Follett, Ken - On Wings of Eagles.txt
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bail.
I'lien the bad news started coming in.
Ile Iranian lawyers changed their tune. In turn they reported that the case
was "political," had "a high political content," and was "a political hot
potato." John Westberg, the American, had been asked by his Iranian
partners not to handle the case because it would bring the firm into
disfavor with powerful people. Evidently Examining Magistrate Hosain Dadgar
was not on weak ground.
Lawyer Tom Luce and financial officer Tom Walter had gone to Washington
and, accompanied by Admiral Moorer, had visited the State Department. They
had expected to sit down around a table with Henry Precht and formulate an
aggressive campaign for the release of Paul and Bill. But Henry Precht was
cool. He had shaken hands with them--he could hardly do less when they were
accompanied by a former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff-but he had
not sat down with them. He had handed them over to a subordinate. The
subordinate reported that none of the State Department's efforts had
achieved anything: neither Ardeshir Zahedi nor Charlie Naas had been able
to get Paul and Bill released.
Tom Luce, who did not have the patience of Job, got mad as hell. It was the
State Department's job to protect Americans abroad, he said, and so far all
State had done was to get Paul and Bill thrown in jail! Not so, he was
told: what State had done so far was above and beyond its normal duty. If
Americans abroad committed crimes, they were subject to foreign laws: the
State Department's duties did not include springing people from jail. But,
Luce argued, Paul and Bill had not committed a crimethey were being held
hostage for thirteen million dollars! He was
ON WINGS OF EAGLES 83
wasting his breath. He and Tom Walter returned to Dallas emptyhanded-
Late last night Perot had called the U.S. Embassy in Tehran and asked
Charles Naas why he still had not met with the officials named by Kissinger
and Zahedi. The answer was simple: those officials were,making themselves
unavailable to Naas.
Today Perot had called Kissinger again and reported this. Kissinger was
sorry: he did not think there was anything more he could do. However, he
would call Zahedi and try again.
One more piece of bad news completed the picture. Tom Walter had been
trying to establish, with the Iranian lawyers, the conditions under which
Paul and Bill might be released on bail: for example, would they have to
promise to return to Iran for further questioning if required, or could
they be interrogated outside the country? Neither, he was told: If they
were released from prison they still would not be able to leave Iran.
Now it was New Year's Eve. For three days Perot had been living at the
office, sleeping on the floor and eating cheese sandwiches. There was
nobody to go home to-Margot and the children were still in Vail-and,
because of the nine-and-a-halfhour time difference between Texas and Iran,
important phone calls were often made in the middle of the night. He was
leaving the office only to visit his mother, who was now out of the
hospital and recuperating at her Dallas home. Even with her, he talked
about Paul and Bill-she was keenly interested in the progress of events.
This evening he felt the need of hot food, and he decided to brave the
weather-Dallas was suffering an ice storm-and drive a mile or so to a fish
restaurant.
He left the building by the back door and got behind the wheel of his
station wagon. Margot had a Jaguar, but Perot preferred nondescript cars.
He wondered just how much influence Kissinger had now, in Iran or anywhere.
Zahedi and any other Iranian contacts Kissinger had might be like Richard
Helms's friends-all out of the mainstream, powerless. The Shah seemed to be
hanging on by the skin of his teeth.
On the other hand, that whole group might soon need friends in America, and
might welcome the opportunity to do Kissinger a favor.
While he was eating, Perot felt a large hand on his shoulder,
84 Ken Follett
and a deep voice said: "Ross, what are you doing here, eating all by
yourself on New Year's Eve?"
He turned around to see Roger Staubach, quarterback for the Dallas Cowboys,
a fellow Naval Academy graduate and an old friend. "Hi, Roger! Sit down."
"I'm here with the family," Staubach said. "The heat's off in our house on
account of the ice storm.
"Well, bring them over."
Staubach beckoned to his family, then said: "How's Margot?"
"Fine, thank you. She's skiing with the children in Vail. I had to come
back-we've got a big problem." He proceeded to tell the Staubach family all
about Paul and Bill.
He drove back to the office in good spirits. There were still a bunch of
good people in the world.
He thought again of Colonel Simons. Of all the schemes he had for getting
Paul and Bill out, the jailbreak was the one with the longest lead time:
Simons would need a team of men, a training period, equipment ... And yet
Perot still had not done anything about it. It had seemed such a distant
possibility, a last resort: while negotiations had seemed promising he had
blocked it out of his mind. He was still not ready to call Simons-he would
wait for Kissinger to have one more try with Zahedi--but perhaps there was
something he could do to prepare for Simons.
Back at EDS he found Pat Sculley. Sculley, a West Point graduate, was a
thin, boyish, restless man of thirty-one. He had been a project manager in
Tehran and had come out with the December 8 evacuation. He had returned
after Ashura, then come out again when Paul and Bill were arrested. His job
at the moment was to make sure that the Americans remaining in Tehran-Lloyd
Briggs, Rich Gallagher and his wife, Paul and Bill--had reservations on a
flight out every day, just in case the prisoners should be released.
With Sculley was Jay Coburn, who had organized the evacuation, and then, on
December 22, had come home to spend Christmas with his family. Coburn had
been about to go back to Tehran when he got the news that Paul and Bill had
been arrested, so he had stayed in Dallas and organized the second
evacuation. A placid, stocky man, Coburn was thirty-two but looked forty:
the reason, Perot believed, was that Coburn had lived eight years in one as
a combat helicopter pilot in Vietnam. For all that, Coburn smiled a lot-a
slow smile that began as a
ON WINGS OF EAGLES 85
twinkle in his eye and often ended in a shoulder-shaking belly laugh.
Perot liked and trusted both men. They were what he called eagles:
high-fliers, who used their initiative, got the job done, gave him results
not excuses. The mono of EDS's recruiters was: Eagles Don't Flock-You Have
to Find Them One at a Time. One of the secrets of Perot's business success
was his policy of going looking for men like this, rather than waiting and
hoping they would apply for a job.
Perot said to Sculley: "Do you think we're doing everything we need to do
for Paul and Bill?"
Sculley responded without hesitation. "No, I
don't."
Perot nodded. These young men were never afraid to speak out to the boss:
that was one of the things that made them eagles. "What do you think we
ought to do?"
"We ought to break them out," Sculley said. "I know it sounds strange, but
I really think that if we don't, they have a good chance of getting killed
in there."
Perot did not think it sounded strange: that fear had been at the back of
his mind for three days. "I'm thinking of the same thing." He saw surprise
on Sculley's face. "I want you two to put together a list of EDS people who
could help do it. We'll need men who know Tehran, have some military
experience-preferably in Special Forces-type action-md are one hundred
percent trustworthy and loyal. "
"We'll get on it right away," Sculley said enthusiastically.
The phone rang and Coburn picked it up. "Hi, Keane! Where are you? ... Hold
on a minute."
Coburn covered the mouthpiece with his hand and looked at Perot. "Keane
Taylor is in Frankfurt. If we're going to do something like this, he ought
to be on the team."
Perot nodded. Taylor, a former marine sergeant, was another of his eagles.
Six foot two and elegantly dressed, Taylor was a somewhat irritable man,
which made him the ideal butt for practical jokes. Perot said: "Tell him to
go back to Tehran. But don't explain why."
A slow smile spread across Coburn's young-old face. "He ain't gonna like
it. "
Sculley reached across the desk and switched on the speaker so they could
all hear Taylor blow his cool.
Coburn said: "Keane, Ross wants you to go back to Iran."
"What the hell for?" Taylor demanded.
86 Ken Folleu
Coburn looked at Perot. Perot shook his head. Coburn said: "Uh, there's a
lot we need to do, in terms of tidying up, administratively speaking-"
"You tell Perot I'm not going back in there for any administrative
bullshit!"
Sculley started to laugh.
Coburn said: "Keane, I have somebody else here who wants to talk to you."
Perot said: "Keane, this is Ross."
"Oh. Uh, hello, Ross."
"I'm sending you back to do something very important.
"Oh. "
"Do you understand what I'm saying?"
There was a long pause, then Taylor said: "Yes, sir. Good. "
"I'm on my way."
"What time is it there?" Perot asked.
"Seven o'clock in the morning. "
Perot looked at his own watch. It said midnight,
Nineteen Seventy-nine had begun.
Taylor sat on the edge of the bed in his Frankfurt hotel room, thinking
about his wife.
Mary was in Pittsburgh with the children, Mike and Dawn, staying at
Taylor's brother's house. Taylor had called her from Tehran before leaving
and told her he was coming home. She had been very happy to hear it. They
had made plans for the future: they would return to Dallas, put the kids in
school ...
Now he had to call and tell her he would not be coming home after all.
She would be worried.
Hell, he was worried.
He thought about Tehran. He had not worked on the Ministry of Health
project, but had been in charge of a smaller contract, to computerize the
old-fashioned manual bookkeeping systems of Bank Omran. One day about three
weeks ago, a mob had formed outside the bank-On-iran was the Shah's bank.
Taylor had sent his people home. He and Glenn Jackson were the last to
leave. They locked up the building and started walking north. As they
turned the comer onto the main street, they walked into the mob. At that
moment-die army opened fire and charged down the street.
ON WINGS OF EAGLES 87
Taylor and Jackson ducked into a doorway. Someone opened the door and
yelled at them to get inside. They did-but before their rescuer could lock
it again, four of the demonstrators forced their way in, chased by five
soldiers.
Taylor and Jackson flattened themselves against the wall and watched the
soldiers, with their truncheons and rifles, beat up the demonstrators. One
of the rebels made a break for it. Two of his fingers were almost torn off
his hand, and blood spurted all over the glass door. He got out but
collapsed in the street. The soldiers dragged the other three demonstrators
out. One was a bloody mess but conscious: the other two were out cold, or
dead.
Taylor and Jackson stayed inside until the street was clear. The Iranian
who had saved them kept saying: "Get out while you can."
And now, Taylor thought, I have to tell Mary that I've just agreed to go
back into all that.
To do something very important.
Obviously it had to do with Paul and Bill; and if Perot could not talk
about it on the phone, presumably it was something at least clandestine and
quite possibly illegal.
In a way Taylor was glad, despite his fear of the mobs. VAlile still in
Tehran he had talked on the phone with Bill's wife, Emily Gaylord, and had
promised not to leave without Bill. The orders from Dallas, that everyone
but Briggs and Gallagher had to get out, had forced him to break his word.
Now the orders had changed, and perhaps he could keep his promise to Emily
after all.
Well, he thought, I can't walk back, so I'd better find a plane. He picked
up the phone again.
Jay Coburn remembered the first time he had seen Ross Perot in action. He
would never forget it as long as he lived.
It happened in 1971. Coburn had been with EDS less than two years. He was
a recruiter, working in New York City. Scott was bom that year at a little
Catholic hospital. It was a normal birth and, at first, Scott appeared to
be a normal, healthy baby.
The day after he was bom, when Coburn went to visit, Liz said Scott had not
been brought in for his feeding that Morning. At the time Coburn took no
notice. A few minutes later a woman came in and said: "Here are the
pictures of your baby."
"I don't remember any pictures being taken," Liz said. The woman showed her
the photographs. "No, that's not my baby."
88 Ken Follett
The woman looked confused for a moment, then said: "Oh! That's right, yours
is the one that's got the problem."
It was the first Coburn and Liz had heard of any problem.
Coburn went to see the day-old Scott, and had a terrible shock. The baby
was in an oxygen tent, gasping for air, and as blue as a pair of jeans. The
doctors were in consultation about him.
Liz became almost hysterical, and Coburn called their family doctor and
asked him to come to the hospital. Then he waited.
Something wasn't stacking up right. What kind of a hospital was it where
they didn't tell you your newborn baby was dying? Coburn became distraught.
He called Dallas and asked for his boss, Gary Griggs. "Gary, I don't know
why I'm calling you, but I don't know what to do." And he explained.
"Hold the phone," said Griggs
A moment later there was an unfamiliar voice on the line. 'Jay? 11
'Yes.
"This is Ross Perot."
Coburn had met Perot two or three times, but had never w
orked directly for
him. Coburn wondered whether Perot even remembered what he looked like; EDS
had more than a thousand employees at that time.
"Hello, Ross."
"Now, Jay, I need some information." Perot started asking questions: What
was the address of the hospital? What were the doctors' names? What was
their diagnosis? As he answered, Coburn was thinking bemusedly: does Perot
even know who I am?
"Hold on a minute, Jay." There was a short silence. "I'm going to connect
you with Dr. Urschel, a close friend of mine and a leading cardiac surgeon
here in Dallas." A moment later Coburn was answering more questions from
the doctor.
"Don't you do a thing," Urschel finished. "I'm going to talk to the doctors
on that staff. You just stay by the phone so we can get back in touch with
you."
"Yes, sir," said Coburn dazedly.
Perot came back on the line. "Did you get all that? How's Liz doing?"
Coburn thought: How the hell does he know my wife's name?
ON WINGS OF EAGLES 89
"Not too well," Coburn answered. "Her doctor's here and he's given her some
sedation . - - "
While Perot was soothing Coburn, Dr. Urschel was animating the hospital
staff. He persuaded them to move Scott to New York University Medical
Center. Minutes later, Scott and Coburn were in an ambulance on the way to
the city.
They got stuck in a traffic jam in the Midtown Tunnel.
Coburn got out of the ambulance, ran more than a mile to the toll gate, and
persuaded an official to hold up all lanes of traffic except the one the
ambulance was in.
When they reached New York University Medical Center there were ten or
fifteen people waiting outside for them. Among them was the leading
cardiovascular surgeon on the East Coast, who had been flown in from Boston
in the time it had taken the ambulance to reach Manhattan.
As baby Scott was rushed inside, Coburn handed over the envelope of X rays
he had brought from the other hospital. A woman doctor glanced at them.
"Where are the rest?"
"That's all," Coburn replied.
"That's all they took?"
New X rays revealed that, as well as a hole in the heart, Scott had
pneumonia. When the pneumonia was treated, the heart condition came under
control.