The Last Man in Tehran

by Mark Henshaw

  “Maybe. The bigger questions are whether we can find Amiri and if he’ll talk to us,” Barron countered. “MI6 might be able to arrange a meeting if he’s still one of their assets. Anything else?”

  Kyra frowned. The director’s body language betrayed a higher level of stress than she had seen in him before. “Something new?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir. The IG investigated Fallon and several members of his team when Todd disappeared. Some of them appear on different access lists for the intel recovered at Banshee Reeks, but none of them appears on all of the lists. So either one mole has figured out how to breach one or more compartments, or we have several moles and they’re working together.”

  “Our own Cambridge Five?” Barron asked. “The Washington Post will label them the Langley Five or whatever number we end up dealing with.”

  “Sir, with Salem burned, the only lead we’ve got now is this Todd cable. Let me go to Iran—”

  “No,” Barron said. “The mullahs would arrest you for breathing while American.”

  “Sir, you’re the one who’s been saying we need to find this mole quickly. This is the only way I see to do that . . . and it might give us an opportunity to accomplish something else.”

  “And that is?”

  “Find Sam Todd. I think she was trying to meet with Amiri when she disappeared. Amiri might know what happened to her. In fact, he might be the only one who knows what happened to her.”

  “So, find the mole, find the strontium source, and find Sam Todd, all in one stroke? Sounds like a pipe dream.”

  “We won’t know if we don’t go.”

  Barron hesitated, a worried look on his worn face. “There are rules to the spy game, and the Iranians don’t play by them.”

  “I know, sir, but the reward is worth the risk. I don’t know if she’s alive or dead, but neither does her family and that’s not right. If she’s still out there, we should do everything to bring her home. If she’s not, we should find out so someone can tell her loved ones. Even if that’s all we found out, it would be worth it.”

  Barron frowned at her. “Why does it matter to you?”

  “Sir, you know I’ve been caught in denied territory. Jon pulled me out of Venezuela, you pulled me out of Russia. Todd deserves the same, but right now all I see is a cold case that no one else is working on. I think we owe her better.”

  Barron sighed and considered the woman for a minute. “I’ll call Sir Ewan and see if they’ll help us out. If they’re willing to provide cover for you over there, you’ll have a bit of a safety net. How’s your British accent?”

  “Nonexistent.”

  “It’ll take me a day or two to set things up, assuming Sir Ewan cooperates. Learn fast.”

  The Red Cell Vault

  Kyra punched Rhodes’s number into her secure phone.

  “Rhodes.”

  “This is Stryker. We’ve got a possible connection between one of our people and your case.”

  “Who?”

  “William Fallon. I’ll show you the file when you get here,” Kyra promised.

  “Did you dredge his name up just because he lives in that subdivision?”

  “Yes, but there’s more to him. He was investigated a few years ago.”

  “So he’s got motive,” Rhodes observed. “What did he do to earn time under the bright lights in a dark room with some of your people?”

  “You’ll need to come to Langley and sign some forms before we can talk about it. But if Hadfield knows Fallon, it might explain how Mossad got Hadfield’s name for a pitch.”

  “I’ll be there in an hour.”

  Kyra cradled the phone and stared at her computer, not seeing anything on the monitor. Then she picked up the phone again and dialed another number.

  “This is Hadfield.”

  “This is Kyra Stryker from the Red Cell. Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

  The Red Cell Vault

  “Have you ever met Bill Fallon?” Kyra asked. Hadfield sat across from her and had protested having to answer questions while Rhodes was in the room. Kyra, in a taxing fit of diplomacy, had convinced the analyst to stay.

  “I’ve heard the name. Nothing good,” Hadfield replied.

  “What’ve you heard?”

  “That he was involved in something in Iraq that maybe got someone killed,” Hadfield admitted. “Stuff like that, you hear about the big picture, but they don’t share the details around the building. If it gets out into the open, it makes the Agency look bad. Why are you asking?”

  “We can’t tell you that,” Rhodes cut in. “Just answer the questions, please.”

  “Did he pass my name to Mossad?” Hadfield asked.

  “What makes you ask that?” The FBI officer shifted in his seat.

  “Mossad thought I was worth pitching, so someone told them my story,” Hadfield offered.

  “Did you hear anything else about Mr. Fallon?”

  Hadfield grimaced at some hidden memory. “That he would have lied to the pope’s face during confession?”

  “Don’t get cute,” Rhodes ordered.

  “You’re picking my brain about a guy I’ve never met,” Hadfield retorted. “What am I supposed to say? Anything I can tell you wouldn’t even qualify as hearsay.”

  “Who else knew about your son?” Rhodes asked. “Would Fallon know?”

  “Plenty of people knew, after the fact. I don’t know how many. That kind of story gets around the building, too. Maybe Fallon heard it from someone.”

  “That’s a weak answer,” Rhodes told him.

  “It’s the only one I’ve got.”

  “Where’s your ex-wife?”

  Hadfield rocked back at the question. “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her in a long time. Why do you care?”

  “Maybe she’s got a better answer.”

  “And maybe you’re an idiot.”

  “How about I charge you with obstruction? How about that?”

  “How about I show you the finger and then show myself the door?” Hadfield asked.

  “I think that would be a mistake—” Rhodes started.

  “I know what you think,” Hadfield said, cutting him off. “I don’t care. I’ve seen people like you, playing games when real people are the pieces on the board and everyone’s life gets torn up no matter how things play out. You want people like me to be afraid of you or just not have the spine to push back when you give an order you don’t really have the authority to give, so you can control the situation. The fact is, after a doctor tells you that your child has one of the nastiest forms of cancer around, you suddenly see just how stupid most people and their little games really are. Then you watch that little boy go through more pain in a year than most people go through in their whole lives and it makes you see things right. Five years ago, I would’ve jumped at the chance to hit the street and be a pawn on your board . . . play in the big game, have a little excitement, and boost my own career. But frankly, sir, now I’m just tired. I’ve lost my wife and my boy. So it’ll take more than threats from you to make me dance because the idea of losing my job and going bankrupt just doesn’t raise my blood pressure anymore.”

  Kyra stood, walked to the vault door, and threw it open. Surprised, the men in the room looked up. “Special Agent Rhodes, would you step outside a moment, please?”

  “No. Now close that door or—”

  “If you don’t step outside right now, the next person who will come through that door will be Director Barron. Once I tell him how you’ve treated this man without cause, I have no doubt he’ll be on the phone to your director before our security officers get you out the front door,” Kyra said.

  Rhodes frowned, then stood up and walked out, and Kyra began to close the door behind him. Confused, Rhodes put his hand on the door to stop her. “You said you wanted to step outside.”

  “I said I wanted you to step outside. I didn’t say I was going with you.” Kyra shut the door on him, then returned to the table.

&
nbsp; “He’s not coming back in?” Hadfield asked.

  “His badge isn’t on the access list,” Kyra told him. “He’s not coming back in until I let him.” The door buzzed to make the point. Kyra ignored it.

  “So you’re the good cop?”

  “I’m not a cop at all. I’m Agency, just like you, so I couldn’t arrest you if I wanted to,” Kyra told him. “Now let’s talk, just us.”

  “I already told you, I’ve never met Bill Fallon.”

  “I believe you,” Kyra assured him. “That’s not the only reason I asked you to come. The Bureau arrested Adina Salem who pitched you. You won’t be seeing her again. Rhodes caught her trying to recover a dead drop. One of the docs inside the package was a cable written by one of our officers, a woman named Sam Todd.”

  Hadfield exhaled, long and slow, before speaking again. “She’s the one who went missing in Iraq.”

  “Yes. Bill Fallon was her boss at the time. That’s why we asked if you knew him. If you did, he would’ve become, shall we say, a person of interest.”

  “Do you know what happened to Todd?”

  “No,” Kyra said. “I’m just trying to piece together what happened, and I appreciate your cooperation.” She sighed and leaned back. “Go on back to your office. I’ll call you if I need to ask you anything else.”

  “What about Agent Douche out in the hall?”

  “I’ll handle him.”

  Hadfield ran a hand through his hair, his frustration obvious. “Fine,” he said. “But if you guys do need me for anything else, you ask the questions.” He pointed at the door. “I don’t want to talk to that guy again.”

  “I can’t promise that,” Kyra admitted.

  • • •

  Hadfield stomped out past Rhodes when Kyra opened the door. The FBI officer was tempted to detain the fuming analyst but Kyra motioned him back into the vault. “You do that again—” he began.

  “Why don’t you stop with the threats? They haven’t gotten anyone to work with you so far. I can’t imagine why you think it’ll start working now,” Kyra advised.

  Rhodes fought down his temper, trying to control the surging anger. He succeeded, but just barely. “I’m getting tired of you people not cooperating with me.”

  “Agent Rhodes, you’re ambitious. I get that. You want to break this case because it’ll make your career. I get that, too. But you’ll get a lot further a lot faster if you’ll stop trying to beat everyone around you into submission. You came in here expecting us to throw up the barricades—”

  “Which you did.”

  “Only because you didn’t come in peace. You came looking for us to give you trouble and you treated us accordingly before we’d done anything. So all this grief you’re catching is your own karma coming back on you. Anytime you’re ready to actually work with me, I’ll work with you,” Kyra finished.

  Rhodes stared at the woman, trying to come up with some sexist name he could level at her. After a moment, he finally decided against tossing out any insult at all. “What did he tell you?” he asked.

  “You heard the good stuff. After I left you in the hall, I spent the time trying to calm him down, a job for which I have little patience or skill.”

  “You’d better keep me in the loop on anything you find,” Rhodes demanded.

  “Contrary to your paranoia, we are professionals and haven’t withheld anything from you that you’re cleared to receive. You’ll know something as soon as we do,” Kyra said.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Beit Aghion (residence of the prime minister)

  Jerusalem, Israel

  The prime minister’s call had not been unexpected. The American news services had broken the story of Adina Salem’s arrest, leaked by some glory hound at the FBI, and Ronen had known the prime minister would want to hear the facts that no journalist could have known. So the ramsad had called the embassy in Washington to gather what details he could, committed them only to memory, and waited in his office for the summons.

  The old man had been surprisingly cordial about it, offering Ronen the usual drinks and engaging in conversation about trivial matters for a few minutes before finally attacking the subject at hand. “You know that the American ambassador demarched me earlier today.”

  “The arrest of our officer in Virginia.”

  “Yes.”

  Ronen nodded. “I am surprised President Rostow did not call you to perform the deed personally.”

  “He despises me, deeply enough, I suppose, that it overcame any desire he had to humiliate me himself. How is your officer?”

  “Geveret Salem? The FBI released her per Article Nine of the Vienna Convention on Diplomatic Relations and the State Department has declared her persona non grata, as expected. She is on her way home,” Ronen told him. It was normal for a foreign national to be given a few days to leave the country they had offended, so they could close their affairs, though the deadline could be shortened in unusual cases. Salem was a single woman and had not been in Washington long enough to acquire much that would need to be shipped back to Tel Aviv. Arranging her departure had been straightforward. “In any case, you have my apology for the embarrassment this has caused Israel. I will offer my resignation, if you wish.” He had a letter for that purpose in his coat pocket.

  The prime minister waved away the suggestion. “We should not try to change horses in the middle of the river, as one of the American presidents liked to say. But it appears your new friend at the CIA was a dangle after all,” the old man observed.

  “No, I think not,” Ronen replied.

  The prime minister raised an eyebrow. “Then how did the FBI know that she was one of yours?”

  “I am uncertain,” the ramsad admitted. “But the information that Shiloh gave us on Salehi was accurate and far too sensitive for him to have been a dangle. No, something else breached Salem’s cover. She reported that Shiloh was ready to give her the names of several other officers prepared to help our cause. She may have pitched one who reported the encounter. She would not have given her name, but perhaps he was able to identify her for the FBI. That is the only theory I have, unless she committed some other error that she failed to report.”

  The prime minister hid his frown behind his glass of alcohol, which he drained before speaking again. “She was inexperienced?” he asked.

  “She is young, but not raw,” Ronen said. “She performed very well for us in several operations in Egypt and the Muslim communities in France, so we thought she was ready to try Washington. But the United States is a very different culture. Salem has a bias toward action that did not serve her well there. It put her at great risk with little hope for any reward. So she will come home and we will reassign her to another field.”

  “You will not terminate her position within Mossad?” Israel’s senior leader had little patience for failure.

  Ronen shook his head. “In these times, we need every officer and she is a good one. Her failure was as much my fault as her own. We simply need to find the right place and the right targets for her, a team where that instinct for action will be an asset instead of a disadvantage. We have no shortage of those now.”

  The old man nodded. “It is your decision, of course. Has this endangered your ‘Shiloh’?”

  Ronen didn’t answer his superior for a moment. The truth was that he had spent little time thinking about anything else since he had learned of Salem’s detention, and he was still unsure of the answer. “I cannot answer that. The FBI recovered Shiloh’s package, so we do not know everything it contained and cannot guess whether they can identify him through it. But the Americans are not stupid. They know for certain now that they have a mole, but I have too little information to say whether this affair has left him in any immediate danger . . .” Ronen trailed off, his mind still working on the problem. He shook his head. “We cannot calculate the risks without knowing all of the variables and we know less than I would like about our asset.”

  “Then he is dangerous,” t
he prime minister observed.

  “Yes,” Ronen agreed. “I am told that he contacted us and offered to deliver the information to us at another site. I approved the operation—”

  “And you trust that he is not setting up your people?”

  “How could one ever trust a person who betrays his own country? Such men are useful, yes. To be trusted? Never. But I believe he still wants to help us.” The Mossad director stood and began to button his suit jacket. “If you will excuse me, sir, I must get back. Our Washington office will be calling back on whether we have Shiloh’s package.”

  “Of course,” the older man said. “But you must be careful, Gavi. This affair with Salem will pass. I think that Haifa has earned us enough sympathy in the United States that we might be forgiven once, but a second offense of this kind could cost us more goodwill than we can spare.”

  “I understand,” Ronen replied. “And if my instincts about Shiloh are wrong, you must accept my resignation in the morning.”

  “I will regret it very much if that becomes necessary,” the prime minister told him.

  Ben’s Chili Bowl

  Washington, DC

  The Mossad agent finished the half smoke and wiped his face with a napkin. It was impossible to eat the hot dog in any kind of dignified fashion, slathered as it was in the chili that Americans loved so much, along with a ridiculous amount of mustard and chopped onions that had caused his mouth to burn and surely would do the same to his stomach later. Even the wildly misnamed “healthy options” on the menu were buried under ladles of the meat stew, and the turkey burgers did nothing for the patron’s health when they were paired with an enormous basket of chili cheese fries. This eatery was a landmark in the district, over seventy years old, but the Israeli man thought it a miracle that it had any repeat customers. They should all have dropped dead of a clogged artery after a single outing.