nursery rhymes. Dadgar was immovable.
Paul was deeply depressed. He lay on his mattress, looking at the pictures
of Karen and Ann Marie that he had stuck on the underside of the bunk above
him. He missed the girls badly. Being unable to see them made him realize
that in the past he had taken them for granted. Ruthie, too. He looked at
his watch: it was the middle of the night in the States now. Ruthie would be
asleep, alone in a big bed. How good it would be to climb in beside her and
hold her in his arms. He put the thought out of his niind: he was just
making himself miserable with self-pity. He had no need to worry about them.
They were out of Iran, out of danger, and he knew that whatever might
happen, Perot would take care of diem. That was the good thing about Perot.
He asked a lot of you--boy, he was just about the most demanding employer
you could have-but when you needed to rely on him, he was like a rock.
Paul lit a cigarette. He had a cold. He could never get warm in the jail.
He felt too down to do anything. He did not want to go to the Chattanooga
Room and drink tea; he did not want to watch the news in gibberish on TV;
he did not want to play chess with Bill. He did not want to go to the
library for a new book. He had been reading The Thorn Birds by Colleen
McCullough. He had found it a very emotional book. It was about several
generations of families, and it made him think of his own family. The
central character was a priest, and as a Catholic, Paul had been able to
klentify with that. He had read the book three times. He had also read
Hawaii by James Michener, Airport by Arthur Hailey, and the Guinness Book
of World Records. He never wanted to read another book for the rest of his
life.
Sometimes he thought about what he would do when he got out, and let his
mind wander on his favorite pastimes, boating and fishing. But that could
be depressing.
He could not remember a time in his adult life when he had been at a loss
for something to do. He was always busy. At the office he would typically
have three days' work backed up. Never, never, did he lie down smoking and
wondering how on earth he could keep himself amused.
But the worst thing of all was the helplessness. Although he had always
been an employee, going where his boss sent him and doing what he was
ordered to do, nevertheless he had always
ON WINGS OF EAGLES 159
known that he could at any time get on a plane and go home, or quit his job,
or say no to his boss. Ultimately the decisions had been his. Now he could
not make any decisions about his own life. He could not even do anything
about his plight. With every other problem he had ever had, he had been able
to work on it, try things, attack the problem. Now he just had to sit and
suffer.
He realized that he had never known the meaning of freedom until he lost
it.
3
The demonstration was relatively peaceful. There were several blazing cars
but otherwise no violence: the demonstrators were marching up and down
carrying pictures of Khomeini and putting flowers in the turrets of tanks.
The soldiers looked on passively.
The traffic was at a standstill.
It was January 14, the day after Simons and Poch6 flew in. Boulware had
gone back to Paris, and now he and the other four were waiting there for a
flight to Tehran. Meanwhile Simons, Coburn, and Poch6 were heading
downtown, to reconnoiter the jail.
After a few minutes Joe Poch6 turned off the car engine and sat there,
silent, showing as much emotion as he always did, which was none.
By contrast Simons, sitting next to him, was animated. "This is history
being made in front of our eyes!" he said. "Very few people get to observe
firsthand a revolution in progress. "
He was a history buff, Coburn had gathered, and revolutions were his
specialty. Coming through the airport, on being asked what was his
occupation and the purpose of his visit, he said he was a refired fanner
and this was the only chance he was ever likely to get of seeing a
revolution. He had been telling the truth.
Coburn was not thrilled to be in the middle of it. He did not enjoy sitting
in a little car-they had a Renault 4-surrounded by excitable Muslim
fanatics. Despite his new-grown beard he did not look Iranian. Nor did
Pochi. Simons did, however. his hair was longer now, he had olive skin and
a big nose, and he had grown a white beard. Give him some worry beads and
stand him
160 Ken Folleu
on a corner and nobody would suspect for a minute that he was American.
But the crowd was not interested in Americans, and eventually Coburn became
confident enough to get out of the car and go into a baker's shop. He
bought barbari bread, long, fiat loaves with a delicate crust that were
baked fresh every day and cost seven rials---ten cents. Like French bread,
it was delicious when new but went stale very quickly. It was usually eaten
with butter or cheese. Iran was run on barbari bread and tea.
They sat watching the demonstration and chewing on the bread until, at
last, the traffic began to move again. Poch6 followed the route he had
mapped out the previous evening. Coburn wondered what they would find when
they reached the jail. On Simons's orders he had kept away from downtown
until now. It was too much to hope that the jail would be exactly as he had
described it eleven days ago at LAke Grapevine: the team had based a very
precise attack plan on quite imprecise intelligence. Just how imprecise,
they would soon find out.
They reached the Ministry of Justice and drove around to Khayyam Street,
the side of the block on which the jail entrance was located.
PocM drove slowly, but not too slowly, past the jail.
Simons said, "Oh, shit."
Coburn's heart sank.
'Me jail was radically different from the mental picture he had built up.
71be entrance consisted of two steel doors fourteen feet high. On one side
was a single-story building with barbed wire along its roof. On the other
side was a taller building of gray stone, five stories high.
There were no iron railings. There was no courtyard.
Simons said: "So where's the fucking exercise yard?"
Poch6 drove on, made a few turns, and came back along Khayyam Street in the
opposite direction.
This time Coburn did see a little courtyard with grass and trees, separated
from the street by a fence of iron railings twelve feet high; but it
plainly had nothing to do with the jail, which was farther up the street.
Somehow, in that telephone conversation with Majid, the exercise yard of
the jail had got mixed up with this little garden.
Pochd made one more pass around the block.
Simons was thinking ahead. "We can get in there," he said.
ON WINGS OF EAGLES 161
"But we have to know what we'll be up against once we're over the wall.
Someone will have to go in and reconnoiter."
"Who?" said Coburn.
"You," said Simons.
Coburn walked up to the jail entrance with Rich Gallagher and Majid. Majid<
br />
pressed the bell and they waited.
Coburn had become the "outside man" of the rescue team. He had already been
seen at Bucharest by Iranian-employees, so his presence in Tehran could not
be kept secret. Simons and Poch6 would stay indoors as much as possible and
keep away from EDS premises: nobody need know they were here. It would be
Coburn who would go to the Hyatt to see Taylor and switch cars. And it was
Coburn who went inside the jail.
As he waited he ran over in his mind all the points Simons had told him to
watch out for--security, numbers of guards, weaponry, layout of the place,
cover, high ground ... it was a long list, and Simons had a way of making
you anxious to remember every detail of his instructions.
A peephole in the door opened. Majid said something in Farsi.
The door was opened and the three of them went in.
Straight ahead of him Coburn saw a courtyard with a grassed traffic circle
and cars parked on the far side. Beyond the cars a building rose five
stories high over the courtyard. To his left was the one-story building he
had seen from the street, with the barbed wire on its roof. To his right
was another steel door.
Coburn was wearing a long, bulky down coat-Taylor had dubbed it the
Michelin Man coat-under which he could easily have concealed a shotgun, but
he was not searched by the guard at the gate. I could have had eight
weapons on me, he thought. That was encouraging: security was slack.
He noted that the gate guard was armed with a small pistol.
The three visitors were led into the low building on the left. The colonel
in charge of the jail was in the visiting room, along with another Iranian.
'Me second man, Gallagher had warned Coburn, was always present during
visits, and spoke perfect English: presumably he was there to eavesdrop.
Coburn had told Majid he did not want to be overheard while talking to
Paul, and Majid agreed to engage the eavesdropper in conversation.
Coburn was introduced to the colonel. In broken English the man said he was
sorry for Paul and Bill, and he hoped they
162 Ken Folleu
would be released soon. He seemed sincere. Coburn noted that neither the
colonel nor the eavesdropper was armed.
The door opened, and Paul and Bill walked in.
They both stared at Coburn in surprise-neither of them had been forewarned
that he was in town, and the beard was an additional shock.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Bill said, and smiled broadly.
Coburn shook hands warmly with both of them. Paul said: "Boy, I can't
believe you're here.
"How's my wife?" Bill said.
"Emily's fine, so is Ruthie," Coburn told them.
MaJid started talking loudly in Farsi to the colonel and the eavesdropper.
He seemed to be telling them a complicated story with many gestures. Rich
Gallagher began to speak to Bill, and Coburn sat Paul down.
Simons had decided that Coburn should question Paul about routines at the
jail, and level with him about the rescue plan. Paul was picked rather than
Bill because, in Coburn's opinion, Paul was likely to be the leader of the
two.
"If you haven't guessed it already," Coburn began, .4we're going to get
y'all out of here by force if necessary."
"I guessed it already," Paul said. "I'm not sure it's a good idea. ' 9
:'What?"
'People might get hurt."
"Listen, Ross has retained just about the best man in the whole world for
this kind of operation, and we have carte blancho-"
"I'm not sure I want it."
"You ain't being asked for your permission, Paul."
Paid smiled. "Okay."
"Now I need some information. Where do you exercise?"
::Right there in the courtyard." 10*7hen?"
6671bursdays."
Today was Monday. The next exercise period would be January 18. "How long
do you spend out there?"
"About an hour."
64,VVIM time Of day?91
44it varies."
"Shit." Coburn made an effort to look relaxed, to avoid
ON WINGS OF EAGLES 163
lowering his voice conspicuously or glancing over his shoulder to see
whether anyone might be listening: This had to look like a normal friendly
visit. "How many guards are there in this jail?"
"Around twenty."
"All uniformed, all armed?"
"All uniformed, some armed with handguns."
"No rifles?"
"Well ... none of the regular guards have rifles, but
See, our cell is just across the courtyard and has a window. Well, in the
morning there's a group of about twenty different guards, like an elite
corps, you might say. They have rifles and wear kind of shiny helinets. They
have reveille right here, then I never see them for the rest of the day-I
don't know where they go. 11
I 'Try and find out. 91
"I'll try."
-%ich is your cell?"
"When you go out of here, the window is more or less opposite you. If you
start in the right-hand comer of the courtyard and count toward the left,
it's the third window. But they close the shutters when there are
visitom-so we can't see women coming in, they say."
Coburn nodded, trying to memorize it all. "You need to do two things," he
said. "One: a survey of the inside of the jail, with measurements as
accurate as possible. I'll come back and get the details from you so we can
draw a plan. Two: get in shape. Exercise daily. You'll need to be fit."
"Okay. -
"Now, tell. me your daily routine."
"They wake us up at six o'clock," Paul began.
Coburn concentrated, knowing he would have to repeat all this to Simons.
Nevertheless, at the back of his mind one thought nagged: If we don't know
what time of day they exercise, how the hell do we know when to go over the
wall?
"Visiting time is the answer," Simons said.
"How so?" Coburn asked.
"It's the one situation when we can predict they will be out of the actual
jail and vulnerable to a snatch, at a definite moment in time. I I
Coburn nodded. The three of them were sitting in the living room of Keane
Taylor's house. It was a big room with a Persian
164 Ken Follett
carpet. They had drawn three chairs into the middle, around a coffee table.
Beside Simons's chair, a small mountain of cigar ash was growing on the
carpet. Taylor would be furious.
Coburn felt drained. Being debriefed by Simons was even more harrowing than
he had anticipated. When he was sure he had told everything, Simons thought
of more questions. When Coburn could not quite remember something, Simons
made him think hard until he did remember. Simons drew from him information
he had not consciously registered, just by asking the right questions.
46 The van and the ladder--4hat scenario is out," Simons said. "Their weak
point now is their loose routine. We can get two men in there as visitors,
with shotguns or Walthers under their coats. Paul and Bill would be brought
to that visiting area. Our two men should be able to overpower the colonel
and the eavesdropper without any trouble-and without making enough noise to
alarin anyone else in the vicinity - Then
:.Then what?"
'That's the problem. The four men would have to come out of the building,
cross the courtyard, reach the gate, either open it or climb it, reach the
street, and get in a car . . . "
"It sounds possible," Coburn said. "There's just one guard at the gate . .
."
"A number of things about this scenario bother me," Simons
. " - the windows in the high building that overlooks the
said One, courtyard. While our men are in the courtyard, anyone looking out
of any one of those windows will see them. Two: the elite guard with shiny
helmets and rifles. Whatever happens, our people have to slow down at the
gate. If there's just one guard with a rifle looking out of one of those
high windows, he could pick off the four of them like shooting fish in a
barrel."
:*We don't know the guards are in the high building."'
'We don't know they're not. -
"It seems like a small risk-"
"We're not going to take any risks we don't have to. Three: the traffic in
this goddam city is a bastard. You just can't talk about jumping in a car
and getting away. We could run into a demonstration fifty yards down the
street. No. This snatch has got to be quiet. We must have time. What is
that colonel like, the one in charge of the place?"
"He was quite friendly," Coburn said. "He seemed genuinely sorry for Paul
and Bill. -
ON WINGS OF EAGLES 165
"I wonder whether we can get to him. Do we know anything at all about
him?"
'No."
"Let's find out."
"I'll put Majid on it."
,,The colonel would have to make sure there were no guards around at
visiting time. We could make it look good by tying him up, or even
knocking him out.... If he can be bribed, we can still bring this thing
off."
"I'll get on it right away," said Coburn.
4
On January 13 Ross Perot took off from Amman, Jordan, in a Lear jet of Arab
Wings, the charter operation of Royal Jordanian Airlines. The plane headed
for Tehran. In the baggage hold was a net bag containing half a dozen
professional-sized videotapes, the kind used by television crews: this was
Follett, Ken - On Wings of Eagles.txt Page 21