A TIME TO BETRAY (34 page)

I was glad to see the embarrassment this revelation caused the Reagan administration. They’d sidestepped their principles to negotiate with people who committed heinous acts as a matter of policy. If these negotiations had gone further, any hopes I ever had for a free Iran would have evaporated.

With the news of the affair out and President Reagan putting an end to these Iran initiatives, I tried to stay focused. I continued my reports to Carol, hoping that the American government had seen the error of negotiating with Iran’s rulers and would take a more aggressive stance in the future. They’d managed only to secure the release of a few hostages. In exchange, they’d provided the Guards with a stockpile of American weapons, some of which ended up in the hands of Hezbollah and the Islamic Jihad. Meanwhile, the Guards continued to take hostages and make greater demands.

Early in the summer of 1987, Kazem came to my office and informed me that his name for the hajj had been called. He was honored to visit Mecca, but he was intensely excited about this for another reason. Imam Khomeini had issued an order for an uprising to take place during that year’s pilgrimage and Kazem believed he might play a role in this insurrection. I didn’t doubt it. Kazem’s being called to the hajj was no coincidence; I was sure Khomeini wanted him and other Guards from our unit there for precisely this purpose. The regime had tried in the past to cause turmoil in the Saudi kingdom. They’d been largely unsuccessful, but this wouldn’t stop them from planning further criminal acts at the place many knew as “God’s House.”

“Everything is in place and the Saudi monarch is going down,” Kazem said contemptuously. “These Arabs are the servants of America, and they will pay big this time.” He then offered me specific details, which I memorized for my next report.

[Letter #—]

[Date:———]

Dear Carol,

1—Kazem today revealed the Guards’ plan for an uprising against the Saudi kingdom during the hajj.

2—Thousands of Guards have been sent as pilgrims and flown by Iran Air.

3—Knifes, machetes, and other arms have been transferred to Saudi Arabia by the Guards.

4—Imam Khomeini gave the order for this uprising.

5—The plan is to incite the Muslims for a demonstration condemning American and Israeli policies.

6—They intend to escalate the demonstration to an uprising against the Saudi kingdom.

7—The Iran Air flights are departing daily, carrying Guard members and transferring arms.

Wally

About a week after my letter reached Carol, I heard that the Saudis were checking all the Iran Air flights and sending back many Iranian pilgrims who they found in possession of arms. I felt I’d played a direct role in this, believing that my information was put to use. Finally, I thought, some good was coming out of what I had been doing.

Still, in spite of my efforts and the Saudis’ precautions, the Guards succeeded in causing a massive and violent demonstration. Thousands of pilgrims joined the fight with Saudi police, shouting “Death to America” and “Death to Israel,” and demanding the overthrow of the Saudi kingdom. The riot led to a death toll of hundreds of Iranians, other pilgrims, and Saudi police. The Saudis ultimately quelled the revolt, but this led Khomeini to order a number of bombing attacks on Saudi agencies around the world and the assassination of several of their diplomats.

Tensions throughout the region were incredibly high. And in the midst of this, Carol sent me a chilling message:

Hello, Wally,

We have learned that Iraq has received shipments of long-range missiles from the Soviet Union. They will use them against civilians to force the regime to accept peace. We don’t know what the timing is, but should you want to leave, we would understand.

Things are going to get ugly, but there will be peace in the end. Please take care,

Carol

“NO, YOU CANNOT
see her now. She is in the CCU. I am sorry.” The nurse shook her head and left me alone in the hallway of Toos Hospital. I walked back to the administration area and found another nurse sitting behind the desk.

“I am here to see Fataneh Kahlili,” I said desperately. “She is my mother and they just admitted her in here. She had a heart attack. Please tell me where she is and how she is doing.”

The nurse looked up at me and narrowed her eyes. “We just told you. She is in the CCU. She is not doing well. How many times do you have to ask?”

Earlier that day, one of Mom’s neighbors called to tell me that an ambulance had taken her to the hospital. The day before, I had pleaded with her to let me take her out of town, where she could be safe from the most vicious round of attacks civilians had experienced during the war. She refused. She even refused to stay with me. Of course she did. Why would she even consider that? Her only son was part of a ruinous regime and she couldn’t forgive him for this. The birth of her grandson had brought us together physically, but this turned out to be a temporary rapprochement. After Somaya and Omid left, she returned to seeing me only as a member of the Guards. When I entreated her on the phone to allow me to help her get to a safer place, she told me that she would leave with her friends in a few days if things did not get better. But her voice was shaky, and I knew she was frightened.

This latest nightmare began when I was at home, having just hung up from a conversation with Somaya. A roaring blast jolted the building, the ground shook, and I thought the house would crumble. It was far worse than when Iraqi jets dropped bombs. I looked out the window to see which building had collapsed and found neighbors running and screaming outside. I couldn’t see any sign of destruction within our neighborhood; just confused and rattled people. I turned on the radio, but before I could get any information, there was another jolt.

A few months earlier, Carol had warned me that there would be missile attacks. At the time, I could appreciate her message only in the abstract. The reality was so much more terrifying. BBC radio confirmed that Iraq was firing long-range missiles on Tehran and other Iranian cities. The BBC also said that there was a strong possibility that this was the first of many such attacks.

It was then that I called Mom, offering to take her away from this madness. Now, a day later, after more than a dozen missiles had hit Tehran, Mom lay in the cardiac care unit. I was devastated and I felt responsible for what had happened to her. I should have insisted on staying with her in such a situation, despite her protests and refusals, but I allowed the distance that had come between us to prevent me from doing the right thing.

While I was waiting to hear about her condition, an explosion jolted the hospital violently. Another missile had hit somewhere close by. Screams and howls filled the hallway. Nurses rushed from one room to another. People in waiting rooms hurried to leave. I just sat there on the floor and covered my face with my palms.

What has happened to us? Is this the kind of life we deserve? What is going to happen to Mom? I broke her heart and now she’s suffered a heart attack. What if she does not make it? God, please save her and I’ll do anything!

“Is somebody here for Fataneh Kahlili?”

I turned my head toward the deep, husky voice. I wiped my face with the end of my sleeve and raised my hand, still too choked up to
talk. A man in light blue hospital garb approached. I felt his hand on my shoulder as I tried to get up.

“Please stay seated. Are you Mrs. Kahlili’s son?”

I nodded.

“You know,
pesaram,
since last night we have had several patients with heart attacks. These missiles don’t just destroy where they hit; you have to have a strong heart to survive the effect of their impact.” He pushed his cap away from his forehead. “I am sorry to say that your mother did not make it.”

Carol had also told me in her message that things would get ugly but that there would be peace in the end. Was this the kind of peace she was talking about? Would she consider my mother “at peace” now? I couldn’t continue to live like this. By the time I buried Mom on a cold winter day in 1988, while Tehran was still under attack by Saddam Hussein, I had made the decision that would alter the course of my life.

The international phone lines had been jammed since the attacks started. Since we couldn’t reach each other by phone, Somaya sent a telegram:

Reza, we are so worried. We are not able to call. Please let us know how you are. Please, Reza, call us ASAP.

I rushed to send a telegram back to her. I wished I could let her know about what I’d decided in the telegram, but I had to be sure I could follow through on this decision before I said anything. I did not even mention what happened to Mom and how devastated I was, how I was racked with guilt over her death and how much I regretted not telling Mom that I was not who she thought I was.

Somaya jon, I am safe and sound. Please do not worry so much. It is not as bad as it sounds in the news. I will be sending a telegram every other day until the phone lines become available again. I love you so much and I miss you. Please kiss my Omid for me and take care of yourself. Love, Reza.

“Are you sure you want to put in all these words?” the dispatcher at the phone company said. “You can delete ‘I miss you’ or ‘I love you so much’ to cut the cost.”

“That’s okay, I will pay for those.”

“How about ‘kiss my Omid’? Do you know how expensive every word is?”

“Don’t worry about those. I will pay more to make sure they know I love them.”

The dispatcher rolled his eyes and took the paper.

The always bustling Tehran had turned into a ghost town. Hundreds of thousands fled as soon as the first few missiles struck. Many took shelter in cities to the north by the Caspian Sea, as these places were too far away for the missiles to reach from Iraq. A three-hour drive had become an eighteen- to twenty-hour crawl because of the number of cars fleeing the capital. Others who could not afford to travel camped out in the outskirts of Tehran, feeling that this was somehow safer. Many people died in car accidents or from snakebite while camping in remote areas. Business in Tehran came to a halt.

I needed to talk to Kazem, but the timing wasn’t right for a personal discussion. The base was chaotic. I had never seen Kazem so angry and rattled. Not long after the attacks started, I encountered him in the hallway and he asked me to follow him to his office. He slammed the door behind him and hurled himself into his chair. He mumbled some words and picked up the phone, but instead of dialing, he banged the handset back to its base.

“We’ll teach this bastard Saddam a good lesson. These filthy Americans think they can force us to surrender by giving him missiles and a green light to attack us. The Iraqis claim the missiles are their own. They think we are donkeys.”

“What is the plan, Kazem?” I asked. “We cannot just sit here and let this motherless plunderer destroy us like this.”

“The U.S. has planned this. Imam just ordered us to expand the mining of the Persian Gulf to put pressure on American forces and
oil shipments. And we are going to fire missiles at Iraq’s major cities in return. They can take their dreams to their grave if they think they are going to demolish our Islamic movement.”

It took several minutes for Kazem’s fury to recede long enough for him to tell me how sorry he was to hear of my mother’s death. This was an opening for me to discuss my decision, but remembering his tirade just moments before, I let it pass.

Later that night I wrote a letter to Carol:

[Letter #—]

[Date:———]

Dear Carol,

1—The Iraqi missile attacks have caused chaos. Innocent people are being slaughtered.

2—People are leaving the capital for safer ground.

3—Kazem told me that Imam has ordered a swift response to Iraq and to the American forces in the Persian Gulf.

4—The Guards will expand the mining of the Gulf in retaliation for Saddam’s attacks.

5—The Guards don’t know how Saddam has acquired these powerful missiles but they doubt they were built by the Iraqi army. They blame the U.S. for giving Saddam the green light for this action.

6—I will try to stay in touch, but the situation is very volatile.

Wish me luck,

Wally

Almost two months after the first strike by Iraqi missiles and while most of Tehran still looked desolate, the missile strikes stopped. But the war continued. After Imam Khomeini ordered the mining of the Gulf, a guided-missile frigate, the USS
Samuel B. Robertson,
struck an Iranian mine on April 14, 1988. The mine blew a fifteen-foot hole in the hull and flooded the engine room, injuring
ten sailors. I knew that America would not take this lightly, and I prayed that the retaliation would not hurt innocent civilians. Four days later, the U.S. Navy attacked two Iranian oil platforms. The ensuing battle caused at least six Iranian speedboats and two navy ships to be destroyed or damaged.

The tension in the Gulf was later responsible for an ill-fated incident that ended the life of nearly three hundred innocent people. On July 3, 1988, while I was in the cafeteria at our base with Kazem and some other Guards, news came out that a U.S. Navy cruiser had shot down an Iran Air jetliner. Apparently, the USS
Vincennes
mistook the civilian jet for an attacking F-14 fighter. The news repeatedly showed footage of bodies of men, women, and children floating in the Persian Gulf.

The uproar among the Guards was immediate. “Death to America,” the Guards chanted in the cafeteria. As always, this mob denied any culpability in the tragedy.

Later that month, Khomeini accepted peace with Iraq. But he did so with searing words that revealed the true hatred he had for his enemy.

“Making this decision was more deadly than taking poison. I submitted myself to God’s will and drank from this cup of poison for his satisfaction. To me, it would have been more bearable to accept death and martyrdom, but I made this decision in the interest of the Islamic Republic.”