A TIME TO BETRAY (40 page)

“There are only a few men who can make a difference, Wally. And you are one of them.”

After my difficult association with Andrew, I found these words welcome and inspiring.

Amiri had instructed me to shave my beard for the mission and dress in a nice suit. The experience had a surreal quality to it. I was shaving now to participate in an undercover activity for the Guards. For so long, the very beard I was shaving had protected me as an undercover agent for the CIA. Once again, I felt my identity shifting in ways that left me feeling unsteady.

Rasool picked me up a few blocks from my house. Our instructions were to set up surveillance in a Muslim neighborhood in the Tower Hamlets area in the shadow of the Tower of London. A prominent Iranian professor who had been teaching for some time in London was the target. Rasool knew where to go and what to do. We drove for a few miles and parked in an alley off Artillery Lane; we would walk the rest of the way. The entire exercise made me intensely nervous, but Rasool seemed extremely calm, talking casually about aristocrats who had been beheaded at the Tower prison and pointing out different buildings and restaurants.

We walked for several blocks. The entire time, I tried to keep up with Rasool’s big strides. As we got closer to the Tower Hamlets district, we made the transition from a thriving business area to a working-class neighborhood.

“This way!” Rasool said, pointing to a three-story commercial building with a Bangladeshi restaurant on the first floor. I followed him into the restaurant, not knowing what we were to do in there. He walked into the kitchen as if he had been there before, waving at the men by the stove, and then to a door at the end of the kitchen. Despite an employees only sign, Rasool opened it. The door led to a stairway and we went up two flights, then down a narrow hall to an empty warehouse.

It dawned on me that all of this could have been a setup to eliminate me. If the Guards had somehow found out about Wally and wanted to assassinate me, this would have been a perfect location. For all I knew, Russell Consulting Services regularly provided this kind of “consulting” for the regime.

“Walk toward that window,” Rasool said as we stood in the bare room. He pointed to the left corner as he bent toward his shoes.
He is getting his gun out,
I thought. But he’d only been bending to tie his shoelaces. I allowed myself one deep breath.

“Take a look out the window,” he said.

I moved to do so when I saw Rasool take a small black item from inside his jacket. How stupid for me to think he’d hid a gun in his
socks when he could carry it in his pocket. That’s when I knew he was going to shoot me in the back while I looked out the window. My chest tightened.

Palming the black item, he stuck out his arm.

I backed up and tripped, landing hard on the floor.

“
Cheteh,
Reza? What the hell is wrong with you?”

He was pointing a pair of black binoculars at me.

I said nothing for a few moments, and then blurted, “I thought you had a gun.”

He frowned and shook his head. “What? I wanted you to take a look at the apartment building across the street.”

I tried to think quickly. “Oh. I thought you wanted me to shoot somebody.”

He sat down next to me, dropping the binoculars on the floor and wiping his face with his palm.

“If the time comes, I definitely would not recommend you.” He offered a bittersweet smile. “But pray to God that time never comes.”

He slid backward on the floor and found the wall to lean on. I followed his move.

“Reza, I don’t understand why you want to be part of all this. You seem like a nice guy. You don’t even look like any of them. You should pack your bags and leave. Go back to America. I know you were there once. I wish I could get on with my life, too, but I am too deeply involved.”

This confession struck me mute. Was he trying to get me to say something incriminating?

He closed his eyes and blew a deep breath. “I wish I could go away, far away, perhaps to America. Reza, you don’t want to be part of this. Assassinating innocent people …” He loosened his necktie. “They killed a father and his son in their apartment here in London. They were monarchists, supporters of the shah. Did you know that our government had our agents contact Ghassemlou, the Kurdistan Democratic Party leader, in Vienna for a meeting to offer peace?
Then our agents killed him and his aides. Did you know that Ahmad Talebi, a fighter pilot who had sought refuge in Switzerland, was shot dead in the streets of Geneva? He was married. He had children.”

A few weeks earlier, Rasool had talked about how he resented the killings and how unjust the ruling Islamic government was. I felt at the time that he was just testing me. But now, sitting there next to me with his hands wrapped around his head, I knew he trusted me. Did I dare trust him back?

Rasool bent to grab the binoculars and slowly got up to look through the window. “Here is the professor in his library,” he said, adjusting the lens. “Do you see it in yourself to kill this man? And after him another one and then another?”

“I would never kill anybody,” I said under my breath, mostly to myself.

He sat back on the floor. “They’ll make you, Reza.”

I shivered. I forced my shoulders against the wall and sat up straight. Had he already killed someone? Many people? He grabbed a pack of cigarettes from his jacket and offered me one. I still had not said anything, still wondering if I could safely express my feelings to Rasool. I decided that I couldn’t risk it.

“We will tell Amiri that this guy is not involved in anything,” Rasool said to break the silence. “We’ll wait a week before telling him, though.”

“We’ll do whatever you suggest. Amiri said I should take your lead.”

When Rasool looked at me, I saw confusion on his face. Was he expecting me to engage him?

I couldn’t take the chance of finding out. We left the warehouse and he suggested that we go in different directions. He headed to his car and I took the Tube back home. I stopped at a phone kiosk on my way to the Tube and called Gary, telling him what happened at the warehouse. I must have sounded upset, because he made an effort to comfort me and said that he had some news on Rasool. We set up a meeting for the next day.

When I got home, I found Somaya sitting on the couch crying. She lifted her head as I entered, wiped the tears away, and looked at me in shock.

“You shaved,” she said, choking back tears.

I touched my face. “Yes, I did.” I sat down next to her. “Is everything okay? Is Omid all right?”

“Oh, yes. But … but I just had a call from your uncle.” Her shoulders shook. “It’s Agha Joon … he has passed away.” She sobbed. “I am sorry, Reza.” She held on to my hand as I got up to leave the room. While I knew Somaya wanted to offer me comfort, I needed to be alone. I couldn’t talk about my grandfather with anyone right then. Instead, I allowed guilt to overwhelm me. It seemed so foolish now that I hadn’t tried harder to stay in touch with him since I left Iran. Ridiculously, I’d left that to Somaya. I was too busy. Too busy with things I should have never allowed get between me and a man who was like a father to me—or even more. How could I have had no time to maintain my bond with the man who shaped me, the man who I spent most of my childhood with, the man who taught me to love life?

I went back outside, sat on the steps in front of our building, and looked at the sky peeking through the clouds. Like my own life, the sky of London was in conflict. There were no stars shining, no rain clearing the air, and for a long time, no sun to brighten up life—just an ominous wind blowing in uncertain directions.

My grandfather was gone. He was all I had left of my past. Every time I thought of Naser, Agha Joon was there. Every time I thought of Kazem, Agha Joon was there. Every time I thought of the mess I was in, I thought of Agha Joon and his faith in me. While I feared that I might never see him again when I left Iran, the reality hit me so much harder than I expected. I wanted so badly to go back to Iran. Being present at his funeral was the least I could do. But that wasn’t even remotely possible. I held my head in my hands and choked the scream inside me as I begged God to free me from the
constraints that kept me from grieving as any normal person might. I allowed the rage and frustration to build within me.

And then I had no choice but to let it go. Agha Joon was gone, Reza had to share his life with Wally—and Wally had a job to do. I had to persevere through the pain. I had to conduct the role fate had presented me.

My next meeting with Gary was at a small hotel downtown instead of the safe house. It was a few miles away from my flat. I was tired, as I had spent the entire sleepless night mourning for Agha Joon, but I decided to walk anyway. I checked the map, memorized the route, and continued to think of Agha Joon and the past.
Naser and me splashing in the creek behind my grandfather’s house that led all the way to Kazem’s neighborhood …

I saw my turn, left on Victoria Street.

… Naser whistling and playing with the toad in his pocket.

“Let the poor thing go, Naser. …”

The sound of a car horn—unusual in England—shook me from my reverie. I realized I was crossing the street against the red light. Embarrassed, I quickened my step, noticing a man in an oversized green jacket walking on the other side of the road and going in the opposite direction.

… Kazem joined us, and the three of us walked back to Agha Joon’s. We talked about our soccer matches. We’d won for a third week in a row. …

I thought I saw the man in the green jacket again at the corner of Marshman Street. How could that be possible? He had been going the opposite way.

… “What are you going to be, Reza, when you grow up?” Kazem asked.

“Not a mullah, for sure!” Naser said, laughing loudly. I laughed with him. Kazem frowned at us….

I was sure I saw the man again before I turned to Kensington. Yes! I remembered his jacket. But now he was waiting at a bus station
there. I hadn’t planned for a detour because I was following the route I memorized from the map. I chastised myself for my laxity. But when I looked at the bus station again, the man was no longer there.

To my right was a small alley leading to another street. I walked through the alley with plans to go to the next main street, walk a few blocks, and then come back to where I was. I took one more careful look around, not seeing anything suspicious. Perhaps I was worried for no reason.

… The double door to Grandpa’s house was halfway open and Khanoom Bozorg was there talking to her guests. Naser told us to untie the reins of the donkey….

Having walked several blocks, I backtracked before I got lost. I eventually found the same alley and went back through. I checked around me again before continuing.

… The trembling voice of Khanoom Bozorg calling my name … “Reza … Reza …”

She was biting her lips. I looked for Agha Joon. I needed him to protect me. I needed to hide behind his robe….

With a thump, I ran directly into a pedestrian. I looked up. I was face-to-face with the man in the green jacket. My heart stopped beating and I started to sweat.

A strong English accent rang in my ears. “Oh, dear, I am so sorry. I did not see you.”

He seemed as shocked as I was. I knew he was up to something, but he continued to walk in the other direction. My heart started pounding now. How had I let my guard down? Who was he?

For the next half hour, I walked back and forth on the same street, pretending to window-shop but using reflections to check around me. I sat at an outdoor café, acting as though I was casually people watching when I was specifically looking for one person. I didn’t see the man in the green jacket again.

“British Intelligence—MI6,” Gary said when I met up with him. “They must be on to you.”

What in the world is he talking about?

“Maybe it’s time to let them know,” he said.

As unnerved as I was, Gary calmed me down, explaining that British intelligence might know about my activities with the Guards. He told me that he would let them know that I was with the CIA, and that he would arrange for us to meet with them. He assured me that MI6 would not create problems for me from that point on.

I wasn’t sure that I could handle a meeting with yet another intelligence agency. But what was causing me the most stress at that point was Rasool’s suggestion that the Guards might want me to kill somebody. Gary told me that he learned that Rasool had been under agency surveillance—based on my report to Carol—since he moved to England in 1984. Gary said there was a strong possibility that Rasool was not entirely devoted to the Islamic government. He had secretly dated an English woman for a few years, and they even spotted him with her on a beach in Istanbul.

“Rasool told me he was too involved to get away,” I said. “What if they make me get more involved? I might never be able to leave.”

“You have
us,
Wally!” He smiled. “As soon as your papers are ready, you are on your way to freedom.”

I told Gary that Rasool told me he wished he could go to America. This caught Gary’s attention, and he didn’t say anything for a few moments. He crossed and uncrossed his legs and finally said, “How about you introduce him to us, Wally?”

I could feel my eyes popping out of my head as I tried to understand what he was implying.

“Not like that, Wally! You can bring up the idea of going to America and tell him that you know an immigration lawyer or something. Once you introduce us, I’ll take it from there.”

I knew what he was thinking. He wasn’t suggesting that he could help Rasool get a visa. He wanted to recruit him as an agent. I told Gary that I needed some time to think about it.

There was a British intelligence officer present at our next meeting, a stiff, very proper man named Ted Smith. Smith was eager
to get as much information as he could from me. He had a list of names and photos of suspected Iranian agents. Among them I was shocked to see pictures of Moheb Khan, Somaya’s father, and his friend Fallah, the owner of the industrial machinery warehouse where I took Hushang and the two other agents. I identified as many faces and names as possible, specifying those I knew to be working for the Guards and feeling an even stronger commitment to weed out the innocents, like Moheb Khan. Apparently, Fallah was involved more than I knew. Smith told me that his company was a front.