Free Defection Games (Dan Gordon Intelligence Thriller) by Haggai Carmon Page B

See, the great thing about our service is that no matter where you are in the world, you can read your mail. You don’t need an email address to receive important mail, you know,” he said in a low, confiding tone, “email boxes can be hacked and business opportunities stolen, because your business rivals will know where to look. But with our system nobody, but you and we, knows that you have a dedicated website where you can read, delete, or print your mail.”
    “What do you do with the originals after scanning?”
    “We follow our clients’ instructions, of course. Forward to another location, keep them in our archives until the client comes to pick them up, or shred them.
    “How much is the service?”
    “A one-time set-up fee of $150 and $20 monthly. Additionally, we charge a nominal fee for each scanned letter.”
    “Let’s do it,” I said. I had to appear legit, and my inner little devil was already making suggestions about how the service would benefit my investigation. Their prices seemed excessive compared with similar services, but I came there for the role they played, not to get a cheap deal. Besides, with the Washington bean counters’ generosity, I could afford to be a little lavish, provided I didn’t spend more than $50 a day on ‘miscellaneous.’ Otherwise, I’d need to submit a receipt for each dollar I spent. Each dollar! Just the thought bugged the hell out of me.  Auditors never participate in overseas operations — the only physical risk they take is possibly breaking a nail on a keyboard. They don’t understand that by making me ask for receipts for every dime I spend, I might expose myself as a government bureaucrat, because most business companies don’t treat their employees that way. Never mind I might be endangering my life, as long as an audit doesn’t catch me spending an extra $10! Think an IRS audit is scary? Try my bean counters’ review of my monthly expense account. Sometimes I think I should use them as prisoner interrogators — they would drive even the most stubborn cons out of their minds and make them sing, as long as they’re guaranteed that the auditors stay off their backs.
    He photocopied my European passport in the name of “Jaap Van der Hoff,” yet another of the “throwaway” identities that I’ve used when involved in “deep cover” clandestine operations. This showed my home address as 1359, rue Beccaria, 7501 1 Paris, France. In fact that was just my “clean accommodation address” a requisite for building me a new identity.
    After the formalities were concluded, he gave me a copy of the service agreement and a website address. “Log into www.weforwardunlimited.com/vanderhoff and create your own password. Then, whenever you log in, just enter your password and you’ll see your incoming mail.”
    “Oh, I have one more question. I travel in Africa and sometimes I don’t have access to the Internet. I’ll need physically to get my mail.”
    “Not a problem, Sir, if you can’t log in, just call us to give a forwarding address.”
    “That’s perfect, thank you.”
    Had I observed the Moscow Rule, “ Everyone is potentially under opposition control?” I wasn’t sure that I had. But I wasn’t sure what to do about it if I hadn’t. These rules were originally created for CIA agents operating in the Communist Soviet Union, during the Cold War. The Cold War was over. The need for the Rules was not.
    A day later, I met the anxious-for-business Mr. Nemati. He was in his late 50s, chubby and friendly — even jolly-seeming — with a disarming ear-to-ear grin. He seemed to smile constantly. We sat in his plush office, a block from my hotel. After I described my company’s activities and “our wish to extend our trade and become intermediaries for sales of machinery, compounds, and technology to Iran,” he went on to explain why I had made the right move, coming to Dubai, and, of course, coming to see him.