Free The Peregrine Spy by Edmund P. Murray

said Anwar, “he does. Why do you ask?”
    “He seemed to pay attention to the conversation. And we weren’t speaking Persian.”
    “You are very observant,” said Anwar. “Yes, he speaks English and he spies on us. At least for Savak. ”
    “At least for Savak? Does he work for anyone else?” said Gus.
    “Ask him,” said Anwar.
    The room’s got to be bugged, thought Frank. A waiter who might eavesdrop on their meetings did not seem much of a threat. He looked up at the stone stairway that led to a blank wall.
    “Does anyone know about that stairway?” he asked.
    Anwar looked up, shaking his head. “No one knows.” He looked out beyond the thousand eyes of the chain-link fence at the city beyond. Four funnels of smoke bracketed the gray sky into nearly symmetrical quadrants. “No one knows,” Anwar repeated.
    Their Chevy edged away from a cluster of parked military vehicles and eased toward them. Anwar continued to study the funnels of smoke that drifted across the sky.
    “Almost like tornadoes, aren’t they? When I was stationed in Texas, taking courses with your air force, the same base where they now have the Crown Prince, I saw a tornado. Very impressive. Two months ago we had even more smoke signals to watch. It started with Ayd-e Fetr, the end of Ramadan .”
    “The month of fasting?” said Gus.
    “Yes,” said Anwar. “It fell, I believe, on your 4 September. Just two months ago, isn’t it? The breaking of the fast. It started fairly peaceful that day. Demonstrations at the university, the bazaar. And from all over the city people marched on Shahyad Square, the huge monument you must have seen on your drive in from the airport.”
    “I remember it,” said Frank.
    “Peaceful that day, but over the next three days the demonstrations grew. New demands, new slogans attacked the Shah more openly. Then, on 7 September, he declared martial law. The next day there were many confrontations— casualties at the university, but the worst was at Jaleh Square, near Dowshan Tappeh, where you have your office. Hundreds were killed, mostly secondary school students who staged a sit-down demonstration. The soldiers fired on them, on schoolchildren in the open square. Hundreds they killed. Black Friday, the people call it, and since then we have been at war.”
    “Who’s winning?” said Frank.
    Anwar shrugged. “Watch the smoke signals,” he said. “Perhaps they can tell you.”
    *   *   *
    Frank, sitting up front, had persuaded Ali to let him lower the window. He wanted to think, to follow the route Ali took back to Dowshan Tappeh, to study the streets for any hint they might convey about what was happening. He worried about his confrontation with Major Nazih. The others, including Gus, had heard him reveal Frank’s previous contact with the Shah.
    He hadn’t told Gus about that. Or about Lermontov. Or the conflicting directives he’d been given about both by Near East Division and Pete Howard. He’d followed the agency’s basic rule about compartmentalization. Even people working on the same team shared information only on a need-to-know basis. Gus didn’t need to know about his previous dealings with the Shah and Lermontov, but now Gus had heard about the Shah from Nazih.
    He felt guilty about not telling his new partner but hoped Gus would understand. The more Frank thought about Nazih’s revelation, the more it worried him. Nazih’s words could compromise him with any of the Jayface members who might have contacts with the opposition. He remembered how guarded the Iranians had been as General Merid led them through their introductions. Major Nazih had revealed more about himself—and perhaps about the general—than he’d intended. The others had offered little more than name, rank, and branch of service. When they were done, Frank had counted to himself, sure they were missing someone. He reviewed the scene in his mind, remembering how he had turned to the general.
    “Weren’t we