could ever really trust a white man.
Perot's leased 707 touched down at Six A.M. Boulware went on board. He took
in the lush decor at a glance and then forgot about it: he was in a hurry.
He sat down with Perot. "I'm catching a plane at six-thirty so I got to
make this fast," he said. "You can't buy a helicopter and you can't buy a
light plane."
"Why not?"
306
ON WINGS OF EAGLES 307
"It's against the law. You can charter a plane, but it won't take you just
anywhere you want to go-you charter for a specified trip."
saysT
"The law. Also, chartering is so unusual that you'll have the government
all over you asking questions, and you might not want that. Now-"
"Just a minute, Ralph, not so fast," said Perot. He had that I'm-the-boss
look in his eye. "What if we get a helicopter from another country and
bring it in?"
"I have been here a month and I have looked into all this thoroughly, and
you can't rent a helicopter and you can't rent a plane, and I have to leave
now to meet Simons at the border."
Perot backed off. "Okay. How are you going to get there?"
"Mr. Fish got us a bus to go to the border. It's on its way already-1 was
going with it, then I had to stay behind to brief you. I'm going to fly to
Adan"at's about halfway--and catch up with the bus there. I got lisman with
me, he's the secret service guy, and another guy to translate. What time do
the fellows expect to reach the border?"
"Two o'clock tomorrow afternoon," said Perot.
"It's going to be tight. I'll see you guys later."
He ran back to the terminal building and just made his flight.
Ilsman, the fat secret policeman, and the interpreter-Boulware did not know
his name so he called him Charlie Brown-were on board. They took off at
six-thirty.
They flew east to Ankara, where they waited several hours for their
connection. At midday they reached Adana, near the biblical city of Tarsus
in south central Turkey.
The bus was not there.
They waited an hour.
Boulware decided the bus was not going to come.
With Dsman and Charlie Brown, he went to the information desk and asked
about flights from Adana to Van, a town about a hundred miles from the
border crossing.
There were no flights to Van from anywhere.
"Ask where we can charter a plane," Boulware told Charlie.
Charlie asked.
"There are no planes for charter here."
"Can we buy a car?"
"Cars are very scarce in this part of the country."
"Are there no car dealers in town?"
308 Ken Folleu
"If there are, they won't have any cars to sell."
"Is there any way to get to Van from here?"
"No. "
It was like the joke about the tourist who asks a fanner for directions to
London, and the fanner replies: "if I was going to London, I wouldn't start
from here."
They wandered out of the terminal and stood beside the dusty road. There
was no sidewalk: this was really the sticks. Boulware was frustrated. So
far he had had it easier than most of the rescue tearn-he had not even been
to Tehran. Now that it was his turn to achieve something, it looked as
though he would fad. Boulware hated to fail.
He saw a car approaching with some kind of markings in Turkish on its side.
"Hey," he said, "is that a cab?"
"Yes," said Charlie.
"Hell, let's get a cab!"
Charlie hailed the cab and they got in. Boulware said: "Tell him we want to
go to Van."
Charlie translated.
The driver pulled away.
After a few seconds the dnver asked a question. Charlie translated: "Van,
where?"
"Tell him Van, Turkey."
The driver stopped the car.
Charlie said: "He says: 'Do you know how far it isT
Boulware was not sure, but he knew it was halfway across Turkey. "Tell him
yes."
After another exchange Charlie said: "He won't take us."
"Does he know anyone who will?"
'Me driver shrugged elaborately as he replied. Charlie said: "He's going to
take us to the cabstand so we can ask around." Good. "
They drove into the town. The cabstand was just another dusty piece of road
with a few cars parked, none of them new. Ilsman started talking to the
drivers. Boulware and Charlie found a little shop and bought a bag of
hard-boiled eggs.
When they came out, Ilsman had found a driver and negotiated a price. The
driver proudly pointed out his car. Boulware looked at it in dismay. It was
a Chevrolet, around fifteen years old, and it looked as if it still had the
original tim.
'He says we'll need some food," Charlie said.
"I got some eggs."
ON WINGS OF EAGLES 309
"Maybe we'll need more."
Boulware went back into the shop and bought three dozen oranges.
They got into the Chevrolet and drove to a filling station. The driver
bought a spare tank of fuel and put it in the trunk. "Where we're going,
there are no gas stations," Charlie explained.
Boulware was looking at a map. Their journey was about five hundred miles
through mountain country. "Listen," he said. "There is no way this car is
going to get us to the border by two o'clock tomorrow afternoon. -
"You don't understand," Charlie said. "This man is a Turkish driver. "
"Oh, boy, " said Boulware; and he sat back in the seat and closed his eyes.
They drove out of town and headed up into the mountains of central Turkey.
The road was of dirt and gravel, with enormous potholes, and in places it
was not much wider than the car. It snaked over the mountainsides, with a
breathtaking sheer drop at one edge. There was no guardrail to stop an
incautious driver shooting over the precipice into the abyss. But the
scenery was spectacular, with stunning views across the sunlit valleys, and
Boulware made up his mind to go back one day, with Mary and Stacy and
Kecia, and do the trip again, at leisure.
Up ahead, a truck was approaching them. The cabby braked to a halt. Two men
in uniform got out of the truck. "Army patrol," said Charlie Brown.
The driver wound down his window. Ilsman talked to the soldiers. Boulware
did not understand what was said, but it seemed to satisfy the patrol. The
cabby drove on.
An hour or so later they were stopped by another patrol, and the same thing
happened.
At nightfall they spotted a roadside restaurant and pulled in. The place
was primitive and filthy dirty. "All they have is beans and rice," said
Charlie apologetically as they sat down.
Boulware smiled. "I been eating beans and rice all my life."
He studied the cabdriver. The man was about sixty years old, and looked
tired. "I guess I'll drive for a while," said Boulware.
Charlie translated, and the cabby protested vehemently.
"He says you won't be able to drive that car," Charlie said. "It's an
American car with a very peculiar gearshift."
"Look, I am American," Boulware said. "Tell him that lots
310 Ken Folleu
of Ame
ricans are black. And I know how to drive a 'sixty-four Chevy with a
standard shift, for Pete's sake!"
The three Turks argued about it while they ate. Finally Charlie said: "You
can drive, so long as you promise to pay for the damage if you wreck the
car."
"I promise," said Boulware, thinking: Big deal.
He paid the bill, and they walked out to the car. It was beginning to rain.
Boulware found it impossible to make any speed, but the big car was stable,
and its powerful engine took the gradients without difficulty. They were
stopped a third time by an army patrol. Boulware showed his American
passport, and once again Ilsman made them happy somehow. This time,
Boulware noted, the soldiers were unshaven and wore somewhat ragged
uniforms.
As they pulled away, lisman spoke, and Charlie said: "Try not to stop for
any more patrols."
'Nfty not?"
"'Mey might rob us."
That's great, thought Boulware.
Near the town of Maras, a hundred miles from Adana and another four hundred
from Van, the rain became heavy, making the mud-and-gravel road
treacherous, and Boulware had to slow down even more.
Soon after Maras , the car died.
They all got out and lifted the hood. Boulware could see nothing wrong. The
driver spoke, and Charlie translated: "He can't understand it--he has just
tuned the engine with his own hands. "
"Maybe he didn't tune it right," said Boulware. "Let's check a few things.
"
The driver got some tools and a flashlight out of the trunk, and the four
men stood around the engine in the rain, trying to find out what had gone
wrong.
Eventually they discovered that the points were incorrectly set. Boulware
guessed that either the rain, or the thinner mountain air, or both, had
made the fault critical. It took a while to adjust the points, but finally
the engine fired. Cold and wet and tired, the four men got back into the
old car and Boulware drove on.
The countryside grew more desolate as they traveled east-no towns, no
houses, no livestock, nothing. The road became even worse: It reminded
Boulware of a trail in a cowboy movie. Soon the nun turned to snow and the
road became icy. Boulware kept
ON WINGS OF EAGLES 311
glancing over the sheer drop at the side. If you go off this, sucker, he
said to himself, you ain't going to get hurt-you're going to die.
Near Bingol, halfway to their destination, they climbed up out of the
storm. The sky was clear and there was a bright moon, almost like daylight.
Boulware could see the snow clouds and the flashing lightning in the
valleys below. The mountainside was frozen white, and the road was like a
bobsled run.
Boulware thought: Man, I'm going to die up here, and nobody's even going to
know it, because they don't know where I am.
Suddenly the steering wheel bucked in his hands and the car slowed:
Boulware had a moment of panic, thinking he was losing control, then
realized he had a flat tire. He brought the car gently to a halt.
They all got out and the cabdriver opened the ftunk. He hauled out the
extra fuel tank to get at the spare wheel. Boulware was freezing: the
temperature had to be way below zero. The cabby refused any help and
insisted on changing the wheel himself Boulware took off his gloves and
offered them to the cabby: the man shook his head. Pride, I guess, thought
Boulware.
By the time the job was done, it was four A.m. Boulware said: "Ask him if
he wants to take over the driving-4'm bushed."
The driver agreed.
Boulware got into the back. The car pulled away. Boulware closed his eyes
and tried to ignore the bumps and jerks. He wondered whether he would reach
the border in time. Shit, he thought, nobody could say we didn't try.
A few seconds later he was asleep.
2
'Me Dirty Team blew out of Tehran like a breeze.
The city looked like a battlefield from which everyone had gone home.
Statues had been pulled down, cars burned, and trees felled to make
roadblocks; then the roadblocks had been cleared-the cars pushed to the
curb, the statues smashed, the trees burned. Some of those trees had been
hand-watered every day for fifty years.
But there was no fighting. They saw very few people and little
312 Ken FoUeu
ftffic. Perhaps the revolution was over. Or perhaps the revolutionaries were
having tea.
They drove past the airport and took the highway north, following the route
Coburn and Simons had taken on their reconnaissance trip. Some of Simons's
plans had come to nothing, but not this one. Still, Coburn was
apprehensive. What was ahead of them? Did armies rage and storm in towns
and handets still? Or was the revolution done? Perhaps the villagers had
returned to their sheep and their plows.
Soon the two Range Rovers were bowling along at seventy miles an hour at
the foot of a mountain range. On their left was a flat plain; on their
right, steep green hillsides topped by snowy mountain peaks against the
blue sky. Coburn looked at the car in front and saw Taylor taking
photographs through the tailgate window with his Instarnatic. "Look at
Taylor," he said.
"What does he think this is?" said Gayden. "A package tour?"
Coburn began to feel optimistic. There had been no trouble so far: maybe
the whole country was calming down. Anyway, why should the Iranians give
them a hard time? What was wrong with foreigners leaving the country?
Paul and Bill had false passports and were being hunted by the authorities,
that was what was wrong.
Thirty miles from Tehran, just outside the town of Karaj, they came to
their first roadblock. It was manned, as they usually were, by
machine-gun-toting men and boys in ragged clothes.
The lead car stopped, and Rashid jumped out even before Paul had brought
the second car to a halt, making sure that he, rather than the Americans,
would do the talking. He immediately began speaking loud and rapid Farsi,
with many gestures. Paul wound down the window. From what they could
understand, it seemed Rashid was not giving the agreed story: he was saying
something about journalists.
After a while Rashid told them all to get out of the cars. "They want to
search us for weapons."
Coburn, remembering how many times he had been frisked on the
reconnaissance trip, had concealed his little Gerber knife in the Range
Rover.
The Iranians patted them down, then perfunctorily searched the cars: they
did not find Coburn's knife, nor did they come across the money.
A few minutes later Rashid said: "We can go.
ON WINGS OF EAGLES 313
A hundred yards down the road was a filling station. They pulled in: Simons
wanted to keep the fuel tanks as full as possible.
While the cars were being fueled Taylor produced a bottle of Cognac, and
they all took a swig except Simons, who disapproved, and Rashid, whose
beliefs forbade him to take alcohol. Simons was mad at Rashid. Instead of
saying the group were businessmen trying t
o go home, Rashid had said they
were journalists going to cover the fighting in Tabriz. "Stick to the
goddam story," Simons said.
"Sure," said Rashid.
Coburn thought Rashid would probably continue to say the first thing that
came into his head at the time. That was how he operated-
A small crowd gathered at the filling station, watching the foreigners.
Coburn looked at the bystanders nervously. They were not exactly hostile,
but there was something vaguely menacing about their quiet surveillance.
Rashid bought a can of oil.
What now?
He took the fuel can, which contained most of the money in weighted plastic
bags, out of the back of the car, and poured oil into it to conceal the
money. It's not a bad idea, Coburn thought, but I would have mentioned it
to Simons before doing it.
He tried to read the expressions on the faces in the crowd. Were they idly
curious? Resentftil? Suspicious? Malevolent? He could not tell, but he
wanted to get away.
Rashid paid the bill and the two cars pulled slowly out of the filling
station.
They had a clear run for the next seventy miles. The road, the new Iranian
State Highway, was in good condition. It ran through a valley, alongside a
single-track railroad, with snowcapped mountains above. The sun was
shining.
The second roadblock was outside Qazvin.
It was an unofficial one-the guards were not in uniform-but it was bigger
and more organized dim the last. There were two checkpoints, one after
another, and a line of cars waiting.
The two Range Rovers joined the queue.
The car in front of them was searched methodically. A guard opened the
trunk and took out what looked like a rolled-up sheet. He unrolled it and
found a rifle. He shouted something and waved the rifle in the air.
314 Ken Follett
Other guards came running. A crowd gathered. 'Me driver of the car was
questioned. One of the guards knocked him to the ground.
Rashid pulled his car out of the line.
Coburn told Paul to follow.
"What's he doing?" Gayden said.
Rashid inched through the crowd. The people made way as the Range Rover
nudged them--4hey were interested in the man with the rifle. Paul kept the
second Range Rover right on the tail of the first. They passed the first
checkpoint.
Follett, Ken - On Wings of Eagles.txt Page 41
