The Iranian Intercept

by R G Ainslee

  Wilson, sensing my annoyance, spoke with a conciliatory tone, "Brannan, despite what Colonel Hansen and the agency people think, we are taking this matter seriously. The Soviets just didn't kill the Kayroli woman in a fit of pique. There must have been a substantial reason behind it. They took a big risk killing her in a third country. Now, we need to determine why."

  "Yeah, it was crystal clear they didn't want her to get away. If I had more resources available — some back-up — it might have been a different story."

  Wilson bristled. "Her death was unfortunate, but under the circumstances, unavoidable. You're fortunate Richards and Ruiz arrived on the scene and engaged Suslov and his team. I can assure you we have learned a lesson from this incident. We will always have back-up available on site in the future."

  Thought to myself: But she's still dead.

  John Smith said, "I've received input from Langley on this Major Suslov. He's an identified KGB officer, but Nepal seems to be off the beaten track for him. Hasn't been associated with run-of-the mill security details before, must have been there for a specific purpose. His work seems to have been in Iran and Turkey, monitoring our outposts in those countries. Our first contact with him was in Sinop two years ago when he attempted to recruit an Army Spec-4."

  "What was the guy's MOS?" I asked, wondering what military occupational specialty he targeted.

  "Morse code intercept operator. Seems he tried to blackmail him. The report don't say why."

  A ditty-bopper, those guys are a breed apart. Have to be to listen to all that dit-dot-dit business all day. "Did CID or the Turks ever manage to take Suslov into custody?"

  "No, he always slipped away. All they obtained was a few photographs, never established a verifiable identity. Earlier this year we spotted him in Iran when he tried to penetrate the IBEX project. The Iranian's traced him back to the Soviet embassy and identified him through a contact in the Soviet legation."

  I leaned forward. "Did they attempt to pick him up?"

  "Negative. They were satisfied just to maintain a light surveillance contact on him. Sometimes you can learn more that way. In any case, he wouldn't have talked."

  "So, did they keep him under observation?"

  "Until three months ago. He returned to Moscow on what appeared to be a routine change of duty station. His appearance in Nepal was the first sighting since then."

  "Any known relationship to Marsden?" asked Michaels.

  "Not that we can tell, but our knowledge of his movements and activities inside the Soviet Union are nil."

  I said, "He's a tough customer. Just the way he carries himself is enough to set off an alarm. He's in good shape and obviously knows want he's doing. Don't care to meet up with him again. He told me point-blank, it wasn't over."

  Mack shifted in his chair. "Ross, tell us how you all made it back from Nepal."

  "When we returned to the Kathmandu airport, Al Harris suggested we not go back into the city. We waited at the airline hanger until he arranged a flight out to India on the first commercial flight. I have to say, he came through big time. We flew from Patna to Calcutta and caught a direct flight to Bangkok. Then a Navy flight to Okinawa and back to the states, a quick trip around the world. My body still hasn't caught up."

  Amadeo yawned. "Me neither." Jack nodded in agreement.

  John Smith broke in, "Received a teletype from Harris this morning. Seems the Soviets nosed around all over Kathmandu, trying to find you. They tried to convince the Nepalese authorities you kidnapped and murdered the Hungarian woman."

  "Yeah, but we were traveling on untraceable false passports. They don't have our real identities, do they?"

  "No, and if the Russians know, they likely won't push it too far. Then they'll have some explaining to do. Harris is laying down a few false leads for the police and the Soviets. Don't expect any problems. The Nepalese will most likely just want the thing to go away."

  "What about Suslov? Any sign of him?"

  "Suslov showed up on a flight from Lukla two days later and left on the same day on a commercial flight for Delhi. He seems to have dropped off the radar again."

  "How about the Ukrainian, Kuban?"

  "He didn't come back to Kathmandu with Suslov, must have stayed up at base camp. Harris believes that was his assignment anyway."

  Amadeo said, "Jack thinks he may have winged him."

  "We have no independent confirmation, but if Richards says he was on target you can go to the bank with that."

  Jack remained silent without revealing any emotion.

  Mack addressed Wilson, "How are we going to pursue the matter? She appeared to be sure about this new project and indicated Marsden may become involved. Any word on his whereabouts?"

  Wilson signaled to John Smith with a flick of his jaw.

  "Again, my contacts at Langley placed Marsden in Syria two days ago. Expect he's back in Russia by now."

  "Any idea what means he used to escape from the Mexican prison?" I asked.

  "El dinero, siempre el dinero. A prison shift supervisor disappeared the same day. Money talks, so draw your own conclusions."

  Mack asked again, "What now?"

  Wilson summarized the problem: "According to Brannan's information, in January, the Russian's will initiate a new series of air defense rocket tests involving the Sary-Shagan test facilities. The system reportedly has an undetectable guidance system and an operational altitude of more than 30,000 meters.

  "We are already aware of the new S-300 air defense system. However, their problem with the guidance system is news. According to her, the original guidance package was a track via missile system that experienced problems with targets below 500 meters. She further indicates a pure command-guidance system has been substituted as a temporary fix."

  "Apparently, Marsden offered a third choice, a major breakthrough," said Michaels. "One he claimed would be undetectable and not vulnerable to conventional countermeasures."

  "Is that all we have, anything to back up her story?" I asked, knowing that Wilson wouldn't reveal all he knew. Not being obstructionist, just maintaining tight compartmentalization of critical information and sources.

  "No. That's about it. We don't have any other hard data, except for the fragmentary intercepts from T-2 in Iran. We have taken steps to add this signal to the site's high-priority target list. Unfortunately, the folks at Fort Meade and Langley don't believe something new might exist. They don't like to think outside the preconceived model, so we're on hold until additional intelligence becomes available."

  Mack shook his head. "Same old story, they ignore our data from the field and engage in endless turf battles over who is responsible for what. In the end, rigid expectations may take us down the wrong path and leave us blind to a threat that's real and near."

  "Wilson responded, "That's a prime reason I pushed so hard for the SSRP concept. We're going to find out."

  "Where do we go from here?" I asked, hoping to be able to return home. Lisette was waiting. We missed our first Christmas together and felt the need to make up for lost time.

  "Brannan, you and your team will return to Kirtland to await orders. Captain Barker arrives at Andrews this evening. I want you all out of here ASAP before certain people start asking questions again. It will take a while to secure authorization to pursue the matter — but it will be done — I promise you. Rest up for a few days and be ready to move out at a moment's notice. Your next stop will be Iran."

  Sunday, 31 December: Roadrunner Apartments, Albuquerque

  Barker dropped me off at the apartment after a long day in the air. He wasn't happy to make an overnight turn-around. Jack and Amadeo managed to sleep on the way. I spelled Barker at the controls for a couple of hours. Lisette met me at the door.

  "Ouch." A searing pain shot through my side when she hugged me with passion.

  "Oh, désolé, I am sorry … I hurt you … what is problem?"

  "It's just a cut on my ribcage, still a little tender."

  "Y
ou are hurt. How?" Her eyes told the story, in trouble again. "Permit me to see."

  "No, it's okay." I protested, knowing only too well I was destined to lose the argument.

  A stern uncompromising stare told me I had already lost. "Permettez-moi de voir. — Now."

  I removed my shirt, revealing a bandage. "Not as serious as it looks."

  She peeled back the bandage. "Is not a cut, d'une balle." Her expression hardened into a mixture of anger and concern.

  "Okay, a stray bullet nicked me, it's nothing."

  "A stray? Je ne comprends pas.

  "Yeah, a stray, like Raven, a stray cat from nowhere in particular."

  "The balle does not come from a cat, it come from un pistolet. Tell me — do not hide this."

  I gave in and spilled the beans, leaving out the part about Valentina's death.

  She hugged me gently, tilted her face up, her breath warm and sweet. "Now you are home, do not leave again." She gave me an affectionate kiss. "Ne me quitte pas."

  From the beginning, I was determined to have an open and honest relationship. Took a deep breath and swallowed hard.

  "There's something I gotta tell you." She gazed into my eyes, puzzled. Just did get it out, "Gonna have to leave again in a few days."

  "No." The puzzled look shifted to anger. "Non, ne me quitte pas … do not leave me … not again." She tensed, cold to my touch, her eyes filled with tears.

  "I don't want to go away. It's my job. You know I can't tell you why, please trust me." My heart twisted with regret. It seems every time I leave, something bad happens. "I have a duty. It's what I do."

  "Where do you go?" Her voice almost inaudible, "I want you to stay."

  "I'll be going to Iran, but only for a few weeks."

  Her fingers trembled as she placed a hand over her mouth. A wave of gloom clouded her features. "Iran — Pourquoi? … Why? … C'est le chaos. You will be en danger. — Non!"

  We stared into each other's eyes and I embraced her. "Don't cry," I begged, holding her. "It’s my job, you know that. I'll return soon as I can."

  Lisette closed her eyes, lowered her head, and mumbled a string of Latin-sounding words. After a few moments, she made the sign of the cross. A serious look of resolve came over her face. The tears faded into an air of serious determination, and she began to speak, her voice clear and composed. "You have un devoir … a duty. I know. When must you go?"

  "Not sure, perhaps in a few days. We can still go up to Santa Fe to ski."

  "No — We stay home." She spun abruptly and glided into the kitchen.

  I was relieved, she accepted it, but gave in too easily. It promised to be a tense New Year's Eve. I sat down. The cat jumped onto my lap and I scratched his chin, triggering a low purr. A familiar pop echoed from the kitchen, followed by the sound of a cork ricocheting off the ceiling.

  "Come we have champagne — Bonne année."

  12 ~ 1979

  Tuesday, 2 January 1979: Kirtland Air Force Base

  The weekend worked out better than expected. Lisette seemed to accept my trip to Iran and we spent the weekend making up for lost time. With snow in the forecast and my side still too sore for cycling, Lisette dropped me off at the office in our only vehicle, the Toyota pickup.

  I planned to buy a car when, or should it be if, the insurance company paid the fire damage claim on my cabin in Arizona. The place burned to the ground after the Cuban major dropped his cigarette onto the dry pine needles across the road. Not entirely his fault though, I’d have done the same with an arrow sticking through my neck.

  "If Jim can't give me a ride home, I'll call. Okay?"

  "Yes, Je t'aime." She replied with a hint of coolness.

  Alice greeted me, cheerful and upbeat, "Welcome back, we missed you, Happy New Year." I almost believed her. "Sergeant Hardy asked to speak to you … when you arrived." I checked the clock. I was early.

  "Where's he at?"

  "His shop."

  Tech Sergeant Joe Hardy, a twenty-five-year-old redneck from Georgia and electronics genius, served as our equipment maintenance technician. Stopped at my office first and then strolled down the hall.

  "Alice said you want to see me."

  "You gonna be here for Super Bowl weekend?"

  "Not sure, may have to leave in a hurry. What's up?"

  "Big T n' me are tryin' to set up a party to watch the game." Big T was Joe's nickname for Sergeant Theo George. For some reason, they seemed to be best buddies.

  "You mean you're still interested after the Falcons lost."

  "Hey, your Broncos lost too. But we can always party."

  I was genuinely disappointed about Denver's decisive loss to the Steelers. At this point, didn't care who played, so long as it wasn't the Cowboys.

  "Let me check with the wife. American football is still a mystery to her."

  "Okay, let me know, need to know how much beer to buy."

  "How did the test go last week?" In my absence, Joe took my place on a routine antenna test flight down to Holloman Air Force Base.

  "Great. Tommy and Ray should be up here later this week." Tech Sergeant Tommy Bonds, NCOIC of our White Sands Detachment K-2. Sergeant Raymond Ortiz the equipment technician. They operated a mobile van filled with equipment for antenna testing and were qualified radar and telemetry signal analysts.

  "There you are." Sergeant George almost filled the doorframe. "Captain Barker wants to see you out on the flight line."

  * * *

  I was about to enter my office when Alice blurted out, "Colonel Wilson called, told him you'd call back." She was busy chatting with Jack Richards. Appeared she had a serious crush on him and he seemed to enjoy it. Wasn't aware if they dated or anything.

  "Call him back on the secure line and—" She wasn't listening. "Alice."

  "Yes, I heard. I'll call right away."

  Jack grinned and ambled on down to the office he shared with Amadeo.

  The phone rang before I had a chance to get comfortable. "Brannan, where have you been? We have a new development. Our operational timeline has moved forward. You need to get ready to leave ASAP."

  "What kind of development?"

  "A CIA resource indicated the Soviets are ready for a series of air-defense missile tests. The new information tends to dovetail with the Kayroli woman's story. We don't have access to the source data, but most important, the Air Force brass in the Pentagon is now concerned. They want confirmation and additional data. Consequently, we just received authorization to send Raven-One to Iran."

  "What are we supposed to do when we get there? Do we bring our gear and what about the aircraft?"

  "No, you will fly as an observer on IBEX missions. Arrangements are being made as we speak. You can't take the Aero Commander to Iran. It's too risky. Captain Barker will remain at Kirtland and continue the test program."

  "I'm going alone?" That uncomfortable feeling returned.

  "No. Ruiz and Richards will accompany you. The situation in Iran is becoming increasingly difficult and we don't need to take any chances."

  The prospect of some backup made me feel a little better, but not much. "When do we leave?" I wanted a few more days with Lisette. Wasn't sure the absence-makes-the-heart-grow-fonder concept was working out too well.

  "Barker will fly your Raven-One team to McGuire Air Force Base in New Jersey. From there the Military Airlift Command will take over. Expect you will probably go by way of Frankfurt. Take a minimum amount of gear. You will just be an observer. They'll have everything you need in the way of technical facilities."

  "What about weapons?" I sure didn't want to go into the Iranian caldron without any personal protection.

  "Weapons selection will be up to Ruiz and Richards. They'll need to inquire about the possibility of taking weapons into Iran. I'm not sure at this point."

  * * *

  Things were moving fast. Barker was perturbed, his second trip in a week. Even more upset he was left behind again.

  "Thought when I s
igned on with this outfit, I'd see some action."

  "You're welcome to take my place." I'd seen enough action. "Seriously, I need you and Sarah to keep an eye on Lisette. When I told her about the trip, she took it a little strange."

  "In what way?"

  "I convinced her too easy. I don't know, maybe Sarah can talk to her." Sarah, Barker's wife, and Lisette were good friends, having met in Kenya. Sarah minored in French at Ohio State and spoke it well according to Lisette. I wouldn't know.

  "At least I won't have to dig out the charts again. They're still in the cockpit."

  * * *

  Jack and Amadeo seemed excited about going to Iran. It was right up their alley. They were practicing Farsi and stuffing gear into a large bag.

  "Pardon the interruption, but did you ever decide about on the weapons issue?"

  Jack said, "No problem, we're going in on an Air Force flight. We can take what we need."

  Amadeo held up an Israeli Uzi. "We decided on short barreled weapons this time, 9-mil Uzi's and Browning Hi-Powers."

  "Got anything for me?"

  "Let me see." Jack opened the weapons safe and stepped back to examine the contents. "Amadeo said you fired the Sig at the range. Think that'll be okay with you?"

  "No, I'd rather carry a forty-five. The situation over there may call for serious firepower."

  "We need to stick to one kind of ammo, try this one." He handed me the Sig P210, a Swiss police semi-auto.

  "I'd prefer something with a little more power than a 9-millimeter."

  Jack narrowed his eyes. "When I trained with the British SAS, a veteran sergeant told me: if you're not a competent shooter, carry a larger caliber. They consider 9-mil an expert's gun. Amadeo told me about your shooting skills, so don't sweat it."

  I wasn't a bad shot, having honed my marksmanship as a teenager herding cattle on my uncle's ranch. I learned to snap off quick shots from the saddle with a twenty-two, whenever I spotted a rattler. Skills that saved my life a couple times in Kenya when I nailed goons working for the now departed Major Gurrero.

  His logic was reasonable. Didn't like it but didn't want to argue the point. "Okay. I'll need extra magazines. Want to be prepared."