She’d used a handgun in an assault on Rhaa Haroon from Pakistan. Paniz was wanted by the Ministry of Intelligence and Security, the MOIS.
This was horrendous. They’d found the ISI agent’s body and were searching for her. He must have been known to the authorities as ISI and they were assuming a foreign intelligence organisation was involved. They were right of course. How the heck was she going to get out of this one. Her passport would be compromised now, flying to Dubai was out of the question. Anupa’s world had suddenly got much more complicated. What had seemed a relatively straightforward task, leave Iran, had got much more difficult. She’d just been handed a shit sandwich.
She found a store selling cell phones and purchased a prepaid cell.
Walking down a quiet alleyway she called the Norwegian Embassy.
“Hello embassy of Norway,” came the reply in a sing song Norwegian accent.
“I’d like to speak with Dr Kristlingson. Tell him it’s Sara Kay.”
“One moment please.”
After twenty seconds or so the voice returned.
“I’m sorry but Dr Kristlingson has returned to Norway. Can anyone else help?”
“No. Why did he leave? When will he be back?”
“I’m sorry but there has been a death, a close family member. I don’t know how long.”
“But I must contact him. Any idea how long he’ll be away?” The voice sounded apologetic.
“It’s his wife, suddenly. It’s normally two weeks for a situation like that.”
“Ok, sorry. Thank you.” Two weeks, and there was a possibility it’d be even longer. It was far too long.
How in hell did she get out of the country? She purchased some heavily tinted bronze coloured glasses. Black ones were available, but Anupa figured that they’d look more like an obvious concealment.
Anupa thought about it, as far as flights, the easiest route to Tehran wouldn’t be much good, she’d have to fly out of the country from there. The airlines maybe quite easy-going on a domestic flight. But on an international flight from Tehran they’d be looking for her. They’d be very strict on an international flight. An overland trip it had to be. North to Azerbaijan or Turkmenistan would be slow but possible, security at the border would likely be very low.
A trip far west to Iraq, forget it.
It had to be Karachi, Pakistan. It was a long journey, a similar distance to Detroit from New York. She’d heard that the train wasn’t too good, so it would be a bus; probably a long uncomfortable journey. Not what she wanted, but needs must. From there she could fly to all the major European cities. Anupa made her way to the bus station.
She got to the station, it was quite large. There were the usual stops with people boarding or waiting, many sat on the benches provided. They looked bored and listless. To the rear were several stores and what looked like a ticket counter. She walked over.
“I’d like a ticket to Pakistan.” The man behind the counter frowned and looked puzzled. She tried her best, but her Farsi wasn’t up to it. He called to someone, a younger man working on some papers. He came over.
“I’d like a ticket to Pakistan. To Karachi.”
“There is one at noon, it for one person?”
“Yes.” She was issued a ticket and paid the fare.
“You wait at stop nine, with passport. Twelve o’clock.”
“Thank you.” Anupa took her ticket and looked for stop nine.
The young man walked back behind the counter, he picked up a phone and dialled. Looking through the counter windows he watched the foreign woman walk off towards stop nine.
“Bandar Abbas police?”
“Hello, I work at the central bus station, ticketing section. I’m calling about a travel alert.”
RUDOLPH’S OFFICE FACED the river. He stood looking out over it toward the busy skyline of the city. Tall glass structures of the financial district, down the river was the great wheel of the London eye and the parliament buildings. From the Vauxhall offices of the SIS he looked out at the nation, most were ignorant of the events in train around the world. Not Rudolph, he carried a heavy load.
The phone spoke in intercom mode.
“She’s here Sir.”
“Send her in.” The door opened and a woman in her forties walked in, she wore a look of concern. Silk purse sat down on a couch.
“I’ve spoken to Langley,” said Rudolph, “I’m afraid it’s not good news. The American submarine that was due to exfil Crutch has been damaged. They didn’t say so, but I think it’s been involved in action against Iran.
“Why didn’t they keep the bloody thing out of the way and sit quietly until she was ready?” He shrugged
“Too late for that. It’s on its way to Japan for repairs.”
“Japan?”
“Apparently it’s the quickest way,” said Rudolph, “the USN has another submarine off New Zealand. But it’ll take time to get there. To make it worse the CIA’s asset that she was in contact with is out of the picture for two weeks.”
“She’ll have no option but to exfil. She’ll take the best route available to her. She’ll do what she can Rudolph.”
“I know, I just wish she’d make contact. We may not be able to help, but at least we’d know what the hell was going on.”
Silk purse shook her head.
“You know Crutch is trained to assume the worst. Everyone is under suspicion. Everyone. She’ll become self sufficient and goal focused, her mission will be to get out, that’s all.”
ANUPA FOLLOWED THE stop numbers until she got to nine. She decided to take a seat some distance away. She kept an eye on the stop the bus would be due to leave in just over an hour. Forty minutes later it arrived, the engine bay cover at the rear was opened and a mechanic tended to it. With just ten minutes to departure she got up to board the bus.
“Paniz Mohsen?” She turned, two policemen stood a few yards away. They beckoned to her to approach them. Anupa was horror struck, no one knew her assumed name, how had they known who she was? The bulletin. It could be downright bad luck, she’d no idea. They’d obviously identified her from the bulletin, there was no choice but to do as they said. She walked slowly towards them.
“What?” she asked in Farsi.
“Come with us.” They pulled her away, one of them took her hands behind her back and handcuffed her, she was led to a police car and bundled inside.
SHE’D BEEN IN THE INTERROGATION room for hours. She sat on a rough wooden chair at a plain wooden table. No food or drink, no questions. They had tied her loosely to the table, she couldn’t stand or move about. She sat alone, a bare florescent strip light lit the room. Anupa waited for the inevitable grilling. It was boredom, along with needing a piss and having a sore ass. She knew it was slow low-level deprivation. They were wearing her down. Two hours later a man walked in, he was Iranian but looked very western. Dressed casually, he wore a moustache and looked like a film celebrity. She felt like shit, but she thought he looked tasty. He unfastened her bindings.
“This way Paniz.” He led her to the restroom and stayed in there whilst she took a piss.
“Nothing like that when you need one, is there?” He spoke English with a slight middle eastern accent. He took her back to the room and didn’t tie the bindings.
“It’s hard, sat so long on the wooden chair. Would you like me to rub your bottom?”
She stared at him. It was time to show some fight.
“Yes, but my ass has to be bare.” He gave her a half smile.
“Why did you shoot Rhaa Haroon?”
“Did I?” she raised an eyebrow.
He left the room and returned a few minutes later with a large bottle of water and food, cheese, bread, fruit and a beef sandwich. Anupa ate ravenously.