WesWorld

After the successful 1975 BBC drama based on the memiors of a former MI6 agent, "Norman McDowell" another tale came to light in his second book "The Fall of the Empire and How I Saved It." Published in 1977 it became an international bestseller and one event became another BBC drama in 1980. It was an obscure event that happened during the Persian Civil War of 1938.


It was a typical foggy evening in London; Norman looked at his watch as he waited to go inside. He had made the phone call at a nearby phonebox and muttered the password and got the all clear ten minutes ago. The black door opened and a well-suited man showed him in and escorted him upstairs without any words at all. At the top of the squeaky stairs the man knocked on one of the doors and Control’s gruff voice echoed out over the landing, “Come in.” Norman stepped inside and once again found himself in front of Control, the man who controlled the ‘Circus’, the London headquarters of MI6. Control wasted no time, “Ah, yes ‘N’, back again? Well sit down then! I’ve got a job for you; you’re to go to Persia as soon as possible.” He paused and took a sip from his tumbler of whiskey. “Do you know who György Jendrassik is?” Norman was stuck and after a few Erms while he tried to think of an intelligent answer Control cut in, “He’s an Hungarian aeronautical engineer who has been working on propulsion concepts and decded to take a hush-hush job in Persia. Now the situation in Persia has become serious the opportunity has arisen to snatch him back to the West. Any questions?” Norman shook his head. Control continued, “Your job is to take a team into Persia and to get him out of Persia into Iraq. We’ll handle the extraction to Britain via the soft route via Dublin. Contact the local SIS team in Tehran for your subsequent extraction to Iraq. They will be properly briefed and ready by the time you arrive.” Norman spoke up, “But Sir as Head of Headhunters I thought my operational days were over.” Control dismissively waved his hand, “Your duty is wherever I send you. Your cover as the oilfield engineer Norman McDowell is still active, you know the region well and we’ve no time to bring anyone in from outstations and our SIME agents may be known to the Persian intelligence on both sides. You leave tonight.”

Norman had managed to grab his sub-agents Paul Smith and George Poundbury, George he found in Southampton running a network of seamen and Paul turned up by chance at Gibraltar while en-route to Alexandria on an Imperial Airways flying boat. From Alex another bumpy ride in an older HP.42W Hannibal airliner took them onto Baghdad and then by car to Kuwait they boarded a Royal Navy MTB which took them to the port of Bandar-e Emam under the cover of darkness.

György Jendrassik was believed to be being held somewhere near Tehran and Norman as his cover as an oil engineer soon managed to procure a de Havilland Dragon to fly northwest. There was much red tape and the local military commander was suspicious of the three British men, Paul was trying his best French accent but the savvy commander knew it was unlikely a Frenchman would be companions with two English men and they looked tougher than most commercial types. In the end George pulled a wad of notes from his pocket and started counting them, that did the trick and commander signed the travel permits and within two hours they were airborne. Apart from some light flak aimed at their general direction the flight was uneventful and nearer Tehran several Loyalist fighters appeared to escort the transport to the airport, “Obviously our Army friend must have got word up ahead, we’d best be careful, keep quiet and let me do the talkin’,” shouted Norman over the din of the engines.

At the airport three officials were waiting as the Dragon came to a halt in front of the terminal, as Paul stepped out they came forward and Norman pushed to the head of the queue, “Nah then lads, keep quiet. Morning Sirs, fine day!” The three men looked at each other quizzically and shrugged, “Pah bleedin’ foreigners don’t speak English, anyone speak the lingo?” George and Paul shook their heads and rolled their eyes so Norman tried again in broken Arabic but after several minutes of broken conversation neither party knew what was going on and the officials shrugged one last time and let them through. Customs was easy with the usual forged passports and Norman flashed around the travel permits and they were allowed on.

They checked into the Hotel Parisian, a hotel run by a French salesman who had an import business at Bushher. In Norman’s sparse room they mapped out a plan of action. “Right lads, Paul in the morning hire a car and head off to the airport, there’s a road that leads west and it branches off to the south, near that junction is the entrance to the research facility. Jendrassik lives on site; I want you to scout the fences and the overall layout. George I want you to pose as a British de Havilland salesman and get down the local bars and get some info on Jendrassik while I contact our extraction team who has the means to get out of the country in a hurry. We’ll meet up at two tomorrow and if all goes well do the break tomorrow night.” George took off his jacket and headed towards the cupboard, “It’s hot in here. Any of you lot put a man in the cupboard?” Norman engrossed in a map mumbled, “Nah,” “Don’t be soft” was Paul’s reply, however he got up and opened the door as George turned away, Paul looked in and then closed the door and sat down. “He’s right you know.” George smiled, “There you go.” Norman feeling warm too took his jacket off and headed to the cupboard and opened the door, “Eh up then what’s all this?” Paul looked up from his magazine, “Oh him, he’s been lurking,” “Yeah he looks a right lurker,” commented George as Norman pulled the man out of the cupboard.
The man was terrified as Norman pushed him onto the bed, “Nah then son what’s your game. How much did you hear?” The man, shook his head and tried to get away but George gripped his shoulder, “I hear nothing, nothing, I work here, I’m the waiter, I’m no spy” he moaned as Paul began waving his Beretta around, “there you go hiding behind a smokescreen of bourgeois clichés.” Norman rolled his eyes at Paul, “Listen chum if you don’t start talking my mates here will break some bones for you. Reconstructive surgery like.” The man began to beg for his life and began pleading for mercy in Arabic before George gripped him by the hair and hauled him up and began slapping his face. He threw him onto the bed. “Ok, ok I talk, I talk, this man paid me to listen, he said it was a military secret, he said I must, for the country otherwise I’d be shot, my family, I swear I’m no spy, please.” Norman paced a bit thinking and Paul put his pistol away and moved over the window to check the street below. “Allright lads we’d better get cracking now. They know we’re here and I’m not waiting to find out which side. Tie him up and gag him and put him back in the cupboard. Come 'ead Paul let’s get that car before this evening.”

Paul got the hire car and just after dusk headed to the research facility and parking up some 200 metres from the gates he snuck into the scrappy undergrowth and began probing the fence and mapping the layout. George left the hotel and headed for the bar where he found a few workmen from the facility. He drew a blank he didn’t feel safe mentioning Jendrassik by name but one man called Ali hinted he knew of a man that fitted his description and promised to take George up to the facility in his car on the pretext that George as a de Havilland salesman needed to see him on some technical matter. Norman in the meantime got in contact with the second team to inform them of his plans. En-route George telephoned Norman and informed him of his success and picked him up outside the Hotel Parisian. Norman spotted Paul’s hired car and Ali dropped Norman off and then continued to the entrance. At the gates the guards seemed un-alert and the travel pass with military signature secured his access. Norman after much searching found Paul hiding under a bush, “Listen, George has got inside so it’s now or never for us. You go up and climb over the fence when he gives the signal. Have you found the accommodation block?” Paul pointed to a low single-story building to the right near a water tower.
Ali parked the car near the main laboratory building and in a flash George knocked him out and gagged him. He managed to shove him onto the back seat and he drove on towards the living quarters marked by signpost and parked near the water tower and he flashed his headlights. That was the signal and in a flash Paul was over the fence and Norman close behind. George got out of the car and crouched by the base of the tower and began a search along the back wall of the building while Paul ducked out of sight as a guard left the building. He stood there smoking a while and Norman tried to hide by the fence as Paul skirted round in the dark and managed to search the first few windows.

Eventually the guard moved off and George and Paul met near the far corner, they decided to go inside and found a wooden door near the back of the building that led to a kitchen. They managed to break-in with one of Georges skeleton keys and began a search of the corridors. As luck would have it György Jendrassik himself came round the corner of the corridor and Paul seized his arm and dragged him into a side room while George practised his judo skills on the guard that appeared shortly after. As they headed down the corridor into the kitchen the dazed guard fired off two shots from his revolver and soon all hell broke loose.
The guard outside ran back towards the entrance to the accommodation block and shone his torch straight onto Norman who dived for cover. Hearing the sound of running footsteps to his left he swung the beam of light and saw the three men running for the fence. The guard shouted the alarm and as his hand went to his holster a sub-machine gun rattled and he fell dead. A truck reversed at high speed into the flimsy fence and out of the back swarmed ten armed men spraying bullets all over the compound and cutting down several guards. These men were Persians, members of the former Army recruited by a faction fighting for the Shah but ultimately penetrated by British SIS and used for several direct political action missions. Two searchlights switched on atop of the water tower and a Vickers in the back of the truck barked into life and shattered both. Within seconds Norman and his team and Jendrassik were scrambled to safety aboard the truck and they roared off down the road. It did not take the fork towards the airport but carried on into the city and once safely down an alleyway the three MI5 agents and Jendrassik were dropped off and the truck rumbled off into the night.

The Tehran Chief of Police had quickly arrived at the Hotel Parisian, no doubt tipped off by Persian intelligence. As he burst in with six policemen and the manger trialled behind hurling insults in French he found Norman calmly reading a magazine in his room, George was found sipping a pint of Guinness in the bar and Paul, in his best French accent, managed to pass himself off as a Frenchman and gave a good account of his whereabouts that evening. The Chief of Police left unhappy but having found no evidence against them and the fact they were still in the hotel he could not press the matter yet. Of course the spy in the cupboard had fled when Norman looked to see but he obviously hadn’t yet contacted his paymasters. Norman knew that the four mean-looking men downstairs were Persian agents and that they would track every move he and his team made. Norman was just glad they had got back to the hotel just minutes before the police arrived.

György Jendrassik had an uncomfortable night in hidden in the basement but Norman knew if they moved too soon they would draw suspicions. Norman and George made reservations for train tickets to the northern oil fields and kept their shadows busy while they toured the city and the cafes. Paul managed to worm his way into the French embassy and posing as a traveller in distress obtained some money and travel permits. With those he booked a plane ticket to Turkey and he hired a car and managed to persuade one of the young European female secretaries there to accompany him on a sightseeing tour in the afternoon. At some point George double-backed and managed to slip back to the hotel where he moved the stiff Jendrassik from the basement to the outbuilding of a near-by wine merchant whose owner was another SIS operative. He provided a body-double for George who would leave with Norman on the train the next day. Finally Norman paid a visit to the Buder Petroleum Exports Company to prove his credentials as an oilfield engineer but actually because it was a cover for an SIS outpost. They would organise another route out of the country for Norman and Jendrassik.

The supposed managing director of the Buder Petroleum Exports Company, a Mr John Buder, was in fact a Mr George Laycock. He had been operating undercover in Tehran since 1936 and had made a sizable amount of money from his cover activities.
Norman entered the white-walled office and Laycock smoothly offered him chair with one hand and thrust a whisky into Norman’s hand with the other. “So you’ve come from London eh? What’s the latest gossip from London? It’s nice to keep up on the tittle-tattle of service life.” Norman sipped his drink, “Oh you know much the same, down at Brixton I don’t get to see much.” “No suppose you don’t,” was Laycock’s languid reply, suddenly his face rose as he smiled, “So what can I do for you?” Norman leant forward in the chair in lowered his voice in case of microphones, “I’ve got the package and I need to arrange other arrangements for delivery. Laycock flicked open his desk notebook, “I see; same terms as arranged?” “Yes, it’s a shipment for the West. Owing to the war I guess that’s difficult.” Laycock shook his head as he wrote, “No, not really we don’t have much trouble. Your package isn’t allergic to mountain air is it?” Norman shrugged, “I don’t think so but surely by air is quicker?” Laycock let out a little dry laugh, “No overland is better in every way I assure you.” Norman shrugged and thought a moment, “Also I’ve some neighbours who keep following me about…” Laycock picked up his drink and smiled, “Oh well old boy if you need anybody’s throat cut give me a buzz.”


To be continued...

Good read but a couple of nitpicks, Teheran is held by the Loyalists since the begining of these unfortunate events so those fighters escorting the Dragon should be loyalist, since the border with Turkey has been closed for two years perhaps a plane ticket to Kuwait

it depends from what faction he's taking him from. If from the Loyalist he needs to change the planes escorting the Dragon info. If from the Nationalist he needs to change the city.

[Edit made above to Loyalist]


At four o'clock Norman received a telephone call from one of Laycock’s informants warning him that the police were en-route to raid the wine merchant’s premises. As George came into the room he confirmed that all four agents were downstairs still covering the exits. “What are we gonna do Norm?” asked Paul, “Yeah Norm what are we gonna do!” George shouted excitedly. Norman paced, “Just like the poet said, If you can keep your head when all about lose theirs you’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din.” “Who said that?” asked Paul, “I did. Now belt up I’m thinking!” Norman carried on pacing the room, “We need to call on ‘Soapy’ for this one.” George flung his magazine down “Ah no, not Soapy. He dropped us right in it the last time.” Norman turned round rubbing his chin, “Yeah but he had the only alibi last time. This time we’ve got the alibi. If anyone gets nabbed for this it’ll be old Soapy.”

‘Soapy’ Stevens was in short words a crook, to be precise a conman, a trickster. He was deported from Britain when he tried to fraudulently sell a couple of aircraft carriers and had worked on the fringes of MI5 and MI6 since the early 1930s. As a confidence trickster his favourite disguise was a vicar, and so the small Christian community in Tehran found themselves presented with a genuine English country vicar, grey haired and mild mannered and yet also a criminal and spy.
Norman knew a few phone numbers and after trying a couple the familiar voice of ‘Soapy’ came down the wire. Within minutes a delivery of bibles was organised and a car arrived, a battered white convertible, outside the wine merchants and the merry vicar soon had Jendrassik safely in the crypt of the church. The police had another wasted visit but they had searched no less than twenty-six properties that day without luck. That evening the Tehran Chief of Police returned to the Hotel Parisian and by now the disappearance of the waiter had been noticed by the hotel owner. Still no proofs were found and the agents confirmed the two British and one ‘Frenchman’ had not left the hotel.

The next morning Norman and George left early after breakfast and headed for the train station. In the toilets George’s double took his place and George slipped out and headed to the church to get Jendrassik ready to leave. Norman and the double got on the train followed by two of the Persian agents. About ten o’clock Paul left the hotel and picked up the young secretary in his car and he took her to the embassy and then he headed to the airport. He was trailed all the way there but he managed to slip into a side-room and out via the window. He then caught a taxi to the church changing several cabs to make sure he was alone. Norman and George’s double jumped from the train some six miles outside Tehran and soon met up with some of Laycock’s men who safely took them to a small farm before a patrol of soldiers appeared. ‘Soapy’ Stevens disguised George and Jendrassik as nuns and managed to hide Paul in the trunk of his car and he drove out to the farm that afternoon once Laycock had made contact with him that morning. That night two men dressed as Bharati soldiers appeared with a truck and drove the four men further south. “Good night boys, I’ll remember you all in my prayers,” waved ‘Soapy as they climbed into the truck, “Huh we’ll be lucky if he remembers us after the second pint,” mumbled Paul.

That night they were driven some forty miles to a safe house without being stopped and over the next two days they made their way disguised as shepherds cross-country with a guide and managed to slip into a little village in the mountains. From there another guide took them via road to Hamadan where they aroused the suspicion of a Lieutenant who was hunting for suspected rebels. An Army patrol raided the little house they were in and they were dragged outside and searched. Their pistols were found and George needed some persuasion to give up his. The guide was arrested and taken away and as Norman’s Arabic was not up to scratch (it made the officer even more suspicious) Paul tried his French and luckily the officer spoke French and they managed to bluff their way out as Western intelligence officers trying to infiltrate the rebels by posing as arms dealers. Norman suspected something as his uncanny sixth sense came alive and indeed he soon realised that any French-speaking Persian officer was likely to be a trained intelligence operative. Luckily at that point an elderly Major arrived in a staff car and he took the Lieutenant to one side. Norman looked nervously at Paul as the two officers talked just inside the doorway. The Major came over and spoke to Norman in broken English, “My Lieutenant does not believe your story. Why are you here?” “Well we’re heading to Kermanshah.” The Major interrupted, “A long way from the frontline and the rebels, no?” Norman shrugged, “We’ve got permissions…” “You are not all English?” Norman pointed at Paul, “No he’s French, sort of tagged along for the ride you might say.” Paul nodded in agreement. “What about him?” The Major pointed directly at Jendrassik trying to hide behind George. “Norman turned round and thought a second, “He’s a Polish Jewish refugee who works for us.” Major pushed past George and asked to see Jendrassik’s papers. They were good forgeries and he seemed satisfied but turned back to Norman, “You’ve heard no doubt of the kidnapping of Jendrassik, our aeronautical expert by factions disloyal to the State. We must be careful. How odd it seems two Englishmen, a Frenchman and a Jew all travel over the mountains together when you could hire a car and drive to Kermanshah easily.” “Except for the roadblocks,” Norman interrupted, “Yes true but if you’ve nothing to hide. Still I cannot give you a pass to continue without further inquires.” Norman then put his hand into his coat and pulled out a wad of notes, “Maybe you’d like to see my credentials Major?” he asked. The Major stood there a while and turned to check the Lieutenant could not see and he took the money, “On the other hand I wouldn’t want to hinder our allies from doing their duty to suppress the rebels.” He beckoned them to the car and on the bonnet he wrote out and signed a travel pass and letter of introduction. Norman asked for the guide to be returned but the Major shook his head, “He will be questioned, he is not European, we can’t trust him to be loyal if he works for an outside power and he might be a rebel,” he shrugged, “who can tell these days? I’ll let you use one of my cars one of my men will drive you to Kermanshah. That way you’ll avoid trouble. ” Norman thanked him and within fifteen minutes the car arrived with a young private driver and the Lieutenant gave them their guns back and papers. Norman didn’t trust the Major but he had to admit he had no other plan for getting to the border and the cover it gave them was welcome. Of course the Major was no fool and ordered the Lieutenant and his men to follow the car at a discreet distance in a truck.

At Kermanshah Norman was to meet another contact but the Lieutenant was still trailing him around the town, Paul managed to slip off and kept the rendezvous but no-one turned up. Norman and Jendrassik booked into a small hotel, obviously Kermanshah had few tourists and the cramped dirty rooms did not meet with Norman’s approval.
The next morning the staff car had gone and the Lieutenant and his men were still outside, George had an idea, “If I can draw them off long enough you and Paul could work round behind them and nick the truck.” Norman wasn’t too happy, “Nah you’d muck it up. How could you distract all of them?” Paul pulled out a grenade from his overcoat pocket, “What about this?” “Where the hell did you get that from Paul?” “I took it from one of the soldiers last night while he slept off his wine.” George grabbed the grenade and set off. Minutes they crept downstairs, George slipped out the back door and an explosion boomed out, the soldiers dashed behind the hotel and Norman and Paul ran outside from the front doors of the hotel, Paul grabbed the hapless driver out of the cab and knocked him out with one hefty punch. Norman jumped in the back and Paul slammed the truck into reverse. It smashed into the door of the hotel and in a cloud of brick dust and glass splinters Norman hauled Jendrassik aboard and Paul began to drive off. George managed to run towards the truck and jumped onto the tailgate as the soldiers emerged firing their rifles.

They headed out of town and some eleven miles down the road they were stopped at a checkpoint but the Major’s authorisation did the trick and they were let through. Not far behind though was the Lieutenant and some of his men piled into an old Ford Model T. It was still around 130 miles to the border and they only got another seventy or so before the petrol ran out. Ditching the truck they walked about two miles to the nearest village were another army patrol stopped and searched them but again the Major’s permit did the trick and they were allowed to carry on. The town of Eslamabad-e Gharh was not far and by following the road they made it by nightfall. The Lieutenant after many trials and tribulations with the Ford also arrived that night. He bumped into Paul near the Mosque and he ran into the market square with several soldiers on his tail. George was not far away and heard the commotion and managed to draw off the soldiers by firing his pistol. This drew the town’s police and Gendarmerie into action and soon the square was full of armed men and the Lieutenant told the Police Chief about the four European spies. A search was made of the town but again another diversion, this time by Norman, drew the men away to investigate a large fire in a barn and Paul and George managed to steal the ancient Ford and met Norman and Jendrassik along the road hiding in a ditch. The next checkpoint was alert, and of course at night extra jumpy and they stopped the car and forced the men at gunpoint to dismount. They found Paul’s gun and threatened to shoot them all as spies but Norman produced the letter and with a little trouble with his Arabic convinced them they were friends and on the trail of rebel kidnappers who had György Jendrassik in their procession. By dawn they were nearly at the border, a lone aircraft was circling overhead, no doubt searching for them, but disguised as fruit pickers they trooped on foot over the border into Iraq. The Iraqi customs official was suspicious of their passports and called a British Lieutenant to arrest them for deportation back across the border. The Lieutenant in his pressed uniform arrived with a Sergeant to arrest them but Norman spoke first, “Ay up your puttin’ no cuffs on me. I’m an SIS officer. Take me to your superiors. This man here is György Jendrassik and we are a party of British agents.” “Good Lord!” was the Lieutenant’s reply, Norman’s strong Scouse accent providing all the proof he needed.

Half and hour later while waiting in a small office, with a ceiling fan buzzing away, a British Colonel of Army Intelligence arrived with the local SIME officer and when their identities were checked out Norman handed Jendrassik over to three SIME agents who were tasked with disguising him and bringing him back to England. Within hours Norman and George had left overland for Palestine to catch an Imperial Airways flight back to Britain while Paul wrangled a lift via the RAF to Egypt and then onto Gibraltar. György Jendrassik meanwhile was beginning his journey to the West disguised as a Polish Jewish émigré.

The End.