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

by André Le Gallo

  The Basij Commander was quoted: “Our unarmed security forces have captured a number of impostors dressed in Basij uniforms and equipped with weapons of foreign manufacture. The bullet that killed Neda Soltan was fired from these foreign weapons.”

  An allegedly moderate ayatollah led the Friday prayers in Tehran and demanded the death sentence for the demonstrations’ ringleaders, whom he declared had “waged war on God.” With Steve’s photo in all corners of the country, Mousavi had enlisted the entire population to join the spy-hunt. Those who did not participate were in danger themselves.

  46. Langley: Director’s Office

  Thérèse LaFont made her way past several suits and uniforms into Wally Deuel’s outer office, walked into another office where Mary, an always pleasant looking woman in her fifties whom Deuel had kept on his staff since his Beijing assignment, handled the multiple roles of special assistant, organizer, and all-around Praetorian guard with patience, courtesy, and efficiency. She looked up to Thérèse with a smile and said, “Go ahead in. He’s expecting you.”

  The director was reading from one of several files on his desk, twirling the ever-present unlit cigar in his fingers. Thérèse wondered how long he kept the same cigar, or how many he went through in a day.

  She sat across from his desk at an angle, which also allowed her to glance toward the picture window on her right. The top branches of the trees below moved in a turbulent dance to a gusty wind that presaged rain. Deuel’s desk was slightly elevated, which forced his interlocutors to look up. He closed the file he had been studying and got up.

  “Come sit over there. We can have some coffee. I could use an extra cup,” he said moving to the informal seating area. “Where are we on the SENTINEL case? What about the cyber war project? Any progress that we can pass on to the White House?”

  They both moved to a corner where a silver carafe and cups were set out on a low glass table. She sat down on a dark brown leather sofa, and he took the easy chair next to a green secure telephone.

  Thérèse said, “Steve and Kella are on the run. According to their last message, they were about to leave Tehran with SENTINEL’s help. They’re heading for Yazd where the Zoroastrian ‘railroad’ is supposed to hide them and help them get to the coast.”

  Deuel interrupted, “This time, you may have kept them in-country too long.”

  “We did order them out a few days ago. They ignored the message.”

  “I did warn you about his stubborn independent streak. He’s like a pit bull, not the best qualification for survival.”

  “Remember that we had him tested before we sent him to North Africa a year ago?” Thérèse asked. “The shrinks said that he had the best personality to assess risk objectively.”

  “Shrinks! Smoke and mirrors!”

  Eager to move on, she said, “Steve thinks there’s a possibility of recruiting a dual national, an American-Iranian, who’s working in the cyber project. He used to work in Silicon Valley. Getting SENTINEL to elicit information from this source, his nephew by the way, is proving to be difficult. The source is talking, but it’s a highly technical subject. SENTINEL is not really savvy in that area, and neither is Steve. The information is going through two opaque screens. By the time we get it, we suspect that much of the value has been left behind.”

  Deuel sat forward, “And Steve thinks the nephew is recruitable? How is that going to work if Steve is not in Tehran and the source is? Why can’t the source get on a plane and fly to Dulles Airport? We can arrange a nice reception for him.”

  “He’s not a recruited source yet. Steve right now has his hands full trying to stay out of Mousavi’s clutches. His nephew has no passport. His American passport was confiscated when he arrived. Iran doesn’t recognize dual nationality. His computer skills have confirmed his Iranian citizenship. Permanently it would appear.” She frowned.

  “We need to produce information on this cyber threat quickly,” Deuel said. “I’m not even sure that it’s not too late. Do we have a date?”

  “Not yet, sir. We have a communications issue with Steve. As you know, Kella is his communicator, among other things.” Deuel looked up sharply, but Thérèse’s expression remained inscrutable.

  “In a nutshell, it’s safe to transmit to them. The satellite footprint is large enough that anyone with the proper equipment and codes could receive our signal within a thousand mile diameter. Receive but not read.” She amended.

  “However, their signal originates from a very specific point, which, again with the proper equipment and time, can be located. That’s the reason Steve and Kella were forced to leave Tehran. All the publicity has made this the worst kept secret in the history of clandestine operations. We’re talking to the Office of Communications right now to find a solution. For the moment, we have told Steve and Kella to transmit only if they can move their location afterward.”

  “We have a possibly crippling threat to the nation,” the Director interjected, “we have a source in the middle of the enemy’s weapons center who could provide capabilities and intention intelligence, but we can’t get the information out?”

  Deuel started waving his cigar at her and raising his voice. “We are also the most technologically able country in the world. That’s not the kind of information I want to hear. Get it fixed. Have you spoken to Tottenmeyer?”

  “We’re speaking to the people in the Office of Communications, yes. I don’t think we’ve been in direct contact with Jim yet.”

  Deuel pushed the intercom button next to the telephone and said, “Mary, get me Jim Tottenmeyer on the phone right away.”

  A few second later, the connection was established and Deuel, with the phone to his ear, said, “Jim this is Wally. You know you owe me twenty bucks, right? 14-6, Cornell lacrosse over Army.”

  He listened for a few seconds and said, “Listen, this may not have reached you yet, but Thérèse LaFont is in my office. We have an urgent issue, Iran-related. We have a case officer there, a NOC, he has intelligence that the President’s national security team is screaming for, and we can’t get it out of Iran. Talk to your guys. Give it your highest priority. Thérèse will call you. Thanks. Greetings to Carol.”

  “I’m sure there’s a solution,” Deuel said after he hung up.

  Thérèse took a sip of her coffee and put her cup back on the small table. “I’m sure you’re right. You know about the Crossleys? He was recalled by the Department but, at the same time, his wife disappeared. SENTINEL told Steve that he had run into the Crossleys’ driver Jafar, who also happens to work for Mousavi—counter espionage. Jafar told him that he has been running Elizabeth Crossley, that she had given him the name that Steve was using in Tehran. She knew it from her husband.”

  Deuel’s head snapped up in disbelief, but he waited for Thérèse to continue.

  “At first, we handled the information routinely,” Thérèse said, “we passed it on to State’s Near East Bureau Director, Colchester, who is turning into a reluctant dragon, not especially friendly. He refused to believe it and just sat on the information. I asked our counter intelligence staff to have a talk with State’s Bureau of Diplomatic Security where our information got better traction.

  “They called Crossley on the green line. He admitted that his wife had been sleeping with the Iranian driver, but she disappeared. She’s been gone for about a day now. Crossley has asked for help from the Iranian Government to find her, but everyone has his hands full with the demonstrations. Elizabeth Crossley is not at the top of their list at the moment. They don’t even know if their government is going to survive.

  “We ran traces on the driver and confirmed SENTINEL’s information,” Thérèse continued. “The driver is a major in IRGC Security and works for Mousavi.”

  “Has Crossley’s wife defected? Run off with her Iranian lover?” He waved his cigar and stood. “That’s a first!” What does State have to say? An American defecting to Iran? I can’t believe it.”

  Still standing, he asked
in a quieter voice, “What about Steve?”

  “Both Steve and Kella are on a watch list. The dragnet is now national. Steve is accused of having shot the student killed in the demonstrations. His picture is in all the Iranian papers. At first, Steve tried to buy more time by planting seeds that should have had Mousavi looking for him to the North, toward Turkey. With SENTINEL’s help, Steve, Kella, and an Iranian woman who hid them for a few days in Tehran are heading for Yazd, SENTINEL’S hometown. SENTINEL, a secret Zoroastrian, is helping to get them out. It’s to his advantage. The last thing he wants is for Steve to be captured.”

  Deuel put his cup down. “A secret what?”

  Thérèse smiled, “A Zoroastrian. There are forty thousand left in Iran. They’re an officially accepted minority. It’s not a useful thing to be if you want to succeed in Iran. So, many keep their faith to themselves, as SENTINEL has done.”

  “Okay, how are you going to get them out?”

  There was a knock at the door, and Mary took two steps into the office. As if confirming Deuel’s worst nightmare, she said, “Sir, Representative Langdon’s office is calling to set up hearings on the CIA Investigation. You are being scheduled for two full days.”

  Deuel had gone back to his desk, and Thérèse was now standing in front of it knowing the meeting had already run too long.

  Deuel contemplated his cigar for a moment and said, “Thérèse, you’ve been after me to get out of town for the last six months, right? Where did you want me to go again? Make sure I’m there when those hearings are scheduled. You should be out of Washington also. Maybe you’d like to come with me.” He looked toward his assistant, “Mary, work with Thérèse’s office on this.”

  Mary took her irrepressible cheerfulness back to her desk, and Deuel turned back to Thérèse who idly wondered what Mary’s secret to perpetual happiness could be. Maybe her sex life. Which led her to think of Navy Captain Brian Navarre in the Persian Gulf.

  She was interrupted from going further down that path when Deuel said, “As we were saying, extracting Steve and Kella are now your main priorities, right? How are you going to do it? Keep me informed. I’m on my way to the White House.”

  Deuel rose, confirming the end of the meeting. “The President wants to see me about this operation and the cyber threat, which now has a name. The President christened it Operation RAMPART. I don’t like it,” he grumbled, “too defensive for my taste. I think he’s getting ready to request funds for a secret crash program to defend against this Iranian cyber threat. The process is so time consuming that I suspect he’ll have to invoke his War Powers to get the money quickly. Not my job.” He smiled in relief.

  Before she was through the door, Deuel said, “Thérèse, I told Marshall Church that we would bring Steve back alive!” He fixed her with his gaze for an instant before turning back to his desk.

  Thérèse left the director’s office with Deuel’s words still ringing in her ears and weighing Steve and Kella’s chances when Steve’s picture was like a Most Wanted poster, identifying him as the personification of evil. Mousavi evidently was pulling out all the stops.

  47. Yazd, Iran

  Firuz sat alone in the front, while the chadored passengers sat in the back. Suitcases and bags were in the trunk and on the front passenger seat. Steve, not knowing why Firuz had shown up and not wanting to spook him, avoided the critical question in his mind: the significance of Firuz’s sudden appearance.

  What did he know about Steve’s real purpose in Iran? About SENTINEL’s secret activities for the CIA? What convinced him to drive them? Had his uncle recruited him? Was this just a family thing, the senior uncle asking his nephew to perform a task without asking questions?

  Assuming that Firuz wouldn’t feel comfortable being quizzed about any of those topics in front of Kella and Farah and putting a higher priority on leaving Tehran, Steve focused on another relevant subject and tried to ignore the discomfort of sitting in the middle in the back. Although he knew that each female on his right and left was lovely, his six foot-one frame didn’t quite fit, and his knees were almost up to his chest.

  “Kella, what do you know about Zoroastrianism?” he asked.

  The car had reached the outskirts of Tehran and was going against the traffic. Anywhere else, driving in the opposite direction of commuter traffic would have allowed the car to move effortlessly on a mostly vacant road. However, in the conviction that all square footage of the pavement was there to be used, drivers overflowed onto the entire width of the streets. Much of the time as they made their escape, Firuz was driving the wrong way on a de facto one-way roadway.

  As Firuz struggled to make headway, Kella first looked at Farah for an answer. “Is this a test? Let’s see, Zoroastrians: members of one of the oldest religions in the world; monotheistic; let’s see ... Zoroaster, or maybe Zarathustra … was its prophet. That exhausts my knowledge.”

  Farah said, “It’s one of our official religious minorities.” Steve asked, “Firuz, can you help us?”

  The car was practically free of the capital city’s grasp and vehicular chaos. “I’m no expert. My mother did teach me some things as I grew up in Southern California. We have our own language, for example. I learned a few words through prayers. It was Iran’s main religion before Islam. It dates back maybe three thousand years.”

  “How many members of the religion are in Iran?” Kella asked.

  “I’ve heard from twenty to forty thousand. About half have left the country since 1979. Three or four thousand live in Yazd, which is where my family comes from, and it’s also the center of the religion in Iran. We have a Zoroastrian community in Los Angeles.”

  “Los Angeles would be where you’d find Zoroastrians in the U.S.,” Steve said laughing.

  “Quite the contrary, sir. This is not a kooky cult. Zoroastrianism forms the core principle of what later became Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. Our own prophet predates Moses, Jesus, and Mohammed. We had the basics. Others added details later, like the Ten Commandments.” Firuz suddenly was driving ten miles an hour faster.

  Steve had told Kella that SENTINEL had revealed his religion to him, a significant breakthrough at the time between agent and case officer. SENTINEL’s career would not have gone far had his superiors known. His role in the Iraq-Iran War would have been to clear a minefield, like many of the young men and boys on the memorial billboards along the street and highways.

  There was momentary silence and Firuz added, “Here, there are smaller centers outside of Yazd but Yazd is the main location. The elders all know one another across Iran, which I should add, was a Zoroastrian country until the Arabs invaded and imposed Islam.”

  And these scatter groups, Steve thought, are what SENTINEL’s plan depended on—a Zoroastrian ratline or Underground Railroad.

  As they approached Qom, a control point forced them to stop. They waited in line for half an hour before their turn came. The ladies used the time to use the toilets and, although Steve would have like to do the same, he stayed in the car and stretched as much as he could. Kella and Farah came back and Steve again tried to make himself as small as possible. At the checkpoint, the chadors in the back all held their breaths, and Firuz did all the talking. Steve and Kella especially had been anticipating this moment. They had no Iranian documentation. The only solution was to not having to produce any. Steve looked around for getaway possibilities.

  Fortunately, the guard didn’t seem anxious or particularly interested in a man driving three properly dressed women. Firuz explained that they were on their way to a funeral in Baghestan, a town to the southeast. The guard took a cursory look at the three ladies in the back and waved them on. If Mousavi was looking for them, he was looking toward the North West, toward the Turkish border, Steve thought. The problem was that Yazd was not close to any border. They all started breathing normally, and Steve began to feel better about Firuz.

  In Qom, Farah got out of the car to buy water and fruits. She said, “Yazd is in desert country.
Drink water.”

  * **

  They arrived considerably after dark. The headlights cut through the night to reveal a winding dirt road going up a hill devoid of vegetation except for infrequent bushes and a few walls promising a house on the other side. The startled eyes of small nocturnal animals stared as the car went by. They stopped in front of a long wall high enough to guarantee privacy. A wrought iron door divided it in halves. Firuz parked behind a white car in front of the gate.

  Steve’s greatest pleasure of the day, even beyond the relief of getting though the road block easily in Qom, was to get out and stretch. “The trip from hell,” he said to no one in particular as he raised both arms as high as he could and then bent from side to side trying to decompress his vertebrae.

  Firuz led them through the dark garden to a two-story house, which unlike most in the area, was not of adobe but of western construction. Their host waited at the open front door. Firuz introduced Jemshid as his great uncle, but in a way that hinted that the exact relationship, although familial, might be a bit vague to him. Jemshid, in his sixties with an angular clean-shaven face, wore a robe of faded tan cloth with a large white cotton sash about his waist and a boxy white cap.

  He was accompanied by a taller man dressed similarly with a sash, which seemed to be symbol rather than a fashion statement. Judging by Jemshid’s deference to the other man, Steve assumed a hierarchy existed between the two men. Using Firuz to interpret, the man said, “I am Fereydum. We know about you from Hashem, Jemshid’s nephew. Our community welcomes you. Jemshid will be your host.”

  Jemshid, also using Firuz to translate, said, “It is my deep honor to be your host. This is your home. You will be safe here.”

  Steve smiled and nodded. Feeling awkward in his chador in front of these two grave men, he pulled it over his head before speaking.