On Wings Of Eagles (1990)

The flight from Zurich to Tehran was all too short.

Coburn spent the time anxiously running over in his mind the things he had to do. He could not make a list: Simons would not allow anything to be written down.

His first job was to get through customs with the false-bottomed case. There were no guns in it: if the case was inspected and the secret compartment discovered, Coburn was to say that it was for carrying delicate photographic equipment.

Next he had to select some abandoned houses and apartments for Simons to consider as hideouts. Then he had to find cars and make sure there was a supply of gasoline for them.

His cover story, for the benefit of Keane Taylor, Rich Gallagher, and EDS's Iranian employees, was that he was arranging shipment of evacuees' personal belongings back to the States. Coburn had told Simons that Taylor ought to be let in on the secret: he would be a valuable asset to the rescue team. Simons had said he would make that decision himself, after meeting Taylor.

Coburn wondered how to hoodwink Taylor.

He was still wondering when the plane landed.

Inside the terminal all the airport staff were in army uniforms. That was how the airport had been kept open despite the strike, Coburn realized: the military was running it.

He picked up the suitcase with the false bottom and walked through customs. No one stopped him.

The arrivals hall was a zoo. The waiting crowds were more unruly than ever. The army was not running the airport on military lines.

He fought his way through the crowd to the cabstand. He skirted two men who appeared to be fighting over a taxi, and took the next in line.

Riding into town, he noticed a good deal of military hardware on the road, especially near the airport. There were many more tanks about than there had been when he left. Was that a sign that the Shah was still in control? In the press the Shah was still talking as if he were in control, but then so was Bakhtiar. So, for that matter, was the Ayatollah, who had just announced the formation of a Council of the Islamic Revolution to take over the government, just as if he were already in power in Tehran instead of sitting in a villa outside Paris at the end of a telephone line. In truth, nobody was in charge; and while that hindered the negotiations for the release of Paul and Bill, it would probably help the rescue team.

The cab took him to the office they called Bucharest, where he found Keane Taylor. Taylor was in charge now, for Lloyd Briggs had gone to New York to brief EDS's lawyers in person. Taylor was sitting at Paul Chiapparone's desk, in an immaculate vested suit, just as if he were a million miles away from the nearest revolution instead of in the middle of it. He was astonished to see Coburn.

'Jay! When the hell did you get here?'

'Just arrived,' Coburn said.

'What's with the beard--you trying to get yourself fired?'

'I thought it might make me look less American here.'

'Did you ever see an Iranian with a ginger beard?'

'No,' Coburn laughed.

'So, what are you here for?'

'Well, we're obviously not going to bring our people back in here in the foreseeable future, so I've come to police up everyone's personal belongings to get them shipped back to the States.'

Taylor shot him a funny look but did not comment. 'Where are you going to stay? We've all moved into the Hyatt Crown Regency, it's safer.'

'How about I use your old house?'

'Whatever you say.'

'Now, about these belongings. Do you have those envelopes everyone left, with their house keys and car keys and instructions for disposal of their household goods?'

'I sure do--I've been referring to them. Everything people don't want shipped I've been selling--washers and dryers, refrigerators. I'm running a permanent garage sale here.'

'Can I have the envelopes?'

'Sure.'

'How's the car situation?'

'We've rounded up most of them. I've got them parked at a school, with some Iranians watching them, if they're not selling them.'

'What about gas?'

'Rich got four fifty-five-gallon drums from the air force and we've got them full down in the basement.'

'I thought I smelled gas when I came in.'

'Don't strike a match down there in the dark--we'll all be blown to hell.'

'What do you do about topping up the drums?'

'We use a couple of cars as tankers--a Buick and a Chevy, with big U.S. gas tanks. Two of our drivers spend all day waiting in gas lines. When they get filled up, they come back here and we siphon the gas into the drums, then send the cars back to the filling station. Sometimes you can buy gas from the front of the line. Grab someone who's just got filled up and offer him ten times the pump price for the gas in his car. There's a whole economy grown up around the gas lines.'

'What about fuel oil for the houses, for heating?'

'I've got a source, but he charges me ten times the old price. I'm spending money like a drunken sailor here.'

'I'm going to need twelve cars.'

'Twelve cars, huh, Jay?'

'That's what I said.'

'You'll have room to stash them, at my house--it's got a big walled courtyard. Would you ... for any reason ... like to be able to get the cars refueled without any of the Iranian employees seeing you?'

'I sure would.'

'Just bring an empty car to the Hyatt and I'll swap it for a full one.'

'How many Iranians do we still have?'

'Ten of the best, plus four drivers.'

'I'd like a list of their names.'

'Did you know Ross is on his way in?'

'Shit, no!' Coburn was astonished.

'I just got word. He's bringing Bob Young, from Kuwait, to take over this administrative stuff from me, and John Howell to work on the legal side. They want me to work with John, on the negotiations and bail.'

'Is that a fact?' Coburn wondered what was on Perot's mind. 'Okay, I'm taking off for your place.'

'Jay, why don't you tell me what's up?'

'There's nothing I can tell you.'

'Screw you, Coburn. I want to know what's going down.'

'You got all I'm going to tell you.'

'Screw you again. Wait till you see what cars you get--you'll be lucky if they have steering wheels.'

'Sorry.'

'Jay ...'

'Yeah?'

'That's the funniest looking suitcase I've ever seen.'

'So it is, so it is.'

'I know what you're up to, Coburn.'

Coburn sighed. 'Let's go for a walk.'

They went out into the street, and Coburn told Taylor about the rescue team.

The next day Coburn and Taylor went to work on hideouts.

Taylor's house, Number 2 Aftab Street, was ideal. Conveniently close to the Hyatt for switching cars, it was also in the Armenian section of the city, which might be less hostile to Americans if the rioting got worse. It had a