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 there alive.
3____
Perot's good spirits soon passed. He had got into the prison, defying Dadgar, and had cheered up Paul and Bill; but Dadgar still 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 posted the bail--and a lot of problems had to be solved before that could happen--Paul and Bill would still be held in Iran. And Simons's rescue plan was now in tatters, ruined 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 tennis 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 incriminating documents. So Simons, Coburn, and Poche were living in the home of Bill and Toni 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. 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 frame 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 arrest, 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 Iranians care 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 minor 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
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 for 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 best-qualified 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--it 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 high, and if he opened the windows he was kept awake by the roar of the all-night traffic along Brook Street.) 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.
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, had decided to risk it. By chance, his flight 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 hurry, you can take all the documentation
