The Foreign Service Journal, January-February 2021

50 JANUARY-FEBRUARY 2021 | THE FOREIGN SERVICE JOURNAL Nilufar ignored the insult and said simply, “He’ll be happy to hear that.” Nilufar thought, “I know that woman’s voice and her face. She used to be at the chichi Iranzamin coed high school. Always wore the shortest skirts and was first on the dance floor. If she recognizes me from some party, I don’t think she’ll admit it.” At 7:30 two more buses arrived and parked about 75 yards from the planes. Journalists and students moved to an area between the buses and the aircraft. The bus doors opened, and a few student guards got off. When the Americans appeared, Nilufar gasped at their appearance: thin, haggard, bearded and dazed. They wore odds and ends of ill-fitting clothes unsuited for the wind and cold. As they stepped off the bus, they appeared confused by the noise, the lights and the crowds of students and journalists. A few had to be directed to walk toward the aircraft. As they began to walk, the students, performing for the cam- eras, began shouting slogans. Nilufar thought, “What a chicken- shit group! They can’t even do a departure with any style.” One of the students started pushing a hostage, an army medic, who wasn’t moving fast enough for him. The medic turned on him and shouted in English, “Don’t push me, you piece of shit.” The student pushed harder, and the hostage grabbed his arm. A second hostage put himself inches from the student’s face and started berating him in fluent street Persian: “Take your hands off him, you son of a whore.” Students and hostages were now shoving and trading curses. Hostages were pushing guards aside to get off the buses. Nilufar noticed a few students shouting and encouraging others to join the melee. She saw Asgharzadeh and Ebtekar, despite their earlier assurances, standing around doing nothing as the scene descended into chaos in full view of television cameras. Nilufar immediately dialed Beheshti and reported the trouble to him. “Get me Asgharzadeh on the line,” he barked, “Now.” She pointed out Asgharzadeh to the bodyguard, who dragged him to the car. Nilufar could hear Beheshti screaming over the phone. Asgharzadeh handed the phone to Nilufar and ran toward the commotion that was turning into a brawl. “Keep this line open. Make sure he gets those idiots to stop,” Beheshti told her. Nilufar put down the phone and ran after Asgharzadeh. While he worked to calm the students, she pulled aside the Persian- speaking American and told him quietly in English: “Just get out of here. Get on the plane. Some people are trying to provoke a riot and ruin everything. Don’t play into their hands. Go now.” He nodded in understanding, backed away from the students, and walked toward the airplane. Restrained by Asgharzadeh, the other students kept their distance. As he left, Nilufar whispered to the American: “By the way, I really like your Persian. You must have had a great teacher.” He smiled and replied, “Yes, I did. She was great.” The remaining hostages boarded without incident, and the freezing students seemed to lose their appetite for shouting. The steps retracted and the rear door closed. The runway lights, normally extinguished at night because of Iraqi air raids, came on, and the plane began its taxi. The students, much quieter now, gathered near their buses and the journalists milled around waiting for takeoff. The plane sat at the end of the runway for almost 10 minutes. Nilufar checked her watch. It was a few minutes past 8:30 p.m. Tehran time—just after 12 noon in Washington on inauguration day—when the plane began to roll for takeoff. As it climbed out of sight, she asked herself, “Why the delay? There was no other air traffic. What were they waiting for?” As the car left the airport, she thanked both the driver and the bodyguard. The latter told her, “I got to know Dr. Beheshti when I was a student in Hamburg. I’ve been with him since before the revolution. He’s a great man. He was worried about tonight’s release and told me to do everything I could to help you.” In her head she composed her message to Porter. She tele- phoned her final report to Beheshti, not neglecting to praise the driver and bodyguard for their good work. “Thank you, my daughter,” Beheshti said. “I’m glad you were there to help. I knew those students would screw things up in the end. Tomorrow I’ll send them all to the war and make sure they’re in the front lines.” n The bus doors opened, and a few student guards got off. When the Americans appeared, Nilufar gasped at their appearance: thin, haggard, bearded and dazed.