of fine carpets like generations of his forebears, american educated, his name aaron teen aaron his main occupation major, israeli special intelligence. "i'd never have figured abu bin talak as kinky," he said dryly.
the other man grunted. "they're all kinky. i wouldn't have figured the girl for a hooker."
aaron's long fingers toyed with the pen, reluctant to let it go. "great gadget, glenn, saves so much time. wish i'd had one years ago."
"kgb's got a new model out this year, good for a hundred yards' range." glenn wesson sipped his bourbon on the rocks. he was american, a longtime oil trader. real profession, career cia. "it's not as small as this but effective."
"can you get us some?"
"easier for you to do it. just get your guys to ask washington." they saw gavallan disappear into the lobby. "interesting."
"what'd'you think?" aaron asked.
"that we could throw a british chopper company to the khomeini wolves anytime we want along with all their pilots. that'd make talbot bust a gut and robert armstrong and all mi6 which isn't a bad idea." wesson laughed softly. "talbot needs a good shafting from time to time. what's the problem with s-g, you think they're an mi6 cover operation?"
"we're not sure what they're up to, glenn. we suspect just the reverse, that's why i thought you should listen in. too many coincidences. on the surface they're legit yet they've a french pilot sessonne who's sleeping with, and sponsoring, a well-connected plo courier, sayada bertolin; they've a finn, erikki yokkonen, closely associated with abdollah khan who's certainly a double agent leaning more to the kgb than our side and openly, violently antijew; yokkonen's very close to the finnish intelligence man, christian tollonen, who's suspect by definition, yokkonen's family connections in finland would position him to be a perfect deep-cover soviet asset and we just got a buzz that he's up in the sabalan with his 212, helping soviets dismantle your covert radar sites all over."
"jesus. you sure?"
"no i said a buzz. but we're checking it out. next, the canadian lochart: lochart's married into a known anti-zionist bazaar) family, plo agents are living in his apartment right now, h "
"yes, but we heard the pad was commandeered and don't forget he tried to help those pro-shah, pro-israel officers escape."
"yes, but they got shot out of the skies, they're all dead and curiously he isn't. valik and general seladi would certainly have been in or near any cabinetin-exile we lost another two very important assets. lochart's suspect, his wife and her family're pro-khomeini which means anti-us." aaron smiled sardonically. "aren't we the great satan after you? next: the american starke
helps put down a fedayeen attack at bandar delam, gets very friendly with another rabid anti-shah, anti-israel zealot zataki who "
"who?"
"an anti-shah fighter, intellectual, sunni muslim who organizedabadan oil-field strikes, blew up three police stations, and now is heading up the abadan revolutionary komiteh and not long for this earth. drink?"
"sure, thanks. same. you mentioned sayada bertolin we've had her tabbed too. you think she could be turned?"
"i wouldn't trust her. best thing to do with her is just watch and see who she leads to. we're after her controller can't peg him yet." aaron ordered for wesson and a vodka for himself. "back to s-g. so zataki's enemy. starke speaks farsi, like lochart. both keep bad company. next sandor petrofi: hungarian dissident with family still in hungary, another potential kgb mole or at least a kgb tool. rudi lutz, german with close family over the iron curtain, always suspect, neuchtreiter in lengeh the same." he nodded to where scragger had been. "the old man's just a trained killer, a mercenary to point at us, you, anyone with the same result. gavallan? you should get your london people to tab him don't forget he chose all the others, don't forget he's british quite possibly his whole operation's a kgb cover an "
"no way," wesson said, suddenly irritated. goddamn, he thought, why're these guys so paranoid even old aaron who's the best there is. "it's all too pat. no way."
"why not? he could be fooling you. the british are past masters at it like philby, mclean, blake, and all the rest."
"like crosse." wesson's lips went into a thin line. "in that you're right, old buddy."
"who?"
"roger crosse ten-odd years back, mister spymaster, but buried and covered up with all the skill limeys have he's one of those from the old boys' club, the foulest traitors of them all."
"who was crosse?"
"armstrong's emboss and friend from hong kong special branch in the old days. officially a minor deputy director of mi6 but really top of their cream operation, special intelligence, traitor, terminated by the kgb at his own request just before we were going to nail the bastard."
"you proved it? that they terminated him?"
"sure. poison dart from close range, sop, that's what sent him onward. we had him cornered, no way he could get away like the others. we had him nailed, triple agent. at that time we'd a plant inside the soviet embassy in london guy called brodnin. he gave us crosse then disappeared, poor bastard, someone must've fingered him."
"god cursed british, they breed spies like lice."
"not true, they've some great catchers too we've all got traitors."
"we don't."
"don't bet on it, aaron," wesson said sourly. "there're traitors all over with all the leaks in tehran before and since the shah left, there's got to be another high-up traitor our side."
"talbot or armstrong?"
wesson winced. "if it's either of them we should just quit."
"that's what the enemy wants you to do, quit and get to hell out of the middle east. we can't, so we think differently," aaron said, eyes dark and cold, face set, watching him carefully. "talking of that, why should our old friend colonel hashemi fazir get away with murdering the new savama hatchet man, general janan?"
wesson blanched. "japan's dead? you're sure?"
"car bomb, monday night." aaron's eyes narrowed. "why so sorry? was he one of yours?"
"could have been. we, er, we were negotiating." wesson hesitated, then sighed. "but hashemi's still alive? i thought he was on the revolutionary komiteh's urgent condemned list."
"he was, not now. i heard this morning his name's off, his rank's confirmed, inner intelligence's reinstated supposedly all approved by on high."
aaron sipped his drink. "if he's back in favor, after all he did for the shah and us, he's got to have a very high protector."
"who?" wesson saw the other shrug, eyes ranging the terraces. his smile vanished. "that could mean he's been working for the ayatollah all the time."
"perhaps." aaron toyed with the fountain pen again. "another curiosity. tuesday hashemi was seen getting on the s-g 125 at tehran airport with armstrong; they went to tabriz and were back in three hours-odd."
"i'll be god damned!"
"what's that all add up to?"
"jesus, i don't know but i think we better find out." wesson dropped his voice further. "one thing's certain, for hashemi to get back in favor he's got to know where some very important bodies are buried, huh? such information would be highly valuable... highly valuable, say to the shah."
"shah?" aaron started to smile, stopped as he saw wesson's expression. "you don't seriously figure the shah's got a chance to come back?"
"stranger things've happened, old buddy," wesson said confidently and finished his drink. why is it these guys don't understand what's going on in the world? he was thinking. it's time they smartened up, stopped being so onetrack about israel, the plo, and the whole middle east, and gave us room to maneuver. "sure the shah's gotta chance, though his son's a better bet soon's
khomeini's dead and buried it'll be civil war, the army'll take over and they'll need a figurehead. reza'd be a great constitutional monarch."
aaron teen aaron kept the disbelief off his face with difficulty, astounded that wesson could still be so naive. after all the years you've been in iran and the gulf, he thought, how can you still misunderstand the explosive forces ripping iran apart? if he had been a different man he would have cursed wesson for the stupidity he represented, the hundreds of alarm signals disregarded, the hills of secret intelligence reports gathered with so much blood and cast aside unread, their years of pleading with politicians and generals and intelligence american and iranian warning of the gathering conflagration.
all to no avail. for years and years. the will of god, he thought. god does not want it to be easy for us. easy? in all history it's never once been easy for us. never never never.
he saw wesson watching him. "what?"
"you wait and see. khomeini's an old man, he won't last the year. he's old and time's with us you wait and see."
"i will." aaron put aside his inclination to argue violently. "meanwhile, the problem in hand: s-g could be a front for enemy cells. when you think about it, chopper pilots specializing in oil support'd be valuable assets for all kinds of sabotage if the going get worse."
"sure. but gavallan wants out of iran. you heard him."
"maybe he knew we were listening, or it's a ploy he's pulling."
"come on, aaron. i think he's kosher, and the rest of it's coincidence." wesson sighed. "okay, i'll put a tab on him, and he won't shit without you knowing, but hell, old buddy, you guys see enemies under the bed, on the ceiling, and under the carpet."
"why not? there're plenty around known, unknown, active, or passive." aaron was methodically watching around him, checking on newcomers, expecting enemies, aware of the multitude of enemy agents in al shargaz and the gulf. and we know about enemies, here, outside in the old city and in the new city, up the road to oman and down the road to dubai and baghdad and damascus, to moscow and paris and london, across the sea to new york, south to both the capes and north to the arctic circle, wherever there're people who're not jews. only a jew not automatically suspect and even then, these days, you've got to be careful.
there're many among the chosen who don't want zion, don't want to go to war or pay for war, don't want to understand israel hangs in the balance with the shah, our only ally in the middle east and sole opec supplier of oil for our tanks and planes cast aside, don't want to know our backs are to the wailing wall and we've to fight and die to protect our god-given land of israel we repossessed with god's help at such cost!
he looked up at wesson, liking him, forgiving him his faults, admiring him as a professional but sorry for him: he wasn't a jew and therefore suspect. "i'm glad i was born a jew, glenn. it makes life so much easier."
"how?"
"you know where you stand."
at disco tex,hotel shargaz: 11:52 p.m. americans, british, and french dominated the room some japanese and other asians. europeans in the majority, many, many more men than women, their ages ranging between twenty-five and forty-five the gulf expat work force had to be young, strong, preferably unmarried, to survive the hard, celibate life. a few drunks, some noisy. ugly and not so ugly, overweight and not so overweight, most of them lean, frustrated, and volcanic. a few shargazi and others of the gulf, but only the rich, the westernized, the sophisticated, and men. most of these sat on the upper level drinking soft drinks and ogling, and the few who danced on the small floor below danced with european women: secretaries, embassy personnel, airline staff, nurses, or other hotel staff partners at a premium. no shargazi or arabian women were here.
paula danced with sandor petrofi, genny with scragger, and johnny hogg was cheek to cheek with the girl who had been deep in conversation on the terrace, swaying at half tempo. "how long're you staying, alexandra?" he murmured.
"next week, only until next week. then i must join my husband in rio."
"oh, but you're so young to be married! you're all alone till then?"
"yes, alone, johnny. it's sad, no?"
he did not reply, just held her a little tighter and blessed his luck that he had picked up the book she had dropped in the lobby. the strobe lights dazzled him for a moment, then he noticed gavallan on the upper level, standing at the rail, grave and lost in thought, and again felt sorry for him. earlier he had reluctantly arranged tomorrow's night flight to london for him, trying to persuade him to rest over a day. "i know how jet lag plays hell with you, sir."
"no problem, johnny, thanks. our takeoff for tehran's still at 10:00 a.m.?"
"yes, sir. our clearance's still priority and the charter onward to tabriz."
"let's hope that goes smoothly, just there and straight back."
john hogg felt the girl's loins against him. "will you have dinner tomorrow? i should be back sixish."
"perhaps but not before nine."
"perfect."
