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

that there is no doubt about the outcome of the election, in spite of your country’s interference in our affairs.”

“You know that my country has nothing to do with your elections,” Crossley replied under Klosters bemused glance.

“You don’t think that trying to stop us from having our own nuclear energy is interference?” the Iranian asked, his knife raised. “You are the only country to have used the atomic bomb, killing how many thousands of innocent civilians? You have nuclear weapons. Israel has nuclear weapons. Why shouldn’t Iran have nuclear weapons?”

Elizabeth nodded but said nothing as she ate a spoonful of her mousse au chocolat.

Why indeed, she thought. Pakistan also had nuclear weapons. It definitely wasn’t fair to want to keep Iran from having whatever weapons it needed. It was the essence of sovereignty.

When the Crossleys left at the end of the evening, Klosters reminded Jeff Crossley, “Well, old boy, don’t forget our regular weekly chin-wag on Tuesday.”

Lying for his country’s sake, he added, “I look forward to it,” and gave him a firm and diplomatically sincere handshake.

 

37. Tehran: Al Quds Safe House

On the way back from a special exhibit on Iranian carpets, Jafar and Elizabeth stopped at their trysting place, the small apartment Jafar had set up in an apartment block rented in part by al Quds to facilitate meetings with agents. Jafar walked in the living room and sat on the sofa. He said, “How about a couple of beers?”

Elizabeth kicked off her shoes, took off her head covering, and went to the kitchen. Jafar stood and walked to a small octagonal table separating the sofa from an easy chair. He opened a door to a compartment inside, reached in, withdrew his hand, closed the door, and sat back down.

She came back with a beer that she handed to Jafar. She sat in the easy chair with a fruit juice, took a long sip and said, “I’d love a beer, but Jeff would smell my breath and wonder what I’ve been doing,” she giggled. “If this country ever discovers the elevator, there will be a huge demand. That was a long walk up. Five stories! Love nests should be on lower floors. I’m pooped.”

“Madame Ambassador, Elizabeth Crossley, you must not be tired yet,” Jafar said.

She looked at him, catching his slight suggestive smile. He had never addressed her formally when alone.

He continued. “Tell me again what you said in the car.”

“You mean about the CIA spy? Why? I told you all that.”

“Yes, I’m not sure I heard it right. Start from the beginning.” He fixed his gaze on her face.

“Okay. Last night, Jeffrey was laughing at the stupidity of the CIA because their spy is supposed to have come here from the Far East.”

“You said Japan in the car. Why did he think that stupid?”

“But he’s not Japanese; he’s part Vietnamese, probably a mongrel from the Vietnam War, an American soldier with a Vietnamese war bride. Jeff thought it was stupid because there aren’t that many Asians here. So he would stand out.”

“Did he say that, or is that your opinion? There are many Asians here, doing business.”

“Really? Well, he said it. He was joking about it. I don’t think that he knows the family details exactly. He was guessing. He thought the man must be Vietnamese because of his name.”

“Why? What’s his name? When did he arrive?”

“It was a hard name that I hadn’t heard before. I didn’t try to remember it because Jeff said that he wasn’t using his real name in Iran. He’s been here about two weeks.”

“What else?”

“Oh, the funniest thing. He’s supposed to have a tattoo. On the back of his heel. Jeff said he must have been in a gang when he was younger.”

“A gang? The CIA hires criminals? I’ve never heard of heel tattoos. Are tattoos that common in America?”

“You like mine don’t you?” She stood up, turned around and lowered her jeans to uncover a small rose tattoo at the base of her spine. Staying in that position she looked at him over her shoulder.

He got up from the sofa and put his arms around her from the back, raised her blond hair, and kissed the nape of her neck. His arms still around her, he turned her toward the bedroom and walked her through the door. Giving her a gentle push forward, he said, “Get ready. I’ll be right there.”

He went back to the octagonal table, reached inside again and turned off the mini-tape recorder.

 

38. Tehran: Swiss Embassy

Waiting for Jeff Crossley in the easily recognized, white-columned building, Swiss Ambassador Pierre Klosters scanned the daily newspapers in his office on Yasaman Street. However, his mind was on the American. Rather than set up an earlier meeting, Klosters thought conveying bad news to his American colleague could wait for the regularly scheduled weekly meeting. It also had given him the time to inform his foreign ministry in Bern’s West Parliament Building.

Klosters liked rules, structure, and organization, all qualities that his government treasured. He was well on his way to greater responsibility.

He put La Tribune de Geneve aside and picked up the Tehran Times. What was it about the U.S. that invited these inappropriate sexual escapades? When Swiss diplomats staffed the U.S. Interest Section, one of them was arrested for having sex in his car in a parking lot with an Iranian woman. Klosters had been able to get him out of the country when the in-flagrante diplomat promised to marry the woman.

As a professional, he had accepted Crossley into his embassy with a correct attitude. Because Klosters believed that he had done an excellent job at representing American positions and interests, Crossley’s appointment had been something of an affront. He understood that the Americans might want to have their own man in Tehran. Crossley had turned out