A TIME TO BETRAY (31 page)

“
Bah,
Reza
jon
!” Mullah Aziz said as he wrapped his arms around me. “Kazem has told me all about you, a true
pasdar,
a great Muslim.”

I looked at Agha Joon to see his reaction. He was shaking his head, not happy with this reunion. I grabbed my grandfather’s arm
and we all headed inside the house, where the ceremony was to take place. But inside felt more like a funeral than a wedding. One room was full of men sitting on the ground with a couple of chairs in the corner, one especially cushioned for Mullah Aziz. The women and the bride were in a separate room, where they could not be seen or heard. Usually at a wedding, music played and people danced, but not here, not when religious radicals were the hosts. Only the smile on Kazem’s face indicated that this was a happy event.

I could see that all of this displeased Agha Joon. All his life, he had been the center of attention, spoken his mind freely, and enjoyed the respect of everyone who knew him. Now he was being made to sit on the ground next to people who had stolen the dignity of his beloved country and he had to bow to a mullah who once performed a sermon at his house for a dollar or two.

“You know, Reza
jon
,” Agha Joon said on the way home, “there are a lot of these
besharaf
mullahs out there. But do you know what this perverted bastard did while you were in the States going to college? He sent a messenger to your uncle’s house to announce that he wanted to go
khastegari
for Haleh, your cousin. He had no shame. Haleh was half his age and this
binamoos
didn’t know that my son would never have accepted him even as his daughter’s butler.” He shook his head. “I am glad it was before the revolution, otherwise God knows what he would have done to get them to accept. And thank God Haleh got married shortly after and left for Sweden with her husband.”

He was right. During the wedding celebration, Kazem told me that Mullah Aziz’s new position was as a judge in the Revolutionary Courts in charge of the trials of opposition groups. If he were interested in Haleh and my uncle refused, he could have accused my uncle of sedition, had him sent to prison, or even had him killed.

That night at home, I once again thought of Naser. I took his picture out, saw his bright smile shining back at me, and imagined that same smile on his wedding day, if he had lived. Earlier in the day, Kazem had described his wedding as the purest form of bliss.
The revolution had stolen that bliss from Naser and his siblings.

Early the next morning, I received a message from Carol:

Dear Wally,

It’s great to hear from you.

We are so happy you are well and back on the job.

We received all three letters.

The information provided was extremely important and valuable.

Please keep us posted on any further information regarding nukes.

We have located both Rasool and Rahim.

Stay safe,

Carol

By the spring of 1985, the war was becoming more intense. Imam Khomeini and the ruling clerics were pushing for the removal of Saddam, conquering Iraq, and unifying Muslims in a bigger, holier war against Israel. Guards commanders said that Khomeini would go to his prayer room alone to talk to God for his approval before any offensive. Following one such talk with God in March of that year, he issued an order for a massive movement toward the city of Basra in Iraq dubbed Operation Badr, sending tens of thousands of soldiers to the front. The operation was successful, initially capturing part of the Basra-Baghdad highway, but it soon turned horrific when the Iraqi army again resorted to the use of chemical weapons. Saddam went even further by bombarding civilian targets in Iran.

Because of this, I told Somaya that even though most of the attacks came at night, she needed to take extra precautions when I was not there. She should keep the radio on at all times, and if the siren signaling an imminent aerial attack went off, she should take shelter in our cellar. She didn’t like that idea, but for Omid’s sake, she agreed it would be safer.

Taking such shelter became routine for us. First the siren, then
antiaircraft guns, and then explosions, sometimes so close they would jolt our building. Omid, now three, would cry, Somaya would shake, and I would wrap my arms around them trying to protect them. Then there would be a quiet moment before another siren announced an all clear and we could leave the shelter. Calls to close family members and friends followed to make sure everyone was still alive. We somehow managed to continue to conduct our lives under these conditions, as did everyone who survived the raids.

That summer, a neighbor down the block invited Omid to a birthday party. I didn’t want to let Omid out of our sight, especially because the party was in the evening. Even with the Iraqi air raids, Iranians maintained their custom of having parties, even birthday celebrations for the young ones at dinnertime. Although I knew Somaya would be by his side, still I was hesitant. That day, though, Omid woke up with a fever and Somaya decided not to take him. We had a quiet day, and Somaya got Omid ready for bed early, since he still wasn’t feeling well. As she did, the siren went off. Before we had a chance to run to the cellar, a roaring explosion filled the air and the house shook violently. I grabbed Omid and pulled Somaya to a corner of the room away from the windows, covering them with my body. They were both screaming. For what seemed like an endless stretch, all I could feel under my body was the frantic beating of two innocent hearts desperate for survival. I prayed to God to let this pass with no harm. The growl of each antiaircraft missile shook Somaya’s back and made Omid squeal. Windows and other glass shattered, and I kept praying.

I don’t know how long we were in that position before the guns finally stopped firing. I left my family, still hysterical, in the corner. I stepped on picture frames that had fallen off the walls, broken vases, and other objects on my way to the far side of room, where I kept the emergency flashlights on the nightstand. I then led them to the cellar.

As we crumpled into one another’s arms, the sky seemed quiet. But the sound of ambulances, police cars, and fire trucks filled our neighborhood. It was apparent that the explosion hit somewhere
close to our house. When Somaya and Omid finally calmed down, I stepped outside to see what had happened.

Debris cluttered the neighborhood. Clouds of smoke and dust filled the air and I had to cover my mouth against this as I walked down the block. There, I saw that the top of a four-story building was missing, with bricks and concrete blocks in a pile on the ground.

Several neighbors were outside helping the police, the firemen, and the Guards pull bodies from the rubble. I saw several small bodies wrapped in cloth lying on the ground. The bodies seemed about Omid’s size. Then it dawned on me:
Oh my God! This is where Omid would have been.
These were the kids at the birthday party.

I started digging furiously, helping pull out more bodies. Mostly small kids. Some still in their mothers’ arms. Most dead. The kids and guests at that party on the fourth floor were all dead. Only a few from the lower stories of the building survived, suffering various injuries and burns.

A Guard was going around to the women’s dead bodies and covering their hair as we pulled them to the side. They wouldn’t allow even the injured and dead to be seen without cover.

The bombing and deaths of our neighbors terrified Somaya and me. After this event, Somaya would not leave Omid’s side. She would hold him in her arms, and when he was asleep, she would sit next to his bed and cry. In the ensuing days, I pleaded for her to consider leaving, this time making sure not to offend her as I had when I’d proposed the same during her pregnancy.

“Just until this war is over,” I pleaded. “And I promise to come and visit as much as I can. Do it for Omid. He is constantly crying and screaming through this madness.”

Somaya wiped her tears, and bent and kissed Omid’s hand as he slept in his crib. “I love him so much and I feel so responsible for him,” she said, bursting into tears. “What if we were at that party and something had happened to him? What would I have done without him?”

I hugged her shivering shoulders, not mentioning that if they had
been at the party I would have lost her as well. “I know. And we should thank God that Omid had a fever. That’s why I am asking you to go to your parents. I know how much he means to you and you know how much you both mean to me. Your safety and happiness are all I am pleading for.”

She pressed her body into mine. “Let’s all go there and forget about this place. Reza, what are you doing here? What is so important about your job? I have wanted to go to London for a long time. The moment the war started, I did not feel safe. But I didn’t want to leave you behind. I stayed for you. Now you should come with us—for me.”

I kissed her head and wished that I could explain everything to her. “I will ask Kazem for permission to accompany you.”

“But you will come back here after you take us.” She let go of me and covered her face with her palms. “I have to do this for Omid now. But I don’t know what to do with you, Reza. I am just so exhausted. If that’s what you want, I cannot force you to love your family and to be with them.” She walked to our bedroom and opened the closet. “I will start packing. You take care of the rest.”

Kazem knew about the bombing in my neighborhood and about how close it had come to my home, so he understood when I told him that I wanted Somaya and Omid to go to England to live with her parents for a while. Fortunately, the restrictions limiting travel had been lifted and the airports were open to all who wished to travel outside. I told Kazem that I wanted to make sure my wife and son got there safely and asked if he could help arrange time off for me so I could escort them. Once again, he was instrumental in arranging this, but he told me that the following day Mohsen Rezaei, the chief commander of the Guards, would be making an important announcement. He asked me to accompany him.

We headed to the Guards’ base southeast of Tehran, where Rezaei was holding the meeting. A flood of cars and bikes streamed down the street and poured into the base, filling the air with dust. Hundreds of Guards gathered in the compound, most being members of
the Intelligence Unit. There was a host of regional commanders also in attendance.

The number of intelligence men in the crowd made me anxious. Some of them were longtime friends, but I couldn’t look at them the same way I did before I became involved in the CIA. Every glance from one of them seemed to carry suspicion. I was churning on the inside, but I had no choice but to act normal.

I stayed close to Kazem while he shook hands with others. During this process, I met a Guard named Taghi. “You must be Baradar Reza,” he said to me. “It’s nice to see you here. Our great martyr Javad told me a lot of good things about you.”

Mention of Javad’s name caused my nerves to spike. This Guard had a higher ranking than Javad. If Javad spoke to Taghi about me, taking his concerns up the ladder, there was a good chance that the danger Javad caused me did not die with him.

“It’s nice meeting you, Baradar Taghi,” I said as I shook his hand. “We all miss Javad. He is indeed a great martyr. May God bless his soul.”

Taghi said nothing else to me, leaving me to wonder what he knew and what he was thinking. I followed Kazem and the others into the meeting hall. Folding chairs were arranged in rows; pictures of Imam Khomeini decorated the walls. Kazem and I took our seats close to the front row.

Moments later, Mohsen Rezaei and his entourage entered the room and marched toward the podium. Everyone in the room arose and started shouting,
“Allaho Akbar, Khomeini Rahbar.”
Rezaei eventually raised his hands and brought the gathering to order.

I focused on the speech, knowing that Carol and her team would want as much detail as possible and that I would have to rely on my memory to repeat it all. Rezaei began by commending the Guards for their bravery on the war fronts and reminding us of the importance of our duty to protect the Islamic Republic of Iran against our enemies. He emphasized that the U.S. and Israel were, at all times, planning to hurt Iran and suppress the Islamic movement.
Our vigilance was essential in this regard. The irony that I was sitting only a few feet from him, committing every one of his words to memory, was not lost on me.

Then Rezaei moved on to matters of business and made his most important announcement: with Imam Khomeini’s personal authorization, the Revolutionary Guards’ air, ground, and naval units were to be greatly expanded with sophisticated weapons. The plan was to turn the Guards’ forces into a conventional army but with a martyrdom mentality. He talked about the formation of thousands of smaller units to provide air, ground, and naval support, and emphasized that while we might never match the air and naval power of countries such as America, these new ancillary units, with the proper weaponry, could overwhelm any enemy. He promised missiles, fighter jets, submarines, and the expansion of weapons production inside the country with the goal of reaching self-sufficiency. This was enormous news, something I could only begin to appreciate on that day. As it turned out, this moment was when the Guards truly began to seize control of Iran, exerting enormous power both inside and outside of the country.

“We will build a force that will demolish the enemies of Islam, continue the path of our great Prophet Mohammad, and raise the flag of Islam in all corners of the world,” Rezaei said enthusiastically.

The chants of
“Allaho Akbar”
and
“Khomeini Rahbar”
filled the room again as the excited crowd roared its approval.

The plan to take Somaya and Omid to England now served another purpose. I needed to see Carol, to relay the important information that I had learned and discuss my fear that Taghi would be keeping an eye on my activities. I purchased our tickets to travel to London. Not wanting to take any unnecessary risks before taking my family out of the country, I did not write to Carol informing her about my travel plans.