Weapons of Mass Deception

CHAPTER 36

Thin, watery sunshine lit the snow-covered Vantaa River outside the window. Don shivered as he watched the icy landscape.

“Not a very hospitable place in the winter months, eh?” Reza’s voice, with its cultured English tones, held a hint of humor.

Don smiled back at him and made an exaggerated shivering motion with his shoulders. The prep meetings in Helsinki between the P5+1 and the Iranian team had gotten very friendly, almost clubby, with both sides taking their meals together and lots of offline discussions.

Iran had agreed to a permanent monitoring of their nuclear program, a critical stipulation to move to the final step of negotiating a nuclear deal — and lifting the sanctions on Iran. Don knew the elections in Iran in December had given President Rouhani a much better power base at home, but to hold onto those voters he needed to get the sanctions lifted permanently.

Another blast of icy wind rattled the window, making Don take a step back. Reza stayed in place, his face pensive. Without turning his head, he said in a low voice, “I need your help, Donald, with a rather large request.”

Don noted how tightly Reza’s hand gripped his cup of tea. “Certainly, Reza, I’ll do whatever I can.”

“I’m going for a smoke. Meet me outside in five minutes.” He turned on his heel and walked out of the room.

Don swallowed hard. This was spy stuff, a clandestine meeting. His heart raced as he casually checked his watch, refilled his coffee cup, and mingled with his colleagues. He faked a laugh at a half-heard joke about Congress, then checked his watch.

A minute had gone by.

He forced himself to show interest in the other people in the gathering and sip his coffee slowly. At four minutes and thirty seconds, he excused himself and left the room.

The smoking area was set up fifty paces from the back entrance of the Manor, under a spread of birches. In the first few meetings at Königstedt, the manor had set up separate smoking areas for the Iranians and the other nations, but for this meeting they had combined them.

Reza was alone in the roped-off area, smoking a dark-colored cigarette as Don approached. He had his collar turned up against the cold. Don winced as a blast of wind shook the branches overhead, setting off a fierce rattling sound.

“Smoke?” Reza held out the pack of cigarettes.

Don started to refuse, but Reza kept the pack extended until Don took one. He sparked his lighter, shielding the flame from the wind with his hand. Don poked the cigarette into the fire and took a tentative puff. It tasted like what he imagined burnt camel dung might taste like.

Don forced a smile. “Smooth,” he said, smothering a cough.

Reza licked his lips. The branches rattled again and he dropped his voice so low that Don had to step next to him to hear what he had to say.

“I want you to know that I carry a message directly from President Rouhani. I would like you to set up a meeting — a private meeting — with your ambassador. I will agree to whatever venue you choose, but please know that I can deliver this message only to the ambassador, and only in verbal form. If word of this proposal leaked out…” Reza shook his head.

Don bit his lip, and he involuntarily mirrored Reza as he brought the cigarette to his lips. “Can you tell me what it’s about, Reza?”

The Iranian shook his head. “I’m sorry, Donald, I cannot. My message is for the ambassador only. Please, you must trust me, this is not a trick.”

Don tapped his foot as another gust of wind shook the tangle of branches overhead. He saw Reza’s eyes shift to a spot over his shoulder, and he could hear the crunch of snow as someone made their way across the courtyard. “Meet at the Sauna Seura on Lauttasaari tonight at seven PM,” Don said in a rapid voice.

Reza nodded, then turned to greet his Iranian team member as the man entered the smoking area.

Don arrived at the Sauna Seura at half past six. He’d managed to get to Ambassador Evans in the afternoon and convinced him to take the meeting with Reza. The ambassador had nodded when he heard Don’s choice of meeting place.

“Very cagey, Riley,” he said. “I like it. I’ll have my assistant reserve a private sauna and send my bug man down to make sure it’s clean. Very smart.” The ambassador paused and swept his eyes over Don. “You’ll be there, of course.”

Inside, Don did a double fist pump. Damned straight! But he settled for: “I think that would be best, sir.”

He considered sending a sitrep back to Washington in the afternoon, but decided to let the ambassador handle the official communications. After all, he was in Finland in his capacity as a nuclear analyst, not as a CIA asset.

Ambassador Evans joined him in the locker room a few minutes later, taking a stall further down the row. He nodded to Don, but said nothing. The sauna had been reserved under a false Finnish name from 6PM to 9PM. One of the embassy staff had swept it for listening devices and was occupying the room now.

Don watched the ambassador out of the corner of his eye as he disrobed. The man was mid-fifties, with a thick mane of gray hair and piercing hazel eyes. He was also in pretty good shape for a guy his age. Don wrapped a towel around his own milky white belly and made his way to the showers.

The plan was for Don to enter the room first, then Reza, and the ambassador would follow along last. Don tried to keep his flat feet from slapping on the tiled floor as he made his way to sauna number six. They had chosen well: sauna six was at the end of the hall, with the door facing him, so there was no room adjacent to any wall. Very secure.

The door creaked as Don entered. The embassy security man, a short, muscled man in his mid-thirties, nodded to Don and left.

Don took a seat on the wooden plank and tried to relax. Saunas were not really his thing — all he got out of them was sweaty and uncomfortable — but he was pretty proud of his quick thinking about the location.

The door creaked again and Reza entered. Like Don, he had a towel wrapped around his waist and kept it on when he sat down. His plump form began to glisten with sweat almost immediately. “Good evening, Donald.” His voice seemed taut with apprehension.

The door opened again to admit the ambassador. He entered the room like a Finn — with full frontal nudity. Don averted his eyes, but not before seeing the mat of gray hair that covered a manly chest.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said, and waited for Don to make the introductions. Evans sat on the plank across from Reza and Don and breathed deeply of the hot air. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and spread his hands. “What can I do for you, sir?”

Reza fidgeted with his towel. “I carry a message directly from President Rouhani. It is intended for the highest levels of the US government — Secretary of State at a minimum, and hopefully the President himself.”

Evans leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. In addition to being in good shape, Don could see the ambassador was well hung, too. “I can’t promise anything, Mr. Sanjabi, but I am here to listen.”

Reza nodded. “I understand. In the event that your government chooses not to follow through on this proposal, we ask that you keep its existence private. The proposal could be very damaging to President Rouhani at home. We will, of course, deny its very existence if it should become public knowledge in an unfavorable way.”

Evans rubbed his jawline. “I’m still listening.”

Reza took a deep breath.

“My president understands the mistrust of the world toward Iran. He especially understands the mistrust of the Israelis. Our recent past, under previous administrations in the Islamic Republic, likely conveyed to Israel no sense of shared interest in a peaceful and prosperous region. The formation of an Islamic State, the group you call ISIS, reinforces the feeling that the Middle East is becoming less friendly toward Western ideals.

“President Rouhani would like to change this dynamic in a meaningful way. In American history, you often cite Nixon’s visit to China as a turning point in history. My President believes that we — Iran and the US — should engineer another historic event, one that will change the trajectory of the Middle East forever. President Rouhani would like to request that the upcoming nuclear negotiation in May be hosted in Tel Aviv, and that he be invited to meet with Prime Minister Netanyahu in Israel.”

Ambassador Evans’s arms had uncrossed and he leaned forward as Reza spoke. His mouth hung open.

“It’s brilliant,” he whispered.

“I assure you, President Rouhani’s proposal is quite sincere,” Reza said. “If the Prime Minister of Israel makes this offer, he will accept. Furthermore, he will ensure that the lion’s share of the credit for this diplomatic coup go to Prime Minister Netanyahu. This is a chance for Israel to secure a legacy of peace that will change the course of history.” Reza placed his hands on his knees and leaned forward. A drop of sweat fell from his nose.

“My President would like to emphasize the need for speed in this matter. The forces against this meeting — on both sides — are substantial. Our only hope of success is if we move quickly.”

“What about security guarantees?” the ambassador asked.

Reza’s face clouded, and his voice took on an air of exasperation. “My country has opened our nuclear facilities to multiple inspections, given you all of our data, including our transgressions. Have we not been as transparent as humanly possible? We do not possess nuclear weapons; this is a fact.” Reza shot a glance at Don, who nodded.

“Now we offer to go to the home of our most vocal enemy to show the world we are sincere, and you ask for guarantees from us?” Reza spat out the last words. Then he sat up and adjusted the towel across his waist, seeming to remember himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “My admiration for President Rouhani is exceeded only by my concern for his safety. The offer, Mr. Ambassador, is genuine. I ask that you treat it as such.”

The ambassador pressed his lips together. “Thank you, Mr. Sanjabi, and please convey my gratitude to President Rouhani for his boldness and his sense of history. I will do my best to make his request a reality.” He shook Reza’s hand and left the room.

For a long time, the only sound in the room was the wheeze of the hot rocks that heated the atmosphere.

“Thank you, Donald.”

“I hope it happens, Reza. It could change everything.”

Reza stood. “Perhaps, but that is not our concern at the moment. I’m told the food here is quite good. Would you join me?”

They took cold showers and secured robes before wandering into the common area. Reza pointed to a pair of comfortable chairs set apart from the crowd. They settled into the seats and ordered some beer and light food.

Reza scooted his chair close to Don’s and leaned across the gap between them. “You have seemed on the verge of wanting to ask me something for the last two days now. What is it, my friend?”

Don squirmed in his seat. The Rogue File plagued him again. Surely a man with Reza’s connections could fill in some of the blanks. Maybe he knew about the Iraqi nuclear program. Maybe he knew about this strange man they called “The Blade.”

He cleared his throat and paused as the waiter set their food down on the small table. “Well, now that you mention it, there is one thing I’ve been wondering…”