16: Chapter 16 The Ghost on the Chessboard

August 1977.

Tehran.

US Embassy.

Richard Helms sat behind his desk, a classified file with a green cover spread out before him.

His right index finger tapped rhythmically on the desktop—a habit of his when thinking. Having served as Director at Langley headquarters for seven years, no one dared to disturb him when he was tapping the table.

But he could not refuse the person disturbing him today.

"Mr. Helms, I need you to explain the status of 'Operation Greyhound'."

The person speaking sat opposite the desk.

In his early forties, with very short brown hair, he wore a dark gray suit without any insignia.

His name was Robert Ames—a senior analyst from the CIA's Near East and South Asia Division, who had flown in directly from Langley headquarters.

In the CIA's food chain, analysts usually did not carry as much weight as operations officers.

But Robert Ames was no ordinary analyst—he was the Middle East expert most trusted by National Security Advisor Brzezinski, and in a sense, represented the eyes and ears of the White House.

Helms's finger stopped tapping.

"Operation Greyhound has been cancelled," he said.

"Cancelled?" Ames flipped through the file. "You authorized this operation last October, targeting an 'instability factor' in Khuzestan Province.

Operation codename Greyhound, involving a six-man operations team.

Then—there are no follow-up records.

No operation report, no withdrawal report, not even a cancellation record.

The six men just disappeared from the system like that."

Helms's expression did not change.

For a man who had been a spy for twenty years and CIA Director for seven, the expression on his face was a precisely controlled instrument; what he didn't want you to see, you would never see.

"The operation was cancelled due to weather conditions before execution.

The six-man team has been withdrawn to a safe location."

"Which safe location?"

"Basra."

"I've checked the entry and exit records of the Basra safe house.

No US personnel have stayed there in the past year."

Silence.

Helms's right index finger began tapping again.

Ames was not in a hurry.

He had worked at the CIA for sixteen years and had interrogated more people than Helms had ever met spies.

He knew what silence meant—silence meant the other party was calculating whether the "cost of telling the truth now" or the "cost of continuing to lie" was greater.

"Mr. Helms," Ames's tone did not change, but each word became a fraction heavier, "Mr. Brzezinski asked me to pass on a message to you—'The President is very concerned about the stability of the situation in Iran.

Any... accidents that might affect the stability of the situation should be reported in a timely manner.'"

Translated into plain English: If you are hiding something, the President will be very unhappy.

Helms was silent for nearly a minute.

Then he made a decision—not a full confession, but a "limited disclosure."

"The six-man team encountered an accident during the operation," he said, "I am still investigating the specific details.

But preliminary assessments suggest that the target's capabilities... were severely underestimated."

"What kind of accident?"

"Loss of contact. All six lost contact.

No bodies, no distress signals, no traces whatsoever.

It's as if they evaporated from the face of the earth."

Ames leaned back in his chair.

Six professionally trained special operations personnel disappeared into thin air on the turf of a "banished royal playboy."

This is not an "accident."

This is "capability."

"You said the target was severely underestimated—how so?"

"Our previous assessment of this target was a 'Class C threat': he had some political ambition but lacked the resources and capabilities, posing no actual threat.

But judging from this incident of lost contact..." Helms's voice paused, "This person either received external support, or his own capabilities are far beyond our understanding."

"The Soviet Union? What evidence?"

"No direct evidence.

But the KGB is active in Iran, and Khuzestan Province is close to the Iraq border, a traditional channel for Soviet infiltration.

If the KGB wants to cultivate an anti-American force in Iran, a prince abandoned by the royal family is the perfect candidate."

Ames did not respond immediately.

He quickly ran through all the files on "Reza Farid Pahlavi" in his mind.

Not many, most provided by the SAVAK.

A debauched playboy who opposed the King's pro-American stance and was exiled to Khuzestan Province.

No military training background, no intelligence experience, his only "skills" were horse riding and hunting.

Such a person could make six CIA special operations personnel disappear?

Either the files were all fake.

Or this person had undergone some kind of... change.

"I need to see this person," Ames said.

Helms's fingers stopped.

"Go to Khuzestan in person?"

"Yes. As a diplomat, through official channels, to visit the provincial Governor. Go openly."

"You want to meet him face-to-face?"

"Only face-to-face can you judge a person.

Files and records can lie, but a person's eyes cannot."

Helms hesitated for a moment.

"I don't recommend you go.

If he really has received support from the Soviet Union—"

"Then it is even more important to go.

If he really is a pawn of the KGB, I need to confirm it with my own eyes.

If not... then I need to know what he really is."

Helms looked into Ames's eyes and saw something he himself had lost long ago—curiosity.

That is the difference between an old fox and a young hound.

The old fox will take a detour when encountering danger, while the young hound will charge towards it.

"I can arrange it," Helms finally said, "In the name of a business inspection, I will have the US Embassy commercial office issue you a letter of introduction.

But you take only one person, carry no weapons, and do not make any provocative moves.

That person has already proven that he is not to be trifled with."

"Understood."

Ames stood up and straightened his suit.

When he reached the door, he turned back and asked, "By the way, your 'Operation Greyhound'—was the objective assassination or kidnapping?"

Helms did not answer.

Ames smiled and walked out.

Three days later.

The Governors Mansion in Khuzestan Province.

Hassan handed a letter of visit to Reza.

"People from the US Embassy commercial office are coming.

Two people, saying they want to inspect the oil development and agricultural investment environment in Khuzestan Province."

Reza took the letter of visit and glanced at it.

The visitor's name: Robert C. Ames, Commercial Counselor at the US Embassy.

The hand holding the paper paused slightly.

Robert Ames.

In the memories of his past life, this name carried extremely special weight.

He was no Commercial Counselor.

He was one of the CIA's most outstanding Middle East analysts, known by his peers as the "Eye of the Middle East."

His judgment on the political landscape of the Middle East was shockingly precise, and he was the brain the US government relied on most in its Middle East decision-making.