by Doug Welch
Furious, Dorri stood and advanced toward him, stopping just out of arm’s reach. “Your feeble abilities mean nothing to me, Behrouz. Say your piece and leave.”
He clenched his jaw so hard it twitched. His eyes projected hate for a moment then relented.
“Father will be informed soon. The Houses want you to find out what this Englishman’s intentions are. They want you to seduce information out of him. That shouldn’t be so hard for you, should it? You already dress like a whore, so you may as well become one.”
At his words Dorri almost lost her composure. She realized she’d be at a disadvantage if she allowed her rage to rule her, so with enormous effort she held it in check. “Beware, fool! If the Houses find you’re in league with the communists, your life will be short and unpleasant. If you seek to ruin me, I’ll return the favor. –Now get out!”
She saw his mouth work as though struggling to formulate a reply. Instead he clamped his lips shut, turned and exited her bedroom, slamming the doors behind him.
Dorri collapsed on the divan, drained from the tension of her encounter with Behrouz. She wept and thought once again of leaving Iran, but she was trapped. In any case, she’d never be able to abandon her father and sister.
Once she calmed, she realized the opportunity to explore a relationship with Edward had just fallen into her grasp. If Behrouz were to be believed, it meant that for once the motives of both the Houses and the communists were in accord. Although she knew she’d be spied upon, her actions wouldn’t be the subject of gossip by either faction and could finally act with relative freedom.
The thought brought lightness to her mood. She chuckled and returned to her book.
Chapter 4
Tehran – Autumn 1977
To Edward’s unmitigated delight, Dorri seemed to warm to him and they spent numerous hours of their free time wandering around the Embassy gardens and talking. She proved to be a fount of knowledge about the current state of affairs in Iran, particularly the attitudes of the Muslim population and the merchants of the traditional bazaar, the bazaari.
“So, you’re saying that as long as the merchants remain politically neutral, the population will follow?”
She smiled. “You have much to learn about the workings of the bazaar, Edward. It’s a place were people go, not only to shop but to gossip and spread rumors. No one can repeat rumors more effectively than a bazaari.”
He shook his head. “I had no idea...what kinds of rumors?”
She sat on a convenient wrought iron seat in the garden and arranged her skirt demurely around her. “All kinds, mostly untrue, rumors about the Shah, about the government, things like that. It doesn’t matter, because true or untrue if a merchant repeats it, it’s bound to be believed.”
He sat beside her and rested his arm on the backrest.
She turned in the seat to face him and changed topics. “The Embassy’s giving a reception in a week to demonstrate support for the Shah. Do you plan to attend?”
He knew about it but hadn’t given it much thought. “It depends. Receptions are usually boring affairs.” He grinned. “That is, unless you’re attending.”
She returned his grin. “I’m acting as an interpreter.”
“Then I’ll be sure to come.”
* * *
Edward strolled into the Embassy’s formal reception room. The autumn weather had turned chilly so rather than his normal light summer coat and tie, he wore black-tie evening wear for the event, his crisp, pleated, white shirt tucked in a black cummerbund.
Scanning the floor, he searched for Dorri through the crowd of dignitaries.
Not finding her, he circulated through the clumped groups of people who held drinks and chatted.
As he wound his way through the mob, he listened to snatches of conversations, automatically interpreting the Farsi spoken by the Iranian nationals. Most of them concerned the condition of the government with plenty of opinions as to what should be done to curb the Marxists. Few spoke of Muslim unrest.
He appropriated a glass of champagne from a waiter, and stood amidst the crowd sipping it, all the while looking for Dorri. Raising his glass to take another sip, he paused midway as his eyes focused on a group of people.
Dorri stood smiling and nodding, surrounded by a group of attentive men. Periodically she would turn to one or another of the participants and say something, and then lapse into silence with her head cocked at an angle, obviously listening.
She appeared beyond beautiful, an absolute vision. She wore an ivory-colored empire styled beaded gown that descended from her breasts to drape across her shoes. Her glossy black hair had been piled atop her head, fixed in some intricate fashion with jeweled combs. Curls of it fell to her bare shoulders and caressed her swan-like neck.
Captivated, Edward gravitated to the group that encircled her and stood on the periphery listening.
An elderly man, speaking in Farsi, held the attention of the assembled group.
“...and I say again. If Khomeini is allowed to return to the country, it will mean the doom of us all!”
His opponent, equally as opinionated, rebutted the argument.
“You make no sense. The Ayatollah is just a bitter old man who resists change. What harm can it cause?”
Edward gestured with his glass and the motion caught Dorri’s attention. She glanced toward him and her eyes widened. He looked toward the double doors leading to the terrace and cocked his head, motioning with his champagne glass.
Dorri nodded slightly and excused herself from the group. She navigated through the crowd and Edward followed.
Joining her at the double-doors, he stood alongside, looking around at the mass of people. He spoke without taking his eyes from the assemblage.
“I must say you look exceptionally beautiful tonight, Dorri.”
Out of the corner of his eye he saw her smile.
“And you’re looking equally as handsome, Edward.”
Her statement almost caused him to choke on the sip of champagne that had crossed his lips. He’d never imagined that Dorri might find him appealing, and the thought brought an unexpected flush to his body. He decided to test his limits.
“It’s unfortunate that dancing is not a part of these functions. I’d love to dance with you, Dorri and hold you in my arms.”
His words brought color to Dorri’s cheeks and her eyes seemed to sparkle.
“I’d willingly join you, Edward.”
He felt the blood leave his head, causing a slight dizziness. The smell of the faint exotic perfume she wore drifted to him. The thought of being close to her, inhaling her scent and feeling the warmth of her body made him tremble.
“Perhaps after the formal dinner, we might take a stroll along the terrace and create our own music?”
He saw her sway and her eyes fluttered. She placed a slim hand on her heart and she breathed one word.
“Yes.”
She gathered her skirt in one hand and moved with an unsteady walk to resume mingling with the people.
During the meal, Edward sat with some of the other Embassy employees several tables away from Dorri. To Edward the dinner seemed an interminable burden, the food tasteless and unappealing. She occasionally made eye contact with him, but then redirected her attention to the guests who sat nearby.
After the British Ambassador delivered the final toasts to the Shah, the guests drifted away from the dining room and milled about, some leaving while others still chatted.
He disentangled himself from conversation, walked to the reception room, and opened the terrace door. Slipping out into the cool night air, he heard the subdued night-sounds emanating from the gardens.
The full moon lay low on the horizon looking huge and golden. He heard the door open and turned to see Dorri emerge with a shawl covering her shoulders and her arms crossed in front of her chest. She hurried over to him.
She shivered from the cold so he unfolded her arms, slipping them inside his suit coat and around his wa
ist. His arms encircled her, hugging her against his warmth. In a while her tremors ceased.
“Better now?”
She looked up from where her cheek had nestled against his chest and nodded. She returned her head to his chest and settled further against him, sighing.
“You’re so warm.”
Edward caressed the back of her neck, enjoying her closeness. It was the first time he’d touched her, other than passing contact, and the exquisite sensation of her body pressed to his chest and thighs aroused him. He moved back to give them some space and she reluctantly allowed it.
Edward removed her right arm from his waist, gripped her hand, and slowly rotated, keeping time to the music in his head.
She looked up at him and smiled. “Why did you do that? My arm was warm in there.”
He tucked her arm and hand between their bodies, enfolding them to his chest. “I told you, I wanted to dance with you and feel you move with me.”
Her eyebrow arched. “There’s no music.”
Edward smiled down at her. “The sound of your voice is music enough for me.”
Her eyes grew wide and her lips parted. She nervously licked them.
On an impulse, Edward leaned his head forward to kiss her, brushing her lips and then tenderly nibbling them.
She gasped and leaned back, her wide eyes locking with his.
Letting go of his hand, she threw both arms around his neck. Her eyes closed and she crushed her lips against his.
Without breaking the kiss, Edward wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her and pulling her to his body. Her lips tasted like apples, likely from the spiced apple juice she’d drank in lieu of champagne. He flicked his tongue across their silky softness, hoping to deepen the kiss, but she didn’t respond.
After a moment she broke the kiss and leaned back, inhaling deeply, trying to draw a breath.
Edward observed her panting and laughed. “You’re supposed to breathe, Dorri.”
Her eyes, still wide, bore into his soul. “I’ve never done this before, Edward. I’ve always wondered what it was like to kiss a man with passion, but I never had the opportunity.”
He chuckled “Well, did it meet your expectations?”
“Oh, yes.” She stood on her tiptoes and once again captured his mouth with hers.
This time her lips softened and her body relaxed. She molded herself into him and tilted her head seeking more sensual contact.
He felt her tongue dart out and touch his. Deepening the kiss, he dueled with the tip of her tongue then broke away and nibbled along her cheek until he reached her sensitive earlobes. Tugging them with his lips he kissed behind her ear and trailed kisses along her neck toward her exposed shoulders.
She gasped again and pulled away, breathing heavily.
Her wide eyes stared at him like a frightened deer. She raised her hands and buried them in his hair, pulling him close to her for another deep, sensual kiss.
A prolonged moment later, Edward’s arousal had reached a breaking point. He realized that if they progressed further, his hands might stray to places that could compromise them both, so he broke their embrace and stepped back, holding Dorri at arm’s length.
They both seemed out of breath and he waited until he’d calmed.
“I think we should go back inside, Dorri, before someone discovers us.”
“I’m not cold any longer, Edward, my blood runs hot. I’ve yearned for this for so long...you can’t imagine how confined I’ve been.
She moved toward him. “I never dated in America. I stayed with an Iranian family while I attended college, but I tasted freedom in America and liked it. When I returned home, I became a bargaining token, a virgin available to the highest bidder.” Her voice turned bitter “I’m a maidenhood that can be bartered for a favor or an alliance.”
He moved to her, enfolded her in his arms, and held her close. “You’re much, much more than that, Dorri. Leave this country and come to England.”
She shook her head. “I want to, but I can’t. Not while my family is in so much danger. I can’t leave my father and my sister. –It’s complicated and I can’t explain it, but while I’m here they have a chance. I’ll not leave them until there’s no more hope.”
Chapter 5
Tabriz – Late Autumn 1977
Edward returned to the smoking habit. It was either that, or drink himself into oblivion each night.
After the reception, Dorri had vanished from the Embassy.
Each time he remembered that night, his body responded, remembering the feel of her lips, and the press of her breasts and thighs against him. They’d talked some more and then kissed some more. His hands had finally strayed to the places he’d avoided and she’d responded by encouraging it. Now his body ached with longing.
All of his discrete enquires had resulted in nothing. No one knew why she’d left the Embassy and no one knew where she was. He didn’t have any clue as to where in Tehran she lived because the Embassy records had led to a vacant apartment.
Consumed with the desire to feel her nearness once again, he realized that she’d penetrated deep inside his heart and he’d fallen for her. Missing her, and in nearly constant heart-sick misery from her absence, he realized he needed something to focus on, something to distract him. Therefore, he threw himself into the work of providing a comprehensive intelligence report to the Home Office.
Ensconced in his tiny office, he was pounding away on a typewriter, organizing his notes for delivery in the next Embassy post, when he heard someone knock on the door.
“Enter.”
Commander Rice stepped in and flopped down on the spare office seat.
He nodded “Rowan.”
Edward raised his head and acknowledged his superior’s greeting.
“Commander...How can I be of service?”
“Looks like you have your wish.”
Edward cocked an eyebrow. “And that would be...precisely what, Sir?”
Rice laughed. “I don’t know why or how –and quite frankly don’t want to know –but it seems as though we have a military liaison mission. The Iranians are interested in buying Harriers from us, and we’re to meet with our military counterparts in Tabriz. You, of course, are invited.”
Edward expelled a breath. “Finally! I thought I’d never get the opportunity. The Home Office needs to know how the military will react if civil unrest becomes widespread and this is my opportunity.”
Rice rubbed his jaw. “I don’t quite see how you’ll accomplish it, Rowan, since I’ll be doing most of the talking.”
Edward became excited. “That’s the beauty of it, Sir. I’ll hang on, a lowly aging lieutenant, listening, while you ask loaded questions of the military officers which –by the way –I’ll provide. They won’t know that I understand Farsi and surely they’ll let something slip.”
Rice nodded. “It’s possible. We’ll need to rehearse the questions, though. It needs to sound like a plausible inquiry without being non-military. It just might work.”
“Leave it to me, Sir. I’ll get right on it.”
* * *
Edward hung back, following the group of officers, his hands folded behind his back. He gazed at the row of F-14 Tomcats lining the tarmac. The American-built fighter-bombers were primarily designed for aircraft carriers, but due to their variable-wing geometry, they’d been purchased by the Shah’s government to defend Iranian airspace.
He strolled along with the Iranian interpreter, curious as to the nature of the animosity he’d observed between his current companion and the other Iranian officers.
“Do you fly these aeroplanes Captain?”
The officer chuckled. “No, they won’t let me near their precious jets. They don’t trust me. I’m on the support staff.”
“Why is that, Captain?”
He shook his head. “My religion. I converted to Baha’i. They’re all Muslims, so they can’t forgive that.”
Edward knew something about the Baha’i religi
on. It bore the same relationship as Christianity did to Judaism, except that its tie was to Islam. Adopting the Baha’i religion was like a Jew becoming Christian or vice-versa. In the case of extreme fundamentalist Muslims, the animosity between the sects sometimes grew violent with the Baha’is on the receiving end.
If the captain had embraced Baha’i, he belonged to a small, frequently persecuted minority in Iran.
Edward studied the Iranian. Tall, he stood easily over two metres. His dark complexion and deep brown eyes, almost shading to black, bespoke his Middle Eastern heritage. Handsome, in other circumstances he might have starred in the cinema.
Curiosity prompted Edward to ask guilelessly.
“What’s a Baha’i?”
He immediately regretted his words, as his companion began to deliver what promised to be a non-stop lecture on the Baha’i religion.
Edward interrupted him. “You speak like an American.”
The Captain glanced over at the assembled officers who still strolled past the gleaming fighter planes. “Like many of the other officers I was schooled in the United States, only my emphasis was in languages.” He held out his hand. “Captain Kázim –and you are...?”
Edward shook it. “Flight Lieutenant Edward Rowan, Captain. –Honored to meet you.”
Edward thought he saw a flash of surprise in Kázim’s eyes at the mention of his name, but it vanished, replaced by a guarded expression.
“I think we should rejoin the tour, Lieutenant Rowan.”
* * *
After the tour, the Iranians hosted a luncheon for the British officers. Edward sat next to Kázim either by chance or by design, he wasn’t sure. However, the Captain merely chatted about the weather and interesting local tourist attractions.
“There are many fine old Persian houses in Tabriz, Lieutenant, some hundreds of years old. I strongly suggest that you visit some of them while you’re in Iran.”
Wondering what had prompted Kázim to mention it, Edward decided to continue the line of conversation.
