Clandestine

Chapter 13 - The Middle East

Robert asked me to come back to London for a meeting with him in the summer of 1979. He met me at the airport and took me to a hotel in the city before arranging a meeting with members of the British diplomatic corps the next morning. I convinced Robert to come to dinner with me that evening, to catch up on old times. I had not seen him in nearly a decade. At first he seemed reluctant to dine with me and I felt somewhat of a frosty reception from him, but he agreed to meet me at the hotel restaurant for a bite to eat later that evening.

Robert was quiet and guarded at dinner. I was a reminder to him of a difficult time in his personal life. He had never remarried after his divorce and like me did not have a family. However, as the night wore on we reminisced about old times in Berlin and our brief trip to Iran, and soon the conversation became easy. Robert had left the RCMP, whom he had worked with for almost 20 years, and had returned to a position in British intelligence.

The British have a long history of colonial persecution. In general, though it can be said that they push their incursions too close to the best-before-date, they generally know when to leave. The Americans have no such subtlety or sensibility. When I was stationed in Iran in the early 1960s it was a deliciously ordered and corrupt state. The Shah of Iran was a ruthless dictator that the US had installed in 1953 after they had removed by force the democratically-elected government. The Shah was a puppet of the U.S. that allowed them to hold onto their oil rights. The ruse lasted for 25 years; however, in the late 1970s, with a new wave of fundamentalism sweeping the globe, Iran was ripe for change. In 1979, incessant demonstrations would ultimately force the Shah to leave Iran for safe haven in the U.S. while a new leader, Ayatollah Khomeini, seized power. Unfortunately the new administration in Iran would not move forward and insisted that the Shah and the U.S. be brought to justice for 3 decades of atrocities. The country was outraged.

Robert filled me in on the gory details and let me know that the next day I was going to be asked to re-join the British intelligence system and move to Iran to help stabilise the situation in the British embassy. Everyone was on edge. I left Robert that evening and agreed to meet up with him and the general in charge of the situation in Iran. We were just about to part on the street outside of the hotel when I told him about Natalia. Robert paused and looked at me and I could tell he was getting emotional. He came over to me and, in the middle of one of the busiest street of London, hugged me long and tight. 

The next morning we met a team of politicians, diplomats, and soldiers and I was involved in a job interview for a 2-year posting in Iran to assist with the operations in the British embassy. It was a detail that was not without danger. With the Shah deposed, scores were to be settled and, although Americans had become public enemy number one, British industrialists who had benefitted from the Shah’s reign weren’t far behind. I would be working at the British embassy as an aide, assisting the ambassador and his staff on the ground. Robert put my name forward because he knew I had been in Iran before and spoke a passable amount of Farsi.

I could have said no to the posting but, with Natalia gone, Moscow only had bad memories, so I decided to take the job. By the time I left the position I would be 46 years old, still time enough to get on with my life. It was also a lucrative offer; the pay would be three times the amount of any other diplomatic posting, which I’m sure included a significant award for danger.

I had two weeks in London before I was to leave for Iran. I decided to pop back up to see my father before I left. Malcolm was still not showing signs of slowing down. He was thoroughly enjoying his new life in his senior’s apartment, and his health was strong despite the fact that he was coming up to his 80th birthday. I once again resisted the temptation to look in on Eleanor. I convinced myself it would be better to just let her be.

The flight to Iran was arduous. When I entered the airport I saw how much had changed. Iran had always been a corrupt and poor country, kept that way by the Shah. Now the country was free of the shackles of their Western oppressors and in its place was an angry militaristic regime full of hatred and loathing. All Westerners were targets and at the airport I was met with total disdain. I could not blame the Iranians. It is not easy to emerge from a hundred years of colonial oppression with a friendly smile and a handshake, but I couldn’t help but feel somewhat sad that the rebellion in Iran was following the tendencies of all other revolutions. The victors, who had risen up against tyranny, immediately became tyrants to protect the revolution. It is as sad as it is predictable. The key issue for the Iranians was that they wanted the Shah brought back to Iran to be tried, convicted, and publicly executed for his crimes against the people. There was logic to their claim; however, America had given him safe passage and was not about extradite him, as it would be a clear message to all of the other puppet regimes in the Middle East whom the Americans had installed that they would be on their own in the case of a revolt.

I arrived at the U.K. embassy in Tehran and was furnished with a lovely room on the compound. There I met the ambassador to Iran, Sir Anthony Parsons, who was at the end of his tenure. He had told the British government that the revolt was nothing to be worried about and that the Shah would never be deposed. It was bad advice. Mr Parsons, having served years in Iran, was ready and packed for a new mission.

The incoming ambassador was Sir John Graham whom I had met in the British army after joining the intelligence corps. Graham was a master statesman and an expert on Middle East diplomacy. I attempted to get a handover from Mr. Parsons but it was to no avail; six years had been plenty and he clearly had no more love left to give.

Once Mr. Graham arrived, my responsibilities became more and more routine in nature. We were besieged by people looking to get visas to leave Iran and return to Britain. Mr Graham was by-the-book and took his orders directly from London. He was not a man to stick his neck out or buck protocol and he made that clear to me several times. During my initial months in Iran I became friendly with the people at the American and Canadian embassies. The Americans were an eclectic group of young free spirits while the Canadian embassy was staffed by a small contingent of French-Canadian beer drinkers under the direction of ambassador Ken Taylor.

On November 4th I was in the market square and could hear the demonstration at the U.S. embassy as it began to turn violent. On that day civilians and members of the country’s civil guard penetrated the American embassy and began the hostage crisis that would last until 1981. While on my way back to the embassy precinct I spotted Cora and Mark Lijek attempting to flee the U.S. embassy; they were with four other Americans who had left the embassy before it had been occupied. They pleaded with me to bring them to the British embassy but I knew that there was no way that that would be allowed. Instead I brought them to Ken Taylor at the Canadian embassy who I knew would be sympathetic. For the next two months the Americans were shuttled between the Canadian and Swedish embassies until finally they left the country under phoney Canadian passports, under the watchful eye of an American CIA agent, Tony Mendez. The Canadian embassy in Iran was closed from that point forward.

It wouldn’t be long before the British embassy would close as well. In 1980 a group of hooligans occupied the Iranian embassy in London, asking for the release of some of their buddies. Six days later the British SAS stormed the embassy and killed five of the six Iranian invaders. That was enough for Britain and the word came down that they were pulling their staff from the embassy in Tehran. This meant that I would spend the rest of my time at the Swedish embassy, staying out of everyone’s way and keeping to myself.

As if there wasn’t enough going on at the time, Iran and Iraq had decided to go to war in 1980 which led to the release of the American hostages shortly thereafter as the Iranians’ need for cold hard cash brought them back to the negotiating table.

As I counted down my days in Iran in 1981 it seemed like the entire Middle East was going up in smoke. The Russians were involved in a crazy fight against the Mujahedeen in Afghanistan. Of course we all know that this invasion led to the boycott of the Moscow games by the U.S.A. in 1980.  Yet, I think that it is ironic that the one country that did not boycott the 1980 Olympics was Afghanistan who sent eight athletes to Russia. The truth is that the Afghan government had begged the Soviets to send troops into the country to vanquish the terrorists who had taken a foothold in the north. Several times the Soviets refused but eventually they were drawn into the conflict which would, for all intents and purposes, dismantle the Soviet Union and lead to the end of the cold war.

By the time I left Iran in 1981 I was completely exhausted. I returned home to Scotland a 46-year-old man weary from a lifetime of living out of a suitcase. Mine had been a nomadic life played out against the backdrop of the key events of our generation. At 46 I would retire from the British Military and try to seek the next chapter of my life.

I was back in Scotland for two days when I received a call from the apartment complex in which Malcolm was residing. Dad had died.