Follett, Ken - On Wings of Eagles.txt

by On Wings of Eagles [lit]

  more expensive clothes ... more things. How worthless those things were,

  she thought now; how little it mattered whether she was rich or poor. Bill

  was what she wanted, and he was all she needed. He would always be enough

  for her, enough to make her happy.

  If he ever came back.

  Karen Chiapparone said: "Mommy, why doesn't Daddy call? He always calls when

  he's away."

  "He called today," Ruthie lied. "He's fine."

  "Why did he call when I was at school? I'd like to talk to him. t I

  "Honey, it's so difficult to get through from Tehran, the lines are so

  busy, he just has to call when he can.

  .lob.-

  Karen wandered off to watch TV, and Ruthie sat down. It was getting dark

  outside. She was finding it increasingly difficult to lie to everyone about

  Paul.

  That was why she had left Chicago and come to Dallas. Living with her

  parents and keeping the secret from them had become impossible. Mom would

  say: "Why do Ross and the fellows from EDS keep calling you?"

  "They just want to make sure we're okay, you know, - Ruthie would say with

  a forced smile.

  "That is so nice of Ross to call."

  Here in Dallas she could at least talk openly to other EDS people.

  Moreover, now that the Iran business was certain to be

  210 Ken Follen

  closed down, Paul would be based at EDS headquarters, at least for a while,

  so Dallas would be their home; and Karen and Ann Marie had to go to school -

  They were all living with Jim and Cathy Nyfeler. Cathy was especially

  sympathetic, for her husband had been on the original list of four men

  whose passports Dadgar had asked for: if Jim had happened to be in han at

  the time, he would now be in jail with Paul'and Bill. Stay with us, Cathy

  had said; it will only be for maybe a week, then Paul will be back. That

  had been at the beginning of January. Since then Ruthie had proposed

  getting an apartment of her own, but Cathy would not hear of it.

  Right now Cathy was at the hairdresser's, the children were watching TV in

  another room, and Jim was not yet home from work, so Ruthie was alone with

  her thoughts.

  With Cathy's help she was keeping busy and putting on a brave face. She had

  enrolled Karen in school and found a kindergarten for Ann Marie. She went

  out to lunch with Cathy and some of the other EDS wives--Mary Boulware, Liz

  Coburn, Mary Sculley, Marva Davis, and Toni Dvoranchik. She wrote bright,

  optimistic letters to Paul, and listened to his bright, optimistic replies

  read over the phone from Tehran. She shopped and went to dinner parties.

  She had killed a lot of time house-hunting. She did not know Dallas well,

  but she remembered Paul saying that Central Expressway was a nightmare, so

  she looked for houses wen away from it. She had found one she liked and

  decided to buy it, so there would be a real home for Paul to come back to,

  but there were legal problems because he was not here to sip the papers:

  Tom Walter was trying to sort that out.

  Ruthie was making it look good, but inside she was dying.

  She rarely slept more than an hour at night. She kept waking up wondering

  whether she would ever see Paul again. She tried to think about what she

  would do if he did not come back. She supposed she would return to Chicago

  and stay with Mom and Dad for a while, but she would not want to live with

  them permanently. No doubt she could get some kind of a job ... But it was

  not the practical business of living without a man and taking care of

  herself that bothered her. it was the idea of being without Paul, forever.

  She could not imagine what life would be like if he were not there. What

  would she do, what would she care about, what would she want, what could

  possibly make her

  ON WINGS OF EAGLES 211

  happy? She was completely dependent on him, she realized. She could not live

  without him.

  She heard a car outside. That would be Jim, home from work: perhaps he

  would have some news.

  A moment later he came in. "Hi, Ruthie. Cathy not home?"

  "She's at the hairdresser's. What happened today?"

  "Well . . ."

  She knew from his expression that he had nothing good to tell her and he

  was trying to find an encouraging way of saying so.

  "Well, they had a meeting scheduled to talk about the bail, but the

  Iranians didn't turn up. Tomorrow--

  "But why?" Ruthie fought to keep calm. "Why don't they turn up when they

  arrange these meetings?"

  "You know, sometimes they're called out on strike, and sometimes people

  just can't move around the city because of ... because of the

  demonstrations, and so on - . . -

  She seemed to have been hearing reports like this for weeks. There were

  always delays, postponements, frustrations. "But, Jim," she began; then the

  tears started and she could not stop them. "Jim . . . - Her throat

  tightened up until she could not speak. She thought: All I want is my

  husband! Jim stood there looking helpless and embarrassed. All the misery

  she had kept locked up for so long suddenly flooded out, and she could not

  control herself any longer. She burst into tears and ran from the room. She

  rushed to her bedroom, threw herself on the bed, and lay there sobbing her

  heart out.

  Liz Coburn sipped her drink. Across the table were Pat Sculley's wife, Mary,

  and another EDS wife who had been evacuated from Tehran, Toni Dvoranchik.

  The three women were at Recipes, a restaurant on Greenville Avenue, Dallas.

  They were drinking strawberry Daiquiris.

  Tony Dvoranchik's husband was here in Dallas. Liz knew that Pat Sculley had

  disappeared, like Jay, in the direction of Europe. Now Mary Sculley was

  talking as if Pat had gone not just to Europe but to Iran.

  "Is Pat in Tehran?" Liz asked.

  "They're all in Tehran, I guess," Mary said.

  Liz was horrified. "Jay in Tehran . - ." She wanted to cry. Jay had told

  her he was in Paris. Why couldn't he tell the truth? Pat Sculley had told

  Mary the truth. But Jay was different. Some men would play poker for a few

  hours, but Jay had to play all

  212 Ken FoUelt

  night and all the next day. Other men would play nine or eighteen holes of

  golf: Jay would play thirty-six. Lots of men had demanding jobs, but Jay had

  to work for EDS. Even in the army, when the two of them had been not much

  more than kids, Jay had to volunteer for one of the most dangerous

  assignments, helicopter pilot. Now he had gone to Tehran in the middle of a

  revolution. Same old thing, she thought: he's gone away, he's lying to me,

  and he's in danger. She suddenly felt cold all over, as if she were in

  shock. He's not coming back, she thought numbly. He's not going to get out

  of them alive.

  3

  Perot's good spirits soon passed. He had got into the prison, defying

  Dadgar, and had chetred up Paul and Bill; but Dadgar so held all the cards.

  After six days in Tehran he understood why the political pressure he had

  been putting on in Washington had been ineffectual: the old regime in Iran

  was struggling for survival and had no control. Even if he poste
d the

  bail-and a lot of problem had to be solved before that could happen-Paul and

  Bill would stiff be held in I=. And Simons's rescue plan was now in tatters,

  rumed by the move to the new prison. There seemed to be no hope.

  That night Perot went to see Simons.

  He waited until dark, for safety. He wore his jogging suit with tannis

  shoes and a dark businessman's overcoat. Keane Taylor drove him.

  The rescue team had moved out of Taylor's house. Taylor had now met Dadgar

  face-to-face, and Dadgar had started examining EDS's records: it was

  possible, Simons had reasoned, that Dadgar would raid Taylor's house,

  looking for incnnunatmg documents. So Simons, Coburn, and PocM were living

  in the home of Bill and Tom Dvoranchik, who were now back in Dallas. Two

  more of the team had made it to Tehran from Paris: Pat Sculley and Jim

  Schwebach, the short but deadly duo who had been flank guards in the

  original, now useless, rescue scenario.

  In a typical Tehran arrangement, Dvoranchik's home was the ground floor of

  a two-story house, with the landlord living upstairs. Taylor and the rescue

  team left Perot alone with Simons.

  ON WINGS OF EAGLES 213

  Perot looked around the living room distastefully. No doubt the place had

  been spotless when Toni Dvoranchik lived here, but now, inhabited by five

  men, none of whom was very interested in housekeeping, it was dirty and

  run-down, and it stank of Simons's cigars.

  Simons's huge ftume was slumped in an armchair. His white whiskers were

  bushy and his hair long. He was chain-smoking, as usual; drawing heavily on

  his little cigar and inhaling with relish.

  "You've seen the new prison," Perot said.

  "Yeah," Simons rasped.

  "What do you think?"

  "The idea of taking that place with the kind of frontal attack we had in

  mind just isn't worth talking about."

  "That's what I figured."

  "Which leaves a number of possibilities.

  It does? thought Perot.

  Simons went on: "One: I understand there are cars parked in the prison

  compound. We may find a way to get Paul and Bill driven out of there in the

  trunk of a car. As part of that plan, or as an alternative, we may be able

  to bribe or blackmail this general who is in charge of the place."

  "General Mohari. -

  "Right. One of your Iranian employees is getting -us a rundown on the man."

  'Good. -

  "Two: the negotiating team. If they can get Paul and Bill released under

  house an-est, or something of that kind, we can snatch the two of them. Get

  Taylor and those guys to concentrate on this house-arrest idea. Agree to

  any conditions the hwdans cam to name, but get 'em out of that jail.

  Working on the assumption that they would be confined to their homes and

  kept under surveillance, we're developing a new rescue scenario."

  Perot was beginning to feel better. There was an aura of confidence about

  this massive man. A few minutes ago Perot had felt almost hopeless: now

  Simons was calmly listing fresh approaches to the problem, as if the move

  to the new jail, the bail problems, and the collapse of the legitimate

  government were mmor snags rather than total catastrophe.

  "Three," Simons went on, "there's a revolution going on here. Revolutions

  are predictable. The same things happen every damn time. You can't say when

  they'll occur, only that they

  214 Ken Follett

  will, sooner or later. And one of the things that always happens is, the mob

  storms the prisons and lets everyone out.

  Perot was intrigued. "Is that so?"

  Simons nodded. "Those are the three possibilities. Of course, at this point

  in the game we can't pick one: we have to prepare fbr each of them.

  Whichever of the three happens first, we'll need a plan for getting

  everyone out of this goddam country just as soon as Paul and Bill are in

  our hands."

  "Yes." Perot was worried about his own departure: that of Paul and Bill

  would be a good deal more hazardous. "I've had promises of help from the

  American military-"

  "Sure," Simons said. "I'm not saying they're insincere, but I will say they

  have higher priorities, and I'm not prepared to place a great deal of

  reliance on their promises."

  All right." That was a matter for Simons's judgment, and Perot was content

  to leave it to him. In fact, he was content to leave everything to Simons.

  Simons was probably the bestqualified man in the world to do this job, and

  Perot had complete faith in him. "What can I do?"

  "Get back to the States. For one thing, you're in danger here. For another,

  I need you over there. Chances are, when we eventually come out, it won't

  be on a scheduled flight. We may not fly at all. You'll have to pick us up

  somewhere-4t could be Iraq, Kuwait, Turkey, or Afghanistan-and that will

  take organizing. Go home and stay ready. "

  "Okay." Perot stood up. Simons had done to him what Perot sometimes did to

  his staff. inspired him with the strength to go one more mile when the game

  seemed lost. "I'll leave tomorrow."

  He got a reservation on British Airways flight 200, Tehran to London via

  Kuwait, leaving at 10:20 A.M. on January 20, the next day.

  He called Margot and asked her to meet him in London. He wanted a few days

  alone with her they might not get another chance, once the rescue started

  to unfold.

  They had had good times in London in the past. They would

  stay at the Savoy Hotel. (Margot liked Claridge's, but Perot

  did not --- they turned the heat too lugh, and if he opened the

  windows he was kept awake by the roar of the all-night traffic

  along Brook Suva.) He and Margot would see plays and concerts,

  and go to Margot's favorite London nightclub, Annabel's. For a

  few days they would enjoy life.

  ON WINGS OF EAGLES 215

  if he got out of Iran.

  In order to minimize the amount of time he would have to spend at the

  airport, he stayed at the hotel until the last minute. He called the

  airport to find out whether the flight would leave on time, and was told

  that it would.

  He checked in a few minutes before ten o'clock.

  Rich Gallagher, who accompanied him to the airport, went off to inquire

  whether the authorities were planning to give Perot a hard time. Gallagher

  had done this before. Together with an Iranian friend who worked for Pan

  Am, he walked through to passport control carrying Perot's passport. The

  Iranian explained that a VIP was coming through, and asked to clear the

  passport in advance. The official at the desk obligingly looked through the

  loose-leaf folder that contained the stop list and said there would be no

  problems for Mr. Perot. Gallagher returned with the good news.

  Perot remained apprehensive. If they wanted to pick him up, they might be

  smart enough to lie to Gallagher.

  Affable Bill Gayden, the president of EDS World, was flying in to take over

  direction of the negotiating team. Gayden had left Dallas for Tehran once

  before, but had turned back in Paris on hearing about Bunny Fleischaker's

  warning of more arrests to come. Now he, like Perot, ha
d decided to risk

  it. By chance, his night came in while Perot was waiting to leave , and

  they had an opportunity to talk.

  in his suitcase Gayden had eight American passports belonging to EDS

  executives who looked vaguely like Paul or Bill.

  Perot said: "I thought we were getting forged passports for them. Couldn't

  you find a way?"

  "Yeah, we found a way," Gayden said. "If you need a passport in a huffy,

  you can take all the documentation down to the courthouse in Dallas, then

  they put everything in an envelope and you carry it to New Orleans, where

  they issue the passport. It's just a plain government envelope sealed with

  Scotch tape, so you could open it on the way to New Orleans, take out the

  photographs, replace them with photographs of Paul and Billwhich we

  have-reseal the envelope, and, bingo, you've got passports for Paul and

  Bill in false names. But it's against the law. "

  "So what did you do instead?"

  "I told all the evacuees that I had to have their passports in Ord" to get

  their belongings shipped over from Tehran. I got a

  216 Ken Follett

  hundred or two hundred passports, and I picked the best eight. I bogused up

  a letter from someone in the States to someone here in Tehran saying: 'Here

  are the passports you asked for us to return so you could deal with the

  immigration authorities,' just so that I've got a piece of paper to show if

  I'm asked why the hell I'm carrying eight passports. -

  -ff Paid and Bill use those passports to cross a frontier, they'll be

  breaking the law anyway."

  "ff we get that far, we'll break the law."

  Perot nodded. "It makes sense."

  His flight was called. He said goodbye to Gayden and to Taylor, who had

  driven him to the airport and would take Gayden to the Hyatt. Then he went

  off to discover the truth about the stop list.

  He went first through a "Passengers Only" gate, where his boarding pass was

  checked. He walked along a corridor to a booth where he paid a small sum as

  airport tax. Then, on Ins right, he saw a series of passport-control desks.

  Here the stop list was kept.

  One of the desks was manned by a girl who was absorbed in a paperback book.