The Peregrine Spy (37 page)

“Mojahedin,”
said Belinsky, following Frank’s gaze toward the kiosk with the largest crowd. Frank nodded, guessing that his
homafar
friends would be glad to hear that.

“That’s the
Tudeh
kiosk,” said Belinsky, nodding at a slightly aslant structure across the quadrangle. “Hardly anyone, and no sign of a Russian.”

“There he is,” said Frank. Lermontov stood in the center of a knot of students at the base of a statue that faced away from them at the far end of the quadrangle. Lermontov gave no sign of recognizing him. Frank, with his dark glasses, a pulled-down stocking cap, and the turned-up collar of his pea coat, was grateful. He didn’t want Lermontov to see him too soon. To order his cadre of students to cordon him off. To bolt before Frank could speak to him.

“Nice and slow,” he said. “Let me go talk to him.” They continued across the quadrangle, heading for the statue that stood by what Frank took to be the main gates.

“That the Shah?” he asked.

“That’s him,” answered Belinsky. “The students like to say he stands there with his back to the university. They tried to tear it down back a couple of months ago. Must be a pretty tough statue. Big riot. Bunch of students got killed, but the Shah’s still there.”

So’s Lermontov, thought Frank. As he drew within a few feet, he took off his dark glasses. Lermontov, whose lamb’s-wool cap reached to the top of the pedestal, looked over the heads of the group around him. He’d been joking with them, smiling. Now, his expression turned to stone.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said.

“From now on,” answered Frank, “I plan to be wherever you are.”

Lermontov turned away, heading across the quadrangle in the direction of the
Tudeh
party kiosk. Frank watched as the big Russian’s broad shoulders hunched.

One of the students seemed to recognize Belinsky. He nodded. Belinsky did not respond. The student moved away, following Lermontov. The others straggled after.

“Time to get out of here,” said Frank.

“That’s all?” said Belinsky.

“You expect me to wrestle with him or something? I rattled his chain. That’s all I need. For now. Time to get out of here.”

“Just in time,” said Belinsky. “The mosque is starting to empty out.”

Frank turned in time to see the animated, chanting crowd heading out of the mosque. “What are they chanting?” he asked.

“
Maag bargh Shah
. Death to the Shah,” said Belinsky. “And they’re heading for his statue.”

They circled the statue and, without rushing, moved through the main gates. Their hooded driver stood by his orange taxi. For the first time Frank noticed that the left sleeve of his black jacket hung empty. He held the door open as Frank and Belinsky scrambled into the back seat.

*   *   *

Frank and Rocky sat alone in the bubble. Rocky, hands folded on the glass tabletop, said nothing as Frank detailed all that had happened at the university.

“I got no idea what the fuck you’re talkin’ about,” said Rocky when Frank paused. “And this little chitchat never took place, right?”

“Right,” said Frank.

“Musta been an unauthorized mission.”

“Right,” repeated Frank. Except it was a chapter in what Pete Howard had authorized as Frank’s hidden agenda.

“So we won’t have any traffic on it, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t get smart. But just between us, I can tell ya it was no coincidence the driver showin’ up soon as you two come out the gates. Chuck thinks he recruited an unwitting asset all by himself. But that driver’s a certified
Savak
thug. I set it up with Eagle-1. Chuck takes a lot of chances, but I do my best to keep his ass covered.”

“How’d the driver know we were coming out right then?” asked Frank.

Rocky shrugged. “My guess, some
Savaki
agent there on the campus got in touch by radio. Who knows? Maybe one of the bunch talkin’ to Lermontov.”

“The driver’s got a radio?”

“Constant touch with
Savak.
They keep three cars circlin’ wherever the taxi’s at. They spot surveillance, they can signal that. He spots trouble, he can call in reinforcements—if he needs them. He packs a Czech M61 machine pistol, not but about ten inches with the stock folded, which is how he carries it. In a shoulder holster. Eagle-1 tells me he’s real good with it. He’s only got one arm, but he only needs one t’ handle the M61.”

“I’ll sleep better knowing that,” said Frank. “And of course he speaks English, right?”

“Don’t tell Chuck.”

“I won’t,” said Frank. “He was fine, by the way.”

“Glad to hear it. Tell you the truth, Chuck worries me. Eagle-1 says he takes too many fuckin’ chances. Not to mention hepatitis. You think you got to Lermontov?”

“I dunno,” said Frank. “He doesn’t get in touch soon, I’ll try to track him down again.”

“How?”

“Who’s this source of Chuck’s?”

“None ’a your fuckin’ business,” said Rocky.

“I know that. Just he might be able to give us another lead on Lermontov.”

“Maybe. We got other sources who can maybe do that. Includin’
Savak.
”

“I really don’t like doing business with those people.”

“Forget that shit,” said Rocky. “Those people are us.”

*   *   *

Frank dreamt that night of Belinsky’s taxi driver, a one-armed, hooded, dark angel of death. As Frank watched, he reached into his jacket and drew out a stunted, metallic machine gun. His hood fell back, and Frank saw his face. The face of the Shah.

PART III

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

DECEMBER 2, 1978

After one look on his first day, Bunker never again ventured into the bathroom at Supreme Commander’s Headquarters. As usual, he excused himself as soon as they returned from their Jayface meeting to Dowshan Tappeh and shed their coats in Stan Rushmore’s office.

“Speaking of bathrooms,” said Gus, “Hamid…”

Frank shook his head. “Are you guys still doing it in bathrooms?”

“I’ve asked Hamid, but he keeps saying that’s the best place. And what the hell, it’s not like there were stalls anybody could be hiding in. Anyway, Hamid gave me this.” He tugged a sealed, unmarked envelope out of his jacket. “Personal for you. No one else to see it or know I gave it to you. And he doesn’t know where he got it from.”

*   *   *

Frank carried the unopened envelope with him into the bubble. He hadn’t expected to see the two ambassadors sitting side by side next to Rocky. Frank noted the differences between them. Seated, Hempstone did not look particularly taller than O’Connor, but his cold gray eyes, angular features, and pale complexion contrasted sharply with O’Connor’s ruddy appearance and open expression. He decided to leave the envelope in his case.

“Sit down, Sully.” With a nod, Rocky indicated a chair facing O’Connor and Hempstone. “We just got up here a minute ago, so I don’t know much more than you do, except Ambassador Hempstone says he has news for us. Your show, Mr. Ambassador.”

“Yes, thank you. I’ll get right to it. We’ve received instructions from … from Her Majesty’s Government to stand down on this matter involving Mr. Lermontov.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I hate to admit it, Mr. Novak, but I’m afraid it means that for Great Britain the Great Game is over. Gerald Mosley doesn’t like it; matter of fact, neither do I. But we must be realistic in this. Only you Yanks remain powerful enough to counter Russian influence in this part of the world.”

The sun sets again on the Union Jack, thought Frank. Hempstone must have been thinking something similar. Frank thought again of a furled umbrella, but now with its folds wrapped even more tightly.

“It is rather sad, contemplating a shrinking empire. Egypt, Palestine, Suez, Kenya, Ghana, Sierra Leone, Nigeria, so much of Africa.”

“Not to mention your American colonies,” said Rocky.

Hempstone ignored him. “India, Ceylon, Singapore, Malaysia.”

As he listened to the British ambassador’s litany of loss, Frank thought of the Shah’s requiem for all the world leaders who had died over the past ten years. All the world leaders and his own close friend. Assadollah Alam. “And soon,” the Shah had said, “we shall be gone.”

“We manage, so far, to hold on to Hong Kong. Gibraltar. Great Britain will survive. Wales. Scotland. We won’t give up Northern Ireland. So we may still call ourselves the U.K. A kingdom, yes, but hardly an empire.” Hempstone pinched the sharp crease of his gray wool trousers. Frank wondered if all his suits were of a gray several shades darker than his hair. “The Soviet Union, on the other hand, is very much an empire. Even more so than in czarist times. The entire East Bloc. They may soon annex Afghanistan.”

Frank remembered what Lermontov had said. Afghanistan would be the end of the end of the Russian Empire. Emperors and empires, crumbling. Caesars, czars, shahs.

“To make matters worse,” said Hempstone, “the bloody Russians have taken so many of our own. Philby, Maclean, Burgess, all that lot. It’s no wonder Mosley wants to bag one of theirs.”

“He agree to back down?” asked Rocky.

“No,” said Hempstone, again pinching the crease of his trousers. “Despite instructions from home, including instructions from his own agency, Mr. Mosley continues to pursue your Russian friend. From what he tells me, he’s tried several ways to try to contact him, even speaking to someone at
Savak
with whom they both liaise, plus several leftist students and someone with the
Tudeh
party. Far as I know, no response.”

“But he keeps tryin’?” said Rocky.

“So I suspect. He will, of course, in time, have to desist. Particularly so since Mr. Lermontov quite apparently does not wish to deal with … with our intelligence agencies.”

“What about you?” asked Rocky. “You let Lermontov know what Her Majesty’s Government said?”

“I have not. Our arrangement was that Mr. Lermontov would contact me.”

“How?”

“He did not say.”

He’s keeping us all on the hook, thought Frank. He remembered the unopened envelope in his briefcase. Or maybe not.

*   *   *

“I gotta believe it’s from him,” said Frank. He and Rocky were alone in the bubble. He tossed the envelope onto the glass-topped table.

“It’s for you, so open the fuckin’ thing,” said Rocky. “If one of your admirers sent you a letter bomb, let it blow your fuckin’ fingers off. Not mine.”

Frank took a ballpoint pen from his pocket and gingerly pried the envelope open. He drew out a single sheet of paper. “Tonight. Same time and place. Alone.” He handed it to Rocky.

“His writing?”

“Looks like,” said Frank. “Maybe my little trip to the university did some good.”

“Maybe,” said Rocky. “But maybe he’s gettin’ the idea the Brits don’t want him. So maybe he figures he’s got no choice but to try us again.”

Frank studied him, thinking hard before he spoke. “Rocky, Hempstone just told us they haven’t been in touch with Lermontov. He doesn’t know the Brits have been told to stand down, and this Mosley is still going after him. So maybe, just maybe, Chuck and I did some good going after our good friend at the university.”

“You want a fucking medal? ’Sides, I don’t know anything about that. You did anything about that, you did it on your own.”

Frank nodded, said nothing.

“So anyway, now we know this waiter Gus recruited, this Hamid, for sure works for Lermontov.”

“For sure,” said Frank. “But at least he didn’t bring us a letter bomb.”

“Might as well’ve been. Soviet Division’s been burning up the wires. Mostly about me making arrangements A-SAP for the division chief no less and his fucking deputy to move in here and take over the Lermontov recruit. ’Course, I haven’t responded yet. Meanwhile, comes another cable from Near East Division suggesting, at the request of NSC, we give you one more crack at Lermontov. I gotta believe NSC did ask the Brits to back off and got an okay.”

I think maybe I made something happen, thought Frank. He suppressed a smile.

“Soviet Division ain’t gonna like it,” said Rocky, “but far as I’m concerned we got a green light for you to go tonight without me askin’ permission. As per suggestion of the National Security Council via Near East Division, KUPEREGRINE met with the KGB motherfucker who’s fuckin’ us over. Or words to that effect is how I’ll cable them soon’s you get back here and tell me what the fuck happened.”

“Are we clear for me to hit him with my idea?”

“We, as in you and me. Yeah, we’re clear. Why not? Nobody else knows about your fuckin’ idea. So hit the Russkie over the fuckin’ head with it. Hard as you can.”

*   *   *

“You bastard,” said Lermontov before he’d struggled halfway out of his white Peugeot. He loomed over Frank in the semidark garage and added, “You betrayed me.”

Upstairs, he ignored the blue vase. His curiosity about other possible listening devices seemed to have evaporated. “And then, showing up at the university, you not only humiliated me in front of those students, you put us all at risk. Don’t you realize you could have gotten us all killed?”

“I had to see you,” said Frank. “And it worked. You finally showed up.”

“It worked,” snarled Lermontov. Frank took a step back, half expecting Lermontov to pounce on him. “Don’t you realize, you bastard, for me this is a matter of life or death? I must get to America. Your fucking
rezident
and all your other fucking bureaucrats look at me and see promotions, commendations, medals. But look at me. You, you look at me. What you see is a man whose bones ache when he moves. A man whose face cracks with pain when he chews his food. A fool whose brains will explode.”

“I warned you he’d be there,” said Frank.

They stood on opposite sides of the dining room table, Lermontov still in his heavy coat and lamb’s-wool hat. Frank thought the table shook, then realized it was himself.

“I suppose you call that fair play,” sneered Lermontov. “You bastards. You play your games, but for me this is not a game.”

“I know,” said Frank. He remembered Anwar’s words when Iranian military intelligence had stopped their van the night before.
For you Americans it’s all a game. For me it would be death.