You don’t seem to understand. The Iranians are building a nuclear weapon. We are running out of time to stop it. We don’t have the luxury of waiting to do all your nice tradecraft exercises. We need answers. To this list of questions. Now.”
Fox stopped. He realized that he had been shouting, which was unbecoming and unnecessary. He began again, more slowly.
“You realize that I speak for the director in this.”
“Afraid so. I saw him before I came down here.”
“Don’t be selfish, Harry. Be a team player, for once.”
Harry took a step back from Fox’s desk. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled like tiny electrified wires. Team player. What a prick. It was people like Arthur Fox who had gotten his son killed.
“Tell you what, Arthur. I’ll write up a message for the ‘iranmetalworks’ Gmail account he wants us to use, tasking him on the items you mention.”
“Unnecessary. Already done.”
“Have you put it in the ‘saved’ file?”
“Not yet. Waiting for you. Director’s orders. I would have done it yesterday. You were gone. But he said no.”
Harry went to Fox’s computer and read the message. It was a set of instructions, written like a message to a maid. Harry shook his head.
“May I?” he asked. “Just a little editing.”
“Sure, if it makes you feel better.”
Harry sat down at the computer and began massaging the text. He added a few phrases. Grace notes, personal admonitions, the kinds of things he would say to an agent if they were sitting together in a safe house. He took out some of the specifics, the words that could get Dr. Ali killed if the message was intercepted and filtered along the way. He did the things Fox would have done if he had ever actually handled an agent in his life. When he was done, he pulled his chair back so Fox could read.
Dear Friend:
We thank you for contacting us again. We are interested in a continuing business relationship. We have questions about the last message you sent. It described testing of a certain device. For business purposes, it would be helpful to know when and where these tests took place. We wish to know also where the pieces of this device were obtained. We also wonder if there is another technique to make the final product, using a different material. We cannot find a working site in any of our business directories. Can you advise? A final question: We would like to make an investment in X-ray transport technology that might be useful in new designs. Can you query any of your business associates on this topic?
Please know that your messages have been read by the chairman of our company. He is very grateful for your help, and wishes to show his gratitude. Would it be possible for one of his business associates to meet with you, at home or somewhere nearby? We can make arrangements better outside, if that is possible for you. Time is very urgent, as you know. You will make millions with your inventions, dear friend, if that is what you desire.
Harry added a last phrase, in Persian. “Yek donya mamnoon.” A world of thanks.
Fox studied the message carefully. “You can’t be more specific with him?”
“Not yet. If we can get him out to Dubai or Istanbul, we can do a lot more. I’m working on ways to contact him in Tehran, too.”
“We don’t have time for all this, Harry. Time is running out. And what’s this crap about X-ray transport technology? We don’t care about that.”
“I do. It’s a tell.”
“What kind of ‘tell’? We’re not playing poker.”
“If he asks the X-ray question, maybe someone’s going to hear about it. And maybe that someone is going to tell us. And then maybe we’ll know who we’re dealing with.”
“Oh,” said Fox. He pondered the situation for a moment and realized this was the best he was going to get.
“Save it,” he said.
Harry saved the message on the “iranmetalworks” account. And it was gone, though they couldn’t be sure where.
TEHRAN
Mahmoud Azadi squirmed nervously in the backseat of a Paykan taxi in Tehran, heading north in the afternoon traffic. The cars were moving along the Kordestan Expressway, big and breezy like Los Angeles, the city that Tehran secretly mimicked in its dreams. When the cab reached Vali Asr Avenue, the traffic slowed to a crawl. The driver asked his passenger what kind of music he wanted to hear, Persian or Turkish, but Azadi said he didn’t care. The taxi stopped