water. Nothing but bottled water—that was the rule, and at least one bottle from every grouping had to be sampled for poisons. It was quite a life case officers had to live, particularly in Middle Eastern and African countries, where for the most part they were unwanted. Abney had once asked Poppas, a happily married man of twenty years, if he’d ever told his wife about his experiences, to which Poppas had replied, “Fuck no.”
That had put an end to the conversation and Abney never asked him another personal question.
“So what’s the plan for today, Jester?”
Around a cheek filled with chewy dough, Abney replied, “I haven’t actually checked the book yet but I think—”
A soft rap sounded at the door.
The two men looked at the door, each other and back again before they got to their feet simultaneously and withdrew their pistols. Neither of them said a word. They weren’t accustomed to talking loudly and Abney hoped whoever stood on the other side hadn’t heard them conversing. It wasn’t the landlord. The guy worked a day job and he tended to mind his own business, especially with two Americans who paid rent four times the rate. Frankly, the pair could have been making bombs and the landlord couldn’t have cared less.
Another rap came, this one a bit more insistent.
Poppas made a couple of standard gestures, held his pistol high and level, and then nodded for Abney to open the door. As soon as he did, Poppas reached out, hauled the dark-skinned man inside and tossed him practically the length of the room—not difficult given the size of the place. Before the visitor knew it, he had two pistols trained on him a few inches from his face. He looked frightened at first, holding his hands high, but eventually he smiled and produced a chuckle.
“Damn it, Farzad!” Poppas said. “How many times have I told you never to come here?”
“Sorry, sorry…but it was important.”
“Important enough to break protocol?” Abney said.
“Screw protocol,” Poppas interjected. He waved the muzzle of his pistol skyward and said to Hemmati, “Was it important enough for you to risk getting your head blown off?”
“It may very well be that important, yes.”
Poppas and Abney exchanged surprised glances for the second time that day, then helped Hemmati to his feet. They pushed him onto a dirty, disused couch. It wasn’t outside the rules of the playbook for the Company to recruit local informants if the need arose, and Hemmati had proved useful in the past. If he’d risk coming here, there had to be a pretty good reason for it.
“All right,” Poppas said, taking a chair and fishing a cigarette from his pocket. He offered Hemmati one, who declined. “Sorry. I forgot you’re one of the few Iranians I know who doesn’t smoke.”
While Poppas lit a smoke, Abney asked, “Okay, so what’s going on?”
“I’ve come by information that I think will be of great value to you.”
“It better be,” Poppas said. “Now quit trying to build suspense and spill it already.”
“Recently you had an incident that took place in Paraguay.”
“There a lot of incidents in Paraguay, Farzad, in fact, all over the world. You want to be more specific?”
“I don’t have many details but it’s something about Peace Corps volunteers taken hostage by armed men who could not be identified.”
Poppas looked at Abney, who shrugged. He didn’t have any information about it. In fact, this was first he’d heard of it and the same was true for Poppas, given the older man’s expression. It could’ve been Hemmati was simply looking to dangle a carrot that might not pan out to be anything, but then it might also be the biggest thing to hit the intelligence community since the end of the Cold War. Case officers got junk information all the time from operators on the payroll—many of them working as double agents—which they usually referred to as “soap flakes.” Every so often, however, they hit a gem.
“So what about it?” Poppas said, not willing to let on they knew nothing about what Hemmati was telling them.
Internally, Poppas’s textbook approach amused Abney.
“I know who these men are.”
Poppas took a drag of his smoke before saying, “Who?”
“They are members of the Hezbollah, men being trained by officers in our Guard Corps.”
“You’re full of it!” Abney said. “There’s no way you could possibly know that.”
“There is a way I could know it,” Hemmati said. “I haven’t told you something until now because I needed it as leverage.”
“Why would you need leverage against us?”
“I don’t need leverage against you. I need leverage to get out of Iran, to go to America and never to return this country.”
“That’s a tall order, Farzad,” Poppas said.
“It is something you can do,” Hemmati replied. “Do not pretend that you don’t have the ear of the highest powers in your Washington. I know enough about you to know who you are and who you work for. Let us not pretend that I’m stupid. I went to college in Europe, remember? To be trained to work in the military. I have contacts close to Seyyed Ali Khamenei, you could even call them family. Only because of my bad eyes was I not able to do this. I have told you all this, so I would think my request comes as no surprise to you. Or my price.”
“Your price?” Poppas said.
“Oh, so you not only want us to spend a whole bundle of cash getting you out of here, but you want us to finance your life in the U.S., too,” Abney added.
“You’re a wackadoo if you think this tidbit of gossip you’re handing us is going to buy you a free ride across the pond, joker.”
“I have more,” Hemmati said.
Through a gust of smoke Poppas said, “Okay, tell us your more.”
“A faction within President Ahmadinejad’s officer corps is planning a coup. They plan to move on him soon and establish a new power within Iran. They are seeking the support of the Americans and they’ve sent me to make the offer.”
“Jumping jeebus,” Abney whispered.
Poppas looked at his companion and said, “I think it’s time to call Mother.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Atlantic Ocean
David McCarter stared at the blue-white horizon, the kind that could only look this pure and clean at an altitude of eight thousand feet. The sight liberated him inside, freed his soul and imagination from the cares of the day. Very soon, McCarter knew that feeling would dissipate to be replaced by a range of dangers that most men never experienced.
David McCarter had experienced enough to fill a thousand lives.
The
