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

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That evening, early election returns gave the challenger hope, and he declared victory before the day was over. Jubilant crowds poured out in the streets.

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On the morning of their departure, Steve looked out the front window of the apartment, dressed in a black chador that hid his gender and shape from head to toe. He knew that this could be the run for his life, for all three of them. If caught, there was no doubt that they would be executed as spies. He had put their lives in Yazdi’s hands, Yazdi’s and his “Z” friends who he said would help them exfiltrate the country.

When he left the hotel, he knew that, as far as Mousavi and his people were concerned that was as good as an admission of guilt. Then, when Yazdi said that Kella’s transmissions had been detected, there was little doubt that Mousavi would come to the right conclusion. Should he have left Tehran earlier when he could just get on a plane? More importantly, should he have put Kella on a plane?

Now, he was not only endangering himself, he was risking the lives of Kella and of Farah, who may not have really understood what she was getting herself into, and of people he hadn’t met yet but who, on Yazdi’s word, would put themselves in harm’s way. He had no more time to second-guess himself He saw a car pull up in front of the building, park and shut its lights.

“OK, girls, he’s here. Let’s go.”

Farah answered. “Wait a minute, I’ll be right there.”

Kella was nearing the front door. She glanced at Steve, frowned, and went toward the bedroom, “I’ll get her.”

A few minutes later, all three went out with either suitcase or backpack down the stairs. Kella carried one of Farah bags.

A young man with a shaved head and a black beard met them about halfway. He looked at the three black chadors coming down toward him and hesitated.

Steve uncovered his face and said, “Firuz. I didn’t expect you. Where is your uncle?”

Firuz looked at Steve closely and smiled, “Mr. Breton. I didn’t recognize you.” He took a couple of bags from Kella and Farah.

“That’s the idea.”

“My uncle said to pick you up and drive you to Yazd. He couldn’t come. I know the road.” He took a couple of bags from the women, and they went out to Firuz’s Peugeot parked on the street.

This was the first time that Yazdi had not carried out a commitment. Until then, he had been extremely reliable. Steve was juggling possibilities and the significance of the change in plans. Firuz seemed ready to take them to Yazd. How much did he know? It was too late to examine Firuz’s true sympathies. Steve felt like he had tossed the dice. He hoped they weren’t loaded.

45. Tehran: Crossley Residence

The day after her fateful telephone conversation with Jafar, Elizabeth Crossley claimed to be ill and hardly spoke to Jeff from the time he came home to the time he left again in the morning. In fact, she truly felt ill. Her life, which had seemed organized and on track until the phone call, was suddenly unhinged. She thought she was in control and that things were working out as planned, but now the bottom had fallen out of her world. How could she have failed to recognize what Jafar had been up to, that he didn’t really love her, that he was using her?

Espionage! The word reverberated in her head. It was an ugly word, something that others did, others who had no respect for other nations’ dignity and honor. She felt that she had lost her own dignity and honor. She had deeply wanted to make up for American mistakes of the past but didn’t quite know how until Jafar had offered her a path. It had seemed at the same time benign and easy. There would be no losers.

Jafar had used the word to scare her. What she had done couldn’t possibly be interpreted as espionage. She didn’t want to believe it, but in the back of her mind, she suspected that some might not understand, or even twist what she had done, and apply that dirty word to her. Eventually, wouldn’t Jafar and his organization discover the information anyway?

His organization. She had never really thought that beyond Jafar was an organization, until now. By helping him, she was helping Iran. Didn’t every country have the right to protect itself? She had concluded long ago that the United States was the world’s bully. What was the meaning of sovereignty if not the right of self-defense against bullies? She now understood Jafar was part of a larger organization. People had told him what to do. He had obeyed, and he had received a salary; he had only done his job. How many others besides Jafar knew that she had slept with him? She now knew that he had taped at least one conversation. Were there videos as well? He had never been truly in love with her. He had used her. She felt dirty, violated.

What about Jeff? She hadn’t told him yet about the blackmail. Should she tell him tonight? Did she have a choice? How were Jafar and his organization going to use the information? Was this going to be a burden she would have to carry until the end of their tour in Iran? What was Jeff going to say? Would this make divorce inevitable?

Her head was in a spin. She needed some air. She dressed to go out, a loose manteaux and a hijab. On her way to the front door, she hesitated by the liquor cabinet but didn’t stop. In the street, she walked to the nearest main street and hailed a cab. She gave him the address of a shopping center on Vali Asr