Siro by David Ignatius (classic novels to read .txt) 📗

work with Khomeini people. Security people. Spy people. You get me?”

Anna was about to say yes when it occurred to her that she didn’t, in fact, understand him. “No,” she said, “I don’t get you.”

“What is the problem?”

“How can Khomeini have spies?” she asked quietly. “He just returned to Iran.”

Ascari rolled his eyes and clucked his tongue. “Of course he has spies! What you think he been doing all these years? Just reading Koran?”

“You needn’t talk so loud,” said Anna. She looked around the restaurant. Nobody seemed to be eavesdropping, but you never knew. “Maybe it would be better to speak in Farsi,” she said.

“No. English okay,” said Ascari. “No problem.” He seemed uncomfortable at the thought of an American woman speaking his language.

“Fine. Go ahead.”

“So I work for Khomeini people. But I work for me, too. And I thought maybe Americans would like to meet a Khomeini man like me now. Because Americans only know Shah man, and they are finish. But I know things.”

“What sort of things?”

“I know some big terrorists work for Khomeini. They train with PLO men in Lebanon. They train with Syrian moukhabarat. They train with Russians. I know who they are.”

“Um-hum,” said Anna.

“You tell embassy that, okay?”

Anna nodded.

“I know who these big terrorists are. I know where they have training camps. Exact location. Maybe I find out some of their plans, too. Who knows. What you think of that, lady?”

“I’m sure the embassy would be very interested.”

Ascari smiled. He put his hand on Anna’s leg again, this time higher up the thigh. He seemed to be giving himself a reward for the information he had just provided. Anna pushed his hand away again, more forcefully.

“Keep talking,” she said. “And stop touching me.”

“Okay. Okay. I tell you something interesting. Next month Khomeini men will send out their own spies to Iran embassy in London, in Paris, in Brussels. Very dangerous, these men. But easy to spot.”

“Why?”

“Because they all have beards!”

Anna smiled. She couldn’t tell if he was joking.

Ascari wagged his finger at her. “Hey, lady. This is serious. You tell your friends at embassy to watch out for beards!”

Anna’s smile vanished. “Right,” she said. “Who else is Khomeini sending out?”

“He is sending men to buy guns. Arms dealers! One of them is my friend. His sister married to the brother of my sister’s husband. He is the leader.”

“What’s his name?”

“You tell embassy?”

“Of course.”

“Hussein Madaressi.”

“Hussein Madaressi,” repeated Anna, committing the name to memory.

“You have beautiful eyes,” said Ascari.

Anna ignored him. “What else should I tell them at the embassy?”

“That’s enough. What, you think I do this for free? You tell them what I told you. I know lot more things. Too many things. Big things. This is free sample. If they want to talk to me, they can contact me.”

“How?”

“Here, come with me. I show you where I live.” He took her hand and tried to pull her to her feet.

“Just give me the address,” said Anna. “And the telephone number.”

Ascari wrote the information out on a piece of paper. Cover, Anna reminded herself. “What about the Iranian economy?” she asked earnestly as Ascari was writing. “What can you tell me that would be useful for my bank?”

“I don’t know economy,” said Ascari. He looked bored again.

“How many of the Shah’s big projects do you think the new government will continue?”

“I don’t know economy,” repeated the Iranian. He was staring at Anna’s breasts.

“What about oil? How high do you think prices will go?”

“Hey, lady! You asking wrong man. How should Ali Ascari know what will happen to oil price?”

“It’s very important to my bank.”

“Hmmm,” said Ascari, putting his hand on Anna’s knee once more and stroking it. “I don’t know. But maybe I could find out for you.”

This time Anna slapped his hand and stood up. “That’s enough,” she said. “It’s time for me to go. Waiter!” She called for the check.

“I pay,” said the Iranian.

“Waiter!”

“Shhh,” he said, “I tell you, I pay.”

“All right,” said Anna. At this point, she simply wanted out. “Thank you very much.”

“Your friends will call me, okay?”

“Goodbye,” said Anna. She didn’t bother to shake his hand.

What a loathsome little man! thought Anna as she walked out of the restaurant and into the gray chill of the London winter afternoon. What a vile toad of a man!

Anna returned to the safe house at Stoke Newington that evening. The milkmen were home. Their vans were parked on the street. She had calmed down considerably from that afternoon. In fact, she had decided to omit references to Ascari’s appalling sexual behavior from her account of the meeting. It would only make her sound petty and bitchy, unable to control a prospective agent. She didn’t want to get a reputation in her first month on the job as a whiner. Besides, Anna decided, if what Ascari said was true, he might be worth the trouble.

Anna summarized for Howard the main points of information that Ascari had passed along. The reference to Iranian terrorists and training camps. The warning that Khomeini’s operatives would be arriving at European embassies in March. The identification, by name, of the man who would be buying arms for Khomeini.

“Not bad,” said Howard. Anna suspected that, from him, that was a rave. “How’d you get him to tell you all this?”

Anna explained her little ploy about “friends at the embassy.” Howard rolled his eyes.

“Not great,” he said. “But not awful.”

“I couldn’t think of anything else.”

“Does he believe that you’re really a banker?”

“I think so,” said Anna, remembering the feel of his hand on her knee.

“Good. At least your cover is intact, more or less. Which is important, because we don’t want direct USG contact with this guy yet. We don’t want Khomeini to think we’re looking up his asshole. Pardon my French.”

“Forget it,” said Anna.

“What kind of guy is Ascari anyway?”

“A jerk.”

“How do you mean?”

“You know, a Persian. Creepy-crawly. Touchy-feely. And he wants money.”

“Of course he wants money,” said Howard. “I’d be nervous if he didn’t. Nothing so clean as money.”

“Can