Nuclear physicist Massoud Safavi had made his first contact with the Canadian Intelligence Service three months ago. He had promised the CIS his vast knowledge of Iran’s uranium enrichment program and its plans to build a nuclear bomb. In exchange, Safavi wanted a new life in the Western world.
The CIS had checked, double-checked, and triple-checked Safavi’s credentials and his story, his motives, and his reasons for this defection. He worked as a chief physicist at the secret, heavily fortified Fordo Plant near Qom, in northern Iran. He was not married and had very few friends. He lived with his elderly mother and a younger brother but was almost always away because of work. Safavi was a devoted Muslim, but moderate in his beliefs. Afraid of the new wave of killings of nuclear scientists all over Iran — the most recent a month ago in the heart of the capital, Tehran — Safavi had decided to get out while he still could.
A defection scenario was one of the most difficult and dreaded operations by all secret agents. It was a ticking bomb waiting to explode at any second. No matter how hard one tried to cover all the angles, there were too many variables that could not be identified, let alone controlled. Was Safavi really defecting or simply luring the agents into an ambush? Was his intelligence going to be any good? Useful? Actionable? Was he a double agent, sent by the Iranians to spy on the CIS and their partner agencies and give them bogus information?
These and many other questions ran through Justin’s mind. He had no answers to most of them. The potential of securing a highly valued defector and top secret intelligence had convinced him to set foot again on Iranian soil. He had picked this remote meeting point — fifteen miles south of the Turkmenistan-Iran border — and had set up every detail of the operation. And now here they were, a mile away from their meeting point, almost two hours past their appointed time, and the defector was nowhere to be seen.
“Anything new?” Justin asked Nathan, who was keeping an eye on the road.
“No, nothing. What did Ruslan say?”
“He threatened to leave us here. He’s not gonna do it.”
Justin looked at Nathan’s calm face. He was twenty-seven, ten years his junior, but already a great field agent. In the absence of his regular partner Carrie O’Connor — who was searching for her father’s grave in Grozny, Chechnya — Justin and Nathan had previously worked together in a reconnaissance mission in Mali. Nathan’s orienteering skills had saved their lives after their local contacts were shot dead. Even if the drug runners left them behind, Nathan would be able to find his way through the dry river beds and over the hills and back to Turkmenistan.
Nathan raised his binoculars. “I see some movement. A silver Toyota.”
Justin fell to the ground and stared at the road through his binoculars. The Toyota was travelling very fast for the dirt road, bouncing over natural speed bumps and dipping into shallow potholes. A long tail of gray dust clouded the view behind the car.
“That’s our man?” Nathan asked.
“Not sure. The Toyota matches the description, but I can’t make out his face.”
“Can’t tell if he’s being followed.”
“We stay put until we have a visual.”
Justin crawled forward and followed the car through his carbine scope. It would be practically impossible for the driver and any passengers in the Toyota to spot Justin’s and Nathan’s position from that distance. Even if the car stopped and someone searched the hilltop, the chances of finding the carbine muzzle were extremely slim. Justin had picked their vantage point keeping in mind counter-surveillance tactics. A few shrubs, some rocks jutting out of the ground, and two heaps of sand formed a natural cover in front of their position.
The Toyota followed the curved road, slowed down, then stopped. Justin had given Safavi the GPS coordinates of their meeting point, and the car was right on the designated spot. The driver rolled down his window, as per Justin’s instructions.
“That’s Safavi,” Justin said.
His features matched those of the pictures Justin had seen, except for the curtain of sweat flowing down the man’s black and gray beard. Safavi’s eyes had dark circles around them. He ran his hands through his receding hair and fixed his black-rimmed glasses. Then he looked out the window.
Justin moved the sight of his scope to the back seats. It seemed there was no one else in the Toyota, but he had no way of being completely sure. He reached for his satellite phone and dialed Safavi’s number.
“You’re late,” Justin said in English. “What happened?”
“Traffic, I ran into heavy traffic.” Safavi’s voice was weak, and he was huffing as if trying to catch his breath. Justin looked through the carbine’s scope. Safavi’s hands were shaking, and he almost dropped his cellphone. “There was also an accident. Not me. A truck.”
“Anyone else with you in the car?” he asked.
“No. I’m alone.”
“Anyone follow you?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“You’re not sure?”
“I didn’t see anyone following me.”
The cloud of dust had started to thin out. Justin surveyed the road for the next five, six, then seven miles behind Safavi’s car. No trace of a tail. He raised his scope and scanned the horizon. No sign of any helicopter or airplane. It seemed everything was going according to the plan.
“You see anything strange?” he asked Nathan, who had been mimicking Justin’s reconnaissance actions.
“No, but that’s doesn’t mean it’s not there.”
“Uh-huh.” Justin grunted. He spoke to Safavi over the phone, “Turn off the car, but leave the key in. Take everything you need and step out.”
Safavi followed Justin’s orders. A briefcase hung from his left hand. “Where are you?”
“We’ll meet you soon. Start walking toward the north. Stay on the road. Stop once five minutes have passed.”
“In the sun?”
Justin sighed. “Yes, in the sun. I’ll call you in five.”
“All right.”
Safavi began to walk slowly. He was wearing dress shoes, almost useless for the hike he had just started. The briefcase was not heavy. It was swinging back and forth as he took small steps.
“Keep an eye on him and on the car. I’m going to meet him. I’ll tell you when I know he’s clean.” Justin tapped his throat mike, while looking at Nathan.
Nathan nodded. He placed his eye on his C8 carbine’s scope. His index finger caressed the trigger.
Justin crawled backwards until he reached the boulder then jumped to his feet. “Our contact’s here,” he told Ruslan when he got to the Nissan. “I’m going to meet with him. Mehmet will let you know when I’ve gotten what I need. At that time, bring the car around. Meet me down at the road, and we’ll get out of here. Is that clear?”
Ruslan nodded and showed Justin his crooked teeth. “Yes,” he muttered and lit up a cigar.
Justin skirted around the hill, watching his step for loose rocks. His feet sank ankle deep into the sand as he slithered downhill, hidden from Safavi’s line of sight. He advanced fast, moving toward the next hill to his right, always keeping Safavi’s car in his peripheral vision. At the same time, he checked farther away on both sides of the road, as well as the peaks of surrounding hills and the horizon. The operation seemed to be running without a glitch.