Follett, Ken - On Wings of Eagles.txt

by On Wings of Eagles [lit]

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

  down to was: EDS took care of its people. As long as you were giving your

  maximum effort to the company, it would stand by you through thick and thin:

  when you were sick, when you had personal or family problems, when you got

  yourself into any kind of trouble ... It was a bit like a family. Pochd felt

  good about that, although he did not talk about the feeling-he did not talk

  much about any of his feelings.

  EDS had changed since those days. With ten thousand people instead of three

  thousand, the family atmosphere could not be so intense. Nobody talked

  about the Faith anymore. But it was still there: this meeting proved it.

  And although his face was as expressionless as ever, Joe Poch6 was glad. Of

  course they would go in there and bust their friends out of jail. Pochd was

  just happy to get the chance to be on the team.

  Contrary to Coburn's expectation, Ralph Boulware did not pour scom on the

  idea of a rescue. The skeptical, independentminded Boulware was as hot for

  the idea as anyone.

  He, too, had guessed what was going on, helped--like Pochd --by Sculley's

  inability to lie convincingly.

  Boulware and his family were staying with friends in Dallas. On New Year's

  Day Boulware had been doing nothing much, and his wife had asked him why he

  did not go to the office. He said there was nothing for him to do there.

  She did not buy that. Mary Boulware was the only person in the world who

  could bully Ralph, and in the end he went to the office. There he ran into

  Sculley.

  "What's happening?" Boulware had asked.

  "Oh, nothing," Sculley said.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Making plane reservations, mostly."

  Sculley's mood seemed strange. Boulware knew him well-in Tehran they had

  ridden to work together in the mornings-and his instinct told him Sculley

  was not telling the truth.

  "Something's wrong," Boulware said. "What's going on?"

  "There's nothing going on, Ralph!"

  106 Ken FoUett

  :'What are they doing about Paul and Bill?"

  'They're going through all the channels to try and get them out. The bail

  is thirteen million dollars, and we have to get the money into the

  country-"

  "Bullshit. The whole government system, the whole judicial system, has

  broken down over there. There ain't no channels left. What are y'all going

  to do?"

  :'Look, don,t worry about it."

  'You guys ain't going to try to go in and get them out, are you?"

  Sculley said nothing.

  :'Hey, count me in," Boulware said.

  'What do you mew, count you in?"

  :'It's obvious you're going to try to do something."

  'What do you mean?"

  :'Let's don't play games anymore. Count me in."

  10kay. I I

  For him it was a simple decision. Paul and Bill were his friends, and it

  could as easily have been Boulware in jail, in which case he would have

  wanted his friends to come and get him out.

  There was another factor. Boulware was enormously fond of Pat Sculley.

  Hell, he loved Sculley. He also felt very protective toward him. In

  Boulware's opinion, Sculley really did not understand that the world was

  full of corruption and crime and sin: he saw what he wanted to see, a

  chicken in every pot, a Chevrolet on every driveway, a world of Mom and

  apple pie. If Sculley was going to be involved in a jailbreak, he would

  need Boulware to take care of him. It was an odd feeling to have about

  another man more or less your own age, but there it was.

  That was what Boulware had thought on New Year's Day, and he felt the same

  today. So he went back into the hotel room and said to Perot what he had

  said to Sculley: "Count me in."

  Glenn Jackson was not afraid to die.

  He knew what was going to happen after death, and he had no fears. When the

  Lord wanted to call him home, why, he was ready to go.

  However, he was concerned about his family. They had just been evacuated

  from Iran, and were now staying at his mother's house in East Texas. He had

  not yet had time even to start looking for a place for them all to live. If

  he got involved in this,

  ON WINGS OF EAGLES 107

  he was not going to have time to go off and take care of family matters: it

  would be left to Carolyn. All on her own, she would have to rebuild the life

  of the family here in the States. She would have to find a house, get

  Cheryl, Cindy, and Glenn Junior into schools, buy or rent some furniture ...

  Carolyn was kind of a dependent person. She would not find it easy.

  Plus, she was already mad at him. She had come to Dallas with him that

  morning, but Sculley had told him to send her home. She was not permitted

  to check into the Hilton Inn with her husband. That had made her angry.

  But Paul and Bill had wives and families, too. "Thou shalt love thy

  neighbor as thyself. " It was in the Bible twice: Leviticus, chapter 19,

  verse 18; and Matthew's Gospel, chapter 19, verse 19. Jackson thought: If

  I were stuck in jail in Tehran, I'd sure love for somebody to do something

  for me.

  So he volunteered.

  Sculley had made his choice days ago.

  Before Perot started talking about a rescue, Sculley had been discussing

  the idea. It had first come up the day after Paul and Bill were arrested,

  the day Sculley flew out of Tehran with Joe Pochd and Jim Schwebach.

  Sculley had been upset at leaving Paul and Bill behind, all the more so

  because Tehran had become dramatically more violent in the last few days.

  At Christmas two Afghanis caught stealing in the bazaa had been summarily

  hanged by a mob; and a taxi driver who tried to jump the queue at a gas

  station had been shot in the head by a soldier. What would they do to

  Americans, once they got started? It hardly bore thinking about.

  On the plane Sculley had sat next to Jim Schwebach. They had agreed that

  Paul's and Bill's lives were in danger. Schwebach, who had experience of

  clandestine commando-type operations, had agreed with Sculley that it

  should be possible for a few determined Americans to rescue two men from an

  Iranian jail.

  So Sculley had been surprised and delighted when, three days later, Perot

  had said: "I've been thinking the same thing."

  Sculley had put his own name on the list.

  He did not need time to think about i
t.

  He volunteered.

  108 Ken Folleu

  Sculley had also put Coburn's name on the list-without telling Coburn.

  Until this moment, happy-go-lucky Coburn, who lived from day to day, had

  not even thought about being on the team himself.

  But Sculley had been right: Coburn wanted to go.

  He thought: Liz won't like it.

  He sighed. There were many things his wife did not like, these days.

  She was clinging, he thought. She had not liked his being in the military,

  she did not like his having hobbies that took him away from her, and she

  did not like his working for a boss who felt free to call on him at all

  hours of the day or night for special tasks.

  He had never lived the way she wanted, and it was probably too late to

  start now. If he went to Tehran to rescue Paul and Bill, Liz might hate him

  for it. But if he did not go, he would probably hate her for making him

  stay behind.

  Sorry, Liz, he thought; here we go again.

  Jim Schwebach arrived later in the afternoon but heard the same speech from

  Perot.

  Schwebach had a highly developed sense of duty. (He had once wanted to be

  a priest, but two years in a Catholic seminary had soared him on organized

  religion.) He had spent eleven years in the army, and had volunteered for

  repeated tours in Vietnam, out of that same sense of duty. In Asia he had

  seen a lot of people doing their jobs badly, and he knew he did his well.

  He had thought: if I walk away from this, someone else will do what I'm

  doing, but he will do it badly, and in consequence a man will lose his arm,

  his leg, or his life. I've been trained to do this, and I'm good at it, and

  I owe it to them to carry on doing it.

  He felt much the same about the rescue of Paul and Bill. He was the only

  member of the proposed team who had actually done this sort of thing

  before. They needed him.

  Anyway, he liked it. He was a fighter by disposition. Perhaps this was

  because he was five and a half feet tall. Fighting was his thing, it was

  where he lived. He did not hesitate to volunteer.

  He couldn't wait to get started.

  Ron Davis, the second black man on the list and the youngest of them all,

  did hesitate.

  ON WINGS OF EAGLES 109

  He arrived in Dallas early that evening and was taken straight to EDS

  headquarters on Forest Lane. He had never met Perot, but had talked to him

  on the phone from Tehran during the evacuation. For a few days, during that

  period, they had kept a phone line open between Dallas and Tehran all day

  and all night. Someone had to sleep with the phone to his ear at the Tehran

  end, and frequently the job had fallen to Davis. One time Perot himself had

  come on the line.

  "Ron, I know it's bad over there, and we sure appreciate your staying. Now,

  is there anything I can do for you?"

  Davis was surprised. He was only doing what his friends were doing, and he

  did not expect a special thank-you. But he did have a special worry. "My

  wife has conceived, and I haven't seen her for a while," he told Perot. "If

  you could have someone call her and tell her I'm okay and I'll be home as

  soon as possible, I'd appreciate it."

  Davis had been surprised to learn from Marva, later, that Perot had not had

  someone call her-he had called himself.

  Now, meeting Perot for the first time, Davis was once again impressed.

  Perot shook his hand warmly and said: "Hi, Ron, how are you?" just as if

  they had been friends for years.

  However, listening to Perot's speech about "loss of life," Davis had

  doubts. He wanted to know more about the rescue. He would be glad to help

  Paul aand Bill, but he needed to be assured that the whole project would be

  well organized and professional.

  Perot told him about Bull Simons, and that settled it.

  Perot was just so proud of them.

  Every single one had volunteered.

  He sat in his office. It was dark outside. He was waiting for Simons.

  Smiling Jay Coburn; boyish Pat Sculley; Joe Poch6, the man of iron; Ralph

  Boulware, tall, black, and skeptical; mild-mannered Glenn Jackson; Jim

  Schwebach the scrapper; Ron Davis the comedian.

  Every single one!

  He was grateful as well as proud, for the burden they had shouldered was

  more his than theirs.

  One way and another it had been quite a day. Simons had agreed instantly to

  come and help. Paul Walker, an EDS security man who had (coincidentally)

  served with Simons in Laos, had jumped on a plane in the middle of the

  night and flown to Red

  110 Ken Follett

  Bay to take care of Simons's pigs and dogs. And seven young executives had

  dropped everything at a moment's notice and agreed to take off for Iran to

  organize a jailbreak.

  They were now down the hall, in the EDS boardroom, waiting for Simons, who

  had checked into the Hilton Inn and gone to dinner with T. J. Marquez and

  Merv Stauffer.

  Perot thought about Stauffer. Stocky, bespectacled, forty years old, an

  economics graduate, Stauffer was Perot's right-hand man. He could remember

  vividly their first meeting, when he had interviewed Stauffer. A graduate

  of some college in Kansas, Merv had looked right off the farm, in his cheap

  coat and slacks. He had been wearing white socks.

  During the interview, Perot had explained, as gently as he knew how, that

  white socks were not appropriate clothing for a business meeting.

  But the socks were the only mistake Stauffer had made. He impressed Perot

  as being smart, tough, organized, and used to hard work.

  As the years went by, Perot had learned that Stauffer had yet more useful

  talents. He had a wonderful mind for detailsomething Perot lacked. He was

  completely unflappable. And he was a great diplomat. When EDS landed a

  contract, it often meant taking over an existing data-processing

  department, with its staff. This could be difficult: the staff were

  naturally waxy, touchy, and sometimes resentful. Merv Stauffer-calm,

  smiling, helpful, soft-spoken, gently detern-iined--could smooth their

  feathers like no one else.

  Since the late sixties he had been working directly with Perot. His

  specialty was taking a hazy, crazy idea from Perot's restless imagination,

  thinking it through, putting the pieces together, and making it work.

  Occasionally he would conclude that the idea was impracticable--and when

  Stauffer said that, Perot began to think that maybe it was impracticable.

  His appetite for work was enormous. Even among the workaholics on the

  seventh floor, Stauffer was exceptional. As well as doing whatever Perot

  had dreamed up in bed the previous night, he supervised Perot's real-estate

  company and his oil company, managed Perot's investments, and planned

  Perot's estate.

  The best way to help Simons, Perot decided, would be to give him Merv

  Stauffer.

  He wondered whether Simons had changed. It had been years

  ON WINGS OF EAGLES 111

  since they last met. The occasion had been a banquet. Simons had told him a

  story.

  During the Son Tay Raid, Simons's helicopter had landed in t
he wrong place.

  It was a compound very like the prison camp, but some four hundred yards

  distant; and it contained a barracks full of sleeping enemy soldiers.

  Awakened by the noise and the flares, the soldiers had begun to stumble out

  of the barracks, sleepy, half-dressed, carrying their weapons. Simons had

  stood outside the door, with a lighted cigar in his mouth. Beside him was

  a burly sergeant. As each man came through the door, he would see the glow

  of Simons's cigar, and hesitate. Simons would shoot him. The sergeant would

  heave the corpse aside, then they would wait for the next one.

  Perot had been unable to resist the question: "How many men did you kill?"

  "Must have been seventy or eighty," Simons had said in a matter-of-fact

  voice.

  Simons had been a great soldier, but now he was a pig farmer. Was he still

  fit? He was sixty years old, and he had suffered a stroke even before Son

  Tay. Did he still have a sharp mind? Was he still a great leader of men?

  He would want total control of the rescue, Perot was certain. The colonel

  would do it his way or not at all. That suited Perot just fine: it was his

  way to hire the best man for the job, then let him get on with it. But was

  Simons still the greatest rescuer in the world?

  He heard voices in the outer office. They had arrived. He stood up, and

  Simons walked in with T. J. Marquez and Merv Stauffer.

  "Colonel Simons, how are you?" said Perot. He never called Simons "Bull--he

  thought it was corny.

  "Hello, Ross," said Simons, shaking hands.

  The handshake was firm. Simons was dressed casually, in khaki pants. His

  shirt collar was open, showing the muscles of his massive neck. He looked

  older: more lines in that aggressive face, more gray in the crewcut hair,

  which was also longer than Perot had ever seen it. But he seemed fit and

  hard. He still had the same deep, tobacco-roughened voice, with a faint but

  clear trace of a New York accent. He was carrying the folders Coburn had

  put together on the volunteers.

  "Sit down," said Perot. "Did y'all have dinner?"

  "We went to Dusty's," said Stauffer.

  112 Ken Follett

  Simons said: "When was the last time this room was swept for bugs?"

  Perot smiled. Simons was still sharp, as well as fit. Good. He replied: