A TIME TO BETRAY (24 page)

“Did Kazem give you any specifics about what kind of explosives were involved?”

“No.”

“Have you heard anything else about the bombing in Lebanon?”

“Kazem had a meeting with Haj Agha Golsari the day after the bombing. He did not discuss the details with me, but they were all calling and congratulating each other.”

“What are Kazem’s plans here in Dubai?”

“As I explained in my letter, we are purchasing computer equipment and software for the Guards’ Intelligence Unit. Kazem said
that the Guards are expanding their operations and have set up separate departments for each region of the world. Each department oversees special ops and the political situations of each region. They are going to be dealing with a lot of data processing and storage.”

“What company are you dealing with, and how long will you stay in Dubai?”

“We’ve been negotiating with several companies and I think Kazem will finalize a deal with Computer Dynamics Unlimited tomorrow. If everything goes smoothly, we will fly back home in two days.”

I filled her in about Saeed and Fahid’s import/export business in Dubai, explaining that they exported exclusively to Iran and adding my strong suspicion that they were operating a front company for the Guards that handled transactions for equipment under one guise (industrial, for example) when the ultimate purpose of that equipment was military use. The Guards had been using front companies for requisitions since their formation. We then focused on the events back in Tehran, including an overview of the Guards’ activities. Though she knew the arms blockade was working, Carol didn’t know until I told her that it had caused an especially severe shortage of spare parts for Iran’s air force. She took notes as I explained that Rafiqdoost had made several contacts in the black market for the purchase of necessary firepower. He had acquired a number of older, smaller ships for the Guards, using these to transfer black market munitions to the ports of Iran. These ships evaded suspicion because of their size and appearance.

“I heard from Kazem that Rafiqdoost will be traveling to Syria in the next few weeks along with Ahmad Vahidi; I have seen several of his directives to Rahim, our base commander. Vahidi is very active in organizing operations outside of Iran. Besides Lebanon, where Mostafa Najjar is running the Guards’ operation in close coordination with Vahidi and the Guards Intelligence Unit, they are also focusing much of their effort on the countries in the Persian Gulf and Africa. I am still not aware of the exact date of their departure.”

Carol kept writing and the details kept pouring out of me.

“A week before coming to Dubai, I had a long conversation with Rasool, whom I’ve mentioned in my reports. He is also in the Intelligence Unit out of our base. He told me that during the last international day of Quds, the annual event protesting Israeli control of Jerusalem, millions of dollars were handed out in cash to the Hezbollah and Islamic Jihad leaders who had participated. Rasool told me that he personally handed out some of this money in secret meetings that were held by the Guards. This upset him because he couldn’t understand why we needed to pay these people if they were fighting for Islam. Apparently, the money was payment for terrorist activities against the U.S. and Israel.”

Carol took in all of this. When I mentioned Rasool, she stopped writing and said, “Rasool sounds like an interesting man,” without any further explanation.

We continued to talk at length. When she finished debriefing me, Carol gave me more of the supplies I used to communicate with her and a new codebook.

“Wally, I hope you know that the information you’ve been relaying is highly valuable to the U.S. government and that we are very grateful for your efforts,” she said. “Now tell me more about Javad in your office. What does he do to make you so uncomfortable?”

“Javad works in the Intelligence Unit at our base. He comes to my office often and he has a very menacing way about him. He stares straight into my eyes while asking me questions. The questions themselves are innocuous enough: ‘How is your aunt doing in America?’ or ‘Did you like it there when you were a student?’ But the way he asks them makes me feel like he’s probing. One day he asked me how a guy like me with the opportunity to live in America could live in Iran with so little pay when I could have it all with ‘the Great Satan.’ He said it jokingly, but I didn’t get the impression he was joking at all.”

“How would you react to his questions?”

“I usually handle his questions okay, but I’m worried that he is
up to something and that he is having someone follow me. He’s a hard-core zealot and suspicious of anyone who’s traveled to America. I think he’s just testing me, but it makes me very uneasy.”

Carol was supportive, telling me that it was going to be the case that some people would make me nervous and that I just needed to stay on guard. She reiterated how grateful everyone in the CIA was and stressed, as she had on other occasions, that the agency would never pressure me to do anything I didn’t want to do or felt uncomfortable doing. If I decided to stop at any time, they would back me completely. I appreciated this. In fact, I’d been looking for precisely this kind of pep talk.

“Don’t do anything to compromise yourself or your family,” she said. “I want to see you back in the U.S. with your wife and son someday.”

That prompted me to show her the picture of Omid, and we talked about him and Somaya for a while. She genuinely seemed to care about my family. Then she reached into her purse and handed me an envelope.

“This is a bonus for all the hard work you have done. We consider you our best contact in Iran. We’ve come to trust all the information you’ve given us.”

There were about fifty one-hundred-dollar bills in the envelope. That was a great deal of money in my country. A middle-class Iranian could easily live a prosperous life on five hundred dollars a month, given the exchange rate on the black market. As tempting as those bills looked to me, and as much as the money would have made a difference to my family, I did not feel right about accepting it. It made what I was doing feel like a business transaction, and it was anything but that for me.

Carol seemed to understand my sense of conflict. “You deserve it. Take it,” she said.

My eyes went to Omid’s picture one more time, and then I thought about how this money would help him and Somaya if something should happen to me. “Why don’t you wire it to the same
account where you deposit my salary?” I said, as I handed back the envelope.

Carol smiled at me gently and agreed to do so. Now we had to figure out the best way for her to get out of my room. It was nearly 3:00 a.m. I grabbed the ice bucket, opened the door, and walked out toward the ice machine, leaving the door half open for Carol. I told her I would drop the ice bucket if I saw something suspicious. She slipped out while I went down the hall.

Back in my room, I immediately hid the supplies in the bottom layer of my suitcase among my notebooks and the magazines I had purchased that morning. Then I put the codebooks in the frame that held Omid’s picture. The thought of the image of his innocent face serving as cover for my dangerous activity jarred me. I kissed the picture and whispered, “I am so sorry, Omid
jon.
”

INSIDE MEHRABAD AIRPORT’S
terminal, echoing voices competed with loudspeaker flight arrival and departure announcements. Somaya and Omid were waiting at the gate outside customs. I rushed toward them, eagerly anticipating a hug and leaving Kazem behind. My wife and son had become my refuge, my one safe place where I could be who I wanted to be.

But Somaya’s usual smile was missing that day. As I got closer, I could see tears in her eyes. We embraced briefly, and then she buried her head in my shoulder and started crying.

I cradled her and took Omid from her arms, pulling him close to me. “What’s wrong?” I said to her.

Somaya looked up at me sadly. “Reza, Nima was killed in
jebheh.
We just got the news this morning.”

The army had conscripted Nima, her eighteen-year-old cousin, four months earlier. They gave him only rudimentary training and sent him to the front. The revolution had now claimed another one of us.

Kazem had given me a little space to greet Somaya. Now, having witnessed our drama, he came over and asked what was wrong.

“Baradar Kazem, I just heard that my cousin was killed at the front,” Somaya said.

Her calling Kazem “brother” touched me. It warmed me that she would make the effort to show respect for my position, even though
she detested my being in the Guards, and even while she was contending with a tragedy.

“I am so sorry for your loss,
khahar,
” Kazem said, calling Somaya “sister,” “but he is a
shahid
now and he paid his share of sacrifice for Islam.”

For reasons that I can’t comprehend in retrospect, I felt it was important for me to support this point. “Baradar Kazem, you are right. We should be proud that now our family has a God’s warrior, a martyr.”

The words felt artificial to me the moment they left my mouth. And, more important, I knew that by saying them I had crossed the line with Somaya. While she might grudgingly accept my role in the Guards, she would never accept my trivializing the death of a loved one in this way. I felt miserable instantly.

Somaya reacted as I knew she would—and should. As soon as Kazem turned his head to a voice calling his name, she pushed my arm away. Glaring at me angrily, she said, “Let’s get out of here.”

On the plane, Kazem had told me that he’d learned from Rahim that the Iraqi army was using chemical weapons on our forces in the offensive dubbed Operation Kheibar, which took place on Majnoon Island in Iraq. These weapons, a combination of sarin and mustard gas, had killed or injured thousands. Because we lacked treatment facilities, the Guards were seeking help throughout Europe. With no cure or antidote available and nothing to alleviate their suffering, our soldiers experienced convulsions, nose and mouth bleeding, and finally suffocation. Picturing Nima dying a slow, painful death made me feel all the more guilty for what I had blurted out.

Our reunion destroyed by my callousness, Somaya had turned away from me and was walking quickly toward the exit. I rushed a good-bye to Kazem, saying I’d see him in the office next week, and ran to catch up with her.

Somaya did not speak on the way home, keeping her head turned out the window. I knew I should have said something to her, but I couldn’t think of anything. Should I apologize for being a devoted
Guardsman and believing in martyrdom? Should I tell her that I didn’t believe what I’d said, and did it only to impress Kazem? Both explanations seemed empty to me, and I knew that neither would comfort her. For the thousandth time since I contacted the CIA, I wanted to tell Somaya exactly what was going on, and the fact that I couldn’t do so frustrated me and left me feeling like a miserable husband.

When we got home, Somaya put Omid in his bed while I went to my study. Minutes later, she stood in my doorway and broke her silence.

“You are a very insensitive person, Reza. You are not stupid, I know that. But sometimes you do things and say things that make you unrecognizable to me. How could you possibly say what you said at the airport? My aunt losing her son makes you a proud Muslim? You are becoming blind, Reza. You are not seeing things the way they are. I am so tired of this.” She paused and her eyes narrowed. “And I am tired of you.”

She slammed the door as she left the room, leaving me with my head in my hands and fighting back tears. I’d been so excited about coming back home to her. This was the last thing I wanted when I saw her. I rested my arms and forehead on my desk. Trying to be both Reza and Wally was causing me to make mistakes and leading me to be inconsiderate to the ones who mattered most in my life.

My head was still down when I awoke with a stiff neck in the middle of the night. It was now Friday, which meant that I’d soon be receiving a message from Carol, but I still had some time before that. I left my study and tiptoed down the hall to check on Somaya and Omid, opening the bedroom door quietly. Somaya was cuddling with Omid in our bed. I watched them for a while, wishing I were there with them, longing for the simple pleasure they shared with each other. Then I reached for the end of the blanket and covered Somaya’s feet, blew a kiss to them, and left, closing the door softly.

Before turning on the radio, I wrote a short letter to Carol.

[Letter #—]

[Date:———]

Dear Carol,

1—I got back from Dubai to learn Somaya’s cousin was killed in the war.

2—The Iraqi army used chemical weapons against the Iranian forces in Operation Kheibar. The casualties are high. The Guards are trying to transfer some of the casualties to European countries for medical help.

3—Mustard and sarin gas was used in the attack.

4—We placed the order with Computer Dynamics Unlimited.

5—We expect to receive the first shipment of the computer equipment within four weeks.

Wally

That night, I received no message from Carol. She knew I was just getting home and she might have assumed that I’d be too tired to check the radio. However, a modicum of worry crept into my thoughts. The last time I saw her was when we were preparing for her departure from my room in Dubai. What if something had happened to her on the way back from the hotel?

A week passed, Somaya was still not talking to me, and I still couldn’t think of anything to say to make things better. Somaya spent time with her family and was involved in making funeral arrangements for Nima. Fortunately, work kept me distracted, as I needed to visit two bases with Kazem and Rahim, where the Guards were conducting missile tests.

Finally, on Thursday morning, Somaya opened the door to my study. I was sleeping on the floor on a tiny blanket, squeezed between the wall and my desk, which filled most of the room.

“I’m wondering if you would come with me to go shopping for Eid-e Norouz,” she said softly, referring to the upcoming celebration of our New Year. Unlike the last time she’d spoken to me, there was
no sign of hostility in her voice now. I told her I would be happy to take her shopping. She nodded and then said nothing for several long seconds. Finally, she pointed to where I was lying.