The Fallen Angel

in Berlin.
    Carter looked up sharply. “Massoud?”
    “In the flesh.”
    The son of an Episcopal minister, Carter swore under his breath.
    “Our sentiments exactly.”
    Carter placed the photograph on the table next to the others and stared at it in silence. Massoud Rahimi was one of those rare inhabitants of the secret world who required no introduction. In fact, most never bothered with his family name. He was just Massoud, a man whose fingerprints were on every major act of terrorism linked to Iran since the bombing of the Marine barracks in Beirut in 1983. These days, Massoud worked from the Iranian Embassy in Berlin, which doubled as VEVAK’s main Western forward-operating base for terror. He carried a diplomatic passport under another name and claimed to be a low-level functionary in the consular section. Even the Germans, who maintained uncomfortably close trade relations with Iran, didn’t believe a word of it.
    “So what’s your theory?” asked Carter.
    “Let’s just say we don’t believe it was a coincidence that Massoud and David Girard were riding the same streetcar in Zurich.”
    “Do you think Massoud ordered the bombing in St. Moritz?”
    “That’s Massoud’s way,” said Gabriel. “He’s never been shy about inflicting a little martyrdom on his own side when he has an important secret to protect.”
    “And now you want to find out the nature of that secret.”
    “Exactly.”
    “How?”
    “We were hoping Massoud would agree to tell us himself.”
    “You’re thinking about trying to buy him off?”
    “Massoud would sooner slit his own wrists than accept money from Jews.”
    “A coerced defection?”
    “There isn’t time.”
    Carter fell into a heavy silence. “I don’t need to remind you that Massoud carries a diplomatic passport,” he said after a moment. “And that makes him untouchable.”
    “No one is untouchable. Not when lives are at stake.”
    “Massoud is,” Carter responded. “And if you touch so much as a hair on his head, it will be open season on every Israeli diplomat in the world.”
    “In case you haven’t noticed, Adrian, it already is. Besides,” Gabriel added, “I didn’t come here for advice.”
    “So why are you here?”
    “I want to know whether the playing field is clear.”
    “I can state categorically that the Agency is nowhere near the field,” said Carter. “But you should know that the Germans thought about making a run at him a couple of years ago.”
    “What kind of run?”
    “Apparently, Massoud has a taste for the finer things in life. He routinely skims a bit off the top of his operational budget and squirrels it away in banks all over Europe. The BND had him cold. They were planning to sit down with Massoud for a little chat, at the end of which they would give him a simple choice: work for us, or we’ll tell your masters in Tehran that you’re embezzling state funds.”
    “How do you know about this?”
    “Because the Germans came to me and asked whether the Agency wanted in. They even gave me a copy of the evidence they had against him.”
    “What happened?”
    “Nothing,” Carter said. “It was during the period when the White House thought it could sweet-talk the Iranians into giving up their nuclear program. The president and his team didn’t want to do anything that might make the Iranians angry. As it turned out, neither did the German chancellor. She was afraid it might interfere with all the business her firms were doing in Iran.”
    “So it died,” said Gabriel. “And a murderer sits in Berlin plotting an attack on my country.”
    “So it would appear.”
    “Where’s that batch of material from the BND?”
    “Locked away in the file rooms of Langley.”
    “I want it.”
    “You can have it,” Carter replied, “but it’ll cost you.”
    “How much?”
    “I have a long list of questions I’d like answered.”
    “Why don’t you just join us for the fun?”
    “Because I don’t want to be within a hundred miles of the fun.” Carter looked at Gabriel seriously. “Will you allow me to give you two pieces of advice?”
    “If you must.”
    “Invent a good cover story,” said Carter. “And whatever you do, don’t screw it up. Otherwise, there’s a very good chance you’re going to start World War Three.”
     
     
    Carter requested the German documents in a way that left only a wispy contrail in Langley’s atmosphere, and within an hour they were delivered to his doorstep by an Agency