On Wings of Eagles (60 page)

    together. And, number three, if we go to Yuksekova and wait for Mr. Fish

    there, we can't do anything but check into the worst hotel in the world,

    and attract questions and hassles from a new set of officials."

"Okay," Simons said reluctantly. "We'll wait awhile."

    He looked tired, Boulware thought; an old man who just wanted to rest.

    Coburn looked the same: drained, exhausted, almost broken. Boulware

    wondered just what they had been through to get here.

    Boulware himself felt terrific, even though he had had little sleep for

    forty-eight hours. He thought of his endless discussions with Mr. Fish

    about how to get to the border; of the screw-up in

368 Ken Folleit

Adana when the bus failed to come; of the taxi ride through a blizzard in

the mountains ... And here he was, after all.

    The little guardhouse was bitterly cold, and the wood-burning stove did

    nothing but fill the room with smoke. Everyone was fired, and the scotch

    made them drowsy. One by one they began to fall asleep on the wooden

    benches and the floor.

    Simons did not sleep. Rashid watched him, pacing up and down like a caged

    tiger, chain-smoking his plastic-tipped cigars. As dawn broke, he started

    looking out of the window, across no-man's-land to Iran.

    "There are a hundred people with rifles across there," he said to Rashid

    and Boulware. "What do you think they would do if they should happen to

    find out exactly who it was who slipped across the border last night?"

    Boulware, too, was beginning to wonder whether he had been right to propose

    waiting for Mr. Fish.

    Rashid looked out the window. Seeing the Range Rovers on the other side, he

    remembered something. "The fuel can," he said. "I left the can with the

    money. We might need the money.

Simons just looked at him.

    On impulse Rashid walked out of the guardhouse and started across the

    border.

It seemed a long way.

    He thought about the psychology of the guards on the Iranian side. They

    have written us off, he decided. If they have any doubts about whether they

    did right last night, then they must have spent the last few hours making

    up excuses, justifying their action. By now they have convinced themselves

    that they did the right thing. It will take them a while to change their

    minds.

He reached the other side and stepped over the chain.

He went to the first Range Rover and opened the tailgate.

Two guards came running out of their hut.

    Rashid lifted the can out of the car and closed the tailgate. "We forgot

    the off," he said as he started walking back toward the chain.

    "What do you need it for?" asked one of the guards suspiciously. "You don't

    have the cars anymore."

    -For the bus," said Rashid as he stepped over the chain. "The bus that's

    taking us to Van."

He walked away, feeling their eyes on his back.

    He did not look around until he was back inside the Turkish guardhouse.

    ON WINGS OF EAGLES 369

A few minutes later they all heard the sound of a motor.

    They looked out of the windows. A bus was coming down the road.

They cheered all over again.

    Pat Sculley, Jim Schwebach, Ron Davis, and Mr. Fish stepped off the bus and

    came into the guardhouse.

They all shook hands.

    The latest arrivals had brought another bottle of scotch, so everyone had

    another celebratory drink.

    Mr. Fish went into a huddle with Ilsman and the border guards.

    Gayden put his arm around Pat Sculley and said: "Have you noticed who's

    with us?" He pointed.

    Sculley saw Rashid, asleep in a comer. He smiled. In Tehran he had been

    Rashid's manager, and then, during that first meeting with Simons in the

    EDS boardroom-was it only six weeks ago?-he had strongly argued that Rashid

    should be in on the rescue. Now it seemed Simons had come round to the same

    point of view.

    Mr. Fish said: "Pat Sculley and I have to go to Yuksekova and speak with

    the chief of police there. The rest of you wait here for us, please."

    "Now hold it," Simons said. "We waited for Boulware, then we waited for

    you. Now what are we waiting for?"

    Mr. Fish said: "If we don't get clearance in advance, there will be

    trouble, because Paul and Bill have no passports."

    Simons turned to Boulware. "Your guy Ilsman is supposed to have dealt with

    that problem," he said angrily.

    "I thought he did!" said Boulware. "I thought he bribed them. -

"So what's happening?"

Mr. Fish said: "It's better this way."

Simons growled: "Make it goddam fast."

Sculley and Mr. Fish went off.

    The others started a poker game. They all had thousands of dollars hidden

    in their shoes, and they were a little crazy. One hand Paul got a full

    house, with three aces in the hole, and the pot went over a thousand

    dollars. Keane Taylor kept raising him. Taylor had a pair of kings showing,

    and Paul guessed he had another king in the hole, making a full house with

    kings. Paul was right. He won fourteen hundred dollars.

A new shift of border guards arrived, including an officer who

370 Ken Follett

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372 Ken Follett

was mad as hell to find his guardhouse Uttered with cigarette butts,

hundred-dollar bills, and poker-playing Americans, two of whom had entered

the country without passports.

    The morning wore on, and they all began to feel bad---too much liquor and

    not enough sleep. As the sun climbed in the sky, poker did not seem fun

    anymore. Simons got jittery. Gayden started giving Boulware a hard time.

    Boulware wondered where ScuRey and Mr. Fish had got to.

    Boulware was now sure he had made a mistake. They should all have left for

    Yuksekova as soon as he had arrived. He had made another mistake in letting

    Mr. Fish take charge. Somehow he had lost the initiative.

    At ten A.M., having been away four hours, Sculley and Mr. Fish came back.

Nft. Fish told the officer that they had permission to leave.

    The officer said something sharp, and-as if accidentally-let his jacket

    fall open to reveal his pistol.

1"he other guards backed away from the Americans.

Mr. Fish said: "He says we leave when he gives permission.

    "Enough," said Simons. He got to his feet and said something in Turkish.

    All the Turks looked at him in surprise: they had not realized he spoke

    their language.

Simons took the officer into the next room.

    They came out a few minutes later. "We can go," said Simons.

They all went outside.

    Coburn said: "Did you bribe him, Colonel---or frighten him to (Wth?"

Simons gave the ghost of a smile and said nothing.

Pat Sculley said: "Want to come to Dallas, Rashid?"

    For the last couple of days, Rashid reflected, they had been talking as if

    he would go all the way with them; but this was the first time anyone had

    asked him directly whether he wanted to. Now he had to make the most

    important decision of his fife.

    Want to come to Dallas, Rashid? It was a dream come true. He thought of

    what be was leaving behind. He had no children, no wife, not even a

    girlftiend--he had never been in love. But he thought of his parents, his

    sister, and his brothers. They might need him: life was sure to be rough in

    Tehran for some time. Yet what help could he give them? He would be

    employed for a few more days, or weeks, shipping the Americans' possessions

    back to the States, taking care of the dogs and cats---then nothing.

    ON WINGS OF EAGLES 373

EDS was finished in Iran. Probably computers were finished, too, for many

years. Unemployed, he would be a burden to his fairtily, just another mouth

to feed in hard times.

But in America-

    In America he could continue his education. He could put his talents to

    work, become a success in busines&---especially with the help of people

    like Pat Sculley and Jay Coburn.

Want to come to Dallas, Rashid?

"Yes," he said to Sculley. "I want to go to Dallas."

"What are you waiting for? Get on the bus!"

They all got on the bus.

    Paul settled into his seat with relief. The bus pulled away, and Iran

    disappeared into the distance: he would probably never see the country

    again. There were strangers on the bus: some scruffy Turks in improvised

    uniforms, and two Americans who--someone mumbled-were pilots. Paul was too

    exhausted to inquire further. One of the Turkish guards from the border

    station had joined the party: presumably he was just hitching a ride.

    They stopped in Yuksekova. Mr. Fish told Paul and Bill: "We have to talk to

    the chief of police. He has been here twenty-five years and this is the

    most important thing that has ever happened. But don't worry. It's all

    routine - "

    Paul, Bill, and Mr. Fish got off the bus and went into the little police

    station. Somehow Paul was not worried. He was out of Iran, and although

    Turkey was not exactly a Western country, at least, he felt, it was not in

    the throes of a revolution. Or perhaps he was just too tired to be

    frightened.

He and Bill were interrogated for two hours, then released.

    Six more people joined the bus at Yuksekova: a woman and a child who seemed

    to belong to the border guard, and four very dirty men-"Bodyguards," said

    Mr. Fish-who sat behind a curtain at the back of the bus.

    They drove off, heading for Van, where a charter plane was waiting. Paul

    looked out at the scenery. It was prettier than Switzerland, he thought,

    but incredibly poor. Huge boulders littered the road. In the fields ragged

    people were treading down the snow so that their goats could get at the

    frozen grass beneath. There were caves with wood fences across their

    mouths, and it seemed that was where the people lived. They passed the

    ruins of a stone fortress that might have dated back to the Crusades.

    The bus driver seemed to think he was in a race. He drove aggressively on

    the winding road, apparently confident that noth-

    374 Ken Folleu

ing could possibly be coming at him the other way. A group of soldiers waved

him down, and he drove right past them. Nk. Fish yelled at him to stop, but

he yelled back and kept going.

    A few miles farther on, the army was waiting for them in force, probably

    having heard that the bus had run the last checkpoint. The soldiers stood

    in the road with their rifles raised, and the driver was forced to stop.

    A sergeant jumped on the bus and dragged the driver off with a pistol at

    his head.

Now we're in trouble, Paul thought.

    The scene was almost funny. The driver was not a bit cowed: he was yelling

    at the soldiers as loudly and as angrily as they were yelling at him.

    Mr. Fish, Ilsman, and some of the mystery passengers got off the bus and

    started talking, and eventually they satisfied the military. The driver was

    literally thrown back onto the bus, but even that did not quench his

    spirit, and as he drove away he was still yelling out of the window and

    shaking his fist at the soldiers.

They reached Van late in the afternoon.

    They went to the town hall, where they were handed over to the local

    police; and the scruffy bodyguards disappeared like melting snow. The

    police filled in forms, then escorted them to the airstrip.

    As they were boarding the plane, Ilsman was stopped by a policeman: he had

    a .45 pistol strapped under his arm, and it seemed that even in Turkey

    passengers were not allowed to take firearms on board aircraft. However,

    Ilsman flashed his credentials yet again, and the problem went away.

    Rashid was also stopped. He was carrying the fuel can with the money in it,

    and of course inflammable liquids were not allowed on aircraft. He told the

    police the can contained suntan oil for the Americans' wives, and they

    believed him.

    They ail boarded the plane. Simons and Coburn, coming down from the effects

    of the stay-awake pills, both stretched out and were asleep within seconds.