The Mingrelian (6 page)

“Which brings us to your next assignment,” Ferguson said, picking up the envelope but not opening it. “It’s a very different kind of task than the last one. You’re not in charge of the team this time. There is no team. Just you.”

“What about the other guys, the embassy run and all that?”

“They’re all part of the routine embassy run rotation. It’s a standard six-month rotation, and Little Rock was up. No surprises there. Those guys will do their job, and you will do yours. They must never know what you’re up to.”

“OK,” Boyd said doubtfully.

“I’m still director of the Counter Proliferation Task Force, and we’re still working out of the command center at Fort Belvoir just south of Washington,” Ferguson said. “The same Strategic Command group you worked with last time. Last time, we were chasing a biological threat. This time, it’s nuclear. You’ll take orders directly from me, and my orders on this mission come from the National Security Council and the president. You can’t tell anyone that, so use your head and keep your cover. You can get me on the scrambled secure line from the command post at Incirlik, or you can use this satellite phone.”

Ferguson handed Boyd a satellite telephone.

“We’re not trusting the State Department secure line from the embassy at this point,” he said. “Your only local contact is the flight engineer on your aircraft. He knows you’re on a secret mission and that you may have to remain overnight somewhere unscheduled. Just tactfully let him know, and he’ll find a way to disable your aircraft wherever and for however long you need. Be careful, and don’t overuse that. We don’t know how long this will need to go on. It might just be a couple of weeks – or a whole lot longer. My office will work with Tanker Airlift Control Center at Scott Air Force Base to adjust the schedule so you’ll be spending more nights in Tbilisi than the other stops on the run.”

“So, what’s my job?”

“The CIA Station Chief at Tbilisi in the Republic of Georgia blew her cover the first week she was in town, and she nearly blew the cover of our most important contact in Central Asia,” Ferguson said. “Someone inside Iran has been sneaking out technical documents showing their nuclear weapons development program and passing them to someone they trust in Tbilisi to pass to us. There are many in Iran who don’t want to get into
the nuclear war game, apparently including some involved in the nuclear industry.

“We’ve been getting very detailed technical data about their progress. STRATCOM doesn’t usually do this kind of espionage, but we have no choice, the CIA blew it, and we must know exactly how close the Iranians are to fielding a nuclear device.”

“So, what do I do?”

“You need to make contact with a man nobody in the CIA has ever seen,” Ferguson said. “The CIA code word for him is ‘The Mingrelian.’ That’s a tribe or clan in the Republic of Georgia that’s been prominent in the Caucasus since the dawn of civilization. Mingrelians were among the first Christians and remained Christian through Mongol, Persian and Turkish invasions. Their aristocracy maintained an independent principality along the coast of the Black Sea until the whole region was swallowed up by the Russian Czar in the 19th century, and then they became an integral part of Georgian society and culture. Though they’re prominent in government and business, they cling to the memory of their former glory and independence, and to the Mingrelian dialect as a second language. Other Georgians joke about it, but there is an undercurrent of suspicion of Mingrelian conspiracies in business or government.”

“We know the contact is Mingrelian?” Boyd asked.

“That’s how he signed his first communication to us. That’s all we know.”

“Sounds like a lot of cloak and dagger stuff,” Boyd said.

“It is. Our first communication from him was a note slipped to an embassy staffer at a large diplomatic function in Ankara last year. That note set up a dead drop in Tbilisi, and that’s how we got our information for a year. After the CIA debacle,
he traveled to Armenia to contact a webmail account we had set up for him to use in case of emergency.”

“Cautious fellow.”

“With good reason,” Ferguson said. “The information he’s passing to us is so specific, it would identify the source within the Iranian nuclear program. We think it’s coming out through the People’s Mujahedin of Iran – it's called MEK in Farsi – a leftist Islamic revolutionary organization opposed to the radical Islam of the current regime.”

“Linking the MEK with anyone in Georgia would tip the Ministry of Intelligence and National Security of Iran, the VEVEK, to their only viable opposition. They could roll up the whole resistance movement in Iran.”

“So an Islamic organization is giving up Iran’s nuclear secrets. Why?”

“The whole nation is Islamic, but there are a lot of people there who take a tamer view of Islam. They want to get along in the world without galloping off on a jihad mission every time someone draws a picture of the Prophet, and they don’t want to die in a nuclear exchange with Israel or the United States.”

“It could come to that?”

“Hell, yes, it could come to that! Boyd, the Israelis have nukes with a hair trigger pointed at Iran. One missile shot over the Persian Gulf in their direction, and the fight’s on. Our president would get a call in the middle of the night just about the time the first nukes detonated. We’ve got treaties with Israel and other Persian Gulf nations that require us to support them. We’d be in it from the first shot. Then what happens?”

“How does this information I’m supposed to get fit into that?”

“If we or the Israelis are to have a chance to counter a first strike, or launch a pre-emptive strike we need to know just where their nukes are and how they’re being deployed,” Ferguson said. “Once they’ve got nukes, they’re going to be much tougher to deal with. They could threaten to take out Saudi Arabia or Turkey, staunch allies of ours, if we made a move in their direction. We’d have to take that threat seriously.”

“How close are they?”

“Close. They have enough fissile material to make several bombs, but they don’t have a nuclear trigger yet. That’s the hard part of making a nuclear weapon. Pakistan and North Korea have nuclear triggers, and they could sell a few or teach the Iranians how to build some. That’s part of the embargo, to try to seal Iran off so they can’t import any nuclear triggers.”

“So, the Mingrelian might not be Mingrelian at all, just an Iranian using that name.”

“True, but Iranians who are allowed to travel freely outside Iran watch each other pretty closely,” Ferguson said. “It’s like the old Soviet Union, you couldn’t get permission to travel unless the regime trusted you, and there had to be pretty good reason for you to go someplace. They didn’t do casual travel, and the Iranians don’t either. Its diplomats, commerce and spies. That’s about it for Iranian travelers.”

“I don’t see how I’m ever going to find this guy.”

“Oh, you don’t need to. He’ll find you.”

Chapter 14: A Dangerous Game

weat ran from Lado Chikovani’s armpits and soaked into his shirt, fortunately hidden by his conservative black suit jacket. That was the only external sign that his cool demeanor was a front. He was sitting in Eskander Khorasani’s office at the Petroleum Bank of Iran, just down the street from his own bank, Kartvelian National Bank in Old Town in Tbilisi.

“And so, there have been breaches of security associated with the transportation and marketing of our foreign trade.” The speaker was a senior official with the Ministry of Intelligence and National Security of Iran, the universally feared VEVAK. Like the Gestapo of Nazi Germany and the KGB of the Soviet Union, VEVAK is the enforcer of a totalitarian regime. Deeply set, ratlike eyes peered over a long thin nose and were framed by the traditional medium trimmed beard mandated for Islamic men in Iran. He was in town to check up on the growing number of Iranian expatriates in Tbilisi, and intimidation appeared to be his favorite tool.

“We have security issues also,” Lado said in fluent Farsi.

It had been 20 years since his little bank, insignificant among the hundreds of other little banks trying to form after the breakup of the Soviet Union, had been given a hand by Iranian businessmen.

“Our relationship with the current regime in Iran is being scrutinized as never before,” Lado said. Aggressive talk, but he needed to take some pressure off Eskander. Dangerous to look scared in front of this rat-faced predator.

“Current regime?” The dark eyes searched and threatened at the same time. Lado put out of his mind the vision of Ratface driving nails into the skull of a prisoner to punish and to get a confession of disloyalty to the all-powerful Ayatollah.

“Your political leadership has antagonized the Americans and Europeans, important trading partners for Georgia,” Lado said. “I remind you that we face ruin if our ‘special relationship’ with Iran is discovered. So, we are interested in security also.”

Don’t give this inquisitor a chance, Lado told himself. Georgia is a sovereign nation with secure borders guaranteed by larger nations that could squash Iran like a bug.

“We continue to facilitate your commerce in the face of certain prohibitions imposed upon you,” Lado went on, softening a bit. Let’s be strong but not enough to piss this guy off, he thought.

“My bank is grateful for the 20 years of close association with Iran and looks forward to our continually profitable partnership” Lado said. “Issues of ideology are not as important to us here in Georgia as, perhaps they are in your country. Profit is our motive.”

“Profit, yes,” Ratface said.

Did his eyes lighten up a bit? Did he want a bribe? No, that would be a trap for sure.

Eskander, looking relieved, said, “Mr. Chikovani’s bank is becoming one of our most important conduits for constrained resources.”

“Constrained resources?” Ratface asked.

What a dunce, Lado thought. They send this guy in here to nose about, and he doesn’t even understand what we’re doing.

“He launders our oil money,” Eskander said, now with a derisive tone to his voice. They didn’t use that term, even here in the office, but with some people you have to be blunt.

Lado said, “We have been given certain assurances by the government of Iran that our relationship was secure. Have you reason to suspect that trust has been breached?”

Lado knew he was being foolhardy now, pushing this guy by suggesting that the security breach was in Iran and not in Georgia.

“No, the security of our financial dealings remains strong,” Ratface said. “My visit here concerns issues of loyalty. We have reason to suspect some of our expatriate businessmen may have been passing state secrets to foreign powers.”

Oh, that spewed ice water all over Lado’s bravado.

Eskander got pale again.

Now it was out in the open. This wasn’t about banking regulations and money laundering. Now they were playing in a game in which players are eliminated for disloyalty. Suddenly, and with a frightening vigor, friends and family are called in, imprisoned, tortured, executed.

Lado and Eskander were both players in that game. Did VEVEK know that? Lado was suddenly jelly inside.

Ratface said, “We feel the need to more closely monitor our expatriate workforce. For that reason, we want to have access to the account data of Iranian nationals doing business in Tbilisi. Your two banks have, I believe, the majority of that business.”

A positive development; they didn’t know about Lado and Eskander, they just wanted to spy on their own citizens.

“Highly unusual and completely contrary to Georgian banking regulations,” Lado said, heart still in his throat but taking an aggressive posture again.

“Regulations you are already violating, I believe,” Ratface retorted immediately.

“With great care and considerable effort.”

“For which you are compensated.”

“Yes, well, compensation is the issue then,” Lado said.

Yes, let this guy think Lado is just another corrupt capitalist. Which, it dawned on him then, was true.

“Yes, compensation does seem to come up in conversations such as this,” Ratface said. “I’m not empowered to negotiate your compensation for providing us the information we require, only to open the dialogue. As for your bank, Mr. Khorasani, you are a branch of an Iranian bank with headquarters in Tehran. Permission has already been granted and compensation, if any, will be addressed at that level. Permission has also been granted for your cooperation in assisting Mr. Chikovani in complying with our request and in transmitting that data to Tehran, if it pleases Allah.”

“Yes,” Eskander said, looking a little confused. “I haven’t had any communication from Tehran on this matter.”

“No, not through the usual channels on a matter this important. Perhaps the next time you visit Tehran you will be informed,” Ratface said, taking a paper out of his coat pocket and handing it to Eskander. “Here is the list of individuals we wish to monitor for unusual transactions, and the office in Tehran where the information should be forwarded each month.”

*****

Lado’s hands shook as he placed his fedora just so on his head, looking at his reflection in the plate glass window of the Petroleum Bank of Iran as he pushed open the door. He walked quickly to a bar across the street. He’d made it to the elevator ahead of the VEVEK minister, not wanting to appear to have any post-meeting collusion with Eskander. That would come later. The minister was just coming off the elevator behind him.

“Vodka,” Lado said before he even reached the bar. He threw back the first shot and put his glass back on the bar. Cold and neat, he felt the vodka hit bottom. The bartender was quick with another icy shot, and he threw that down. Nerves calming, he ordered some smoked fish and crackers and moved to a table in the rear.