Emma of Iran by T. Marion Dodge

Author:T. Marion Dodge
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Puna Publishing
Published: 2017-11-26T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 32

Emma checked in to the small hotel a few blocks from the Le Gourmand, the restaurant where the meeting of Kurdish opposition leaders was to be held.

After Emma killed Farzad Rostami, she had become somewhat of a cult hero amongst the Kurds. Rostami had been the architect of the brutal repression of the Kurds in northern Iran in the early eighties when they were pushing for autonomy. Thousands of Kurds were executed or tortured. Emma had become an unwitting and unintentional legend.

The authenticity of the invitation to the meeting could not be confirmed, and the CIA was no help other than passing along the invitation. However, she felt an obligation to go, she owed it to Eyelle and to the other Kurdish people who had helped her escape eight years prior.

In her hotel bathroom, Emma gazed into the tiny mirror above the ornate bowl used as a sink, which looked out of place in an otherwise ordinary bathroom. She removed her hijab, then thumbed through a French glamour magazine that she had picked up at the airport. She needed to look as French as possible. On the way to the hotel, she had stopped in at a second-hand shop and found an outfit that seemed to work. It was a low-cut, tight-fitting dress with a hemline that went mid-thigh. Her stockings and high heels matched nicely. She added a faux black pearl necklace and some large hoop earrings, then let her flowing hair loose, shaking her head wildly. As she did her makeup, she did her best to cover the deep dark eyes that betrayed her Persian roots. She looked in the mirror, and could not help remembering the trip with Eyelle, dressed as a prostitute. She was here because of the loyalty she felt to him. She owed it to Eyelle.

As she prepared to leave the room she took a final look in the full length mirror in the bedroom. She barely recognized herself. She was committing a grave sin going out like this, but any Muslim man looking at her would never believe she was Islamic. To all appearances, she was a stunningly beautiful and sexy French woman.

She left the hotel and headed for the late-afternoon meeting. She appreciated the warmth of the day, as she was simply not used to being outside with so much skin exposed. She tried to ignore the lustful looks she was receiving as she walked toward the restaurant. It was so much more comfortable with her hijab on, as men would almost turn up their noses when she passed. Bringing attention to herself was not her goal; fooling a potential Iranian assassin was. She reminded herself of that and kept walking.

She stopped half a block from the restaurant, pretending to look in a store window. Two Middle Eastern men walked by, completely ignoring her. Pedestrians criss-crossed the street. A block away, she noticed a dark man with a backpack leaning against a post. Nothing seemed out of place.

“Be wary of the ordinary,” was a constant refrain from her protectors.

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