“Certainly, Dmitri,” Mansur replied as he pulled a straight-backed chair to within inches of Chernin and Park before speaking softly. “What do you need?”
Park looked at Chernin, who nodded. “In the next few days my business here will be concluded,” Park said, matching Mansur’s hushed tone. “I need someone who can arrange travel out of Iran, preferably to somewhere in Central America. But at bare minimum, out of Iran. If necessary, I can make my own way to my ultimate destination.”
“That can be arranged.”
Park was a bit taken aback. This was going faster than he’d expected. He had anticipated a litany of reasons why his request would be impossible to fulfill, a recitation of the dangers, a recommendation that he abandon the idea. He didn’t know what to say next. Chernin intervened.
“We can be ready to leave in forty-eight hours. Our work is done. We’re simply filling out forms and smoking cigars. We’re scheduled to return home in days. As you know, we have the ability to leave the compound for brief periods but we are under constant surveillance. The man who brought us here this evening — the driver — is attached to Iranian Quds Force. It will be difficult, but we can evade him. Sometimes the driver is Russian SVR. That will make it harder, but I still believe it can be done. I have been coming here for several months now, sometimes twice a week. To them it’s inconsequential, boring. This has caused them to become lax,” Chernin said.
Mansur nodded as if thinking. He was, but about how to steer the conversation toward the project. It was evident that the window for obtaining any more information was closing. He could no longer afford subtlety.
“As I said, Dmitri, this can be done. But I will be frank. I am less concerned about the difficulty of getting you out of Iran and to your destination than I am about the consequences of my actions — to me, that is.”
Park, having expected from the outset to engage in customary Persian haggling over price, believed this was Mansur’s opening gambit. “I am prepared to pay a very generous amount and bonus for your help, Mr. Mansur. That should not be an issue, I assure you. I will pay one hundred thousand American dollars plus costs. Half up front, half upon my arrival in Costa Rica or wherever my destination may be.”
Chernin glanced at Park, an eyebrow raised.
Mansur smiled. “I am not talking about price, Mr. Park, although I welcome your offer. I am talking about my life. Literally, I am afraid.”
Park looked mildly confused. “You have done such things before, have you not?”
“Yes, yes,” Mansur said, waving a shroud of smoke from his face. “There is always a risk when dealing in contraband — human or otherwise — and especially in countries such as ours. The risks may vary, but they are risks nonetheless. This, however, is different.” Mansur looked at Chernin. “Dmitri, I have enjoyed our time together. I do not have many occasions these days to socialize with individuals who are, shall we say, ‘worldly.’ What little I have learned from our conversations leads me to think you gentlemen are involved in a matter very important and extremely dangerous. That means my involvement with you would be extremely dangerous. Before I agree to help you, I must know precisely how dangerous. And whether I must then make my own arrangements.”
Chernin and Park stared at each other for several seconds. Mansur knew that each was contemplating what, if anything, to reveal about their work. For Park, any personal constraints on full disclosure should’ve disintegrated once he’d made the decision to defect. He no longer had anything to lose. The only reason to maintain any level of secrecy was the effect disclosure might have on Chernin, who would return to Russia. Mansur resisted the urge to tell both men that Park’s defection actually gave Chernin the perfect cover. If their secret somehow got exposed, everyone — the Russians, North Koreans, Iranians — would think it was Park, the defector, who had talked.
Chernin was thinking exactly the same thing. The Russian knew that Mansur would be killed, undoubtedly after a long and brutal torture, if the Iranian regime discovered that he had any involvement in Park’s defection. Mansur deserved to embark on this endeavor with his eyes open. He needed to know precisely what risks the endeavor entailed. But Chernin, product of the Soviet Union, needed assurances of his own.
Chernin said in a slow, deliberate cadence, “Let us, as you said, be frank. I understand your need to assess how much risk you are assuming by helping us. And you are correct; we are involved in a matter of extreme importance to our respective countries and, accordingly, a matter very dangerous.” Chernin leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. “I will tell you what I believe you need to know. But first, let me be very clear about something. Yes, we have talked about some interesting things. I have told you… well, not much, but more than a little of what we are doing up in the mountains. But I’m not as stupid as I may appear.” The tone of the scientist’s voice became oddly chilling.
Mansur began to protest, but Chernin calmly raised his hand to silence him. Park shifted uncomfortably in his seat before Chernin resumed speaking. “I have never suffered under the illusion that what I’ve told you stayed in this apartment. After all, you’re former SAVAK.” Chernin paused and glanced about the room. “You live very well, despite not having any visible source of income. It is, therefore, probable that you have sold some of what I’ve told you to an interested party or parties — possibly American, but more likely Mossad.”
Mansur had a pained look on his face. “Dmitri…”
Chernin held up his hand again. “No need for explanations or apologies,” Chernin said dismissively. “I truly hope you did not think that what I told you was the result of a tongue made loose by vodka. I am not some undisciplined fool. What I told you was intended for not just your ears.”
Expressions of surprise covered the faces of Mansur and Park. Park because he couldn’t imagine the stoic Russian would say anything whatsoever about the project to Mansur, and Mansur because he had not for a moment considered that Chernin’s revelations about the project were intentional.
Chernin drew even closer to Mansur. “What we’re doing, my young friend and I — the missiles — is an abomination. Perhaps I did not know that at the beginning; my superiors never revealed the purpose of the project.” Chernin shrugged, his lips drawn into a scowl. “What can I say? We are Russian. Everything is a secret. This is a very big secret. And the more I have learned, the worse it is.”
Mansur smiled in admiration. This had never happened to the old spy. He had been played by his clever friend, someone with no intelligence experience whatsoever. Over the course of their time together, Mansur believed it was he who had been manipulating the Russian.
“It is only in the last few weeks that the essential purpose of our work has become manifest,” Chernin continued. “Yet from fairly early on, it has been my aim to alert the West that something troubling was coming. And I found a reliable conduit in you, did I not?”
Mansur dropped all pretense. He was dealing with a man who was far more sophisticated than Mansur had imagined. “You have, Dmitri. I never put you in any danger. I never revealed the name of my contact. Nor did I provide any identifying information that could be traced to you.”
Chernin casually sipped his vodka, staring at Mansur. He understood the last statement was untrue. That was the nature of such things.
“Mossad?”
Mansur didn’t respond.
“Hamid, you must never reveal your source. Of course, I do not need to tell you this. It is your expertise, your life’s work. I simply say it for emphasis. If you were to ever reveal my name, the source of information could then be tracked back to you.”