Teacher spy assassin, p.16
Teacher, Spy, Assassin, page 16
The truckers were still honking intermittently. Mr. Big Kahuna was silently assessing his options. After about a half-hour, he went to the administration building and returned with a box containing all of our passports. The teachers passed them out to the students who were busily saying goodbye to their temporary teammates. The bus driver pulled into a booth. When we were all on board with their passports, I said goodbye to Mr. Big Kahuna. He lifted my wrist. He looked at my watch, and said in English, “That is a marvelous watch,” I smiled and got on the bus.
An ugly win is still a win.
We were far too late for the banquet. Peter Davis, the headmaster in Budapest was at the school waiting for us. It was 8:30 p.m. All of us were tired and hungry. I had found a place to make a payphone call to the school. We didn’t have any Hungarian change and couldn’t find an operator who spoke English enough to allow us a collect call, so we drove straight through. Peter and his wife Melissa phoned the parent hosts. All of them came immediately. The hosts would feed the students and teachers at their homes.
Peter and I saw the children off, and repeatedly explained the problem we had experienced at the border, and apologized. The hosts understood and were gracious. After the last was called, his wife Melissa began calling teachers, who picked up our teachers. Everyone seemed pleased to have closure. The students and teachers seemed thrilled to have found the source for their long-anticipated evening meal and a waiting bed.
Peter and Melissa were a bit older than I was. I was 36, at this time and they were in their late 40’s. They had no children of their own and had made a career out of this peripatetic life in overseas schools. They began as teachers in the US and after a few years, on a lark, they went to the hiring conference in New York where they took their first job teaching in Kenya and were hooked. They bounced around Africa and Asia for a while on two-year “hitches,” and then went on to Europe. One year, in a small school in Berne Switzerland, the School Director died. The Board offered Peter an opportunity to finish out the year in an interim position as school head, and he stayed for four years, then moved on.
They expected to finish their career in this life overseas. Their story was far more typical than mine. They rented a storage space in Connecticut where they were from, and where they hoped to return. In it, they kept the treasures they had collected while living overseas. When they had amassed enough wealth to retire, they would return home, buy a home, and furnish it with their treasures.
Many overseas School Boards felt that this kind of experience showed that a director could stand up to the challenges of overseas life. My Board wanted a current US school experience, so our school could be closer to the standards and practices of an American School.
The salaries overseas were lower than the salaries at home, but there were no US taxes on overseas income. If you had lived overseas for more than 18 months and you could ask for an extension for filing until you were overseas for the time required. With housing paid for, and moving expenses before and after your contract, there was money left at the end of the month. I used that money to travel. Many built a private retirement. I tried to harvest experiences that would last a lifetime, not to add to my financial security.
There was a second problem in doing this work overseas. People teaching or running schools could get stuck overseas. Back home, the resume of a school head from Yugoslavia seemed a bit out of the ordinary. Did such a person even speak English? How would a board interview him or her? And…
For me getting home was easier. I had taken a leave from my old school district and could return to my old job as a high school Special Ed, or English teacher when I left Europe if I chose to.
Melissa heated some goulash that was leftover from the banquet. We ate it and laughed about my exploits at the border. We talked about the plans for the next two days and went to bed. I awoke hearing Melissa moving about the kitchen. I dressed and joined her in the kitchen. It was 7:00 a.m.
“Melissa, how kind of you and Peter to host me. I slept like a baby.”
“Good morning,” She said. “I am so sorry about your misadventures yesterday. Although parts of it sounded like fun after the terror stopped.”
“It will make a good story someday,” I laughed.
“Good morning,” Peter said walking in from the other room. We had both chosen to wear a tracksuit that day. “The weather looks good. We waited for the weather before firming up the final schedule. Right now, your students and the other students from the other schools are having breakfast with their host families.”
“Because the weather is good, we will start the day with soccer games. We will have lunch at the school prepared by the PTA, and then move on to volleyball and basketball preliminaries. We will save the finals for tomorrow. We’ll judge the writing contest today and give the math test tomorrow and end with the music concert,” He said.
“Sounds good,” I replied.
“Tonight, the parents will take the kids home with them, and we will take you out to a proper Hungarian restaurant,” he said. “My teachers will entertain our guest teachers tonight.”
“I was able to hire real referees today, and for the basketball and volleyball tomorrow.”
We sat down to eat. Melissa said, “I think this Eastern Europe Schools group is going to be important. We all live in a hostile environment. Look what happened to you yesterday. We need a break from that kind of stuff, and we need each other.
“I teach, so probably, like your wife, I don’t get out to conferences to talk to other people dealing with the same issues often. So, thanks for coming. It is important to me,” she added.
“Let’s have some fun today,” Peter said, carrying his dishes to the sink. “Just leave them in the sink,” he said. “The maid will get them.”
We each packed the things we would need for that day in our gym bags and headed to the school. It was a block away. In my bag, I had a first aid kit, several bottles of suntan lotion, a hat, a stopwatch, and an umbrella. I had a clipboard with a list of my kids and teachers. I had the schedule that Peter had given me, and rosters for each competition. I had permission slips, which had a temporary custody clause that allowed me to authorize medical treatment if needed. I had also brought and wore a whistle.
Even though the school was within sight of the house, we got in his car and drove there. We both knew why. In the event of an emergency…
The school was in a brand-new building and the grounds were purpose-built to be for the International School. The classrooms were a standard size of almost 1000 square feet. There was an auditorium, a gym, and an undersized but perfectly adequate soccer pitch. He had a real art room and a cafeteria. It was fantastic. The building compared favorably to a US school, but it was tiny. He had fewer students than I did, but far more space. I knew he had helped the Hungarian government design the building so I lingered at each nicety to properly and sincerely ooh and aah.
The students were assembling in the cafeteria. The kitchen staff was working with the PTA to prepare snacks, lunch, and drinks for the day. A few kids had arrived when their PTA moms reported for duty. These early kids were noisily chatting in the cafeteria with their guests who had come in the same car. A few of my kids were with them.
Two of these moms were hanging a banner written in Hungarian and English that welcomed the School visitors. Teachers and students began to filter into the cafeteria. The teachers introduced themselves to us, and each other. Peter distributed the schedules.
As the happy “talking noise” began to build in the cafeteria, one of his teachers began to lead the students in song. Melissa, also a teacher at the school was monitoring the attendance with the help of a teacher she had found from each school. Well before the 9:00 a.m. start time, all were present and accounted for. There were a large number of parents from the Budapest school attending, to help as needed, and to cheer for their teams.
At this point, Peter asked everyone to go to the auditorium. The referees had shown up in uniform. Peter did a warm welcoming speech. He kindly offered me the credit for imagining this whole idea a few years before and working to establish it. He thanked the parents, and the teachers from each school in attendance, and introduced the students to their schedule.
The events of the day went well. Belgrade made the finals in soccer and basketball. One of our kids took first in the essay contest. Liam took first in the short story competition, and another Belgrade student took third in the poetry contest. The host parents took the students home. It was softly raining.
We got back to Peter’s place. It was a bit early for dinner, so we took a break for a nap. Peter had made reservations for 8:00 that night. He said we would have drinks at 7:15 then go. I set the alarm for 6:30 p.m. and went dead to the world.
The next sound I heard was the alarm. I dressed for dinner. Peter drove us to an island in the Danube between the Buda side of the Danube and the Pest side. Margaret Island is heavily gardened and is a green refuge in the middle of this large city. There are remains of Turkish baths there from the time of Ottoman rule.
Nearby there were two buildings adjacent to each other. One was the Hotel Thermal. The other was the Grand Margitsziget Hotel. The Grand Hotel was a beaux-arts giant with no surface unadorned. The Hotel Thermal was a sleek thermal resort that served healthy meals. Both offered thermal bath treatments for illnesses, real, or imagined. The Grand Hotel is where we had dinner reservations. We went to a large dining room that was already nearly full. We were shown to a table. The crowd was well dressed. There were several tables of senior military officers accompanied by young attractive women. I asked Peter about them. He pointed out the red stripe on their pants. He said in Hungary when you see that red stripe, you know they are Soviet. Tonight, there was a strolling Gypsy string ensemble.
Peter ordered for us.
After a remarkable feast, as we lingered over coffee, the Gypsy strings came to our table to ask if there was any song we would like to hear. Peter gestured for me to make the request. I asked them to play Lara’s Theme from Dr. Zhivago.
Dr. Zhivago, a film released in the mid-sixties, was based on a book by Boris Pasternak. Pasternak was imprisoned in the gulag for writing this book, which revealed the insensitivity and brutality of the Russian Revolution. The movie was not allowed to be filmed in Russia. It was banned in the Eastern Bloc. It would be a real sign of the hostility toward Russia by the Hungarians if the gypsy musicians knew the song and could play it.
Further, it would reveal profound hypocrisy among the Russian High Command, if the senior officers here knew the song, (How could they have heard it if they had not covertly seen the movie?) and this would also be revealed if they acted offended.
The Gypsy strings leader flashed a delighted smile and launched into the song. The Russian officers sputtered and stomped out of the restaurant with their stunning escorts. The Hungarian patrons loved the moment and applauded the musicians. I tipped the string players lavishly. We finished our coffee. Peter insisted on paying. We rode home laughing about the scene we had just created by asking for that particular song.
We turned in.
The next morning began the same way. All of the visiting students and teachers had packed their suitcases to leave immediately after the morning’s activities. Our bus was waiting at the school and we put our suitcases below.
The competitions began with the math students taking the timed test. The high school students were stepping up to their role and guided the remaining students outdoors for the soccer finals as soon as they were done eating. When all the students and teachers were out, the math contestants had come out.
There was a 20-minute semi-final, then a twenty-minute final in soccer. We took third. We went inside for a similar set of competitions in volleyball and basketball. We did well in both but took home the gold medal in volleyball.
The awards ceremony was in the auditorium. There were trophies for the winning schools and medals for the first three places in each event for the students. We took first in Math. The students from Budapest put on their funny skit. The students had written it and the actors could not stop giggling, which made it even funnier. The students from each school performed their musical pieces.
There were hugs all around as we boarded the bus. Three crates of generous boxed lunches had been prepared by the Hungarian school cafeteria staff and were loaded on the bus. We headed out after thanking our hosts.
The bus stopped for lunch at a park on Lake Balaton. We approached the border with dread. I did not see any sign of the Big Kahuna. The guards barely looked at us.
When we crossed into Yugoslavia, a spontaneous cheer broke out. Passports were inspected and stamped. We were on our way, in time to make our scheduled 5:00 p.m. return. I brought my high school student leadership team to the front of the bus. I asked them to appeal to each student to be quiet for the next hour to let people nap. The students complied, having been asked nicely by a respected peer. I awoke as we were entering Belgrade.
The bus pulled into the school’s driveway. The parents were all waiting. Linda was there. I hugged her and told her I would walk home after the last kid was picked up. I put my bags in the camper and helped Liam load his. Liam had all kinds of news to share with Linda. After all, he had medals around his neck.
The students, teachers, and parents were pleased with the experience. On Monday I would talk to Jim and the Ambassador about the incident at the border, and the scene created by “Lara’s theme.” I sent a letter to the parents. The walk home was peaceful. Linda had baked ham and put some sweet potatoes in the oven for dinner. Now that spring was coming, Linda had found some baby carrots to sauté with onions to serve as a side dish. Life was good.
Chapter 28: The Iranian hostage rescue fails
Monday morning, the news on the BBC radio service was all about a failed rescue attempt to free the hostages in Iran. The mission was the very first for the new Delta Force. The ground troops were led by Colonel Charlie Beckwith, who had served with distinction in Viet Nam and had served as a liaison to British Commandos in Malaysia where he was decorated by the British government. The mission was to stage in the Iranian desert area code-named Desert One. This hard-sand spot had been scouted for the mission. It was found to be an acceptable location to land cargo aircraft and Helicopters. Planes brought fuel in a bladder and mission-critical equipment to the site. Helicopters were to take the rescue team to a second site for a final thrust to Tehran. From the beginning, some problems threatened the mission.
The helicopters used in the mission were naval Sea Stallions. These navy helicopters were not modified to fly through desert sand storms. There were eight choppers used in the mission. The first chopper failure occurred when a pilot discovered a problem with his aircraft and had to turn back. A second pilot discovered a wobble in the rotor blades. He abandoned the helicopter on the ground in Iran due to an undetected crack in the rotor blades. The pilot was rescued by another helicopter. Six Helicopters arrived at Desert One, the first way station.
They were preceded by three C130’s carrying 6,000 gallons of fuel and 120 members of the Delta Force led by Colonel Beckwith. These troops were accompanied by 12 Army Rangers and 15 Farsi-speaking Americans and Iranians. The delta force would depart the next evening after the helicopters had been refueled. From there they were to be met with trucks brought to the second staging area by-ground CIA assets.
The force would then be divided into two teams. The first would kill the guards at the embassy compound and deliver the hostages to a soccer stadium in the immediate vicinity. The second would invade the foreign ministry and rescue the three high-ranking foreign service officers held in the ministry, itself. The high-ranking foreign service officers would then be reunited with the other hostages in the soccer stadium. The helicopters would fly them to an abandoned Iranian Air Base where a single C-141 star-lifter would fly them all out.
The plan was extremely complex. Objectively, too complex. The multiple commands from the navy, air force, and army had different command structures and communication methods.
The remaining helicopters flying to Desert One encountered a desert sand storm known as a haboob. The sand scoured the unprotected engines in the Navy choppers. One additional helicopter had to return to its base on the Carrier Nimitz off the coast of Oman. One of the five remaining helicopters was determined to be marginally airworthy due to the damage caused by the sand storm. There were now 5 helicopters available for the mission. The pre-mission planners had set 5 as the minimum number of helicopters necessary for mission success.
The storm had delayed the arrival of the helicopters by 90 minutes. This delay caused a further problem due to an unplanned need to refuel because of the unplanned 90 extra minutes of flying time.
A private fuel truck drove by, close to Desert One. The truck was part of a smuggling operation. In order not to have the driver notify Iranian authorities about the desert activity, the driver was held and the truck was blown up. A bus drove by. The passengers and driver were taken as prisoners. This presented an additional challenge. What would they do with the prisoners while they were on the mission? When the bus failed to show up, would the Iranians send a truck to aid the bus?
Colonel Beckwith contacted the White House to ask that the mission be abandoned. President Carter gave the order to abort.
While preparing to leave, the helicopters needed to be refueled. One helicopter lifted off to move closer to the fuel bladder. As it did so the wind blew some loose sand into the air, temporarily disorienting the pilot. He crashed into one of the C 130’s killing eight mission participants and destroying the helicopter and the C-130.
The news did not have all of this information that morning, but it was clear that this ambitious and, perhaps ill-advised mission was a colossal failure. To his credit, President Carter assumed all the blame for the failed mission.
