“I am not used to all this cloak and dagger stuff,” said John. “Is there another way to get into Iran?”
“We don’t do cloak and dagger,” answered Davis. “The commercial flight is rather mundane and should pose no risk. The alternative would be to drop you from a stealth bomber at thirty thousand feet in a pressurized suit with automatic chute deployment at three thousand feet over the desert at night, where you would be picked up by some of our people. Overland from Iraq is too risky. The alternatives for entry into Iran are limited.”
“Does Turkish air have first class?” asked John. Davis did not answer.
“The Tehran airport was extensively damaged in the inauguration day bombing. It was fairly modern and large and is being rebuilt quite rapidly. You should move through like a breeze,” said Davis.
“How do I get out when I identify Rhodes?” asked John.
“We’ll deal with that later,” answered Davis. “As I said, you will leave here in two days. We’ll brief you more on the procedures to get through the airport, and any questions that officials might ask you while you are there. But, Chandler, you have a track record of business activity in Tehran. They are aware you don’t speak Farsi, that your mother is British and your father is Turkish.”
He handed John a small, very thin cellphone. “This cellphone has one telephone number. It is an extraction phone. It is to be used only if there is an emergency exfil. Turn it on and press the pound sign. That's all you have to do. When you arrive in Tehran tape it to the inside of your thigh.”
“How long will this mission last?” asked John, as he took the phone from Davis.
Davis answered, “A week, maybe two, maybe more. It all depends.”
John spent the next two days getting briefed on Iran, the topography, mapping, roads, available communication, dress, customs and cultural nuances. He watched as his skin color became darker. It began to look natural. He was fitted with dark brown contacts, and when he looked at himself in the mirror, he was shaded by the contacts. His hair was long and black, and his beard was dark. He looked very much the part. The spooks had done a good job.
His passport photograph was taken. He was fitted with a European suit, white shirt and tie. He was given a worn passport with several country visas and entry stamps, which showed his name as Chandler Berkant. He was told reservations had been made for the flight from Algeria to Tehran. He was given a credit card, and cash. He flew into Algeria on a scheduled military transport plane, caught a taxi to the Turkish terminal, used the credit card to upgrade to first class, and began traveling to a country he did not know, with an objective he had no plan to achieve, for an uncertain period of time, with people with whom he was unfamiliar and could not recognize, whose names he had not been told, and a country that was hostile. Trader felt oddly at ease with his identity. He knew that once he was surrounded by a hostile environment, he would react confidently in the way he had been trained for years. He had done it before.
During the flight, and on arrival in Tehran, John could not understand a word the Captain or anyone else said. But as passengers started to leave the airplane, so did he. He followed the crowd to customs, handed his passport to the young female official behind the glassed in office. The official said in almost perfect English, “Welcome back to Tehran, Mr. Berkant.” She stamped his passport and said, “Have a nice day.” It was more like flying into New Haven that into a hostile Terrorist nation.
John followed the universal pictures and signs everyone who traveled understood, and they guided him to the outside of the building. As he walked toward the exit of the airport, he noticed people at the entrance to the airport walking in, dragging luggage, heading towards their airplane. There were no security checkpoints, metal detectors, or pat downs. Terrorists didn't need them. This was the way terrorists traveled. This was the other side of the parallel universe. He saw some buildings had collapsed in what he saw was a fairly modern and busy airport. He assumed it was from the inauguration day bombing. Reconstruction was moving along and the airport was crowded with travelers. As he headed for the exit he saw a bearded Middle Eastern man in a brown collared shirt and black pants holding a sign that said, “Mr. Berkant”. John walked up to the man who said quietly to John, “I’m Raintree. Follow me, we have car.”
A few steps away was a taxi waiting on the curb. Raintree told John to get in the back, and Raintree drove the taxi away from the airport. Raintree said, “I will take you to the hotel. You can get a good night’s sleep. At eight tomorrow morning I will pick you up and we will start working. After tomorrow you will stay with us, so check out. When I pick you up in the morning, wear dark slacks, dark shoes, and a long sleeve shirt. Do not speak English with me or anyone else unless you have to.”
“I can't speak any other language but English,” said John.
“Then keep quiet,” answered Raintree.
“You drive a taxi?” asked John, in English.
“Hey,” replied Raintree. “It’s a good gig. I pick up some extra cash and I can drive all over town. No one asks any questions.”
“How do I know who you are?” asked John.
“You don’t,” replied Raintree, “but Sarah said to say hello.”
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
LET US PRAY
“Religion has a place in another time, in another place, in a different world maybe, but not in this one, not in this cold, bottomless void where fear rules and hope dances alone in the dark.”
--Anonymous, commenting on the state of faith in the Middle East
“My name is Corey Raintree,” said Raintree when he picked up John in the taxi the next morning at precisely eight. They drove silently for fifteen minutes and turned into a six foot walled two story home in the middle of what was clearly a residential area. Raintree got out of the cab, opened the wood gate, and drove the taxi into the courtyard. John grabbed his duffel bag and followed him into the house. When John and Raintree entered the house, no one else was there.
“Have a seat.” He directed John to a sofa that was so low it was like sitting on the floor. Raintree said, “I'm from Detroit.”
“You don't look like you're from Detroit,” said John.
“It's a long story,” said Raintree. “I was born in Detroit. My family came to the U.S. from Persia when the Shah died in 1980. We spoke Farsi at home almost all of my life. I've been here several years.”
“What do you do while you are here?” asked John.
“The three of us who live here in this house are the American unofficial, unknown, and hopefully unseen 'presence' in Tehran. We don't do much. We have no specific assignment. Once in a while we are called upon to do something, or make a report, or send back our observations, but no one comes to us like you have. We usually do what we are told by the administrative guys who occupy the upstairs offices at the agency, and then go on with our uncomplicated lives in Tehran.
“Our group here is myself, Mac and Farah. Farah is also a 'presence', and she provides cover that we are a family. She is a secretary at the Tehran Province Water Company. She was born in Tehran and has no difficulty in the culture. She is Jewish. As a teenager she had some association with Israel before she came to the states, and has a legitimate Iranian passport. When we came here we ran across an abandoned orphan, a street urchin. We took him in. He was about six. We only speak Farsi when he is around so when you meet him I'll tell him you are a friend from Canada. With school and soccer he rarely is around, but he helps us maintain our cover as a family. He is purely Persian and knows nothing about us. He turned out to be a good kid. Does well in school. Hates America.”
“What am I supposed to do here?” asked John.
“There are about 600 mosques in Tehran. Apparently the big boys think there is strong evidence that this fellow Darby is in Tehran, and, as a loyal radical extremist baby killing Muslim, he will attend daily prayers. We will survey about fifty of the largest mosques in Tehran, which the bosses think is the right balance between succ
ess, and the useless expenditure of resources. We’ve told the higher ups that we think this is a waste of time. Having you here can breach our cover, put us a risk. But we’re stuck with you as our assignment. If you put us at risk, you are expendable; you are on your own. On the other hand, we know you have training, some experience and discipline. If there is anything someone needs to survive in this environment, it is discipline. Today I will show you how to pray, use the prayer rug, how to enter and exit a Mosque, what to do and what not to do. After that, and in the next few days, we’ll attend a few Mosques where the attitude is a bit loose, so that you can practice and get used to the environment. After you are comfortable, you and one of us will go to the morning and evening prayers at a different Mosque in the morning and evening, surveil the entrance and hopefully, John, you can spot him, this Darby guy. You will have to learn to use public transportation inside Tehran. There is so much traffic they have a pollution problem, and the government has restricted cars in certain areas of Tehran. Mac and Farah will be here later on this evening.
“Right now let’s get you started, and make things as simple as we can. The sooner you can get to the Mosques, the sooner we can get this assignment over. To let you know, you cannot wear your shoes into the Mosque, but Mosques let you exchange your shoes for a token, and you can pick them up afterward. Your shoes are a little too flashy for us. We'll stop tomorrow and get a pair of good used sandals for you. First, lay the rug on the ground.” He pulled a rug from a wicker basket next to the wall and showed John how to spread the rug. “Some of the better Mosque's already have rugs laid out in the prayer room. After you enter the Mosque, and are standing before the rug you have laid out, or the one provided by the Mosque, you will stand before it with your hands raised to shoulder level in front of you.” Raintree raised his hands in front of him and mumbled some unintelligible words that John could not understand. “You will have to quietly say 'Takbirat Al Ihram'. Then put your right hand over your left hand and put them over your chest. At that point whisper and mumble just like I said. I can’t teach you Farsi in one day, but that part of the prayer can be a whisper. Then bow in “Ruku” with your hands on your knees. Then you kneel on the rug and your knees have to be on the rug before your hands touch the rug.” Raintree bent over at the waist and put his hands on his knees. Raintree continued. “Then touch your forehead, nose, both hands and both knees, and the internal parts of your toes on the prayer rug. Obviously, if you have any kind of arthritis you can’t be a Muslim. Anyway, while prostrate mumble 'Subhana Rabbiyal A’ala'. There is more to say, but this is a lot for the first session. After being prostrate, rise to the sitting position, but now put your left outside part of your foot down on the ground. Turn your head to the right and then the left, and you are done. Everyone in the Mosque goes through this same ritual and you have to be in sync. At the same time, if you haven't seen Darby on your way in, you will have to look around while in the Mosque and see if you recognize him. I hope you can multi-task.”
Raintree handed John the prayer rug and showed him how to point the rug towards Mecca, and how to roll it back up after prayers. Raintree retrieved another prayer rug from the wicker basket. Raintree spread his rug again and showed John how to pray and John tried to follow along. John soon realized that the ritual was complex. Third world countries where guys have a lot of time on their hands establish complicated religious routines and litany, probably so they don't have to go to work. American Christians were wealthy because they could pray while they worked. Seems to have created a much more stable, successful and rich culture. But then the Persian culture surely has more than Persian Rugs and camel hair coats, you would think.
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
MAC
Raintree introduced John to the local currency and drilled him on the names of the coins and the denominations of the Rial, the Iranian currency, and the Toman. Raintree said, “The Toman is ancient money in Iran that isn't around anymore, like the British 'Quid'. It is slang and refers to ten Rials. Most of the time you'll pay for local transportation using 250, 500 and 1000 Rial notes or coins. You have to remember that the inflation rate here is 40% and prices change from week to week.”
Later in the afternoon Raintree drove John into the heart of Tehran. They parked the cab and Raintree took John on a bus ride, and showed him how to pay. “I don't know how long you will be here, or that you will need to know this stuff, but if you are here for more than a week, you probably will need to know.”
After the bus ride, Raintree told John to hop in the cab and they took a short tour of the city. As they drove around in the taxi, Raintree said, “I don't mind living in Tehran. I have been here a long enough to feel comfortable. I was raised speaking the language and there are many very nice people I have become acquainted with. That happens when you're a cab driver.”
John was impressed with the size and beauty of the mountains around Tehran, and the smog and dense traffic on the streets. Raintree told him, “It is hotter than hell during the Summer, and cold with some snow on the mountains in the winter.”
One thing we don't want here is exposure or unnecessary risk. None of us put ourselves into harm’s way unless it is required, and then we are very careful, so the risk level is low. Our in-country activity has increased lately and gives us a higher profile. I was a bit concerned when Washington wanted an insertion into our mission, but a lot of pressure was put on our group to comply. The consequences of risk and possible exposure are fatal. I have to admit, I was relieved when I learned about your history. A history of strict military discipline is reassuring. But a little warning, careful navigation in the city and around the Mosques is critical to avoid being noticed or arousing suspicion or detection.”
When they returned to the house John saw a man sitting on the couch. Raintree closed the door behind him and said, “Mac, this is the new guy.”
Raintree looked at John, “Mac, this is John.” Mac stood up. Mac looked about thirty, five foot ten inches tall. He was dressed in dark pants, a dark blue long sleeved shirt, and black shoes. He had a trimmed black goatee and mustache. His air was slicked straight back.
“Nice to meet you, but I have to get going,” said Mac. “I have evening prayers. If I get back at a decent hour, we can talk. See you then.” Mac left the room and John heard the door close behind him.
“Does Mac have a job?” asked John.
“Except working for Uncle Sam, Mac doesn't have a job. Mac goes to morning prayers, afternoon prayers, and evening prayers, usually at a various local Mosques. If he were devout, he would go to prayer five times like a good Muslim. But he hasn't the stomach for it. He goes because he picks up a lot of information and easily melts into the community. Mostly Mac hangs out, has coffee and talks with his buddies who don't have jobs either. At night, I don't know where he goes, but he gets lots of calls from women. Mac is short for Macbeth. His parents obviously had a sense of humor.”
“What are the women around here like?” asked John.
“If you're looking for a date,” said Raintree, “you'll have to ask Mac. But generally, if you want to get laid, you go to one of the underground dark bars, hang out until about two. The gals who are still there at two in the morning are available. Although I think Iranian woman are really good looking, at two o'clock in the morning the good looking gals are not the ones still hanging out at the bar. You will have to drastically lower your standards, or drink a lot of vodka. I think vodka is the best pill to cure ugly. This country has a lot of conservative aspects to it on a larger scale, but when they are off the public streets or not in public buildings, the gals act and dress differently. On the street the most common clothing is a head scarf, or a roo-sari to conceal the head and neck. The women wear a formless, knee-length coat known as a roo-poosh and a long dress or pair of pants. In and around holy sites women will wear a chādor, which is a full-length swathe of black cloth designed to cloak everything but your face from view.
“The younger women are fairl
y westernized and are pushing the boundaries of modesty with colorful head scarves that cover only a fraction of their hair, and figure-hugging roo-pooshes that reveal every curve of their bodies. Half the population is under 30 and changes are coming quickly. I like the changes, especially in the way these modern young girls are breaking through some restrictive customs and are dressing in a modern way. “Men have an easier time of things. Short-sleeved shirts and t-shirts are acceptable for daily wear. Shorts and three-quarter length pants are only acceptable on the beach. In the Mosque you have to wear a long sleeved shirt.”
John heard the front door open and close. A moment later a tall, dark haired woman came into the room wearing a roo-sari and a roo-poosh. “Farah, this is John,” said Raintree.
She unwrapped her scarf, took off the roo-poosh, draped them over her arm and put out her open hand to John. “Salâm.” She was stunning and exotic looking with black long hair, dark eyebrows and piercing brown eyes. “I hope your stay in Iran is brief and safe. I am sure when you leave you will never look back.” She smiled, left the room without saying anything else.
“She doesn't say much,” said Raintree. “Safardi Jews were, and still are, a critical asset for the Mossad. Safardi Jews are dark, look Middle Eastern and speak the language, not like the European Ashkenazi. If the Iranians think a guy is Jewish they strip him. If he is circumcised they kill him on the spot. I think she is with us now, and not the Mossad, because she had a bad experience with the Mossad, but I don't know. Like I said, she doesn't say much.”
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
THE MOSQUE
The next week John and Raintree visited the Jameh Mosque of Hamedan, the Sheik Loft Allah Mosque, the Agha Boozorg Mosque and the Shah Abdol Azim Mosque among many other he could not name. John became practiced in the ritual of Muslim prayer, and even was able to adapt to the slightly different prayers in the different Mosques. He realized the he was nondescript and received no special attention or notice among the devout. He became comfortable in the Mosques and felt a strange sense of peace as he followed the rituals he now performed almost automatically. He was impressed by the size of even the smallest Mosques, but not with the dirt and filth of the area around the Mosques and sometimes inside the Mosques.
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