by Jack Freeman
The chairman smiled sardonically and acknowledged the crowd.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I am Ted Nightingale and I am your chairman for tonight. As we all know, the situation in Iran today is critical. How the position in Iran develops could have grave implications for the world and particularly for the great struggle between what we might broadly call the developed capitalist world and the poorer third world. The issue of revolution versus reform is of global concern, so how it is resolved in Iran could be of great moment. I am sure we will be having a lively debate. I hope you will hear out the speakers and save questions till after each presentation. All questions are to be through me, the chairman, please. We have with us tonight, Mr al-Tehrani, leader of the Democratic Reform Movement, who will propose reform. He has long been campaigning for constitutional reform and human rights in Iran and has spent quite a bit of time in jail for his trouble. He was exiled some years ago but continues his activities from his base in London. The case for revolution will be put by Mr Victor Wong, who leads the Workers’ Solidarity League which campaigns for what he would see as true socialist revolutions worldwide. He, too, has seen some jail time, but here in the milder prison regime of the UK, as a result of his very hands on approach to demonstrations and industrial disputes.
Which side is to speak first was decided by the toss of a coin and both sides agreed with this procedure if on nothing else.
So, I now call on our first speaker, Mr Ahmed al-Terhani, for the side of reform.”
Mr al-Terhani was met with a torrent of abuse, boos and slogans from the left side of the hall. He was a small man, with well trimmed silver hair and half moon glasses, and was neatly dressed in a three piece Savile Row suit with highly polished hand made shoes from Taylors of Paddington . He cautiously tapped the microphone and began:
“My dear brothers and sisters, let us focus on what unites us all here. We have all suffered at the hands of the present illegal regime in Tehran. None of us wish to be ruled by self styled emperors and autocrats installed by foreign powers. That much we can all agree on.
How to advance matters in our beloved homeland? We can and should, I say, take inspiration from the example of Ghandi. Through peaceful resistance and purely peaceful methods he won freedom for his people from colonial rule. Violence is truly counter productive and will only beget further repression. Even if violent methods succeed they usually lead to another repressive, if new, regime. Something of the sort happened with the Bolsheviks in Russia or if we go further back, the same happened with the French Revolution.
The British themselves, after the Civil Wars of the 17th century give us a good example of peaceful gradual reform….”
At this point a rumble of dissent began and a voice cried “Brit-lover! You’re a lackey of British Imperialism. No better than the Shah!”
Suddenly bottles began to fly toward the stage and along the passage through the middle of the hall, people began standing and advancing on the other side with fists clenched for action.
“Shit! Its going down, get ready to fight” yelled Max, “Now I’m going to show them the new Max!”
Max quickly made for the foot of the stage and hauled himself on to the platform with one movement. Al-Tehrani stood completely still and seemed paralysed. Max sent him flying sideways with a violent push. As Al-Tehrani crumpled on the floor, Max grabbed the microphone easily brushing aside the chairman and yelled “The revolution starts right here! Right now! Crush the running dogs…”
He was cut off as three reformists from the platform party piled on to him followed by three of the revolutionary platform group who tried to rescue him. In the melee, Max was forced to the ground and began to have difficulty breathing from the crushing weight of moderates and revolutionaries on top of him. The pressure eased as the revolutionaries pulled themselves and the moderates up, but before he could get up himself, more moderates intervened and surrounded Max . Now he felt heavy boot blows to his ribs. The kicks began moving up his body towards his head. From his left sock, Max managed to pull out a small cosh he had brought for this sort of situation and lashed out at the nearest legs that were trying to kick him. It worked and two moderates crashed to the floor of the stage from where the revolutionary forces rolled them over the edge. Max struggled upright and seized the microphone again from another moderate. Before he could use the microphone a new fist fight broke out between Max and a burly reformist. Max took more blows to the body before he ended it with an upper cut to the man’s jaw that lifted the moderate several inches off the ground before he crashed in a moaning heap on the floor of the stage. Now furious with pain, Max kicked the man hard in the testicles and turned to look for a fresh opponent.
Sirens began sounding from a distance. Time to split, thought Max, and spotting Azar in the midst of a nearby fight, pulled her on stage to follow the revolutionary platform group who were running out of the hall by a back door.
“Come with us” shouted the leader of the revolutionaries’ platform party, Victor Wong who was the well known face of the Worker’s Solidarity League. Irate Conservative parliamentarians often called loudly for him to be deported and sent back whence he came, but since he was born and brought up in Birmingham, as an Anglo-Chinese, this would have achieved little.
Chapter 2. The test
Victor Wong led the way quickly through a small overgrown cemetery at the back of the Friends’ House meeting place, then over a low wall and into a narrow alley. A strong wind was whipping loose litter through the air and they clutched their coats tightly to their bodies. Soon, they were on a brightly lit main street and the sounds of the continuing battle of Friends’ House behind them became fainter. Max and Azar cautiously stayed a little behind the three members of the platform party to make a less conspicuous group. They all crossed the Tottenham Court Road and went into Soho and finally, on Greek Street, they ignored a blonde lady with a large cleavage and inaccurately applied lipstick who invited them all downstairs for some fun and went up narrow stairs to a third floor flat above the neon–lit strip joint in the basement.
Victor held open the peeling door to the flat as Azar and Max reached the landing, and said, “Come in quick. You weren’t followed, right?”
Max shook his head and said, “No way, man. We kept a good eye out. We stopped at shop windows and checked behind us, up, down and across the street. There weren’t any tails, I’m sure.”
It was a one double bedroom flat with sagging mattresses on the floor of the front room as well as on the floor of the bedroom and was otherwise sparsely furnished. Two other men were already there, one tall and long-haired and one of average height with short hair. Both were dressed in black suits, with black shirts buttoned at the throat and were tie-less. The flat was evidently a base for a far left cause. The walls were covered in posters urging revolution now and predicting victory throughout Europe. The slogan was “London, Rome, Paris and Berlin, We will fight and we will win.” On nearly every available floor space there were piles of magazines and leaflets, the titles of which featured varying selections and combinations of the words, “Revolution”, “Struggle”, “Red”, “Workers and Peasants”, “People”, “Power”, “Resistance”, “Imperialism”, and “War”. At the back of the front room was a small bare table with uneven legs and just enough ill matched chairs for the group. A bottle of Famous Grouse Scotch whisky, not Bourbon, Max noticed with slight regret, appeared, together with an assortment of cracked cups and chipped glasses.
The tall man with long curly dark hair spoke, “For our visitors, let me introduce myself. I am Nasir Mansur and am the RPI’s representative and spokesman in London. You have already met Victor and he is famous or notorious anyway. Always sounding off on television. When news shows want a wild eyed leftie, he’s the man they go to.”
Pointing to the other man, Mansur added “Over here, we have my assistant, Ali Saeed. Ali, please go down and keep watch on the door. And now please introduce yourselves.”
Ali
left the room without saying anything. Then Azar spoke and first outlined a brief history of how she became involved with Max and how he had helped her in Iran and went on to say “ I want to get active in the movement again because of what’s been happening back home and for another personal reason that I can’t go into right now. That’s why we wound up at the debate, or should I say, battle, tonight. ”
Then it was Max’s turn. He first explained his background and how he came to been in Iran, how he met Azar and how they had fled. Then he added, “Ok, I have to admit that I was with the CIA originally. But, hear me out. I quit the CIA, disillusioned with what we were doing, but kept that to myself, just said it was time for a change after 10 years. So, officially, it was an honourable discharge as you might say.
The fact is that the Company really screwed with me on my last mission in Cuba. That actually was what finally turned me. What I thought were my own side were so ruthless they risked my life to make a deal with the devil…a deal which Castro didn’t even keep, needless to say. On top of that, I was involved in the Trujillo mess and the whole Bay of Pigs fiasco too and these screw-ups didn’t help my morale either.
When I got to Iran with the Peace Corps I soon saw that the Shah and his crowd aren’t the nice progressive modernisers we had been told about, but a bunch of crooks, ripping off their own people and only hanging in there by massive oppression and corruption.
I agree with Azar about doing something for the cause. After a lot of thought and study, plus my experience on the other side, I really believe that world revolution is the next step in history. Helping the RPI would be a great contribution that I could make. On top of everything else, we got some news recently that we can’t discuss here and that has been a big factor. Anyway, now Azar’s recovered from the jail ordeal we decided to get started and went to the meeting tonight to back the cause and to make contacts. Looks like that worked out good! I took a few bruises but the other guys got the worst of it. And that’s it so far.”
“Well,” said Nasir “you really helped out tonight. What you say about your CIA time is naturally of great interest to us and consistent with everything we’ve heard about their activities worldwide. I very much hope we can work with you both. Let’s drink to you both!”
After they had all taken substantial slugs of the Famous Grouse whisky, Nasir began to speak again.
“We always welcome new recruits to the cause, Comrades Blue. But given your background in particular, Max, we have to be careful. I’m sure you understand. If you are a genuine ex-CIA defector to our side, then you are a great prize and most welcome indeed. But we will need to test your commitment. Anyone can spout revolutionary sentiments but we need to see the actions that speak louder than the words, ehhh?”
“I totally understand why you say that. I could point to my actions in Tehran and tonight’s little fracas, as indications of my commitment, but I respect your caution. You are quite right. Just let me know what the cause calls for and I’ll do it. You bet!” replied Max.
Azar added, “Comrade Mansur, I too completely agree and am ready to be tested if you wish.”
“It’s not completely up to me. We have a small Inner Circle or Committee of which I am a member and the Inner Circle make all the main decisions. When I have consulted the others, you will receive instructions,” replied Nasir.
Max squeezed Azar’s hand and said “Can we speak with you privately Comrade Mansur. There is something we’d like to pass on to the Inner Circle and it should be for their ears first. It helps explain our actions a bit more.”
“Of course” replied Nasir “Victor, maybe you would like to go now, on your way, tell Ali to stay down stairs and keep watching the door.”
When Victor had gone, Max began to speak.
“We got some distressing information a couple of days ago about Azar’s brother, Mohsan. I heard from a good source, an old CIA contact, that Mohsan was captured and killed while on a RPI operation in DC. My old contact was boasting about it. He didn’t realise the connection between Azar and Mohsan. Bastard.
Anyway, if you hadn’t heard, this should be of use to the RPI and if you had heard, take it as an indication of our good faith. So you see, we have revenge as a motive now, on top of ideology and commitment to the peoples’ cause.”
Nasir nodded. “I see. We thought something had gone wrong with Mohsan’s operation as contact was lost with him and his team but we didn’t know what had happened. Sorry for your loss, Azar. But he fell as a soldier in a just war. We’ll check this information out, naturally, I’m sure you understand. Now, I will be consulting the others in the Inner Circle about how you can help the cause. How can we contact you?”
Max asked for a pen and wrote the bookstore address and telephone number down on a scrap of paper which he passed to Nasir, saying:
“You can leave messages at that address or try phoning…though that’s probably not too secure as we feel MI5 do take some interest in Azar, just in case she thinks of local activities. The Brits usually don’t care what émigré groups plot and do, as long as it’s not going to happen in Britain’s own backyard. Its been the same since Victorian and Edwardian times, as you’ll see if you ever read Conrad’s The Secret Agent.”
“Ok, Comrade Blue” said Nasir, “Maybe we’ll come and buy a copy of that book from you one day. Meantime, keep your diary clear. You may be called to show us what you can do at very little or no notice. Remember - any hesitation or delay will look bad to us. For now, Comrade Azar can serve the cause by leafleting everyday outside Oxford Circus tube station from 7 am until 7 pm. Meet Ali outside here at 6.30 am. He will have the leaflets and will come with you.”
“I’ll be there,” said Azar with enthusiasm, “It’s a good way to engage the public, raise funds and maybe get more recruits too.”
Max and Azar quickly finished their whiskies and took their leave.
On the walk back to Judd Street, the wind had become even stronger than before and twigs and branches were beginning to snap off the plane trees along the way. The streets were deserted as few wished to be out in what they feared could become near hurricane conditions. Despite the emptiness of the streets Max and Azar had a strong feeling of being followed at a distance but despite applying all Max’s tradecraft they could not detect a tail.
“Well, step one went ok. We’ve made contact. Sorry about the leafleting duty. They want to test you too and to keep an eye on you most of the day,” said Max above the wind.
“Yes, I bet I’ll be invited to a political discussion session after leafleting as well. No excuses taken or else.”
“Things might move fast. We might be sent on different missions and could be separated for days. If we do get separated for any length of time, let’s say we try to rendez-vous at the Marlborough Arms between 7 and 7.30 in the evenings. Whoever is back first just keeps looking in there at 7-ish and stays till 7.30 –ish at least and hope eventually the other shows up.”
“How long would you keep that up?”
“Is this a test? I’d do it forever, baby, but I’ll let you off with 3 months.”
“It’s a deal.”
They got back to Judd Street by midnight as the wind was easing and went to bed hearing excited radio reports of the Battle of Friends’ House, which by now had displaced UN Secretary General Dag Hammarsjkold’s mysterious death as the leading news item. The Battle of Friends’ House was blamed on agitators and professional extremists, and particularly on a tall male trouble maker with an American accent and long blond hair. The commentators deplored the importation of foreign violence into Britain. “Why should honest tax payers have to pay to clear up after ill-mannered foreigners who fight each other on our otherwise peaceful streets?” asked one radio speaker as Max began to nod off. Hah, thought Max, Peaceful streets? Yeah, like Notting Hill and those race riots not so long ago?
Before sleep came, Azar reflected that things had gone well that day. She had enjoyed the physical fighting and, although well meaning
people were supposed to deplore violence, she found that, in moderation, anyway, a good fight was exhilarating at the time and afterwards, relaxing. She felt that they had made progress and that their initial infiltration of the RPI was a step to freeing her brother.
Azar set out hurriedly from the flat at 6 a.m. for a long day of leafleting duty while Max still lay dozing in the morning darkness. She walked over to Greek Street and met Ali who said little, but escorted her to Oxford Street tube station to start leafleting uninterested commuters about the evils of the Shah’s regime. At a coffee break, she found that Ali and she were both from families of staunch supporters of Mossadegh and had many acquaintances in common both in Tehran and in London. However, Ali was reluctant to talk about his RPI activities since coming to London some years beforehand.
After some probing, Ali eventually said “Look, you shouldn’t ask me about these things, about RPI activities, we only talk about that with other current RPI members that we are sure about. You were maybe RPI once but it’s been a while and as far as I am concerned you are not a current member. Now you are married to a man who was once and maybe still is an agent of imperialism. So how can I trust you?”
“Well, I can wait till you can accept me as being as dedicated as you in the cause, and as a bona fide RPI member. As for Max, he has seen the system from the inside and is a true renegade who wants to change the world. I hope he will be given the chance to prove his belief in the people’s cause soon.”
“Ok, Azar. I hope he does come through whatever test is posed by the leaders. Meantime, let’s keep off politics, if that’s possible. Say, isn’t the weather here in England crap?”
After the early coffee break, Ali explained that he would have to leave Azar to leaflet alone for a while but he would be back by noon. He said he had to go back to Greek Street to pick up something that he was to deliver to somebody. At this stage he didn’t know what it was or where it was going, but he had his orders.