Triple Identity (21 page)

“What do you mean?” asked Kutchemeshgi.

I was making progress. After the mental battle, logic and necessity won out over suspicion, though not by much.

“I mean that DeLouise got your money but I don't know if he made any payment to the Soviets. You're not telling me, DeLouise isn't around to tell me, how am I supposed to know? You may end up paying double, or not getting the goods at all, just because you're stubborn. How can you expect me to work for you while you blindfold me?”

“What guarantee do we have that you won't disappear on us like your friend DeLouise?” And when I thought he was finished Kutchemeshgi added, “How do I know you're not an American spy?”

“You don't,” I said, regaining my confidence. “You've told me nothing, I never received any money from you, I owe you nothing, but I'm still agreeing to help you. And if you believe I'm a spy, we can end the meeting right now. This may assure you are not divulging any information to a spy
but will also guarantee you the dead end you were faced with before I arrived. Besides, what's espionage got to do with it? Everyone knows that Iran is trying to make commercial purchases in the world's markets. Why the secrets?” I remembered what Alex had taught: “At a certain juncture in this kind of negotiation, make a show of frankness.” I wasn't sure it would work with Iranians, whose national heritage and tradition is to negotiate. But apparently my approach worked.

“All right,” answered Armajani, although I looked at Kutchemeshgi. “We'll go along with you for now. Here is your first mission: I want you to retrieve the file DeLouise was holding. Then we'll talk.” Another cold chill went down my spine. “But we'll be watching you.”

I got up and left the room. I didn't even offer a handshake. I had achieved a few things though; they'd agreed to talk if I found the file.

Back on the street I kept my eyes open for Lovejoy or any of Eric's goons. I knew they wouldn't try to make contact with me, but I also knew they were close by. I picked up a cab and told the driver to take a detour or two, then headed back to my hotel, thinking hard.

I tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together. The people in the meeting didn't seem to know that DeLouise was dead. Either that or else they were worthy of Oscar nominations. But given what I had just heard in the meeting, DeLouise's disappearance had stalled their efforts. So, I concluded, the Iranians hadn't killed DeLouise. It must have been somebody else. On the other hand, as all lawyers like to say, if the Iranians
had
killed him that meant that he was expendable. As always, surprises were possible and expected.

In the cab I scribbled the names of the compounds I had seen on the list before Armajani had taken the file from me. I went straight to my room and was met with one of those surprises — a well-built stranger of a man. Before I could open my mouth, he said, “I'm Tom and I work for Eric. He has asked me to bring you over to see him.”

Although Tom looked and sounded American, I needed more proof.

“How do I know that you work for Eric?”

“Eric, Ron, and the technician are waiting in the safe house to get that equipment off your back.”

That was enough for me. “Let's go,” I said. “How far is the apartment?”

“A ten-minute ride. I'll go out first. You follow in a few minutes. I'll be driving a German taxi; when you see me, flag me down.”

Our three friends were waiting in a third-floor apartment. I stripped off my jacket and shirt, the technician removed the gadgets, and I handed Eric the notepad I had used in the cab to jot down the names of the few materials I could remember after glimpsing the file.

“You'll want to look at this,” I said. He took the pad and quickly scanned the list, then put it aside.

“The bastards are raising the stakes after all.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“The materials you mentioned tells us the direction they're heading. Small details sharpen the total picture. Langley could estimate exactly the direction of their program. On a more urgent level, I hear that the Iranians only need you to get DeLouise's file. I don't know what he did or said to gain their trust, but apparently he conned them. So now their heads are on the line. If the Iranian government finds out that their agents gave such sensitive material to somebody who disappeared with it, I wouldn't want to be in their shoes. If I were Armajani or Kutchemeshgi, I wouldn't buy green bananas because I wouldn't be around when they're ripe.”

“And maybe I'm right on the other front,” I said. “Guttmacher was only passively involved in the meeting. Right now it seems to be the Iranians versus DeLouise. Guttmacher and his bank are only the battlefield.”

“So it looks as if you're staying on the job; you've got to go on with the game to find out what you need to know about DeLouise's business,” said Eric, pretty much taking me for granted.

I decided to ignore his statement. “So what are these chemicals used for, and why do the Iranians need a covert operation to buy them?”

“Chemistry and physics not your strong points, huh?” snapped Eric.

“Nope,” I replied, “I skipped every single class.”

He grabbed a chair and said, “I guess I'll have to educate you.” And proceeded to give me a short lecture on nuclear energy and how it works.

“OK, let's get back to present-day reality,” I said, when he'd finished giving me the basics of nuclear fission. “You probably picked up from that funny transmitting pen that Guttmacher has a file in his office with substantial information on Iran's purchasing plans. This is the one I got a
quick look at. I'm convinced that they have additional files with documents concerning the Iranian purchases. Once I retrieve DeLouise's file, I don't think they'd expect me to supply them with the radioactive compounds that they paid Raymond DeLouise to obtain. Frankly, I don't think we would get that far, because what they're concerned about are the lists they gave DeLouise that apparently have gone missing with him. I'm sure they're not convinced I'm DeLouise's partner. That's why they demanded that I first produce the file they gave DeLouise. I don't know what happens if I do produce the file. It could go either way.”

“What do you mean?” asked Eric.

“Well, if I succeed in retrieving the file, they could think I had something to do with DeLouise's disappearance and connect me to some foreign-intelligence service. Or they could be convinced, and my legend sticks that I am, after all, DeLouise's business partner. Under both theories, they'd have the file and then could choose what to do with me. But since the file was not among the items DeLouise left behind, this is all just guesswork.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I saw the police report that came with the body to the morgue. There was no mention of any such documents in his room or on or near the scene. But I do have some ideas about the Iranian files Guttmacher keeps in his office.”

“I'm listening,” said Eric.

“Why not copy the files? Or simply remove them altogether.”

Eric looked at me. “Tell me more,” he said. “We didn't realize the Iranians let Guttmacher keep their files in his office.”

I wondered why Eric hadn't thought of this. Why did I have to be two steps ahead of everyone else here?

“It's worth the effort. The files could be very helpful to you with the amount of detail they have.”

“Is Guttmacher's office part of the bank's security setup?”

“That's my guess. I didn't see any metal doors between his floor and the main business floor. Looks to me like his office is less secure than the rest of the bank.”

“Do you know where he keeps the Iranian files?”

“No, and I didn't see any file cabinet or vault in his office. When I left the conference room the file was still on the table.”

“OK,” said Eric. “I need a report from you on anything you saw in his office. And we'll need a floor plan. Once I see your report, we'll take it from there.”

It was clearly time for me to leave. Tom drove me back to my hotel.

I went to the restaurant to get a bite of good German schnitzel. When I returned to my room, the phone was ringing. It was David Stone.

“Dan,” he said, “Call me from the outside.”

I went out to the street and called him from a pay phone.

“Dan,” he said, “I just finished a phone conversation with friends at the Company. They were satisfied with your performance. What have you done this time?”

“That's nice, but I haven't made any progress on my real assignment. I still haven't clearly identified our guy's asset-protection scheme. The stolen money is my top priority, not playing spy games with mean-looking Iranians.”

“Really?” said David, with a grain of sarcasm. “I get the impression that this is exactly the kind of operation you enjoy.”

“I do,” I conceded. David was familiar with my Mossad past and knew me well enough to pick up on my zeal to close the case.

“They want you to continue in this game,” he said.

“You know me,” I said. “I won't be the problem.”

“I'm sure of that. It seems that you could be part of the solution.”

I went back to my hotel. There was a message from Eric waiting at the front desk. I couldn't call him from my room, so downstairs I went out to the street once more.

Eric got right to the point. “We need to talk,” he said in a tone that, as always, sounded like an order. “Wait outside; Tom will pick you up in fifteen minutes.” I knew what he was going to say; David had just told me the CIA wanted me to continue. My hunch was that the topic would be the break-in.

“I'll be back outside in fifteen minutes,” I said and went upstairs to change. I wondered at my sudden burst of energy. Maybe it was the spirit of the chase kicking in.

Ten minutes later, as I prepared to leave, my old in-field training came into focus. The Iranians were in the picture now, and knowing their aggressiveness I had to assume that they'd be watching me, as they promised. I had to raise my level of caution and alertness. I went to my suitcase, looking for anything that might have a connection to Israel. I checked all my clothes for Israeli laundry labels. I emptied all my pockets, removing coins, business cards, and receipts. I put all my receipts from Israel into an envelope. I opened my briefcase and removed anything that had to do with Israel or with my work for the U.S. government. The bulk of it was already in the hotel vault but I checked again anyway. Then I went to my laptop. I deleted all the files with an Israel connection. I transferred anything to do with my work to a new directory and protected it with double-entry passwords. Finally, I installed a new ten-character password to enter the entire system. Although I was sure that neither Guttmacher nor the Iranians knew where I was staying in Munich, I left the room carrying the laptop and the envelope with me. I turned the TV on and put the “do not disturb” sign on my door. I had also marked the door with a hair. I'll run out of hairs soon, I thought. I should develop some new tricks.

I went outside to my car. A day earlier I'd removed it from the hotel parking garage and parked it in the street. If I was under surveillance then the car was also being watched. By parking it publicly, it was easier to spot watchers without letting them know that I was aware that I was under surveillance. The car was where I'd left it. I gave it a quick look and walked on by. I went into a bakery, bought a pastry, and watched the street while the clerk made change. I spotted a dark fellow who seemed to have his eye on my car and decided to take no chances.

I left the bakery and continued walking to a bus stop. When the bus came, I got on and stood next to the door. I got off at the next stop, crossed the street in front of the bus, and went up a one-way street, against traffic. No one seemed to be on my trail, so I went through a convenient shopping arcade and then back onto the main street. Everything looked normal. I caught a cab and went back to the hotel. Tom was waiting patiently.

Eric was already nervous when I walked in.

“Where were you?” he demanded, as if I were his teenage daughter coming home at dawn with smeared lipstick and a wide smile.

“There was a watcher on my car,” I said quietly. “I don't know whether he was just a lookout or if he was going to follow me.”

“So what did you do?”

“I went on a short trip, made sure I wasn't followed, then went back to the hotel for the pickup.”

Lovejoy walked in, and I handed him the envelope containing my ID and odds and ends, including a spare key to my hotel room. I asked him to send the stuff to my New York office with the diplomatic pouch and to keep my laptop and the spare key in his office.

“Dan,” said Eric, “I checked with the Company. They want the Iranian files in Guttmacher's office.” He looked at me for a reaction, but I simply sat waiting for him to continue. “We reviewed the audiotape of your meeting at the bank. It's obvious that the Iranians won't let you walk with even one file. The only way to get the files would be through a break-in.” He paused again. I continued to play the calm, attentive listener.

“There isn't much time. And under ordinary circumstances it would take a while to organize it properly.”

Was he telling me that the job couldn't be done? Why bother?

“So what are you going to do?”

“There is another country closely monitoring the Iranians,” said Eric, as if he were revealing a secret. “Israel.”

I saw what he was getting at.

Eric continued, “We know that right now there are some Mossad people in Munich making preparations to approach the Iranians.”

“Approach?” I asked.

“Well, you know what I mean, either lightly or deeply.”

“Do you mean steal their information?” I called a spade a spade.

“That's light,” he said, leaving me with a clear understanding that “deep” meant elimination.

I was too familiar with Mossad procedure to believe that Eric had received such information from them. It was unlikely that the Mossad would ever alert another foreign-intelligence organization of its intention
to eliminate a rival. It would stand in violation of basic operational rules and could cause serious legal and political problems. Any cooperation between intelligence organizations, even of friendly nations, is always based on an “honor him but suspect him” basis. Operational or intelligence cooperation, yes, but information on assassination plans — never. I wondered how Eric had found out. Did he have a mole inside the Mossad? It was a question that would remain unanswered.