On Wings of Eagles (26 page)

    Ministry of Health and Social Welfare."

She began to translate the letter.

    The Ministry officials were demanding that bail for the two Americans

    should be increased to twenty-three million dollarsalmost double--to

    compensate for the Ministry's losses since EDS had switched off the

    computers.

It dawned on Paul that he was not going to be released today.

    The letter was a put-up job. Dadgar had neatly outmaneuvered Dr. Hournan.

    This meeting was nothing but a charade.

It made him mad.

To hell with being polite to this bastard, he thought.

    When the letter had been read he said: "Now I have something to say, and I

    want you to translate every word. Is that clear?"

"Of course," said Mrs. Nourbash.

    Paul spoke slowly and clearly. "You have now held me in Jail for fourteen

    days. I have not been taken before a court. No charges have been brought

    against me. You have yet to produce a single piece of evidence implicating

    me in any crime whatsoever. You have not even specified what crime I might

    be accused of. Are you proud of Iranian justice?"

    To Paul's surprise, ~~.appeal seemed to melt Dadgar's icy gaze a little. "I

    am sorry," Dadgar said, "that you have to be the one to pay for the things

    your company has done wrong. "

    "No, no, no," Paul said. "I am the company. I am the person responsible. If

    the company had done wrong, I should be the one to suffer. But we have done

    nothing wrong. In fact, we have

    ON WINGS OF EAGLES 157

done far in excess of what we were committed to do. EDS got this contract

because we are the only company in the world capable of doing this

job---creating a fully automated welfare system in an underdeveloped country

of thirty million subsistence farmers. And we have succeeded. Our

data-processing system issues social-security cards. It keeps a register of

deposits at the bank in the Ministry's account. Every morning it produces a

summary of the welfare claims made the previous day. It prints the payroll

for the entire Ministry of Health and Social Welfare. It produces weekly and

monthly financial status reports for the Ministry. Why don't you go to the

Ministry and look at the printouts? No, wait a minute," he said as Dadgar

began to speak, "I haven't finished."

Dadgar shrugged.

    Paul went on: "There is readily available proof that EDS has fulfilled its

    contract. It is equally easy to establish that the Ministry has not kept

    its side of the deal, that is to say, it has not paid us for six months and

    currently owes us something in excess of ten million dollars. Now, think

    about the Ministry for a moment. Why hasn't it paid EDS? Because it hasn't

    got the money. Why not? You and I know it spent its entire budget during

    the first seven months of the current year and the government hasn't got

    the funds to top it up. There might well be a degree of incompetence in

    some departments. What about those people who overspent their budgets?

    Maybe they're looking for an excuse--someone to blame for what's gone

    wrong-a scapegoat. And isn't it convenient that they have EDS-a capitalist

    company, an American company-right in there working with them? In the

    current political atmosphere people are eager to hear about the wickedness

    of the Americans, quick to believe that we are cheating Iran. But you, Mr.

    Dadgar, are supposed to be an officer of the law. You are not supposed to

    believe that the Americans are to blame unless there is evidence. You are

    supposed to discover the truth, if I have a correct understanding of the

    role of an examining magistrate. Isn't it time you asked yourself why

    anyone should make false accusations against me and my company? Isn't it

    time you started to investigate the goddam Ministry?"

    The woman translated the last sentence. Paul studied Dadgar: His expression

    had frozen again. He said something in Farsi.

Mrs. Nourbash translated. "He will see the other one now."

Paul stared at her.

158 Ken FoIku

    He had wasted his breath, he realized. He might just as well have recited

    nursery rhymes. Dadgar was immovable.

Paul was deeply depressed. He lay on his mattress, looking at the pictures

of Karen and Ann Marie that he had stuck on the underside of the bunk above

him. He missed the girls badly. Being unable to see them made him realize

that in the past he had taken them for granted. Ruthie, too. He looked at

his watch: it was the middle of the night in the States now. Ruthie would be

asleep, alone in a big bed. How good it would be to climb in beside her and

hold her in his arms. He put the thought out of his niind: he was just

making himself miserable with self-pity. He had no need to worry about them.

They were out of Iran, out of danger, and he knew that whatever might

happen, Perot would take care of diem. That was the good thing about Perot.

He asked a lot of you--boy, he was just about the most demanding employer

you could have-but when you needed to rely on him, he was like a rock.

    Paul lit a cigarette. He had a cold. He could never get warm in the jail.

    He felt too down to do anything. He did not want to go to the Chattanooga

    Room and drink tea; he did not want to watch the news in gibberish on TV;

    he did not want to play chess with Bill. He did not want to go to the

    library for a new book. He had been reading The Thorn Birds by Colleen

    McCullough. He had found it a very emotional book. It was about several

    generations of families, and it made him think of his own family. The

    central character was a priest, and as a Catholic, Paul had been able to

    klentify with that. He had read the book three times. He had also read

    Hawaii by James Michener, Airport by Arthur Hailey, and the Guinness Book

    of World Records. He never wanted to read another book for the rest of his

    life.

    Sometimes he thought about what he would do when he got out, and let his

    mind wander on his favorite pastimes, boating and fishing. But that could

    be depressing.

    He could not remember a time in his adult life when he had been at a loss

    for something to do. He was always busy. At the office he would typically

    have three days' work backed up. Never, never, did he lie down smoking and

    wondering how on earth he could keep himself amused.

    But the worst thing of all was the helplessness. Although he had always

    been an employee, going where his boss sent him and doing what he was

    ordered to do, nevertheless he had always

    ON WINGS OF EAGLES 159

known that he could at any time get on a plane and go home, or quit his job,

or say no to his boss. Ultimately the decisions had been his. Now he could

not make any decisions about his own life. He could not even do anything

about his plight. With every other problem he had ever had, he had been able

to work on it, try things, attack the problem. Now he just had to sit and

suffer.

    He realized that he had never known the meaning of freedom until he lost

    it.

    3

The demonstration was relatively peaceful. There were several blazing cars

but otherwise no violence: the demonstrators were marching up and down

carrying pictures of Khomeini and putting flowers in the turrets of tanks.

The soldiers looked on passively.

The traffic was at a standstill.

    It was January 14, the day after Simons and Poch6 flew in. Boulware had

    gone back to Paris, and now he and the other four were waiting there for a

    flight to Tehran. Meanwhile Simons, Coburn, and Poch6 were heading

    downtown, to reconnoiter the jail.

    After a few minutes Joe Poch6 turned off the car engine and sat there,

    silent, showing as much emotion as he always did, which was none.

    By contrast Simons, sitting next to him, was animated. "This is history

    being made in front of our eyes!" he said. "Very few people get to observe

    firsthand a revolution in progress. "

    He was a history buff, Coburn had gathered, and revolutions were his

    specialty. Coming through the airport, on being asked what was his

    occupation and the purpose of his visit, he said he was a refired fanner

    and this was the only chance he was ever likely to get of seeing a

    revolution. He had been telling the truth.

    Coburn was not thrilled to be in the middle of it. He did not enjoy sitting

    in a little car-they had a Renault 4-surrounded by excitable Muslim

    fanatics. Despite his new-grown beard he did not look Iranian. Nor did

    Pochi. Simons did, however. his hair was longer now, he had olive skin and

    a big nose, and he had grown a white beard. Give him some worry beads and

    stand him

160 Ken Folleu

on a corner and nobody would suspect for a minute that he was American.

    But the crowd was not interested in Americans, and eventually Coburn became

    confident enough to get out of the car and go into a baker's shop. He

    bought barbari bread, long, fiat loaves with a delicate crust that were

    baked fresh every day and cost seven rials---ten cents. Like French bread,

    it was delicious when new but went stale very quickly. It was usually eaten

    with butter or cheese. Iran was run on barbari bread and tea.

    They sat watching the demonstration and chewing on the bread until, at

    last, the traffic began to move again. Poch6 followed the route he had

    mapped out the previous evening. Coburn wondered what they would find when

    they reached the jail. On Simons's orders he had kept away from downtown

    until now. It was too much to hope that the jail would be exactly as he had

    described it eleven days ago at LAke Grapevine: the team had based a very

    precise attack plan on quite imprecise intelligence. Just how imprecise,

    they would soon find out.

    They reached the Ministry of Justice and drove around to Khayyam Street,

    the side of the block on which the jail entrance was located.

PocM drove slowly, but not too slowly, past the jail.

Simons said, "Oh, shit."

Coburn's heart sank.

    'Me jail was radically different from the mental picture he had built up.

    71be entrance consisted of two steel doors fourteen feet high. On one side

    was a single-story building with barbed wire along its roof. On the other

    side was a taller building of gray stone, five stories high.

There were no iron railings. There was no courtyard.

Simons said: "So where's the fucking exercise yard?"

    Poch6 drove on, made a few turns, and came back along Khayyam Street in the

    opposite direction.

    This time Coburn did see a little courtyard with grass and trees, separated

    from the street by a fence of iron railings twelve feet high; but it

    plainly had nothing to do with the jail, which was farther up the street.

    Somehow, in that telephone conversation with Majid, the exercise yard of

    the jail had got mixed up with this little garden.

Pochd made one more pass around the block.

Simons was thinking ahead. "We can get in there," he said.

    ON WINGS OF EAGLES 161

"But we have to know what we'll be up against once we're over the wall.

Someone will have to go in and reconnoiter."

"Who?" said Coburn.

"You," said Simons.

Coburn walked up to the jail entrance with Rich Gallagher and Majid. Majid

pressed the bell and they waited.

    Coburn had become the "outside man" of the rescue team. He had already been

    seen at Bucharest by Iranian-employees, so his presence in Tehran could not

    be kept secret. Simons and Poch6 would stay indoors as much as possible and

    keep away from EDS premises: nobody need know they were here. It would be

    Coburn who would go to the Hyatt to see Taylor and switch cars. And it was

    Coburn who went inside the jail.

    As he waited he ran over in his mind all the points Simons had told him to

    watch out for--security, numbers of guards, weaponry, layout of the place,

    cover, high ground ... it was a long list, and Simons had a way of making

    you anxious to remember every detail of his instructions.

A peephole in the door opened. Majid said something in Farsi.

The door was opened and the three of them went in.

    Straight ahead of him Coburn saw a courtyard with a grassed traffic circle

    and cars parked on the far side. Beyond the cars a building rose five

    stories high over the courtyard. To his left was the one-story building he

    had seen from the street, with the barbed wire on its roof. To his right

    was another steel door.

    Coburn was wearing a long, bulky down coat-Taylor had dubbed it the

    Michelin Man coat-under which he could easily have concealed a shotgun, but

    he was not searched by the guard at the gate. I could have had eight

    weapons on me, he thought. That was encouraging: security was slack.

He noted that the gate guard was armed with a small pistol.

    The three visitors were led into the low building on the left. The colonel

    in charge of the jail was in the visiting room, along with another Iranian.

    'Me second man, Gallagher had warned Coburn, was always present during

    visits, and spoke perfect English: presumably he was there to eavesdrop.

    Coburn had told Majid he did not want to be overheard while talking to

    Paul, and Majid agreed to engage the eavesdropper in conversation.

    Coburn was introduced to the colonel. In broken English the man said he was

    sorry for Paul and Bill, and he hoped they

162 Ken Folleu

would be released soon. He seemed sincere. Coburn noted that neither the

colonel nor the eavesdropper was armed.

The door opened, and Paul and Bill walked in.

    They both stared at Coburn in surprise-neither of them had been forewarned

    that he was in town, and the beard was an additional shock.

    "What the hell are you doing here?" Bill said, and smiled broadly.

    Coburn shook hands warmly with both of them. Paul said: "Boy, I can't

    believe you're here.

"How's my wife?" Bill said.

"Emily's fine, so is Ruthie," Coburn told them.

    MaJid started talking loudly in Farsi to the colonel and the eavesdropper.

    He seemed to be telling them a complicated story with many gestures. Rich

    Gallagher began to speak to Bill, and Coburn sat Paul down.

    Simons had decided that Coburn should question Paul about routines at the

    jail, and level with him about the rescue plan. Paul was picked rather than

    Bill because, in Coburn's opinion, Paul was likely to be the leader of the

    two.

    "If you haven't guessed it already," Coburn began, .4we're going to get

    y'all out of here by force if necessary."

    "I guessed it already," Paul said. "I'm not sure it's a good idea. ' 9

:'What?"

'People might get hurt."

    "Listen, Ross has retained just about the best man in the whole world for

    this kind of operation, and we have carte blancho-"

"I'm not sure I want it."

"You ain't being asked for your permission, Paul."

Paid smiled. "Okay."

"Now I need some information. Where do you exercise?"

::Right there in the courtyard." 10*7hen?"

6671bursdays."

    Today was Monday. The next exercise period would be January 18. "How long

    do you spend out there?"

"About an hour."

64,VVIM time Of day?91

44it varies."

"Shit." Coburn made an effort to look relaxed, to avoid

    ON WINGS OF EAGLES 163

lowering his voice conspicuously or glancing over his shoulder to see

whether anyone might be listening: This had to look like a normal friendly

visit. "How many guards are there in this jail?"

"Around twenty."

"All uniformed, all armed?"

"All uniformed, some armed with handguns."

"No rifles?"

"Well ... none of the regular guards have rifles, but

See, our cell is just across the courtyard and has a window. Well, in the

morning there's a group of about twenty different guards, like an elite

corps, you might say. They have rifles and wear kind of shiny helinets. They

have reveille right here, then I never see them for the rest of the day-I

don't know where they go. 11

I 'Try and find out. 91

"I'll try."

-%ich is your cell?"

    "When you go out of here, the window is more or less opposite you. If you

    start in the right-hand comer of the courtyard and count toward the left,

    it's the third window. But they close the shutters when there are

    visitom-so we can't see women coming in, they say."

    Coburn nodded, trying to memorize it all. "You need to do two things," he

    said. "One: a survey of the inside of the jail, with measurements as

    accurate as possible. I'll come back and get the details from you so we can

    draw a plan. Two: get in shape. Exercise daily. You'll need to be fit."

"Okay. -

"Now, tell. me your daily routine."

"They wake us up at six o'clock," Paul began.

    Coburn concentrated, knowing he would have to repeat all this to Simons.

    Nevertheless, at the back of his mind one thought nagged: If we don't know

    what time of day they exercise, how the hell do we know when to go over the

    wall?

"Visiting time is the answer," Simons said.

"How so?" Coburn asked.

    "It's the one situation when we can predict they will be out of the actual

    jail and vulnerable to a snatch, at a definite moment in time. I I

    Coburn nodded. The three of them were sitting in the living room of Keane

    Taylor's house. It was a big room with a Persian

164 Ken Follett

carpet. They had drawn three chairs into the middle, around a coffee table.

Beside Simons's chair, a small mountain of cigar ash was growing on the

carpet. Taylor would be furious.

    Coburn felt drained. Being debriefed by Simons was even more harrowing than

    he had anticipated. When he was sure he had told everything, Simons thought

    of more questions. When Coburn could not quite remember something, Simons

    made him think hard until he did remember. Simons drew from him information

    he had not consciously registered, just by asking the right questions.

    46 The van and the ladder--4hat scenario is out," Simons said. "Their weak

    point now is their loose routine. We can get two men in there as visitors,

    with shotguns or Walthers under their coats. Paul and Bill would be brought

    to that visiting area. Our two men should be able to overpower the colonel

    and the eavesdropper without any trouble-and without making enough noise to

    alarin anyone else in the vicinity - Then

:.Then what?"

    'That's the problem. The four men would have to come out of the building,

    cross the courtyard, reach the gate, either open it or climb it, reach the

    street, and get in a car . . . "

    "It sounds possible," Coburn said. "There's just one guard at the gate . .

    ."

"A number of things about this scenario bother me," Simons

    . " - the windows in the high building that overlooks the

said One, courtyard. While our men are in the courtyard, anyone looking out

of any one of those windows will see them. Two: the elite guard with shiny

helmets and rifles. Whatever happens, our people have to slow down at the

gate. If there's just one guard with a rifle looking out of one of those

high windows, he could pick off the four of them like shooting fish in a

barrel."

:*We don't know the guards are in the high building."'

'We don't know they're not. -

"It seems like a small risk-"

    "We're not going to take any risks we don't have to. Three: the traffic in

    this goddam city is a bastard. You just can't talk about jumping in a car

    and getting away. We could run into a demonstration fifty yards down the

    street. No. This snatch has got to be quiet. We must have time. What is

    that colonel like, the one in charge of the place?"

    "He was quite friendly," Coburn said. "He seemed genuinely sorry for Paul

    and Bill. -

    ON WINGS OF EAGLES 165

    "I wonder whether we can get to him. Do we know anything at all about

    him?"

    'No."

"Let's find out."

"I'll put Majid on it."

    ,,The colonel would have to make sure there were no guards around at

    visiting time. We could make it look good by tying him up, or even

    knocking him out.... If he can be bribed, we can still bring this thing

    off."

"I'll get on it right away," said Coburn.

    4

On January 13 Ross Perot took off from Amman, Jordan, in a Lear jet of Arab

Wings, the charter operation of Royal Jordanian Airlines. The plane headed

for Tehran. In the baggage hold was a net bag containing half a dozen

professional-sized videotapes, the kind used by television crews: this was

Perot's 46 cover. I I

    As the little jet flew east, the British pilot pointed out the junction of

    the Tigris and Euphrates rivers. A few minutes later the plane developed

    hydraulic trouble and had to turn back.

It had been that kind of journey.

    in London he had caught up with lawyer John Howell and EDS manager Bob

    Young, both of whom had been trying for days to get a flight into Tehran.

    Eventually Young discovered that Arab Wings was flying in, and the three

    men had gone to Animan. Arriving there in the middle of the night had been

    an experience all on its own: it looked to Perot as if all the bad guys of

    Jordan were sleeping at the airport. They found a taxicab to take them to

    a hotel. John Howell's room had no bathroom: the facilitm were right there

    beside the bed. In Perot's room the toilet was so close to the bath that he

    had to put his feet in the tub when he sat on the john. And like that ...

    Bob Young had thought of the videotapes "cover. " Arab Wings regularly flew

    tapes into and out of Tehran for NBC-TV News. Sometimes NBC would have its

    own man carry the tapes; other times the pilot would take diem. Today,

    although NBC did not know it, Perot would be their bagman. He was wearing

    a sports jacket, a little plaid hat, and no tie. Anyone watching for

166 Ken Follen

Ross Perot might not look twice at the regular NBC messenger with his

regular net bag.

    Arab Wings had agreed to this ruse. They had also confirmed that they could

    take Perot out again on this NBC tape run.

    Back in Amman, Perot, Howell, and Young and the pilot boarded a replacement

    jet and took off again. As they climbed high over the desert Perot wondered

    whether he was the craziest man in the world or the sanest.

    There were powerful reasons why he should not go to Tehran. For one thing,

    the mobs might consider him the ultimate symbol of bloodsucking American

    capitalism and string him up on the spot. More likely, Dadgar might get to

    know that he was in town and try to arrest him. Perot was not sure he

    understood Dadgar's motives in jailing Paul and Bill, but the man's

    mysterious purposes would surely be even better served by having Perot

    behind bars. Why, Dadgar could set bail at a hundred million dollars and

    feel confident of getting it, if the money was what he was after.

    But negotiations for the release of Paul and Bill were stalled, and Perot

    wanted to go to Tehran to kick ass in one last attempt at a legitimate

    solution before Simons and the team risked their lives in an assault on the

    prison.

    There had been times, in business, when EDS had been ready to admit defeat

    but had gone on to victory because Perot himself had insisted on going one

    more mile: this was what leadership was all about.

    That was what he told himself, and it was all true, but there was another

    reason for his trip. He simply could not sit in Dallas, comfortable and

    safe, while other people risked their lives on his instructions.

    He knew only too well that if he were jailed in Iran, he, and his

    colleagues, and his company, would be in much worse trouble than they were

    now. Should he do the prudent thing, and stay, he had wondered-or should he