A TIME TO BETRAY (41 page)

Connecting Rasool with the CIA was a huge risk. It could jeopardize my chance of getting my family to America and even put my life at risk. But taking risks had become a matter of course with me. One day, when Somaya and Omid were out, I invited Rasool to my apartment. To my surprise, the subject came up naturally. Rasool commented on a picture of Somaya holding Omid and I told him that my wife had a dream of finishing her education in America.

“She wants to be a pediatrician and she’s thinking about Harvard or Stanford,” I said, inventing this on the spot. In reality Somaya was still unsure what she wanted her major to be. “But if she gets accepted to UCLA, that would be ideal. I used to live in LA and UCLA has one of the better programs for medicine in the country.”

Rasool stared at the distance. “I’d like to go to America.” Then he made eye contact with me. “I told you that before. It is my dream, Reza.”

“Why don’t you go, then?”

“You are joking, Reza! I need a visa.”

I shrugged. “Why don’t you just apply for one?”

“If it was that easy to get a visa, Reza, half of the population in the world would have gone there by now.”

“If you are serious about it, I am sure there is a way. People travel to the U.S. every day. You should be able to get some kind of visa … wait!” I walked toward the dining table, which was piled with newspapers and magazines, leafing through them. “Somaya
showed me something the other day. Let me see if I can find that ad. It was in one of these papers.” My hands started shaking as I continued my “search.” I knew exactly where the ad was.

“Here it is,” I said at last, holding up an Iranian newspaper. Gary had perfectly doctored one page to include an ad for me to show to Rasool. “‘Immigration Lawyer for Iranians,’” I read. “‘If you need a visa to travel to America, we can help. Contact Gary Sullivan …’”

Rasool came over to look at the ad. “Between you and me, I wouldn’t mind trying him.”

“Maybe he could get your visa,” I said nonchalantly.

“How about you? Do you think you’ll go to this guy for one as well?”

I’d prepared for such a question. “We will if Somaya gets accepted to a university in the U.S. She definitely wants to continue her education. But I need to ask Rahim. He is still my commander. He is expecting me to go back home after I am done here. If he wants me back, I will arrange for Somaya to go to America by herself.”

Rasool nodded. “You won’t be asking Rahim.”

“What do you mean?”

“Rahim is no longer at our base. He had a heart attack. He resigned and moved to Kerman with his family.”

I sighed. Rahim was not very old, but he was overweight and smoked heavily. Rasool told me that Rahim had had heart problems for a long time.

“You should come to this lawyer with me,” Rasool said. “Call him and arrange a meeting. We’ll go together.”

I hadn’t prepared for that. And even as I agreed to do as Rasool suggested, I wondered if he was playing me after all. Though my conversation with Rasool had gone extraordinarily well, connecting him with Gary could still turn out to be a grievous error.

WE SET THE
appointment with “Gary Sullivan” for the following week. Gary mapped out the route and went over the details involving the lookouts and the signals. If there was any evidence we were being followed, the deal was off and Gary would not show up. Making the excuse that the law office building was being remodeled, I told Rasool that Mr. Sullivan arranged for us to meet at the Red Lion Inn, an intimate and dimly lit restaurant near St. James’s Palace.

My anxiety increased as we got closer to the meeting day. I called Gary to see if we could meet one more time before we got together with Rasool. It was not that I needed to rehearse things or go over the plan; that part was quite clear. I needed to clarify my situation with the agency. The fact that this latest undertaking could possibly be the riskiest made me uneasy regardless of how many times I played it out in my head. I could have told Gary that I didn’t want to help him recruit Rasool—there was already enough tension in my life. But the same thing that made me take this dangerous journey in the first place was forcing me to put everything in jeopardy again. I believed that Rasool would serve as my replacement. He’d watch over the Guards’ activities from that point on, delivering information to the CIA that would eventually lead to Iran’s freedom. And his reward down the road would be a visa to his dreamland.

Gary understood my concerns and agreed to see me that afternoon at the safe house.

“I know that our papers might not be ready yet,” I said when we sat down, “but it is very important for us to agree that should you and Rasool reach an understanding, I cannot be involved with the agency anymore. Two reasons …” I paused. “First, it’s possible Rasool could turn on you and tell Amiri or the Guards that the connection with you was through me. Second, I would not—could not under any circumstance—continue my acquaintance or contact with him if he joins the agency. That would be too stressful and alarming for both of us, being in the Guards. Is there any way you could put our papers on the fast track?”

“Actually,” Gary said, “before I left my office today, I got a call from the American consulate. Your papers are ready, Wally. You are good to go. Isn’t that exciting?”

It could indeed have been. But I couldn’t help feeling that this “coincidence” was a form of betrayal on the part of the CIA. Could it be that my papers had been ready long before this and that they did not tell me because they wanted me to reel in Rasool?

“You don’t seem happy about it, Wally. Is everything okay?”

“Oh, sure. I’m just worried about tomorrow.”

Gary patted my shoulder. “We have taken care of all of the details. Just do what you have been doing all these years. You’ve done a great job, Wally, and if things go wrong, we have you covered.”

After I left the safe house, before getting to the Tube, I walked along the Thames. The colorful lights from the barges, ships, and ferries populated the river and cast a dancing sparkle on the water, reflecting a memorable picture of a lively night in London. I leaned against a wall, lit a cigarette, and looked out at the river. I thought about how close I was to freedom. So close that I could feel it, just like the breeze from the Thames moistening my face.
Somaya is going to be so happy when I tell her that it is all over,
I thought. This made me feel better than I’d felt in a very long time.

“And it is over,” I said to the water. “It is all over.”

The next morning, I got up early. Before Somaya and Omid left for school, I told my wife that I would check with Harriet Johnson, our immigration lawyer, to see if she had any news for us.

“I might even go to her office today,” I said.

“You should. Why is it taking so long? She said six months to a year. It is way more than a year now. Tell her we need an answer soon.”

“I told her that the last time I called her. She said it was just a matter of time now. Hopefully, she has something for us today.”

When Somaya left with our son, I got ready for what could be the most momentous day of my life—if I made it through. Even though the CIA had me covered, considerable danger existed. Maybe this was a trap and Rasool was planning to assassinate Gary and me at the restaurant. Anything was possible.

When I put my suit on, I felt a twinge in my back. I was only thirty-four, but the burdens of my life bowed me like an old man. “What have you done, Reza?” I asked my reflection in the mirror, thinking about how freedom and life itself could still be snatched from me in the final hour. I felt a ball wadded in my throat and tears coming to my eyes. Why couldn’t this have been simpler? Why did I need to suffer through every step of this experience?

Seeking reinforcement, I turned to the closet where I kept some of my old books and papers and scrambled through the pages of a book to find Naser’s picture hidden inside Roya’s letter. The picture was fading. Roya’s letter was torn at the creases, not readable anymore. But I knew every word of it. I could see Naser under the peeling layers of the picture still looking at me.

For many years, those two pieces of paper had motivated me to go on. I was not sure that strength was still there. Like Roya’s torn letter and Naser’s faded picture, my conviction was vanishing.

Still, I grabbed my coat and left the house.

The signals were all cleared, the lookouts at their posts. Apparently, no one had followed Rasool and me. We entered the restaurant, and I spotted Gary already seated at a table.

“Shoot! I should have asked him what he looked like, or what he would be wearing.” I shook my head, realizing that Gary and I had forgotten to discuss how we should show acquaintance at the restaurant—not so smart for a CIA operative and a spy.

Gary glanced at us and looked down at a piece of paper on the table. I turned my head away.

“Could that be him?” Rasool said, pointing at Gary. “He has a bunch of stuff with him.”

“Where?” I asked. Rasool pointed again. It was a small restaurant, but busy enough for me to be able to pretend. “Oh, that man? Maybe. Should we go and ask him?”

Rasool stopped a passing waitress. “Excuse me, but we are here to meet somebody. I think that’s him. Could you ask that man over there if he is expecting anyone?”

The waitress went to do as Rasool asked. Meanwhile, Rasool continued to study Gary. “That man looks more like a military man than a lawyer, if that’s him,” he said.

Indeed, Gary was ex-military, and his broad shoulders, physique, and, of course, the buzz haircut testified to that.

“But, big guy, you can take him down in a second if he tries to mess with us,” I joked.

At that moment, Gary got up and came toward us. “Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me here.” He offered his hand. “I am Gary Sullivan, and you are …?”

I reached his hand first. “I am Reza Kahlili.”

“Glad to meet you, Reza. And you must be …? Sorry, I did not get your name.”

“I am Rasool. You can call me Russell.”

After we settled at our table, Gary sensed my nervousness and knocked over a glass of water as he bent to grab his briefcase. The time required to clean up the spill allowed me to compose myself.

Then Gary moved on to the reason for the meeting. “A tourist visa is possible if you have somebody in the States offering an invitation and an affidavit of support. We can try that if you just want to
go for a short time. If a company in the States sponsors you, perhaps an H1 visa would be another option. A student visa, if you apply at a university, is one way … or a business visa …” Gary continued with the other possibilities. I was afraid he’d mention political asylum. That would be a red flag for all of us. But he was smarter than that.

“Why would I need a lawyer if I had a family member who could send me an invitation?” Rasool said casually. “If I got accepted in a school, or sponsored by a company, I could apply on my own.”

“You are right, but if it were that easy, there would not be a line at the consulate door and a disappointed rejected crowd leaving it. Even for those who have the invitation or sponsorship, it is unlikely to get permission to enter the States. And not everybody is lucky enough to have a relative there to prepare the ground for them. That’s where I come in.”

“But how likely is a visa for somebody like me who has nobody in the States?” Rasool asked.

“I have done this a lot, Russell. Ten out of ten get their visas.” Gary paused. “Of course, there is money involved.”

“How much are we talking about?”

“What I would like to do is …” Gary looked at his watch. “I have another appointment soon on the other side of London, but what I’d like to do is to set up another meeting with you to go over everything. I need to get some information from you and examine your options.” Then he looked at me. “Reza, are you also interested in moving to America?”

“My wife is. She is in school now, but she thinks finishing her education in America would be ideal. Unfortunately, all of her family members live in Europe. It will be hard for her to be away from them. We have discussed this briefly, but I will talk to her again and see if she really wants to live in America. I’ll get back to you.”

Gary then excused himself to make a call, informing his “next client” that he might be a little late. That was part of our plan. He wanted me to see what Rasool’s reaction was. If Rasool was not sure,
I had to convince him that he should make another appointment with Gary. And if he was already set to do so, my job was easier. But either way, Gary needed my signal to do his part.

“I think I like this man. I trust him. I should keep going with this,” Rasool said.

“Whatever you do, big guy, don’t pay him up front. He seems trustworthy, but first you have to make sure he can produce a visa for you.”

He laughed. “Don’t worry, Reza. I’m a businessman myself. I know the rules.”

Gary came back. I reached inside my pocket to get a pen. Gary noticed my signal.

“Okay. Where were we?” Gary sipped his coffee. “About the fee. Yes. I’m not going to charge you for this meeting, and as for the next one, should you decide to go forward, my consultation fee is a hundred fifty pounds. But since my office might not be ready by then, and I know it is inconvenient to meet in a restaurant, I will not charge you for that one, either. After that, should you want me to proceed, I will apply that fee to the total cost.”

“That sounds fair,” I stated.

“Yeah. I think that sounds good,” Rasool said. “I would like to proceed and find out if I can get a visa.”

Gary handed his business card to both of us, and Rasool exchanged his.

“I will call you to set up something in a week and let you know what documents to bring with you,” Gary told Rasool. Then he turned to me. “You should also talk to your wife and give me a call, Reza.”

Rasool seemed content. Something nagged at me, though. If he really wanted to immigrate to America, he could have found an immigration lawyer in London at any time during the years he lived in England. When we were alone again, my curiosity got the best of me and I asked him why he’d never tried to do this before.