On Wings Of Eagles (1990)

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 achievement 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