Follett, Ken - On Wings of Eagles.txt

by On Wings of Eagles [lit]

  snow-covered hills. They all had warm coats, and blankets in their

  backpacks, and they needed them.

  Mr. Fish sat next to Sculley and said: "This is where it gets serious. I

  can handle the police, because I have ties with them; but I'm worried about

  the bandits and the soldiers-I have no connections there."

  "What d'you want to do?"

  352 - Ken Follett

  "I believe I can talk my way out of trouble, so long as none of you have

  guns."

  Sculley considered. Only Davis was armed anyway; and Simons had always

  worried that weapons could get you into trouble more readily than they

  could get you out of it: the Walther PPKs had never left Dallas. "Okay,"

  Sculley said.

  Ron Davis threw his .38 out of the window into the snow.

  A little later the headlights of the bus revealed a soldier in uniform

  standing in the middle of the road, waving. The bus driver kept right on

  going, as if he intended to run the man down, but Mr. Fish yelled and the

  driver pulled up.

  Looking out the window, Sculley saw a platoon of soldiers armed with

  high-powered rifles on the mountainside, and thought: if we hadn't stopped,

  we'd have been mown down.

  A sergeant and a corporal got on the bus. They checked all the passports.

  Mr. Fish offered them cigarettes. They stood talking to him while they

  smoked, then they waved and got off.

  A few miles farther on, the bus was stopped again, and they went through a

  similar routine.

  The third time, the men who got on the bus had no uniforms. Mr. Fish became

  very jumpy. "Act casual," he hissed at the Americans. "Read books, just

  don't look at these guys. " He talked to the Turks for something like half

  an hour, and when the bus was finally allowed to proceed, two of them

  stayed on it. "Protection," Mr. Fish said enigmatically, and he shrugged.

  Sculley was nominally in charge, but there was little he could do other

  than follow Mr. Fish's directions. He did not know the country, nor did he

  speak the language: most of the time he had no idea what was going on. It

  was hard to have control under those circumstances. The best he could do,

  he figured, was to keep Mr. Fish pointed in the right direction and lean on

  him a little when he began to lose his nerve.

  At four o'clock in the morning they reached Yuksekova, the nearest village

  to the border station. Here, according to Mr. Fish's cousin in Van, they

  would find Ralph Boulware.

  Sculley and Mr. Fish went into the hotel. It was dark as a barn and smelled

  like the men's room at a football stadium. They yelled for a while, and a

  boy appeared with a candle. Mr. Fish spoke to him in Turkish, then said:

  "Boulware's not here. He left hours ago. They don't know where he went."

  THIRTEEN

  At the hotel in Rezaiyeh, Jay Coburn had that sick, helpless feeling again,

  the feeling he had had in Mahabad, and then in the courtyard of the

  schoolhouse: he had no control over his own destiny, his fate was in the

  hands of others-in this case, the hands of Rashid.

  Where the hell was Rashid?

  Coburn asked the guards if he could use the phone. They took him down to

  the lobby. He dialed the home of Majid's cousin, the professor, in

  Rezaiyeh, but there was no answer.

  Without much hope he dialed Gholam's number in Tehran. To his surprise he

  got through.

  "I have a message for Jim Nyfeler," he said. "We are at the staging area.

  I I

  "But where are you?" said Gholam. In Tehran," Coburn lied.

  "I need to see you."

  Coburn had to continue the deception. "Okay, I'll meet you tomorrow moming.

  Where?"

  "At Bucharest."

  "Okay. I I

  Coburn went -back upstairs. Simons took him and Keane Taylor into one of

  the rooms. "If Rashid isn't back by nine o'clock, we're leaving," Simons

  said.

  Coburn immediately felt better.

  Simons went on: "The guards are getting bored, their vigilance is slipping.

  We'll either sneak past them or deal with them the other way."

  "We've only got one car," said Coburn.

  353

  354 Ken FoIku

  "And we're going to leave it here, to confuse them. We'll walk to the

  border. Hell, it's only thirty or forty miles. We can go across country:

  we'll avoid roadblocks by avoiding roads."

  Coburn nodded. This was what he wanted. They were taking the initiative

  again.

  "Ut's get the money together," Simons said to Taylor. "Ask the guards to

  take you down to the car. Bring the Kleenex box and the flashlight up here

  and take the money out of them."

  Taylor left.

  "We might as well eat first," Simons said. "It's going to be a long walk.

  11

  Taylor went into an empty room and spilled the money out of the Kleenex box

  and the flashlight onto the floor.

  Suddenly the door was flung open.

  Taylor's heart stopped.

  He looked up and saw Gayden, grinning all over his face. "Gotcha!" Gayden

  said.

  Taylor was furious. "You bastard, Gayden," he said. "You gave me a fucking

  heart attack."

  Gayden laughed like bell.

  The guards took them downstairs to the dining room. The Americans sat at a

  big circular table, and the guards took another table across the room. Lamb

  with rice was served, and tea. It was a grim meal: they were all worried

  about what might have happened to Rashid, and how they would manage without

  him.

  There was a TV set on, and Paul could not take his eyes off the screen. He

  expected at any minute to see his own face appear like a "Wanted" poster.

  Where the hell was Rashid?

  They were only an hour from the border, yet they were trapped, under guard,

  and still in danger of being sent back to Tehran and jail.

  Someone said: Hey, look who's here!"

  Rashid walked in.

  He came over to their table, wearing his self-important look. "Gentlemen,"

  he said, "this is your last meal."

  They all stared at him, horrified.

  "in Iran, I mean," he added hastily. "We can leave."

  They all cheered.

  "I got a letter from the revolutionary committee," he went

  ON WINGS OF EAGLES 355

  on. "I went to the border to check it out. There are a couple of roadblocks

  on the way, but I have arranged everything. I know where we can get horses

  to cross the mountains-but I don't think we need them. There are no

  government people at the border station--the place is in the hands of the

  villagers. I saw the head man of the village, and it will be all right for

  us to cross. Also, Ralph Boulware is there. I talked to him."

  Simons stood up. "Let's move," he said. "Fast."

  They left their meal half-eaten. Rashid talked to the guards, and showed

  them his letter from the deputy leader. Keane Taylor paid the hotel bill.

  Rashid had bought a stack of Khomeini posters, and he gave them to Bill to

  stick on the cars.

  They were out of there in minutes.

  Bill had done a good job with the posters. Everywhere you looked on the

  Range Rovers, the fierre, white-bearded face of the Ayatolla
h glared out at

  you.

  They pulled away, Rashid driving the first car.

  On the way out of town Rashid suddenly braked, leaned out of the window,

  and waved frantically at an approaching taxi.

  Simons growled: "Rashid, what the fuck are you doing?"

  Without answering, Rashid jumped out of the car and ran over to the taxi.

  "Jesus Christ, - said Simons.

  Rashid talked to the cabdriver for a minute, then the cab went on. Rashid

  explained: "I asked him to show us a way out of town by the back street.

  'Mere is one roadblock I want to avoid because it is manned by kids with

  rifles and I don't know what they might do. The cabby has a fare ah-eady,

  but he's coming back. We'll wait."

  "We won't wait very goddarn long," Simons said.

  The cab returned in ten minutes. They followed it through the dark, unpaved

  streets until they came to a main road. The cabby turned right. Rashid

  followed, taking the comer fast. On the left, just a few yards away, was

  the roadblock he had wanted to avoid, with teenage boys firing rifles into

  the air. 'Me cab and the two Range Rovers accelerated fast away from the

  corner, before the kids could realize that someone had sneaked past diem.

  Fifty yards down the road, Rashid pulled into a gas station.

  Keane Taylor said to him: "What the hell are you stopping for? I I

  "We've got to get gas."

  356 Ken Folkit

  "We've got three-quarters of a tankful, plenty to jump the border on-4et,

  s get out of here. "

  I It may be impossible to get gas in Turkey."

  Simons said: "Rashid, let's go."

  Rashid jumped out of the car.

  When the fuel tanks had been topped up, Rashid was still haggling with the

  ta)u driver, offering him a hundred nals-a little more than a dollar-fbr

  guiding them out of town.

  Taylor said: "Rashid, just give him a handful of money and kt's go."

  "He wants too much," Rashid said.

  "Oh, God,' 1 said Taylor.

  Rashid settled with the cabby for two hundred rials and got back into the

  Range Rover, saying: "He would have got suspicious if I didn't argue."

  They drove out of town. The road wound up into the mountains. The surface

  was good and they made rapid progress. After a while am road began to

  follow a ridge, with deep wooded gulleys on either side. "There was a

  checkpoint around here somewhere this aftmoon," Rashid said. "Maybe they

  went home. 11

  The headlights picked out two men standing beside the road, waving them

  down. There was no barrier. Rashid did not brake.

  "I guess we'd better stop," Simons said.

  Rashid kept going right past the two men.

  "I said stop!" Simons barked.

  Rashid stopped.

  Bill stared out through the windshield and said: "Would you look at that?"

  A few yards ahead was a bridge over a ravine. On either side of the bridge,

  tribesmen were emerging from the ravine. They kept coniing-4iirty, forty,

  fifty--and they were armed to the teeth.

  it looked very like an ambush. If the cars had tried to rush the

  checkpoint, they would have been shot fun of holes.

  "Thank God we stopped," Bill said fervently.

  Rashid jumped out of the car and started talking. The tribesmen put a chain

  across the bridge and surrounded the cars. It rapidly became clear that

  these were the most unfriendly people the team had yet encountered. They

  surrounded the cars, glaring in and hefting their rifles, while two or

  dn-ee of them started yelling at Rashid.

  ON WINGS OF EAGLES 357

  It was maddening, Bill thought, to have come so far, through so much danger

  and adversity, only to be stopped by a bunch of dumb farmers. Wouldn't they

  just like to take these two fine Range Rovers and all our money? he

  thought. And who would ever know?

  The tribesmen got meaner. They started pushing and shoving Rashid. In a

  minute they'll start shooting, Bill thought.

  "Do nothing," Simons said. "Stay in the car, let Rashid handle it."

  Bill decided Rashid needed some help. He touched his pocket rosary and

  started praying. He said every prayer he knew. We're in God's hands now, he

  thought; it will take a miracle to get us out of this mess.

  In the second car Coburn sat frozen while a tribesman outside pointed a

  rifle directly at his head.

  Gayden, sitting behind, was seized by a wild impulse, and whispered: "Jay!

  Why don't you lock the door!"

  Coburn felt hysterical laughter bubble up in his throat.

  Rashid felt he was on the cliff-edge of death.

  These tribesmen were bandits, and they would kill you for the coat on your

  back: they didn't care. The revolution.was nothing to them. No matter who

  was in power, they reiognized no government, obeyed no laws. They did not

  even spei& Farsi, the language of Iran, but Turkish.

  They pushed him around, yelling at him in Turkish. He yelled fight back in

  Farsi. He was getting nowhere. They're working themselves up to shoot us

  all, he thought.

  He heard the sound of a car. A pair of headlights approached from the

  direction of Rezaiyeh. A Land Rover pulled up and three men got out. One of

  them was dressed in a long black overcoat. The tribesmen seemed to defer to

  him. He addressed Rashid. "Let me see the passports, please."

  "Sure," said Rashid. He led the man to the second Range Rover. Bill was in

  the first, and Rashid wanted the overcoat man to get bored with looking at

  passports before he got to Bill's. Rashid tapped on the car window, and

  Paul rolled it down. "Passports. 11

  The man seemed to have dealt with passports before. He examined each one

  carefully, checking the photograph against the face of the owner. Then, in

  perfect English, he asked questions:

  358 Ken Follen

  Where were you born? Where do you live? What is your date of birth?

  Fortunately Simons had made Paul and Bill learn every piece of information

  contained in their false passports, so Paul was able to answer the overcoat

  man's questions without hesitation.

  Reluctantly, Rashid led the man to the first Range Rover. Bill and Keane

  Taylor had changed seats, so that Bill was on the far side, away from the

  light. The man went through the same routine. He looked at Bill's passport

  last. Then he said: "The picture is not of this man."

  "Yes, it is," Rashid said frantically. "He's been very sick. He's lost

  weight, his skin has changed color--don't you understand that he's dying?

  He has to get back to America as quickly as possible so he can have the

  right medical attention, and you are delaying him--do you want him to die

  because the Iranian people had no pity for a sick man? Is this how you

  uphold the honor of our country? Is--

  "They're Americans," the man said. "Follow me."

  He turned and went into the little brick hut beside the bridge.

  Rashid followed him in. "You have no right to stop us," he said. "I have

  been instructed by the Islamic Revolution Commandant Committee in Rezaiyeh

  to escort these people to the border, and to delay us is a

  counterrevolutionary crime against the Iranian people." He flourished the

  letter writte
n by the deputy leader and stamped with the library stamp.

  The man looked at it. "Still, that one American does not look like the

  picture in his passport."

  "I told you, he has been sick!" Rashid yelled. "They have been cleared to

  the border by the revolutionary committee! Now get these bandits out of my

  way!"

  "We have our own revolutionary committee," the man said. "You will all have

  to come to our headquarters."

  Rashid had no choice but to agree.

  Jay Coburn watched Rashid come out of the hut with the man in the long black

  overcoat. Rashid looked really shook.

  "We're going to their village to be checked out," Rashid said. "We have to

  go in their cars."

  It was looking bad, Coburn thought. All the other times they had been

  arrested, they had been allowed to stay in the Range Rovers, which made

  them feel a little less like prisoners. Getting out of the cars was like

  losing touch with base.

  Also, Rashid had never looked so frightened.

  ON WINGS OF EAGLES 359

  They all got into the tribesmen's vehicles, a pickup truck and a battered

  little station wagon. They were driven along a dirt track through the

  mountains. The Range Rovers followed, driven by tribesmen. The track

  twisted away into darkness. Well, shit, this is it, Coburn thought; nobody

  will ever hear from us again.

  After three or four miles they came to the village. There was one brick

  building with a courtyard: the rest were mud-brick huts with thatched

  roofs. But in the courtyard were six or seven fine jeeps. Coburn said:

  "Jesus, these people live by stealing cars." Two Range Rovers would make a

  nice addition to their collection, he thought.

  The two vehicles containing the Americans were parked in the courtyard;

  then the Range Rovers; then two more jeeps, blocking the exit and

  precluding a quick getaway.

  They all got out.

  The man in the overcoat said: "You need not be afraid. We just need to talk

  with you awhile, then you can go on." He went into the brick building.

  "He's lying!" Rashid hissed.

  They were herded into the building and told to take off their shoes. The

  tribesmen were fascinated by Keane Taylor's cowboy boots: one of them

  picked up the boots and inspected them, then passed them around for