Haggai Harmon - The Chameleon Conspiracy

“I see,” he said, giving me a pensive look. “Maybe I could expedite the visa matter. I could explain to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs how important for Iran your visit is.” He wrote something on the application form. “Leave your passport here and come back in a week.” Although I was happy to hear his comment, I felt uncomfortable. Nothing I’d said indicated that this would be favorable for Iran. Why would the consul put himself out there for me so quickly? The little suspicious devil in me woke up.

He handed me his card and shook my hand. His card gave me his name and title: behrooz mesbah, counselor.

“Mot’sha’keram,” I said, thanking him.

He raised his eyes and gave me a surprised smile.

“I’ve learned a few words in Farsi,” I explained. “My grandfather was born in Iran, and I’m really excited to visit the land of my ancestors.”

I left the embassy feeling odd. Counselor? My foot. That only enhanced my earlier suspicion. I decided to talk to John Sheehan about it.

I went on a long cab ride, changed cabs several times, and when I was sure I wasn’t trailed, I went back to the safe apartment.

“How was it?” asked John.

“I can’t really tell. I’m sure the walls had ears and eyes. The visa consul was mildly suspicious when I wanted the visa expedited. I had to meet another higher-ranking person. Although his card said he was a ‘counselor,’ my hunch says an ‘intelligence officer’; there’s no question he was sizing me up. We’ll probably know more about the visa in a week.”

“Getting a visa for Iran can be a difficult matter,” said John. “But if they’ve given you a hard time, we’ve made a contingency plan to fly you to Dushanbe, in Tajikistan, where the process is simpler for us.” He didn’t elaborate.

“OK.”

During the following three days, I met Erikka several times, making sure she understood the rules of conduct in present-day Iran. We discussed traditions, cultures, and the American School. I also broke the news about the Swiss bank’s deal.

“That’s wonderful,” she exclaimed.

Contrary to my earlier expectations she didn’t ask too many questions.

I flew to the U.S. to see my children and receive more CIA briefing. Ten days later when I returned, I met Erikka and she showed me her Swiss passport. “They gave me a visa in no time,” she boasted. “I spoke Farsi and my visa was issued.”

Four days after my visit to the Iranian Embassy I called Behrooz Mesbah, the “counselor.”

“Mr. Pour Laval, how are you?” He was exceedingly friendly. “I’ve got good news. Your passport is stamped with a visa. You may come anytime during business hours to pick it up. Iran welcomes you.”

“Thank you so much,” I said. “I’ll come by today.”

I alerted Casey and took a cab to the embassy. The consular officer gave me my passport. “You have a sixty-day visa,” he said. “That’s double the time we usually grant to tourists.” He sounded as if he had just announced a winning lottery ticket.

“I’ve got more good news. The Iranian Ministry of Culture and Islamic Guidance has given you an invitation to call them with any of your questions. You may find it useful. Their telephone number and address are in the envelope with your passport.”

I thanked him and left. I had gotten what I wanted, and yet I felt like live prey pushed into the lion’s den. I took a cab, made the usual circle around the city for an hour, and when I felt safe to return to my hotel, I reported to Casey and John from a pay phone located a block away. After completing the calls, I dialed a random number and hung up.

Three days later Casey called my mobile phone. “Take a cab immediately to Cafe Vienna. Enter the main entrance, but leave right away through the back door past the men’s room. A white Mercedes taxi will wait for you. Ask the driver if he can take you to the train station. If he says he’s waiting for Herr Zauber, tell him you’re Mr. Zauber and ask him to drive you to 98 Porzellengasse. Once there, get out of the taxi, pay him, and wait for him to drive away. Then walk to 106, repeat, 106 Porzellengasse, second floor. Take extreme precautions.”

That address was new to me. Casey was signaling that it was a safe house.

When I arrived, I saw Benny Friedman, Reuven Sofian, Casey Bauer, Tony DaSilva, and John Sheehan. The attendance was too broad to be just another briefing.

“Is it happy hour?” I asked. “Where are the drinks?”

Casey smiled at first but then changed his expression to dead serious. “Dan, you’re leaving tomorrow morning. You’re staying here to night. Your luggage will be here momentarily.”

My stomach moved nervously. “What about Erikka?” I asked.

“We sent her tickets by messenger from the travel agency and attached a note asking to confirm. She called the travel agent to confirm and asked if you’d be on the same flight. I suggest you call her now.”

He handed me a cell phone. I called Erikka, and we agreed to meet at the airport.

“You should also know that she met our men posing as the bank’s representatives. She signed a contract and received an advance.” He gave me a travel folder with my airline tickets, five million Iranian rials, a8,000, and $5,000.

“Why American dollars, when I’m a Canadian?” “Because the U.S. currency is more popular. Many Iranians have probably never seen a Canadian dollar. Everyone, even people who’ve never been to the U.S., carries U.S. dollars.”

“Yeah, but isn’t this a lot? It could get people suspicious.”

“No. There are the two of you for a month or two. You are engaged by a well-known publishing house, and Erikka is under a contract with a Swiss bank, so you can account for the money if asked. That money could help you out of Iran in case of an emergency.” He also gave me a Visa credit card, an ATM card, and pocket debris. “The rials are worth only $500; use them to pay your initial expenses.” I looked at the stack of bills that filled up a big bag. In the bag was also a receipt from Melli Bank.

“Keep the receipt. It’s proof that you bought the rials at a bank, and didn’t exchange your dollars on the Iranian black market.”

Benny shook my hand. “Dan, I trust you. Return safely.” He hugged me. For a minute I felt he was saying good-bye for good. It didn’t help my mood.

If I had doubts whether what I’d got myself into was the right thing to do, certainly it was too late to air them. I knew I was assuming a huge risk. If the khans in Islamabad got my photo and transmitted it to Iran, I’d be toast. Iran wanted them to lure me in, and now I was going there voluntarily? Did this entire operation make sense? Knowing that only mediocrity makes sense, because then you don’t invade anybody’s turf, didn’t make me feel more relaxed. It sounds great as a proverb, but now how was I supposed to feel in reality when I had doubts? I sat down on the couch and took control of my mental hesitation.

I suppressed that hesitant devil in me. Hey, you live only once. I don’t smoke, don’t do drugs, don’t gamble or drink excessively, so what am I to do for that little extra excitement and fun? Not that-I still get a chance for that here and there. I mean what this job gives me. The thrill of the hunter focusing on his prey when it’s close, when there’s nothing in the world that you want more than the kill, the score, the success…although recognizing that after basking in it for a while, you return to mediocre life, to another low…until you start looking to get that fix again.

I thought of my father, who had always told me, “Bravery is being the only one who knows you’re afraid.” I kept on a brave face as everybody hugged me and left.

In the morning I was driven to the airport by a driver who apparently had taken a vow of silence. At eleven a.m. I took a deep breath and checked into Lufthansa flight LH6334/LH6447 coming from Frankfurt to Vienna, continuing to Tehran. Erikka was waiting for me at the airline counter. She looked and sounded really excited, though for a different reason. The plane was only half-full. Some of the passengers seemed to be European businessmen, but most were probably Iranians dressed in European attire. Only a few wore collarless, buttoned white shirts. We were scheduled to arrive at three a.m. on the following day. Two hours before landing, I saw the cabin crew collect all liquor bottles, full or empty, and lock them in the galley.