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the contents of the article before it was published?”

“Possible, but there are no Iranian diplomats in Washington. Would the leaker of the information have gotten in touch directly with the Iranians as well as given the information to the Tribune?”

He raised his coffee cup thoughtfully before answering. “Doubtful,” he said, the cup hovering near his mouth. “We know that the U.S. Interest Section had been asked to accept a CIA officer on its staff for an important operation. Later, it was informed that, in view of its refusal, the CIA had sent a NOC to Tehran.”

He finished his coffee in a gulp. “The leak is probably from the U.S. Interest section. Let’s test the hypothesis.”

* **

Kella’s nightly message to headquarters, which for the first time she sent from her bedroom in Farah’s apartment, transmitted Steve’s thoughts concerning the timing and the origin of the information obtained by Mousavi almost a week before the Tribune article, and suggested that Langley share certain information with the U.S. Interests Section.

First, she had to address LaFont’s directive to leave Iran. She suspected LaFont’s message reflected the frequent lack of understanding between Headquarters and the field. So, she replied with some ground truths about their inability to just walk unimpeded into the U.S. Interests Section and shared Steve’s reordered priority on the cyber threat. She went to sleep turning over ideas on how to escape Mousavi’s net and whether Farah would or could help them.

 

32. Tehran: Swiss Embassy, U.S. Interests Section

This was not Jeff Crossley’s best day. The equivalent of a Chief of Mission, of an actual ambassador, in a country that was key to U.S. foreign policy in a region where American interests were the most vital, as measured in treasure and manpower, he was being treated by Washington like a third secretary in a backwater country.

Why did he have to learn of the Bonifacio article in the Tribune from the Iranian Foreign Ministry? He wanted to get credit for having tried to keep the CIA officer out but admitting to the Iranians that Washington did want a CIA presence here was probably over the line. Instead, they accused him, the American representative—he knew they called him the ‘Great Satan’s little devil’ behind his back—of insulting Persian hospitality, of violating his diplomatic privileges, a totally spurious charge. It wasn’t his fault.

Crossley had arrived at the Foreign Ministry office at 10 AM. The splendid low-slung building, which combined Art Deco with traditional Persian architecture, was Iran’s interface with the outside world. The sartorial standards here were less likely to represent the principals of the Revolution that demanded that men’s trousers be without creases to reflect the wearer’s frequent kneeling during obligatory prayers and that shoes be loafers with well pushed down heels for easy slipping on and off in entering and leaving the mosque. The young officers of the Foreign Ministry were more likely to wear standard diplomatic garb, suits and shined shoes or elegant hijabs.

While Crossley did not always dress formally in a suit to every meeting he had with the Iranian bureaucracy, he did this time. Ties were inappropriate in the land of Velayat-e Faqih; they were symbols of crosses and therefore seen by true believers as an attempt to repudiate Islam.

Faced with the Foreign Minister, his aide, the Director for the Western Hemisphere, and a note taker in the minister’s sumptuous office, Crossley had felt outnumbered and, when the Bonifacio article surfaced, blind-sided. During the meeting, he insisted that he had no knowledge of spies, even resisting pronouncing the word, that it wasn’t true, until they showed him the article in America’s foremost newspaper. The Iranian Foreign Minister had pointed out that no one in the American Government had denied the truth of the article. Obviously, because it was true.

The minister’s demand was quite simple, “Mr. Crossley, in all friendliness, this is what we will do. You will give us the name of your spy, or is there more than one? Our Minister of Intelligence will take it from there; put him on the plane and make sure that he goes home. The alternative is that we will hunt him down, arrest him, and let the judicial process do its work.” He raised his eyebrows and Crossley understood how the Iranian system processed suspected enemies of the state all the way to the gallows.

In his office, Jeff Crossley was now crafting the telegram of his career, of his life. He compared himself to George Kennan writing the “Long Telegram” from Moscow in the 1940s, which became the basis for the U.S. Soviet policy of containment for fifty years.

Crossley well understood a basic truth of diplomacy, the author of the report always wins, and he described a David and Goliath meeting. At the end, he implied that the idea for withdrawing the intelligence officer was his, an inspiration that would save the CIA officer’s life and the warming relations between the two countries. He would need to know how to find this individual.

Better yet, he wrote, “Please instruct the CIA to have him report to me at the U.S. Interests Section, and after coordinating with appropriate Iranian authorities, I will escort him back to Washington myself.”

He sent the message directly to the Secretary of State, bypassing the lower echelons of the State Department hierarchy.

I will be able to use this incident to my advantage after all, he thought.

 

33. Tehran: Al Quds Safe House

Yazdi crossed his legs as he sat in an armchair of the fifth-floor safe house, avoiding from long habit pointing the soles of his shoes, an insult, toward Steve.

“We have over four thousand foreigners a month. Most come on tours that last from a few days to a few weeks. No one knows how many are tourists and how many are here on business. Mousavi is going crazy because he’s finding that the records are terrible.”

Yazdi leaned

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