Rashid looked at the document. It seemed somehow inadequate, improvised. It needed something to make it look official. He found a rubber stamp and an inking pad, and stamped the letter. Then he read what the stamp said: 'Library of the School of Religion, Rezaiyeh. Founded 1344.'
Rashid put the document in his pocket.
'We should probably print six thousand of these, so they can just be signed,' he said.
The deputy nodded.
'We can talk some more about these arrangements tomorrow,' Rashid went on. 'I'd like to go to Sero now, to discuss the problem with the border officials there.'
'Okay.'
Rashid walked away.
Nothing was impossible.
He got into the Range Rover. It was a good idea to go to the border, he decided: he could find out what the problems might be before making the trip with the Americans.
On the outskirts of Rezaiyeh was a roadblock manned by teenage boys with rifles. They gave Rashid no trouble, but he worried about how they might react to six Americans: the kids were evidently itching to use their guns.
After that the road was clear. It was a dirt road, but smooth enough, and he made good speed. He picked up a hitchhiker and asked him about crossing the border on horseback. No problem, said the hitchhiker. It could be done, and as it happened, his brother had horses ...
Rashid did the forty-mile journey in a little over an hour. He pulled up at the border station in his Range Rover. The guards were suspicious of him. He showed them the pass written by the deputy leader. The guards called Rezaiyeh and--they said--spoke to the deputy, who vouched for Rashid.
He stood looking across to Turkey. It was a pleasant sight. They had all been through a lot of anguish just to walk across there. For Paul and Bill it would mean freedom, home, and family. For all the EDS men it would be the end of a nightmare. For Rashid it meant something else: America.
He understood the psychology of EDS executives. They had a strong sense of obligation. If you helped them, they liked to show their appreciation, to keep the books balanced. He knew he only had to ask, and they would take him with them to the land of his dreams.
The border station was under the control of the village of Sero, just half a mile away down a mountain track. Rashid decided he would go and see the village chief, to establish a friendly relationship and smooth the way for later.
He was about to turn away when two cars drove up on the Turkish side. A tall black man in a leather coat got out of the first car and came to the chain on the edge of no-man's -land.
Rashid's heart leaped, He knew that man! He started waving and yelled: 'Ralph! Ralph Boulware! Hey, Ralph!'
4______
Thursday morning found Glenn Jackson--hunter. Baptist, and Rocket Man--in the skies over Tehran in a chartered jet.
Jackson had stayed in Kuwait after reporting on the possibility of Paul and Bill coming out of Iran that way. On Sunday, the day Paul and Bill got out of jail, Simons had sent orders, via Merv Stauffer, that Jackson was to go to Amman, Jordan, and there try to charter a plane to fly into Iran.
Jackson had reached Amman on Monday and had gone to work straightaway. He knew that Perot had flown into Tehran from Amman on a chartered jet of Arab Wings. He also knew that the president of Arab Wings, Akel Biltaji, had been helpful, allowing Perot to go in with NBC's television tapes as a cover. Now Jackson contacted Biltaji and asked for his help again.
He told Biltaji that EDS had two men in Iran who had to be brought out. He invented false names for Paul and Bill. Even though Tehran Airport was closed, Jackson wanted to fly in and try to land. Biltaji was willing to give it a try.
However, on Wednesday Stauffer--on Simons's instructions--changed Jackson's orders. Now his mission was to check on the Clean Team: the Dirty Team was no longer in Tehran, as far as Dallas knew.
On Thursday Jackson took off from Amman and headed east.
As they came down toward the bowl in the mountains where Tehran nestled, two aircraft took off from the city.
The planes came closer, and Jackson saw that they were fighter jets of the Iranian Air Force.
He wondered what would happen next.
His pilot's radio came to life with a burst of static. As the fighters circled, the pilot talked: Jackson could not understand the conversation, but he was glad the Iranians were talking rather than shooting.
The discussion went on. The pilot seemed to be arguing. Eventually he turned to Jackson and said: 'We have to go back. They won't let us land.'
'What will they do if we land anyway?'
'Shoot us down.'
'Okay,' said Jackson. 'We'll try again this afternoon.'
On Thursday morning in Istanbul, an English-language newspaper was delivered to Perot's suite at the Sheraton.
He picked it up and eagerly read the front-page story about yesterday's takeover of the American Embassy in Tehran. None of the Clean Team was mentioned, he was relieved to see. The only injury had been suffered by a marine sergeant, Kenneth Krause. However, Krause was not getting the medical attention he needed, according to the newspaper.
Perot called John Carlen, the captain of the Boeing 707, and asked him to come to the suite. He showed Carlen the newspaper and said: 'How would you feel about flying into Tehran tonight and picking up the wounded marine?'
Carlen, a laid-back Californian with graying hair and a tan, was very cool. 'We can do that,' he said.
Perot was surprised that Carlen did not even hesitate. He would have to fly through the mountains at night with no air-traffic control to help him, and land at a closed airport. 'Don't you want to talk to the rest of the crew?' Perot asked.
'No, they'll want to do it. The people who own the airplane will go bananas.'
'Don't tell them. I'll be responsible.'
'I'll need to know exactly where that marine is going to be,' Carlen went on. 'The Embassy will have to get him to the airport. I know a lot of people at that airport--I can talk my way in, bending the rules a little bit, and either talk my way out again or just take off.'
Perot thought: And the Clean Team will be the stretcher bearers.
He called Dallas and reached Sally Walther, his secretary. He asked her to patch him through to General Wilson, commandant of the Marine Corps. He and Wilson were friends.
Wilson came on the line.
'I'm in Turkey on business,' Perot told him. 'I've just read about Sergeant Krause. I have a plane here. If the Embassy can get Krause to the airport, we will fly in tonight and pick him up and see he gets proper medical care.'
'All right,' said Wilson. 'If he's dying I want you to pick him up. If not, I won't risk your crew. I'll get back to you.'
Perot got Sally back on the line. There was more bad news. A press officer in the State Department's Iran Task Force had talked to Robert Dudney, Washington correspondent for the
Perot cursed the State Department yet again. If Dudney published the story, and the news reached Tehran, Dadgar would surely intensify border security.
