The Peregrine Spy (61 page)

“General Gharabaghi?”

“I do not know what General Gharabaghi thinks. He has, however, in my presence, told General Bardri he would resign rather than be part of a military takeover. You can quote him as saying that.”

General Fritz will love this, thought Frank as he typed it into his cable.

*   *   *

Warm rain and swirling fog shrouded the subdued city streets. The crowds’ euphoria of the previous day washed away like the waste matter carried by the no longer frozen
jube
s. Ali drove with great care. “Thanks be,” he said, “we won’t have to drive up to the palace today. With this fog, and up there the rain may freeze, thanks be we won’t have to drive up there.”

“Thanks be,” said Frank, sitting by his side as they headed to their morning Jayface meting.

Ali glanced in the rearview mirror and caught Gus’s eye. “Commander Simpson, sir. Do you think you would like to drive this big Chevy?”

“Not I,” said Gus. “Try Major Sullivan. I don’t want to drive anything in this town.”

“And you, sir?”

“Are you leaving us?” said Frank.

“The Shah has left us.”

“Yes, he has.”

“Already they form revolutionary committees, especially in the countryside. They have weapons from the military, the police. Even many soldiers desert and join the committees. Soon they will have roadblocks, checking identity papers, searching cars, trucks, buses. It could become difficult for me to get through to join my family.”

“I understand,” said Frank, thinking of his own family, thinking of Jake. Can I get through to join my family? Despite the risks, he’d managed to get Anwar and Mina and their kids out of Iran. He thought of the risk he put himself and Belinsky through in confronting Lermontov on the campus of the university and the even greater risk Belinsky faced in trying to entrap his GRU contact. Every trip through the city posed a danger. He thought of driving the Nova without Ali through a town he barely knew among people whose language he did not understand and realized that his palms had begun to sweat. All this and some holy man’s
fatwa
hanging over my head like a sword.

“Without me, it would be better for you to drive this car than your little Fiat,” said Ali. “Strong. Bulletproof. Do you think you could handle it, sir?”

“Last day?” asked Frank.

“I do not want to leave you, sir.”

“Not much advance notice,” said Gus from the back seat.

“Sir,” said Ali, again glancing into the rearview mirror, “the Shah did not give his people advance notice.”

“Ali raft,”
said Frank.

“Yes,” said Ali. “The Shah has gone, sir.”

*   *   *

Frank felt they had carried the gloomy fog that prevailed outside into their meeting room. The radiators hissed as they often failed to do on colder days, casting a damp shroud of oppressive heat. Their Iranian colleagues sat mute, barely acknowledging their arrival. He and Gus shed their suit jackets as well as their parkas.

“Of course,” said General Merid, stirring himself as they took their seats, “we knew this would happen. Still, so sudden.”

“True, General,” said Gus. “But still we have to soldier on.”

“Ah, yes. We have much to do. A military takeover could … ah, take over at any time. We must be ready.”

“Even if it never happens?” said Munair.

“We must be ready.”

*   *   *

Frank drove the big Nova to the embassy, Gus at his side. “I hated to see ol’ Ali go,” said Gus. “Good man. Good driver. Not that you aren’t a good driver, of course. And a reasonably good man, but I hated to see Ali go.”

“Me, too,” said Frank. “I just hope he makes it to where he wants to go.”

“Rasht,” said Gus. “I remember him saying his family has land, fruit trees, up near Rasht. Wherever that is. Sounds like a good place to get to right about now.”

Ali Zarakesh raft
Rasht, thought Frank. He wondered if the construction would make sense to an Iranian.
Shah raft
Egypt.
Ali raft
Rasht. Anwar and his family escaped. But not Lermontov. Not Belinsky. And not me.

*   *   *

“He still fooled us,” said Rocky, as Frank and Gus settled into his office. “When he told you Egypt, we all figured Cairo. But I heard it on VOA this morning. He flew straight to Aswan. Landed the plane himself. Sadat there to greet him, red carpet, military band, twenty-one-gun salute. And no crowds. Pretty slick.”

“He said he didn’t want to complicate security arrangements for his host,” said Frank.

“He already has,” said Rocky. “Khomeini’s been on CBS, BBC, everything that’s loose, calling on Allah and all loyal followers of Islam to cut off the hands of anybody who takes in the evil Shah. And they’ve got an awful lot of Muslims in Egypt.”

“Sadat’s got balls,” said Gus. “First Camp David. Now this.”

“Look,” said Rocky, “the job you guys did on those cables Bill Steele brought down here, you guys did a terrific job. Especially what Kasravi had to say. Great stuff. General Fritz, when he read ’em this morning, he didn’t think so. What you had in there about his boy Gharabaghi really pissed him off. There goes another military hero. And the white horse he rode in on. Fritz didn’t want me to file ’em, and if he hadn’t been here bustin’ my balls maybe I wouldn’t file ’em. So you can thank him for the fact that your cables got sent. My
lantzman
back home, Mr. Brzezinski, he got on the horn to the ambassador asking him for a more balanced view.”

“Balanced?” said Gus. “For godsake, we had Bodyguard and navy saying, ‘Count on us’; army and air force saying, ‘No way.’ Two up, two down. What could be more balanced than that?”

“Four up,” said Rocky. “All positive. ’Cause that’s what they want to hear. The military will take over and bring the Shah back to power.”

“Without American support?” said Frank.

“Suppose it turns out we did get it right?” said Gus.

“Shoot the messengers,” said Rocky. “’Cause if you guys got it right, they’ve got it wrong.”

“I wish I’d gone into another line of work,” said Gus.

*   *   *

A vacation aboard the royal yacht off the coast of Iran had turned into the flight into Egypt. That kept the Shah in the neighborhood, should the military recall him. Then, six days later, Frank learned at the embassy that the Shah, at the invitation of King Hassan, had left Egypt for Morocco. The Shah had added the whole of North Africa, Frank guessed two thousand miles, to the distance between himself and the Peacock Throne, He wondered if General Fritz still expected a coup.

A suspicious calm slithered through the city. Though they had little to do, the hours slipped by, unnoticed, and their days telescoped into each other. Frank had the gym to himself every afternoon. He met with Lermontov every other day. He sought out General Kasravi so often that Kasravi asked him not to seek him out.

“If anything of the least importance happens, or seems likely to happen, I will let you know at once. I promise you. I have not forgotten His Imperial Majesty’s instructions, and I will carry them out. But these days, nothing happens.”

“It’s the awful calm before the dreadful storm,” said Gus one morning as they inhaled caffeine steaming from coffee still too hot to sip.

*   *   *

“As you know,” said Frank, “you’ve been most helpful to us,”

“Good,” said Munair.

They met in the deserted dining room of the Damavand in midafternoon.

“It is better for you,” Munair had said. “So near to your embassy. Not far from Supreme Commander’s. Since you no longer have Sergeant Zarakesh to drive, I worry for you going very far in this city these days.”

“I guess I have to agree,” said Frank.

“I wish I could volunteer to drive you myself,” said Munair. “Even I discussed with Admiral Hayati, but we agreed it would not be wise. Also, though he would like to, it would not be wise for him to meet with you.”

“I understand,” said Frank. “But we would like to continue working with you.”

“I have brought more tapes,” said Munair, indicating his briefcase. “But also what may be important information.” Frank waited and Munair continued. “Some of the tapes are meant only for the
ulema,
for … select members of the highest ranks of the clergy. Ayatollah Shariat-Madari does not receive them.”

“Why not?”

“Those closest to Ayatollah Khomeini’s circle no longer consider him reliable. In fact, they say he works with the CIA and point to Charles Belinsky. He lives in this hotel, does he not?”

Frank nodded.

“He should not,” said Munair.

We’ve got to get him out of here, thought Frank. Maybe he should have flown out on Anwar’s ticket.

“These tapes for the
ulema,
” said Munair, nodding at the shopping bag he’d set on the floor close to Frank’s chair, “they deal with specific plans for the return of the Imam and for the formation of an Islamic government. On one of them the Imam says soon after his return he will name Mahdi Bazargan to head a caretaker government.”

Frank couldn’t keep from glancing at the egg-shaped stigmata on Munair’s forehead, a mark the devout Bazargan had also earned. “You told me that had been rumored before,” he said.

“This confirms it,” said Munair. “Also the Imam plans to return in time to lead Friday prayers at Behest-e Zahra cemetery south of the city.”

“This Friday?”

Munair nodded. “Yes. This Friday.”

Thank God, thought Frank, Anwar got out of here in time. But not Belinsky. Or me. “Why at the behest of…?”

“Behest-e Zahra cemetery. Because many of the poorest martyrs of the revolution lie buried there. Passion will run high when the Imam returns. And that passion will turn against…”

“Against the Great Satan?”

“Yes,” said Munair, “Against any Americans who remain.”

Frank suspected that Munair, despite the tapes and the helpful guidance he provided, would as soon see the Great Satan be gone and be damned. Except for spare parts.

“I know that our new nation will be very lonely,” said Munair. “We are Shiites, surrounded by Sunni. Our Islamic neighbors will fear the power of the Imam. On the other hand, the West will desert us, and our Russian neighbors will think that leaves us weak and alone.”

He fell silent. Frank hesitated, trying to find a way to break through Munair’s wall of resistance.

“You can trust in Allah,” he ventured. “But you will need friends on the ground.”

Munair smiled. “You are very clever, but where would we find such friends?”

“I think my country would to try to help,” said Frank.

“Perhaps,” said Munair. “But you see, even though we decided to trust you, we do not believe we can trust your country.”

“Can my country trust … what will it be called?”

“The Islamic Republic,” said Munair.

“Can my country trust the Islamic Republic?”

Munair fixed his dark, penetrating eyes on Frank but did not respond to his question.

“Then what can we do?” said Frank.

“There, I cannot guide you,” said Munair. He hesitated. “But I must also tell you, perhaps you already know. Your Mr. Belinsky continues to be very active … so perhaps you already know two days ago Ayatollah Taleqani promised the people would wage
jihad
if the military attempted a coup. I told the Ayatollah he need not worry. The military can wage no coup.”

“Would it … could you arrange a meeting with Ayatollah Taleqani for me?”

“No,” said Munair. “He would not meet with a representative of the Great Satan. If he would, it would not be wise for you. These days, as I have told you, you should not, and Charles Belinsky should not, take risks. You should also know … You asked me the name of the Soviet your Mr. Belinsky meets with. His name is Fedor Yevteshenko. He is GRU military intelligence, with consulate work as his cover. He and your Mr. Belinsky met recently at the Naderi Hotel. Yevteshenko accepted an envelope from your Mr. Belinsky and was later escorted back to his embassy by KGB counterintelligence officers.”

“You have such good information,” said Frank. “You’ve done so much for us, we would like to return the favor.”

“I understand what you are saying,” said Munair. “But I need nothing.”

“But we would like to continue working with you. My country and your country will need people who can keep communications open between us. Even when our governments may refuse to have official contact.”

“No,” said Munair. “I understand what you are saying, but I only wish faithfully to serve the Islamic Republic. Admiral Hayati wants to find a way to keep communications open, but there is no way. I want to help you now because I have come to respect you. But once you are gone, I cannot serve America.”

“You would also serve Iran,” said Frank. “We need people who can build a bridge.”

Munair smiled. “Once, I could have served as your bridge to Iran, but you still do not understand,” he said gently. “I will no longer serve Iran. I will serve only the Islamic Republic.”

Frank studied him. He realized the importance of what Munair had said. There would be no Iran but a new nation, the Islamic Republic. He would file his cable, quoting Munair, but he wondered if America would ever understand.

He also wondered if Belinsky would understand how dangerous were the games he played. He thought of Fred Bunker, creating a medical emergency involving his wife to get out. He thought of the fate of Nazih, of the fears of General Merid. He thought of the Shah, extending his vacation from the Gulf to Egypt to Morocco. He wondered what he might do to escape Iran alive.

That afternoon tanks, armored personnel carriers, and thousands of army troops occupied Mehrabad Airport, shutting it down to prevent Khomeini from carrying out his plan to return in time to conduct Friday prayers. Anwar, Mina, and the kids beat the shutdown, thought Frank. When will the rest of us ever get out? And how?

*   *   *

“You’ve read your Marx,” said Lermontov. “You know the forces of history determine what happens.”

Frank had read Marx and had recognized the forces of history, but still he resisted. “I don’t like having a guy I’ve never met, a guy named Ruhollah Khomeini, deciding when, and if, I get to leave Iran.”