“Your hiding place,” said Sammy. “We use it occasionally to hide people sought by the security services. As you know, Kurds aren’t exactly beloved around these parts.” He walked into the kitchen area. “There’s enough food here.” He opened a wall closet that was full of canned food supplies. “You have these”-he pointed at an electric stove and a refrigerator-“and running water.” He opened the kitchen faucet, letting water out, adding, “And a toilet, but no shower and no hot water. Sorry.”
“Looks good. But it’s cold in here,” I said.
“Use this.” He pointed at an oil radiator on wheels. “I’ll come to see how you’re doing every three days.”
“How do I communicate with you?” I asked.
“Use the cell phone you rented at the hotel, but only if your life is in danger. The police can trace you though the phone’s signals. Take the battery out. The phone transmits signals even when you aren’t calling anyone.”
“I did that when we were leaving the hotel,” I said. “One question. How do you get away with using electricity and water? If VEVAK is worth its salt, it knows how to monitor deserted places by checking power use.”
“We hooked the power and the water to the next building, where one of our men lives. There’s no movement on the factory’s electric and water meters. He’ll also keep an eye on this building from his apartment, which overlooks the yard. There’s a side door between his building and the factory, so the metal gate we just used to enter from the street is rarely opened. Even if this location is observed from the outside, no movement will be detected.”
He handed me a torn white cloth. “If you’re in distress, display this above the machine on the factory level. Our guy can see it through his window.” He paused. “Keep the gun. You may need it here.” He reached into his shoulder bag and produced a small box with twenty-four rounds.
After giving me additional technical instructions concerning the toilet, waste disposal, and maintenance, Sammy said his good-byes. “I’ll see you in three days. I’ll enter the yard through the side door. If you hear the metal gate open, that means trouble.”
I sat on the bed. It was only with Sammy gone that I realized how quiet this place was.
I sighed. I had always managed to extricate myself from trouble, and I had an abiding faith that I’d continue to do just that. There was no reason to be sure now, but what the hell. A fall into a ditch makes you wiser. I turned on the TV on low volume- nothing but programs in Farsi. I tried the radio; no luck.
Well, might as well go to sleep.
I curled up on the bed, wondering for a moment what they had done with Erikka, what they had told her.
A few hours later, I stretched awake, hungry. I opened cans of tuna and sardines, and ate them with a few stale crackers. I was bored. I tried the radio again. Nothing. I listened to random noises coming from the outside world. Cars passing and honking, or airplanes approaching. I wished I had something to read.
My thoughts turned toward my kids. Were they worried about me? Probably not. At least not yet. They were used to me being out of the country for long stretches on assignments. Actually, I was thankful they had no idea what a bind I’d gotten myself into. It would have worried them, of course, and that would have meant that I was making my problem their problem. That was the last thing I would have wanted. I prided myself in always being able to separate my work life and my family life.
Three days later Sammy came and brought me three cucumbers, two tomatoes, five oranges, and more canned food. To my delight he also brought English-language newspapers.
“What’s up?” I asked. I was glad to see him.
“Things aren’t great,” he said. “The VEVAK is searching for you everywhere. They say that you’re an American spy. They posted your picture in public places-train and bus terminals, and even at the bazaar.”
My heart sank. My picture? When had it been taken? When I’d met with Lotfi last week, in Vienna, or even in Pakistan? The answer to that could help me build a new legend if I were caught. But who did I ask?
“God. Well, it looks like I’ll be stuck here for a while.”
“Unfortunately,” said Sammy.
I thought for a moment. “Can you get me one of the wanted posters?
“I’ll try.”
“Does anyone know I’m safe here?” I asked. I didn’t know how much Sammy knew about my identity.
“We reported that you’re OK. Everyone at home knows we’ll take good care of you. Do you need anything else?”
“Just reading material in English and fresh food. Everything else I already have. Thanks for everything.”
“It’s nothing,” said Sammy. As he was about to climb the stairs, he turned around and asked, “Did you really want to go to Mashhad in search of your roots?”
I sensed that the question was loaded. I knew even less about Sammy than he knew about me, so I had to tread carefully.
“Yes,” I said nonchalantly. “I was also planning to stop in Neyshabur, you know, to see the birthplace of Hakim Omar Khayyam. I think I have a relative there.”
“What an interesting coincidence,” he said, with an edge I didn’t expect. “Neyshabur is also the ultrasecret future birthplace of the Iranian nuclear bomb.”
“Really?” I said, striving to keep my voice level. I didn’t know where the conversation was going.
“Yes,” he continued. “They are secretly building a low-level enrichment plant with a capacity to supply enough uranium to build three to five nuclear bombs a year.”
“I read someplace that their plant is in Nat?anz.”
“Nat?anz is for the UN inspectors to visit. Neyshabur is the real plant. It is built five hundred feet deep into the ground. It’s called Shahid Moradian, after some guy who died in the war.”
“Interesting,” I said, trying to sound uninterested.
“The Neyshabur plant was built by Russians. Very recently, Bulgarian transport planes brought tens of thousands of centrifuges from Belarus and Ukraine. Soon Ukrainian engineers will install them. Some of their families are already there.”
“Wow. I know so little about that stuff, since I write fiction,” I said blandly. “I’m useless on science.”
He gave me that look again. “So the only reason VEVAK is looking for you is because you met some people in connection with a book you are writing?”
I shrugged. “I guess so. But who knows what goes through their heads?”
“Maybe VEVAK suspects you had plans to go to Neyshabur for more than just tourism or family business.”
“They would be wrong. I was going to visit Khayyam’s tomb. Look at some art.”
“You couldn’t get near the plant even if you wanted to,” said Sammy matter-of-factly. “Neyshabur plant is protected by the special Revolutionary Guards Corps elite Ansar al-Mahdi unit.”
“I had no intention whatsoever to go near any strategic installation I didn’t even know existed until you told me,” I said firmly. What I didn’t say though, was that I had wanted to become friendly with the Ukrainian families. Spouses always talk, regardless of their gender. Promising contacts could be developed by people with money and an agenda with people who come from a poor country like Ukraine and who have no particular allegiance to Iran.
Sammy sighed, realizing that there was no confession forthcoming. “Be well,” he said curtly.
Obviously he didn’t believe a word I said. On the other hand, I believed every word he said. The news about the Iranian Plan B, created in case the known locations were bombed, had been slowly trickling out. Now, Sammy’s words supported it. I had no way of knowing the weight of Sammy’s account, nor could I relay the intel home. Maybe Sammy had already done that. Or had he? Had the solitude of the stinking basement made me paranoid? Or maybe my healthy instincts had finally kicked in. Was I really hiding from VEVAK? Did I have proof, other than Sammy’s words? How could I be sure and believe him? Something about our recent conversation had jarred me. It had sounded like an interrogation.
Was my escape and hiding a contingency well planned by the CIA in case of an emergency, or rather a well-orchestrated ploy by the Iranian secret services to extricate information from me, using a Kurdish contact to pose as my guardian angel? Perhaps the real Sammy was caught and he’d talked, and the person I was seeing now was an agent of the Iranian services. I quickly made a mental roster of my conversations with Sammy. Had I
