On Wings of Eagles (51 page)

"I got some eggs."

    ON WINGS OF EAGLES 309

"Maybe we'll need more."

    Boulware went back into the shop and bought three dozen oranges.

    They got into the Chevrolet and drove to a filling station. The driver

    bought a spare tank of fuel and put it in the trunk. "Where we're going,

    there are no gas stations," Charlie explained.

    Boulware was looking at a map. Their journey was about five hundred miles

    through mountain country. "Listen," he said. "There is no way this car is

    going to get us to the border by two o'clock tomorrow afternoon. -

    "You don't understand," Charlie said. "This man is a Turkish driver. "

    "Oh, boy, " said Boulware; and he sat back in the seat and closed his eyes.

    They drove out of town and headed up into the mountains of central Turkey.

    The road was of dirt and gravel, with enormous potholes, and in places it

    was not much wider than the car. It snaked over the mountainsides, with a

    breathtaking sheer drop at one edge. There was no guardrail to stop an

    incautious driver shooting over the precipice into the abyss. But the

    scenery was spectacular, with stunning views across the sunlit valleys, and

    Boulware made up his mind to go back one day, with Mary and Stacy and

    Kecia, and do the trip again, at leisure.

    Up ahead, a truck was approaching them. The cabby braked to a halt. Two men

    in uniform got out of the truck. "Army patrol," said Charlie Brown.

    The driver wound down his window. Ilsman talked to the soldiers. Boulware

    did not understand what was said, but it seemed to satisfy the patrol. The

    cabby drove on.

    An hour or so later they were stopped by another patrol, and the same thing

    happened.

    At nightfall they spotted a roadside restaurant and pulled in. The place

    was primitive and filthy dirty. "All they have is beans and rice," said

    Charlie apologetically as they sat down.

Boulware smiled. "I been eating beans and rice all my life."

    He studied the cabdriver. The man was about sixty years old, and looked

    tired. "I guess I'll drive for a while," said Boulware.

Charlie translated, and the cabby protested vehemently.

    "He says you won't be able to drive that car," Charlie said. "It's an

    American car with a very peculiar gearshift."

"Look, I am American," Boulware said. "Tell him that lots

310 Ken Folleu

of Americans are black. And I know how to drive a 'sixty-four Chevy with a

standard shift, for Pete's sake!"

    The three Turks argued about it while they ate. Finally Charlie said: "You

    can drive, so long as you promise to pay for the damage if you wreck the

    car."

"I promise," said Boulware, thinking: Big deal.

    He paid the bill, and they walked out to the car. It was beginning to rain.

    Boulware found it impossible to make any speed, but the big car was stable,

    and its powerful engine took the gradients without difficulty. They were

    stopped a third time by an army patrol. Boulware showed his American

    passport, and once again Ilsman made them happy somehow. This time,

    Boulware noted, the soldiers were unshaven and wore somewhat ragged

    uniforms.

    As they pulled away, lisman spoke, and Charlie said: "Try not to stop for

    any more patrols."

    'Nfty not?"

"'Mey might rob us."

That's great, thought Boulware.

    Near the town of Maras, a hundred miles from Adana and another four hundred

    from Van, the rain became heavy, making the mud-and-gravel road

    treacherous, and Boulware had to slow down even more.

Soon after Maras , the car died.

    They all got out and lifted the hood. Boulware could see nothing wrong. The

    driver spoke, and Charlie translated: "He can't understand it--he has just

    tuned the engine with his own hands. "

    "Maybe he didn't tune it right," said Boulware. "Let's check a few things.

    "

    The driver got some tools and a flashlight out of the trunk, and the four

    men stood around the engine in the rain, trying to find out what had gone

    wrong.

    Eventually they discovered that the points were incorrectly set. Boulware

    guessed that either the rain, or the thinner mountain air, or both, had

    made the fault critical. It took a while to adjust the points, but finally

    the engine fired. Cold and wet and tired, the four men got back into the

    old car and Boulware drove on.

    The countryside grew more desolate as they traveled east-no towns, no

    houses, no livestock, nothing. The road became even worse: It reminded

    Boulware of a trail in a cowboy movie. Soon the nun turned to snow and the

    road became icy. Boulware kept

    ON WINGS OF EAGLES 311

glancing over the sheer drop at the side. If you go off this, sucker, he

said to himself, you ain't going to get hurt-you're going to die.

    Near Bingol, halfway to their destination, they climbed up out of the

    storm. The sky was clear and there was a bright moon, almost like daylight.

    Boulware could see the snow clouds and the flashing lightning in the

    valleys below. The mountainside was frozen white, and the road was like a

    bobsled run.

    Boulware thought: Man, I'm going to die up here, and nobody's even going to

    know it, because they don't know where I am.

    Suddenly the steering wheel bucked in his hands and the car slowed:

    Boulware had a moment of panic, thinking he was losing control, then

    realized he had a flat tire. He brought the car gently to a halt.

    They all got out and the cabdriver opened the ftunk. He hauled out the

    extra fuel tank to get at the spare wheel. Boulware was freezing: the

    temperature had to be way below zero. The cabby refused any help and

    insisted on changing the wheel himself Boulware took off his gloves and

    offered them to the cabby: the man shook his head. Pride, I guess, thought

    Boulware.

    By the time the job was done, it was four A.m. Boulware said: "Ask him if

    he wants to take over the driving-4'm bushed."

The driver agreed.

    Boulware got into the back. The car pulled away. Boulware closed his eyes

    and tried to ignore the bumps and jerks. He wondered whether he would reach

    the border in time. Shit, he thought, nobody could say we didn't try.

A few seconds later he was asleep.

    2

'Me Dirty Team blew out of Tehran like a breeze.

    The city looked like a battlefield from which everyone had gone home.

    Statues had been pulled down, cars burned, and trees felled to make

    roadblocks; then the roadblocks had been cleared-the cars pushed to the

    curb, the statues smashed, the trees burned. Some of those trees had been

    hand-watered every day for fifty years.

But there was no fighting. They saw very few people and little

312 Ken FoUeu

ftffic. Perhaps the revolution was over. Or perhaps the revolutionaries were

having tea.

    They drove past the airport and took the highway north, following the route

    Coburn and Simons had taken on their reconnaissance trip. Some of Simons's

    plans had come to nothing, but not this one. Still, Coburn was

    apprehensive. What was ahead of them? Did armies rage and storm in towns

    and handets still? Or was the revolution done? Perhaps the villagers had

    returned to their sheep and their plows.

    Soon the two Range Rovers were bowling along at seventy miles an hour at

    the foot of a mountain range. On their left was a flat plain; on their

    right, steep green hillsides topped by snowy mountain peaks against the

    blue sky. Coburn looked at the car in front and saw Taylor taking

    photographs through the tailgate window with his Instarnatic. "Look at

    Taylor," he said.

    "What does he think this is?" said Gayden. "A package tour?"

    Coburn began to feel optimistic. There had been no trouble so far: maybe

    the whole country was calming down. Anyway, why should the Iranians give

    them a hard time? What was wrong with foreigners leaving the country?

    Paul and Bill had false passports and were being hunted by the authorities,

    that was what was wrong.

    Thirty miles from Tehran, just outside the town of Karaj, they came to

    their first roadblock. It was manned, as they usually were, by

    machine-gun-toting men and boys in ragged clothes.

    The lead car stopped, and Rashid jumped out even before Paul had brought

    the second car to a halt, making sure that he, rather than the Americans,

    would do the talking. He immediately began speaking loud and rapid Farsi,

    with many gestures. Paul wound down the window. From what they could

    understand, it seemed Rashid was not giving the agreed story: he was saying

    something about journalists.

    After a while Rashid told them all to get out of the cars. "They want to

    search us for weapons."

    Coburn, remembering how many times he had been frisked on the

    reconnaissance trip, had concealed his little Gerber knife in the Range

    Rover.

    The Iranians patted them down, then perfunctorily searched the cars: they

    did not find Coburn's knife, nor did they come across the money.

A few minutes later Rashid said: "We can go.

    ON WINGS OF EAGLES 313

    A hundred yards down the road was a filling station. They pulled in: Simons

    wanted to keep the fuel tanks as full as possible.

    While the cars were being fueled Taylor produced a bottle of Cognac, and

    they all took a swig except Simons, who disapproved, and Rashid, whose

    beliefs forbade him to take alcohol. Simons was mad at Rashid. Instead of

    saying the group were businessmen trying to go home, Rashid had said they

    were journalists going to cover the fighting in Tabriz. "Stick to the

    goddam story," Simons said.

"Sure," said Rashid.

    Coburn thought Rashid would probably continue to say the first thing that

    came into his head at the time. That was how he operated-

    A small crowd gathered at the filling station, watching the foreigners.

    Coburn looked at the bystanders nervously. They were not exactly hostile,

    but there was something vaguely menacing about their quiet surveillance.

Rashid bought a can of oil.

What now?

    He took the fuel can, which contained most of the money in weighted plastic

    bags, out of the back of the car, and poured oil into it to conceal the

    money. It's not a bad idea, Coburn thought, but I would have mentioned it

    to Simons before doing it.

    He tried to read the expressions on the faces in the crowd. Were they idly

    curious? Resentftil? Suspicious? Malevolent? He could not tell, but he

    wanted to get away.

    Rashid paid the bill and the two cars pulled slowly out of the filling

    station.

    They had a clear run for the next seventy miles. The road, the new Iranian

    State Highway, was in good condition. It ran through a valley, alongside a

    single-track railroad, with snowcapped mountains above. The sun was

    shining.

The second roadblock was outside Qazvin.

    It was an unofficial one-the guards were not in uniform-but it was bigger

    and more organized dim the last. There were two checkpoints, one after

    another, and a line of cars waiting.

The two Range Rovers joined the queue.

    The car in front of them was searched methodically. A guard opened the

    trunk and took out what looked like a rolled-up sheet. He unrolled it and

    found a rifle. He shouted something and waved the rifle in the air.

314 Ken Follett

    Other guards came running. A crowd gathered. 'Me driver of the car was

    questioned. One of the guards knocked him to the ground.

Rashid pulled his car out of the line.

Coburn told Paul to follow.

"What's he doing?" Gayden said.

    Rashid inched through the crowd. The people made way as the Range Rover

    nudged them--4hey were interested in the man with the rifle. Paul kept the

    second Range Rover right on the tail of the first. They passed the first

    checkpoint.

"What the fuck is he doing?" said Gayden.

"This is asking for trouble," said Coburn.

    They approached the second checkpoint. Without stopping. Rashid yelled at

    the guard through the window. The guard said something in reply. Rashid

    accelerated. Paul followed.

    Coburn breathed a sigh of relief. That was just like Rashid: he did the

    unexpected, on impulse, without thinking through the consequences; and

    somehow he always got away with it. It just made life a little tense for

    the people with him.

    Next time they stopped, Rashid explained that he had simply told the guard

    the two Range Rovers had been cleared at the first checkpoint.

    At the next roadblock Rashid persuaded the guards to write a pass on his

    windshield in magic marker, and they were waved through another three

    roadblocks without being searched.

    Keane Taylor was driving the lead car when, climbing a long, winding hill,

    they saw two heavy trucks, side by side and filling the whole width of the

    road, coniing downhill fast toward them. Taylor swerved off the road and

    bumped to a halt in the ditch, and Paul followed. The trucks went by, still

    side by side, and everyone said what a lousy driver Taylor was.

    At midday they took a break. They parked at the roadside near a ski lift

    and lunched on dry crackers and cupcakes. Although there was snow on the

    mountainsides, the sun was shining and they were not cold. Taylor got out

    his bottle of Cognac, but it had leaked and was empty: Coburn suspected

    that Simons had surreptitiously loosened the cork. They drank water.

    They passed through the small, neat town of Zanjan, where on the

    reconnaissance trip Coburn and Simons had talked to the chief of police.

    Just beyond Zanjan the hunian State Highway ended-rather abruptly. In the

    second car, Coburn saw Rashid's Range Rover

    ON WINGS OF EAGLES 315

suddenly disappear from view. Paul slammed on the brakes and they got out to

look.

    Where the tarmac ended, Rashid had gone down a steep slope for about eight

    feet and landed nose-down in mud. Off to the right, their route continued

    up an unpaved mountain road.

    Rashid restarted the stalled engine and put the car into fourwheel drive

    and reverse gear. Slowly he inched back up the bank and onto the road.

    The Range Rover was covered with mud. Rashid turned on the wipers and

    washed the windshield. When the mud splashes were gone, so was the pass

    that had been written on with magic marker. Rashid could have rewritten it,

    but nobody had a magic marker.

    They drove west, heading for the southern tip of Lake Rezaiyeh. 'Me Range

    Rovers were built for rough roads, and they could still do forty miles per

    hour. They were climbing all the time: the temperature dropped steadily,

    and the countryside was covered with snow, but the road was clear. Coburn

    wondered whether they might even make the border tonight, instead of

    tomorrow as planned.

    Gayden, in the backseat, leaned forward and said: "Nobody's going to

    believe it was this easy. We better make up some war stories to tell when

    we get home."

He spoke too soon.

    As daylight faded they approached Mahabad. Its outskirts were marked by a

    few scattered huts, made of wood and mud brick, along the sides of the

    winding road. The two Range Rovers swept around a bend and pulled up

    sharply: the road was blocked by a parked truck and a large but apparently

    disciplined crowd. The men were wearing the traditional baggy trousers,

    black vest, red-and-white checkered headdress and bandolier of Kurdish

    tribesmen.

Rashid jumped out of the lead car and went into his act.

    Coburn studied the guns of the guards, and saw both Russian and American

    automatic weapons.

"Everyone out of the cars," said Rashid.

    By now it was routine. One by one they were searched. This time the search

    was a little more thorough, and they found Keane Taylor's little

    switchblade knife, but they let him keep it. They did not find Coburn's

    knife, or the money.

    Coburn waited for Rashid to say: "We can go." It was taking longer than

    usual. Rashid argued with the Kurds for a few

316 Ken Follett

minutes, then said: "We have to go and see the head man of the town. "

    They got back into the cars. A Kurd with a rifle joined them in each car

    and directed them into the little town.

    They were ordered to stop outside a small whitewashed building. One of the

    guards went in, came out again a minute later, and got back into the car

    without explanation.

    They stopped again outside what was clearly a hospital. Here they picked up

    a passenger, a young Iranian in a suit.

Coburn wondered what the hell was going on.

    Finally they drove down an alley and parked outside what looked like a

    small private house.

They went inside. Rashid told them to take off their shoes.

    Gayden had several thousand dollars in hundred-dollar bills in his shoes.

    As he took them off he frantically stuffed the money up into the toes of

    the shoes.

    They were ushered into a large room furnished with nothing but a beautiful

    Persian carpet. Simons quietly told everyone where to sit. Leaving a space

    in the circle for the Iranians, he put Rashid on the right of the space.

    Next to Rashid was Taylor, then Coburn, then Simons himself opposite the

    space. On Simons's right Paul and Bill sat, back a little from the line of

    the circle, where they would be least conspicuous. Gayden, completing the

    circle, sat on Bill's right.

    As Taylor sat down he saw that he had a big hole in the toe of his sock,

    and hundred-dollar bills were poking through the hole. He cursed under his

    breath and hastily pushed the money back toward his heel.

    The young man in the suit followed them in. He seemed educated and spoke

    good English. "You are about to meet a man who has just escaped after

    twenty-five years it. jail," he said.

    Bill almost said: Well, how about that, I've just escaped from jail

    myself!--but he stopped himself just in time.

    "You are to be put on trial, and this man will be your judge," the young

    Iranian went on.

    The words on trial hit Paul like a blow, and he thought: we've come all

    this way for nothing.

    ON WINGS OF EAGLES 317

    3

The Clean Team spent Wednesday at Lou Goelz's house in Tehran.

    Early in the morning a call came through from Tom Walter in Dallas. The

    line was poor and the conversation confused, but Joe Poche was able to tell

    Walter that he and the Clean Team were safe, would move into the Embassy as

    soon as possible, and would leave the country whenever the Embassy got the

    evacuation flights finally organized. Poch6 also reported that Cathy

    Gallagher's condition had not improved, and she had been taken to the

    hospital the previous evening.

    John Howell called Abolhasan, who had another message from Dadgar. Dadgar

    was willing to negotiate a lower bail. If EDS located Paul and Bill, the