The Iranian Intercept

by R G Ainslee

  Jack had his hand under his coat again. Amadeo pushed him and told both of us to move along. Without looking back, we began to move towards out aircraft.

  How close we had come to another OK Corral? I said to Jack, "He didn't even look at you."

  "He knew if he did, I might kill him."

  "Would you?"

  "We’ll never know, will we?"

  Amadeo laid a hand on my shoulder. "He escaped this time, but there’s always another day. Let's get out of here."

  "Do you believe his line — about how we both failed?"

  Jack answered, "No, do you?"

  "He's too cool of a customer to allow a slip like that. My guess is it's an attempt at disinformation. He must know we have the tape and wants to place one last seed of doubt. He don’t know what we know. He just gave that away. The guy’s not as smart as he thinks."

  Amadeo, always the contrarian thinker, said, "Unless that’s what he wants you to think."

  "Could be, but the problem is we'll never be sure. Like Wilson says, we’re playing a high stakes poker game with other people’s money."

  "And lives."

  John met us at the steps of our aircraft. Jack told him we saw Suslov board the Soviet An-26. His only comment, an incredulous, "And you let him go?"

  The pilot of the An-26 fired up the twin turboprops, taxied to the runway, lifted off, and circled back to the north.

  A palatable sense of relief swept over me. Suslov was on his way back to the Soviet Union and out of my life. What would be his fate? My only comfort was the knowledge the Soviets tended to be unforgiving and arbitrary when dealing with failures. One question remained. Did he actually fail, or did we fall for Dezinformatsiya?

  At last, Gosselin had his cargo loaded and left in a storm of pique. Fortunately, he failed to bid us bon voyage. One more incident avoided.

  Suslov's comment about Lisette played on my mind after we boarded our plane. How close did I come to loosing Lisette again, for good?

  Just another reason to quit, I've had enough.

  Epilogue

  Saturday, 3 March: Santa Fe, New Mexico

  White icy snow rushed towards me with blinding speed — my body slammed to a sudden halt — a tricky ice patch my downfall. Jim Barker slid to a halt down slope and sidestepped back towards me. He wasn't much better at skiing, but at least managed to stay on his feet most of the time.

  "You okay?"

  "Yeah. Could you grab my pole?"

  We were at the end of a long day, having driven up from Albuquerque early in the morning. It would be late evening before I had a long hot shower to soothe my sore muscles. The thought of one of Lisette's special massages — Yes.

  Jim glanced up the trail. "Here they come."

  Two skiers streaked down the trail carving graceful perfect turns. They traversed one last time and skidded to a stop, peppering me with bits of snow and ice.

  Lisette didn't even attempt to stifle a silly mocking smile. "Oh Jacque, how did he survive the ski in Iran?"

  She was skiing with Jack, an expert on the slopes, but even he had difficulty keeping up with Lisette. Barker and I took the easy routes.

  "Dunno," said Jack, "maybe he just does better under pressure … or in the dark."

  "We ain't gonna wait around to find out." I was starting to get steamed. "Isn't it about time to go if we want to keep our dinner reservations?"

  We had booked a table at the La Fonda Hotel in Santa Fe, a homecoming affair. Barker's wife Sarah and Amadeo were supposed to pick us up at the lodge. Sarah wasn't skiing because she's pregnant, Amadeo … well because he's from Miami.

  Lisette unleashed a torrent of French and they shot off down the incline.

  Barker reached down and helped me up. I brushed myself off and pleaded, "Come on let's go." I didn’t want to give them another chance to go back up on the lift.

  As I snowplowed down the trail, I thought back over the past few weeks. Colonel Hansen had met our flight at Andrews Air Force base and chewed out our butts unceremoniously, right on the flight line. The pompous SOB's inflated sense of majesty was on fire.

  I took it in stride for a change, had made up my mind. Quit and go home, try something else. Get a job at Radio Shack or whatever. Just ignored him and smiled. He didn't even notice, lost in the trance of listening to his own words.

  John Smith didn't take it well and they quarreled all the way to the Pentagon. Jack and Amadeo sat back enjoying the show. Hansen ordered us to report back at 1300 for a meeting in Wilson's old office at Bolling and stormed off into the bowels of the Pentagon.

  Jack wanted to know why we were at the Pentagon. I said, "This is just Hansen's way of inflating his sense of importance. He yearns to fit in with the big shots, the pampered princes of the Pentagon, the dog washers of the military-industrial complex. The sorry fact is, bad as Hansen is, he's just a piker compared to the Pentagon crew."

  John agreed and quoted Machiavelli, "You can judge a prince by those he surrounds himself with."

  Decided to take a pass on the meeting and check up on Mack Gibson. He was home from the hospital at his apartment in Alexandria.

  I arrived by taxi about the same time as Hansen's scheduled meeting and told Mack everything, including my worries about Hansen.

  "Don't worry, Wilson will be back. Hansen overstepped his authority again. It's just a matter of time before he gets called on the carpet." Mack glanced up at the clock. "Wilson was scheduled to testify in a closed session of the Senate Intelligence Committee this morning. Don't count him out."

  "Yeah, but—"

  "No buts about it. It'll be okay. You know how Hansen is. He'll get his due. He won't last the day. You can push all thoughts of quitting aside. We need you."

  "Yeah right. One more disaster, and—"

  "You guys did a great job. The fact that the Soviets diverted so many resources to stopping you is indicative of the intercept's importance. Raven-One was a success."

  I wasn't convinced. "I don't know. The prospect of fatherhood has made me a little more cautious."

  "Good, just what you need. Maybe it'll settle you down."

  "What about the signal, have they had a chance to analyze it?"

  "No, thought you were bringing it with you."

  "I sent it from Kabul," paused to think how long, "last week. It's been a week. You say they haven't received it."

  "Not sure. Let me call Michaels." He picked up the receiver and dialed. Michaels answered, Mack asked about the tape. The longer Mack listened, the redder his face became. His eyes glowed with anger. I wondered what was going on. He slammed the phone down, closed his eyes, and tried to compose himself.

  "Did they get it?"

  "The tape arrived Monday afternoon and was signed out by Colonel Hansen."

  "So, he has it—"

  "Let me finish. Hansen decided to analyze the tape himself and accidentally erased the thing. All we have left is your notes."

  It took a few moments for his words to register and then they hit like a punch to the stomach. I struggled to catch my breath. "The stupid bastard." My head reeled with rage. "After all I've been through — I'm… I—"

  The phone rang. Mack answered and listened while I stewed.

  "He's here … okay." He hung up and smiled. "Wilson. He was just leaving the hearing. He explained the chain of events and his reasons for acting to the committee and they support him one-hundred percent. He's on his way over here to pick you up." Mack's face beamed with glee. "You'll have a front row seat for the fireworks at Bolling. Wish I could make it."

  And fireworks there was. I was right on the colonel's heels when he burst into his office and confronted Hansen sitting at Wilson's own desk. Hansen blanched when Wilson gave him a cussin' out he'll never forget, one any Army drill sergeant would have been proud of, an epic performance par excellence. Made me feel all warm inside.

  Now, weeks later, Wilson was firmly back in charge of SSRP and Mack Gibson returned to work. Michaels had even agreed
with me on the intercept. He thought it was a brilliant, albeit lucky, accomplishment. Raven-One could chalk up a limited success.

  Wilson believed Raven-One placed one more obstacle for the Soviets in their dealings with Marsden. The success of his concept depended on stealth, the hidden guidance instructions. Now they had to, at least, consider the fact we knew. We're fortunate Jack didn't kill Suslov. Perhaps he might unwittingly convey that impression to the Soviet leadership. What we do is like a game of poker. We have to make a bet based on inadequate facts and win based on strategy. A good bluff can often win the day.

  My career was back on track. Monday we would begin a new series of antenna tests. Next month a trip to Alaska. First to Eielson Air Force Base and then on to Shemya in the Aleutian Islands for a mission on a specially configured RC-135 designated as Cobra Ball.

  I was right about Hansen though. He always manages to lick enough boots and kiss enough rings to land on his feet. This time it was unbelievable, kicked upstairs to a position in the White House Office of National Security Advisor. Seems, when cosmic incompetents rise to the top of the food chain, they always surround themselves with subordinates of even lesser talent. They form a mutual admiration society of like-minded hacks who are absolutely convinced they are geniuses. Hansen never ceases to amaze me. He managed to convince them he was an expert on Iranian and Afghan affairs. — What could go wrong? — At least he was out of my chain of command.

  Things even worked out for Lara Dumont — temporarily promoted to station chief. Monsieur Gosselin expelled from Afghanistan at the Soviet's insistence. They somehow got the impression Gosselin was doing the dirty work of retaliation for us, and they were not amused, as he would say. Somebody had to take the fall, couldn't have happened to a nicer guy. Hope the SOB gets transferred to French Antarctica to count penguins.

  And poor Jack, he was right, Rochelle was gone, back to Air France. She told Lisette, she wanted no more to do with, "OK corral de cow-boys Américains." Even Alice kept her distance. She said something about a pregnancy epidemic around the office.

  As for Lisette, I tried to dissuade her from skiing until after the baby was born. Her response, "Pourquoi? I never take the tumble."

  Barker and I plowed to a halt at the lodge. Everyone sat around a table on the deck. They saluted us with mugs of hot cider. I told Barker, "Looks like things are back to normal."

  Barker shook his head and gave me his patented wry expression. "Ross, nothing is ever normal with you."

  Glossary

  AK-47 — Avto Kalashnikov model 47, A Soviet-produced military weapon automatic rifle capable of single shot or automatic fire. Fires a 7.62 mm round.

  ASA — U.S. Army Security Agency. The Army’s signal intelligence branch was composed of soldiers with the highest scores on Army intelligence tests. The ASA, directly subordinate to the National Security Agency, monitored military Soviet Bloc communications around the world. In 1976, the ASA was merged with the Army’s military intelligence branch to form the Army Intelligence and Security Command (INSCOM).

  ASAP — As soon as possible; pronounced "A-Sap."

  BOHICA — Bend over here it comes again

  CIA — Central Intelligence Agency

  CID — Criminal Investigation Division

  COMINT — intelligence derived from the collection of spoken or written communications.

  DIA — Defense Intelligence Agency

  ELINT — Electronics Intelligence, intelligence derived from collection, processing and analysis of radar and various guidance control systems.

  FUBAR — Fowled up beyond all recognition

  IBEX — Project IBEX was a joint US and Iranian airborne ELINT collection program.

  NSA — National Security Agency

  SIGINT — Signals Intelligence. Intelligence derived from the collection, processing and analysis of either of, or a combination of, COMINT and ELINT.

  Author’s Note

  Behind the Story

  November 1973, I arrived in Afghanistan a few weeks after the end of the Yom Kippur War. The country had been at peace for several decades, an unusually quiet period in its long history. Nomads carried a variety of vintage weapons, but it was possible to camp safely in the countryside. Fortified mud walls in isolated villages and farms with were in disrepair. Word of the war had recently penetrated the public consciousness, yet people still wanted to go fight. Someone was at war with Muslims, and they wanted in on it. Six years later, in Mexico City, I watched the news of the Soviet invasion on TV. My first thought: the Russians are going to have trouble big-time, these guys like to fight. The rest is history.

  Separating Facts and Fiction

  The Iranian Intercept is a work of fiction interwoven into a timeline of real events. The following events actually occurred:

  1. The events depicted during the Iranian Revolution.

  2. The assassination of Ambassador Dubs in Kabul on 14 February 1979.

  The depiction of Site T-2 is a fictitious representation of the Tacksman-2 site operated by the CIA in the vicinity of Kabkan, Iran.

  The revolt depicted in Herat actually occurred in February. The timeline was changed to fit the story.

  The Swiss pilot is loosely based on the legendary Emil Wick. I flew with him in a Pilatus Porter from Syangboche airstrip in 1974.

  The Cochise Project, the Special Signals Research Project, and the description of the operation of the US and French embassies in Kabul are products of the author's imagination. Certain institutions and intelligence agencies are mentioned, but the characters involved, depiction of the agencies' operations or sources/methods of collection/analysis presented should not be construed as factual. Descriptions of Soviet radar and telemetry signals are based on current open source materials.

  Acknowledgements

  To my wife, Susan: this book wouldn't exist without your support and encouragement; and to her mother Dee who proofread the final copy. Thanks.

  The Secret Cold War Series

  The Cold War lasted forty plus years, a time of tensions between two super-powers with the capacity to destroy each other and the world. If war is hell, the Cold War was Purgatory. Not peace, not war, something in-between. The best of times, the worst of times.

  Proxy wars were fought on many fronts. One front was invisible, a secret war: the signal intelligence war. Reliable and timely gathering of electronic intelligence (ELINT) was vital, a first line of defense. The Secret Cold War series reveals the silent conflict waged in the shadows.

  The Secret Cold War series follows the adventures of ELINT analyst Ross Brannan and the Raven-One team of the Special Signals Research Project, a joint venture combining NSA analytical capabilities with CIA and military assets. The unit's mission deals with situations where conventional ELINT collection methods are neither effective nor practical.

  The Latakia Intercept, the prequel to the series, takes place during the 1973 Yom Kippur War.

  The Ethiopian Intercept follows the exploits of Ross Brannan in East Africa during the Ogaden War between Somalia and Ethiopia.

  The Iranian Intercept ranges from the shadow of Mount Everest to the wilds of revolutionary Iran and Afghanistan.

  The Caspian Intercept is a follow-up to the Iranian Intercept that takes place during the Iranian Revolution.

  The Sahara Intercept covers the team's adventures in Italy, France, the Sahara, Central Africa, and Israel.

  Excerpt from The Caspian Intercept: A Raven-One Team Thriller

  THe CASPIaN Intercept takes you to the secret front line of the Cold War.

  The Secret Cold War Series continues with a fast-moving adventure in revolutionary Iran featuring Amado Ruiz and Jack Richards of the Raven-One Team.

  When an Iranian technician reveals the existence of an unknown intercept tape, the Raven-One team is sent back to Tehran. But things are about to get worse, radicals take over the American embassy. A powerful enemy reemerges and seeks to stop the team in their tracks. Raven-One team operative Jack R
ichards is taken hostage and Amadeo Ruiz is forced to navigate through the chaos and barely escapes capture. Follow Amadeo as he flees through northern Iran with an enigmatic Italian woman. Who does she really work for? The Caspian Intercept combines historical events, intrigue, and high adventure into a story that is almost impossible to put down.

  The Cold War lasted forty plus years, a time of tensions between two super-powers with the capacity to destroy each other and the world. Proxy wars were fought on many fronts. One front was invisible, a Secret Cold War: the signal intelligence war. Reliable and timely gathering of electronic intelligence (ELINT) was vital, a first line of defense.

  Please enjoy a selection from a chapter of the next full-length novel in the Secret Cold War series, featuring Ross Brannan.

  Chapter 1

  February 1979: Site T-1, Caspian Coast, Iran

  Azad Shirazi, consumed by an ominous sense of unease, examined the deserted operations center. Racks of electronic equipment glowed softly in near darkness. Days ago, Azad had a secure job and comfortable lifestyle. Working at the intelligence-gathering site instilled a sense of pride and patriotism. Now, the turbulent events of the past few weeks had turned his world upside down.

  Site T-1 offered an awe-inspiring view of the Caspian Sea. The facility, one of five ground stations of project IBEX, a joint American-Iranian intelligence effort aimed at the Soviet Union. The primary mission was to intercept telemetry transmissions from missile launches at Tyuratam in Central Asia. From the first moments of launch to splashdown, the missile spewed out a flood of vital telemetry data. Signal intercepts allowed analysts to measure Soviet missile performance and development.

  An electrical engineering graduate, Azad's job had been to oversee the electrical system. Whenever the emergency generator kicked in, everyone knew what to do — 'Call Azad.'