Читать книгу In the Shadow of the Ayatollah - William Daugherty - Страница 12

INTRODUCTION

The embassy had surrendered. Iranian “student” militants were now in charge of an American diplomatic facility, including the Central Intelligence Agency station. Embassy personnel were blindfolded, our hands bound, and escorted to the ambassador’s residence, where we were freed of the blindfolds and placed on chairs and sofas located on the first floor. I was situated in a comfortable oversized stuffed chair in the ballroom; the “students” had angrily ordered us to remain silent, leaving each of us to speculate in isolation about their intentions. Early in the evening we were led in small groups to the kitchen where we were fed a light meal. Shortly afterward, a young Iranian carrying a .38 revolver came into the room calling my name. I noticed that his pronunciation of my name was surprisingly good, which I thought curious. I learned later, to my disgust and anger, that the captors had received assistance from several of my colleagues in sorting out who did what in the mission, and obviously one of them had mentioned my name, giving the correct pronunciation. There was no point in hiding: I acknowledged my presence and was curtly advised, “You are wanted in your office.” Considering my true position as operations officer for the CIA, being singled out by name and separated from the others did not strike me as a particularly positive development. My bindings were checked, I was again blindfolded, and then I was led out of the residence. It was a frightening walk through a dark night made even darker by the prospect of who might want to see me—and what he might want.