by Ken Follett
He sat on the edge of his chair for the first hour.
Then he began to feel resigned. If they were going to catch him, they would, and there was nothing he could do about it. He started to read a magazine. Over the next hour he read everything in his briefcase. Then he started talking to the man sitting next to him. Perot learned that the man was an English engineer working in Iran on a project for a large British company. They chatted for a while, then swapped magazines.
In a few hours, Perot thought, I'll be in a beautiful hotel suite with Margot--or in an Iranian jail. He pushed the thought from his mind.
Lunchtime went by, and the afternoon wore on. He began to believe they were not going to come for him.
The flight was finally called at six o'clock.
Perot stood up. If they come for me now ...
He joined the crowd and approached the departure gate. There was a security check. He was frisked, and waved through.
I've almost made it, he thought as he boarded the plane. He sat between two fat people in an economy seat--it was an all-economy flight. I think I've made it.
The doors were closed and the plane began to move.
It taxied onto the runway and gathered speed.
The plane took off.
He had made it.
He had always been lucky.
His thoughts turned to Margot. She was handling this crisis the way she had handled the prisoners-of-war adventures: she understood her husband's concept of duty and she never complained. That was why he could stay focused on what he had to do, and block out negative thoughts that would excuse inaction. He was lucky to have her. He thought of all the lucky things that had happened to him: good parents, getting into the Naval Academy, meeting Margot, having such fine children, starting EDS, getting good people to work for him, brave people like the volunteers he had left behind in Iran ...
He wondered superstitiously whether an individual had a certain limited quantity of luck in his life. He saw his luck as sand in an hourglass, slowly but steadily running out. What happens, he thought, when it's all gone?
The plane descended toward Kuwait. He was out of Iranian airspace--he had escaped.
While the plane was refueling he walked to the open door and stood there, breathing the fresh air and ignoring the stewardess who kept asking him to return to his seat. There was a nice breeze blowing across the tarmac, and it was a relief to get away from the fat people sitting on either side of him. The stewardess eventually gave up and went to do something else. He watched the sun go down. Luck, he thought; I wonder how much I've got left?
Eight
1____
The rescue team in Tehran now consisted of Simons, Coburn, Poche, Sculley, and Schwebach. Simons decided that Boulware, Davis, and Jackson would not come to Tehran. The idea of rescuing Paul and Bill by frontal assault was now dead, so he did not need such a big team. He sent Glenn Jackson to Kuwait, to investigate that end of the southerly route out of Iran. Boulware and Davis went back to the States to await further orders.
Majid reported to Coburn that General Mohari, the man in charge of the Gasr Prison, was not easily corruptible, but had two daughters at school in the United States. The team briefly discussed kidnapping the girls and forcing Mohari to help Paul and Bill escape; but they rejected the idea. (Perot hit the roof when he learned they had even discussed it.) The idea of sneaking Paul and Bill out in the trunk of a car was put on the back burner for a while.
For two or three days they concentrated on what they would do if Paul and Bill were released under house arrest. They went to look at the houses the two men had occupied before the arrest. The snatch would be easy unless Dadgar put Paul and Bill under surveillance. The team would use two cars, they decided. The first car would pick up Paul and Bill. The second, following at a distance, would contain Sculley and Schwebach, who would be responsible for eliminating anyone who tried to tail the first car. Once again, the deadly duo would do the killing.
The two cars would keep in touch by shortwave radio, they decided. Coburn called Merv Stauffer in Dallas and ordered the equipment. Boulware would take the radios to London: Schwebach and Sculley went to London to meet him and pick them up. While in London, the deadly duo would try to get hold of some good maps of Iran, for use during the escape from the country, should the team have to leave by road. (No good maps of the country were to be found in Tehran, as the Jeep Club had learned in happier days: Gayden said Persian maps were at the "Turn left by the dead horse" level.)
Simons wanted also to prepare for the third possibility--that Paul and Bill would be released by a mob storming the prison. What should the team do in that eventuality? Coburn was continuously monitoring the situation in the city, calling his contacts in U.S. military intelligence and several trustworthy Iranian employees: if the prison were overrun he would know very quickly. What then? Someone would have to look for Paul and Bill and bring them to safety. But a bunch of Americans driving into the middle of a riot would be asking for trouble: Paul and Bill would be safer mingling inconspicuously with the crowd of escaping prisoners. Simons told Coburn to speak to Paul about this possibility the next time he visited the jail, and instruct Paul to head for the Hyatt Hotel.
However, an Iranian could go looking for Paul and Bill in the riots. Simons asked Coburn to recommend an Iranian employee of EDS who was really street-smart.
Coburn thought immediately of Rashid.
He was a dark-skinned, rather good-looking twenty-three-year-old from an affluent Tehran family. He had completed EDS's training program for systems engineers. He was intelligent and resourceful, and he had bags of charm. Coburn recalled the last time Rashid had demonstrated his talent for improvisation. Ministry of Health employees who were on partial strike had refused to key the data for the payroll system, but Rashid had got all the input together, taken it down to Bank Omran, talked someone there into keying the data, then run the program on the Ministry computer. The trouble with Rashid was that you had to keep an eye on him, because he never consulted anyone before implementing his unconventional ideas. Getting the data keyed the way he had constituted strikebreaking, and might have got EDS into big trouble--indeed, when Bill had heard about it he had been more anxious than pleased. Rashid was excitable and impulsive, and his English was not so good, so he tended to dash off and do his own crazy thing without telling anyone--a tendency that made his managers nervous. But he always got away with it. He could talk his way into and out of anything. At the airport, meeting people or seeing them off, he always managed to pass through all the "Passengers Only" barriers even though he never had a boarding card, ticket, or passport to show. Coburn knew him well, and liked him enough to have brought him home for supper several times. Coburn also trusted him completely, especially since the strike, when Rashid had been one of Coburn's informants among the hostile Iranian employees.
However, Simons would not trust Rashid on Coburn's say-so. Just as he had insisted on meeting Keane Taylor before letting him in on the secret, so he would want to talk to Rashid.
So Coburn arranged a meeting.
When Rashid was eight years old he had wanted to be President of the United States.
At twenty-three he knew he could never be President, but he still wanted to go to America, and EDS was going to be his ticket. He knew he had it in him to be a great businessman. He was a student of the psychology of the human being, and it had not taken him long to understand the mentality of EDS people. They wanted results, not excuses. If you were given a task, it was always better to do a little more than was expected. If for some reason the task was difficult, or even impossible, it was best not to say so: they hated to hear people whining about problems. You never said: "I can't do that because ..." You always said: "This is the progress I have made so far, and this is the problem I am working on right now ..." It so happened that these attitudes suited Rashid perfectly. He had made himself useful to EDS, and he knew the company appreciated it.
His greatest achieve
ment had been installing computer terminals in offices where the Iranian staff were suspicious and hostile. So great was the resistance that Pat Sculley had been able to install no more than two per month: Rashid had installed the remaining eighteen in two months. He had planned to capitalize on this. He had composed a letter to Ross Perot, who--he understood--was the head of EDS, asking to be allowed to complete his training in Dallas. He had intended to ask all the EDS managers in Tehran to sign the letter: but events had overtaken him, most of the managers had been evacuated, and EDS in Iran was falling to pieces; and he never mailed the letter. So he would think of something else.
He could always find a way. Everything was possible for Rashid. He could do anything. He had even got out of the army. At a time when thousands of young middle-class Iranians were spending fortunes in bribes to avoid military service, Rashid, after a few weeks in uniform, had convinced the doctors that he was incurably ill with a twitching disease. His comrades and the officers over him knew that he was in perfect health, but every time he saw the doctor he twitched uncontrollably. He went before medical boards and twitched for hours--an absolutely exhausting business, he discovered. Finally, so many doctors had certified him ill that he got his discharge papers. It was crazy, ridiculous, impossible--but doing the impossible was Rashid's normal practice.
So he knew that he would go to America. He did not know how, but careful and elaborate planning was not his style anyway. He was a spur-of-the-moment man, an improviser, an opportunist. His chance would come and he would seize it.
Mr. Simons interested him. He was not like the other EDS managers. They were all in their thirties or forties, but Simons was nearer to sixty. His long hair and white whiskers and big nose seemed more Iranian than American. Finally, he did not come right out with whatever was on his mind. People like Sculley and Coburn would say: "This is the situation and this is what I want you to do and you need to have it done by tomorrow morning ..." Simons just said: "Let's go for a walk."
They strolled around the streets of Tehran. Rashid found himself talking about his family, his work at EDS, and his views on the psychology of the human being. They could hear continual shooting, and the streets were alive with people marching and chanting. Everywhere they saw the wreckage of past battles, overturned cars and burned-out buildings. "The Marxists smash up expensive cars and the Muslims trash the liquor stores," Rashid told Simons.
"Why is this happening?" Simons asked him.
"This is the time for Iranians to prove themselves, to accomplish their ideas, and to gain their freedom."
They found themselves in Gasr Square, facing the prison. Rashid said: "There are many Iranians in these jails simply because they ask for freedom."
Simons pointed at the crowd of women in chadors. "What are they doing?"
"Their husbands and sons are unjustly imprisoned, so they gather here, wailing and crying to the guards to let the prisoners go."
Simons said: "Well, I guess I feel the same about Paul and Bill as those women do about their men."
"Yes. I, too, am very concerned about Paul and Bill."
"But what are you doing about it?" Simons said.
Rashid was taken aback. "I am doing everything I can to help my American friends," he said. He thought of the dogs and cats. One of his tasks at the moment was to care for all the pets left behind by EDS evacuees--including four dogs and twelve cats. Rashid had never had pets and did not know how to deal with large, aggressive dogs. Every time he went to the apartment where the dogs were stashed to feed them, he had to hire two or three men off the streets to help him restrain the animals. Twice now he had taken them all to the airport in cages, having heard that there was a flight out that would accept them; and both times the flight had been canceled. He thought of telling Simons about this, but somehow he knew that Simons would not be impressed.
Simons was up to something, Rashid thought, and it was not a business matter. Simons struck him as an experienced man--you could see that just by looking at his face. Rashid did not believe in experience. He believed in fast education. Revolution, not evolution. He liked the inside track, short cuts, accelerated development, superchargers. Simons was different. He was a patient man, and Rashid--analyzing Simons's psychology--guessed that the patience came from a strong will. When he is ready, Rashid thought, he will let me know what he wants from me.
"Do you know anything about the French Revolution?" Simons asked.
"A little."
"This place reminds me of the Bastille--a symbol of oppression."
It was a good comparison, Rashid thought.
Simons went on: "The French revolutionaries stormed the Bastille and let all the prisoners out."
"I think the same will happen here. It's a possibility, at least."
Simons nodded. "If it happens, someone ought to be here to take care of Paul and Bill."
"Yes." That will be me, Rashid thought.
They stood together in Gasr Square, looking at the high walls and huge gates, and the wailing women in their black robes. Rashid recalled his principle: always do a little more than EDS asks of you. What if the mobs ignored Gasr Prison? Maybe he should make sure they did not. The mob was nothing but people like Rashid--young, discontented Iranian men who wanted to change their lives. He might not only join the mob--he might lead it. He might lead an attack on the prison. He, Rashid, might rescue Paul and Bill.
Nothing was impossible.
2____
Coburn did not know all that was going on in Simons's mind at this point. He had not been in on Simons's conversations with Perot and Rashid, and Simons did not volunteer much information. From what Coburn did know, the three possibilities--the trunk-of-a-car trick, the house-arrest-and-snatch routine, and the storming of the Bastille--seemed pretty vague. Furthermore, Simons was doing nothing to make it happen,but appeared content to sit around the Dvoranchik place discussing ever-more-detailed scenarios. Yet none of this made Coburn uneasy. He was an optimist anyway; and he--like Ross Perot--figured there was no point in second-guessing the world's greatest rescue expert.
While the three possibilities were simmering, Simons concentrated on routes out of Iran, the problem Coburn thought of as "Getting out of Dodge."
Coburn looked for ways of flying Paul and Bill out. He poked around warehouses at the airport, toying with the idea of shipping Paul and Bill as freight. He talked to people at each of the airlines, trying to develop contacts. He eventually had several meetings with the chief of security at Pan Am, telling him everything except the names of Paul and Bill. They talked about getting the two fugitives on a scheduled flight wearing Pan Am cabin crew uniforms. The security chief wanted to help, but the airline's liability proved in the end to be an insuperable problem. Coburn then considered stealing a helicopter. He scouted a chopper base in the south of the city, and decided the theft was feasible. But, given the chaos of the Iranian military, he suspected the aircraft were not being properly maintained and he knew they were short of spare parts. Then again, some of them might have contaminated fuel.
He reported all this to Simons. Simons was already uneasy about airports, and the snags uncovered by Coburn reinforced his prejudice. There were always police and military around airports; if something went wrong there was no escape--airports were designed to prevent people wandering where they should not go; at an airport you always had to put yourself in the hands of others. Furthermore, in that situation your worst enemy could be the people escaping: they needed to be very cool. Coburn thought Paul and Bill had the nerves to go through something like that, but there was no point telling Simons so: Simons always had to make his own assessment of a man's character, and he had never met Paul or Bill.
So in the end the team focused on getting out by road.
There were six ways.
To the north was the USSR, not a hospitable country. To the east were Afghanistan, equally inhospitable, and Pakistan, whose border was too far away--almost a thousand miles, mostly across desert. To t
he south was the Persian Gulf, with friendly Kuwait just fifty or a hundred miles across the water. That was promising. To the west was unfriendly Iraq; to the northwest, friendly Turkey.
Kuwait and Turkey were the destinations they favored.
Simons asked Coburn to have a trustworthy Iranian employee drive south all the way to the Persian Gulf, to find out whether the road was passable and the countryside peaceful. Coburn asked the Cycle Man, so called because he zipped around Tehran on a motorcycle. A trainee systems engineer like Rashid, the Cycle Man was about twenty-five, short, and street-smart. He had learned English at school in California, and could talk with any regional American accent--southern, Puerto Rican, anything. EDS had hired him despite his lack of a college degree because he scored remarkably high marks on aptitude tests. When EDS's Iranian employees had joined the general strike, and Paul and Coburn had called a mass meeting to discuss it with them, the Cycle Man had astonished everyone by speaking out vehemently against his colleagues and in favor of the management. He made no secret of his pro-American feelings, yet Coburn was quite sure the Cycle Man was involved with the revolutionaries. One day he had asked Keane Taylor for a car. Taylor had given him one. The next day he asked for another. Taylor obliged. The Cycle Man always used his motorcycle anyway: Taylor and Coburn were pretty sure the cars were for the revolutionaries. They did not care: it was more important that the Cycle Man become obligated to them.
So, in return for past favors, the Cycle Man drove to the Persian Gulf.
He came back a few days later and reported that anything was possible if you had enough money. You could get to the Gulf and you could buy or rent a boat.
He had no idea what would happen when you disembarked in Kuwait.
That question was answered by Glenn Jackson.
As well as being a hunter and a Baptist, Glenn Jackson was a Rocket Man. His combination of a first-class mathematical brain and the ability to stay calm under stress had got him into Mission Control at NASA's Manned Spacecraft Center in Houston as a flight controller. His job had been to design and operate the computer programs that calculated trajectories for in-flight maneuvering.