Then They Came for Me_ A Family's Story of Love, Captivity, and Survival - Maziar Bahari [123]
“I was really impressed with your first TV interview, and even then I thought, Here’s a man we can work with,” the Boss said as he tapped my shoulder. “You have many contacts in the West who are among the opposition to our holy regime. You also know the Western media inside out. So, Mr. Bahari, all we’re asking from you is to help us identify how the Americans and Zionists are using the media to wage a war against our government. And in doing so, Mr. Bahari, you will help us to defeat our enemies.”
He placed a list on my chair: dozens of names of journalists and opposition activists working inside and outside Iran, including many of my friends, as well as some people I’d never met.
“This is a partial list of people we would like you to monitor,” the Boss said. He then laid out his plan for me: after my release, I would provide them with a weekly report about anti-Iranian activities in the West. To accomplish this, I was to approach different journalists and politicians, become friends with them, and then report their activities to the Revolutionary Guards.
I accepted immediately and without hesitation. The Boss lifted my blindfold, and I reached for the pen he handed me and signed the letter of commitment on my desk:
I, Maziar Bahari, will be working with the brothers in the Revolutionary Guards Corps, and I will report to them every week about my activities and the activities of the anti-revolutionary elements I will be in contact with. I accept that I will be responsible for the consequences of my failure to act upon my promises and my failure will result in punishment.
As I saw it, I was not being asked to admit to any guilt. I was simply being forced to make a promise that I had no intention of keeping. This was a useless piece of paper—of course I would sign it. I was elated. There was a real possibility that I would be released in time to be with Paola for the birth of our baby daughter.
Rosewater reentered the room.
“Congratulations, sir,” the Boss said to Rosewater. “Because of your endeavor, Mr. Bahari seems to have learned about the might of our forces, sir. It’s an important achievement.”
“With your permission, sir,” Rosewater said, “I would like to remind Mazi—this is the term of endearment I use for Mr. Bahari, sir—that when he steps out of Evin Prison, he should not feel that he’s safe. The Revolutionary Guards Corps has allies all over the world. If Mr. Bahari ever decides to abuse our trust and act against us, we can always bring him back in a bag.”
“Mr. Bahari is a wise and intelligent man,” the Boss said. “He knows that we are his friends. Don’t you, Mr. Bahari?”
“Of course. When will I be released, sir?” I asked. “My wife is going to give birth in twenty days, on October twenty-sixth. Will I be able to see the birth of my child?”
“I think so,” said the Boss vaguely. “This letter of commitment means that you’ve trusted the Islamic system, and in return we’ll make sure that you don’t have to go through the bitter experience of the last three months for much longer.”
The thought of being with Paola for Marianna’s birth made me happy, but I also knew that I could never trust these people.
Over the next several days, I spent most of my time in the interrogation room, reviewing the different lists of names Rosewater or the Boss had been preparing for me. The lists included a variety of people, from former secretary of state Henry Kissinger to friends of mine who worked as junior producers for the BBC. As in my Thai massage stories, I let my imagination roam freely, making up details about how I would approach each person and spy on them.
“I’ve met Kissinger. He’s a German Jew and he really liked my film about the Holocaust,” I lied to the Boss one day. (I’d never met Kissinger in my life.) “He is the man behind all the decisions in America regarding Iran and the Middle East. I can go to Kissinger’s office, pretend that I want to do an interview with him, find out about his plans for Iran, and report back to