Knowing that the present meeting was probably also videotaped, I kept my notorious big mouth shut. For now.
“Are you comfortable with the legend?” asked Tony.
“I’ll tell you when I return alive. But from what I see now, I need to be convinced that Ian Pour Laval is a fail-safe identity. Can you confirm that?”
“I think we can,” he said. “The passport you received is genuine. It was issued to Ian Pour Laval by Passport Canada, the government agency responsible for issuing Canadian passports. Canadian passports are valid for five years only, and a new passport must be obtained upon expiration. The one you’re getting is valid for two more years. In 2002 Passport Canada introduced new passports with enhanced security, but we decided to use a version that predated the change, although we made no changes to the passport.”
“What do you mean no changes?”
“The personal information page that carries the photo and signature is digitally printed and embedded in the page, and a thin security film displays an intricate pattern of images that are revealed as the page is moved.”
“If no changes were made, then why did you mention that it had to be an old version?”
“Officially and publicly, the Canadians are saying that these are the only added security measures, but there could be additional hidden safety features that they didn’t tell us about. Why take a chance? We simply used the available passport, which is an older version. Forgers need to worry about the new passports. You don’t, because it wasn’t forged or changed.”
“Is there a real person by that name?”
“Yes.”
“And where is he?”
“In the U.S.”
I weighed the information. “People don’t know that? I mean his friends and family?”
“No. In the last ten years everyone knew him under a different name. Prior to that he was a freelance journalist working in and out of Europe for European newspapers. That fits your new resume and legend. He now has a different identity. For all intents and purposes, you’re Ian Pour Laval.”
“And what about the passport photo?”
“You two look very much alike,” said DaSilva.
I was a bit angry. “Look alike?” I asked bitterly. “Have you looked at the passport?”
Tony didn’t lose his temper. “I’ve seen it and I’m looking at you. I see a resemblance. Anyway, the process we applied was more scientific. Ian’s photo was taken three years ago when the passport was issued. People change in three years. My ex-wife in particular,” he added with a smile. “Then we took your photo from that period, and a computer measured the similarities and the disparities.”
“Such as what?”
“Such as the distance between the eyes, or the skull structure.”
“And the result?”
“Satisfactory,” said Tony. “If a comparison is made by an expert at a lab, there could be a slight problem. But this isn’t the issue here. There are no biometric identifiers on the passport, so the passport photo will survive a visual comparison.”
“For both purposes?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
I told them about my concerns. I knew that biometrics is used for two distinct purposes. First, to verify that the passport I carry is indeed mine. This is a “one-to-one match or verification.” But the system can also identify or confirm my identity as it appears on the passport by searching a database of biometric records for a match. This is known as “one-to-many match or identification.”
“We know for sure that the passport is clean and does not contain any additional information, such as biometrics, other than the printed personal data,” said Casey in an assuring tone.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because they’d have had to mea sure your biometrics and record them. Ian has never undergone that procedure.” Their answers confirmed that Ian Laval was cooperating with the CIA, and that the passport wasn’t lost or stolen.
“OK, let’s move on. Once we enter Iran safely, then what?” “Once at the hotel, Erikka should look for her incoming mail to contact the alumni who answered our ad I told you about.”
He handed me a printed page of an ad the bank placed in local Tehran newspapers. “This is the English translation. Erikka already knows about it, after the bank agreed to sponsor the reunion she’s organizing. She knows it was the bank’s idea to make her visit more efficient and fruitful.”
I looked at the page. Remember the good old times? The Iranian, Asian, and European students of the American School in Tehran have scheduled a reunion. Alumni, please send contact information to Erikka Buhler (’78) c/o Azadi Grand Hotel on Chamran, Evin Cross Road Expressway, Tehran 19837. And let your fellow alums know about the reunion!
“Let Erikka communicate with those who respond. You can volunteer to help her find and meet her classmates, but don’t make it appear as if you’re in it as well. Deliberately miss one or two meetings she holds, and show only a passing interest in what she’s doing. The same rule applies to how interested you’ll appear to the alums. But watch, because they’re the principal targets. You’re going to increase how interested you are in Erikka’s activities, but first have her suggest that you get more involved. You’re her handler, but don’t make her feel pushed or controlled. She might get suspicious-or worse, others might.”
“Right, so I’m just manipulating her.” It seemed so patently obvious, I wondered why it was being repeated.
“I know you know this, but you know I need to repeat it so there’s no misunderstanding. The immediate goal is to identify and locate the names and whereabouts of all ethnic-Iranian males born between 1954 and 1962 who graduated from the American School in Tehran before it was shut down in 1979. The delimiters make them seventeen to twenty-five years old during the Islamic Revolution and their subsequent recruitment. Therefore, their current ages range between forty-two and fifty. From that list we will try to identify the members of Atashbon.”
“Right.”
“We, or rather Erikka, will ask each of the alumni she locates to fill out a short questionnaire with current contact information, year of graduation, current occupation, marital status, children, hobbies, and a short resume telling everyone what they have been doing since graduation. The pretext will be that the information is needed for a brochure that will be distributed to all participants, like a present-day yearbook.”
I objected, “Isn’t it a bit simplistic to assume that alums in Iran right now weren’t Atashbon sleeper agents in the U.S.? They could have just returned to Iran.”
He nodded. “We’ve got to account for all eighteen or so original members whose locations we don’t know. But in principle you’re right. We want to use the initially traced graduates as a conduit to identify and find the others. Anyway, even the ones who lived in the United States and came back will probably put that down on the biographical profile.”
“How do we make the initial contact?” I asked.
“I think you should encourage Erikka to set up individual meetings and manage the entire matter the way she sees fit. Don’t make her suspect you of having an ulterior motive. If she feels lost and asks for your advice, you can direct her subtly by asking questions.”
“Such as, Are you preparing a questionnaire? ” I stopped for a moment to arrange my thoughts. “We could prepare a courtesy folder for all graduates who respond. Make it a fancy leather-bound folder-a calculator, a nice pen, whatever-all embossed with the bank’s logo.”
“We can also include one or two brochures about the international services of the bank,” said John, warming to the idea.
“And Erikka will tell everyone who contacts her that they’ll get a free gift,” I finished.
“Good call,” said Casey. “I’ll get it going.”
I still had some questions about the operational wisdom behind their planning. “What’s the reason for not sending Erikka by herself?”
“We discussed that, but it was scrapped for several reasons. First and foremost, since Erikka doesn’t know
