Escapes! (10 page)

Ken Taylor went about his daily business, but it was getting harder with so much weighing on his mind. All through December he'd watched the Americans growing more restless and desperate. How much longer could he keep them a secret?

Some North American journalists had noticed that the original number of staff at the American embassy was greater than the number of hostages announced by the students. Where were the others? they asked. Government officials had asked them to keep it quiet, since lives were at stake, but sooner or later it was bound to leak out.

And rumors were spreading of a rescue operation. The U.S. military might storm the compound and whisk the hostages out by helicopter.

Then what would become of the six left behind? Taylor knew there'd be only one chance for an airlift — they couldn't fly back for the others. And the Iranian militants could argue that since the Canadians had been hiding them, the six must be spies, and as such had no diplomatic protection. They'd stay and stand trial, along with their Canadian accomplices!

Clearly, it was time for them all to get out.

Christmas came and went as Taylor weighed the options for escape. They could drive the Americans northwest to the city of Tabriz, then over the border to Turkey, where a helicopter could pick them up. Or take them west to the Persian Gulf and get them on a British tanker.

Both plans were risky, and they meant traveling through dangerous areas — some parts of the country had been plunged into even greater turmoil by the revolution than Tehran. Plus they would need safe houses along the way, and a Farsi-speaking guide they could trust.

No, Taylor realized, there was only one way. Confront the Iranians head-on. Take the Americans straight through Tehran's airport and onto a jet to Europe. It was the boldest option, but the swiftest, and the only one that stood a chance.

“Who is this?” A man's voice demanded over the telephone at the Taylor residence.

“Pat Taylor. And who is speaking, please?” Pat didn't recognize the voice, and an uneasy feeling told her to be careful what she said.

The man's reply turned her blood cold. “I'd like to speak to Joseph or Kathy Stafford. I know they're there.”

Pat swallowed and answered steadily, “I don't know who you're talking about. There's no one here by that name.” She glanced over at the Staffords, who had risen from their chairs and were standing nearby, watching wide-eyed.

The stranger began to argue with her, but Pat insisted he was mistaken. The man hung up suddenly.

Joe put an arm around his wife. This felt like the last straw in a series of scares that had tormented the Americans. Days before, a helicopter had mysteriously circled over the Sheardown home, terrifying Zena and the Americans hiding there.

Pat quickly phoned the ambassador, who rushed home. “Don't worry,” Taylor reassured the frantic Staffords. “We're getting you out.”

Taylor, together with officials in Ottawa and Washington, had worked out an escape plan. First of all, the fugitives would need new identities: Americans might not be let out of the country. But Canadians could still come and go.

Canadian Prime Minister Joe Clark had quickly issued six Canadian passports. For the next step, Ottawa turned to the Central Intelligence Agency in the U.S. They'd need the CIA's expert help to forge Iranian stamps on the passports, showing that the “Canadians” had entered Iran. And they'd need fake visas allowing them to enter and exit the country.

By mid-January the passports and visas arrived in a diplomatic pouch under the arm of a Canadian embassy courier. The CIA had also provided driver's licenses and credit cards to make the identities seem more real. As hoped, the pouch was not checked at the airport. Luckily some diplomatic privileges were still respected!

But when Taylor looked at the visas, he gasped. The dates were wrong! The CIA had followed the old calendar used by the Shah and not the Islamic calendar reintroduced by Khomeini. According to the visas, the Americans had arrived in Iran a month after they were leaving! Taylor said nothing to the hostages. His staff hastily doctored the date — and hoped it wouldn't show.

The last days before the escape ticked by in a nerve-wracking countdown. The plan was to leave during the national elections, when confusion throughout the city would help mask their departure.

On January 26, 1980, the night before the escape, Taylor sat down with the six Americans and the few remaining Canadian diplomats. Taylor knew the Canadian embassy's days in Iran were numbered, so staff had been leaving the country bit by bit, all the while keeping up the illusion that everything was business as usual.

Huddled in a circle, the Americans were handed their passports and began studying their new identities.

“You are a group of Canadian business people in the oil industry,” Taylor explained to them as they eyed their new passports. “You came to Iran in early January, stayed with embassy staff, and are now returning home. Everyone ready? Let's start.”

The Canadians began drilling the Americans on their new identities. Together they rehearsed every kind of question that might come up at the airport. Where was your visa issued? Where were you born? What was your business in Iran? The slightest hesitation before answering, a little confusion over details — any number of small blunders could give them away.

Next they studied a map of the airport terminal and its many checkpoints. Taylor showed them where they would run into police, guards, and immigration officials, and where their visas would be checked and double-checked. The toughest spot was about halfway through, at the third checkpoint — a barrier guarded by National Police and Revolutionary Guards.

Finally, Taylor circled the waiting area where they'd stand before boarding. “But don't relax once you're there!” he warned them. “You can't let your guard down until the plane is in the air. Even when you're sitting on the runway, Revolutionary Guards could board the plane for one last check of papers.” The Americans nodded.

“Remember,” Taylor added. “If one of you is arrested, the rest of you mustn't panic. Walk away — slowly — to the exit. Two cars will be waiting for you outside.”

It was late and they all needed rest. Taylor stood up, wishing them luck. He wouldn't be with them the next day — if they all left together, it would raise suspicions.

He smiled on his way out, but silently he worried about the Americans. They'd done well in the mock interrogations. But they'd been cooped up for three months. They're healthy, Taylor thought, but dazed. Are they still sharp enough to react quickly to the unexpected? Because, as he knew, something unexpected was bound to come up.

At dawn the Americans piled into a car and prepared to face the many roadblocks on the way to the airport for their 7:35 a.m. flight to Frankfurt, Germany. They arrived at the terminal without incident, but Anders was nervous. He had processed visas for so many Iranians at the consulate. What if someone recognized him?

One by one the travelers checked in their bags, then headed for the first of the security stations. At a distance, two Canadian diplomats strolled around the airport, watching their progress.

When the group reached the third checkpoint, the official stared at Schatz's passport, looked up at him, then back down. Suddenly he snatched it up and slipped out of sight into an office.

Don't panic, Schatz told himself. As moments passed and the man didn't return, Schatz raised his sleeve to mop the sweat on his brow. He sensed the others standing nervously behind him, but didn't dare make eye contact.

The official abruptly returned and held out the passport, his face expressionless. Schatz reached for it, tensing his hand to stop it shaking.

Mark and Cora's hearts were pounding as they strode toward the final checkpoint, where their visas would be examined. But no one was there. Mark and Cora hesitated. Should they just walk through? Mark eyed the departure gate, and was tempted to sprint toward it.

But Anders grabbed his arm to hold him back. If anyone spotted them, guards would be all around them in a second. Mark groaned as Anders went in search of help. I can't believe it: we're actually going out of our way to talk to guards, he thought.

But Anders had done the right thing. A nearby guard found the missing official, who apologized and waved them through.

The minutes ticked by slowly as they strolled around the waiting area. It's not over yet, Anders told himself.

A voice blared over the loudspeakers. Joe quickly translated the Farsi announcement — mechanical difficulties were delaying the Swissair flight. Panic spread through the group.

“What if it's just a ploy to stall us?”

“We're like sitting ducks here.”

Twenty minutes went by. In low mutters, the Americans ran through Taylor's back-up plans. They could split up and catch other planes — each of them had a ticket for another flight, just in case. Or they could slip out of the airport and make a run for the safe house Taylor had rented as a last resort. It would buy them a couple of days, or at least a few hours.

“No, let's wait it out,” Anders urged. “Bolting now would look suspicious.”

An hour passed as they agonized. At last another announcement ended the torture: passengers were now boarding the Swissair flight. One by one, the fugitives filed past the Revolutionary Guards on either side of the gate and mounted the steps to the airplane.

Taking their seats, they stared anxiously at the door, watching for any sign of guards boarding at the last moment. The minutes passed and none came. The plane began to move along the runway, slowly picking up speed. As it lifted off the ground, the Americans felt themselves soaring. They were in the air! To the surprise of the other passengers, the six “Canadians” broke into tears and laughter. They were going home.

Once news of the escape broke, Americans said a big “thank you” to Canada. Towns and cities across the U.S. flew the Canadian flag, people pinned maple leaves on their lapels, and thousands of thank-you messages, as well as flowers and cakes, arrived at Canadian embassies.

But in Iran the crisis wasn't over yet. The embassy hostages still faced another year of captivity. A sympathetic guard showed a few of them a magazine story on the escape, and it gave them new hope. One hostage, worn out by months of confinement, blindfolds, and fear, later called the escape story “the most incredibly beautiful thing I've read in my whole life.”

The U.S. military did attempt to rescue the hostages by helicopter, but the mission was a tragic failure, killing eight members of the rescue team. In the end it would take the sudden death of the Shah and a war with Iraq to spur Iran to negotiate a release for the hostages. The captive Americans came home on January 20, 1981, after 444 days as prisoners.

Falling from the Sky

England, 1941

I
T WAS A PERFECT DAY FOR FLYING
— a warm August morning with scattered clouds at 4,000 feet, and above them clear, blue sky. Into it rose three squadrons of Spitfire fighter planes, climbing steadily over the countryside, bound for the English Channel. The pilots' mission was to escort British bombers on their way to a German military target in occupied France.