H.M.S. Unseen

“Sir, I have written my address — the address in which the killing took place — on this piece of paper. I am sure you could send someone in to make inquiries. You will find bloodstains on the floor in the main hall, and you will find holes in the wood above the door where I attached a bracket to the wall. I expect my possessions have been removed.”

“Thank you, and yes, we will conduct those checks in Baghdad immediately…and if you are lying, we will, of course, not contact you again. If the checks are correct, as I suspect they will be, we will be in communication very quickly, because you obviously could prove extremely useful to us. Whether or not you are able to conduct the military operations you plan will be for others to decide. When and if you wish to divulge them.”

The two men shook hands as before, and Eilat walked back outside, where the student waited to escort him to the hotel. Instructions were succinct — remain in place until we contact you again in the next few days.”

At $80 a night in the Hotel Abbassi, I trust they’ll be quick, he thought, as they strolled back through the vast expanse of Imam Khomeini Square.

The next three days passed slowly. Eilat spent his time sleeping and regaining the weight he had lost. And then, on the morning of July 23, the phone call came. It was from the young student guide, who said simply, “Please catch the noon train to Tehran. A room is booked for you at the Hotel Bolvar, under the name Mr. Eilat. You will be contacted this evening.” At which point he replaced the phone.

The train ran into Tehran on time, shortly before four in the afternoon. Eilat wore his Iranian robes and turban and carried his leather bag. He settled down in the modest room on the third floor to await his call. It came at 5:06. It was another theological student, who announced he was in the downstairs lobby, and would Mr. Eilat come down at once. There were important people waiting for him.

Outside the hotel an orange taxi was parked with its meter running. And in the heavy evening traffic, they wended their way, north through the city — straight up the Vali-ye Asr, the world’s longest urban road, lined with shops from the Tehran railway station on the shabby south side, all the way to the former Shah’s summer palace up in the select, rarefied hills of Shemiran, a distance of 16 miles.

Eilat’s taxi did not go that far. Instead it veered off to the right at Keshavarz Boulevard, past the Iraqi Embassy, and ducked into the Kheyabon area. From there it traveled less than 200 yards before stopping opposite an elegant city mosque. The talabeh paid the fare, and they walked down a narrow street beside the building, 50 yards to a white gate with a doorbell on the side. It was answered immediately, and Eilat was escorted into a shaded, completely walled courtyard, containing a slender date palm and a great awning of a tamarisk tree. A stone water fountain splashed quietly in the center, and beyond stood a tall house the color of sandstone, directly opposite the west entrance to the mosque.

The door to the house opened into a large, stone-floored hall, similar in design to that of Eilat’s former residence in Baghdad, except about three times larger. Seated on a heavy wooden chair, attended by two robed disciples, was an Ayatollah. He wore a black robe and a black turban, which contrasted with his white beard. Seated next to him was the hojjat who had first interviewed Eilat in the Great Mosque of Isfahan.

Both men rose as the Iraqi entered, and one of the disciples poured him water from a large, dark green ceramic jug, which Eilat estimated would hold about one and a half gallons. The hojjat made the introductions, and the Ayatollah offered his hand to his visitor.

“You caused a commotion in Baghdad,” remarked the hojjat. “We had your story checked by two sources, and one of them knew all about it without having to make even one inquiry. The other man was actually in Syria, but he telephoned back in five hours. Mentioned that Iraqi security forces are still watching all airports and seaports. They even have men on buses and trains, searching for the Intelligence officer who murdered a palace guard and fled with all his secrets.”

“I suppose no one mentioned the fact that two armed men entered my house at two in the morning, and on the admission of one of them, entered with intent to assassinate me? Direct orders from the President.”

“Yes. As a matter of fact our first man knew everything. Apparently there are many people who are angry at the Iraqi government’s propensity to have people quietly executed. And quite a lot of them thought the President deserved what happened. Eilat One is a name on every insider’s lips. But nothing has been officially announced.”

“No. I thought probably not.”

“I would like to ask you two things? Firstly, how did you make one of the assassins tell you what he was there for? And secondly, how did you get away.”

“To the first question, routine persuasion. To the second, I walked.”

Both and hojjat and the Ayatollah smiled. “You mean you killed one of them, and threatened the other with a similar fate?”

“Well, yes, I suppose I did. It seemed reasonable since both of them were trying to kill me, and, for all I knew, there were others outside with a similar brief.”

“And about this walk. How long did it take?”

“About twenty-two days from Baghdad to the train station in Ahvaz. I suppose I averaged around 15 miles a day. It was fiercely hot, and I walked at night when I could. Parts were very slow. I stuck to the river, but in places there was no hard surface, and sometimes it took almost an hour to cover a mile. Other places were much better.”

“Well, Eilat. You are a man of considerable resources. Before we ask you to outline your plans, there is one further question I would like answered.”

“Please?”

“Did your President have any reason whatsoever to mistrust you?”

“No. He did not. Except for the unavoidable fact that I had been away for a very long time. And he may have felt that I had become distant and could never really be trusted. But I gave him no cause, and I worked only on behalf of Iraq. For my entire working life.”

“I see,” replied the hojjat. “But it has been very hard to discover anything about your career. No one appears to know exactly what you have been doing, or even where you have been doing it.”

“For that I should perhaps be congratulated, sir,” replied Eilat. “Secrecy is, after all, the difference between life and death in my trade.”

“That and your sharp knife,” added the Ayatollah. “By the way, do you have it with you?”

Eilat smiled. But he was not afraid of the holy men with whom he conversed. “Yessir. Yes, I do.”

“Perhaps you would do me the honor of placing it on the table until you leave. We, of course, are not armed.”

Eilat recognized a test of trust when he heard one, and he walked across the room, drew his knife from inside his robes, and placed it next to the water jug. One of the disciples chuckled, archly, at its size. “You are Crocodile Dundee,” he said, betraying the terrible truth that he had been watching Western videos. “In disguise,” he added.

The Ayatollah looked puzzled. But he ignored the young man’s remark and spoke only to his visitor, offering simply, “Thank you, my son.” It was, Eilat knew, an expression of trust, and for that he was grateful. For he also knew that he would need to tell these men more about his life than he had ever told anyone. They were plainly going to check him out ruthlessly, and if he wanted to earn their confidence, he would have to level with them. Otherwise, the entire exercise would become futile. There were risks attached to telling the truth, but he might face death as a spy should he attempt to conceal his background from the Iranian Ayatollah.

“And now, Eilat, the hojjat and I would like to hear your plans.”

“Sir, may I begin by suggesting that we are dealing with two acts of revenge here? Mine and yours. And by that I refer to the occasion, almost two years ago, when all three of your Russian Kilo-Class submarines were mysteriously destroyed in Bandar Abbas. I realize from the newspapers that the Iranian Navy put the entire thing down, officially, to an accident. But I am sure we all know it was no accident. And, when you think about it, no other nation, except the Satan, could possibly have done it. They had the motive, the power, the finance, and the know-how.”

“And what was that motive?” asked the hojjat.

“I do not really know, sir. But I would guess they secretly blamed Iran for the destruction of that aircraft carrier in the Gulf a few weeks previously. They always said that was an accident. But I don’t think so, and I believe