"So there are a few people here who know the spot. How do you find them, George, out of seven million foreigners?"
"With a whole lot of luck."
"We don't believe in luck, George," Franklin chimed in. I'm with Douglas. Be one hell of a lot easier to pinpoint the spot if we were in the neighborhood. So how can we get down there to that southern town?"
"Practically impossible. You don't just waltz up to a ticket counter and get an airline ride down there. I don't even think it has an airport. It's a port, but it would take a month to sail down there the way these coast boats run. That leaves a car. You know how much trouble it would be to drive from here to Chah Bahar?"
"No, George, tell us," Douglas said.
George stood and walked to the window, then came back. "You're serious, aren't you? I'm about tapped out up here, true. I've gone through four leads, and nothing but those damn fifty miles. What happens tonight, I don't know, but I'm not overly enthused. What could this dancer know?"
"Could we drive down there?" Franklin asked.
"Possible. If we had some good reason for going, and a car and the permits we would need."
"What about flying partway?" Douglas said. "Didn't I see a big town about halfway down the country, Shiraz, something like that."
"Yeah, it's down there, about halfway. But they check papers on all commercial flights. Travel in this country isn't automatic. Our papers wouldn't stand up to a detailed inspection."
"I still think we need to go down there," Douglas said.
"Maybe Murrah will have some ideas," George said. "At least I hope she will. If she knows there are nukes down there, she may know more about it than we do. She's evidently in some group that is fighting the nuke development. Lots of luck to her."
They played poker for matches for two hours, then took off to find the address Murrah told them about. They walked away from the safe house almost a mile, then caught a taxi, and arrived on the right street.
Again they left the cab several blocks from the address and walked in a roundabout way. When they were sure no one was following, they went to the side door of the address and knocked.
This was in the more modern section of Tehran, which had business buildings right beside ancient bazaars and markets, with winding mazes of narrow streets and lanes that came up against circle highways around the city. Now broad avenues cut through most large towns in Iran, such as Tehran, in contrast to the traditional labyrinth of crooked streets and cul-de-sacs lined with narrow arcades of individual shops, grouped according to the products or services sold.
This building looked like a single house, but was large by most Iranian standards. It was two stories, and made of some kind of stone.
They were early, but soon a woman with a long white robe came to the door and let them in. She had led them to a living room that looked much like one in the States.
"Pleased to sit," the woman said. "She will be with you in a minute."
George looked around with a slow grin. "This could be in Portland or Denver, or Washington, D.C. It's so damn American."
George bobbed his head. "It is well known that Murrah is a fan of the Western world, and would like to go there someday when travel restrictions are lifted."
They looked up as a woman came into the room from the shadows beyond. The three men stood quickly. She wore a body-hugging blue dress with sequins, and that draped off one shoulder. It looked like something off a Paris runway at a big fashion designer's show. Her dark hair was formed high on her head, in a frothy buildup.
She smiled. "Gentlemen, welcome to my home. Please sit down. Yes, I'm a mere woman in Iran, but still I have the clout to demand a few things, and those who love my dancing can't deny me them."
She came on into the room and sat in the ornamental chair the others had avoided. It was her chair and she settled into it, and waved her hand.
The same woman they had seen before, in the long white robe, came in with a tray of drinks.
"Sorry, no bourbon on the rocks or old-fashioneds or even gin and tonic. This is Iran." She watched them for a moment, sipped from her drink, and then a small frown touched her face.
"I hope I was not wrong in my assumption. I have the impression that the United States government knows more than I do about the nuclear facility Iran has built far to the south. It is my hope that we can work together to help damage or destroy that plant without unleashing a rain of deadly radiation clouds that would sweep across the Middle East."
George took the lead.
"Murrah, your intel is right on target. We have hopes of doing some work at that plant that will indeed leave it in such a state that the Iranian government will need to start over in its drive to build a nuclear-powered weapon."
"Good. Then we are in agreement. How can I help you?"
She sipped the drink, and watched them over the rim of the delicate stemware.
"We need to know the exact location of the nuclear plant," George said.
"When do you need this information?" she asked.
"As soon as possible. We understand the construction phase is nearing completion. We have at the most three weeks."
The woman shook her head, then stood gracefully and paced the room, more like a ballet dancer than a stalking tiger. She shook her head a second time, then looked at the Americans.
"Impossible. I've been trying to find out that same fact now for almost two years. I have seen two of my friends killed by the Secret Police. Another man I talked to was severely beaten and is still recovering.
"Yet the Secret Police do not suspect me. They can't see past my dancing. Since I am not suspect, I can learn more. But I am tremendously careful. Did you know that I had someone follow you here tonight?"
"Follow us?" Douglas asked. "We were careful, we saw no one following."
"That's what I pay my people for. You were followed by my man to be sure that you were not followed by the Secret Police. I know, of course, where your last safe house is, George."
George chuckled to relieve some of his anger and frustration. He had no idea how she did it. He moved ahead smoothly.
"We're grateful for your help, Murrah. Now, what can we do here in Tehran to find out the location of that nuclear site?"
She frowned, and held up her hands. "George, I have no idea."
13
Lieutenant Murdock put down the phone and looked at Ed DeWitt and Jaybird Sterling, who had been listening to this end of the conversation with their CIA contact, Don Stroh.
"Our boys are in Tehran. Franklin and Douglas checked in by SATCOM this morning. The CIA guy there isn't making much progress. They're not sure what they will do. A chance they make a move fifteen hundred miles to the south, and try to find the nuke plant in person."
"Sounds dangerous moving over that much enemy territory," DeWitt said.
"Like walking through hell with an ice cream cone," Jaybird said.
They all looked up when Kat Garnet walked in wearing her spanking new cammies. "Morning," she said.
"Good morning to you, Kat. How's the shooting eye?"
"Better after yesterday. Two days with the long guns is about all I get, Ed tells me. I might want some more in a week or so."
"Good swim last night?"
Kat grinned. "I'm not used to an open-ocean swim at night. Different, especially on the surface. Soon I get to use the rebreather, I hope."
"Before you know it, Kat," DeWitt said. "Today you get to blow up things. Ever throw firecrackers as a kid?"