The Enemy Within

Pakpour moistened his lips, somewhat reassured by the other man’s manner. No Iranian moved too quickly or too directly to the business at hand, preferring to open any discussion with small talk about small matters. Whatever Taleh wanted, he was evidently willing to observe the usual social niceties. “My wife and children are all in good health, General. They long for the spring, of course.”

“Naturally. This winter has been bitter for us all.”

Pakpour found himself relaxing minutely as the conversation drifted lazily through the prospects for warmer weather ahead.

When it came, the change in Taleh’s manner was swift, sudden, and horribly direct. He leaned forward, all pretence gone from his voice and manner. “You have close ties to the West, Mr. Pakpour.” He tapped the dossier in front of him.

“Ties which many of our fellow countrymen would consider treasonous.”

Pakpour paled. They knew. Despite all his precautions, despite all his clever bookkeeping, they knew. With inflation running at more than fifty percent a year, the sums offered him by America’s CIA for snippets of political and economic information had been too tempting to refuse. Gold held its value at a time when the rials circulated by the Republic were scarcely worth the paper they were printed on. He tried to croak out a denial.

Taleh cut him off with a single icy glance. “In fact, I fear that many would consider your connections to a foreign spy agency worthy of a death sentence.” He paused for a long moment before continuing. “I do not.”

The merchant sat dry-mouthed, stunned.

Taleh smiled thinly. “I have messages I want you to carry to the West, Mr. Pakpour. Messages I cannot and will not entrust to regular channels.” His smile disappeared, replaced by a frown. “The HizbAllah’s foolish war of terror against America has gone too far and cost us too much. I wish to end it. We have been isolated from the world for far too long.”

He closed the dossier on his desk with an air of finality and pushed it aside. “Will you act as my go-between in this matter?”

Pakpour, still trembling, was scarcely able to believe his ears or his good fortune. “Of course, General. I am your servant your humble servant.”

“Good.” Taleh seemed satisfied. He nodded to the tall, silent Army officer standing behind Pakpour. “Captain Kazemi will show you out. We will speak more of this later.”

When the door closed, Taleh rose from his desk. He stood for long minutes at the window, contemplating the city spread out before him. New-fallen snow carpeted the streets and rooftops and turned the rugged mountains lining the northern horizon white.

His eyes closed in concentration. He disliked having to rely on a fat, greedy fool like Hamid Pakpour, but he would not spurn the gifts laid before him by God. It was time to set his long-dreamed plans into motion. For years the radicals of the HizbAllah and other terrorist groups had been a constant drain on Iran and its armed forces, sucking up money, arms, and other resources for no worthwhile end. Well, he thought grimly, no longer.

CHAPTER 2 THE VEIL

MAY 2

Over Iran.

SwissAir Flight 640 rolled ponderously into its final approach to Tehran’s Mehrabad International Airport. The huge DC-10 shuddered as it lost altitude, buffeted by columns of hot air rising off the sunbaked sand and silt below. Outside the jetliner, the clear blue sky faded abruptly into an ugly brown murk. Sited nearly a mile above sea level, Iran’s sprawling capital city lay buried under a perpetual sea of smog.

Lieutenant Colonel Peter Thorn caught the first acrid, oily whiff of the polluted outside air slipping through the aircraft cabin’s filters. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He frowned slightly, irritated at himself. The smell was unpleasant, but he knew his reaction was evidence of growing tension, not of a refined sensibility. The closer he got to Iran, the more the animal instincts buried below layers of intellect and training came to the fore, silently screaming out a warning to fight or flee.

Thorn shrugged inwardly, forcing himself to relax. In this case, his instincts could be right on target. Few Westerners would view a stay in the Islamic Republic calmly no matter what combination of profit or curiosity drove them. The Revolutionary government was still too unpredictable and too arbitrary in its enforcement of the harsh Islamic code. The slightest slip in speech or action could land even an ordinary tourist in hot water. Three months after U.S. cruise missiles blew the hell out of Tehran and other Iranian targets, the stakes were far higher for an American soldier especially for a high-ranking officer in the Army’s counterterrorist Delta Force. Even for one carrying a safe-conduct pass personally signed by General Amir Taleh, the head of Iran’s regular armed forces.