They learned a little about their interpreter. He was studying in Europe and had been home on holiday when the revolution caught him and prevented his going back: that was how come he knew the airport was closed.
At midnight Coburn asked him: 'Can we try to place that call again?'
'Okay.'
One of the guards escorted Coburn back into town. They went to the post office, which was still open. However, there were no lines to Tehran.
Coburn waited until two o'clock in the morning, then gave up.
When he returned to the palace beside the dam, everyone was fast asleep.
He went to bed. At least they were all still alive. That was enough to be thankful for. Nobody knew what was between them and the border. He would worry about that tomorrow.
Twelve
1_____
'Wake up, Coburn, let's move, let's go!'
Simons's gravelly voice penetrated Coburn's slumber and he opened his eyes, thinking: Where am I?
In the Shah's palace at Mahabad.
Oh, shit.
He got up.
Simons was getting the Dirty Team ready to go, but there was no sign of their guards: Apparently they were all still asleep. The Americans made plenty of noise, and eventually the Kurds emerged from the royal suite.
Simons said to Rashid: 'Tell them we have to go, we're in a hurry, our friends are waiting at the border for us.'
Rashid told them, then said: 'We have to wait.'
Simons did not like this. 'What for?'
'They all want to take showers.'
Keane Taylor said: 'I don't see the urgency--most of them haven't taken a shower in a year or two; you'd think they could wait another day.'
Simons contained his impatience for half an hour, then told Rashid to tell the guards again that the team had to hurry.
'We have to see the Shah's bathroom,' Rashid said.
'Goddammit, we've seen it,' said Simons. 'What's the delay?'
Everyone trooped into the royal suite and dutifully exclaimed at the shameful luxury of an unused palace; and still the guards would not move out.
Coburn wondered what was happening. Had they changed their minds about escorting the Americans to the next town? Had Bolourian checked up on EDS during the night? Simons would not be kept here much longer ...
Finally the young interpreter showed up, and it turned out the guards had been waiting for him. The plan was unchanged : a group of Kurds would go with the Americans on the next leg of their journey.
Simons said: 'We have friends in Rezaiyeh--we'd like to be taken to their house, rather than go see the head man of the town.'
'It's not safe,' said the interpreter. 'The fighting is heavy north of here--the city of Tabriz is still in the hands of the Shah's supporters. I must hand you over to people who can protect you.'
'All right, but can we leave now?'
'Sure.'
They left.
They drove into the town and were ordered to stop outside a house. The interpreter went in. They all waited. Somebody bought bread and cream cheese for breakfast. Coburn got out of his car and went to Simons's. 'What's happening now?'
'This is the mullah's house,' Rashid explained. 'He is writing a letter to the mullah of Rezaiyeh, about us.'
It was about an hour before the interpreter came out with the promised letter.
Next they drove to the police station, and there they saw their escort vehicle: a big white ambulance with a flashing red light on top, its windows knocked out, and some kind of identification scrawled on its side in Farsi with red magic marker, presumably saying 'Mahabad Revolutionary Committee' or something similar. It was full of gun- toting Kurds.
So much for traveling inconspicuously.
At last they got on the road, the ambulance leading the way.
Simons was anxious about Dadgar. Clearly no one in Mahabad had been alerted to look out for Paul and Bill, but Rezaiyeh was a much bigger town. Simons did not know whether Dadgar's authority extended into the countryside: all he knew was that so far Dadgar had always surprised everyone by his dedication and his ability to persist through changes of government. Simons wished the team did not have to be taken before the Rezaiyeh authorities.
'We have good friends in Rezaiyeh,' he told the young interpreter. 'If you could take us to their house, we'd be very safe there.'
'Oh, no,' said the interpreter. 'If I disobey orders and you get hurt, there will be hell to pay.'
Simons gave up. It was clear they were as much prisoners as guests of the Kurds. The revolution in Mahabad was characterized by Communist discipline rather than Islamic anarchy, and the only way to get rid of the escort would be by violence. Simons was not yet ready to start a fight.
Just outside the town, the ambulance pulled off the road and stopped at a little cafe.
'Why are we stopping?' Simons said.
'Breakfast,' said the interpreter.
'We don't need breakfast,' Simons said forcefully.
'But--'
'We don't need breakfast!'
The interpreter shrugged, and shouted something to the Kurds getting out of the ambulance. They got back in and the convoy drove on.
They reached the outskirts of Rezaiyeh late in the morning.
Their way was barred by the inevitable roadblock. This one was a serious, military-style affair of parked vehicles, sandbags, and barbed wire. The convoy slowed, and an armed guard waved them off the road and into the forecourt of a filling station that had been turned into a command post. The approach road was well covered by machine guns in the filling-station building.
The ambulance failed to stop soon enough and ran right into the barbed-wire fence.
The two Range Rovers pulled up in an orderly fashion.
The ambulance was immediately surrounded by guards, and an argument started. Rashid and the interpreter went over to join in. The Rezaiyeh revolutionaries did not automatically assume that the Mahabad revolutionaries were on their side. The Rezaiyeh men were Azerbaijanis, not Kurds, and the argument took place in Turkish as well as Farsi.
The Kurds were being ordered to turn in their weapons, it seemed, and they were refusing angrily. The interpreter was showing the note from the Mahabad mullah. Nobody was taking much notice of Rashid, who was suddenly an outsider.
Eventually the interpreter and Rashid came back to the cars. 'We're going to take you to a hotel,' said the interpreter, 'then I will go and see the mullah.'
The ambulance was all tangled up in the barbed-wire fence, and had to be extricated before they could go. Guards from the roadblock escorted them into the town.
It was a large town by the standards of the Iranian provinces. It had plenty of concrete and stone buildings and a few paved roads. The convoy pulled up in a main street. Distant shouting could be heard. Rashid and the interpreter went into a building--presumably a hotel--and the others waited.
Coburn felt optimistic. You didn't put prisoners into a hotel before shooting them. This was just
