136.
   The priest’s praise of his dear Nyokap was no exaggeration. Almost before the islands of Indonesia disappeared in the fog, we were flying over the Indian Ocean with Diego Garcia beneath us. As soon as Conrad finished its black history, we were gliding over a metropolis framed by snow covered mountains.

   “Welcome to Teheran. Mount Tochal looks angry today.”, said Conrad as he nodded toward the highest peak above the city. The mountain looked ferocious. Its snowdrifts molded a furious scowl.
   “Angry?”, exclaimed Pat. “Don’t get close to it. It looks like it wants to eat us alive!” 
   “From the looks of things, this isn’t going to be pretty.”, moaned Nanette.
   “Iran is where it all began for the CIA.”, said Conrad. “The first democratic government in the Middle East and its Prime Minister fell victim to the CIA’s first coup d’etat, its first regime change, its first conquest, its first destruction of the will of a people. Here the intelligence gathering agency of the United States graduated from a defender of a free people in war time to the covert military weapon of a colonial power. I have a friend here. She is eloquent and passionate. She is angry and beautiful. Her name is Amira.”
   Conrad lowered Nyokap into the city. Over a quiet, tree lined street, the plane hovered for a moment then folded its wings and dropped gently to the pavement. As soon as we had stepped down from her, she took to the sky and was gone.