The Caspian Intercept Page 3

  Mack Gibson leaned over his shoulder trying to get a better view of the small screen. A series of squeaky sounds emanated from the speaker as the thin bright line danced on the scope.

  "Sounds like telemetry," said Mack.

  "The reference signal is one of ours for sure. It's a low speed recording, probably from one of the back-up machines."

  "That makes sense if they left the system running on an offhand chance they might be able to return. At least they were thinking ahead."

  Michaels activated a tape machine to record the output. They listened and watched intently. A minute later Michaels rewound the tape and played back a full minute, hoping to simulate a continuous stream of telemetry. After three tries, he shut down the apparatus.

  "Sorry Mack, the length of the recording was insufficient to identify the signal, save the fact it was most likely telemetry not unlike those used by the Soviets. There's no way to determine if this even came from the site. The full date and time signal wasn't present either. Want to send it over to Fort Meade, maybe they can do a better job."

  Disappointed but not surprised, Mack Gibson patted Michaels on the shoulder. "Thanks anyway, I don't believe they have anybody better than you. Like you said, it just not enough to work with."

  Michaels sighed. "They have better equipment, may be able to squeeze a little more out of it."

  "If you think it'll do any good, go ahead. I'll report back to Wilson and see how he wants to proceed."

  * * *

  Mack returned to his office, re-read the report, and re-played the signal in his mind. He wanted to believe the tape meant something, but his experience told him otherwise. He picked up the phone, called Ross at Kirtland, and briefed him on the analysis and his conversation with Colonel Wilson. "…and that's about it. We don't have a definitive answer."

  "Did you consider sending it on to NSA?"

  "Michaels is taking care of that as we speak. They'll just send it back down to us. We're the ones that always end up with the odd stuff anyway. Right now, we need verification from the contact in Tehran. If they can substantiate the man's story, can you fly to Tehran to verify the tape?"

  After a long pause, Ross answered, "Mack, I can't." He breathed a deep sigh. "You know Lisette has just had the baby and I can't leave now."

  Mack detected something was wrong. Ordinarily Ross would have been demanding a chance to go. It wasn't like him. "Is everything all right?"

  "No, she's still having a bad time, and still depressed. I can't go anywhere now. Please understand."

  "Sure, like I said before, we've all been through this."

  "Thanks Mack." He paused and swallowed hard. Turning down an opportunity to get back at Marsden was frustrating, but necessary.

  "Got any suggestions?"

  "Jack and Amadeo need something to do, they're getting a little antsy just working with signal stuff. Why not let them go to Iran and check things out. They've progressed pretty good and can at least tell if there is a real telemetry signal on the tape."

  Their last mission, in May, a three-week deployment to Djibouti in the Horn of Africa was a follow-up to Raven-One's first mission over Ethiopia. Since then, Jack and Amadeo had concentrated on improving their newly acquired skills as electronic intelligence intercept operators.

  "Not a bad idea, I'll run it by Wilson."

  Ross hung up and went down the hall to the unit's arms room. Jack and Amadeo were cleaning their weapons, a weekly ritual.

  "Thought you guys were studying?" said Ross.

  "Yeah, but we gotta take a break sometime," said Amadeo.

  Jack sighted the bore on a black Uzi, one of his favorites. "Speaking of breaks, what you think about us taking off a few days? We need to keep in shape, this tech stuff is…" He glanced at Amadeo, "what you say, not too physically challenging."

  "Yeah," said Amadeo, "We could use some action."

  Ross grinned. "Okay. What say you take off a few days and head off into the woods, or whatever you snake-eaters do when you're bored."

  Jack ignored the jibe. "Something's up, isn't it."

  Amadeo joined in, "You got that look Ross, you're too transparent for your own good. They have another mission for us?"

  "Can't say for sure, but you boy's better start practicing your Farsi."

  5 ~ White Sands

  25 October 1979: White Sands, New Mexico

  White Sands Missile Range, birthplace of the U.S. space program and site of the first atomic blast, was familiar to Ross Brannan. Born at Carrizozo on the northern edge of the range and raised in Alamogordo, the place held memories, both good and bad.

  Today, those memories were secondary as he sat in a small conference room with Amadeo Ruiz, Jack Richards, and Captain Jim Barker. All four men wore Air Force issue flight suits. Only Barker's outfit displayed any rank. They were waiting for Bonner Hood, a civilian contractor who had worked in Iran.

  Jack and Amadeo both sported a week's growth of beard. They had just returned from a three-day survival trek in the Pecos Wilderness.

  The door opened and an older man with salt and pepper hair strolled in and examined each man with a suspicious eye. His eyes focused on Barker. "Which one of you is Brannan?" he asked with a gruff but indecisive tone.

  "That would be me, said Ross. He pointed to the only empty chair. "Have a seat."

  Hood's quick eyes darted around the room. He gave Ruiz and Richards an incredulous stare. "What's this about?" He settled into the grey metal chair.

  "Captain Barker," Ross tilted his head towards Jim, "Would you please take care of the official stuff."

  Barker read a prepared statement outlining the security issues and passed the man a non-disclosure statement. "Just sign on the last line and write-in today's date." He slid a ball-point pen across the table.

  The man glanced over the paper and it was clear his suspicions were out of control. "I'll ask again. What's this all about?" The nervous edge to his voice was obvious.

  "Sign the paper and you'll find out," answered Ross, his expression reveling nothing.

  The man laid the paper on the table and spoke with a defiant tone, "Ain't signin' nothin'." He scrunched his shoulders back and folded his arms across his chest and stared at the wall behind Ross.

  After a long pause, Ross spoke to Barker without looking. "Call his supervisor and tell him … Mr. Hood will not be available for a few days."

  The man's eyes darted back to Ross. "What you talkin' about?"

  "You'll be held in custody until you sign that document and answer our questions." Ross was bluffing, but the man didn't have to know.

  "Who the hell do you think you are?"

  Ross didn't respond. His eyes bored in on the man with cold resolve. The man fidgeted in his chair.

  Barker said, "It's just a standard non-disclosure statement — sign it."

  Hood took the pen, signed the paper with an air of reluctance, and shoved it across to Barker.

  Ross sat up straight and said, "Mr. Hood, we need to ask you a few questions about your time in Iran."

  Hood's face turned almost white. He gasped. "Look, I… I… I've already been over this with CID. I didn't do nothing wrong. That stuff was imported legally. I—"

  "We don't have anything to do with CID and I don't give a hill of beans about any problems you might have had. We're interested in the last days of operation at T-1." Hood relaxed noticeably. "Specifically, what can you tell us about Azad Shirazi?"

  The man's jaw sagged. "Azad, he was in charge of electrical maintenance." Ross nodded for him to continue. "He was okay, I guess, I never mixed in with the locals much. Why, did he accuse me of—"

  "No." said Jack Richards, "Did he ever say anything that might lead you to believe he was sympathetic to the revolution?"

  "Not that I remember, he always seemed focused on his job. He was pretty good at it. I do remember he hated the Ruskies. He seemed to get a kick out of every time we made a big intercept. He worked there for years, even before I arrived."
The man paused in contemplation. "I don't remember him being political at all."

  Amadeo said, "What did he know about operation of the intercept positions, and more specifically, the recording system?"

  Hood's sense of relief was palpable, and he relaxed back in the chair. "Well, he was around all of the time, I guess he had some knowledge, he was a pretty smart guy. He was cleared to be in the ops center and hung around when he wasn't doing anything else."

  "Okay," said Ross, "Can you tell us anything about the recording system left running when the place was abandoned?"

  "Yeah, we left the one-inch back-up recorder on line. It was set-up to start recording automatically when position three began receiving a telemetry signal. Just in case we were allowed to return." He smirked and shook his head. "Fat chance of that. Is that what this is all about?"

  "Yes. We have reason to believe a signal might have been recorded a few days after the station closed."

  His eyes brightened. "And Azad claims to have a tape. Am I right?"

  "Sorry, can't go into details. We just need to verify if that scenario was possible."

  He sat up straight, his confidence returned. "It's possible. Azad was left in charge of the facility when we left. He had a chance to leave but decided to stay. The guy really seemed to love his work. Is he okay?"

  "As far as we know."

  "You know the system was also set up to transmit data by a satellite link. From what I know, that only lasted a few days. You don't think he had anything to do with that do you?"

  "No. We're just interested in the recording aspect and needed to clear up some questions. Is there anything else you can think of? Anything about a pending Soviet missile test before you left."

  "No, but I do remember T-2 had a tasking on a signal fragment. Would you believe it, they sent in some yahoos from Fort Meade, right in the middle of all that mess. They had to be nuts to volunteer for that."

  Barker grinned. "You're right — you'd have to be brain-dead to volunteer for something like that." Jack, Amadeo, and Ross all sat stone-faced and didn't respond. They were the yahoos sent, not by Fort Meade, but by Colonel Wilson to Iran to find the elusive signal.

  Ross stood. "Thanks for your cooperation. And remember, not a word to anyone about the contents of this conversation."

  Hood pushed the chair back, nodded, and left the room without speaking. Everyone sat silent for a few moments, eyeing each other with questioning looks.

  "What do you think?" said Amadeo.

  "He's got something to hide, but it don't relate to our situation," answered Jack. He looked at Ross, "Does that seal the deal?"

  "Probably, I'll call Wilson when we get back, looks good to me. You guys need to start practicing your Farsi. I think you're going to need it."

  * * *

  Before flying back to Albuquerque, Ross called Colonel Wilson on a secure line. "…and that's about it. This Azad guy seems like the real deal."

  "Perhaps. It sounds like he could be who he says he is, but that still leaves the question: Does he really have the tape and is it what we think it is?"

  "Yes sir, I understand, but it does warrant further investigation. It may be an opportunity we can't afford to miss."

  "I'm going to meet with Smith and Gibson in the morning, we'll decide how to approach this and let you know. Anything else?"

  "One thing, Hood seemed really nervous, thought we were investigating some sort of illegal activity on his part. Something about illegal imports, he must have tried to sneak some antiquities about of the country. You know anything about that?"

  "Not in detail. It wasn't sneaking things out of Iran. It was illegally importing sensitive technology into Iran. They investigated him but were never able to pin anything on him. — Have you heard of Lukas Penwell?"

  Ross froze for a moment. Lukas Penwell was well known to him. Penwell had involved Ross in a drug smuggling operation during his last tour in the Army. Unsure if Wilson knew, he decided to play it coy. "You mean the rogue CIA guy?"

  "One and the same. Hood was suspected of being associated with Penwell in his dealings with the Iranians. A lot of sensitive equipment was exported to Iran in violation of US export laws. Bribes may have been paid to obtain export licenses."

  "What kind of equipment?"

  "Would you believe that some of the IBEX gear you used was involved?"

  "Yes, I could." Ross had learned through the years, never to be surprised at any shenanigan involving defense procurement. "Was Penwell involved?"

  "That's what I understand. Most of it was monitoring equipment capable of being modified for internal security purposes by SAVAK, the secret police. In seventy-six, the Iranian government formally complained that some of the equipment delivered was overpriced and not suitable for their use. A few weeks later, three American civilians were gunned down in Tehran. Suspicion had it that corruption was involved. But it's not known if it was an act of retaliation or what their involvement might have been. The Iranian's blamed Marxist militants for the shooting, but we don't know for sure."

  "Sounds like a real rat's nest."

  "That whole enterprise was run too far under the table to suit me. But that's above my pay grade. But sometimes you have to deal with the devil to get results."

  "Your right Colonel." Ross was used to dealing with the devil and everyone else in between.

  "I'll get back to you in a couple of days. If we decide to proceed, I'll need clearance from both Langley and Meade. Don't expect any problem though." Wilson hung-up.

  Ross replaced the handset and reflected on his past dealings with the rogue CIA man. Penwell. What I wouldn't do to get my hands on that SOB. But not now, got my own problems to solve.

  27 October 1979: Albuquerque, New Mexico

  Ross hung up the phone, having spoken to Colonel Wilson over the secure line. He nodded to Jack and Amadeo. "It's a go. Raven-One flies again. You yahoos get your gear ready." Amadeo frowned and shook his head. "Barker will fly you to the east coast in a week or so. John Smith will have your documentation ready and brief you on the rest."

  Barker stood and smiled, "This is one mission I'm only too happy to miss." He said to Ross. "And this is one you can leave to the pros."

  Ross leaned back in his chair. "I can't agree with you more." He looked to Amadeo. "You guys going to be able to carry any weapons this time?"

  Amadeo arched his eyebrows and glanced at Jack, "Depends on our cover story and mode of travel. From what I've been seeing on TV it's pretty dicey over there. What do you think?"

  Jack answered, "Probably better to go unarmed if there is any chance of being grabbed. And where would you go if there was a firefight?"

  "Yeah, like you always say," said Ross, "it's easier to get out of jail than out of dead."

  Barker turned to Jack. "What do you think about those demonstrations in Tehran, aren't you concerned?"

  Jack glanced at Ross and smiled, "Been there done that. We won't see anything we ain't seen before. No problem. If we need any help, you can fly Ross over to bail us out."

  6 ~ Complication

  27 October 1979: Tehran, Iran

  Sam Brooks passed through the noise and furor on the street a few blocks away from the American embassy. The crowds much larger, he was sure something was about to happen. Most likely, a symbolic storming of the embassy as happened earlier in the year.

  Today, he had a new tail. His regular follower missing for only the second time. The new man, dressed in jeans and a brown sweater, employed a more professional approach. Sam sensed something had changed. Three blocks later, he spotted another man, wearing a black leather coat, walking parallel on the opposite side of the street. He considered returning to the embassy but decided the least suspicious thing to do was continue his routine. The restaurant loomed in the next block. He paused at the intersection and went ahead. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the black coat keeping pace.

  The CIA man strode into the restaurant without hesitation and took hi
s usual table. Moments later Azad appeared with menu in hand.

  "Two men are following me today, please don't look and be careful."

  Azad flinched, left the menu on the table, and returned to the kitchen. The man across the street took up a position at the door of a shop. Much to Sam's dismay, the first man entered the restaurant and took a table only a few yards away, within easy listening distance.

  Azad returned and asked, "Are you still interested in fish from the Caspian?"

  Sam tensed and ordered his usual lamb stew in a perfunctory manner, "No, the Abgousht is to my liking. No fish today." He looked down ignoring Azad's puzzled look.

  Azad responded with a nod, hesitated for a moment, and retreated to the kitchen. Sam dared not look up to see if the man had taken notice.

  A few tense minutes later, Azad returned with the stew. Sam wanted to leave but restrained himself from gulping the meal down. After all, it was his normal afternoon meal, eaten at leisure. He decided to keep his routine.

  Sam stole a quick glance at the man sitting two tables away. He was staring at him, not trying to hide his interest. A chill tingled down Sam's spine, he sensed danger, and turned his eyes away to the street. Two men following me, a definite escalation, but to what end.

  He picked at the meal. It tasted flat, almost unappetizing. Wait a minute — Get a grip on it. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and composed himself. A cautious sense of calm returned.

  Sam tried to reason, analyze the new situation. Were they on to him, or had they merely stepped up surveillance of the remaining Americans? His job, up until now, had been covert and low profile. He had never faced danger before. This was his first overseas assignment after three years at a desk in Langley. The prospect of being a spy in Iran had excited him and he jumped at the chance to serve in the field. Now it seemed like a bad decision.

  The meal completed, Azad returned with the bill. Sam paid without comment and left. Azad stood for a moment and noticed the man at the other table place a few bills on the table and follow the American out the door. Azad's knees trembled, his hands stiffened in fear as he realized the man had been watching.