by R G Ainslee
"Don't you have twenty-four-hour coverage?"
"Most of the time. They always know when we'll have a lull and take advantage of the window of opportunity. Remember, the original intercept was by the T-2 ground station. It happened we were on the ground."
"Didn't know that. Do you think I'd have a better chance at T-2?"
"Perhaps, but the signal quality wouldn't be as good. The aircraft affords us more exposure to the systems in the launch phase. In my opinion, if you want a useful data set, this is the place to be."
I wanted to ask how much longer he thought we would be flying with the Iranians, but owing to the Iranian operator's close proximity, decided against it. I remembered McKenna's warning and held any qualms to myself. It could wait until we landed.
My thoughts drifted to Lisette. Still hadn't heard from her, no letters or calls. The Iranian postal and telephone systems appeared to be near collapse. Maybe she just couldn't get through.
An hour later, the chief operator signaled off-watch, and I closed down my position, disappointed and frustrated. Had a feeling it wouldn't be the last time.
Wednesday, 17 January: Tehran, Iran
Sergeant Ahmed our Iranian crew chief stuck his head into my small office. "Men to see you."
I couldn't imagine who it could be. "Okay, send 'em in."
Mack Gibson and another man ambled through the door.
"Mack — what are you doing here?"
"Good to see you too, Ross."
Jumped up and shook his hand. "What brings you to this part of the world?" The other man: in his late twenties, fit, not subtly dressed, obviously from Langley.
"Ross, this is Rick Masters, John Smith arranged for him to accompany me on this trip."
I was right. "Good to meet you, welcome to Iran."
"Thanks. Mister Smith told me to check in with our people here."
Picked up the phone and asked Jack to come to my office. "Jack Richards will be here in a moment, he'll brief you on the situation." I motioned to Mack. "Come on. Let's go out on the flight line."
We left the small office and strolled past technicians working on a small aircraft. Didn't want the Iranians to overhear us, still didn't know whom to trust. Better to play it safe and trust no one.
Mack asked, "How are things here? Watching the news back home made it sound pretty wild."
"It's crazy. You know Amadeo got shot?"
"Yes, how's he doing?
"He's going to be fine. It looked pretty bad, but he'll be okay."
"We noticed a lot of security in Teheran."
"Yeah, tensions are high. Martial law is in effect and a curfew starts at 2100. Anyone on the streets runs the risk of being picked up by an army patrol."
"What was it like yesterday? Looks like we missed the excitement."
"Absolutely nuts, you should have been here after the Shah left town." The shah finally decided he was doomed without American backing and flew to Egypt with his wife.
"I heard he piloted the aircraft himself."
"That's what they reported. We were at the airfield and watched the Boeing 727 circle back over the city and then turn and fly away."
"What about the people, are they behind the Shah, or with Khomeini?"
"Sentiment was running against the Shah, big time. A few days ago, they said two million marched in a big rally against him. He definitely overplayed his hand. Things are spinning out of control."
"Was everyone happy to see him go?"
"Just about. A half-hour after he left, Tehran Radio made an announcement that set off a huge celebration. People yelled, 'The Shah is gone. — The Shah is gone.' Statues of the Shah toppled, people danced in the streets, soldiers placed red carnations down the barrels of their rifles — an uncontrollable situation. My landlord told me an old Persian proverb, the people are drunk on the wine."
"Is there an upwelling of support for the Ayatollah?"
"Every street and square named for the Shah was renamed for Khomeini and thousands of Khomeini posters replaced the Shah's portrait. Happened in a flash."
"The Shah's gone for good?"
"Think so, but a lot of Iranians believe he'll return backed by the CIA and the British. That makes our position here a little trickier."
"How about security on the base? Are our people worried?"
"It's okay here, the Iranian Air Force guys aren’t sure which way to jump, they're really nervous. Rumors are a dime a dozen over here. The most frequent involves the air force, always regarded as the elite service. According to the latest rumors, they executed more than 100 warrant officers for taking part in anti-Shah demonstrations. A lot of our guys have bailed out, going back home."
"Sounds worse than I thought."
"Do you have any idea what they have planned for us, if … I mean when it hits the fan?"
"The Administration anticipates a worst-case scenario, they are preparing to remove some operations from Iran. We have a narrow window of opportunity to catch this signal."
"About what I expected. Is it true they called back the fleet? We heard all sorts of rumors."
"Afraid so. They ... well, you know what I mean?"
"Sure."
How are you guys fitting in over here?"
"Amadeo is able to blend in. His Farsi is good enough to pass for an ethnic minority from one of the southern provinces. He dresses the part and is able to cruise the street without attracting attention."
"Saw him when we came in, a remarkable transition. How about Richards?"
"Jack tried to pass as an Azeri, without much success. He thought his mustache might help him pull-it-off, even dyed his hair dark. Didn't work, for some reason people think he's Russian, which irritates him to no end. But at least he's able to communicate."
"And you?"
"Don't speak Farsi and look hopelessly American, attract attention wherever I go."
As we turned to walk back to the office, Mack dropped a bombshell, "What do you make of the new signal fragment from T-2?"
"New signal? You mean from last year?"
"No. T-2 received a fragmentary signal last week. Parameters about the same, but... You mean they didn't tell you?"
"Hell no, they didn't tell me. — I'm not surprised. How did you find out?"
"It was noted on the daily SIGINT summary and I looked it up on the intercept log after it was transmitted. We receive one every day. I can't believe you weren't informed."
"Look Mack, things are confused over here. Maybe it was transmitted on an automated report. I don't think they're trying to obstruct me, but you never know."
'That's why I'm here, to get things straightened out."
"Yeah, a real vote of confidence for me."
"Don't worry, Wilson still has confidence in you, he recognizes the inherent problems involved in interagency rivalries, especially in a chaotic environment like this."
"Whatever. Tell me about the signal."
"Our best estimate is that it is associated with the new series of air defense rocket tests involving Sary-Shagan. It reportedly involves an advanced strategic air defense system with an operational altitude of more than 30,000 meters. This may be Marsden's third choice. We don't have any other hard data, except for the two fragmentary intercepts from T-2."
"Any new early warning and target acquisition systems been detected?"
"No, apparently they'll continue to use Tall King and Spoonrest radars."
"Same old stuff."
"Yes, but Soviet gear is simple and robust, it works." He was right, their systems may be three or four generations behind, but it is adequate for the job. It's not technologically advanced as ours, but they are still effective, and cost them a whole lot less.
"What do you think we're looking at?"
"The guidance system may use high band micro bursts, with a short pulse and a short wave length."
"That's what I think. High powered EHF micro bursts with low PRF, hard to detect and highly directional, difficult to detect and not
vulnerable to currently deployed countermeasures."
Mack added, "They may also have a new high-altitude rocket, with an operational altitude up to 100,000 feet, probably a development of the S-300 or SA-10a Grumble system."
"Where do we go from here? We may not have much time left. The situation is getting worse every day. No one knows what to expect when Khomeini arrives."
"We'll continue with the flights and hope for the best. I plan to stay for a week and make a final evaluation and recommendation to Wilson. We'll proceed on a day by day basis."
* * *
Later back at the apartment, I asked Jack about Rick Masters. "Is he one of John Smith's new guys, what's the story?"
"No, John needed someone to accompany Mack and pulled him in from Langley. He's pretty raw, just completed his basic course."
"Any military experience?"
"Yeah, an Army Ranger for four years, no combat experience though. Seems like a good kid, but we need to keep an eye on him, he's pretty gung-ho. Not sure I'd want to rely on his judgment in a pinch."
"Why did they send him?"
"They probably see this trip as a milk run, a chance to give him independent field experience. I'm not sure John fully appreciates the situation over here."
16 ~ Lisette
Saturday, 20 January: Doshan Tapeh Air Base
The day began cool and gray, but by midafternoon, the skies cleared to a bright blue. Hard to get my mind around the idea the Middle East could be so cold. Mack and I sat in our hangar office discussing the negative results of the previous day's flight. We still had nothing to show for my efforts. Mack and Masters were scheduled to return home on the twenty-fifth.
Amadeo made a futile attempt to interest me in betting a dollar on a super bowl pool. I told him no and spelled it out, it would just be my luck the Cowboys would win and didn't want to be a double loser. At least it wasn't on TV. The Iranians had better things to broadcast, like the daily riot.
Captain James arrived with a strange expression on his face. "Mister Brannan, I have a message for you. Your wife just called operations."
My heart jumped. "Is she still on the line? I'll run right over, don't want—"
"You don't understand. She wants you to pick her up at the Air France desk over at Mehrabad."
I glared at James. "Is this some kind of joke?"
Captain James, obviously irritated, boomed, "Look, the jokes going to be on you when Colonel McKenna finds out you brought in an unauthorized dependent. I suggest you get over to Mehrabad ASAP and get her back on the plane."
Mack chimed in, "Captain, are you absolutely sure about this?"
"Look, I'm just relaying the message, but if I was you Brannan I would…"
Didn't hear the rest, I was in a state of shock, gasping for breath. My world spun out of control, I struggled to comprehend.
Mack broke the spell, "Ross, guess you better head on over there. Take Amadeo and the car, Jack probably should go along too."
* * *
Thankfully, the streets were relatively quiet on the way to Mehrabad, just the occasional mob surging through the streets, but not as bad before the Shah left. Maybe the weather cooled their ardor. Amadeo weaved the car through the midafternoon traffic, comfortable in his new designated driver role.
"Man, you look just like an Iranian taxi driver. Maybe you can earn some extra cash on the side," said Jack, trying to needle Amadeo. Jack wanted to drive, but Amadeo insisted it would be strange for a Russian to be driving a cab.
"Good idea. Maybe I'll dump you guys and pick up a fare at the airport."
I wasn't laughing. Then it occurred to me: Where will Lisette stay? I spoke up, "Have a slight problem."
"I'll say you have. You just now realizing that?"
"I mean, she … I mean we need a place … ah, you know."
Jack spoke up first, "Got it. You take the apartment. We'll bunk with Masters over at his hotel. You can have the little love nest all to yourselves."
* * *
Lisette stood at the Air France counter talking to a uniformed flight attendant. I almost didn't recognize her dressed like an Iranian woman, with a headscarf and a long dark robe like dress. The lady flicked her eyes in our direction and Lisette let out a shriek and bounded through the lobby into my arms.
In her excitement, she forgot to speak English. I let her babble on, holding her in my arms, with a mixed feeling of happiness and dread.
The woman, a tall attractive brunette, broke in, "Ross, please let me explain. Lisette is so emotional now. I am Lisette's friend from school. I helped arrange the flight and gave her the clothes she is wearing. I fly to Tehran every week and it is best for her to dress so."
Jack, always with an eye for the ladies, moved in closer. "You didn't mention your name."
With a gleam in her eye, she told him her name was Rochelle Loubet.
Finally, Lisette calmed down enough to speak English, "I am so happy. You are my love."
"Happy to see you too, I was worried because I hadn't heard from you since we left. Why did you come here?
Her face beamed. "I have the news."
"What? Don't understand. Je ne comprends." I knew how to say that.
She broke out in tears. "Je suis enceinte."
Must have appeared confused, Rochelle gave me a broad knowing smile.
Lisette squealed, "Bébé, we have bébé."
My body went numb, unable to form words. I mumbled sounds unintelligible in any language. Stunned would be an inadequate description of my state of mind. Lisette hugged me even tighter and lapsed back into French.
Amadeo slapped me on the back. "Congrats Dad." Rochelle kissed me on the cheek. Jack continued to chuckle in the background.
Finally, I found my voice, "A baby … can't believe it, I… I don't know…"
Lisette stopped talking. A serious expression on her face. "You not happy?"
"Wa… Of course, I'm happy, it's just such a surprise."
The smile returned, and she hugged me even tighter.
"We need to go. We have a car outside." I grabbed Lisette's hand and started towards the door.
Jack spoke to Rochelle, "Say could we offer you a ride?"
"Yes, if you please, the taxis are not so good for women these days."
On the way to the hotel Rochelle told about the trip to Tehran on a near empty aircraft, it came to pick people up, outgoing seats at a premium. She gave Jack a suggestive glance when mentioning her overnight layover.
"Lisette, don't you realize it isn't safe here." I finally started to regain my composure.
"Worry not. Iranian people like le français. Khomeini aid by France."
"That's fine and good, but mobs are roaming the streets, it's dangerous. Did you think about that?"
She snapped back with a curt "Oui!" and pulled a pistol from inside her dress, her Walther PPK. "Je suis prêt."
"I'll say she's prepared." Jack leaned over from the front seat and asked her if she knew how to use the pistol. "Savez-vous comment utiliser le pistolet?"
She gave him a sharp retort, "Bien sûr."
Amadeo shot a quick glance to the rear-view mirror, exclaimed, "Que chevere!" and let out a hearty laugh. "Man, haven't you heard about her? She's a pistol packin' momma now." Jack seemed confused. He hadn't heard the story about Lisette shooting the Cuban's henchman in Nairobi.
I said, "He's right. Saw a Polaroid of the guy she shot in Nairobi. He tried to break into her room and she nailed him right between the eyes with a Makarov — had a silencer and didn't even disturb the neighbors. A nun with a gun, that's what I called her."
Lisette remained silent and slid the pistol inside her purse.
Jack turned back around and smiled at Lisette. "Ross, I think you've got a keeper."
I glanced over at Rochelle. She took it in stride, apparently, she knew. She was very attractive to say the least. Tall, slim but well figured, tanned, with eyes that could melt your heart.
Jack struck up a convers
ation with Rochelle in French and got out with her at the hotel. He winked when he said he would catch up with us later. He reminded Amadeo to take his AR-15 out of the trunk when he parked the car.
We rode along silently, Lisette occasionally commenting on a sight. Fortunately, the city was relatively calm. Immersed in my thoughts, I pondered the reality of being a father, something I had never given much thought.
I wondered if this new development would change our relationship. We didn't know each other that well before we married. We formed a bond based on shared experiences and our love survived hardships and separation. The realities of living together brought new revelations about our expectations from each other. So far, we had dealt with our differences.
A half hour later, Amadeo dropped us off at the apartment. I had some explaining to do to the landlord, Mister Amiri. He thought I was trying to shack up with some gal I picked up. It seemed to offend his religious sensibilities. I struggled to convince him Lisette was my wife.
In the meantime, Lisette made friends with the landlord's wife, Aniseh. Amazingly, she had studied French in school. They seemed to be able to carry on a basic conversation. Finally, Aniseh spoke to her husband, his face brightened in recognition, and he embraced and kissed me on the cheek, Iranian style. Lisette came through again.
Sunday, 21 January: Tehran
Mack told me to take the day off. He called it maternity leave. My next flight wasn't until Tuesday. I would have to cram my preparations into one day. James was right. McKenna got upset, but not as bad as expected. Almost all of the other dependents departed weeks ago. I worried about what could to happen on the days I had to fly.
We talked at length that night, her excitement abated, and her English restored. She was sympathetic to the Iranian revolution based on what she read in the French press during her two-day layover in Paris. I hoped the realities on the ground would change her mind. However, she was, as I found out during our months of marriage, a hardheaded determined woman.
"Non. I will not stay inside. I must see. L'histoire is made. It is so grand. Do you not understand?" We had argued for the last half hour. She wanted to tour the city. It all seemed so romantic.
"Okay, I'll compromise."
