Satan's Spy (The Steve Church saga Book 2), André Gallo [ebook reader color screen .txt] 📗

be equally relevant, timely, and accurate. I trust that this new development leads to improved reporting. However, as they say, ‘one sparrow does not a spring make.’ Now tell me about covert operations you have going in Iran regarding the election. Are we backing the opposition? That would be a mistake. I have heard nothing. Will I be the last to hear, after Iran accuses us of meddling?”

“You know,” Thérèse replied, “that much of our covert action funding was taken away many years ago when you, when Congress created the National Endowment for Democracy. What the NED is doing in Iran, if anything, is overt. I’m sure they would brief you if you were interested.”

They walked out of the SCIF together. Langdon’s flowery dress was full length, reminiscent, perhaps identical, to what she wore during the anti-Vietnam demonstrations of the 1970s. Radu hung back a bit as the other CIA officers went out, and Langdon said to him, “Radu, thank you so much for the briefing. Let me know if there is anything I can do.” Radu and Langdon shook hands, and Radu went out.

Back in the car, Deuel said, “It was necessary, although Langdon didn’t treat it as good news. We’ve done both oversight committees; the Gang of Four is informed. I don’t think that we need to brief the Appropriations Committees. This is not a funding issue.” Looking off in the middle distance, he said, “When I started in this peculiar service, we were part of the Executive Branch. How things have changed.”

“Like the definition of ‘hard target?’”

“Like who we work for. It used to be the National Security Council and the White House. Now, we spend more time keeping Congress informed. Hard targets? That changed too. They used to be the Warsaw Pact countries and China. Now they’re mostly non-state actors.” Deuel’s unlit cigar appeared in his hand, and his lips became taut. “The world would look different if, in the seventies, our Station in Tehran hadn’t been restrained by policy from focusing on Iran’s opposition parties.”

* **

Back in her office, Langdon dictated a Memo for the Record, expressing her deep concern at the wisdom of this CIA operation, especially because, if discovered, it threatened to disrupt warming American-Iranian relations. The memo would not see the light of day, unless she needed it.

 

21. Tehran: Farah’s Apartment

Kella gave the address to the taxi driver, negotiated the fare as best as she could, and let the driver take her to Farah’s party. Farah didn’t have as much time as she thought, and the two had not seen each other since landing at Khomeini Airport. Kella had her idea of what a party in Islamic Tehran would be like—in a basement with lookouts to warn of a visit by the “Virtue Police,” always on alert for illicit fun.

If they showed up, all the women would slip back into their chadors and the literary club would continue its meeting. Would the party have liquor? Probably not, she thought. Too dangerous. A female correspondent with dual American-Iranian citizenship had been arrested not for her articles but for buying a bottle of wine, although Kella had not seen any liquor stores during her stay in Tehran so far.

The driver let her out in front of a large apartment building. It reminded her of the low rent buildings on the northern edge of Paris occupied by North and West African immigrants. However, the marble stairs changed her mind. She approached to the sound of Serge Gainsbourg’s “Bonnie and Clyde” pouring out of someone’s apartment, Farah’s as it turned out. Her door was wide open.

As she walked in, someone handed her a martini. She put it down and found herself a glass of wine on a help-yourself table with all the wine and liquor she would have expected in a similar party in Paris. She couldn’t see Farah in the crowd. Couples were dancing on one side of the room to music current in London and New York. On the other side, couples and small clusters held lively conversations. There was constant movement of people within the two groups and from one side of the room to the other.

Farah appeared from the semi-darkness and hugged her. “I’m glad you came. Come this way.” She pulled her toward the kitchen where it was a bit quieter and the population density thinner. They found an unoccupied corner near the refrigerator.

“Sorry I haven’t had time for you since you arrived. How are you doing?” Farah wore a low-cut black dress cinched at the waist with a heavily embossed leather belt with three buckles. Her black hair was pulled back revealing emerald earrings matching her necklace.

Kella said, “Trés chic. You look beautiful. I didn’t know what to wear, but I really had little choice. I like to travel light.” She had black slacks and a long sleeve dark red blouse. “I think I’m the most conservatively dressed woman here. I thought this was a strict theocracy.”

Looking down at her dress, Farah beamed. “It’s my Jean-Paul Gautier gift to myself. I brought it back from Dubai. This theocracy goes from ‘Let a thousand flowers bloom’ only to cut them off at the stem. We’re now in a blooming period. We’re living for today and scared of what tomorrow will bring. Here, let me introduce you.” She led Kella to two couples who had just walked into the room, then left her when a male guest tapped her on the shoulder to say that the bar needed more ice.

The conversation quickly turned to the elections. One of the two women, about Kella’s age and dressed in Western attire said, “Everyone I know will vote against Ahmadinejad, especially women. For one thing, the women’s rights movement, working without publicity, has been active over the past several years. Remember the 2006 One Million Signatures Campaign? A petition against gender discrimination and for laws that provide