On Wings of Eagles (53 page)

    aren't here even for someone who's prepared to break the law."

"But you must have aircraft.

"The State Department has no aircraft."

    Perot despaired. Was he to sit and do nothing to help the Dirty Team?

    The Consul said: "Mr. Perot, we're here to help American citizens, and I'm

    going to try to get you an aircraft. I'll pull whatever strings I can. But

    I'll tell you now that my chance of success is close to zero."

    ON WINGS OF EAGLES 323

"Well, I appreciate it."

The Consul got up to go.

    Perot said: "It's very important that my presence in Turkey be kept secret.

    Right now the Iranian authorities have no idea where my men are. If they

    should learn that I'm here, they will be able to figure out how my men are

    getting out, and that would be a catastrophe. So please be very discreet."

"I understand."

The Consul left.

    A few minutes later the phone rang. It was T. J. Marquez calling from

    Dallas.

"Perot, you're on the front page of the paper today."

Perot's heart sank: the story was out.

    T.J. said: "The -governor just appointed you chairman of the Drug

    Commission. -

Perot breathed again. "Marquez, you scared me."

T.J. laughed.

    "You shouldn't do that to an old man," Perot said. "Boy, you really caught

    my attention there."

    "Wait a minute, Margot's on the other line," said T.J. "She just wants to

    wish you a happy Valentine's Day."

    Perot realized it was February 14. He said: "Tell her I'm completely safe,

    and being guarded at all times by two blondes. "

    "Wait a minute, I'll tell her." T.J. came back on the line a minute later,

    laughing. "She says, isn't it interesting that you need two to replace

    her?"

    Perot chuckled. He had walked into that one: he should have known better

    than to try to score points off Margot. "Now, did you get through to

    Tehran?"

    "Yes. The international operator got us a line, and we blew it on a wrong

    number. Then A.T. and T. got us a line and we reached Gholam.-

"."d?"

"Nothing. He hasn't heard from them."

    Perot's temporary cheerfulness vanished. "What did you ask him?"

    "We just said: 'Are there any messagesT and he said there weren 9t. -

    "Damn." Perot almost wished the Dirty Team had called to say they were in

    trouble, for then at least he would have known their location.

He said goodbye to T.J. and got ready for bed. He had lost the

324 Ken Follett

Clean Team, he had lost Boulware, and now he had lost the Dirty Team. He had

failed to get hold of an aircraft in which to go looking for them. The whole

operation was a mess--and there was not a thing he could do about it.

    The suspense was killing him. He realized that never in his life had he

    experienced this much tension. He had seen men crumble under stress but he

    had never really been able to relate to their suffering because it had

    never happened to him. Stress did not upset him, normally-in fact, he

    thrived on it. But this was different.

    He broke his own rule, and allowed himself to think about all the bad

    things that could happen. What was at stake here was his freedom, for if

    this rescue were to go wrong he would end up in jail. Already he had

    assembled a mercenary army, connived at the misuse of American passports,

    arranged the forgery of U.S. military identity cards, and conspired to

    effect an illegal border crossing. He hoped he would go to jail in the U.S.

    rather than in Turkey. The worst would be if the Turks sent him to Iran to

    be tried for his "crimes" there.

    Jie lay awake on his hotel bed, worrying about the Clean Team, about the

    Dirty Tearn, about Boulware, and about himself. There was nothing he could

    do but endure it. In the future he would be more sympathetic to the men he

    put under stress. If he had a future.

    5

Coburn was tense, watching Simons.

    They all sat in a circle on the Persian carpet, waiting for the :'judge."

    Simons had told Coburn, before they left Tehran: 'Keep your eye on me." So

    far Simons had been passive, rolling with the punches, letting Rashid do

    the talking, allowing the team to be arrested. But there might come a

    moment when he changed his tactics. if he decided to start a fight, he

    would let Coburn know a split-second before it happened.

The judge arrived.

    Aged about fifty, he wore a dark blue jacket with a light tan sweater

    undemeath, and an open-neck shirt. He had the air of a professional man, a

    doctor or a lawyer. He had a .45 stuck in his belt.

    ON WINGS OF EAGLES 325

    Rashid recognized him. His name was Habib Bolourian, and he was a leading

    Communist.

Bolourian sat in the space Simons had intended for him.

    He said something in Farsi, and the young man in the suitwho now took on

    the role of interpreter-asked for their passports.

    This is it, Coburn thought; this is where we get into trouble. He will look

    at Bill's passport and realize it belongs to someone else.

    The passports were piled up on the carpet in front of Bolourian. He looked

    at the top one. The interpreter began to write down details. There was some

    confusion about sumames and given names: Iranians often got the two mixed

    up, for some mason. Rashid was handing the passports to Bolourian, and

    Gayden was leaning over and pointing out things; and it dawned on Coburn

    that between the two they were making the confusion worse. Rashid was

    giving Bolourian the same passport more than once, and Gayden, in leaning

    over to point out things in a passport, was covering up the photograph.

    Coburn admired their nerve. In the end the passports were handed back, and

    it seemed to Coburn that Bill's had never actually been opened.

    Bolourian began to interrogate Rashid in Farsi. Rashid seemed to be telling

    the official cover story, about their being ordinary American businessmen

    trying to go home, with some embellishments about family members on the

    point of death back in the States.

    Eventually the interpreter said in English: "Would you tell us exactly what

    you're doing here?"

    Rashid said: "Well, you see--" then a guard behind him slammed in the bolt

    on his machine gun and stuck the barrel into the back of Rashid's neck.

    Rashid fell silent. Clearly the interpreter wanted to hear what the

    Americans had to say, to see whether their story matched Rashid's; the

    guard's action was a brutal reminder that they were in the power of violent

    revolutionaries.

    Gayden, as the senior EDS executive there, replied to the interpreter. "We

    all work for a data-processing company called PARS Data Systems, or PDS,-

    he said. In fact, PDS was the Ir-anian company jointly owned by EDS and

    Abolfath Mahvi. Gayden did not mention EDS because, as Simons had pointed

    out before they left Tehran, Dadgar might put out a blanket arrest order on

    anyone connected with EDS - "We had a contract with Bank Orman,- Gayden

    went on, telling the truth but by no

326 Ken FoHeu

means the whole truth. "We weren't getting paid, people were throwing rocks

at our windows, we had no money, we missed our families, and we just wanted

to go home. The airport was closed, so we decided to drive."

    "That's right," said the interpreter. "The same thing happened to me-I

    wanted to fly to Europe but the airport was closed. "

We may have an ally here, Coburn thought.

    Bolourian asked, and the interpreter translated: "Did you have a contract

    with ISIRANT'

    Coburn was astonished. For someone who had spent twentyfive years in jail,

    Bolourian was remarkably well informed. ISHLAN-Information Systems Iran-was

    a data-processing company that had once been owned by Abolfath Mahvi and

    had subsequently been bought by the government. The company was widely

    believed to have close links with the secret police, SAVAK. Worse, EDS did

    have a contract with ISMAN: in partnership, the two companies had created

    a document-control system for the Iranian Navy back in 1977.

    "We have absolutely nothing to do with ISELAN," Gayden lied.

"Can you give us some proof of whom you work for?"

    That was a problem. Before leaving Tehran they had all destroyed any papers

    connected with EDS, under Simons's instructions. Now they all searched

    their pockets for anything they might have overlooked.

    Keane Taylor found his health insurance card, with "Electronic Data Systems

    Corp. " printed across the bottom. He handed it to the interpreter, saying:

    "Electronic Data Systems is the Parent company of PDS."

Bolourian got up and left the room.

    The interpreter, the armed Kurds, and the EDS men waited in silence. Coburn

    thought: What now?

    Could Bolourian possibly know that EDS had once had a contract with ISHLAN?

    If so, would he jump to the conclusion that the ED$ men were connected with

    SAVAK? Or had his question about ISIRAN been a shot in the dark? In that

    case, had he believed their story about being ordinary businessmen trying

    to go home?

    Opposite Coburn, on the far side of the circle, Bill was feeling strangely

    at peace. He had peaked out on fear during the questioning, and he was

    simply incapable of worrying any longer.

    ON WINGS OF EAGLES 327

We've tried our hardest to get out, he thought, and if they put us up

against the wall right now and shoot us, so be it.

Bolourian walked back in, loading a gun.

Coburn glanced at Simons: his eyes were riveted on the gun.

    It was an old MI carbine that looked as if it dated from World war 11.

He can't shoot us all with that, Coburn thought.

    Bolourian handed the gun to the interpreter and said something in Farsi.

    Coburn gathered his muscles to spring. There would be a hell of a mess if

    they opened fire in this room--

    The interpreter took the gun and said: "And now you will be our guests, and

    drink tea."

    Bolourian wrote on a piece of paper and handed it to the interpreter.

    Coburn realized that Bolourian had simply issued the gun to the interpreter

    and given him a permit to carry it. "Christ, I thought he was going to

    shoot us," Coburn muttered.

Simons's face was expressionless.

Tea was served.

    It was now dark outside. Rashid asked whether there was somewhere the

    Americans could spend the night. "You will be our guests," said the

    interpreter. "I will personally look after you. " Coburn thought: For that,

    he needs a gun? The interpreter went on: "in the morning our mullah will

    write a note to the mullah of Rezaiyeh, asking him to let you pass."

    Coburn murmured to Simons: "What do you think? Should we stay the night

    here, or go on?"

    "I don't think we have a choice," Simons said. "When he said 'guests,' he

    was just being polite."

    They drank their tea, and the interpreter said: "Now we will go and have

    dinner."

    They got up and put on their shoes. Walking out to the cars, Coburn noticed

    that G4yden was limping. "What's the matter with your feet?" he said.

    "Not so loud," Gayden hissed. "I got all the money stuffed up in the toes

    of my shoes and my feet are killing me."

Coburn laughed.

    They got into the cars and drove off, still accompanied by Kurdish guards

    and the interpreter. Gayden surreptitiously eased off his shoes and

    rearranged the money. They pulled into a filling station. Gayden murmured:

    "If they weren't going to let us go, they wouldn't take us to gas up ...

    would they?"

328 Ken F61k9t

Coburn shrugged.

    They drove to the town restaurant. The EDS men sat down, and the guards sat

    at tables around diem, forming a rough circle and cutting them off from the

    townspeople.

    A TV set was on, and the Ayatollah was making a speech. Paul thought:

    Jesus, it had to be now, when we're in trouble, that tins guy comes to

    power. Then the hiterpreter told bun that Khomeini was saying Americans

    should not be molested, but should be allowed to leave Iran unharmed, and

    Paul felt better.

    They were served chella. kebab-4amb with rice. The guards ate heartily,

    thew rifles on the tables beside their plates.

    Keane Taylor ate a little rice, then put down his spoon. He had a headache:

    he had been sharing the driving with Rashid, and he felt as if the sun had

    been in his eyes all day. He was also worried, for it occurred to him that

    Bolourian might call Tehran during the night to check out EDS. The guards

    kept telling him, with gestures, to eat, but he sat and nursed a Coke.

    Coburn was not hungry either. He had recalled that he was supposed to phone