Misdemeanor Trials (21 page)

CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

THE CONSPIRACY

Eris Bahar's wife, Shirin, was a member of the Tehran Bar Association, and handled issues involving water distribution rights.  In the quiet of their room when the children were sleeping, they would speak of many things.  Many times she would speak about the Human Rights Section of the bar association, and the very active Civil Rights attorney Nasrin Soutoudeh.  Shirin would say, “She is so smart and so strong and so beautiful, and she remained that way even after she was sent to prison for three years for acting against the interests of the state.” Shirin would tell him she wished that she could be as principled and influential as Nasrin.

Eris knew Soutoudeh was an attorney, and was involved in the appeal of the death penalty for Zoreh and Azar Kabin-niat.  The case was eight or ten years earlier.  Shirin told him, “The sisters had been convicted of illicit sexual relations and received ninety nine lashes and five years in prison.” She would tell him, “Those violations against the sisters are rarely charged, but in the sister's case the husband videotaped the meeting between the sisters and men friends.  He turned the tape over to the police.  The women admitted to their crime after some intense and unfriendly interrogation.” She told Eris that it was common knowledge that one of the sister's husband wanted to marry a fourteen year old cousin, but did not want to support two wives.  “Most of these cases are brought by husbands who get tired of their wife or want to marry someone else without supporting two wives.”

Shirin told Eris, “Later the government brought charges against the sisters for adultery for the same conduct.  Both sisters were then sentenced to death by stoning by the Iranian Revolutionary Court.” Eris knew that under Islamic law in force in Iran since the 1979 revolution, adultery may be punished by death by stoning and crimes such as murder, rape, armed robbery, apostasy and drug trafficking are all punishable by hanging.

“Soutoudeh was influential in having their death sentence sent back to a lower court,” said Shirin.  “The appeal court in its decision said that punishment for the same crime was not consistent with Iranian law.  I think there was too much international pressure on Iran.”

Shirin told Eris, “Right now Soutoudeh is fighting her disbarment as well as for the release of the American Newspaper writer Jason Teaian.  I know Jason's wife, Yeganeh Saleh.  She is a reporter too, and was detained with her husband, but for some reason, she was released.  No one has heard from Jason for months.”

Eris began to realize that Soutoudeh might be a safe way to contact someone who could help.  It would be dangerous, but he had to take a chance.  In the privacy of his home office he penned a note in hope of getting it to Soutoudeh.  In the note, he identified himself as the husband of Shirin, and that he had information he needed to get to the West.  He wrote in the note that he would be at the Milek National Library a week from Sunday at noon in front of the painting of Doshantappeh Street by Mohammad Ghaffari.  He wrote that he wanted a man wearing a black leather jacket, a dark blue shirt, and a black tie to meet him who could safely transfer a message.  He put the note into an envelope and wrote the name Nasrin Soutoudeh on the outside.  On Saturday, he drove to the address of the local office of The National, a newspaper published in the Emirates.  He looked at the building directory and walked up the stairs to an office.  The door was open.  The local press office was nothing more than a small room with three or four desks, piled with paper and looking unorganized.  There were a few computer terminals, and three people working at their desks.  No one looked up as he walked in.  Only one of the persons working was a woman.  He walked over to her and asked in a very quiet voice, “Are you Yeganeh?”

She said, “Yes, I am.  Can I help you?”

Eris replied, “I am the husband of Shirin.” A nod of recognition made him feel a bit more comfortable.  He continued, trying to be calm, but he knew there was a sense of urgency in his voice. “I have a very important message that must be delivered to Nasrin Soutoudeh today.  Can you do that?” He reached out with the envelope towards Yeganeh.  His hand was shaking.  Eris knew he was doing something conspiratorial, and he was surprised how easily Yeganeh was seemingly willing to enter into the conspiracy without hesitation when she replied, “Yes, I can, and I will.” She asked no questions, she did not smile, she did not frown.  Without any words, Eris turned and left the building, and Yeganeh returned to her work with the envelope on the corner of her desk.”

CHAPTER FORTY SIX

THE OUTFIT

It was Thursday evening when Mac came into the kitchen area where Raintree and John were having a beer after evening prayers.  “I have to go shopping tomorrow,” said Mac.

Raintree responded, “Like, we care, Mac.  But thanks for sharing.”

“I thought I would tell you so you wouldn't freak out when I dressed differently that I usually do.”

“I don't give a rat's ass about how you dress, as long as you don't start to wear Farah's clothes,” said Raintree.

“Catch this,” said Mac.  “I got a message to meet a guy I don't know, and I don't know why, but apparently he's been vetted.  They tell me he is an important guy.  There is no particular danger.  I guess I am supposed to listen to what he has to say and say nothing.  I have been told to be at the Malik Museum Sunday at noon in front of some painting by an artist who painted a street.  I mean, he didn't paint on a street.   He painted a picture of a street.  I don't know if I should schedule ten minutes or the whole afternoon.  I'll have to figure it out when I get there.  Anyway, whoever this guy is, I hope he isn't a spy.  I don't run, or run with, spies.  But for him to ID me, I have to wear a black leather jacket, and dark blue shirt, and a black tie.  I have the shirt, but no ties and no black leather jackets.  That's what I am shopping for tomorrow, and I can assure you I am putting it on my expense account.”

“You want some help on this?” asked Raintree.

“No,” responded Mac.  “I have been shopping before, and the way you guys dress you would be more of a hindrance than a help.”

“I wouldn't go shopping with you if you paid me,” said Raintree.  “Well maybe if you paid me.  But will you need help, or backup for the meeting?” he asked.

“No,” said Mac.  “I was told it was very benign, no danger, no backup, just be there.  So, I will just be there.”

Across town, Eris prepared for his meeting the following Sunday.  He put on a single sheet of paper the coordinates of intended targets, the guidance system properties and anomalies, the technical details of the expanded range of the No Dong missile to 900 miles, which was a range sufficient to hit targets near the Mediterranean.  He outlined the changed configuration of the rocket to be able to carry the warhead as well as design features he knew about, and the number of No Dong missiles in their control, their location, and a window of the schedule of the intended launch dates.  The weight of his responsibility was crushing.  He did not want to die, and he did not want the world plunged into a darkness that might not end for decades or centuries.  He wanted to protect himself, his country, but more than that, he wanted to protect his family.  He did not understand why he was the only one of his team who hesitated in any way about the carnage that would result from their creations.

On Sunday morning he told Shirin and his children he had to go on an errand but would be back in the afternoon.  He expressed his affection for her and the children individually.  Shirin noticed the expression of affection which was unusual for a short trip to perform some errands.  She said nothing.  As he drove to the National Museum he did not know if his message had reached anyone. He did not know if it had been intercepted by the Revolutionary Army.  He did not know if he would be detained and tortured.  He knew nothing, but he hoped.  He hoped because, if the note had been intercepted, he would have been easy to identify.  Authorities would have visited his home and arrested him.  But that did not happen.  There would be no reason for the authorities to wait until he arrived at the Museum.  If the note was derailed, ignored or never delivered, then no one would arrive.  At this point the probable outcome was that someone would show up.  When he arrived early, he lingered over the paintings on the great wall of the museum.  He had been there many times and always was impressed with the beauty that Persian artists could see in a country that was in upheaval and conflict for centuries.  At noon Eris walked over to the Doshantappeh Street painting. 

At the same moment that Eris was saying goodbye to his family, Mac was dressing on that late Sunday morning into his blue shirt, black tie, and his new black leather jacket.  Mac felt a tinge of nervousness that was not common.  This meeting with someone, as it had been planned, had all the markings of spy-craft, and he was not a spy.  The message from the Agency was cryptic, but most of them were.  But this was more cryptic than most.  He wondered if the meeting were about something of consequence that he was not told about, or, was it really a benign meeting, or worse, was it an event the Agency didn't know anything about themselves.  The last scenario was the one he thought might be the case.  He would be careful.  He took the trolley for the forty minute ride to the Museum.  He got there early, found the painting he was to view at noon, and then went to the coffee shop inside the Museum and waited for fifteen more minutes.  At a minute or two before noon, Mac headed towards the painting.  Mac had never been to the Museum.  He saw that it was cavernous, with high ceilings, rich polished wood walls, and hundreds, if not thousands of displays of artists and books.  He also saw that it was sparsely populated with people, although it was a Sunday morning when most people did not have to work.  He walked over to the painting, and alone, he looked up at it.  It was a painting of a street.  That was no surprise.  But he also thought it was somewhat engaging, and although he knew very little about art, he knew what he liked, and he liked it.  A voice behind him said, “You seem to like the painting.”

“I like the painting, but I also like my shirt, and tie and black leather jacket,” said Mac. 

“And so do I,” said Eris.  “I would like to go upstairs to see the displays.  There is seldom anyone there, and we might take the opportunity to talk.” Eris turned and walked towards the stairs and Mac followed.  Mac did not look at one display, but for two hours he sat quietly, while Eris told him of his dilemma, his mission, and the danger that the world faced.  He explained his motivations to save his family from what he knew would be a war of total destruction.  He considered himself the Iranian Klaus Fuchs, a scientist morally compromised by the purpose of his invention.  At the end of the talk, Eris handed Mac a single sheet of paper.  Mac looked at it.  It had mathematical and engineering symbols and words.  He did not understand any of it.  Eris said, “Get this to your superiors quickly.  They will understand it.  The future is in your hands.” Eris got up to leave.  Mac got up and put out his hand.  They shook hands as Eris said, “I will leave first.  You can leave in ten minutes.  I know you will succeed.” Eris turned and walked towards the stairs.

CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN

DHL

Mac walked into the house without the black tie.  Raintree and John were about to leave for afternoon prayers.  Raintree asked, “How did it go?”

“This is big.  Raintree, you have to take me to the DHL Courier office.  I think it is open until five on Sunday, but this has to go out tonight.”

“What is it?” asked John.

“This is it.” Raintree showed John the single sheet Eris had given to him.

“I can't understand this.  What does it mean?” asked John.

“I have no idea.  My contact said people upstairs would understand.  It has to go out to DHL tonight.  Apparently there is little time.” said Mac.  “Let's go.”

Mac and Raintree left the house, and John sat alone.  He decided he would go to afternoon prayers at the nearby Mosque.  He had been there several times and he thought it might do him some good.

Raintree and Mac returned a couple of hours later.  Raintree said he had to leave for a date and said nothing about what had gone on that afternoon.  John asked Raintree about Mac's trip to the Museum. 

Mac replied, “Mac said nothing on their trip to DHL except that whatever it was, it was big.”

CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT

NAMAK

Eris boarded the bus like he did every morning and found his seat in the middle of the bus.  The missiles ready for launch had been transported to Namak Lake.  His days were spent at Hemmatt getting the next group of missiles ready for transportation to the Namak Lake launch.  He knew the time for the launch was coming up, but he had no specific date.  The bus arrived at Hemmatt and the riders stepped out.  One of the many armed personnel approached him along with two men in civilian clothes.  The civilians looked very much like the Savak he had heard about from his father, but now they were the Iran Revolutionary Army.  Same thing, different name.  Eris was resigned to his death and torture as he followed the men to a building on the outskirts of the complex.  When he arrived he was told to sit down.  One of the civilian dressed men then told him the launch was set for the following morning and he was needed to insure that his systems were in place and operating properly.  Eris had been to the launch facility at Namak Lake many times.  It was near the Maranjab Caravanaseai, a five hour car trip from Hemmatt.  He was told he would be taking a helicopter in about twenty minutes and to tell his family he would not be back for several days.  He called Shirin and told her he had been called away for several days, that he loved her and the children.  He had told the man at the Museum the dangers of what he faced and what the region faced, but nothing had happened for several weeks.  There was no communication or contact.  Nothing had happened and Eris was worried.  He was worried that his worst fears would be realized and that he, his family, and his country would soon cease to exist.

The helicopter trip took a little over an hour.  He was relieved to avoid the five hour trip he had taken many times.  He was seated in the helicopter with several other workers he knew were conversant in the No Dong rocket.  There was an air of silent resignation in the helicopter.  They all knew what was pending for their country.  As they approached for landing he could see the lone and lonely Maranjab Caravanaseai outside his window.  Its blue water pool was plainly visible.  It was surrounded by nothing but desert for miles.  Its contribution to history was the oasis at the site that provided relief to travelers for thousands of years as they crossed the desert.  The helicopter landed near a small group of buildings that housed the well camouflaged entrance to the huge underground facility.  When he entered he saw the ten missiles that had been readied to be moved to the launch site and fired the next day.  The No Dong did not need a large launch footprint, especially if the missiles were launched from the same site serially and not at the same time.  It was easy to hide in the desert.  He put on his white lab coat and immediately went to the first missile.  The target for each missile had the name written on the warhead.  He spent the remainder of the day confirming and resetting the coordinates in the first missile for a location he knew well, Tel Aviv.  The second rocket was set for Haifa, the third for Baghdad.  As he went down the line he confirmed multiple targets.  His stomach shrank tight with agony. 

Eris did not sleep that night at all.  He could hear the preparations during the night for the next morning.  During the night the first missile was moved outside to the launch platform.  The next morning he returned to the missiles lined up for launch and looked at the television picture of the first No Dong setting on the pad.  A few minutes later he saw launch time was in ten minutes, and the clock in the lower right hand portion of the screen counted down until launch time.  It was too late.  Why hadn't something been done.  He had put his life and his family and friends in peril to protect the world from further devastation.  As the countdown clock moved to thirty seconds, everyone in the facility who he could see, gathered around the large television screen and watched the now erect No Dong missile.  At five seconds he could feel the slight rumble as the engines spooled up for flight.  Slowly the No Dong lifted from the launch pad.  There were no shouts from the crowd.  Everyone quietly returned to their tasks on the final preparations for the remaining missiles.