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

to do to get them out of Iran? What was the CIA ready and able to do? What were Mousavi’s forces doing right now to find him and seize him and Kella? What about Farah? Had it been wise after all to bring her along? He didn’t want to be Dorothy on her way to see the Wizard, picking up strays on the way.

What was SENTINEL doing? Were he and Steve still on the same team, or had he been doubled by Mousavi in exchange for his life? Was this house an elaborate trap? Was the focus of Mousavi’s search still toward Turkey, or had he, the master chess player, figured out Steve’s feint and moved his own pieces on the board? Did Mousavi have pawns in Yazd who were now looking for him while he slept unwary on the roof of this strange house?

 

48. Yazd: Yazdi House

Steve felt a hand shake him, and he woke up. Fully dressed, Firuz said, “Mr. Breton, I’m leaving to go back to Tehran. I just spoke to my uncle, and he said that he’s going to try to come down in a few days.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute.” Steve stood up.

The sun was barely over the horizon. The outlines of the city lay below him, a few wide streets crisscrossing mazes of narrow alleys, an entire town of mud bricks. On the outskirts he could see what seemed to be remnants of fortifications.

“I’ve been thinking. What if you came with us, leave the country with us. Then you can explain the cyber program in person. Better than the CDs. What do you think?”

Firuz looked thoughtful, his eyes averted, his head down. “How are you going to leave?” he said as he looked at Steve.

Steve ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t know yet. Your uncle has promised to help.” Steve still didn’t want to allude to the external help he was counting on.

Firuz shook his head slightly. “In a way, it would like taking a chance on escaping from prison when you only have a short time to serve. So it doesn’t make sense for me.”

“I understand. I still want to speak to Jemshid. I hope that he has a plan. I’m frankly worried when your uncle Hashem tells you that he’ll be here in a few days. We don’t have a few days. Tell your uncle about the CDs and how important it is that I get them to the right people quickly.”

“He already knows about the CDs,” Firuz smiled. “They were his idea.”

* **

Farah and Kella were having a cup of tea, when one of the young women they had seen the night before entered their room.

“I’m Leila,” she said, “Jemshid’s granddaughter.” She was nineteen or twenty, with lively dark eyes and sunglasses on top of her black hair. “I’m going into town to run some errands, and I thought you might want to come along, to see Yazd.”

Farah translated and Kella replied. “It’s best if we both stay out of sight.

“Me, especially. If I get stopped, even for jaywalking, I’m in trouble.”

“I’d like to go,” Farah said. “I have an ID card and I speak the language. Steve said they’re not looking for us down here, remember? Don’t worry.”

An hour later, each wearing a hijab and a light manteau, a shapeless overcoat, Leila, her sunglasses over her eyes, and Farah came out of a clothing store. A man in his forties in a brown suit and shirt almost bumped into them.

“Well, Leila, what a pleasure to see you,” he said, nodding to Farah and letting his eyes linger over her face a moment too long. Farah felt inspected and assigned a rating, his sharp predatory profile and unflinching eyes searching for hidden flaws.

“Hello Mr. Kharrazi. This is my friend Farah.”

“Indeed. How are your parents, Leila?”

After more obligatory exchanges about family and health during which he looked more at Farah than at Leila, he asked Farah, “And are you from Yazd?”

“No, just visiting.” Farah smiled, hoping that Leila would cut this conversation short. His left sleeve was empty. At least, she couldn’t see his left hand.

“That’s too bad. Are you staying with Leila?”

“Yes, Mr. Kharrazi. Leila, shouldn’t we hurry? Remember we’re meeting your mother.”

“That’s right. I’m sorry, Mr. Kharrazi, we have to go. It was so good to see you.”

“The pleasure was mine, dear ladies. Enjoy your visit Miss ... what did you say your last name was again?” looking at Farah.

“Khosrodad,” she said reluctantly but not ready with another name.

After they walked away and felt safely out of Kharazzi’s hearing, Farah asked, “Who was that? He makes my skin crawl.”

“Kharrazi was a business acquaintance of my father’s. He’s been trying to marry me ever since I can remember. I think he’s interested in you.” She giggled. “I know. He was looking at my hands to see if I was wearing a wedding ring. He’s as subtle as a Bedouin buying a camel. I recognized the searching glance. What’s the matter with his arm?”

“His arm? Oh, he lost it in the war. He was in the Iraq War, at the end I think.” Then laughing, she said, “Thank you, thank you. Now he’s found someone else to hound.”

“Well, not for long I hope.”

Farah was no longer sure that her decision to go shopping with this young girl had been the best idea she’d ever had.

 

49. A Street in Tehran

Yazdi parked and walked toward the post office thinking about what he was going to say to Steve. He had the best seat in the house watching the game between Mousavi, the counter espionage hunter, and Steve, the high-value CIA prey.

Catching the Great Satan’s Spy had become a national priority. Now that Mousavi, the chess player, had decided to name Steve and the