Bian held a page in front of her face, staring at it with open amazement.
She slid the page across the table in my direction. It was from Charabi, and opened with one of his recurring themes, bitching about the ineptness of American soldiers as occupiers. Halfway down, I read,
So you will see that my situation has become most tenuous and dangerous. My Iraqi Shiite broth-ers do not trust me. I am being out-maneuvered by Sadr and Sistani for leadership of the Shia people, because I am seen as a cowardly expatriate who escaped the worst of Saddam's years, and now works for the Americans, without proper loyalty to my country. In the streets, I am called an American puppet, a Pentagon lick-toadie, and other names too abominable to repeat. This is all so unfortunate and so terribly shameful. This is a big problem for me, and you must appreciate how this is also a big problem for you, my brother. America is the coun-try of my second love, and truly, I am your best hope for a leader for my country. You once saw this, and I pray you can still see this, yes? I know I am losing of your trust, but look into your heart and still you must see me as a good friend.
So I have met with my friends I have earlier de-scribed for you, these Persian people from Tehran who say they do not like Sistani or Sadr. They have friends in the Iranian intelligence service, and have promised me that possibly there can be a trade of information that would be most beneficial to me, to you, and to them. I want to have back your trust, and I am knowing I must provide you something that will put you back into loving embraces with Thomas and Albert.
I am sorry for this trouble I have caused you. Although you must remember, it was not me who resulted in these terrible embarrassments of false intelligence and promises that have not come true. It was people I trusted, some of who you equally met and just as well trusted.
But my friends in Tehran have information they can give me that they promise will prove of enor-mous value to you--valuable to your soldiers here, but also to you personally, and professionally, my dear friend of so many years.
Unfortunately, they insist I must give them something in return, something that in importance is equally great. Alas, this is the land of bazaars-- always there must be something given for some-thing received. So I am leaving to you and your brilliant mind to decide what I can offer these Ira-nian friends. It is bad luck we cannot discuss this on the phone without the big ears of your govern-ment overhearing, but you must believe when I tell you what they are offering is bigger than you can imagine.
Bian handed me a few additional pages, essentially more back-and-forth stuff, as the two men argued about the conditions of this trade. Daniels's messages were furious complaints about how Charabi had already screwed him, ruined his professional reputation, destroyed his career, and how his bosses, Tigerman and Hirschfield, were threatening to fire him unless he salvaged the situation. The sum of Daniels's argument was this: Charabi had gotten him into this mess, and he now owed him a big favor, something dramatic, and in the spirit of dues owed, something unconditional.
I thought Daniels was exposing his desperation, and I thought further that Charabi recognized it, and shrewdly exploited it. With each message back, Charabi stubbornly insisted there had to be a trade, and he cleverly sank the hook a little deeper. Essentially, he promised a piece of intelligence that would make Daniels a big hero, a golden bullet that would result in a huge intelligence coup and restore him to good graces.
I looked up and asked Bian, "You're familiar with the conditions over there. When were these--"
"Written? Oh, I would guess"--she appeared thoughtful for a moment--"five . . . at most, six months back. Around the time the Shiite insurgency erupted last spring."
Phyllis stood up and went to her desk, saying, "That's about right." Over her shoulder, she asked us, "Do you understand the full import of this message?" We indicated we did, and she lifted up a piece of paper and informed us, "This message won't be found in either of your stacks." She added, "Several other messages have been extracted as well. In