The plan was almost too straightforward. Every morning two Iranians set off with a water cart from the U.S. embassy and traveled some two miles across the city to the British embassy to fill a Furphy with pure water. With some of the British gold sovereigns Oster had brought from Vinnica, it was a simple matter to buy off the two Iranians. On Tuesday morning, Oster and Shkvarzev, disguised as locals, would drive two Furphys onto the grounds of the embassy. If they were asked about having two, Oster would tell the British that more water was required because of the visit of President Roosevelt’s delegation. According to the two water carriers bribed by Ebtehaj, the British water supply appeared underneath the roof of the embassy building in an ornamental dome with honeycomb tracery and a pool of water tiled in blue-what the French called a rond-point. The rond-point appeared on the other side of the embassy’s kitchen wall. The harness of the Furphy carrying the bomb would be disabled, necessitating its temporary abandonment. The bomb would then be armed using a cheap Westclox “Big Ben” alarm clock-which to Oster seemed only appropriate-an Eveready B103 radio battery, an electrical blasting cap, and three pounds of plastic explosive. Oster and Shkvarzev would then leave the embassy with one Furphy filled with water and, having left the second Furphy behind, the two men would use both cart horses and ride fifteen miles to Kan, where Ebtehaj would be waiting with a truck-load of roasted pistachios. They would then make the 400-mile journey to the Turkish border. By the time the bomb went off, Oster hoped to be in a neutral country.
Oster thought that if the plan did have a fault, it was that it seemed too simple. He spoke some Persian, and a little English, and since neither he nor Shkvarzev had washed or shaved since their arrival in Iran, he didn’t doubt that in the right clothes they could easily pass for locals. At least as far as the British were concerned. If all went to plan, they would arm the bomb at around nine A.M. and, twelve hours later, just as Churchill’s birthday guests were sitting down to dinner, it would go off. And while Oster did not think this would win the war, it would be enough to force an armistice. That had to be worth any amount of risk.
Oster finally heard Jomat shout that the Russians had left and, breathing a sigh of relief, he and the others began to struggle out from under the pistachios. He did not think that they would be so lucky again. With forty-eight hours still to go before he and Shkvarzev could put their plan into action, it was going to be all they could do to keep their nerve and sit it out.
0800 Hours
The Amirabad U.S. Army base was close to the Gale Morghe Airport, yet despite the noise of American C-54s arriving throughout the night, carrying materiel for the Russian war effort, I slept extremely well. This was easy. I had a proper bed, instead of a wooden pallet next to an open slops bucket. And the door of my room had a key I was allowed to keep. Like most army camps, the accommodations and facilities at Amirabad were basic. That was just fine with me, too. After three nights as the guest of the Cairo police, the camp felt like the Plaza. I saw a couple of army football teams practicing their plays on a field of mud. But there was little time to see if they were any good. Not that I cared very much either way. I wouldn’t have known a good football team from the choir at the Mount Zion United Methodist Church. After a hurried breakfast of coffee and scrambled eggs, a jeep took Bohlen and me not to the American legation, as before, but to the Russian embassy.
Beyond its heavily guarded exterior walls, the main part of the embassy was a square building of light-brown stone set in a small park. On its front was a handsome portico with white Doric columns and, behind these, six arched French windows. In the distance I saw fountains, a small lake, and several other villas, one of them now occupied by Stalin and Molotov, his foreign commissar, and all of them closely guarded by yet more Russian troops armed with submachine guns.
The president was already in official residence in the main building, having been smuggled into the embassy in the early hours of the morning. But as far as most people other than the Joint Chiefs and the Secret Service knew, he was still at the American legation. Bohlen and I found Roosevelt seated alongside Hopkins, who was perched on the edge of a two-seater leather sofa in a small drawing room at the back of the residence.
On the floor was a new Persian rug with a peacock motif that matched the light blue curtains; behind the president’s shoulder was an ornate table lamp and, to the side, a huge oil-fired radiator. Clearly the Russians had tried to make Roosevelt comfortable, but the general effect was as if the interior decorator had been Joseph Stalin himself.
Reilly came into the room, closing the door behind him.
“Marshall and Arnold?” asked Roosevelt.
“No, sir,” said Reilly.
“Churchill?”
Reilly shook his head.
“Fuck,” said Roosevelt. “Fuck!.. So who are we waiting for?”
“Admiral Leahy, sir.”
Roosevelt caught sight of Bohlen and me and motioned us to sit.
I saw that Hopkins had Reichleitner’s Beketovka File on his lap. He patted the file. “Explosive stuff,” he said to me as Roosevelt began to curse Generals Marshall and Arnold yet again. “But I’m sure you’ll understand why we can’t act on any of this.”
I nodded. In truth I had seen this coming.
“Not right now. For the same reason we couldn’t do anything about the Katyn Forest massacre.”
And then he handed the file back to me.
The door opened again and Leahy came into the room, followed closely by Agent Pawlikowski, who took up a position of vigilance between me and the door. To my left, I had a pretty good view of the president. And to my right, I had an equally good view of Pawlikowski, which was how I came to notice that one of his jacket’s three buttons was different from the other two.
I looked away so as not to arouse suspicion. When I looked back again, I knew there could be no doubt about it. The button was plain black, whereas the other two looked like tortoise-shell. The original button was missing. But was it the same as the one I had seen on the floor in Elena’s bedroom? It was hard to be sure.
“Thanks for coming, Bill,” Roosevelt said to Leahy. “Well, it looks like this is it.”
“Yes, sir, it does,” said Leahy.
“Any last reservations?”
“No, sir,” said Leahy. “What about Winston?”
Roosevelt shook his head bitterly.
“Stubborn old bastard,” said Leahy.
“Fuck him,” shrugged Hopkins. “We don’t need him for this. In fact, it’s probably best he’s not here. Besides, in the long run, he’ll come around. You’ll see. He has no choice but to do what we do. Any other position would be untenable.”
“I sure hope you’re right,” said Roosevelt.
There was a moment or two of silence, during which time I sought another look at Pawlikowski. It was much cooler in Teheran than in Cairo, but I couldn’t help but notice that the Secret Service agent was sweating heavily. He mopped his brow with a handkerchief several times, and as he raised his arm I caught sight of the. 45-caliber automatic in the shoulder holster beneath his jacket. Then he caught me looking at him.
“I couldn’t bum a cigarette off you, could I?” I asked him. “I left mine back at Amirabad.”
Pawlikowksi said nothing, just dipped his hand into his coat pocket and took out a pack of Kools. He knocked one out for me and then lit it.
“Thanks.” I was now quite certain Pawlikowski was my man. And who better than a Polish-American to assassinate Stalin? But even as I pictured Pawlikowski in the radio room at Elena’s house, I heard Roosevelt speaking to me.
“With Churchill and two of my Joint Chiefs sulking in their tents, I can’t afford any more losses in this negotiating team. Not now. And especially not you boys. You are my ears and my voice. Without you, this would be over before it even got started. So whatever happens, I want both of you to make a personal promise that you won’t duck out on me. I want your word that you’ll see this through, no matter how repugnant you might find your duties as translators. Especially you, Willard, since the major part of what happens today is going to fall on your shoulders. And I must also apologize for keeping you both in the dark. But here’s the thing. If we get this morning right, I believe the world will thank us. But if we screw up, it’ll be the dirtiest secret in the history of this conflict. Perhaps of all time.”
“I won’t desert you, Mr. President,” I said, still wondering what the hell this was all about. “You have my
