by Frank Perry
residences in the northern part of the city. Exiting the train on Eqenlab Avenue, he was facing the Museums, surrounded by an immense traffic circle and wide converging boulevards. It was bright and hot as he picked up a tourist map from a kiosk. The sidewalks and piazzas were filled with people who seemed dynamic, courteous and hospitable. It had been four years since his last foray when the people seemed more servile and fatalistic. Attitudes had been improving since the end of their long war with Iraq and the American invasion leading to the death of Saddam Hussein. There were far fewer people in uniforms this time and the only police he could see were controlling traffic at major intersections. Except for the abundance of Muslim clothing, this part of Tehran could have been in Venice or Paris.
Iran's laws impose fines for violation of the Islamic dress code. Girls and women who reach maturity must cover their head and body in public except for their hands and feet. Male offenders are fined mainly for western hairstyles, shirts with Western logos, or short sleeves, except for laborers. Peter was surprised to see many girls wearing short pants, token scarves, and light-colored summer dresses. Recently enacted summer provisions defined clothing standards and distinctive emblems to be worn by Jewish, Christian and other religious minorities.
He crossed the avenue and walked across the mall toward one of the museum buildings several hundred yards away. As he approached the building, he diverted to the right with a smaller flow of pedestrians, toward the adjacent street, walking past government buildings leading toward the palatial residences beyond. Minister Abu Qatada lived two blocks north of the museums.
There were large numbers of pedestrians walking along the residential streets, some stopping to admire the huge mansions protected by walls and gates, so Peter drew no special attention when he stopped in front of the Minister’s home. There were no obvious police or military present, but there were large cars with official logos in the driveway. After staring for about half a minute, he continued walking north, circling the block before returning to the train and back to his hotel.
Palace Interloper
In his hotel room, he sent an email message to an innocuous website controlled by the CIA for the attention of Director Lawrence. His laptop was equipped with a special encryption circuit provided by the NSA, so the message would be a meaningless stream of mnemonics to the Iranian intelligence services. His text was cryptic and precise. They had not agreed on an extraction plan before he departed, but he was hopeful that Lawrence had some method of contacting his friend through email or phone to advise him. There was no way for Peter to verify that Abu Qatada would be prepared. Late in the afternoon, he went shopping for clothing, supplies and male grooming items.
Returning to the hotel after stopping for an early dinner, he checked his email and was pleased to read, “Tim, mother will be waiting for you when you get home. She wanted you to know that the care facility has moved her to a larger set of rooms at the southwest corner of the second floor, with a better view of the sunsets. She still likes to go to bed early, so her lights are out after 9:00PM. Hope to hear from you soon, Dad.”
That night, the air remained warm and dry with a slight breeze. Peter carried his pack on his back as he left the hotel for the train, to repeat his route from earlier in the day. After passing by the museum complex, he noticed that there were fewer people walking along the secondary streets leading to Abu Qatada’s residence. He saw one couple with a dog. He was conspicuous with a backpack, but fortunately, there were no streetlights. They had been removed when Iraqi warplanes had bombed Tehran. The residences all had extensive exterior lighting for security. He tried to remain in the shadows while walking. As he approached the house, auxiliary halogen lighting flooded the big front yard. There were also two guards standing in front of the house. It was difficult for them to see the top of Peter’s head beyond the front wall and the backpack was too low to be seen.
He continued walking up the street to the corner beyond the row of mansions, then turned right until reaching the alley behind. There were several lights, but no guards were seen. There were no other people visible. All of the homes seemed to have tall hedgerows in the back disguising the fence, which made it difficult for guards inside the Minister’s compound to see into the alley. Peter began walking down the alley close to the fence line, passing three residences before stopping at the yard beyond the Minister’s. With Iran’s strict adherence to Koranic law, containing severe penalties, major crime was almost non-existent in the city, so there was less vigilance than he expected around official locations. Residential security was lax and there were few night patrols by police, contrary to U.S. practice in large cities.
He stood frozen for several seconds, listening for any sign that people could be nearby before tossing his pack over the wall. Very quickly, he jumped to the top of the stone structure and rolled over and down into a small space between the fence and the tall cypress hedge. He lay still for several seconds. The yard was dark and there was no indication that anyone was outside the house.
Carrying his pack, Peter moved to a stone fence separating the two properties. The Minister’s residence had two lights in the back with a single guard. Farther along the side fence, toward the front, the space between both houses was dark. Crouching in the shadows, he moved forward, into the darkened area. There, he reached into his pack and pulled out a coiled rope. Tying one end to the pack, he lowered the bag to the ground on the other side of the fence. Then, with careful footwork and handholds, he climbed until perched on top of the wall. All of his senses were alert while he remained motionless. From six feet up, he leapt into the Minister’s compound, absorbing the fall on bent knees and rolling to a stop, almost silently.
He lay on the ground in the darkness, without moving. After a few moments, he pushed into a low crouch and grabbed the pack before moving to the edge of the house fifty feet away. The foundation shrubs were mature, allowing him to conceal himself against the building. The structure was built from sandstone blocks with no mortar lines. There were no features allowing him to climb the walls. Around all of the window wells was an iron railing covering the lower half of the windows. He needed to get to the second floor according to the email message.
Stepping out, he looked up to see the second floor window was dark. Mother had gone to bed early. Peter tied one end of the rope to his belt, and tied the pack about twenty feet from his end. Once secure, he grabbed the bottom rung of the first-floor window railing and pulled up, grabbing the top of the railing. He continued to climb until standing on top of the window rail, and then reached upward to the second-story window. Lifting his weight with one hand, he was able to grab the bottom of the second floor window sill, climbing over the second floor railing. He was vulnerable if someone inside saw his silhouette, or if a guard passed below. It took a moment to become balanced before he moved to one side of the window frame for concealment. He had no weapons and no idea if someone was waiting inside the room behind the glass and curtains.
With careful effort, Peter pressed the center of the window inward to test the locking mechanism. There was none engaged. The floor-length glass sections separated, allowing him to step over the railing and into the room.
Crouching inside, he remained motionless. It was dark in the big room. As he stayed still, listening, he heard the rustle of fabric moving toward him when someone said in a whisper, “Have you come to help me?”
“Yes.”
In a rushed low voice, the man said, “Allabu Akbar—God is Great!”
Peter untied the rope from his belt and pulled the pack into the room. Then, he moved closer to the Minister to verify his identity. “Please tell me your name of your best friend in the states.”
“My name is Ali Abu Qatada and my friend is Will Lawrence.”
“Okay Your Excellency, what is the security like in the house after you go to bed?”
“They leave me alone. I’m too fat to climb out of the second-floor window, so they just sit outside the door all night. I don’t kno
w if they look in after I am asleep, but I do not think so.”
“All right, you need to get dressed, I brought you some clothes.” Peter had seen pictures of the overweight Sheik, but had to guess at everything. He started handing clothes to the fat man.
“What’s this, I have not dressed in such things since I attended college in America. These are Christian or Jew clothes!”
“Please, keep your voice down. If you want to live, you will do everything I ask of you -- precisely. Do you understand? God will forgive you.”
In a low voice the Minister responded, “Of course, I will follow your instructions, but I cannot approve.”
“So sue me, it’s the American way.”
The Minister put on the pants, shirt and sneakers, looking like a dark Santa on a tropical vacation. As he finished dressing, Peter stuffed the minister’s pajamas and some pillows under the covers. It wouldn’t deceive anyone looking closely, but it was better than nothing.
He said, “Okay, Look. You’re going out the same way I came in. I’m going to use a rope harness, but you must do this silently. Can you manage to climb over the window rail?”
“I, I think so. How will you support me, I am over one hundred
