got put there by accident."
Bob Young saw two Americans holding photographs and scanning the crowd. To
his horror, they started to approach the EDS people. They walked up to Rich
and Cathy Gallagher.
Surely Dadgar would not take Cathy hostage?
The people smiled and said they had some of the Gallaghers' luggage.
Young relaxed.
Friends of the Gallaghers had salvaged some of the bags from the Hyatt, and
had asked these two Americans to bring them to the airport and try to give
them to the Gallaghers. The people had agreed, but they did not know the
Gallaghers--hence, the photographs-
It had been a false alarm, but if anything, it increased their anxiety.
Joe Pochi decided to see what he could find out. He went off and located a
Pan Am ticket agent. "I work for EDS,- Pochd told the agent. "Are the
Manians looking for anyone?"
"Yes, they're looking pretty hard for two people," said the agent.
Anybody else?"
"No. And the stop list is several weeks old."
Tbanks. "
Poch6 went back and told the others.
The evacuees were starting to go from the check-in concourse through to the
departure lounge.
PocM said: "I suggest we split up. That way we won't look like a group, and
if one or two of you get into trouble, the others may still get through.
I'll be last, so if anyone has to stay behind, IT stay, too."
Bob Young looked at his suitcase and saw that it bore a luggage tag saying:
"William D. Gaylord."
He suffered a moment of panic. If the Iranians saw that, they would think
he was Bill and arrest him.
He knew how it had happened. His own suitcases had been destroyed at the
Hyatt by the revolutionaries who had shot up the rooms. However, one or two
cases had been left more or less undamaged, and Young had borrowed one.
This was it.
He tore the luggage tag off and stuffed it into his pocket, intending to
get rid of it at the firv opportunity.
ON WINGS OF EAGLES 385
They all went through the "Passengers Only" gate.
Next they had to pay the airport tax. This amused Poch6: the
revolutionaries must have decided that airport tax was the one good thing
the Shah introduced, he thought.
The next queue was for passport control.
Howell reached the desk at noon.
The guard checked his exit documentation thoroughly, and stamped it. Next
he looked at the picture in the passport, then looked hard at Howell's
face. Finally he checked the name in the passport against a list he had on
his desk.
Howell held his breath.
The guard handed him his passport and waved him through.
Joe Pochd went through passport control last. The guard looked extra hard
at him, comparing the face with the photograph, for Poch6 now had a red
beard. But eventually he, too, was allowed through-
The Clean Team was in a jovial mood in the departure lounge: it was all
over, Howell thought, now that they had come through passport control.
At two in the afternoon they began to pass through the gates. At this point
there was normally a security check. This time, as well as searching for
weapons, the guards were confiscating maps, photographs of Tehran, and
large sums of money. None of the Clean Team lost their money, however; the
guards did not look in Pocht's shoes.
Outside the gates, some of the baggage was lined up on the tarmac.
Passengers had to check whether any of theirs was there, and if so to open
it for searching before it was loaded onto the plane. None of the Clean
Team's bags had been picked out for this special treatment.
They boarded buses and were driven across the runway to where two 747s were
waiting. Once again, the television cameras were there.
At the foot of the ladder there was yet another passport check. Howell
joined the queue of five hundred people waiting to board the Frankfurt
plane. He was less worried than he had been: nobody was looking for him, it
seemed.
He got on the plane and found a seat. There were several armed
revolutionaries on board, both in the passenger cabin and on the flight
deck. The scene became confused as people who were supposed to go to Athens
realized they were on the Frank-
386 Ken Folteu
furt plane, and vice versa. All the seats filled up, then the crew seats,
and still there were people without seats.
The captain turned on the public-address system and asked for everyone's
attention. The plane became quieter. "Would passengers Paul John and
William Deming please identify themselves," he said,
Howell went cold.
John was the middle name of Paul Chiapparone.
Deming was the middle name of Bill Gaylord.
Tley were still searching for Paul and Bill.
Clearly it was not merely a question of names on a list at the airport.
Dadgar was firmly in control here, and his people were relentlessly
determined to find Paul and Bill.
Ten minutes later the captain came on the loudspeakers again. "Ladies and
gentlemen, we still have not located Paul John or William Deming. We have
been informed that we cannot take off until these two people have been
located. If anyone on board knows their whereabouts, will you please let us
know.
Will I hell, thought Howell.
Bob Young suddenly remembered the luggage tag in his pocket marked "William
D. Gaylord." He went to the bathroom and threw it into the toilet.
The revolutionaries came down the aisle again, asking for
passports. They checked each one carefully, comparing the photograph with
the face of the owner.
John Howell took out a paperback book he had brought from the Dvoranchik
place and tried to read it, in an effort to look unconcerned. It was Dubai,
Robin Moore's thriller about intrigue in the Middle East. He could not
concentrate on a paperback thriller: he was living a real one. Soon, he
thought, Dadgar must realize that Paul and Bill are not on this plane.
And what will he do then?
He's so determined.
Clever, too. What a perfect way to do a passport check--on the plane, when
all the passengers are in their seats and no one can hide!
But what will he do next?
He'll come aboard this damn plane himself, and walk down the aisle, looking
at everyone. He won't know Rich, or Cathy, or Joe PocK but he'll know Bob
Young.
And he'll know me best of all.
ON WINGS OF EAGLES 387
In Dallas, T. J. Marquez got a call from Mark Ginsberg, the White House aide
who had been trying to help with the problem of Paul and Bill. Ginsberg was
in Washington, monitoring the situation in Tehran. He said: "Five of your
people are on a plane standing on the runway at Tehran Airport."
"Good!" said T.J.
"It's not good. The Iranians are searching for Chiapparone and Gaylord, and
they won't let the plane take off until they find the guys."
"Oh, hell."
"There's no air traffic control over Iran, so the plane has to take off
before nightfall. We aren't sure what's going to happen, but there's no
t
much time left. Your people may be taken off the plane. "
"You can't let them do that!"
"I'll keep you in touch."
T.J. hung up. After all that Paul and Bill and the Dirty Team had been
through, would EDS now end up with more of its people in a Tehran jail? It
did not bear thinking about.
The time was six-thirty A.M. in Dallas, four P.m. in Tehran.
They had two hours of daylight left.
T.J. picked up the phone. "Get me Perot."
"Ladies and gentlemen," said the pilot, "Paul John and William Deming have
not been located. The man in charge on the ground will now do another
passport check."
The passengers groaned.
Howell wondered who was the man in charge on the ground.
Dadgar?
It might be one of Dadgar's staff. Some of them knew Howell, some did not.
He peered along the aisle.
Someone came aboard. Howell stared. It was a man in a Pan Am uniform.
Howell relaxed.
The man went slowly down the plane, checking each of five hundred
passports, doing a face-to-picture identification, then examining the
photographs and seals to see whether they had been tampered with.
"Ladies and gentlemen, Captain speaking again. They have decided to check
the baggage as it is loaded. If you hear your clainicheck number called,
would you please identify yourself. "
388 Ken Follett
Cathy had all the claim checks in her handbag. As the first numbers were
called, Howell saw her sorting through the checks. He tried to attract her
attention, to signal her not to identify herself. it might be a trick.
More numbers were called, but nobody got up. Howell guessed everyone had
decided they would rather lose their baggage than risk getting off this
plane.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please identify yourselves when these numbers are
called. You will not have to get off the plane, just hand over your keys so
the bags can be opened for searching."
Howell was not reassured. He watched Cathy, still trying to catch her eye.
More numbers were called, but she did not get up.
"Ladies and gentlemen, some good news. We have checked with Pan Am's
European headquarters, and have been given permission to take off with an
overload of passengers."
There was a ragged cheer.
Howell looked over at Joe Poch6. Pochd had his passport on his chest and he
was sitting back with his eyes closed, apparently asleep. Joe must have ice
in his veins, Howell thought.
There was sure to be a lot of pressure on Dadgar as the sun went down. It
had to be obvious that Paul and Bill were not on the plane. If a thousand
people were deplaned and escorted back to the Embassy, the revolutionary
authorities would have to go through the whole rigmarole again tomorrow-and
somebody up there was bound to say "No way!" to that.
Howell knew that he and the rest of the Clean Team were certainly guilty of
crimes now. They had connived at the escape of Paul and Bill, and whether
the Iranians called that conspiracy, or being an accessory after the fact,
or some other name, it had to be against the law. He went over in his mind
the story they had all agreed to tell if they were arrested. They had left
the Hyatt on Monday morning, they would say, and had gone to Keane Taylor's
house. (Howell had wanted to tell the truth, and say the Dvoranchik place,
but the others had pointed out that this might bring down trouble on the
head of Dvoranchik's landlady, whereas Taylor's landlord did not live on
the premises.) They had spent Monday and Tuesday at Taylor's then had gone
to Lou Goe1z's house on Tuesday afternoon. From then on, they would tell
the truth.
The story would not protect the Clean Team: Howell knew all too well that
Dadgar did not care whether his hostages were guilty or innocent.
ON WINGS OF EAGLES 389
At six o'clock the captain said: "Ladies and gentlemen, we have permission
to take off. -
The doors were slammed and the plane was moving within seconds. The
passengers without seats were told by stewardesses to sit on the floor. As
they taxied, Howell thought: surely we wouldn't stop now, even if we were
ordered to ...
The 747 gathered speed along the runway and took off.
They were still in Iranian airspace. The Iranians could send up fighter
jets ...
A little later the captain said: "Ladies and gentlemen, we have now
departed Iranian airspace. -
The passengers gave a weary cheer.
We made it, Howell thought.
He picked up his paperback thriller.
Joe PocM left his seat and went to find the chief steward.
"Is there any way the pilot could get a message through to the States?" he
asked.
"I don't know," the steward said. "Write your message, and I'll ask him."
Poch6 returned to his seat and got out paper and a pen. He wrote: To Merv
Stauffer, 7171 Forest Lane, Dallas, Texas.
He thought for a minute about what his message should be. He recalled EDS's
recruiting motto: "Eagles don't flock-you have to find them one at a time."
He wrote:
The eagles have flown their nest.
2
Ross Perot wanted to meet up with the Clean Team before returning to the
States: he was keen to get everyone together, so that he could gee and touch
them all and be absolutely sure they were safe and well. However, on Friday
in Istanbul he could not confirm the destination of the evacuation flight
that would bring the Clean Team out of Tehran. John Carlen, the laid-back
pilot of the leased Boeing 707, had the answer to that problem. "Those
evacuation planes must fly up over Istanbul," he said. "We'll just sit on
the runway until they pass overhead, then call them on the radio and ask
them. - In the end that was not
390 Ken Folkn
necessary: Stauffer called on Saturday morning and told Perot the Clean Team
would be on the Frankfurt plane.
Perot and the others checked out of the Sheraton at midday and went to the
airport to join Boulware and Simons on the plane. They took off late in the
afternoon.
When they were in the air Perot called Dallas: with the plane's
single-sideband radio it was as easy as calling from New York. He reached
Merv Stauffer.
"What's happening with the Clean Team?" Perot asked.
"I got a message," said Stauffer. "It came from the European headquarters
of Pan Am. It just says: 'The eagles have flown their nest.' "
Perot smiled. All safe.
Perot left the flight deck and returned to the passenger cabin. Ills heroes
looked washed out. At Istanbul Airport he had sent Taylor into the
duty-free shop to buy cigarettes, snacks, and liquor, and Taylor had spent
over a thousand dollars. They all had a drink to celebrate the escape of
the Clean Team, but nobody was in the mood, and ten minutes later they were
all sitting around on the plush upholstery with their glasses still full.
Someone started a poker game, but it petered out.
The crew of the 707 included two pretty stewardesses. Perot got them to put
their arms aro
und Taylor, then took a photograph. He threatened to show the
photo to Taylor's wife, Mary, if Taylor ever gave him a hard time.
Most of them were too fired to sleep, but Gayden went back to the luxurious
bedroom and lay down on the king-size bed. Perot was a little miffed: be
thought Simons, who was older and looked completely drained, should have
had the bed.
But Simons was talking to one of the stewardesses, Anita Melton. She was a
vivacious blond Swedish girl in her twenties, with a zany sense of humor,
a wild imagination, and a penchant fbr the outlandish. She was fun. Simons
recognized a kindred soul, someone who did not care too much about what
other people thought, an individual. He liked her. He realized that it was
the first time since the death of Lucille that he had felt attracted to a
woman.
He really had come back to life.
Ron Davis began to feel sleepy. The king-size bed was big enough for two,
he thought; so he went into the bedroom and lay down beside Gayden.
ON WINGS OF EAGLES 391
Gayden opened his eyes. "Davis?" he said incredulously. "What the hell are
you doing in bed with meT ,
"Don't sweat it," said Davis. "Now you can tell all your friends you slept
with a nigger." He closed his eyes.
As the plane approached Frankfurt, Simons recalled that he was still
responsible for Paid and Bill, and his mind went back to work,
extrapolating possibilities for enemy action. He asked Perot: "Does Germany
have an extradition treaty with Iran?"
"I don't know," said Perot.
He got The Simons Look.
"I'll find out," he added.
He called Dallas and asked for Tom Luce, the lawyer. "Tom, does Germany
have an extradition treaty with Iran?"
Luce said: "I'm ninety-nine percent sure they do not."
Perot told Simons.
Simons said: "I've seen men Mlled because they were ninety-nine percent
sure they were safe."
Perot said to Luce: "Let's get a hundred percent sure. I'll call you again
in a few minutes. "
They landed at Frankfurt and checked into a hotel within the abport
complex. The German desk clerk seemed curious, and carefully noted all
their passport numbers. This increased Simons's unease.
They gathered in Perot's room, and Perot called Dallas again. This dine he
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