Behind the Green Veil Ch. 04

Chapter 04

A secret is revealed

------------------ Jackson -------------------

It was almost 3 pm when we were done eating breakfast. Orkideh's plane was at 6:45 and mine was at 7 pm. We joked and laughed to keep from letting the emotion of our pending good-bye overtake us.

We decided to take a walk and go out to get some sunshine on our faces. From our window in the hotel we could see that it was a beautiful autumn day. We dressed quickly and headed out, anticipating that we would have time to come back, share a bit more intimacy and clean up before it was time to go. We stopped at the front desk and asked where we should go. The concierge explained that there was a nice park not far from the hotel and pointed us in the right direction out the back entrance.

We started out from the Hampton Inn, walking down Conduit Ave toward 150th street. While we walked, even with all of our laughing, Orkideh seemed nervous and continuously looked over her shoulder. It was as if she expected that someone may be following us. I had not forgotten about our experience the previous night, jumping out of the cab and running nervously into the CVS.

I asked Orkideh about her nervousness while we walked and she started telling me about the role she played in the Green Movement, beginning with the "where is my vote?!" mantra that erupted after the incumbent president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad stole the 2009 presidential election from the reformist Mir Hossein Mousavi.

"I was living in London then and I kept a blog where I continuously posted updates and articles about the corruption of Ahmadinejad and the Supreme Leader, and the people they had murdered to suppress our movement," she explained.

"I tried to do it anonymously but somehow the Iranian authorities found out. This got me in a lot of trouble and put my family still living in Tehran at risk. They put me on a list of 'people to be silenced.'"

"But how would the guy in the cab have recognized you?" I inquired. It just didn't add up to me.

"I don't think he recognized me as a dissident, Jackson. I think he was a religious hardliner who saw an unmarried woman without the proper modest clothing on, out on a late night date and he jumped to assumptions. I think he also guessed from my accent what part of Iran I was from and that I may be from an upper-class family."

"How would he be able to tell how much money your family has?" I asked, confused. "We didn't talk about anything having to do with class."

"Poor people generally do not make it out of Iran," she answered simply.

"Ok, but why would all that matter over here?" I pressed further.

"There are financial rewards for turning people in, and if he were to figure out who I am he could try to bribe my parents in exchange for not turning me in," she explained, looking down nervously.

"But Orkideh, I still don't understand how he could possibly figure out who you are?"

"There was a camera in his cab -- many New York taxis have them mounted behind the glass on the driver's side these days. I think when he started messing with his little computer that he was taking my picture. I may just be paranoid but I had someone following me while I was in Malaysia and it really spooked me! I can't be sure but something about the look in his eyes told me that he really wasn't happy to see me out with you." She said the last part quietly, the implications clear but left unstated. I felt an old, familiar pang in my chest.

We turned left on 150th and walked up to Rockaway Blvd., where we ran into Baisley Pond Park. We walked in silence for a little while, both obviously deep in thought. She held my hand nervously. I couldn't tell if it was further nervousness about being spotted by someone like our cab driver from the night before or from taking our affair out into the public streets.

We had both been to New York before but neither one of us had heard of, or ever been to this park. We found an entrance on the east end of the park and quickly stumbled upon a sizeable pond with a nice walking trail around it. There were a number of migrating ducks and geese swimming around which made for a really romantic stroll. We walked around until we found a nice secluded bench tucked away under a group of oak trees. For the longest time we just sat and held each other, telling the odd story about our childhoods.

Eventually a strong hunger grew in me and I tried to seek out her lips, missing their taste and their feel against my own. I could feel her body tense up as my lips claimed hers and as my tongue sought entrance past her teeth. It became clear to me that Orkideh seemed real uncomfortable about excessive PDA.

I teasingly asked her why, given how secluded we were. It wasn't just about her fear of being seen, she explained, but about a lifetime of growing up under such intense scrutiny. "Even married couples don't really kiss in public. A young woman would never allow her boyfriend to kiss her like this where anyone could see." I held her close as I tried to imagine growing up in such conditions.

"It's silly for me to still be so scared," she continued, nuzzling into my neck. "It's just that I have grown used to needing to hide my true self from ever being revealed. The events of late have not done anything to ease those old fears, even six thousand miles away from home. It's something I have been trying to work on with Brian, my fiancé."

I bristled at the mention of her betrothed and she could feel it. It was if she had violated our little fantasy bubble by mentioning his name, and she knew it from the way my muscles tensed beneath my skin. "Sorry," she said softly into my neck, giving me a brief kiss just under my chin.

I don't know why it struck me so hard in that moment. There had already been a number of instances when he had been mentioned and I had acted quite maturely. Maybe it was the fact that it was so close to when we were going to say goodbye. Maybe I was having trouble accepting the advice I had given her the night before, about letting this day be separated from the rest of our lives as one moment in time.

I rose to my feet, pulling her along. I suddenly had an irresistible urge to get her back to our hotel and put her body through some serious convulsions. In reflection, I guess you can say my primal instincts kicked in at the mention of Brian's name. I wanted to remind her in a raw, almost violent way that for that day she was mine and mine alone. I resolved to put her on that plane back to Boston with a sore pussy full of my cum, and she could sense it by the look of determination on my face. She walked briskly along side of me, clinging to my arm, in total acceptance of her fate.

We took a different path walking back to the hotel and approached it from the front instead of the back entrance as we had left. When we were almost there Orkideh stopped me in my tracks. I turned toward her to see a look of horror on her face.

"What is it?"

"Over there," she pointed in an urgent whisper. Parked in front of our hotel was a yellow cab. Our first driver from last night was standing in front of it, talking in Farsi to two other men who did not look friendly.

"Fucking hell!" Orkideh hissed under her breath. We turned around and tried to walk as fast as we could in the other direction while still looking normal. I could feel her heart beating violently in her chest as we walked. I held her hand tightly and tried to resist some of her own fear infecting me.

We made it back to the rear entrance of the hotel and used our key card to enter there. When we got to our room all we could do was stand in shocked silence. Her stuff was all over the floor and so was mine. The bed linens were everywhere. We had been doing some serious fucking but we had not left a mess like that. All the drawers were open in the main room and the bathroom was also turned upside down.

"What the fuck?!" was all I could say. Orkideh went to start gathering her things and putting them back in her suitcase. I stopped her as the realization hit me that there was a lot going on that she hadn't told me.

"Orkideh," I said, exasperation in my voice, "they busted into our room and searched it! What were they looking for?"

"I don't know," she whined, her eyes looking down and to the left. I followed her nervous eyes and saw that the contents of my tote bag were also turned out all over the floor. Papers that had my name on them were everywhere. My laptop was flipped over and the hard drive was taken out of the bottom.

"Please don't lie to me," I said, shaking her shoulders. "People don't break into hotel rooms and search through all your stuff over some blog or an unflattering dissertation. They are looking for something," I said, the fear building in my voice, "and they think you gave it to me!"

"Jackson, I'm so sorry I got you into this," she pleaded, her eyes tearing.

"Tell me what this is!" I implored her. She hesitated. "Orkideh, they have my information! My name, my address, where I work... This is not just your problem any more. Like it or not, I'm mixed up in it now." There was a long silence as she worked through her thoughts.

"I do know what they are looking for," she said finally, letting out a huge sigh. She took a seat on the edge of the bed drawing me down next to her. I could tell a big story was coming. "About two months ago a friend of mine from Tehran sent me an encrypted file. She did not just send it to me, she actually sent copies to all of her friends outside of Iran. She got it from a man she knows who actually works high up in the government as one of Ahmadinejad's personal staff. The file contained a top secret memo from the president's office detailing a secret agreement between the US, Israel, and Iran. The agreement was to enter into a controlled war."

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," I exclaimed.

"I wish I was," she said softly.

"But why would Iran want such a thing?" I asked incredulously, "and what the hell is a 'controlled war'?"

"Iran doesn't want war any more than I'm sure most Americans don't want war. It's the Ahmadinejad government that wants war."

"But why?!" I asked, still confused.

"As the memo explains, Ahmadenijad wants a war to increase his waning political power and increase his clout over the Supreme Leader, Grand Ayatollah Khamenei. When he can say that he's standing up to Western aggression, his popularity skyrockets. For Israel, their government wants a war to deflect from the shifting international opinion that is increasingly against their treatment of the Palestinians. The U.S. wants a war with Iran because the war against Iraq is over and the war against Afghanistan is drawing to a close. In order to please all the private military contractors whose lobbying money runs Washington, and to also please the Israeli lobby, they need a new enemy to fight."

A sick feeling came over me as she spoke, that kind of sick feeling you get when some of your worst fears have just been realized.

"They want a 'controlled war' to limit the casualties on both sides," she continued. "A high casualty count on the Iranian side would make both the U.S. and Israel look really bad and further erode their international standing. If Iran were to inflict a high casualty count on either one of them, international public opinion could shift in the opposite direction against Iran. They all agreed that with limited casualties on both sides they could spin the war in a way that works for all parties."

"Shit!" There was silence as what she was telling me completely sank in. "Do you have the file on you?" I asked finally, my tone now more fearful than angry.

"No. I have it safely hidden and I haven't told anyone where it is, for their own safety. Not even Brian knows about this."

"What are you planning on doing with the information?"

"We were going to try and get it to some major international news organizations, maybe Wikileaks, but then the guy who gave the file to my friend turned up dead and she has been taken into custody. No one has seen her since. We're all scared to death. We all have friends and family still in Iran. We want the information to get out but we don't want to put our families' lives at risk."

There was more silence as I thought for a second about what a shitty position she was in. What would I do in a similar situation? Release the file, perhaps stop a senseless war but lose members of my family and possibly my own life? It was easy for me looking in from the outside to want her to release the file, but I couldn't say with any certainty what I would do in her shoes.

"Is that why you were detained entering the country?" I asked finally, putting it all together.

"I don't think so -- the homeland security agents never asked me any questions about it. I doubt the U.S. knows that it has leaked. The Iranian government is trying desperately to contain the leak before it gets out."

Then I shot up like lightening. "Shit, Orkideh, we have to get out of here, NOW!" I said, pulling her to her feet and realizing that whoever ransacked our room was still looking for us and would likely be back.

"But what if they are still outside waiting for us?"

"You start packing up our stuff," I said, "and I'll go scout. Put the lock on the door while I'm gone and don't open it up unless you know it's me."

"Jackson," she said about to begin an apology.

"Save it," I said. "We need to get out of here first, then we can talk."

----------------- Orkideh --------------------

There was a sick feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach as my whole world felt like it was about to come crashing down. The Iranian government had sent some goons after me, I had cheated on my fiancé whom I loved dearly, and now I had gotten Jackson mixed up in the whole ordeal that sounded as if it came out of a cheesy spy novel. Every thing I did seemed to make a bigger mess of my life. I felt like collapsing on the bed and just crying but I knew I could not. Instead, I drew on the strength that had seen countless women before me negotiate through worse. I thought of the courage shown by Sakineh Mohammadi Ashtiani, the Iranian woman on death row for being convicted of adultery and scheduled to be executed by stoning. If she could stand up with courage to face her ordeal, surely I could get through this. I began to pack.

The inner linings of our luggage had been torn out but luckily our bags were not destroyed to the point of being no longer useable. I folded Jackson's clothes and tried to pack them neatly, smelling each article of his clothing to get my fill of his scent that I would miss so dearly. I would have loved to keep one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers to wear when I wanted to think of him and remember this time we spent together but I knew I couldn't.

Jackson returned about fifteen minutes later and knocked briskly but with a rhythm that let me know it was him. I recognized the rhythm from the Bob Marley music we were listening to together on the plane the day before. I checked the peep hole just to be sure then let him in. He surprised me as he walked in dragging another suitcase.

"Unfortunately, they're still out there," he said, acting totally nonchalant at the fact that he was now in possession of some luggage that he had not left the room with. I gave him a confused look.

"But I've got a plan," he continued, throwing the new luggage up on the bed. "At least I hope so," he added softly.

"Jackson, whose bag is this and where did you get it?" I implored. He unzipped the bag before he answered. Inside was a host of women's clothing, makeup and toiletry items, a curling iron and a few novels. Jackson quickly removed those items and kept digging like he was searching for something. Tucked and neatly folded underneath all the rest of the contents and wrapped in dry cleaner's plastic was a flight attendant's uniform: a skirt, a blouse and a jacket. A shoulder pin attached to the jacket read Qatar Airways.

"There was a large group of international flight attendants checking in downstairs," he finally offered. "We got lucky in that one of the groups was from Qatar airlines." He said the last bit as if that explained everything. I was more confused than ever. He lifted up the outfit and held it in front of me and I began to get a clue, though still confused as to how I could pass for a flight attendant, or why it mattered that this uniform was from Qatar Airways.

"Flight attendants for Qatar are one of the last flight crews who still wear hats," he said finally, pulling out the cute little hat from the bottom of the bag. I had to admit the outfit was cute. I do not know how to say the color in English, the closest I can describe it is as the color of a merlot. With both jacket and skirt worn against a white blouse along with the matching merlot hat, it made for a smart look. And it looked to be about a size 6 which was also my size. The skirt came up to just above the knee. The uniform was a total throwback to the days when flight attendants were called stewardesses and were hired to be sex objects. I should have been troubled that women were still made to wear such outfits. Instead I was happy that my disguise would at least be stylish and cute. I was such a bad feminist.

"My goodness, Jackson, did you steal this from one of those poor girls?!" I exclaimed once I got over the fact of how cute the uniform was and put it all together in my head.

"Orkideh, we're desperate! We're not getting out of here without a disguise."

"But what will that poor woman do? She is without clothes!"

"I thought about going up to one of them and asking if I could buy one of their uniforms but I don't have enough cash on me. Besides, think about that for a minute. What would they think?" he asked me. I pondered the scenario and realized he had a point.

"They would have said no and called the police, assuming your goal is to sneak someone past airport security."

"Right," he said emphatically, "they would think I was plotting some kind of terrorist activity. Now quick, strip and let's see if this fits. I tried to take the bag of the woman who looked closest to your size."

"I still feel terrible about this," I said, taking off my clothes. When I was down to my undies I saw a look pass over his face that said he might pounce on me before he shook his head to clear it of such thoughts. I knew it was the last thing we had time for but I was also relieved to know that he wasn't so mad at me that he didn't want me any more.

"Look, how much cash do you have on you?" he asked while pulling about $60 and some change out of his wallet. I grabbed my purse and handed him $49. He took my money and combined it with his and stuffed it into one of the hotel envelopes. Then he stuck the envelope in the stolen bag. He back toward the desk and found one of the hotel notepads. On the notepad, he scribbled a brief message.

"We'll stash the bag in the vending room or in a closet somewhere, and when we get to the airport we will call the hotel and let them know where to find it. That way the woman won't lose the rest of her stuff. This $109 won't likely replace the cost of her uniform but at least she will know that we are sorry and we tried."

"I can change clothes and take this off if we make it to the airport," I said, painfully reminded of how I started my journey in a burqa from my brother's house in Malaysia thirty-six hours ago. "Maybe we can send it back to her."

"Good idea," he said, pulling the envelope back out and writing an additional note on the back. "We can leave it in one of the restrooms and let her know to check with lost and found or search the baggage claim restrooms in the terminal with U.S. Airways." That made me feel a lot better. The cash would be an added bonus for her inconvenience. Moral dilemma solved, I went back to trying on the outfit.