A Time To Betray Part 22

Gary understood my concerns and agreed to see me that afternoon at the safe house.

"I know that our papers might not be ready yet," I said when we sat down, "but it is very important for us to agree that should you and Rasool reach an understanding, I cannot be involved with the agency anymore. Two reasons ..." I paused. "First, it's possible Rasool could turn on you and tell Amiri or the Guards that the connection with you was through me. Second, I would not-could not under any circ.u.mstance-continue my acquaintance or contact with him if he joins the agency. That would be too stressful and alarming for both of us, being in the Guards. Is there any way you could put our papers on the fast track?"

"Actually," Gary said, "before I left my office today, I got a call from the American consulate. Your papers are ready, Wally. You are good to go. Isn't that exciting?"

It could indeed have been. But I couldn't help feeling that this "coincidence" was a form of betrayal on the part of the CIA. Could it be that my papers had been ready long before this and that they did not tell me because they wanted me to reel in Rasool?

"You don't seem happy about it, Wally. Is everything okay?"

"Oh, sure. I'm just worried about tomorrow."

Gary patted my shoulder. "We have taken care of all of the details. Just do what you have been doing all these years. You've done a great job, Wally, and if things go wrong, we have you covered."

After I left the safe house, before getting to the Tube, I walked along the Thames. The colorful lights from the barges, s.h.i.+ps, and ferries populated the river and cast a dancing sparkle on the water, reflecting a memorable picture of a lively night in London. I leaned against a wall, lit a cigarette, and looked out at the river. I thought about how close I was to freedom. So close that I could feel it, just like the breeze from the Thames moistening my face. Somaya is going to be so happy when I tell her that it is all over, Somaya is going to be so happy when I tell her that it is all over, I thought. This made me feel better than I'd felt in a very long time. I thought. This made me feel better than I'd felt in a very long time.

"And it is over," I said to the water. "It is all over."

The next morning, I got up early. Before Somaya and Omid left for school, I told my wife that I would check with Harriet Johnson, our immigration lawyer, to see if she had any news for us.

"I might even go to her office today," I said.

"You should. Why is it taking so long? She said six months to a year. It is way more than a year now. Tell her we need an answer soon."

"I told her that the last time I called her. She said it was just a matter of time now. Hopefully, she has something for us today."

When Somaya left with our son, I got ready for what could be the most momentous day of my life-if I made it through. Even though the CIA had me covered, considerable danger existed. Maybe this was a trap and Rasool was planning to a.s.sa.s.sinate Gary and me at the restaurant. Anything was possible.

When I put my suit on, I felt a twinge in my back. I was only thirty-four, but the burdens of my life bowed me like an old man. "What have you done, Reza?" I asked my reflection in the mirror, thinking about how freedom and life itself could still be s.n.a.t.c.hed from me in the final hour. I felt a ball wadded in my throat and tears coming to my eyes. Why couldn't this have been simpler? Why did I need to suffer through every step of this experience?

Seeking reinforcement, I turned to the closet where I kept some of my old books and papers and scrambled through the pages of a book to find Naser's picture hidden inside Roya's letter. The picture was fading. Roya's letter was torn at the creases, not readable anymore. But I knew every word of it. I could see Naser under the peeling layers of the picture still looking at me.

For many years, those two pieces of paper had motivated me to go on. I was not sure that strength was still there. Like Roya's torn letter and Naser's faded picture, my conviction was vanis.h.i.+ng.

Still, I grabbed my coat and left the house.

The signals were all cleared, the lookouts at their posts. Apparently, no one had followed Rasool and me. We entered the restaurant, and I spotted Gary already seated at a table.

"Shoot! I should have asked him what he looked like, or what he would be wearing." I shook my head, realizing that Gary and I had forgotten to discuss how we should show acquaintance at the restaurant-not so smart for a CIA operative and a spy.

Gary glanced at us and looked down at a piece of paper on the table. I turned my head away.

"Could that be him?" Rasool said, pointing at Gary. "He has a bunch of stuff with him."

"Where?" I asked. Rasool pointed again. It was a small restaurant, but busy enough for me to be able to pretend. "Oh, that man? Maybe. Should we go and ask him?"

Rasool stopped a pa.s.sing waitress. "Excuse me, but we are here to meet somebody. I think that's him. Could you ask that man over there if he is expecting anyone?"

The waitress went to do as Rasool asked. Meanwhile, Rasool continued to study Gary. "That man looks more like a military man than a lawyer, if that's him," he said.

Indeed, Gary was ex-military, and his broad shoulders, physique, and, of course, the buzz haircut testified to that.

"But, big guy, you can take him down in a second if he tries to mess with us," I joked.

At that moment, Gary got up and came toward us. "Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me here." He offered his hand. "I am Gary Sullivan, and you are ...?"

I reached his hand first. "I am Reza Kahlili."

"Glad to meet you, Reza. And you must be ...? Sorry, I did not get your name."

"I am Rasool. You can call me Russell."

After we settled at our table, Gary sensed my nervousness and knocked over a gla.s.s of water as he bent to grab his briefcase. The time required to clean up the spill allowed me to compose myself.

Then Gary moved on to the reason for the meeting. "A tourist visa is possible if you have somebody in the States offering an invitation and an affidavit of support. We can try that if you just want to go for a short time. If a company in the States sponsors you, perhaps an H1 visa would be another option. A student visa, if you apply at a university, is one way ... or a business visa ..." Gary continued with the other possibilities. I was afraid he'd mention political asylum. That would be a red flag for all of us. But he was smarter than that.

"Why would I need a lawyer if I had a family member who could send me an invitation?" Rasool said casually. "If I got accepted in a school, or sponsored by a company, I could apply on my own."

"You are right, but if it were that easy, there would not be a line at the consulate door and a disappointed rejected crowd leaving it. Even for those who have the invitation or sponsors.h.i.+p, it is unlikely to get permission to enter the States. And not everybody is lucky enough to have a relative there to prepare the ground for them. That's where I come in."

"But how likely is a visa for somebody like me who has n.o.body in the States?" Rasool asked.

"I have done this a lot, Russell. Ten out of ten get their visas." Gary paused. "Of course, there is money involved."

"How much are we talking about?"

"What I would like to do is ..." Gary looked at his watch. "I have another appointment soon on the other side of London, but what I'd like to do is to set up another meeting with you to go over everything. I need to get some information from you and examine your options." Then he looked at me. "Reza, are you also interested in moving to America?"

"My wife is. She is in school now, but she thinks finis.h.i.+ng her education in America would be ideal. Unfortunately, all of her family members live in Europe. It will be hard for her to be away from them. We have discussed this briefly, but I will talk to her again and see if she really wants to live in America. I'll get back to you."

Gary then excused himself to make a call, informing his "next client" that he might be a little late. That was part of our plan. He wanted me to see what Rasool's reaction was. If Rasool was not sure, I had to convince him that he should make another appointment with Gary. And if he was already set to do so, my job was easier. But either way, Gary needed my signal to do his part.

"I think I like this man. I trust him. I should keep going with this," Rasool said.

"Whatever you do, big guy, don't pay him up front. He seems trustworthy, but first you have to make sure he can produce a visa for you."

He laughed. "Don't worry, Reza. I'm a businessman myself. I know the rules."

Gary came back. I reached inside my pocket to get a pen. Gary noticed my signal.

"Okay. Where were we?" Gary sipped his coffee. "About the fee. Yes. I'm not going to charge you for this meeting, and as for the next one, should you decide to go forward, my consultation fee is a hundred fifty pounds. But since my office might not be ready by then, and I know it is inconvenient to meet in a restaurant, I will not charge you for that one, either. After that, should you want me to proceed, I will apply that fee to the total cost."

"That sounds fair," I stated.

"Yeah. I think that sounds good," Rasool said. "I would like to proceed and find out if I can get a visa."

Gary handed his business card to both of us, and Rasool exchanged his.

"I will call you to set up something in a week and let you know what doc.u.ments to bring with you," Gary told Rasool. Then he turned to me. "You should also talk to your wife and give me a call, Reza."

Rasool seemed content. Something nagged at me, though. If he really wanted to immigrate to America, he could have found an immigration lawyer in London at any time during the years he lived in England. When we were alone again, my curiosity got the best of me and I asked him why he'd never tried to do this before.

Rasool's expression became wistful. "I did. I had a girlfriend. ..." He paused. "Liz was British-American and did not need a visa. She left for America and asked me to join her." He stopped and looked for his pack of cigarettes, lighting one before he spoke again. "I saw a lawyer who told me that it was very easy. If I would just marry my girlfriend or get engaged, I would not even need a lawyer. I could go to America in a matter of a few months. Just apply through the American consulate either as a spouse to a citizen or under an engagement visa."

"What happened?"

"I called Liz and told her the good news." He puffed on his cigarette, staring down at the ground. "She said she was sorry but she did not think we should see each other anymore." He crushed his cigarette under his shoes.

I felt a rush of empathy for him. "I am sorry, big guy. Really sorry."

We parted and I found myself hoping that everything worked out for him. That he would take the CIA up on their offer, do good work with them for a few years, and then find a safe home on American sh.o.r.es.

Meanwhile, my own pa.s.sage was nearly complete. Somaya was exuberant when I told her we were on our way.

"Reza, I can't believe this. I am so happy!" she said, giving me a huge hug. Before I could drown myself in her arms, though, she pulled away.

"What's wrong?" I asked in surprise.

She sat on the couch and pulled her legs up against her chest. The sudden change in her mood left me feeling unsteady.

"I am just not sure about this." She bit her nails and took a moment before continuing. "You know how long I waited for you to come here, away from your little mysterious life." She offered me a look that said that she knew I had not told her everything. "But it's been more than a year since you've gotten here, and you're still the same man you were back in Iran. You are so attached to this revolution. I just don't know, Reza. I don't know what you see that I cannot see."

It was clear that she was fighting her emotions as she spoke. I wanted to help her with this, but I also knew that I needed to let her say what she needed to say.

"I cannot get my hopes up just because we are moving somewhere else," she continued. "What if you have more obligations and more work to do for the Guards once we are there? I don't know if going to America is a good idea anymore."

She dropped her head.

I sat next to her, wrapping an arm around her. "I know. I know I have not been the husband you've deserved. I know I've neglected you and our son. Just give me another chance. We'll start our dream life. I'll make up for all the years I was not there for you and Omid. My work with the Guards is over. Completely. I promise."

Somaya looked at me and wiped her eyes with the end of her sleeve. "How do I know this isn't just more talk, Reza. I've waited so long for you to change. I am just so frustrated."

"I know. And I know that I can't possibly say anything to convince you that I mean everything I say this time. But I promise you with all of my heart."

I don't know if Somaya believed me or if she just decided to go along with me because of her incredible loving nature, but she started planning our trip and preparing Omid for the new and exciting life we were about to lead.

With great trepidation, I called Amiri to let him know that I was leaving the Guards. Even as I waited for him to come to the phone, I wondered if he was going to try to convince me to stay-or do something even more persuasive. As it turned out, though, I had misplaced my fears, at least in this case. Amiri said that since Rahim was no longer my commander and since I had no pending engagements in London, leaving was up to me.

"Whenever you are back, call me," he said. "If there is something you can do, I'll let you know."

The ease with which he let me go stunned me. Of course, I did not tell him I was going to the United States, nor did I tell anybody else. I even asked Somaya to tell her parents that we were going to take a tour around Europe. We agreed that we would tell her parents our real plans once we were settled in the U.S.

We met with Gary at the American consulate. I introduced him to Somaya as Harriet Johnson's a.s.sistant. There was no waiting in line for us as we entered the consulate's private door and met the consul general himself.

"Why are they treating us so specially?" Somaya asked with disbelief in her voice.

"I paid Harriet Johnson a lot of money," I whispered in Farsi. "They'd better treat us well."

We signed the papers, and both Gary and the consul general wished us luck.

We were nearly on our way.

I wanted to say good-bye to Rasool. He'd become a real friend and I couldn't leave England without calling him to let him know I was going. Neither Gary nor he had said anything about the direction of their conversations, and I decided it would be best if I didn't ask. Of course, I couldn't tell him that I was going to live in America, and it surprised him to hear that I was taking my family for a trip around Europe.

"My wife is not taking any cla.s.ses this semester, so we decided to travel around the continent for the rest of the summer before Omid's school starts in the fall," I lied.

"That's a good plan," he said.

"It is. I haven't been able to spend enough time with them since I arrived in England, especially my son. I was worried Baradar Amiri would not approve of my leave, but he was okay with it."

Rasool didn't say anything for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was more conspiratorial. "Reza, I did what I said I would do for you. I know you are a family man, so I talked to Amiri and told him you are not the right guy for what we're trying to do here. I hope that's what you wanted. You should not get involved, Reza."

"I know. You're right. By the way, how, exactly, did you say this to Amiri?"

"I just told him that you were a coward!" He laughed boisterously.

I laughed along with him.

"By the way, my meeting with that lawyer, Gary Sullivan, was not bad. Thanks for finding that ad for me. There might be a chance for me to get a visa. But I need one more favor from you. Please do not mention it to anybody. It might not work out, and I don't want to lose my job here."

I congratulated him, and said I would keep his secret-a secret that, for my safety and the safety of my family, I needed to take to my grave.

My last meeting in London with Gary was a couple of nights before our flight. To my surprise Gary had a list with him.

"Okay, let me go over these!" He showed me a sheet with a breakdown of annual salaries. "Should you decide to work in the States at the agency, here are the numbers. The first year would be this amount ... the second year this amount ... here is the bonus for the first year: this figure ... plus the housing expense ... this one ..."

We hadn't discussed any of this, and I wasn't prepared to do so now. No more, please! No more, please! I thought. I thought. I cannot do this to Somaya and Omid anymore; they deserve a life without lies! I cannot do this to Somaya and Omid anymore; they deserve a life without lies!

Mercifully, Gary ended the sales pitch. He handed me a card. "Here is my number in the States. Regardless of what you decide, I would love to hear from you. Keep me posted."

"I will," I said, though I really didn't want to think about this. As we prepared to leave for the States, I had begun to feel the fresh breeze of freedom wafting through the deepest layers of my being-a breeze that would blow away all traces of Wally and the life I knew I could no longer live. I was ready to let that breeze carry me all the way to my new home.

30.

VATAN.

2001.

SOMAYA HID HER face in my shoulder as she burst into tears. face in my shoulder as she burst into tears.

"Oh, honey, it's going to be okay," I said, wrapping my arms around her.

"I know, Reza. I am just so proud of Omid. These are happy tears."