Haggai Harmon - The Chameleon Conspiracy

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because they’d have had to mea sure your biometrics and record them. Ian has never undergone that procedure.” Their answers confirmed that Ian Laval was cooperating with the CIA, and that the passport wasn’t lost or stolen.

“OK, let’s move on. Once we enter Iran safely, then what?” “Once at the hotel, Erikka should look for her incoming mail to contact the alumni who answered our ad I told you about.”

He handed me a printed page of an ad the bank placed in local Tehran newspapers. “This is the English translation. Erikka already knows about it, after the bank agreed to sponsor the reunion she’s organizing. She knows it was the bank’s idea to make her visit more efficient and fruitful.”

I looked at the page. Remember the good old times? The Iranian, Asian, and European students of the American School in Tehran have scheduled a reunion. Alumni, please send contact information to Erikka Buhler (’78) c/o Azadi Grand Hotel on Chamran, Evin Cross Road Expressway, Tehran 19837. And let your fellow alums know about the reunion!

“Let Erikka communicate with those who respond. You can volunteer to help her find and meet her classmates, but don’t make it appear as if you’re in it as well. Deliberately miss one or two meetings she holds, and show only a passing interest in what she’s doing. The same rule applies to how interested you’ll appear to the alums. But watch, because they’re the principal targets. You’re going to increase how interested you are in Erikka’s activities, but first have her suggest that you get more involved. You’re her handler, but don’t make her feel pushed or controlled. She might get suspicious-or worse, others might.”

“Right, so I’m just manipulating her.” It seemed so patently obvious, I wondered why it was being repeated.

“I know you know this, but you know I need to repeat it so there’s no misunderstanding. The immediate goal is to identify and locate the names and whereabouts of all ethnic-Iranian males born between 1954 and 1962 who graduated from the American School in Tehran before it was shut down in 1979. The delimiters make them seventeen to twenty-five years old during the Islamic Revolution and their subsequent recruitment. Therefore, their current ages range between forty-two and fifty. From that list we will try to identify the members of Atashbon.”

“Right.”

“We, or rather Erikka, will ask each of the alumni she locates to fill out a short questionnaire with current contact information, year of graduation, current occupation, marital status, children, hobbies, and a short resume telling everyone what they have been doing since graduation. The pretext will be that the information is needed for a brochure that will be distributed to all participants, like a present-day yearbook.”

I objected, “Isn’t it a bit simplistic to assume that alums in Iran right now weren’t Atashbon sleeper agents in the U.S.? They could have just returned to Iran.”

He nodded. “We’ve got to account for all eighteen or so original members whose locations we don’t know. But in principle you’re right. We want to use the initially traced graduates as a conduit to identify and find the others. Anyway, even the ones who lived in the United States and came back will probably put that down on the biographical profile.”

“How do we make the initial contact?” I asked.

“I think you should encourage Erikka to set up individual meetings and manage the entire matter the way she sees fit. Don’t make her suspect you of having an ulterior motive. If she feels lost and asks for your advice, you can direct her subtly by asking questions.”

“Such as, Are you preparing a questionnaire? ” I stopped for a moment to arrange my thoughts. “We could prepare a courtesy folder for all graduates who respond. Make it a fancy leather-bound folder-a calculator, a nice pen, whatever-all embossed with the bank’s logo.”

“We can also include one or two brochures about the international services of the bank,” said John, warming to the idea.

“And Erikka will tell everyone who contacts her that they’ll get a free gift,” I finished.

“Good call,” said Casey. “I’ll get it going.”

I still had some questions about the operational wisdom behind their planning. “What’s the reason for not sending Erikka by herself?”

“We discussed that, but it was scrapped for several reasons. First and foremost, since Erikka doesn’t know the real reason for your and her visit, she’s likely to miss things that you’d never overlook as her controller. From the Iranians’ perspective, she’s your research assistant. She also has a side job of organizing the reunion. Besides, sending a blonde Western woman by herself to Iran isn’t a good idea. She’d be limited in her movements in a conservative society, which believes that the place of the woman is at home with her children, not in a five-star hotel talking to strange men.”

“OK,” I said moving on. “Do I need an Iranian visa?”

“Yes,” said Tony. “Your first option will be at the Iranian Embassy in Vienna.” He handed me a visa application form already filled out. “Please read it carefully, and if you’re interviewed, don’t make comments on the application form’s poor English or its spelling mistakes.”

Had my bigmouthed reputation preceded me?

“Let’s talk about formalities,” continued John. “You’ll arrive on a commercial airline. Lucky for you, Iran’s got a “Commercially Important Persons” clubroom that only costs $50. They meet you on the tarmac and drive you to a lounge while all the formalities are completed. Unluckily for you, you’re not using that service.”

“Great. I love bureaucracy.”

“Because it’d immediately identify you as a businessman or a VIP. We need you to pass as an ordinary tourist. Before you arrive in Tehran, the airline will give the passengers an immigration landing card, customs-clearance form, and foreign-currency declaration form to fill out. Here are the forms already filled in. Keep a carbon copy of the landing-card form and surrender it when leaving Iran. We’ll inspect your luggage before you leave, but at any rate don’t buy alcohol, or any magazines at the airport. They might contain pictures that the Iranians consider offensive. Don’t bring playing cards; gambling is forbidden. Make sure that the customs officers register your camera in your passport. When you leave, show them the camera, and insist that the record be deleted from your passport, as any tourist would.”

“Gotcha. Where are we staying?”

“The Azadi Grand Hotel in Tehran. The details are in the folder. You’ll get two separate rooms, of course. Let’s keep it professional. The hotel should have a courtesy van, but if it doesn’t come through, take a taxi from the station that has a dispatcher. Erikka will help you communicate with them. But don’t look as if you’re taking instructions from a woman-you’ll attract attention. And Erikka left Iran when the Islamic Revolution started and might not fully appreciate the radical changes since then.”

“What about communication?” I asked.

“There will be two methods. One for Ian and Erikka the tourists, and the second for your reporting and distress. As tourists, go occasionally to Internet cafes and use their voice-over-Internet service to call numbers we are providing you with to chitchat with your friends-Agency personnel. Tell them how much you’re thrilled with Iran. No criticism. You can talk about the food, weather, what ever. Use your hotel room’s phone to call your publisher in India, or to look for your Iranian roots. But let’s be clear: no calling anyone else, not even your kids. We can’t control what they might say or who listens in.”