Argo: How the CIA and Hollywood Pulled Off the Most Audacious Rescue in History Part 9

Now, on the streets of Tehran, my colleagues and I would use these skills to throw off any potential pursuers who might try to use us to get to RAPTOR. Hal and I were joined by Andrew, a local doc.u.ments officer. Weaving through the narrow streets, the three of us quickly backtracked and then ducked into a bustling department store on Abbasabad Avenue. It was a favorite technique used by Agency officers, because the large stores usually had multiple exits and it was almost impossible to cover them all. Emerging from the store, we then strode through the middle of the street, dodging the suicidal traffic of Tehran-many of the cars driving without headlights-in order to throw off any vehicle surveillance that may have been following us. Such a move would probably be considered provocative by Moscow standards, where the operatives were all highly trained professionals, but here in Iran, where the opposition was basically composed of revolutionary zealots, it got the job done.

The nondescript apartment building was located just off Motahari Boulevard, right next to a hotel that housed a popular restaurant.

RAPTOR was hiding in the shadows of the second-floor landing, and as we approached, he stepped out into the light and embraced me, his eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears. I studied him with an artist's attention to detail-the gaunt, sickly man in the ill-fitting sweater bore little resemblance to photos I'd been shown of a confident-looking colonel in his mid-thirties.

RAPTOR led us up to a fourth-floor apartment, which was bare except for a soiled couch and a partially dismantled TV set. The kitchen counter was stacked with worn magazines that had been flipped through too many times, and Farsi newspapers, along with a bag of rice, a sack of lentils, and some canned food. It was obvious he'd been camping out here for several weeks. In lieu of curtains, old newspapers covered the windows.

Moving purposefully, Andrew and I walked RAPTOR through the dark apartment and toward the bathroom. I knew it was important to put him at ease. "This won't take long," I said, telling him not to worry.

As we entered the bathroom, Hal pulled open a narrow window at the back of the apartment and tossed out a coiled rope. This was to be our "escape route" in the event that Revolutionary Guards came charging up the stairwell. The window opened up onto a light shaft ending forty feet below, which adjoined the nearby hotel. After climbing down the rope, we could then enter through a laundry window and leave the hotel through a service entrance. All of this had been figured out the previous day, when the three of us had taken turns casing the service entrance from the hotel restaurant. During Hal's turn, he'd gone into the restaurant's washroom, which had a window that opened up onto the shaft. While he was leaning out, the band on his expensive wrist.w.a.tch broke and the watch tumbled out onto the windowsill below. When he got back to the table, he explained what had happened. While he was lamenting his loss, I'd gone to see what I could do. Descending two flights of stairs, I entered the laundry and quickly put on a dirty waiter's coat to blend in. I then made my way through the large tumbling machines to the washroom and retrieved the watch from the light shaft. Hal was speechless when I returned and dropped it onto the table in front of him.

Inside the apartment's bathroom, RAPTOR improvised a lightbulb by attaching the twisted copper ends of a flat television antenna wire to a bulb with his right hand, while using his left to jam the opposite ends of the wire into the electrical socket next to the sink. I set down my kit and quickly got to work.

"I've done this hundreds of times," I told him, as I applied the special disguise materials I'd brought with me. Half his face, from his hairline down to his upper lip, was soon covered by a stretchy material that obscured his vision and forced him to breathe through his mouth.

As I did this, Andrew a.s.sisted me by preparing a special adhesive, stirring it under a stream of water from the tap. Hal, meanwhile, sat on the sofa in the bedroom and monitored a small two-way Motorola radio he held to his ear. The radio connected him to a team of CIA officers who were outside, watching the street below. We were leaving nothing to chance.

"Just a few more minutes," I said as I tested the disguise with my fingertips. Suddenly, we heard a knock on the door and everyone froze.

RAPTOR pulled the wires out of the socket and we emerged from the bathroom. We made our way through the living room toward the front door. Blinded by the disguise materials, RAPTOR was forced to grope his way along, as I led him by the hand. I showed him by feel where the doork.n.o.b was and he, in turn, put his mouth up to the crack between the door and the molding.

"Who's there?" he whispered, his mouth just inches from the door.

"It's me, Uncle," responded the hushed voice of a young boy.

We all relaxed. One of RAPTOR's relatives owned many flats in the building and the voice belonged to the man's son.

The child asked if RAPTOR needed anything from the bazaar.

"No," he responded. "Come back and see me later."

We listened to the boy's light footsteps as they faded down the stairs. Then we returned to the bathroom, where I was finally able to remove the disguise materials.

After this episode, RAPTOR was moved to a CIA safe site near the U.S. emba.s.sy. The two of us continued to meet repeatedly over the next three days as I finalized his disguise. We had decided to take him out through Mehrabad Airport right under the noses of the Revolutionary Guards. It was a risky move, but I was confident the plan could work. I had transformed the middle-aged Iranian colonel into a sixty-five-year-old Jordanian businessman, complete with a receding hairline and lumpy woolen suit. RAPTOR spoke decent Arabic and could affect a British accent when he spoke English, which would help him pull off the disguise.

On the day before departure, we all met with RAPTOR for a final dress rehearsal. Wearing his disguise, he sat at the dining room table flipping through the well-worn travel doc.u.ments that Andrew had provided for him. When he looked up, a smile spread across his face and I could see that he was pleased with our efforts. To the untrained eye, he was a dead ringer for a distinguished Arab salesman who had traveled the Gulf states for decades. I had even coached him on how to walk and talk and fumble for his doc.u.ments when presenting his papers to the immigration officers. In addition, he'd spent hours with Andrew going over his alias doc.u.mentation, travel plans, and cover story. He'd also memorized a list of phone numbers for "affiliate" offices in the Middle East, which were really CIA fronts prepared to vouch for him should Iranian officials call.

Everything seemed ready. RAPTOR had proved to be a quick study and was motivated, and yet I was worried. I'd noticed over the past few days how he would periodically slip into a deep depression.

His biggest fear was being caught and tortured. "You have no idea what they would do to me," he said. Normally I would just chalk this kind of talk up to nerves, but when he asked if he could have a cyanide capsule, I became genuinely concerned.

"I'm not sure he's going to be able to pull this off," I told Hal the night before the exfiltration.

"What do you have in mind?" he asked me.

"I'll wake him up early tomorrow and make my final a.s.sessment then," I said. "If I don't think he can make it through on his own, I'll personally see him past the controls."

It was going way beyond headquarters' mandate, but I didn't see any other option.

The following day my fears were confirmed when I woke RAPTOR, now known as "Mr. Ka.s.sim," at three in the morning only to be confronted by a wreck of a man with a greenish pallor and a haunted look in his eyes. It was clear that he hadn't slept at all and was certainly in no condition to attempt getting through security on his own.

While Andrew prepared a light breakfast for RAPTOR, I took Hal aside. "I'm going to take him into the airport," I said. Hal seemed to know this was coming, and nodded his agreement. "I'll go ahead with Andrew and check out the terminal one last time and then confirm the flight," I said. No doubt headquarters would think I was taking an unnecessary risk, but I wasn't about to be second-guessed by someone in an office thousands of miles away. We were the operational officers on the scene and n.o.body knew better than us what was required.

The predawn streets of Tehran were eerily quiet as Andrew and I drove toward Mehrabad Airport. Anti-American slogans and posters covered every wall of the deserted city, giving us an almost overwhelming sensation that in order to succeed we would somehow have to overpower the entire country itself. Pa.s.sing beneath an ornate archway, we stopped the car near the drab concrete main terminal, right on schedule.

I waited for Andrew to park the car and then the two of us did a quick sweep through the terminal, which was empty except for a few komiteh slouched on some benches, while a group of temporary revolutionary officials stood around their counters sipping tea. No one seemed to care as we walked up to the Swissair checkin counter to confirm that the flight was on time.

Andrew then pa.s.sed through immigration controls, while I walked outside to wait for Hal and RAPTOR. Since Andrew had always worn a disguise when he'd met with RAPTOR, the plan was to use Andrew as our "spotter" in the airport. This meant that his job would be to make a call from a public phone in the departure lounge and pa.s.s a "go" or "no go" signal, depending on whether or not RAPTOR had made it onto the flight. At that point Andrew would then board the plane, introduce himself to RAPTOR, and proceed to escort him to freedom.

I waited outside, deciding to take a walk in order to avoid looking suspicious. It was still dark and I headed to the far end of the parking lot to watch the sunrise. It also helped to calm my nerves. By the time I returned to the terminal, taxis and vans were beginning to arrive, disgorging their pa.s.sengers onto the sidewalk. I spotted RAPTOR and Hal getting out of a cab and casually walked over. I shook RAPTOR's hand and flashed a warm smile, hoping the act would help to put him at ease. His hand was cool and moist and his grip lifeless. He forced a smile from behind the disguise. He looked to me like a man on his way to the gallows, and I began to worry he might fold before he even got to the checkin counter. I grabbed his bag and said good-bye to Hal, whose job would be to return to the safe site and wait for the call from Andrew.

We entered the terminal and approached customs, and I was pleased to see that RAPTOR's disguise aroused not even the slightest bit of suspicion among the amateurish revolutionary customs agents who'd been told to look for wealthy Iranians trying to smuggle goods out of the country.

After the checkin counter, I stayed with RAPTOR as far as the immigration controls, where the Revolutionary Guard clerk stamped his pa.s.sport and handed it back to him. It was now time to say good-bye, but as I once more shook his hand, I sensed that something was wrong. I saw that the haunted look had returned to his eyes, and so rather than leave, I decided to stick around the airport and wait until his flight had departed.

I was sitting in the waiting area twenty minutes later when I caught sight of Andrew through the gla.s.s part.i.tion. He was clearly agitated by something and he motioned me over. He explained that the Swissair flight had been called but there was no sign of RAPTOR anywhere. "I saw him enter the departure lounge," Andrew said, "but after that he disappeared."

My mind raced. Where could he be? I told Andrew to go back and board the flight; then I returned to the Swissair desk. I explained to the agent that I had a serious problem. "My uncle is boarding your flight to Zurich but I'm afraid that I forgot to give him his heart medication. Can you escort me through immigration so I can find him and make sure he knows how to take it? You see, he's a very old man."

The Swissair clerk nodded sympathetically and quickly escorted me through security and into the departure lounge, where he turned me loose.

I scanned the wide hall, looking for any sign of RAPTOR. He had to be here somewhere. My eyes fell on the door to the men's bathroom.

My shoes echoed on the tile floor as I entered. The bathroom appeared to be empty, but I noticed that one of the stall doors was closed. I walked over.

"Mr. Ka.s.sim?" I whispered.

The stall door opened a crack and I saw one anxious eyeball glaring back at me.

"Come on, Mr. Ka.s.sim. You'll miss your flight."

The door opened further and I could see that RAPTOR was shocked to see me-both his eyes were now wide open like a startled animal's.

"How did you get in here?" he stammered.

Without replying, I grabbed him by the elbow and hustled him out of the bathroom. As we hurried across the departure lounge and toward the gate, a few Revolutionary Guards gave us sideways glances but otherwise didn't seem to care. RAPTOR had been paralyzed with fear but my sudden appearance had snapped him back.

Five minutes later I learned from the Swissair clerk that the flight was on its way to Zurich, and it was up to me to call Hal and let him know that RAPTOR had gotten out. That afternoon we received a return cable from Andrew stating that RAPTOR was safe. He also relayed a funny story. While they had been on the flight, RAPTOR had removed his fake mole and handed it to Andrew as a souvenir.

The RAPTOR operation was on my mind as I headed over to the State Department to find out about the status of the exfiltration plan to rescue the houseguests. The State Department memo had said they were planning on taking the lead, but I was concerned about their ability to pull it off. I knew there were several challenges to this case that might not seem important to the uninitiated. Infiltrating and exfiltrating people into and out of hostile areas is one of the most dangerous jobs in the spy business. It's also one of the full-time concerns of OTS, which has worked on these kinds of operations since the OSS days. The "authentication" of operations officers and their agents by providing them with personal doc.u.mentation and disguise, cover legends and supporting data, "pocket litter" and so forth, is a fundamental element in any clandestine operation. At OTS, personal doc.u.mentation and disguise specialists, graphic artists, and other specialists spend hundreds of hours preparing materials, tailoring the cover legends, and coordinating the plan. If valuable human a.s.sets can no longer remain in place, then it is the official policy of the CIA to bring them in from the cold.

When it came to the houseguests, I could see that this was going to be a tough nut to crack. RAPTOR had been a highly trained operative and still he had wilted under the pressure. With the six Americans we were basically dealing with untrained amateurs who were hiding out in a city seething with hatred for westerners. It would take all the resources we had to figure this one out.

The Department of State building at Twenty-third and C Street in downtown Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C., is ma.s.sive. It was located just across the street from our own Foggy Bottom offices, so close in fact that sometimes we would eat lunch in their huge cafeteria.

The architecture of the State Department headquarters, both inside and out, was designed to be modern and sleek but had faded rather quickly into a series of bland rectangles with no character.

We were meeting with an undersecretary of state, a dignified woman who was very much in charge. She had a s.p.a.cious office on the seventh floor. Present at the meeting, in addition to a young doc.u.ments officer and myself, were two of her a.s.sistants, a member of CIA's cover staff, and a CIA Near East Division case officer who thought he was running the meeting. The case officer began by describing how he would plan and execute the exfiltration of the six State Department diplomats.