On Wings of Eagles (17 page)

today, Perot: just straight talk. They must understand that they're free to

say: no, thanks, boss; count me out.

How many of them would volunteer?

One in five, Perot guessed.

    If that were the case it would take several days to get a team together,

    and he might end up with people who did not know Tehran.

What if none volunteered?

    He pulled into the parking lot of the Hilton Inn and switched off the

    engine.

Jay Coburn looked around. There were four other men in the room: Pat

Sculley, Glenn Jackson, Ralph Boulware, and Joe Poch6. Two more were on

their way: Jim Schwebach was coming from Eau Claire, Wisconsin, and Ron

Davis from Columbus, Ohio.

The Dirty Dozen they were not.

    In their business suits, white shirts, and sober ties, with their short

    haircuts and clean-shaven faces and well-fed bodies, they looked like what

    they were: ordinary American business executives. It was hard to see them

    as a squad of mercenaries -

    Coburn and Sculley had made separate lists, but these five men had been on

    both. Each had worked in Tehran-most had baen on Coburn's evacuation team.

    Each had either military experience or some relevant skill. Each was a man

    Coburn trusted completely.

    While Sculley was calling them in the early hours of this morning, Coburn

    had gone to the personnel files and put together a folder on each man,

    detailing his age, height, weight, marital status, and knowledge of Tehran.

    As they arrived in Dallas, each of them completed another sheet recounting

    his military experience, military schools attended, weapons training, and

    other special skills. The folders were for Colonel Simons, who was on his

    way from Red Bay. But before Simons arrived, Perot had to ask these men

    whether they were willing to volunteer.

    For Perot's meeting With them, Coburn had taken three adjoining rooms. Only

    the middle room would be used: the rooms on either side had been rented ag

    a precaution against eavesdroppers.

It was all rather melodramatic.

    Coburn studied the others, wondering what they were thinking. They still

    had not been told what this was all about, but they had probably guessed.

    ON WINGS OF EAGLES 101

    He could not tell what Joe Poch6 was thinking: nobody ever could. A short,

    quiet man of thirty-two, Poch6 kept his emotions locked away. His voice was

    always low and even, his face generaRy blank. He had spent six years in the

    army, and had seen action as commander of a howitzer battery in Vietnam. He

    had fired just about every weapon the army possessed up to some level of

    proficiency, and had killed time, in Vietnam, practicing with a .45. He had

    spent two years with EDS in Tehran, first designing the enrollment

    systeni--the computer program that listed the names of people eligible for

    health-care benefits---and later as the programmer responsible for loading

    the files that made up the data base for the whole system. Coburn knew him

    to be a deliberate, logical thinker, a man who would not give his assent to

    any idea or plan until he had questioned it from all angles and thought out

    all its consequences slowly and carefully. Humor and intuition were not

    among his strengths: brains and patience were.

    Ralph Boulware was a full five inches taller than Pochd. One of the two

    black men on the list, he had a chubby face and small, darting eyes, and he

    talked very fast. He had spent nine years in the air force as a technician,

    working on the complex inboard computer and radar systems of bombers. In

    Tehran for only nine months, he had started as data-preparation manager and

    had swiftly been promoted to data-center manager. Coburn knew him well and

    liked him a lot. In Tehran they had got drunk together. Their children had

    played together and their wives had become friends. Boulware loved his

    family, loved his friends, loved his job, loved his life. He enjoyed living

    more than anyone else Coburn could think of, with the possible exception of

    Ross Perot. Boulware was also a highly independent-minded son of a gun. He

    never had any trouble speaking out. Like many successful black men, he was

    a shade oversensitive, and liked to make it clear he was not to be pushed

    around. In Tehran over Ashura, when he had been in the high-stakes poker

    game with Coburn and Paul, everyone else had slept in the house for safety,

    as previously agreed; but Boulware had not. There had been no discussion,

    no announcement: Boulware just went home. A few days later he had decided

    that the work he was doing in Tehran did not justify the risk to his

    safety, so he returned to the States. He was not a man to run with the pack

    just because it was a pack: if he thought the pack was running the wrong

    way, he would leave it. He was the most skeptical of the group assem-

    102 Ken Follett

bling at the Hilton Inn: if anyone was going to pour scom on the idea of a

jailbreak, Boulware would.

    Glenn Jackson looked less like a mercenary than any of them. A mild man

    with spectacles, he had no military experience, but he was an enthusiastic

    hunter and an expert shot. He knew Tehran well, having worked there for

    Bell Helicopter as well as for EDS. He was such a straight, forthright,

    honest guy, Coburn thought, that it was hard to imagine him getting

    involved in the deception and violence that a jailbreak would entail.

    Jackson was also a Baptist-the others were Catholic, except for Poch6 who

    did not say what he was-and Baptists were famous for punching Bibles, not

    faces. Coburn wondered haw Jackson would make out.

    He had a similar concern about Pat Sculley. Sculley had a good military

    record-he had been five years in the army, ending up as a Ranger instructor

    with the rank of captain--but he had no combat experience. Aggressive and

    outgoing in business, he was one of EDS's brightest up-and-coming young

    executives. Like Coburn, Sculley was an irrepressible optimist, but whereas

    Coburn's attitudes had been tempered by war, Sculley was youthfully naive.

    If this thing gets violent, Coburn wondered, will Sculley be hard enough to

    handle it?

    Of the two men who had not yet arrived, one was the most qualified to take

    part in a jailbreak, and the other perhaps the least.

    Jim Schwebach knew more about combat than he did about computers. Eleven

    years in the army, he had served with the 5th Special Forces Group in

    Vietnam, doing the kind of commando work Bull Simons specialized in,

    clandestine operations behind enemy lines; and he had even more medals than

    Coburn. Because he had spent so many years in the military, he was still a

    low-level executive, despite his age, which was thirty-five. He had been a

    trainee systems engineer when he went to Tehran, but he was mature and

    dependable, and Coburn had made him a team leader during the evacuation.

    Only five feet six inches, Schwebach had the erect, chin-up posture of many

    short men, and the indomitable fighting spirit that is the only defense of

    the smallest boy in the class. No matter what the score, it could be 12-0,

    ninth inning and two outs, Schwebach would be up on the edge of the dugout,

    clawing away and trying to figure out how to get an extra hit. Coburn

    admired him for volunteering-out of high-principled patriotism-for extra

    tours in Vietnam. In battle,

    ON WINGS OF EAGLES 103

Cobum thought, Schwebach would be the last guy you would want to take

prisoner-if you had your druthers, you would make sure you killed the little

son of a bitch before you captured him, he would make so much trouble.

    However, Schwebach's feistiness was not immediately apparent. He was a very

    ordinary-looking fellow. In fact, you hardly noticed him. In Tehran he had

    lived farther south than anyone else, in a district where there were no

    other Americans, yet he had often walked around the streets, wearing a

    beat-up old field jacket, blue jeans, and a knit cap, and had never been

    bothered. He could lose himself in a crowd of two-a talent that might be

    useful in a jailbreak.

    The other missing man was Ron Davis. At thirty he was the youngest on the

    list. The son of a poor black insurance salesman, Davis had risen fast in

    the white world of corporate America. Few people who started, as he had, in

    operations ever made it to management on the customer side of the business.

    Perot was especially proud of Davis: "Ron's career achievement is like a

    moonshot," he would say. Davis had acquired a good knowledge of Farsi in a

    year and a half in Tehran, working under Keane Taylor, not on the Ministry

    contract but on a smaller, separate project to computerize Bank Omran, the

    Shah's bank. Davis was cheerful, flippant, full of jokes, a juvenile

    version of Richard Pryor, but without the profanity. Coburn thought he was

    the most sincere of the men on the list. Davis found it easy to open up and

    talk about his feelings and his personal life. For that reason Coburn

    thought of him as vulnerable. On the other hand, perhaps the ability to

    talk honestly about yourself to others was a sign of great inner confidence

    and strength.

    Whatever the truth about Davis's emotional toughness, physically he was as

    hard as a nail. He had no military experience, but he was a karate black

    belt. One time in Tehran three men had attacked him and attempted to rob

    him: he had beaten them all up in a few seconds. Like Schwebach's ability

    to be inconspicuous, Davis's karate was a talent that might become useful.

Like Coburn, all six men were in their thirties.

They were all married.

And they all had children.

The door opened and Perot walked in.

    He shook hands, saying "How are you?" and "Good to see you!" as if he

    really meant it, remembering the names of their wives and children. He's

    good with people, Coburn thought.

104 Ken Follett

"Schwebach and Davis didn't get here yet," Coburn told him. "All right,"

Perot said, sitting down. "I'll have to see them later. Send them to my

office as soon as they arrive. " He paused. "I'll tell them exactly what I'm

going to tell y'all. "

    He paused again, as if gathering his thoughts. Then he frowned and looked

    hard at them. "I'm asking for volunteers for a project that might involve

    loss of life. At this stage I can't tell you what it's about, although you

    can probably guess. I want you to take five or ten minutes, or more, to

    think about it, then come back and talk to me one at a time. Think hard. If

    you choose, for any reason, not to get involved, you can just say so, and

    no one outside this room will ever know about it. If you decide to

    volunteer, I'll tell you more. Now go away and think."

They all stood up and, one by one, they left the room.

I could get killed on Central Expressway, thought Joe Poch6.

    He knew perfectly well what the dangerous project was: they were going to

    get Paul and Bill out of jail.

    He had suspected as much since two-thirty A.M., when he had been woken up,

    at his mother-in-law's house in San Antonio, by a phone call from Pat

    Sculley. Sculley, the world's worst liar, had said: "Ross asked me to call

    you. He wants you to come to Dallas in the morning to begin work an a study

    in Europe."

    Poch6 had said: "Pat, why in hell are you calling me at two-thirty in the

    morning to tell me that Ross wants me to work on a study in Europe?"

    "It is kind of important. We need to know when you can be here. "

    Okay, Pochd thought resignedly, it's something he can't talk about on the

    phone. "My first flight is probably around six or seven o'clock in the

    morning."

"Fine. 11

    Poch6 had made a plane reservation then gone back to bed. As he set his

    alarm clock for five A.m. he said to his wife: "I don't know what this is

    all about, but I wish somebody would be straight, just for once."

    In fact, he had a pretty good idea what it was all about, and his

    suspicions had been confirmed, later in the day, when Ralph Boulware had

    met him at the Coit Road bus station and, instead of taking him to EDS, had

    driven him to this hotel and refused to talk about what was going on.

Poch6 liked to think everything through, and he had had

    ON WINGS OF EAGLES 105

plenty of time to consider the idea of busting Paul and Bill out of jail. It

made him glad, glad as hell. It reminded him of the old days, when there

were only three thousand people in the whole of EDS, and they had talked

about the Faith. It was their word for a whole bunch of attitudes and

beliefs about how a company ought to deal with its employees. What it boiled