Part 12 (1/2)

I nodded and told him that I would. I indicated Joe, and mentioned that I would be taking him with me, then introduced the young officer to Eric and Hal. Joe was dressed more like a seedy professor than one of Eric's officers in full dress mode, and he seemed hesitant, almost apologetic, when he shook Eric's hand.

Joe's role in Ottawa would be to establish the continuity between the CIA and the Canadians, essentially setting up partners.h.i.+ps between his OTS colleagues and their mirror images in Ottawa. This would free me up to handle the more strategic negotiations with the Canadians, Tehran, and the U.S. government. Dealing with the State Department, the White House, and the senior levels of the CIA, working through Eric, was a daunting task. I would soon discover that the simplicity with which the Canadian government operated would make it a dream to work with by comparison.

Eric, by his very nature, was overbearing. He wasn't really sure how I would proceed, but he did try to exercise some of the privilege of his office. His instructions were a little stilted, but he meant well. For instance, when in response to my question about the pa.s.sports he said he'd already raised the issue, he was a little miffed that I would bring it up, as though I was stepping on his toes. Eric was trying to figure out how to run an exfiltration, something he had never done before, and represent himself to Canada as an expert on the subject. He was also the channel between President Carter and Stansfield Turner, the director of central intelligence. It was like a tripod: the president, the DCI, and the Canadians. Eric's job was to maintain a delicate balance between the policy makers and the clandestine elements in the field. I didn't envy him.

The winter sky was gray and there were traces of snow on the ground as our plane touched down in Ottawa. The city itself struck me as being a little dingy, but the parliament buildings gave a certain air of elegance to what was essentially a small town.

We checked into the Lord Elgin Hotel, a stately, gothic pile of stones in the middle of Ottawa close to most government offices. It was decorated with photographs, paintings, and flower arrangements full of tulips, an incongruous contrast in the middle of the dark winter days of Canada.

Just in case he needed a reminder that the life of a real spy was nothing like what we see in the movies, the airline had lost Joe's luggage. And with only the clothes on his back, he was forced to borrow one of my ski sweaters, which he would wear for the next ten days while he remained in the Canadian capital. Strangely, it would not be the only article of clothing that I would lose on this operation.

The following day, Joe and I headed over to the U.S. emba.s.sy for our first meeting with members of the CIA's Canadian offices. The CIA chief in Ottawa, a tall, slim, middle-aged man, cheerfully went over the meetings they had set up for us that day.

At the first meeting later that morning, Joe and I got right to the point. We sat down across the table from a slight but impeccably dressed middle-aged man. I'll call him ”Lon Delgado.” He clasped his hands together and looked me straight in the eye.

”What can I do for you?” he asked.

”We're here, first of all, to thank you for all that Canada has done for America on this matter,” I replied. ”Second, as you might guess, we're here with our hat in hand, asking for more favors. And so we apologize for that. We feel fortunate that our relations, government to government, are so beneficial.”

I paused, measuring my words. ”What do you think the prospects would be for allowing us to use Canadian pa.s.sports to provide cover for our six diplomats?” There it was, out in the open. The thing we wanted most and thought would be the hardest to negotiate. I realized that we were asking for the Canadians to make an exception to their own pa.s.sport law. My research had told me that the only way to do this was by a special ”orderincouncil,” requiring the consent of Parliament.

Mr. Delgado opened a file in front of him and extracted a piece of paper with a large red wax seal on it. He set it aside and softened his demeanor while he responded. ”I think we've already done that,” he said.

We were stunned. I tried to imagine what it would take for a representative of a foreign government to come to Was.h.i.+ngton and ask the U.S. Congress to pa.s.s an exception to our own pa.s.sport law. It was no minor matter.

What I didn't know was that the Canadians had been working on the problem of the pa.s.sports for quite some time. From the day that the houseguests had come under their care, I think the Canadians realized the logic of allowing them to use Canadian doc.u.mentation. I would later learn that the orderincouncil had been pa.s.sed during a rump session of Parliament, when Flora MacDonald, working in concert with Prime Minister Joe Clark, had maneuvered the issue in such a way that it could be pa.s.sed without debate. This was because only a few cabinet ministers knew anything about the houseguests to begin with and the need for secrecy was paramount.

At that point I decided to press our luck, asking Delgado if we could have six spares for the six houseguests to give us a redundant capability for the operation, as well as two additional pa.s.sports for use by CIA ”escorts.” Lon agreed to get us an extra set for the houseguests, but rebuffed our latter request. The exception to the pa.s.sport law had been made for refugees, not professional intelligence officers. ”Sorry,” he said, ”but you'll have to get your own.”

There is an understanding among intelligence services that there is no such thing as a ”friendly” service. At this time in history Canada did not admit to even having a secret intelligence service. But this man was probably very close to representing that capability. And it certainly felt friendly. Mr. Delgado continued, ”Do you have a list of names to be used for the pa.s.sports?” he asked. ”And by the way, we are going to need photographs as well.”

Without hesitation Joe reached into his briefcase and brought out an envelope, the contents of which were the list of names that he had already prepared as aliases for the six. Accompanying each name was a pa.s.sport-sized photograph. Along the vertical margin on each photo we had forged the alias names in the handwriting of each of the six houseguests. This was the way it should be in the Canadian pa.s.sport.

Mr. Delgado reviewed the material very quickly. He commented that the photographs looked good but that one of the names we'd chosen had a slightly Semitic sound to it-not a good idea in a Muslim nation. He thought we should fix it and Joe suggested a new name. Delgado nodded in the affirmative and Joe produced another clean photograph of Kathy Stafford, handing it to me. ”You're an artist-validator, Tony,” he said.

Using a technique I'd learned from my early days in the bullpen, I positioned the photo on the corner of Delgado's desk and signed Kathy's new name in her handwriting.

Joe and I left the meeting encouraged. The first phase of our plan was coming together with much less effort than we had ever imagined. We had a commitment for six Canadian pa.s.sports for our subjects plus a set of duplicates, which would give us an option for a fallback plan if we needed it.

After breaking for lunch at the Lord Elgin, we were picked up by an official car and taken to the ministry of defense.

Prior to coming to Canada, we had learned that Amba.s.sador Taylor was in the process of drawing down his emba.s.sy, which could help us with our intelligence-gathering operation. Of special interest to us were the military police who had been working at the emba.s.sy. Many of the military police were well traveled and familiar with border procedures around the world. We wanted to set up a system in which if any more of them traveled in or out of Mehrabad Airport, they would have a standard debriefing on the controls.

With that done, I returned to Was.h.i.+ngton the next morning, leaving Joe behind to follow up on the pa.s.sports and to meet with the national security forces who would help in rounding out the doc.u.mentation packages that would complement the pa.s.sports. They would also arrange for the collection of an Iranian visa issued in Canada. Joe would spend the following ten days in Canada tending to these ch.o.r.es.

I boarded my flight home feeling a sense of accomplishment accompanied by relief that we had been able to move this project forward in a major way. I also felt grat.i.tude that we were working with a neighbor who was truly supportive of America's dilemma.

On my way home, I reflected on Canada and its government. The ”Small Is Beautiful” mantra kept playing in my mind. The Canadian government appeared ready and able to turn on a dime if necessary, and our government seemed bloated and sluggish in comparison. The fact that the Canadians had antic.i.p.ated our needs and had taken the extraordinary steps required to reach out to us was a little overwhelming and certainly unprecedented. They were redefining what it meant to be a good neighbor.