Soldier L: The Embassy Siege Read online

  ‘I know PC Lock,’ the interrogator said, trying to make the conversation as casual as possible. ‘He’s a constable who loves his work, so he’ll go back to work.’

  Karkouti smiled. ‘I suppose we all will.’

  ‘So for a time there, when you were having that meal, you were almost like friends.’

  ‘Yes. In fact, the atmosphere was so euphoric, Salim even gave me an interview. I’d been trying to get one since the start of the siege and he finally relented. He just sat there with his rifle across his lap, smiling – as he normally never did – and talking his head off.’

  ‘You took notes?’

  ‘Of course.’ Karkouti handed over his notebook. The interrogator scanned it quickly. ‘It’s lengthy and detailed,’ he said, ‘so I’ll only summarize it. When we’re done here, I’ll have the notes photocopied and give you all copies.’ He paused as he went back to the start of the notes, then he said: ‘It confirms that Salim is twenty-seven years old, comes from a middle-class family, studied at Tehran University, graduated from the Linguistics Faculty, participated in the Iranian students’ struggle, and was indeed imprisoned and tortured by SAVAK. His occupation of the Embassy he views as self-defence, meaning resistance to what he calls the Ayatollah’s cruel Farsi-ization of the Arabistan province and his relentless exploitation of Iranian Arabs. His aim is to help gain autonomy for his people in Arabistan and regain the name ‘Arabistan’ instead of its present name, ‘Khuzistan’. The purpose of the Embassy take-over is to gain publicity for his cause and place pressure on the Iranian Government through world public opinion. He hopes that the take-over will end peacefully, though this depends entirely on the British authorities and the Arab ambassadors whom he’d asked to be brought here.’ Lowering the notebook to his lap, the interrogator said to Karkouti: ‘This information will be invaluable in shedding light on their behaviour and possible actions.’

  ‘Good,’ Karkouti said.

  ‘So what happened after the meal?’

  ‘We were taken down to the Ambassador’s room on the first floor, where we had the best sleep we’d had since the siege commenced. I think we all slept soundly because we took the broadcast and release of the other hostages as hopeful signs.’

  ‘What about the following morning? This morning.’

  ‘The mood was still euphoric. The terrorists heard the early news bulletins claiming that the Arab ambassadors were willing to help.’

  ‘Which was wrong,’ the interrogator said.

  ‘None of us were to know that,’ Karkouti said. ‘We all thought they were true.’

  ‘Sorry. Please continue.’

  ‘The untrue stories about the Arab ambassadors, combined with the news that the Red Cross were standing by, naturally filled Salim and his fellow gunmen with optimism. Being in good mood, they ran a bath and offered to let us use it first. PC Lock and I were the first to receive invitations. I said, quite rightly, that it would be discourteous to bathe in front of the woman, but PC Lock said he wanted to keep his uniform on to preserve his image.’

  ‘His image?’

  Karkouti smiled tiredly. ‘That’s what he said. His real purpose was to ensure that the terrorists did not find the pistol strapped to his thigh.’

  ‘A clever man, PC Lock.’

  Karkouti nodded. ‘Yes. Anyway, as the deadline passed, boredom set in again and the terrorists – who were now also complaining about how long they had been in the Embassy – tried to distract themselves by scrawling subversive slogans on the walls of our room with magic marker pens.’

  ‘Exactly what did the slogans say?’

  ‘“Long live the Arabistani people.” “We demand fundamental changes.” “Death to Khomeini”’ … and so on. Salim had to ask the Muslim journalist Muhammad Farughi how to spell “fundamental”.’

  ‘From what we picked up from our audio-surveillance devices, Farughi kept a low profile regarding this.’

  ‘Yes. He was taking down notes for an article he hoped to write some day. He copied down the slogans on the wall even as the gunmen were writing them.’

  ‘Then the row began with Dr Afrouz and Abbas Lavasani.’

  ‘You heard all that through your bugging devices?’ Karkouti asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  Karkouti shook his head in wonderment. ‘That is truly amazing.’

  ‘What about after the row was over? Do you think it had an effect on the relationship between the terrorists and the hostages?’

  ‘Yes. Definitely. We had been growing closer together, more considerate of each other, but all that ended with the row over the slogans. Now, they were distant to us again. Also, it was clear that they’d had enough and just wanted out. They complained to Salim about it. They said the police would not take them seriously unless they killed someone. That’s when Salim reduced his demands again by settling for one Arab ambassador and asking only for a guarantee of safe passage for him and his men. Salim was now very tired and, I think, disillusioned. Like his men, he just wanted out, but he had his pride to protect.’

  ‘And, shortly after reducing his demand, he decided to let you go?’

  ‘Yes. By now, my diarrhoea and fever had been followed by a numbness in the arms and legs and I found it painful to urinate. Even so, when he made the offer, I asked him to let one of the women go instead of me. He refused, insisting that I needed medical attention. Then he walked me downstairs to the front door and once there, let me out.’

  ‘Did you have any final words together?’

  ‘Yes. He confessed that he was depressed because the operation had been planned to last for about twenty-four hours and now it had gone on for nearly a week.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  Karkouti took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. ‘He said I was to tell you that if you didn’t get in touch with the Arab ambassadors something bad would happen.’

  ‘Those were his exact words?’

  ‘Yes. He said … “something bad”.’

  Hearing these words, the SAS Controller stood up and hurried out of the trailer, determined to talk to his men and prepare them for action.

  11

  The sixth day found the Red and Blue Teams still practising their abseiling techniques in Pimlico. Recalled to the FHA at the Royal College of Medical Practitioners, they were informed by the Controller that the Home Secretary had turned the screws on the terrorists again by letting them know that the ‘ambassadorial’ phase had passed and that the only concession they would get was a visit from an imam from the Regent’s Park Mosque.

  ‘The Home Secretary’s hoping that the Iman will act as a mediator,’ the Controller said, ‘but whether he does or not, I think the killing will start eventually. If it does, the Deliberate Assault Plan will require two hours’ notice to succeed. This plan’s the one that gives the maximum chance of surprise and best hope of hostage survival. The not-so-good news is that even if all goes as intended, the best chance of saving hostage life is no more than sixty per cent of the total.’

  ‘So what if we have more time, boss?’ Red Team’s Lance-Corporal Phil McArthur asked. ‘What, for instance, if we get another full day’s preparation and training?’

  ‘I’d estimate that by then both plans – Immediate Action and Deliberate Assault – would merge into a response time of a few minutes.’

  ‘Then maybe we should all say our prayers that the talking’s continuing,’ Blue Team’s Corporal George Gerrard said.

  ‘Maybe,’ the Controller said. ‘The only problem with that is that suddenly time seems to be running out. According to a message from PC Lock, Salim’s self-control finally snapped this morning. First, he told Lock that he thought the police were drilling through the walls to try to get into the building. In fact, they were drilling holes for the insertion of fibre-optic and spike cameras. This led to the plaster on the first-floor landing bulging out.’

  ‘Dumb bastards,’ Sergeant Inman said.

  ‘Salim saw the bulging wall and went mad.
Luckily, PC Lock managed to convince him that even if the police were intending to break through the walls and storm the building, they would certainly not do it during the day, but only at night.’

  ‘Lock’s response was clever,’ Danny Boy said. ‘He bought some more time.’

  ‘Unfortunately, it didn’t end there,’ the Controller continued.

  ‘I don’t think I can listen to any more of this,’ Bobs-boy whispered to his fellow trooper, Baby Face.

  ‘Given the sparseness of sockets for their bugs, the police simply lowered them from the roof down the chimneys. As they should have known would happen, bits of debris were dislodged by the bugs and made a lot of noise when they fell. Salim went mad again.’

  ‘I don’t bloody believe it!’ Jock Thompson spluttered. ‘It’s us, not the police, who should be planting the surveillance devices. If we did, at least the job would be done properly and not cocked up every inch of the way. What a bloody waste!’

  ‘Even worse,’ the Controller continued remorselessly, ‘Iran’s Foreign Minister sent the hostages a telegram, praising them for their forbearance in the face of the quote, “criminal actions”, unquote, of Ba’athist Iraq. He also informed the hostages that Iran would spare no effort for their release and that thousands of Iranians were ready to enter the Embassy to bring punishment to the mercenaries, meaning the terrorists. Naturally, Salim read the telegram and was further incensed.’

  ‘Poor boy!’ Staff-Sergeant Harrison exclaimed sardonically. ‘Nobody loves him.’

  ‘Finally, finding all this too much to take, Salim exploded and told Lock to inform the police that unless there was a prompt answer to his demand for the ambassadors to come into the negotiations, a hostage would be shot in half an hour. He then moved the male hostages out of the large second-floor room where they’ve been for days and took them down the hall to the telex room – Room 10 – overlooking Princes Gate.

  ‘And the women?’ Trooper Ken Passmore asked.

  ‘They’re still where they were, in Room 9A, overlooking the rear gardens.’

  ‘Any other changes in atmosphere since that move?’ Sergeant Inman asked.

  ‘Well, both PC Lock and Sim Harris have made it clear by phone and, after that, through a conversation between them and Police Superintendent Fred Luff – conducted on the part of Lock and Harris from the first-floor front balcony – that they’re alarmed at the changed atmosphere. So much so, in fact, that they warned Luff that they feel they’re in danger. They started sensing this when the terrorists put on their anoraks and wound their keffias tightly around their heads. That means they’re ready to fight or kill.’

  ‘Were Lock and Harris given any message to take back to the terrorists?’ Harrison asked.

  ‘Yes. They were told to tell Salim that the Foreign Office was still holding discussions with the designated ambassadors and that if he listened to the BBC World Service’s midday news bulletin, he would hear confirmation of that fact.’

  ‘I listened to that news bulletin,’ Inman said, ‘and I heard sweet FA.’

  ‘Exactly,’ the Controller responded. ‘That’s why the trouble will start soon. In fact, Salim has given us forty-five minutes before he kills the first hostage.’

  That turned out to be the case. Abbas Lavasani, a deeply devout, unmarried twenty-eight-year-old, had arrived only two weeks before to take up his position as the Embassy’s chief press officer. A phone call that afternoon from PC Lock to the police negotiator revealed that Lavasani had volunteered to be a martyr after the bitter row with Salim about the terrorist leader’s anti-Khomeini graffiti.

  Subsequently, at one-thirty, only a few hours after the SAS Controller’s briefing with his men, when Lavasani indicated that he wished to visit the lavatory, Salim led him out of the telex room where the male hostages were held and down to the ground floor. There, after letting Lavasani use the lavatory, Salim had argued with the police over the radio telephone. He then handed the phone to PC Lock, who was present with Sim Harris, and told him to inform the police negotiators that he had a man whom he was going to shoot. While Lock was doing so, Salim ordered two of the other terrorists to truss Lavasani’s hands behind his back and then tie him to the bottom of the banisters. He made Lock inform the negotiators of this fact also.

  When Lock had described the chilling details of this scene, the negotiators, still playing for time, said the ambassadors would meet at five p.m. When Lock had passed this message on to Salim, he and Sim Harris were conducted back upstairs to rejoin the other hostages in the telex room.

  Shortly afterwards, they heard Lavasani talking on the telephone, identifying himself to the police negotiators outside. Even as he uttered his own name, he was cut off by Salim’s: ‘No names! No names!’ Then there were three shots in quick succession. Some hostages thought they heard groaning, others a choking sound. Silence followed.

  Salim finally broke that silence by speaking himself to the negotiators on the phone, telling them that he had just killed a man.

  According to PC Lock’s subsequent phone conversation with the negotiators, Salim, looking pale, then entered the telex room to tell the hostages that he had shot Lavasani.

  ‘If you’ve killed a hostage then your cause is finished,’ Ron Morris told him. You can kill all of us now. One or twenty makes no difference. Your cause is lost.’

  ‘I am prepared to die,’ Salim told him, then walked out of the telex room.

  12

  Most of those outside the Embassy could not believe that the killing had started. There was no sign of a body and the possibility remained that Salim was bluffing.

  One of the few who contradicted this view, however, was the Controller, who insisted that the time was right for such an event and that a hostage had almost certainly been killed.

  An hour after Salim’s announcement, COBR was again in session in its basement room in Whitehall. There, while glancing at the television set flickering in one corner, waiting for the news, the Secretary, no longer quite so amiable, said: ‘I do believe that until we receive proof that a hostage is dead it would be disastrous to react as if we believe it actually happened.’

  ‘It happened,’ the Controller insisted.

  ‘Shots were heard,’ the Police Commissioner said. ‘Salim said he had killed a hostage. That doesn’t constitute proof. Salim could be bluffing.’

  ‘Whether he’s bluffing or not,’ the Secretary said, ‘he’s accepted the five o’clock deadline for a meeting with the Arab ambassadors, none of whom are likely to show up without the promise of safe conduct for the terrorists. If that happens, we’ll have to pass control of the situation from the police to the SAS.’

  ‘I can’t argue with that,’ the Commissioner said. ‘We have no other option.’

  ‘My thanks,’ the Controller said.

  ‘Not at all,’ the Commissioner replied. ‘No point in playing brinkmanship in a situation like this.’

  ‘Very sporting,’ the Controller said.

  ‘We’re a nation that loves sport.’

  ‘So what happens,’ the Secretary said, not amused by their banter, but turning his attention to the Controller, ‘when that deadline arrives without sight of the ambassadors? Or, heaven forbid, when the terrorists produce proof of murder?’

  ‘Our preparations for a Deliberate Attack will be completed by that time. From five p.m. onwards the assault can be launched with minimum delay. I should point out, however, that my men will have a better chance of success if they’re given the go-ahead before nightfall – at eight-thirty.’

  ‘Agreed,’ the Commissioner said.

  ‘What’s vital, even imperative, is that between the time proof of murder is produced and the start of our assault, the terrorists should be fed a cover story to keep them happy and off guard.’

  ‘I think you can depend on my negotiators to do that,’ the Commissioner replied. ‘They’ve been doing it for six days, after all, and made no mistakes so far.’

  ‘I have one other
point to make,’ the Controller said. ‘It’s that the soldiers, once committed, should be left to get on with their job. If the Deliberate Assault is approved then halted at the last moment, it would be a disaster for morale.’

  This did not sit too well with the Secretary who, in the manner of such men, wished to steer a careful middle course.

  ‘I would,’ he said, ‘like to keep the emergency cover in place. This still allows the police to pass control to the SAS at short notice if multiple murders start inside the Embassy.’

  ‘And if they don’t?’ the Controller asked testily.

  ‘I’m not sure about that yet. Before making a decision, I’d like to take further counsel with the Police Commissioner here. I would also wish to inform both the Prime Minister and the Defence Minister at what might be termed the moment of decision. For now, other imponderables remain, such as: Is there a body?’

  ‘I say no,’ the Commissioner said.

  ‘I say yes,’ the Controller said.

  ‘Why can’t we just demand proof of Salim’s claim by asking to see the corpse?’

  ‘Because if we did,’ the Commissioner said, ‘and he hasn’t yet actually killed someone, he might do so just to furnish us with proof.’

  ‘Ah!’ the Secretary said, still easily surprised, even in his mature years, by the slippery nature of politics.

  ‘So what about the Arab ambassadors, due to show up at the Embassy at five?’

  ‘I don’t believe they’ll show up,’ the Controller said. ‘According to my intelligence, they’re gathered together right now at the offices of the Arab League in Green Street, Mayfair, trying to resolve their confusion over their supposed role in the whole business. They’re particularly aggrieved because they believe that the Foreign Office has deliberately spread the notion that the initiative in all dealings with the terrorists has been taken by the Arabs, not by the FO.’