how we would start the rest of our lives together and how different things were going to be. I was preoccupied with these pleasant thoughts when the plane hit air turbulence. The
FASTEN SEAT BELT
sign beeped and lit up. A commotion arose as the plane started to shake.

The woman next to me started to murmur prayers.
“Ey Khoda, Khodet hefzemoon kon,”
she said.
Oh God, please save us!
She held on to the arms of her seat and mine. The older man next to her on the aisle seat had his eyes closed as he rocked back and forth, a line of sweat traveling along the side of his pale face.

The plane dropped suddenly, causing several people to cry out in alarm. The sound of babies wailing and adults shouting for salvation was all too familiar to me. But a few seconds later, the shaking subsided. With another beep, the seat belt light went off.

“Thank God,” the woman next to me said as she took a deep breath. She turned her head toward my seat to look out the window
and I saw tears in her eyes. “Even to leave this ruined place does not come easy.”

All I could do was nod and force a smile.

She shook her head. “Thank God, I am not going back. Never!”

Before I left, I went to see Agha Joon to say good-bye. By this point he was battling Alzheimer’s, but he remembered me. He asked when I was planning to return, and I just told him I’d be doing so soon. I wished I could tell him that I might not be back for a long time and that when I did return, he might not even be around, but I couldn’t be that candid.

Thinking about my grandfather, thinking about how he’d helped form me and how much he meant to me, I realized that I didn’t truly want to bury my past. I needed to look forward, but I should never look away from what made me who I was.

The Iran Air Boeing 747 landed smoothly at Heathrow. After the sometimes rocky ride, the passengers applauded the pilot’s gentle touchdown. I saw this as a metaphor for my future and the freedom I was about to enjoy.

I called Somaya once I got off the plane. All flight, I’d been thinking about how to explain my arrival. Ultimately, I just decided to make it as clear as possible. “Somaya
jon, salam.
Please forgive me. I know I should have called before, but I am in London.”

I paused for her reaction. All she said was “What?”

My voice was shaky. “I am catching a cab and will be there in less than an hour.”

Somaya and Omid greeted me at the door. I held Omid in my arms, and all I could do was cry. Somaya looked at me in disbelief. Her expression said, “Only you would show up this way.” Somaya’s parents were happy to see me and we all celebrated my appearance. I knew things would be different later, when I was alone with my wife. She had every right to be angry with me for being away from her for so long and then for not telling her that I was coming to England.

In some ways, I dreaded that conversation. But Somaya never
failed to come through for me. When I told her about my mom’s and Kazem’s deaths, she held me in her arms and let me weep till the last drop of my tears dried on her shoulder. Though I knew she could have criticized me for the way I’d handled things since she moved to England, she didn’t do anything of the sort.

When I was cried out, I said to her with shaking voice, “I promise, I will never, ever leave your side again and …”

She put a finger on my lips. “Don’t, Reza. Please, I don’t want you to promise anything anymore. You are here, and that means the world to Omid. For a long time, I’ve wanted the three of us to have a happy life. I am sure that’s what you want, too. I waited for you all these years. Let’s not let your promises ruin it, at least for Omid’s sake.”

“Do you still love me?” I said apprehensively.

She looked in my eyes and tried not to smile. “You know, Reza, I sometimes ask myself the same question.” Then her eyes brightened and she said, “Yes, I still love you.” Hearing this from her made me feel incredibly strong—and incredibly lucky that I’d managed to find a woman who would support me the way she did.

For the next several days, while I enjoyed the life I had missed for years, Somaya and I talked about our future. She agreed right away when I proposed that we move to America.

“Oh, California! I’d love to go to Los Angeles. The weather … Malibu Beach … Hollywood. And, oh my God, we can take Omid to Disneyland every day!” She closed her eyes and smiled like a child.

I laughed. “You’ve been watching a lot of American movies, haven’t you?”

She patted my arm and said playfully, “You are so mean.” Then she added, “It is not all about that. I could finish school there.” Somaya had started going to college in London part-time. She was not sure of what she wanted to study, as she had several majors in mind. “I can decide what I want to do in America.”

“You’ll be good at anything you put your mind to.”

Next, I had to call Carol to advise her of my decision to leave the agency, and to ask her help in arranging our trip to America. She had told me several times previously that when I was ready to go to the U.S. she would have our paperwork processed to attain our residency status.

Carol was shocked when I called and told her I was in London. She said she hoped I had a better excuse this time for not telling her about my trip. She asked me to meet her at the same hotel where we had met the last time. This seemed unusual, but it didn’t matter to me anymore.

Seeing Carol, of course, meant that I had to lie to Somaya again about what I was doing, something I could barely reconcile any longer. I made up a story about contacting an immigration lawyer and planning a meeting to see what our options were.

“I’d like it if we could do these things together from now on,” Somaya stated flatly.

“We will. This time is just a consultation. If the lawyer is any good, we’ll go together next time.” As the words left my mouth, I pleaded with God to make it possible for me to end my double life as soon as possible.

Carol gave me a warm hug as I entered the hotel room. “What brings you here this time? Visiting your family?” She didn’t seem at all worried about why I’d asked to see her, perhaps because I was projecting the strength and serenity that several days with Somaya and Omid had provided.

“Yes, I am visiting. But there is more.” I hesitated for a moment. “I need you to help me and my family move to the States.”

Now concern crossed her face. “Is everything all right?”

“I lost my mother during the missile attacks. And a few weeks ago, before I came here, Kazem was killed. …”

“Oh my God! I am so sorry, Wally.”

I didn’t want to hear the name Wally now. For the past few days, I hadn’t been thinking like Wally at all.

“What happened to Kazem?” she asked in disbelief.

I related all of it to her, explaining that the stoning and Kazem’s assassination were the final straws for me. I told her that I was convinced that it was impossible for me—emotionally and physically—to remain in Iran.

“I am sorry,” she said, rubbing her eyes and shaking her head.

“I talked to Somaya and we think it is better for us and for our son to live in the States instead of England.”

Carol nodded thoughtfully. “Is this your final decision, Wally?”

I didn’t hesitate in my response. “I am afraid it is,” I said, surprised at how good it felt to get out those words.

“Then I will do my best to get everything ready,” Carol said with a warm smile. “Give me a week and I’ll have your papers prepared. But call me in a few days so we can set up another meeting.”

When I heard her say this, I realized that I was truly committing to ending my double life. I’d wanted to do this for a long time, but I wasn’t prepared for the ambivalence that struck me now. What about the madness still going on in my country? Was I truly prepared to leave so many good Iranians behind?

At the same time, though, I had to wonder if my efforts as Wally had really helped anyone. Did my reports accomplish what I hoped they would? I’d told the CIA about Iraq’s use of chemical weapons, but this led to nothing more than the U.S. government’s condemnation of the practice while they continued to provide Saddam with military intelligence and training, along with billions of dollars in economic aid. I reported China’s secret military cooperation with the Guards, and again, this led only to a condemnation. I reported the ruthless torture and killing of men and women opposing the mullahs and how some European countries even allowed such practices within their own borders, and yet the West continued to sidestep its principles of supporting democracy and defending human rights because of the lure of Iranian oil.