False Flag

by F. W. Rustmann Jr.

  Abu Salah’s eyes widened and he began to tremble. He could not speak. His mouth opened but no words came out. Then, “I . . . I wasn’t sir. I wasn’t gambling at the casino. I only went in to wait for a cab. I was trying to get back to Beirut as fast as possible. I . . .”

  Nasrallah continued, “So, now there is little doubt concerning who Walid Nassar was talking to and who killed your guards and rescued the American spy, is there, Abu Salah?”

  Abu Salah gazed down at his large, trembling hands and replied, “No, sir.”

  “Then I have one final question for you, Abu Salah. Listen very carefully. The question is who was Walid Nassar’s interlocutor?”

  Abu Salah looked up from his hands. He felt a sensation of doom deep in his gut. His mind raced for a proper response but there was only one answer. Finally, he dropped his head to his chest and said in a barely audible whisper, “I don’t know, sir. I . . .”

  “You killed him before you learned who his contact was, didn’t you, Abu Salah?”

  “Yes, sir. I am so sorry. I didn’t ask . . .”

  CHAPTER 58

  The Theano skimmed across the flat Mediterranean Sea at a steady twenty-five knots per hour. Fotopolous could not have asked for better weather for the 250-kilometer crossing from Dbaiyeh Marina to Limassol, Cyprus. He pulled into the Limassol marina with plenty of time to clean up and make it to his favorite Greek restaurant, Dionysus Mansion, for dinner. He could already taste their superb chicken souvlaki. He had not eaten a decent meal since he left Cyprus and felt he deserved a treat. He might even shave for the occasion . . . or not.

  He invited Yasmin and Maggie to join him, but they declined. They were anxious to get to Nicosia right away so they could be at the United States Embassy when it opened the following morning.

  The next day, Maggie arranged for CIA Station Chief Susan Monaco to meet her and Yasmin. Sue had been a protégé of Maggie’s when Maggie headed the Cyprus, Greece, and Turkey Branch back at Langley several years ago. Sue would expedite their return to the United States, though Yasmin did not have a passport, and notify the DDO of their arrival via a back-channel cable.

  Later that same day, Yasmin and Maggie boarded a Cyprus Air flight to Athens and an onward American Airlines flight to Dulles Airport in northern Virginia. They were met at the airport by none other than Edwin Rothmann himself. Maggie spied Rothmann immediately upon entering the international arrivals area of their terminal. He was hard to miss; he stood well over six feet tall, weighed more than three hundred pounds, and walked with a characteristic limp. She waved at him, grinning widely, and his face lit up when he saw her.

  He moved toward them, parting the crowd with his familiar John Wayne gait. Maggie threw herself into his big arms and he enveloped her, lifting her off the ground. Yasmin stood to the side, watching and grinning from ear to ear. The DDO noticed her standing there and motioned her toward him. Then he was holding both of them in his massive arms. They all fought to hold back tears. Finally, Maggie caved and Yasmin followed suit. They stood there in the middle of the airport masses, hugging the big man and crying.

  Finally, they broke apart and Rothmann led them outside to the VIP parking area where his car and driver were waiting. He directed the driver to take them to the Crown Plaza Hotel at Tyson’s Corner. The hotel was close to the CIA headquarters campus, which sat secluded in the woods only a few miles down Chain Bridge Road in Langley.

  When they pulled up in front of the hotel Rothmann said, “I know you would like to get some rest and do a little shopping since you’re traveling so light. So, I’m going to make this easy on you.” He handed Maggie an envelope. “There’s five thousand dollars in there. Knock yourselves out. Everything’s on me. Well, the company actually. I’ll send the car for you tomorrow afternoon around four o’clock.”

  Maggie said, “That’s very thoughtful, Ed. Thanks. What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

  “Once you’ve rested and gotten what you need, get ready to meet with me and maybe a few others in my office tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Maggie. “I’m retired and, well, I work with Mac now. And Yasmin’s a NOC. Do you really think it’s . . . ?”

  The big man laughed. “Always questioning me, Maggie. Just like old times.”

  “No . . . I just mean . . .”

  “I know. Let’s just say we’re going to bend some rules. I’ll see you both in my office tomorrow at four thirty. Okay?”

  They both nodded and hugged Rothmann one more time before exiting the car and walking into the hotel.

  The next day, the two jet-lagged women rose early, ate breakfast in the hotel coffee shop and set out for the Tyson’s Corner shopping mall to pick up some essentials and new clothes. Maggie hadn’t changed clothes since Yasmin’s rescue and Yasmin still wore her captivity rags.

  After shopping, eating lunch, and taking a short nap, they walked downstairs and waited until the DDO’s car picked them up. They drove down Route 123 and turned left into the CIA headquarter compound. The driver flashed his badge at the main checkpoint and they continued down the wooded road toward the original headquarters building.

  Just before the main entrance, they turned left into the lower garage reserved for VIP guests and very senior CIA officers. The car stopped in front of the elevators. The driver instructed them to take the elevator up to the seventh floor. When they reached it, the elevator doors opened and two young security guards met them. The guards, both former Marines, were dressed in dark business suits and sported identical close-cropped haircuts.

  The guards greeted them by name and slipped red visitor badges hanging from chains over their heads. Then the marines escorted them down the hall to the reception area of the DDO’s office.

  When she saw them, Rothmann’s tall, thin secretary jumped up, threw her glasses on her desk, and bounded toward Maggie. “Maggie Moore! Do you remember me? I’m Kathy Barnett.”

  “Of course I do, Kathy. It hasn’t been that long.” The two women embraced warmly. “You look great and you made it all the way up to the big job! I’m so happy for you.”

  “Thanks, Maggie. I had a lot of help from you.” She turned to Yasmin. “And you must be Yasmin Ghorbani. I’ve heard so much about you. You are so brave.” She gave Yasmin a hug.

  The door to the DDO’s office swung open and a grinning Rothmann filled the doorway. “I was wondering what the commotion was all about out here. Why didn’t you tell me my guests had arrived? Come on in, gals.”

  As he ushered the women into his office he called back to his secretary, “Kathy, please hold my meetings and calls till we’re done.”

  “Will do, boss,” said Kathy Barnett.

  Once inside the office, Maggie scanned the room. She shook her head, “My, my, Ed. You haven’t changed a thing about this office in the ten years you’ve been here.”

  “Has it been that long? I guess it has.” Rothmann was the longest serving DDO in the Agency’s history. “Well, why redecorate when I’m comfortable with what I’ve got? I don’t like change so much anymore anyway.”

  One wall of the bright, seventh-floor office consisted of floor to ceiling windows overlooking the building’s magnificent front entrance and the woods beyond. In front of the windows, a sitting area was constructed out of two couches and three comfortable chairs that were arranged around a coffee table. At the far end of the office, there was a small conference table, which the DDO used as his desk. The big man liked to spread out.

  He motioned for the two women to sit on one of the couches as he sat in a chair next to it. “Yasmin, I’m so happy to finally meet you in person,” he said. “And I want to be the first to congratulate you on how you handled your imprisonment and interrogations and, most of all, how you used your training to turn your interrogator to our side.”

  Yasmin looked puzzled. “I . . . um . . . I never . . . I mean . . .” She shook her head and looked over at Maggie.

  Maggie said, “You were instrumental in the r
ecruitment of Pouri Hoseini. The conversations you had with her during the interrogations softened her up. Mac just had to pop the question. After he kidnapped her, that is. She is ours now. A fully recruited, willing agent reporting out of Tehran.” Maggie held up her cell phone. “She’s right on the other end of this phone.”

  Rothmann rubbed his knee, stiff from an old injury, and stretched out his leg. “The recruitment of Pouri Hoseini is a signal achievement, Miss Ghorbani. Outstanding work for a young officer. You engineered our first penetration of the Iranian Ministry of Intelligence.”

  “But I . . .”

  “No buts about it,” said the DDO. “It’s your recruitment. There’s a promotion and an award in it for you and I’m bringing you inside. No more NOC in the wilderness. We’re going to fix you up with official cover and your next job will be right here at headquarters. I am assigning you to the Near East Division’s Nuclear Proliferation Branch with primary responsibility for handling Pouri Hoseini. Sound okay?”

  Yasmin stuttered, “Yes, sir. I mean, thank you, sir. That’s wonderful, sir . . .”

  He turned to Maggie. “Maggie, I hesitated about bringing you into this building. Your team—you, MacMurphy, and Santos—are my secret weapons. You know what I mean . . .”

  “I do, Ed. I wondered, but . . .”

  “Sometimes we just have to bend the rules a bit. It should be okay. You’re a bona fide annuitant and there’s no reason why I can’t consult with you from time to time. The other guys, Culler and Mac, are different, so just keep your connection with them to yourself. Don’t mention it to anyone while you’re here. Okay?”

  Maggie replied, “Goes without saying, boss. But . . . we’ve got to figure out some sort of cover story for the Near East Division guys to explain how I came into contact with Pouri Hoseini.”

  The big man turned in his chair and adjusted his bum knee once again. “You two work up a simple story. Everyone knows about Yasmin’s rescue, but no one knows how we got her out.” He turned to Yasmin. “The team who rescued you is top secret. Understand? You never met MacMurphy or Santos. You don’t know who killed those guards and managed your escape. I want you to forget their names. All you know is that you passed on information about Pouri Hoseini’s willingness to cooperate with Maggie Moore.

  “You also need to work with the Near East Division to come up with a decent commo plan—something more secure than a cell phone—for handling Hoseini out of Tehran. That’s your first job. Come back in the morning through the main entrance. A Near East Division officer will meet you and arrange your integration back into the system.”

  He turned his attention to Maggie. “I want you to hang around for as long as you’re needed. We’ll get you a green annuitant’s badge. I want Yasmin’s transition into the Near East Division to be smooth and secure, and I want a steady stream of reporting from Pouri Hoseini to begin immediately.”

  Rothmann paused, switched gears from professional to friend, smiled, and said, “And how about dinner tonight, just you and me?”

  Maggie smiled. “You’re on, Ed.”

  CHAPTER 59

  Maggie and Rothmann met in the lobby of the Crown Plaza that evening. She wore a new, light summer dress with matching high-heeled shoes. Her graying, auburn hair was pulled back into a neat bun, and her signature granny glasses were nowhere to be seen. She even wore make-up for the occasion.

  Rothmann greeted her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek and then pushed her back, holding her shoulders with both hands. “My, my, Maggie. You look great.”

  She blushed. “I thought you liked the disheveled look.”

  “I do, I do, but . . . well, I like this look as well.”

  She tucked her arm in his and asked, “Where are you taking me, big guy?”

  “It’s only a block away. We’re going to walk. It’s called Da Domenico—my favorite restaurant in northern Virginia.”

  “It’s mine too! I love their double-cut veal chops.”

  “Me too. And if we’re lucky, one of the brothers will serenade us with a little opera.”

  She laughed. “Aren’t they great? They’ve owned the place for as long as I can remember, and I’ve been going there for more than twenty years.”

  “I guess everyone in the Agency knows Da Domenico and the opera-singing owners.”

  She changed the subject. “How’s the leg coming along? You seem to be limping worse than ever.”

  “I don’t know. It’s certainly not getting any better. I’ve already had one knee replaced and now it’s time for the other. Too much football, too many parachute jumps, and the shrapnel doesn’t help much either.”

  “You’re an old warhorse, Ed. When are you going to take the plunge and retire like me?”

  “Soon, very soon. The Agency has changed a lot since 9/11 and not necessarily for the better. It’s becoming just another bloated bureaucracy run by timid politicians and lawyers. That’s why I need people like Mac and Santos, people who understand the business and who can get things done the old-fashioned way.”

  He changed the subject. “By the way, how is business these days at GSR?”

  “Excellent, we’re actually making money. Our CounterThreat publication is our bread and butter and we’re keeping busy doing deep background and due diligence investigations. All in all, our cover is holding up well. We’re turning a small profit in the black. That said, we’ve recently run into some difficulties with a couple of child recovery operations.”

  Rothmann frowned. “How so?”

  “Well, recently Santos got arrested in Belize and Mac had to go down there to bail him out and smuggle him out of the country. In another case, the whole team, including two pilots, got arrested in Roatán. They spent a few days in the slammer before we were able to straighten things out with the authorities.”

  “That’s not good. Maybe you guys should consider sticking to more mundane operations like research and investigation and get out of the risky child recovery business.”

  “We’ve learned our lesson. We’re going to be much more careful in the future.”

  “Yes, please do. I don’t want anything happening to my secret weapon. Just keep the cover working. We have more important things to worry about, and you certainly don’t need the money. You’ve got all you need and more in that bank in Switzerland.”

  They reached the restaurant and were ushered to one of the rear, circular booths by one of the brothers. He promised a short serenade later in the evening. They continued their conversation.

  “Well, the boys really came through for you this time,” said Maggie.

  “They sure did. Now the problem is how to protect them. The recruitment of Pouri Hoseini is a huge deal. We can classify the hell out of it, put it in restricted handling channels and all that. But too many people will still be asking questions about how we obtained the source, not to mention how we rescued Yasmin from Hezbollah. I can only deflect and obfuscate so much. If the director finds out that I’m using outsiders for these kinds of jobs, especially MacMurphy and Santos, shit will definitely hit the fan.”

  The waiter came and began reciting a list of daily specials, but Rothmann cut him off mid-sentence and ordered a bottle of Chateau Talbot Bordeaux and medium-rare veal chops for their dinners.

  Maggie asked, “How did you handle the fallout from the boys’ activities in the Golden Triangle? As I recall, there were dead bodies strewn everywhere by the time they finished.”

  Rothmann laughed. “There certainly were. Mac and Santos forged a wide path through drug land on that gig. Khun Ut is still doing hard time in Bang Kwang prison in Bangkok.”

  “Well, how did you handle it?”

  “Easy, we made it look like rival factions went after Khun Ut. He was the main man up there at the time, so it made sense. Having Charly Blackburn around to corroborate our story made it easier.”

  “Then why not do the same thing in this case? Make it look like Iran tried to get its hostage back from Hezbollah, but she managed to
escape in the process and called me to help get her out of there.”

  “That could work. After all, we don’t have to convince a lot of people. Yes, that’s a good cover story. You could have known Yasmin from a while back, perhaps from down on The Farm when she was going through training. When she escaped, she could have immediately called you and you ran to her rescue and spirited her out of the country and back here. That’ll work.”

  “Okay, I’ll go over the story with her tonight so she’ll be prepared when she arrives in the morning.”

  He raised his glass and they toasted to their success.

  “Damn, this wine is really good,” she said.

  “Only the best for one of my secret weapons,” he replied.

  CHAPTER 60

  Abu Salah cursed himself for being so stupid. Nasrallah’s last question still rang in his ears. If he could just figure out from whom Walid Nassar was getting his instructions, he might be able to redeem himself. Nasrallah was counting on him to revenge the rescue.

  He actually knew very little about Walid. In all the years Walid had been his driver, he had never tried to get to know him. He had never asked about his family or what he did outside of work. Nothing.

  Abu Salah still did not believe Walid’s story about working for Iran. It was just too implausible. Neither the Ministry of Intelligence nor the Ayatollah gave a damn about Hezbollah. Then again, they would care about the CIA hostage. Would they fully trust Hezbollah with such a prized possession? Maybe not.

  His mind returned to Walid. He wracked his brain for anything, any tidbit of information that might lead to a connection to the interlocutor. Then it dawned on him. Walid had an older brother, someone he admired. No, wait, not a brother. Maybe an uncle? Someone who once worked for Hezbollah. Yes, that was it: an uncle who brought him into the organization.

  What was his name?

  He called a few of his contacts within the organization and quickly learned that Walid Nassar’s uncle, Nabil Nassar, was on some sort of a disability pension from Hezbollah. The disability resulted from a gunshot wound that left him confined to a wheelchair. He also learned that Nabil lived above the Al Bouchrieh Pharmacy on Massaken Street.