On Wings Of Eagles (1990)

It was January 14, the day after Simons and Poche 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 Poche were heading downtown, to reconnoiter the jail.

After a few minutes Joe Poche 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 retired farmer 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 Poche. 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 on a comer 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, flat 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. Poche 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.

Poche drove slowly, but not too slowly, past the jail.

Simons said, 'Oh, shit.'

Coburn's heart sank.

The jail was radically different from the mental picture he had built up.

The 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?'

Poche 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.

Poche made one more pass around the block.

Simons was thinking ahead. 'We can get in there,' he said. '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 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 Poche 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. The 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 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, 'we'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.'

'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 blanche--'

'I'm not sure I want it.'

'You ain't being asked for your permission, Paul.'

Paul smiled. 'Okay.'

'Now I need some information. Where do you exercise?'

'Right there in the courtyard.'

'When?'

'Thursdays.'

Today was Monday. The next exercise period would be January 18. 'How long do you spend out there?'

'About an hour.'

'What time of day?'

'It varies.'