Oath of Office

“I trust your journey went well,” she said as he sat down.

Kazem slid his backpack between his feet.

“It did,” he said. He eyed the lemon cake. The brisk spring weather had made him ravenous. “May I eat this?”

Elizaveta nodded, and then took a sip from her cup, smudging the dark plastic lid with a darker half-moon of lipstick. “You are remarkably beautiful,” she said. “Do you know that.”

Kazem took a bite of lemon cake, just as moist as the one in Rosslyn, and let the comment slip by. He needed this woman, so he decided not to say what he was thinking. “Thank you for meeting me,” he said.

“Did you see anyone behind you?”

Kazem shook his head. “I did not.”

“I thought you might have noticed some of the men who work for me,” the Russian said. “They are bumbling imbeciles, all of them.”

Kazem knew different.

He said, “Am I to infer from this meeting that your superiors have agreed to help our cause?”

“In a way,” Bobkova said. She took another drink of coffee, then swirled the cup around, sizing him up. “As I am sure you are aware, my country has been a remarkable ally of the present regime, but we are certainly not averse to what is happening now. This insurgency, this… Persian Spring, as it has been called, is quite… remarkable.”

Kazem stifled a smile. He’d lived in the United States long enough to know that she was overusing the word.

“Our cause has a groundswell of support,” Kazem said. “Demonstrations beyond Tehran — Qom, Isfahan, east to Mashhad and as far south as Bandar Abbas, and countless other cities. Facebook, Twitter, Telegram — the government blocks them all, but we find ways around.” He waved his hand as if that were old news. “But you do not care about this. Will Russia provide what we need?”

“This is proving to be… remarkably difficult…” Bobkova looked up as she spoke, flashing her toothsome smile at a passerby to her left.

Kazem followed her eyes to see a young man in a beige trench coat — like something out of a Humphrey Bogart movie — stumble over his own feet. The man came to a full stop for a brief moment. A new flood of commuters coming in from a recent train outside across Crystal Drive, loosed mumbled curses at the man’s stupidity, flowing around him toward the Metro station as a river flows around a boulder. The man, likely a few years younger than Kazem, had pink skin that looked as if it had been rubbed with salt. His hair was slicked with pomade. An impeccable navy-blue pinstripe suit was visible beneath the open trench coat.

The pink man licked full, carpish lips as he shot a furtive look back and forth from Kazem to Bobkova. An instant later the spell was broken and he disappeared into the crowd toward the Metro station.

“I think he recognized you,” Kazem said. This odd-looking man with scrubbed skin set his teeth on edge.

“Indeed he did,” Elizaveta Bobkova said.

“What?” Kazem said, astounded at the flippancy of this woman. “You have me spend two hours avoiding surveillance, when all the while you planned for us to be seen together?”

Bobkova patted the table and gave a knowing smile. “My job is one of intricate masquerades. The measures you took this morning were absolutely necessary. If you did not try to lose your tail, the FBI would believe our meeting was of no consequence.”

Kazem shot a worried glance over his shoulder. “That man was FBI?”

“Hardly,” Bobkova scoffed. “I met him at an embassy dinner a few nights ago. But he is the talkative sort. That serves our purpose well enough. You should be happy. This way the United States will want a piece of the action. I would not be surprised if they begin to airdrop suitcases of money to you at once. That is the way Americans handle things.” A mischievous grin perked her lips. “And anyway, it will drive them crazy trying to figure out the why of it all.”

Kazem shook his head as if to clear it. “I do not understand any of this,” he said. “But you are the expert. As to the other matter, what do you mean by ‘in a way’? We have been specific enough in our requests. Iranian intelligence is bad enough, but the Revolutionary Guard is ruthless. There are things we will need to combat their effectiveness. Technical equipment that is imperative to the movement. What does this mean that you cannot help us directly?”

“I can see why people attach themselves to your cause.” She was staring into his eyes again. “So very remarkable…” She whispered to herself, dreamily, before snapping out of the stupor. She coughed, sitting up a little straighter. “Anyway, I mean just what I say. The government of Russia can provide you nothing directly.” Kazem started to protest, but she raised her hand. “But I will send you the contact information for the men who can.”