more expensive clothes ... more things. How worthless those things were,
she thought now; how little it mattered whether she was rich or poor. Bill
was what she wanted, and he was all she needed. He would always be enough
for her, enough to make her happy.
If he ever came back.
Karen Chiapparone said: "Mommy, why doesn't Daddy call? He always calls when
he's away."
"He called today," Ruthie lied. "He's fine."
"Why did he call when I was at school? I'd like to talk to him. t I
"Honey, it's so difficult to get through from Tehran, the lines are so
busy, he just has to call when he can.
.lob.-
Karen wandered off to watch TV, and Ruthie sat down. It was getting dark
outside. She was finding it increasingly difficult to lie to everyone about
Paul.
That was why she had left Chicago and come to Dallas. Living with her
parents and keeping the secret from them had become impossible. Mom would
say: "Why do Ross and the fellows from EDS keep calling you?"
"They just want to make sure we're okay, you know, - Ruthie would say with
a forced smile.
"That is so nice of Ross to call."
Here in Dallas she could at least talk openly to other EDS people.
Moreover, now that the Iran business was certain to be
210 Ken Follen
closed down, Paul would be based at EDS headquarters, at least for a while,
so Dallas would be their home; and Karen and Ann Marie had to go to school -
They were all living with Jim and Cathy Nyfeler. Cathy was especially
sympathetic, for her husband had been on the original list of four men
whose passports Dadgar had asked for: if Jim had happened to be in han at
the time, he would now be in jail with Paul'and Bill. Stay with us, Cathy
had said; it will only be for maybe a week, then Paul will be back. That
had been at the beginning of January. Since then Ruthie had proposed
getting an apartment of her own, but Cathy would not hear of it.
Right now Cathy was at the hairdresser's, the children were watching TV in
another room, and Jim was not yet home from work, so Ruthie was alone with
her thoughts.
With Cathy's help she was keeping busy and putting on a brave face. She had
enrolled Karen in school and found a kindergarten for Ann Marie. She went
out to lunch with Cathy and some of the other EDS wives--Mary Boulware, Liz
Coburn, Mary Sculley, Marva Davis, and Toni Dvoranchik. She wrote bright,
optimistic letters to Paul, and listened to his bright, optimistic replies
read over the phone from Tehran. She shopped and went to dinner parties.
She had killed a lot of time house-hunting. She did not know Dallas well,
but she remembered Paul saying that Central Expressway was a nightmare, so
she looked for houses wen away from it. She had found one she liked and
decided to buy it, so there would be a real home for Paul to come back to,
but there were legal problems because he was not here to sip the papers:
Tom Walter was trying to sort that out.
Ruthie was making it look good, but inside she was dying.
She rarely slept more than an hour at night. She kept waking up wondering
whether she would ever see Paul again. She tried to think about what she
would do if he did not come back. She supposed she would return to Chicago
and stay with Mom and Dad for a while, but she would not want to live with
them permanently. No doubt she could get some kind of a job ... But it was
not the practical business of living without a man and taking care of
herself that bothered her. it was the idea of being without Paul, forever.
She could not imagine what life would be like if he were not there. What
would she do, what would she care about, what would she want, what could
possibly make her
ON WINGS OF EAGLES 211
happy? She was completely dependent on him, she realized. She could not live
without him.
She heard a car outside. That would be Jim, home from work: perhaps he
would have some news.
A moment later he came in. "Hi, Ruthie. Cathy not home?"
"She's at the hairdresser's. What happened today?"
"Well . . ."
She knew from his expression that he had nothing good to tell her and he
was trying to find an encouraging way of saying so.
"Well, they had a meeting scheduled to talk about the bail, but the
Iranians didn't turn up. Tomorrow--
"But why?" Ruthie fought to keep calm. "Why don't they turn up when they
arrange these meetings?"
"You know, sometimes they're called out on strike, and sometimes people
just can't move around the city because of ... because of the
demonstrations, and so on - . . -
She seemed to have been hearing reports like this for weeks. There were
always delays, postponements, frustrations. "But, Jim," she began; then the
tears started and she could not stop them. "Jim . . . - Her throat
tightened up until she could not speak. She thought: All I want is my
husband! Jim stood there looking helpless and embarrassed. All the misery
she had kept locked up for so long suddenly flooded out, and she could not
control herself any longer. She burst into tears and ran from the room. She
rushed to her bedroom, threw herself on the bed, and lay there sobbing her
heart out.
Liz Coburn sipped her drink. Across the table were Pat Sculley's wife, Mary,
and another EDS wife who had been evacuated from Tehran, Toni Dvoranchik.
The three women were at Recipes, a restaurant on Greenville Avenue, Dallas.
They were drinking strawberry Daiquiris.
Tony Dvoranchik's husband was here in Dallas. Liz knew that Pat Sculley had
disappeared, like Jay, in the direction of Europe. Now Mary Sculley was
talking as if Pat had gone not just to Europe but to Iran.
"Is Pat in Tehran?" Liz asked.
"They're all in Tehran, I guess," Mary said.
Liz was horrified. "Jay in Tehran . - ." She wanted to cry. Jay had told
her he was in Paris. Why couldn't he tell the truth? Pat Sculley had told
Mary the truth. But Jay was different. Some men would play poker for a few
hours, but Jay had to play all
212 Ken FoUelt
night and all the next day. Other men would play nine or eighteen holes of
golf: Jay would play thirty-six. Lots of men had demanding jobs, but Jay had
to work for EDS. Even in the army, when the two of them had been not much
more than kids, Jay had to volunteer for one of the most dangerous
assignments, helicopter pilot. Now he had gone to Tehran in the middle of a
revolution. Same old thing, she thought: he's gone away, he's lying to me,
and he's in danger. She suddenly felt cold all over, as if she were in
shock. He's not coming back, she thought numbly. He's not going to get out
of them alive.
3
Perot's good spirits soon passed. He had got into the prison, defying
Dadgar, and had chetred up Paul and Bill; but Dadgar so held all the cards.
After six days in Tehran he understood why the political pressure he had
been putting on in Washington had been ineffectual: the old regime in Iran
was struggling for survival and had no control. Even if he poste
d the
bail-and a lot of problem had to be solved before that could happen-Paul and
Bill would stiff be held in I=. And Simons's rescue plan was now in tatters,
rumed by the move to the new prison. There seemed to be no hope.
That night Perot went to see Simons.
He waited until dark, for safety. He wore his jogging suit with tannis
shoes and a dark businessman's overcoat. Keane Taylor drove him.
The rescue team had moved out of Taylor's house. Taylor had now met Dadgar
face-to-face, and Dadgar had started examining EDS's records: it was
possible, Simons had reasoned, that Dadgar would raid Taylor's house,
looking for incnnunatmg documents. So Simons, Coburn, and PocM were living
in the home of Bill and Tom Dvoranchik, who were now back in Dallas. Two
more of the team had made it to Tehran from Paris: Pat Sculley and Jim
Schwebach, the short but deadly duo who had been flank guards in the
original, now useless, rescue scenario.
In a typical Tehran arrangement, Dvoranchik's home was the ground floor of
a two-story house, with the landlord living upstairs. Taylor and the rescue
team left Perot alone with Simons.
ON WINGS OF EAGLES 213
Perot looked around the living room distastefully. No doubt the place had
been spotless when Toni Dvoranchik lived here, but now, inhabited by five
men, none of whom was very interested in housekeeping, it was dirty and
run-down, and it stank of Simons's cigars.
Simons's huge ftume was slumped in an armchair. His white whiskers were
bushy and his hair long. He was chain-smoking, as usual; drawing heavily on
his little cigar and inhaling with relish.
"You've seen the new prison," Perot said.
"Yeah," Simons rasped.
"What do you think?"
"The idea of taking that place with the kind of frontal attack we had in
mind just isn't worth talking about."
"That's what I figured."
"Which leaves a number of possibilities.
It does? thought Perot.
Simons went on: "One: I understand there are cars parked in the prison
compound. We may find a way to get Paul and Bill driven out of there in the
trunk of a car. As part of that plan, or as an alternative, we may be able
to bribe or blackmail this general who is in charge of the place."
"General Mohari. -
"Right. One of your Iranian employees is getting -us a rundown on the man."
'Good. -
"Two: the negotiating team. If they can get Paul and Bill released under
house an-est, or something of that kind, we can snatch the two of them. Get
Taylor and those guys to concentrate on this house-arrest idea. Agree to
any conditions the hwdans cam to name, but get 'em out of that jail.
Working on the assumption that they would be confined to their homes and
kept under surveillance, we're developing a new rescue scenario."
Perot was beginning to feel better. There was an aura of confidence about
this massive man. A few minutes ago Perot had felt almost hopeless: now
Simons was calmly listing fresh approaches to the problem, as if the move
to the new jail, the bail problems, and the collapse of the legitimate
government were mmor snags rather than total catastrophe.
"Three," Simons went on, "there's a revolution going on here. Revolutions
are predictable. The same things happen every damn time. You can't say when
they'll occur, only that they
214 Ken Follett
will, sooner or later. And one of the things that always happens is, the mob
storms the prisons and lets everyone out.
Perot was intrigued. "Is that so?"
Simons nodded. "Those are the three possibilities. Of course, at this point
in the game we can't pick one: we have to prepare fbr each of them.
Whichever of the three happens first, we'll need a plan for getting
everyone out of this goddam country just as soon as Paul and Bill are in
our hands."
"Yes." Perot was worried about his own departure: that of Paul and Bill
would be a good deal more hazardous. "I've had promises of help from the
American military-"
"Sure," Simons said. "I'm not saying they're insincere, but I will say they
have higher priorities, and I'm not prepared to place a great deal of
reliance on their promises."
All right." That was a matter for Simons's judgment, and Perot was content
to leave it to him. In fact, he was content to leave everything to Simons.
Simons was probably the bestqualified man in the world to do this job, and
Perot had complete faith in him. "What can I do?"
"Get back to the States. For one thing, you're in danger here. For another,
I need you over there. Chances are, when we eventually come out, it won't
be on a scheduled flight. We may not fly at all. You'll have to pick us up
somewhere-4t could be Iraq, Kuwait, Turkey, or Afghanistan-and that will
take organizing. Go home and stay ready. "
"Okay." Perot stood up. Simons had done to him what Perot sometimes did to
his staff. inspired him with the strength to go one more mile when the game
seemed lost. "I'll leave tomorrow."
He got a reservation on British Airways flight 200, Tehran to London via
Kuwait, leaving at 10:20 A.M. on January 20, the next day.
He called Margot and asked her to meet him in London. He wanted a few days
alone with her they might not get another chance, once the rescue started
to unfold.
They had had good times in London in the past. They would
stay at the Savoy Hotel. (Margot liked Claridge's, but Perot
did not --- they turned the heat too lugh, and if he opened the
windows he was kept awake by the roar of the all-night traffic
along Brook Suva.) He and Margot would see plays and concerts,
and go to Margot's favorite London nightclub, Annabel's. For a
few days they would enjoy life.
ON WINGS OF EAGLES 215
if he got out of Iran.
In order to minimize the amount of time he would have to spend at the
airport, he stayed at the hotel until the last minute. He called the
airport to find out whether the flight would leave on time, and was told
that it would.
He checked in a few minutes before ten o'clock.
Rich Gallagher, who accompanied him to the airport, went off to inquire
whether the authorities were planning to give Perot a hard time. Gallagher
had done this before. Together with an Iranian friend who worked for Pan
Am, he walked through to passport control carrying Perot's passport. The
Iranian explained that a VIP was coming through, and asked to clear the
passport in advance. The official at the desk obligingly looked through the
loose-leaf folder that contained the stop list and said there would be no
problems for Mr. Perot. Gallagher returned with the good news.
Perot remained apprehensive. If they wanted to pick him up, they might be
smart enough to lie to Gallagher.
Affable Bill Gayden, the president of EDS World, was flying in to take over
direction of the negotiating team. Gayden had left Dallas for Tehran once
before, but had turned back in Paris on hearing about Bunny Fleischaker's
warning of more arrests to come. Now he, like Perot, ha
d decided to risk
it. By chance, his night came in while Perot was waiting to leave , and
they had an opportunity to talk.
in his suitcase Gayden had eight American passports belonging to EDS
executives who looked vaguely like Paul or Bill.
Perot said: "I thought we were getting forged passports for them. Couldn't
you find a way?"
"Yeah, we found a way," Gayden said. "If you need a passport in a huffy,
you can take all the documentation down to the courthouse in Dallas, then
they put everything in an envelope and you carry it to New Orleans, where
they issue the passport. It's just a plain government envelope sealed with
Scotch tape, so you could open it on the way to New Orleans, take out the
photographs, replace them with photographs of Paul and Billwhich we
have-reseal the envelope, and, bingo, you've got passports for Paul and
Bill in false names. But it's against the law. "
"So what did you do instead?"
"I told all the evacuees that I had to have their passports in Ord" to get
their belongings shipped over from Tehran. I got a
216 Ken Follett
hundred or two hundred passports, and I picked the best eight. I bogused up
a letter from someone in the States to someone here in Tehran saying: 'Here
are the passports you asked for us to return so you could deal with the
immigration authorities,' just so that I've got a piece of paper to show if
I'm asked why the hell I'm carrying eight passports. -
-ff Paid and Bill use those passports to cross a frontier, they'll be
breaking the law anyway."
"ff we get that far, we'll break the law."
Perot nodded. "It makes sense."
His flight was called. He said goodbye to Gayden and to Taylor, who had
driven him to the airport and would take Gayden to the Hyatt. Then he went
off to discover the truth about the stop list.
He went first through a "Passengers Only" gate, where his boarding pass was
checked. He walked along a corridor to a booth where he paid a small sum as
airport tax. Then, on Ins right, he saw a series of passport-control desks.
Here the stop list was kept.
One of the desks was manned by a girl who was absorbed in a paperback book.
Follett, Ken - On Wings of Eagles.txt Page 28