Keane Taylor found his health insurance card, with 'Electronic Data Systems Corp.' printed across the bottom. He handed it to the interpreter, saying: 'Electronic Data Systems is the parent company of PDS.'
Bolourian got up and left the room.
The interpreter, the armed Kurds, and the EDS men waited in silence. Coburn thought: What now?
Could Bolourian possibly know that EDS had once had a contract with ISIRAN? If so, would he jump to the conclusion that the EDS men were connected with SAVAK? Or had his question about ISIRAN been a shot in the dark? In that case, had he believed their story about being ordinary businessmen trying to go home?
Opposite Coburn, on the far side of the circle, Bill was feeling strangely at peace. He had peaked out on fear during the questioning, and he was simply incapable of worrying any longer. We've tried our hardest to get out, he thought, and if they put us up against the wall right now and shoot us, so be it.
Bolourian walked back in, loading a gun.
Coburn glanced at Simons: his eyes were riveted on the gun.
It was an old M1 carbine that looked as if it dated from World War II.
He can't shoot us all with that, Coburn thought.
Bolourian handed the gun to the interpreter and said something in Farsi.
Coburn gathered his muscles to spring. There would be a hell of a mess if they opened fire in this room--
The interpreter took the gun and said: 'And now you will be our guests, and drink tea.'
Bolourian wrote on a piece of paper and handed it to the interpreter. Coburn realized that Bolourian had simply issued the gun to the interpreter and given him a permit to carry it. 'Christ, I thought he was going to shoot us,' Coburn muttered.
Simons's face was expressionless.
Tea was served.
It was not dark outside. Rashid asked whether there was somewhere the Americans could spend the night. ' You will be our guests,' said the interpreter. 'I will personally look after you.' Coburn thought: For that, he needs a gun? The interpreter went on: 'In the morning our mullah will write a note to the mullah of Rezaiyeh, asking him to let you pass.'
Coburn murmured to Simons: 'What do you think? Should we stay the night here, or go on?'
'I don't think we have a choice,' Simons said. 'When he said 'guests,' he was just being polite.'
They drank their tea, and the interpreter said: 'Now we will go and have dinner.'
They got up and put on their shoes. Walking out to the cars, Coburn noticed that Gayden was limping. 'What's the matter with your feet?' he said.
'Not so loud,' Gayden hissed. 'I got all the money stuffed up in the toes of my shoes and my feet are killing me.'
Coburn laughed.
They got into the cars and drove off, still accompanied by Kurdish guards and the interpreter. Gayden surreptitiously eased off his shoes and rearranged the money. They pulled into a filling station. Gayden murmured: 'If they weren't going to let us go, they wouldn't take us to gas up ... would they?'
Coburn shrugged.
They drove to the town restaurant. The EDS men sat down, and the guards sat at tables around them, forming a rough circle and cutting them off from the townspeople.
A TV set was on, and the Ayatollah was making a speech. Paul thought: Jesus, it had to be now, when we're in trouble, that this guy comes to power. Then the interpreter told him that Khomeini was saying Americans should not be molested, but should be allowed to leave Iran unharmed, and Paul felt better.
They were served chella kebab--lamb with rice. The guards ate heartily, their rifles on the tables beside their plates.
Keane Taylor ate a little rice, then put down his spoon. He had a headache: he had been sharing the driving with Rashid, and he felt as if the sun had been in his eyes all day. He was also worried, for it occurred to him that Bolourian might call Tehran during the night to check out EDS. The guards kept telling him, with gestures, to eat, but he sat and nursed a Coke.
Coburn was not hungry either. He had recalled that he was supposed to phone Gholam. It was late: they would be worried sick in Dallas. But what should he tell Gholam--that they were okay, or that they were in trouble?
There was some discussion about who should pay the bill when the meal was over. The guards wanted to pay, Rashid said. The Americans were anxious not to offend by offering to pay when they were supposed to be guests, but also keen to ingratiate themselves with these people. In the end Keane Taylor paid for everyone.
As they were leaving, Coburn said to the interpreter: 'I'd sure like to call Tehran, to let our people know we're all right.'
'Okay,' said the young man.
They drove to the post office. Coburn and the interpreter went in. There was a crowd of people waiting to use the three or four phone booths. The interpreter spoke to someone behind the counter, then told Coburn: 'All the lines to Tehran are busy--it's very difficult to get through.'
'Could we come back later?'
'Okay.'
They drove out of the town in the dark. After a few minutes they stopped at a gate in a fence. The moonlight showed the distant outline of what might have been a dam.
There was a long delay while keys to the gate were found; then they drove in. They found themselves in a small park surrounding an ornate, modern two-story building made of white granite. 'This is one of the Shah's palaces,' the interpreter explained. 'He has used it only once, when he opened the power station. Tonight we will use it.'
They went inside. The place was cozily warm. The interpreter said indignantly: 'The heating has been on for three years just in case the Shah should decide to drop by.'
They all went upstairs and looked at their quarters. There was a luxurious royal suite with an enormous fancy bathroom; then along the corridor were smaller rooms, each containing two single beds and a bathroom, presumably for the Shah's bodyguard. Under each bed was a pair of slippers.
The Americans moved into the guards' rooms and the revolutionary Kurds took over the Shah's suite. One of them decided to take a bath: the Americans could hear him splashing about, hooting, and hollering. After a while he came out. He was the biggest and burliest of them, and he had put on one of the Shah's fancy bathrobes. He came mincing down the corridor while his colleagues fell about laughing. He went up to Gayden and said in heavily accented English: 'Complete gentleman.' Gayden broke up.
Coburn said to Simons: 'What's the routine for tomorrow?'
'They want to escort us to Rezaiyeh and hand us over to the head man there,' said Simons. 'It'll help to have them with us if we meet any more roadblocks. But when we get to Rezaiyeh, we may be able to persuade them to take us to the professor's house instead of the head man.'
Coburn nodded. 'Okay.'
Rashid looked worried. 'These are bad people,' he whispered. 'Don't trust them. We've got to get out of here.'
Coburn was not sure he trusted the Kurds, but he was quite certain there would be trouble if the Americans tried to leave now.
He noticed that one of the guards had a G3 rifle. 'Hey, that's a real neat firearm,' he said.
The guard smiled and seemed to understand.
'I've never seen one before,' Coburn said. 'How do you load it?'
'Load ... so,' said the guard, and showed him.
They sat down and the guard explained the rifle. He spoke enough English to make himself understood with the help of gestures.
After a while Coburn realized that
He started to relax.
The others wanted to take showers, but Gayden went first and used all the hot water. Paul took a cold shower: he had sure as hell got used to cold showers lately.
