The Peregrine Spy (59 page)

“Excellent. And you will stay?”

“Far as I know,” said Frank. God help me.

“Excellent. We will make you a rich man before you leave Iran.”

“Long as I leave alive.”

“What’s all this?” asked Lermontov, nodding to the rest of the material Frank had brought.

“Situation updates on reactions in various Near East countries to the situation here. It doesn’t look as good as that last batch.”

“Ah, yes. That last batch. You’re going to use up all my vodka and caviar, but we do have cause to celebrate. Further evaluation of that last batch has made you a hero of the Soviet Union. Well, not quite. But Moscow has authorized a bonus of five thousand dollars. One thousand you already have. I have stuffed this fat envelope with four thousand more. I hope you don’t insist on counting it.” He spun a bulging nine-by-twelve manila envelope across the table to Frank.

Frank opened it and peered inside at five thick stacks of rubber-banded twenties. Since he couldn’t keep them, the thought of counting all those bills depressed him. “I trust you,” he said. “I guess.”

“Then sign,” said Lermontov.

Frank signed the receipt.

*   *   *

“Shame we have to turn all this in,” said Rocky, counting out twenties in the bubble.

“Tell me about it.”

“Hey, you’re the one gets the caviar and vodka. All I get to do is count the damn money. Looks like it’s all here. Four thousand. I can’t believe you didn’t count it.”

“I was too busy with the caviar.” Not to mention the vodka. He had a buzz on, a nice quiet buzz, and he wished he had another vodka to sip on, just to keep the buzz and to keep it nice and quiet. “Now that you’ve counted the money twice, do you want to take a look at the take?”

“First things first. A good bureaucrat always takes care of the administrative details first. Then he can play intelligence officer.”

“I’ll try to remember that,” said Frank.

“You should. ’Specially when the administrative details equal two hundred Andrew Jacksons.”

“That’s too much paper to count,” said Frank. “Don’t the Russians ever have any hundreds?”

“Soviets,” said Rocky. “Not Russians. The Soviets consider hundred-dollar bills a symbol of decadent capitalism. If your buddy is right and the Soviet Union collapses anytime soon, you’ll see Russians willing to kill for American hundred-dollar bills. Let’s see what else he has for us.”

Rocky started with Lermontov’s handwritten cover note. Frank could barely pick up his mumble.

“‘Thank you for the directions.’ I guess he means directions to our new safe house. ‘I ask you again. Belinsky? What has he done? You give me no answer. The four visitors from our counterintelligence line seem to have given up on GRU and are back questioning people in my office. If you are going to act, you must act soon.’”

“Your turn to talk to Belinsky,” said Frank. “I’ve done what I can.”

“I did talk to him,” said Rocky. “What can I tell you? Said he’d let us know by tomorrow. When’s your next meet with Lermontov?”

“He wants to meet again tomorrow,” said Frank. “He’s getting kind of anxious.”

“Your Russian buddy doesn’t seem like the worryin’ kind,” said Rocky. “But he sounds worried.”

“You think the mole might’ve found out something more?”

“Possible,” said Rocky. “I don’t wanna stir up anything, but I’ll get off a low-key cable t’ the Holy Ghost. And you need a sit-down with Lermontov at your new safe house A-SAP.”

“Will do. What else does he say?”

Rocky went back to Lermontov’s notes. “‘Also, as you requested, an update on Afghanistan. Half Kabul under control of Islamic guerrillas … two-thirds of the countryside. Very detailed report. German military attaché kidnapped. Your embassy staff under tight surveillance. Expect trouble. Situation fluid. Intervention may become necessary sooner than anticipated. Separate, detailed report on Soviet troop and materiel buildup in border area north of the Salang Pass. From Paris, report of effort by Bakhtiar to arrange a meeting with Khomeini in Neauphle-le-Château.’

“This motherfucker not only dots his
i
’s,” said Rocky without looking up, “he puts his Frog accent marks in the right place. ‘Sources say Khomeini will ignore Bakthiar overtures. From Tehran, report on Shah’s departure, not later than three-one January. Destination, U.S.’ Wrong on that. Holy shit. ‘Plans for redeployment of Soviet Iran assets in anticipation of Khomeini takeover.’” Rocky looked up. “Good stuff, but at least the stuff you gave him shapes up.”

“Agreed. But our people better keep on doin’ better. Have you read Gus’s cable?”

“Yeah. Good job,” said Rocky. “Interesting the navy guy who told you about the death threats took Gus aside to tell him the top brass set up briefings for air force officers. Said the navy’s about to do the same. I wonder about the army.”

“We can ask General Merid.”

“Gus said you suggested tryin’ to pitch him. That worries me. We already got burned on one army fag. You sure you wanna risk another one?”

“He may be an army fag,” said Frank, “but he’s also an army general. Plus, I think he’d be flattered by the attention. The Iranians tend to leave him out of the loop, especially since the business with Nazih went down.”

“Gus’s hot for it,” said Rocky.

“Let’s do it,” said Frank. “We probably don’t have much time here anyway. Why not take some risks?”

*   *   *

Munair made no effort to hide the note he handed to Frank during their morning tea break. Feeling sheepish, aware that the eyes of the others had swung his way, he stuffed the note into a pants pocket.

“Excuse me,” he muttered to no one in particular and, casually as he could, headed for the bathroom. The stench of stale urine and feces, stronger than usual, assaulted his senses. He scanned the empty room, squinted in its pale gray light, and read Munair’s message.

Please be so kind as to meet me in the lobby of the Sheraton Hotel at 1500 hours this afternoon. Failing that, 1530 hours tomorrow. Or 1600 hours the next day
.

*   *   *

He entered the hotel, relieved to see Munair already tucked into a corner of the large beige couch that stretched across the center of the marbled and tiled lobby. His head was bent over a book, but he looked up as Frank felt a swirl of cold air from the glass doors swinging shut behind him. Munair stood and approached Frank, giving him only a moment to survey the deserted lobby.

Munair tucked his book under his arm and bowed. “Come. Let us sit on the couch. It is best to be visible. We are being watched, but only by
Savak
and J2, our military intelligence. You are quite safe.” Frank had never before seen him smile. “Safer than those perhaps who watch us.”

They settled on the couch. Munair braced himself in a corner; Frank sat close enough that he could speak softly. To Frank’s surprise, Munair made no effort to mask his words.

“For a long time, I avoided you,” said Munair, his penetrating eyes fixed on Frank’s. “I did not think you could be trusted.”

“I understand,” said Frank, forcing himself to meet Munair’s stare.

“Do you? Even though so many others trust you? Even General Kasravi begins to trust you. But it is difficult for me because I do not trust myself.”

“I guess I don’t understand.”

“You see, I do not trust myself in English.” Munair looked down at the table. “I have never lived outside Iran. I know only the textbook. The classroom. If I speak to a man in our language, I know if he can be trusted. But you, of course, do not speak our language. You see, in English I can never tell if I can trust a man, a man who speaks only the language of the Great Satan.”

Here we go, thought Frank. He feared he was in for an unproductive lecture.

“And of course,” said Munair, again looking up at Frank, “English is the only language you Americans speak.”

“It’s true,” said Frank. “We depend on other people speaking English.” He fell back on his favorite analogy. “Like air traffic controllers. No matter what country, it’s an unwritten law. All air traffic controllers for international flights have to speak English.”

“It is not written here.” Munair touched the book he’d been reading when Frank entered. “And all the laws we need are written here.”

“The Koran?”

“No. It is the work of the Imam.
Hukumat-e Islami: Vilayat-e Faqih
. Of course, you do not know what that means. It is only in your arrogance that there is an unwritten law that other people must speak English. In these pages the law is written, and it is not in English.”

Frank began a mental search for a polite way to escape, then remembered he hoped Munair could tell him what role the navy might play in an attempted coup.

“It is not because of this book, which describes how an Islamic government will come to power, it is because of your arrogance you will be driven from this country when the Imam comes.”

“You think he will come?”

“He is already here. In effect. His will is done. He has told us America is the Great Satan and Satan must be driven from our country. And the people will obey him.”

“Including the military? The navy?”

“Ah. That is why you are here.”

“Yes,” said Frank, deciding to be blunt. “I’m an intelligence officer. A spy.”

“Yes. Perhaps General Kasravi is right,” said Munair. “Perhaps you can be trusted.”

“You can trust a spy?” asked Frank.

“Yes. A spy who says so. But for myself, I began to trust you when I heard what you did in the cafeteria at Dowshan Tappeh. Playing the Imam’s tape.”

“You know about Sergeant Abbas?”

“Of course,” said Munair. “People who work in the cafeteria of course report to military intelligence. Word travels. You recognized the power of the Imam. You accepted that power and used it well. That made me trust you enough to warn you about the
fatwa
that calls for the death of you and Mr. Belinsky.”

“Have you heard anything more about that?”

“Only that it is discussed. We will meet more often. I will keep you informed. But you and Mr. Belinsky must be cautious.”

*   *   *

Frank and Munair met twice more during the week, once in a small room in an out-of-the-way stucco building given over to the navy on the grounds of Supreme Commander’s Headquarters, and once at the Hilton Hotel.

“The orange drink is bad,” said Munair, “but I have ordered for us both.”

Two glasses with ice cubes and a cloudy liquid sat on their wrought-iron table in the Hilton’s deserted marble lobby. Frank raised his and said, “Cheers,” but did not risk a sip. Munair drank, scowled, and put his glass down.

“You need not drink,” he said. “Merely listen. All over the country, including here in Tehran,
komiteh
form.” He gave the English cognate its Persian pronunciation. “Very much on a local, neighborhood foundation. You followed my suggestion for coming?”

“I did.” The complicated route had taken him east out of Dowshan Tappeh through the neighborhood called New Tehran, then north and west and north again along the far reaches of Pahlavi till he hit the Hilton.

“Good,” said Munair. “That way you only go through neighborhoods where as yet they have not formed
komiteh
. But even in these neighborhoods soon opportunists will form
komiteh
when they realize the Shah will leave and not return.”

“How do you know these things?” asked Frank.

“The
komiteh
are active,” said Munair. “And now … I remain loyal to the navy and to Admiral Hayati, but now I also work with them, with the
komiteh.
”

“And about the Shah?”

“I told you. I remain loyal to Admiral Hayati.”

“I understand.”

“Return the way you came. Not many safe passages remain.”

“I understand.”

Munair nodded and folded his hands together. He briefed Frank on the meeting at which Admiral Hayati told junior officers the role the navy would play if the military attempted a coup. Most of what he described had been spelled out in Admiral Hayati’s proposal.

“Nothing was said about the role of the other military branches,” said Munair. “In truth, what the generals and admirals say about a coup does not matter. But I have also brought you tapes that matter very much. The Imam’s instructions on preparing for his return. Many people now believe he is in truth the Twelfth Imam, returning to us on a winged horse as the Prophet ascended to heaven. I think that is blasphemy, but, Hidden Imam become visible or not, he will come.”

“I appreciate this,” said Frank, “but I will need your guidance.”

“Each tape is in a separate envelope with a summary in my schoolroom English of its message,” said Munair. “The Imam talks about the
komiteh,
how they should be organized and function. I prepared charts to show you what
komiteh
exist now, what still need to be created. It is all in this shopping bag under the table. Simply take it when you leave. No one will bother you.”

Frank had spotted the
Savak
black leather overcoats at the lobby’s only other occupied table. He wondered if the men who wore them knew about the
fatwa
that condemned him. Their waiter chatted with a desk clerk, but both watched Frank and Munair. J2? wondered Frank. He suspected Munair’s mission had been cleared.

*   *   *

“You know what you got here?” said Rocky. “You got the structure of the revolutionary committees within the military and fuckin’
Savak
. Plus the outline of what I guess must be most of the revolutionary committees in Tehran. And this Ayatollah Taleqani has made Munair his go-between with the military?”

“Right.”

“And he’ll keep meetin’ with you and givin’ you stuff?

Frank nodded.

“It’s gonna take you hours to put all this into a cable. What about Belinsky?”

Frank repeated what Munair had told him. “Chuck tells me he’ll quit drinking,” he added, “but he found another way to commit suicide. To get some Iranian to kill him. Maybe before he has to confront his GRU friend.”

“How does Munair know about that?” asked Rocky.