Satan's Spy (The Steve Church saga Book 2) André Gallo (top 100 books of all time checklist TXT) 📖

that many of them wore their chadors tight enough to reveal their curves. She sympathized that the women she saw were covered. She understood from Jafar that the culture demanded it for the women’s own good. She felt guilty since she learned how her country, or rather a rogue element of her country—the CIA—had overthrown the Iranian Government in 1953 to impose an authoritarian and cruel Shah as the lackey of oil interests.

She glanced at Jafar, her driver. She was so lucky because he had educated her in the atrocities of the Shah’s Secret Service, SAVAK, an instrument of the CIA, Jafar had told her, although sometimes he would say Mossad, Israel’s CIA. In Islamabad, the CIA ran the embassy, and the priorities were upside down, the tail wagged the dog. Here in Tehran, she again was learning of CIA interference.

Jafar had told her that Mossad helicopters had been responsible for his uncle’s death in 1978. There had been a major anti-Shah demonstration on Jaleh Square during the uprising that eventually forced the Shah to leave the country. He said that the helicopters had sprayed the crowd with machine gun fire and killed hundreds. She had read before coming to Iran that the Iranian troops deployed to control the crowd had done the shooting. Which proved that you couldn’t trust the American press, too often manipulated or controlled by special interests, although Jafar exaggerated when he said the Jews ran the American media. Elizabeth was ashamed of the horrors instigated on the long-suffering Iranian people. She was determined to help.

Jafar pulled over and said, “We cannot go further, Madame. It’s over there,” and he pointed at a street to their right. “Too narrow.” He turned around and gestured with his hands that the car was too big for the street.

He got out and opened the door for her. “Oh, Jafar, you don’t have to do that,” she said smiling girlishly at him.

Jafar called a boy, who was looking at them, gave him a coin, and told him to watch the car. Jafar, thin and martial-looking in his grey uniform, and Elizabeth, “Call me Elizabeth,” she told everyone benignly, walked to a gold shop on a street where there seemed to be nothing but gold shops with small frontage but deep interiors. Jafar, without his visored cap, which he had left in the car at Elizabeth’s urging, was about the same height as Elizabeth, and she was sorry that she had not worn her flats. She always tried to be sensitive to his male pride. She wore a flowery dress with a high collar and covered her arms with a yellow shawl that complemented her blonde hair half covered by a hijab. He was as dark skinned as she was light. They drew glances as they walked toward the side street.

South Tehran was seldom the shopping area for foreigners even when accompanied. Inside the shop, Jafar took over the bargaining although the middle-aged merchant spoke English. Elizabeth bought a bracelet of twenty-four-carat filigreed gold at an incredibly low price.

On the way back to the car, Elizabeth said, “What did you tell him? He looked scared to death.”

“I only said that we must do our best. Wait, you have an expression if I can remember it,” he paused a moment, “Yes, we must put our best foot forward when dealing with foreigners.” He looked smug.

Jafar had seemed threatening, and the merchant had clearly given in to pressure. However, Elizabeth giggled. Jafar was amazing. They returned to the car and Jafar drove them north. The literally wall-to-wall car traffic in Ferdoosi Square—the few pedestrians on the sidewalk knew to stay close to the building surrounding the square-–held them in its grip for what seemed like an eternity. They finally reached the Crossley residence, a freestanding house with a pool, a large yard, and an atrium in the middle of the house that was higher than the roofline. A seven-foot stone wall laced with broken glass at the top surrounded the property.

A servant opened the gate, and Jafar parked in the uncovered driveway. Elizabeth sent the maid out for fresh bread. It was late afternoon, and the loaves would be coming out of the earthen ovens. Always delicious, the flat bread, one of the treats of living in Iran, would still be warm when the maid returned. As she left the house, the maid turned and gave Elizabeth a coy look.

Jafar had reached the spacious kitchen. He opened the refrigerator, pulled a carafe out, and took a long swig of fruit juice. When Elizabeth came into the kitchen, he was putting the carafe back, and Elizabeth gave him a disapproving look, which he disregarded with a grin. He walked by her, brushed her backside with his hand and pulled her with his gaze toward the bedroom. She smiled and followed him.

* **

Major Jafar Mansur closed the bedroom door behind them and looked at his watch. He would have to leave soon to pick up Jeff Crossley at the Swiss Embassy. However, the American could wait. Jafar glanced at Elizabeth unhooking her dress. He felt confident he would have new information for his daily report to Ali Mousavi.

 

23. Tehran: Canadian Embassy

Two days after the meeting with Mousavi, Ambassador Hill called Steve to his office.

“Mr. Breton, come in,” Hill said, waving him to a seat. “Mousavi’s assistant called to tell me that you’re off the hook. On the other hand, Mulcahy has a week to leave the country for being in touch with Baha’is. It wasn’t a law that we were aware of. How is your business going?”

“In fact, I did get a call, not from Mousavi’s office, but I’m sure that it was at his initiative. Seems that the National Computer Center wants me to visit them. Remember, I told him that my company’s devices could be useful especially for large computer centers.”

According to the CIA