The Unpredictable Page 8

  The embargo also affected petroleum products and forbid participations and joint ventures between Western companies and the Iranian state. Switzerland, however, and Swiss Exploration as a result, remained out of this initiative and could continue to pursue its economic interest behind a screen of heralded neutrality.

  He found himself having to clarify the problems that had unexpectedly arisen in Andimeshk, this was the reason why Helson had sent him to Iran with such urgency. From what he’d learned so far, the perilous fire that had burst out in the western part of the plant, where basin n°4 was located, and the great explosion a few miles northwest of the plant had caused significant damage to both the cracking unit and the oil pipeline coming from Naft Shahr, that still needed to be completed. The accidents seemed to have been tailor-made to justify his early return. This could have called into question the execution of the contract or the schedule for the planned exploitation of the oil reserve. He had to verify as soon as possible what damage the plant had suffered and assess whether this could definitely jeopardize the agreement, informing Helson of it right away. Therefore his destination was Andimeshk, where he’d find the answers he needed, work-related and non-work-related.

  He spent the next two days in a car on the mountainous and sandy roads of Southern Iran, his mind saturated with whirling thoughts, as lost confidence in his own ability to carry out his task. He was traveling with Bagheli; sure enough, the time spent together wasn’t enough to spur the birth of a friendship, as that man seemed to be lacking all sorts of feelings. Nino felt as if he was able to read his mind, which made him especially uncomfortable, as he sure had a lot to hide.

  North of Andimeshk they drove through the village of Hoseyni. Children playing and chasing each other on the streets, old men covered in rags sitting on broken-down chairs, a few scrawny donkeys that looked about ready to collapse. The whole village seemed to live in extreme poverty. He commented bitterly:

  “Your country is one of the main oil producers in the world, a cradle of history and human civilization, and still you let a part of your people live like this.”

  He thought he’d gone too far and stopped his thinking out loud.

  Bagheli answered, despise in his tone: “Mr. Avito, this country was very different a few years back. You see, my father, despite being a Bandāri, was able to find a nice spot for himself in the great Iran of some decades ago. Before 1979, it was a socially and industrially advanced nation in the Middle East. It was one of the few Muslim religion states that was pro-Western world. Then the enormous oil reserves and the strong economic interests of our friend states got the best of us.”

  “What do you mean?” Nino asked.

  “The Western world turned its back on us, arming our enemies in the effort to reach our black gold, trying to crush us. When they realized this wouldn’t happen, they tried to subdue us with embargoes and restrictions, forcing us to sell off our oil at ridiculous prices. That’s why the more uncompromising and integralist part of the religious power arose and seized control, flanking the political power; it was an attempt to free us from the oppression of the USA and its allies,” the Iranian continued.

  “I see,” Nino said.

  “No, you don’t see. The embargo is slowly annihilating us, nuclear power is the only thing that can make us independent in our energy requirements, the only thing that gives us economic resources to destine to the country’s growth. Everyday I experience at first hand what the Western world is doing to my people. It’s choking them, depriving them of their dignity. Allah will never forgive this!”

  The words of the Minotaur opened more doors, more interrogatives. Nino was aware that not all of the Western world’s measures, implemented under the flag of the protection of international rights, human rights or what else, were pure. Oftentimes the actions of the international community and the expectations of safeguarding rights or prohibitions had failed. And all because other countries were lacking the valid economic interests that were so strongly present in Iran. The border between Vestwood’s and Bagheli’s truths appeared labile and undefined; as life teaches us, justice usually lies in the middle. The only indisputable fact was that a boy had been kidnapped and an extortion had been perpetrated towards his father, and this was enough to justify his actions. It was however clear to him that the world turned around erroneous ideals and values, hiding behind hypocritical motivations, neglecting what was good for humanity in favor of a lucky few.

  He reached the Iranian oil company’s residence late at night. He picked up the keys at the desk and crossed the hall, as the notes of a harp playing an Arabic melody marked his steps. He entered his small and cozy accommodation, next to the gorgeous half-moon pool. He stepped through the door and an ancestral scent of incense delicately shrouded him, welcoming him back. A sign that the residence staff had been informed of his arrival and had ensured that the small dwelling was as homely as possible. On the nightstand he placed his smartphone, earphones, a micro USB cable, a book, a notepad and a small, anachronistic alarm clock. He closed the curtains and changed into fresh clothes. He made sure that he’d locked the entrance door, then he returned towards the center of the room and carefully looked around. He turned on the spot, thoroughly examining the furniture and the walls. His expression focused and tense, he turned the television to face the closed window, climbed on the table and checked the boards that held up the curtain, examined the ceiling, made sure that the power outlets didn’t hold any surprises. When he was done he sat on the bed on the opposite side of the room. He felt a strange feeling of unpredictableness and tension that he hadn’t experienced in decades. He remembered the typical rush of emotion that had washed over him as a child when he’d played hide and seek with his friends. He plugged the earphones into the alarm clock that he’d connected to power, fiddled with the tuner and lay down on the bed, pencil and notepad in hand.

  He found the right frequency, a synthesized voice spoke through his earphones:

  “Ermes…Ermes…Ermes….”, his tension rose and the pencil in his grasp got ready to write.

  “7-15-167-42-93-330….”

  He carefully wrote down the long series of numbers that the radio was dictating.

  Shortly after he heard again: “Ermes”. He removed his earphones and picked up the book. He quickly flipped through it, and for every page he found, he copied something onto the piece of paper where he’d jotted down the numbers. At the end he read over what he’d written, feeling gratified, and turned off the alarm clock, removed its small antenna and its rear part and applied those parts to the smartphone. He inserted the antenna into the headphone jack and the other rectangular part in the battery’s slot. He fiddled with the buttons, then dialed two numbers “12-22” and pressed send, as if he were making a call. When the “message sent” check appeared on the display, he dismounted everything and put the alarm clock and the telephone back together.

  He felt excitement flowing through his veins. Only when he saw his hands ripping apart the small piece of paper on which he’d written did he realize he was shaking. He dropped the pieces of paper into the toilet, watching them fall like leaves onto the surface of the water and then disappear under the push of the waterfall.

  NOTE IV

  It was as if a quantum leap had thrown me into a parallel life or into someone else’s life altogether. Over the course of a few days, everything and the opposite of everything had happened. It was a devastating time, my mind lost all certainties, all balance. I dove into a world that I hadn’t even known existed, if not through fictionalized stories. I had no awareness of its limits and rules, I couldn’t begin to imagine what it meant to be a part of it. My “savior of the nation” temper had gotten me into this.

  When Sara had held my hands in hers, looked into my eyes and sweetly told me that she was pregnant, everything had fallen apart like a card castle, bringing me back to reality. My reality.

  Unfortunately, my agreements with Vestwood, the training with Mc Gown, the promises
I’d made, weren’t dreams that I could just wipe away and erase. They were a real part of my destiny, a part of my life path, indelible dots that I was connecting like in a puzzle game. I couldn’t back down anymore, I had to keep moving in that direction, hoping that the two paths were part of a single indivisible journey of which I’d eventually reach the end.

  Within this chaos, I somehow managed to find some clarity and give the right importance to what was happening, getting my priorities straight and making sense of everything.

  I was going to be a father! This was the real reason of my existence. I would generate cells and blood from my own, my life would go on with the help of God.

  Everything else was a blur in the background.

  I had to be able to manage every aspect, to accomplish every goal while acting in accordance with my own personal ethics, remaining true to my values and principles. I had to do it all in order to be able to devote myself to the true cause of my existence: Sara and my child.

  CHAPTER 10

  Andimeshk (Iran) , 12/31/2011 10:00 P.M.

  -“Under cover” –

  He’d gotten the wrong day! He counted again.

  “December 27, 28, 29, 30, 31… 31, I’ve been here for exactly 5 days.” He laughed to himself, thinking back to the instructions Mc Gown had given him:

  “Nino, today you’ll learn how to receive and decipher our communications while you’re under cover. Have you ever heard of number stations?” The captain asked.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know what they are,” he replied frankly.

  “There are radio stations that use short waves, frequencies that can transmit at a very long distance with very little power. This is the main device we’ll use to send our messages.”

  “The main device?”

  “Yes, we’ll go over a few others, but this is the one we’ll use consistently. It’s an outdated system, yet still very effective. There are four main reasons why we’ve chosen the number station as primary means of communication. First, because it requires no particular hardware, a normal radio is enough. Second, it’s extremely simple to use. Third, because if the radio were no longer in your possession for whatever reason, you’d easily be able to replace it with another shortwave device. Fourth, because the receiving unit isn’t traceable. It’s an open transmission, the sent message remains secret thanks to a form of cryptography.”

  “What will I have to do?” Nino asked, feeling his curiosity grow.

  “Easy, one step at a time. It’s a simple way to communicate, but it has its downsides too. The radio is just a receiving device, it’s one-way, you’ll be able to receive information but not to reply,” Mc Gown continued.

  “Better yet, let’s say that a small expedient will be necessary for you to transmit information too,” he added, and went on to explain its use.

  “To make things harder for you, we’ve combined two extremely common devices, the alarm clock and your smartphone. Removing the rear part and the antenna from the alarm clock and applying those parts to the smartphone, you’ll be able to have a real satellite transmitter. You’ll be able to send voice or text messages, from any place on Earth.”

  “Brilliant. So, if they were to examine the two devices singularly, they’d only find a regular alarm clock and a simple smartphone,” Nino added, surprised.

  “Exactly. Simplicity is the right way to remain unobserved and to be operative,” the British man had pointed out, looking satisfied.

  “Now, on to how the messages, both incoming and outgoing, will be deciphered. As they are transmissions on an open channel, they can’t be explicit, they will have to be encrypted and decrypted with the help of a key. You shall always carry a copy of this book with you, it’s a famous novel.”

  “Captain, each time I think I’ve understood something, you instantly prove me wrong.”

  “Soon it will all be clear. Every day, for 24 hours, we’ll transmit the same message on the frequency SW 22301, until you confirm to us that you’ve received the message. The transmission will begin after the word Ermes repeated three times, then the series of numbers spoken by a synthesized voice. The message will end with the word Ermes again. Those numbers will correspond to the pages you have to find in the book, while the number of the day of your stay in Iran will tell you the position of the letter you’ll have to choose, counting from the first word on the page.”

  How stupid and careless of him, he’d missed the transmission for 48 hours and had found the fourth letter of every page, but 5 days had gone by since his arrival, he had to go back to those pages and find the correct letters.

  He’d just picked up the novel when three distinct knocks on the door made him jump, instantly throwing him into a limbo of tension.

  “Yes, who’s there?”

  No answer came. A few seconds were more than enough to turn his anxiety into fear.

  “Just a moment, please.” He recollected himself, placed the cell phone in his pocket and opened the door, strongly hoping that he hadn’t been discovered before he even had time to act.

  “It’s me, my dear friend! Did you reckon you’d gotten rid of me so easily?”

  The towering silhouette of professor Gordon almost entirely blocked out the door frame. The ironic smile on his angular freckled face froze for a few moments, as Nino’s expression clearly revealed his surprise for the unexpected visit.

  “So? Won’t you let me in?”

  “Sure! Sorry, you caught me off guard,” Nino replied.

  Gordon stepped through the door, holding a glass bottle and two glasses.

  “Let me remind you that today is the last day of the year, and we’ll soon have the chance to celebrate it together, like in the old days,” the archaeologist continued, a hint of melancholy in his tone.

  “Old days? Not so old,” Nino replied, but was bluntly interrupted by the professor who went on:

  “I brought a small token, a lovely, bubbly fermented white grape juice!”

  Gordon was on fire; although they’d only known each other for shortly over a month, he was acting like an old friend. Not that this bothered him, but he was somewhat taken aback.

  “James, you know we’ll be in great trouble if they catch us with alcohol.”

  “But we’ll finish it much before they catch us, dear boy! Don’t worry, it’s one of those awful alcohol-free surrogates. If only it were a nice, ice-cold Veuve Clicquot,” the British man exclaimed.

  “Did you give my regards to Chris, that scoundrel, when you were back in Italy? What a time, boy, those unforgettable years,” Gordon said.

  Nino was stunned, the only Chris he knew was the man that had convinced him to return to Iran and track down Alexander Wharz. At that exact moment, before he played along, he needed some feedback. Gordon’s right forearm was all he needed to see to make sure; he couldn’t repeat mistakes he’d made before, the lesson learned in Milan had taught him as much.

  The professor took off the heavy khaki-colored safari jacket, placing it on the backrest, and sat down. He was wearing a white shirt, while an ocre-colored ascot protected his sturdy neck.

  “Excuse me James, what’s the time?” It was the only cheap excuse he could come up with, as he’d noticed that the British man wore his watch on his right wrist.

  “I apologize,” Gordon replied. He pulled up his sleeve, folding it a few times over, and turned his wrist towards Nino. The latin words Usque ad finem, tattooed in black ink, stood out on the white and hairless skin of his forearm, confirming that he was the right man.

  “It’s a bit too early to toast. Shall we take a walk?” Gordon asked, suddenly serious.

  Mc Gown’s reassurances about his contact’s professional skills now made him feel more at ease. When he’d been informed that the only field agent on site was going to approach him soon and that he could have recognized him by a specific tattoo on the right arm, he hadn’t expected to find James Gordon in that capacity.

  They left the apartment. Night had fallen, cloaking every
thing and everyone with its dark veil, helpless only towards the stars that pierced its mantle from above creating a plethora of holes that shone like diamonds. It was cold, a light breeze blew from the North. After a short walk they stopped by the side of the pool, where a few teak chairs and tables remained exposed to the weather.

  “I’d never have expected to find you,” said Nino, inviting his friend to stop by the table.

  “If you could even have imagined that I could be who I am, then I would have had to quit this job,” Gordon answered, sitting down.

  “You’re right, but I’m still very glad to know that I’m not alone and I can count on your support,” Nino confided.

  “We’re in the same boat, kid. Let’s just try to do our best and get our butts safely back home. I suggested going for a walk because someone’s surely listening to everything that happens in your apartment. While we don’t have any reasons to be concerned, it’s best to be cautious,” the British man answered.

  “I’d guessed as much. I think I’ve been careful enough, I hope I haven’t made anyone suspicious,” Nino said.

  “For the time being you haven’t caught anyone’s attention, but you must always keep in mind that all foreigners, especially Westerners, are under meticulous monitoring. Add to that the fact that you hold an important position and are in a strategic location, and the result goes without saying.”

  “Ok, got it,” Nino replied.

  “I was able to get a room here in the residence through the Ministry of Culture, this is the place closest to the excavation site. Unfortunately I’m not as lucky as someone else here who got a whole apartment!” Gordon jokingly hinted, averting his gaze.

  “I’m a bit spoiled, James. You should know that after so many years,” he replied ironically.