Satan's Spy (The Steve Church saga Book 2)

by André Le Gallo

  “Or start one,” she said.

  “So you agree that what we’re doing here is more important than sitting behind a desk in Northern Virginia. But when we get back, we need to change our lives. Going to an office every day with a ladder of bosses to answer to is not my idea of nirvana.”

  “You’re scaring me. They all like you at West Gate, Steve. You’re headed for a partnership in the firm, the golden boy. Didn’t you say before we left that you wanted to open a sporting goods store?”

  Steve got up and turned the TV on. “You remember. How about ‘The Vertical Dimension?’ He held his hands up as if framing the sign. I don’t know. We need to break away from the routine, do our own thing. Don’t worry. I’m not one of those soldiers. I can live without the risk of being shot at. Besides, they hang people here.” He grinned.

  Kella rolled her eyes, “Great. Thanks for reminding me.”

  He surfed the four channels. “Maybe I’ve been too tied to the office. This is my time off. When we get back, we need to take more time off for stuff like paragliding, like I did in Hawaii, and SCUBA diving, like I did in the Red Sea, and black diamond skiing, like...”

  She saw him bite off his words. She knew about Vera, Steve’s former fiancée, who had died during a skiing accident in Canada. She got up and sat on the bed with him. “Okay, when we get back, we’ll add some excitement to our lives. Not too much, though. I’ve had enough life-threatening experiences, growing up in the Sahara during a rebellion, and last year when I met you. And now...” Half-joking, she added, “Would a course in desert survival be interesting enough for you? We’ll go to Death Valley. I’ll monitor your progress from a comfortable hotel, and you go out in the desert. If you live through the course, you pass.

  “By the way,” she added, changing the subject, “we have to be more careful. I think one of the maids may have seen you. She asked me if I was renting the room as a single or whether my husband was with me.”

  “We live in such a suspicious world.” He kissed her and started to ease her back on the bed ... when the earth moved.

  They felt the room shake and heard something fall and break in the bathroom at the same time the TV and the lights went out. Kella jumped off the bed and pulled Steve by the hand to go stand in the doorframe of the bathroom. They stood there listening intently and still holding hands. After another minute, Steve then walked to the door and looked down the corridor, but there was no sound. It was as if the hotel was holding its breath. Then, slowly at first and then like a surging torrent, they heard the sound of voices, very low initially but quickly becoming shouts, and of doors opening and of people running down the hallway to the stairs.

  Leaving the door open, he motioned to Kella, “Looks like everyone is running out. Let’s go. Don’t forget your makeup kit,” he said. She knew he was referring to their communications lifeline to the CIA. He felt his pockets for his wallet, and she grabbed her passport from a dresser drawer.

  Outside, people filled the sidewalk and spilled into the street. This time it was the pedestrians that had brought traffic to a standstill. The automobile headlights pierced the lower levels of the otherwise dark city.

  Kella and Steve had separated. Kella went up to a man in hotel uniform who often staffed the front desk.

  “What the heck was that? Are we under attack?”

  “Miss Hastings, don’t worry. It was only a small earthquake. No one is hurt. No explosions. I’m sure we can all go back inside in a few minutes.”

  “You have many earthquakes here?” she asked,

  “Not so much in Tehran. Sometimes in the countryside, yes. In 2003, fifteen thousand people died in Bam, in the Southeast. The biggest danger is the gas lines. Sometimes they cause fires or explosions. This one was very small. Not a problem,” he smiled to reassure the foreign tourist.

  * **

  The next time Steve and Yazdi met, they drove out toward the Azadi Monument, a tower in the shape of an upside down Y. Yazdi parked and Steve pointed toward the white marble structure, “Very impressive.”

  “Yes, it’s our Arch of Triumph. You can go up to the top. Good view of the city. It’s about fifty meters high”

  “I want to do that one day.” He turned his gaze back to his agent, “How’s your nephew? What’s he doing while he’s here?”

  This time, Yazdi was ready. “I don’t see him much.”

  “Are you sure he’s just visiting? Sounds to me like he’s here for a while.”

  “All I know is that he was brought here by al Quds for a special project. You know, it’s not smart to ask a lot of questions of people in special projects. They’re very skittish.”

  “Hey, wake up! This is your nephew.” Steve was aware that his suddenly aggressive tone had injected a new intensity between them, and he watched Yazdi closely. Speaking more gently, he said, “I’m not saying that you’re responsible for his past, but since we’re now on the same side, and we both want you to come and live happily ever after in America, you have to tell me more about his special project.

  “Am I right that he knows you’re al Quds also? As his closest family here in Iran, he’s going to talk to you. Everyone needs to talk to someone, right? For Firuz, you’re that someone. What do you think he’s doing?”

  Yazdi recounted his conversation with Mousavi on the same day that he recognized Viktor Kozak walking toward Mousavi’s office. “It’s got to do with computers, with the ‘Iranian Cyber Army’.”

  “The what?” Steve asked.

  “It was created by the Revolutionary Guards as an additional weapon for its arsenal. It recruits young people from universities. Some go willingly, and others join only after they’re threatened. It’s an army of hackers, but I don’t know anymore. Maybe the project is to strengthen our defenses against foreign cyber attacks.”

  Yazdi scanned the people past them as they sat in the car before asking, “You said that you would help with Steltzer. Do I have to go Germany and start to hunt for him?”

  “You’re right,” Steve responded quickly. “Let me remind headquarters.”

  This was the first time that Steve openly acknowledged that he was in communications with CIA headquarters to Yazdi, a mistake he realized only after the words escaped him. Yazdi of course would have assumed as much. But now, if arrested and put to the question, Yazdi had something else to reveal, another avenue for the opposition to research.

  It wasn’t really a mistake at all since no one was going to get arrested, Steve tried to reassure himself.

  24. Tehran: Al Quds Safe House

  The small apartment Jafar used for his rendezvous with Elizabeth Crossley was located in a building owned by a front company for al Quds; a few of the units were used for official purposes, while collecting rent on others helped fund the organization.

  Jafar relished these sessions for more than sex with the beautiful blonde American whore, more than the satisfaction and excitement of using his Persian intelligence to manipulate this highly educated and important woman, more than of proving his own and his culture’s superiority, more than simply fulfilling his counter-espionage mission.

  With every thrust he was fucking America, the country that dared preach to Iran that had the most disgusting morals and yet had the arrogance to moralize to others. The followers of Allah needed no counsels about women’s rights from a society that used women’s bodies shamelessly to sell kitchen appliances. Iran needed no counsels from a country with more dogs than people. America was the only country ever to use atomic bombs to kill millions of civilians, then had the audacity to deny Iran’s national right to obtain whatever weapons were necessary to the country’s defense and to rid the earth of apostates and infidels.

  * **

  Elizabeth, moaning and straddling Jafar, pushed her breasts against his outstretched hands as he let her slide up and down his length, her eyes closed, her face raised, and her blonde hair falling down her back, close to orgasm.

  Afraid he was losing control, Jafar reverse
d their positions. He slowed the rhythm of their lovemaking and, in a commending voice said, “Look at me.”

  She opened her eyes. “Oh Jafar,” she whispered, as she fixed her gaze on him. Then she thrust her body upward and shuddered, finishing first and closing her eyes again.

  Jafar was angry, but he saw only surprise in her eyes when she reopened them.

  “What?” she asked.

  He moved to lie beside her, and felt her snuggle against him. “How is your husband?”

  She giggled unconvincingly, revealing her discomfort over the ridiculous question, but said nothing.

  “Does he suspect anything?”

  “No,” she replied, fear in her voice. In a more normal tone, she added, “He’s so busy at the embassy at the Interests Section, I mean. We have little time together, except when we go to diplomatic functions in the car on the way there and on the way back, and then you’re there too.” She laughed quietly and he smiled smugly.

  “What’s keeping him so busy?” Jafar pressed.

  “I don’t know, exactly. I’m thirsty.” She got up, draped a bath towel around her, and went to the kitchen. “You want something?”

  “Bring me a whiskey,” he answered, softening his voice wondering why she was not more forthcoming all of a sudden.

  She returned with two glasses, one with water and a whiskey for him. Taking his glass from her, he stroked her cheek, resting his index against her lips. Then he patted the bed beside him and smiled at her.

  She took a sip, put her glass down and lay down looking up; the pillows had been thrown on the floor. He leaned over her and kissed her lightly.

  After he lay back down, she reached for a pillow and turned toward him. “Jeff had this argument with Washington,” she said. “A month or so ago, over somebody’s assignment. Jeff didn’t want him to come and eventually Jeff won. Except now he just found out that he didn’t win after all, and he’s really pissed.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know for sure. I think, I’m almost sure, that it was about a CIA person. That he was supposed to be assigned to my husband’s staff in the Interests Section, and now he’s here but somewhere else.”

  “Where is he? You’re talking about another American official?” Jafar’s interest quickened, but he was concerned that she would stop talking if he pushed her.

  She rested her head on her hand. “I don’t know. He is here, but he’s not in the Interests Section.”

  He put his pants back on and stood, not speaking. He reached for his glass and drank it down.

  He looked out the window an instant and then turned back toward her. He had built up her natural guilt over her country’s history of interference, of insults, of breaking the laws of both man and Allah into the wish to atone. He was pleased that he had brought her along so far so quickly, that he was able to turn a conversation into a debriefing. He had translated her emotional needs to his advantage and of course to the benefit of Iran. But he, Jafar, stood to be rewarded.

  She looked a bit confused, maybe even afraid, which pleased him. She was an intelligent woman, but he wondered if she understood what she was doing, that their relationship had crossed onto new territory.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked softly. “What’s wrong?”

  25. Tehran: National Computer Center

  The limousine pulled up in front of the tallest building in its neighborhood, perhaps twelve to fifteen stories. Its convex glass front and a black and white pillar on each side made it unusual. However, the attention getter was the broad red band with advertising in Farsi and English. The word “DIGITAL” in ten-foot-high letters on each side of a Farsi inscription revealed the function of the building.

  The computer center had sent the limousine. A good sign I’m still in Mousavi’s favor, Steve thought.

  A young man with a beard and a shaven head came up to him as he got out of the car, “Are you Mr. Breton? Hi, my name is Firuz. I’m with the center. I’m supposed to show you around.”

  They took an elevator to the third floor where Firuz took him to the director’s office. As they entered, a man with a full head of white hair and a white beard down to his chest, contrasting with black eyebrows and black mustache, swiveled away from the computer against the wall to face them across a large and speckled black granite desk. As he turned, his left arm went up in a sign of welcome.

  “I am Roberto Lucca,” he said with a deep voice. Lucca was about fifty and was dressed casually in jeans and a long sleeve shirt. Steve felt that a curtain had been raised.

  “Mr. Breton, we understand that you might be able to help us,” Lucca said in Italian-accented English. “Firuz will show you around and then we can talk. The National Computer Center is a ten thousand square foot facility. We have about thirty employees, computer training facilities, high performance scientific computers, and large-scale computing systems. I expect you to stay for lunch.”

  Looking toward Firuz, he added, “We’ll meet in the conference room in, say, an hour.” Having said that, he turned back to his computer and waved his hand in dismissal.

  As they walked toward the elevators, Firuz asked, “What do you want to see?”

  “Any room with a computer. My expertise is in maintaining precise and constant temperatures at the least cost. Crucial for sophisticated computers.”

  “Any room with a computer? That’s almost all of them.” Firuz said frowning

  and looking at his watch. He added, “Some of our equipment crashed last summer during the heat.”

  The elevator doors opened, and a man in his later thirties wearing jeans and an M.I.T. T-shirt stepped out and said in Russian-accented English, “Firuz, my man. Good result yesterday, no?”

  Firuz smiled at him, “Hi, Marko.”

  Marko then noticed Steve, “Excuse me. You are new?” Steve said, “Firuz is giving me the grand tour.”

  Firuz and Steve moved into the elevator, and the doors closed.

  “My deliverable will be a report with recommendations, so I brought my camera,” Steve said. “I hope that’s not a problem.”

  “You can’t take pictures. Not allowed.”

  “How about checking with the director on that, Firuz.”

  Firuz hesitated. “Well, okay, but when you’re done you have to give us the chip.”

  “I will do that after I’ve written my report. The chip will accompany the report. How’s that?”

  Firuz grudgingly agreed and they went up another floor. The first door they came to had a sign in Farsi and English: LIMITED ENTRANCE EMPLOYEES ONLY.

  Firuz ignored it to open a door that was not protected by signage. He stuck his head through before letting Steve inside. There were about a dozen computer terminal stations, each occupied by intense young men, most with short beards, and women in chadors. Firuz guided Steve past several other doors with LIMITED ENTRANCE signs.

  After half an hour, they went by a snack bar. “Let’s stop for five minutes,” Steve suggested.

  With a cup of tea each, they sat at a small table.

  “Tehran is much bigger than I thought. Everyone is so friendly.”

  “Yeah? Where are you from?”

  “Canada. Newfoundland. Beautiful part of the planet. Settled by fishermen a long time ago. Where are you from? You speak unaccented American English.”

  “I got my degree in California, U.C. Berkeley.”

  “You should have come to Canada. We have great schools. Also, the cost is more reasonable.”

  “I had a tennis scholarship, so that worked out.”

  “I knew there was something about you that I liked.”

  Firuz smiled at Steve’s remark and said, “I haven’t played since I’ve been here. There has been no time, man.”

  Steve replied enthusiastically, “If you can make time, I’m your guy. I usually play tennis a couple of times a week at home. I don’t know if I could give you a decent game though, scholarship at Berkeley! You must be good. I didn’t bring m
y racquet. Got a spare?”

  Firuz thought for a moment and said, “Well, tonight is the only time I have this week. I was going to ... well, never mind. Okay, I’d rather play tennis. I’ll find you a racquet. Good. I’m looking forward to it.”

  Firuz gave Steve directions to a sports complex where they would meet. At lunch, Roberto Lucca asked, “I hope you were satisfied with your tour.

  Tell me something about your company.”

  “It’s called Magnum Controls.” As he spoke, Steve gave Lucca a business card. “We’re more used to working in larger facilities. However, using an assortment of energy sources, solar power, high performance windows and roofs, passive solar design, high efficiency equipment, variable speed motors, reflective roofs, use of daylight, occupancy controls and other measures, we can probably bring your energy costs down by a third. I see a number of problems, correctable problems, which can degrade energy performance. Our forté, of course, is the installation of precise temperature and atmospheric controls. We manufacture some of them and obtain others from forefront companies in several countries. You have an impressive operation Mr. Lucca. What is your most important output?”

  “It is knowledge. Research and development to protect computer systems from external cyber attack. It is an unfortunate necessity in a hostile world. There are dark forces out there, Mr. Breton that would like to harm this country. We are here to foil them.”

  “You seem to have a pretty international group here. Are you from Italy?”

  “I belong to the world. Many of us are citizens of the world. Borders do not limit us. We go where our talents are most needed. This country is in the vanguard of computer science so it is a good place to be.”

  Lucca was fiddling with Steve’s business card absentmindedly. “The leadership is giving our activities a high priority. We do have experts from several countries. Firuz is from your neighbor, the United States. We have no Canadians so far. Perhaps you would like to join us?” and he laughed.

  “Only if you need a computer Neanderthal. Seriously, we would like to join your team and improve your results. You’ll see how we can help when you read my report.”