She paused an instant and before Kharazzi could reply, said in a more subdued tone, “On the other hand, your news of my husband causes me great pain. I hope you can excuse me, that you can give me time for my thoughts.”
They stayed without speaking for a moment. Farah realized that Kharazzi had used his contacts to investigate her through her father’s name, well known to the authorities. Finally, Kharazzi pulled a newspaper page from his pocket, unfolded it and handed it to Farah. “Here, think about this. It might help make up your mind.”
She took the paper from his hand. As she stared at the front page of Etelaat, which featured the passport photo of the man she knew as Christopher Breton, Kharazzi added, “I have also learned that an Iranian woman is helping him. Could that possibly be you? The police have the name, but I haven’t obtained it yet. I will. I do have a description. It fits you well. As of now, I have not shared my knowledge with the authorities. A sigeh will not save you entirely but it will give you time. Time, dear lady, is the best that you can hope for right now.”
Farah felt fear grip her stomach as she looked silently at the newspaper. Then she took it from him, willing her hand not to tremble. The article quoted Mousavi’s overheated rhetoric.
The acknowledged presence in our country of a spy from the Great Satan is an affront to our sovereignty, to our rights as a people to live our own lives. This is another example of the arrogance of the Great Satan, and further proof, as if we needed it, that America has not stopped interfering into our internal affairs. We can see the American hand in the wanton murders of our officials by a band of criminals that seeks justification and power by calling itself the political opposition. The drug problem, the poverty of a few, the unnatural acts of some of our citizens -they are all caused by the unseen hand of the Great Satan who is inserting his influence and his money wherever it can to cause problems for our people. The arrest and punishment of this Satan’s Spy will be rewarded and is the duty of all law abiding citizens.
The article then provided phone numbers to call. Farah looked up, willing her face to register puzzlement.
“I will be back tomorrow for an answer,” Kharazzi said simply. “Of course, you understand that our temporary marriage will be confidential, between the two of us. Your life would be in serious danger as soon as you registered officially. All the countries’ agencies are on the lookout for you and your friends. In view of your family’s history—your father was after all the first of the Shah’s men to be executed—I doubt that the State will have the stomach for leniency. Please thank Jemshid for his hospitality for me.”
Farah didn’t get up or watch him go. Paralyzed by fear at this confirmation that she and her friends were in mortal danger, her mind raced. She must warn Kella and Christopher. They had to leave today. What about Jemshid? He could also be arrested for his role. What of herself, should she run with her friends? Did she have a choice?
Her earlier confidence was gone. How had she arrived at this moment when the control of her life was no longer in her hands? What Kharrazi was demanding for his silence was nothing short of prostitution. He would throw her to the wolves when her name became publicly associated with Christopher Breton. His only interest was to bed her.
She felt vulnerable, frustrated, and powerless.
51. Persian Gulf: U.S.S. Dulles
Sitting in his cabin, Captain Brian Navarre reread Thérèse LaFont’s email. It reflected her personality, very much alive, interested in the world, smart and ambitious, somewhat impatient, not one to suffer fools gladly, and always focused. What he didn’t see was a lot of emotional attachment. She was responding to his note that he had reached his destination, which, conscious of security, he had not spelled out any further. She already knew from the Langley briefings that the Dulles was on its way to U.S. Naval Forces Central Command, U.S. Fifth Fleet, in Manama.
He wasn’t sure what he had expected. They had met only three times, including the official briefings at CIA Headquarters. They were friends. Were they more than that? He thought so but what did she think?
He realized he was tentatively poking his way out of his self-inflicted solo life since the death of his wife, not that he hadn’t had romantic interludes, but none lasting more than two or three months. He hoped that his relationship with Thérèse would be different. Brian was in his early forties, and, perhaps unconsciously, his long suppressed desire for a family was struggling to the surface. Thérèse had two children from her marriage. He had met them, and he felt the chemistry had been good. In fact, he thought the chemistry with Thérèse was more than just good; fantastic as far as he was concerned.
Brian was careful not to put himself out there too early and set himself up for rejection, for failure. So far, failure had not marred his professional life. He had no desire to invite failure in his private life. He considered that the
