Read On Wings of Eagles Online
Authors: Ken Follett
Tags: #Fiction, #Thrillers, #Military, #Espionage, #General, #History, #Special Forces, #Biography & Autobiography
"I got some eggs."
ON WINGS OF EAGLES 309
"Maybe we'll need more."
Boulware went back into the shop and bought three dozen oranges.
They got into the Chevrolet and drove to a filling station. The driver
bought a spare tank of fuel and put it in the trunk. "Where we're going,
there are no gas stations," Charlie explained.
Boulware was looking at a map. Their journey was about five hundred miles
through mountain country. "Listen," he said. "There is no way this car is
going to get us to the border by two o'clock tomorrow afternoon. -
"You don't understand," Charlie said. "This man is a Turkish driver. "
"Oh, boy, " said Boulware; and he sat back in the seat and closed his eyes.
They drove out of town and headed up into the mountains of central Turkey.
The road was of dirt and gravel, with enormous potholes, and in places it
was not much wider than the car. It snaked over the mountainsides, with a
breathtaking sheer drop at one edge. There was no guardrail to stop an
incautious driver shooting over the precipice into the abyss. But the
scenery was spectacular, with stunning views across the sunlit valleys, and
Boulware made up his mind to go back one day, with Mary and Stacy and
Kecia, and do the trip again, at leisure.
Up ahead, a truck was approaching them. The cabby braked to a halt. Two men
in uniform got out of the truck. "Army patrol," said Charlie Brown.
The driver wound down his window. Ilsman talked to the soldiers. Boulware
did not understand what was said, but it seemed to satisfy the patrol. The
cabby drove on.
An hour or so later they were stopped by another patrol, and the same thing
happened.
At nightfall they spotted a roadside restaurant and pulled in. The place
was primitive and filthy dirty. "All they have is beans and rice," said
Charlie apologetically as they sat down.
Boulware smiled. "I been eating beans and rice all my life."
He studied the cabdriver. The man was about sixty years old, and looked
tired. "I guess I'll drive for a while," said Boulware.
Charlie translated, and the cabby protested vehemently.
"He says you won't be able to drive that car," Charlie said. "It's an
American car with a very peculiar gearshift."
"Look, I am American," Boulware said. "Tell him that lots
310 Ken Folleu
of Americans are black. And I know how to drive a 'sixty-four Chevy with a
standard shift, for Pete's sake!"
The three Turks argued about it while they ate. Finally Charlie said: "You
can drive, so long as you promise to pay for the damage if you wreck the
car."
"I promise," said Boulware, thinking: Big deal.
He paid the bill, and they walked out to the car. It was beginning to rain.
Boulware found it impossible to make any speed, but the big car was stable,
and its powerful engine took the gradients without difficulty. They were
stopped a third time by an army patrol. Boulware showed his American
passport, and once again Ilsman made them happy somehow. This time,
Boulware noted, the soldiers were unshaven and wore somewhat ragged
uniforms.
As they pulled away, lisman spoke, and Charlie said: "Try not to stop for
any more patrols."
'Nfty not?"
"'Mey might rob us."
That's great, thought Boulware.
Near the town of Maras, a hundred miles from Adana and another four hundred
from Van, the rain became heavy, making the mud-and-gravel road
treacherous, and Boulware had to slow down even more.
Soon after Maras , the car died.
They all got out and lifted the hood. Boulware could see nothing wrong. The
driver spoke, and Charlie translated: "He can't understand it--he has just
tuned the engine with his own hands. "
"Maybe he didn't tune it right," said Boulware. "Let's check a few things.
"
The driver got some tools and a flashlight out of the trunk, and the four
men stood around the engine in the rain, trying to find out what had gone
wrong.
Eventually they discovered that the points were incorrectly set. Boulware
guessed that either the rain, or the thinner mountain air, or both, had
made the fault critical. It took a while to adjust the points, but finally
the engine fired. Cold and wet and tired, the four men got back into the
old car and Boulware drove on.
The countryside grew more desolate as they traveled east-no towns, no
houses, no livestock, nothing. The road became even worse: It reminded
Boulware of a trail in a cowboy movie. Soon the nun turned to snow and the
road became icy. Boulware kept
ON WINGS OF EAGLES 311
glancing over the sheer drop at the side. If you go off this, sucker, he
said to himself, you ain't going to get hurt-you're going to die.
Near Bingol, halfway to their destination, they climbed up out of the
storm. The sky was clear and there was a bright moon, almost like daylight.
Boulware could see the snow clouds and the flashing lightning in the
valleys below. The mountainside was frozen white, and the road was like a
bobsled run.
Boulware thought: Man, I'm going to die up here, and nobody's even going to
know it, because they don't know where I am.
Suddenly the steering wheel bucked in his hands and the car slowed:
Boulware had a moment of panic, thinking he was losing control, then
realized he had a flat tire. He brought the car gently to a halt.
They all got out and the cabdriver opened the ftunk. He hauled out the
extra fuel tank to get at the spare wheel. Boulware was freezing: the
temperature had to be way below zero. The cabby refused any help and
insisted on changing the wheel himself Boulware took off his gloves and
offered them to the cabby: the man shook his head. Pride, I guess, thought
Boulware.
By the time the job was done, it was four A.m. Boulware said: "Ask him if
he wants to take over the driving-4'm bushed."
The driver agreed.
Boulware got into the back. The car pulled away. Boulware closed his eyes
and tried to ignore the bumps and jerks. He wondered whether he would reach
the border in time. Shit, he thought, nobody could say we didn't try.
A few seconds later he was asleep.
2
'Me Dirty Team blew out of Tehran like a breeze.
The city looked like a battlefield from which everyone had gone home.
Statues had been pulled down, cars burned, and trees felled to make
roadblocks; then the roadblocks had been cleared-the cars pushed to the
curb, the statues smashed, the trees burned. Some of those trees had been
hand-watered every day for fifty years.
But there was no fighting. They saw very few people and little
312 Ken FoUeu
ftffic. Perhaps the revolution was over. Or perhaps the revolutionaries were
having tea.
They drove past the airport and took the highway north, following the route
Coburn and Simons had taken on their reconnaissance trip. Some of Simons's
plans had come to nothing, but not this one. Still, Coburn was
apprehensive. What was ahead of them? Did armies rage and storm in towns
and handets still? Or was the revolution done? Perhaps the villagers had
returned to their sheep and their plows.
Soon the two Range Rovers were bowling along at seventy miles an hour at
the foot of a mountain range. On their left was a flat plain; on their
right, steep green hillsides topped by snowy mountain peaks against the
blue sky. Coburn looked at the car in front and saw Taylor taking
photographs through the tailgate window with his Instarnatic. "Look at
Taylor," he said.
"What does he think this is?" said Gayden. "A package tour?"
Coburn began to feel optimistic. There had been no trouble so far: maybe
the whole country was calming down. Anyway, why should the Iranians give
them a hard time? What was wrong with foreigners leaving the country?
Paul and Bill had false passports and were being hunted by the authorities,
that was what was wrong.
Thirty miles from Tehran, just outside the town of Karaj, they came to
their first roadblock. It was manned, as they usually were, by
machine-gun-toting men and boys in ragged clothes.
The lead car stopped, and Rashid jumped out even before Paul had brought
the second car to a halt, making sure that he, rather than the Americans,
would do the talking. He immediately began speaking loud and rapid Farsi,
with many gestures. Paul wound down the window. From what they could
understand, it seemed Rashid was not giving the agreed story: he was saying
something about journalists.
After a while Rashid told them all to get out of the cars. "They want to
search us for weapons."
Coburn, remembering how many times he had been frisked on the
reconnaissance trip, had concealed his little Gerber knife in the Range
Rover.
The Iranians patted them down, then perfunctorily searched the cars: they
did not find Coburn's knife, nor did they come across the money.
A few minutes later Rashid said: "We can go.
ON WINGS OF EAGLES 313
A hundred yards down the road was a filling station. They pulled in: Simons
wanted to keep the fuel tanks as full as possible.
While the cars were being fueled Taylor produced a bottle of Cognac, and
they all took a swig except Simons, who disapproved, and Rashid, whose
beliefs forbade him to take alcohol. Simons was mad at Rashid. Instead of
saying the group were businessmen trying to go home, Rashid had said they
were journalists going to cover the fighting in Tabriz. "Stick to the
goddam story," Simons said.
"Sure," said Rashid.
Coburn thought Rashid would probably continue to say the first thing that
came into his head at the time. That was how he operated-
A small crowd gathered at the filling station, watching the foreigners.
Coburn looked at the bystanders nervously. They were not exactly hostile,
but there was something vaguely menacing about their quiet surveillance.
Rashid bought a can of oil.
What now?
He took the fuel can, which contained most of the money in weighted plastic
bags, out of the back of the car, and poured oil into it to conceal the
money. It's not a bad idea, Coburn thought, but I would have mentioned it
to Simons before doing it.
He tried to read the expressions on the faces in the crowd. Were they idly
curious? Resentftil? Suspicious? Malevolent? He could not tell, but he
wanted to get away.
Rashid paid the bill and the two cars pulled slowly out of the filling
station.
They had a clear run for the next seventy miles. The road, the new Iranian
State Highway, was in good condition. It ran through a valley, alongside a
single-track railroad, with snowcapped mountains above. The sun was
shining.
The second roadblock was outside Qazvin.
It was an unofficial one-the guards were not in uniform-but it was bigger
and more organized dim the last. There were two checkpoints, one after
another, and a line of cars waiting.
The two Range Rovers joined the queue.
The car in front of them was searched methodically. A guard opened the
trunk and took out what looked like a rolled-up sheet. He unrolled it and
found a rifle. He shouted something and waved the rifle in the air.
314 Ken Follett
Other guards came running. A crowd gathered. 'Me driver of the car was
questioned. One of the guards knocked him to the ground.
Rashid pulled his car out of the line.
Coburn told Paul to follow.
"What's he doing?" Gayden said.
Rashid inched through the crowd. The people made way as the Range Rover
nudged them--4hey were interested in the man with the rifle. Paul kept the
second Range Rover right on the tail of the first. They passed the first
checkpoint.
"What the fuck is he doing?" said Gayden.
"This is asking for trouble," said Coburn.
They approached the second checkpoint. Without stopping. Rashid yelled at
the guard through the window. The guard said something in reply. Rashid
accelerated. Paul followed.
Coburn breathed a sigh of relief. That was just like Rashid: he did the
unexpected, on impulse, without thinking through the consequences; and
somehow he always got away with it. It just made life a little tense for
the people with him.
Next time they stopped, Rashid explained that he had simply told the guard
the two Range Rovers had been cleared at the first checkpoint.
At the next roadblock Rashid persuaded the guards to write a pass on his
windshield in magic marker, and they were waved through another three
roadblocks without being searched.
Keane Taylor was driving the lead car when, climbing a long, winding hill,
they saw two heavy trucks, side by side and filling the whole width of the
road, coniing downhill fast toward them. Taylor swerved off the road and
bumped to a halt in the ditch, and Paul followed. The trucks went by, still
side by side, and everyone said what a lousy driver Taylor was.
At midday they took a break. They parked at the roadside near a ski lift
and lunched on dry crackers and cupcakes. Although there was snow on the
mountainsides, the sun was shining and they were not cold. Taylor got out
his bottle of Cognac, but it had leaked and was empty: Coburn suspected
that Simons had surreptitiously loosened the cork. They drank water.
They passed through the small, neat town of Zanjan, where on the
reconnaissance trip Coburn and Simons had talked to the chief of police.
Just beyond Zanjan the hunian State Highway ended-rather abruptly. In the
second car, Coburn saw Rashid's Range Rover
ON WINGS OF EAGLES 315
suddenly disappear from view. Paul slammed on the brakes and they got out to
look.
Where the tarmac ended, Rashid had gone down a steep slope for about eight
feet and landed nose-down in mud. Off to the right, their route continued
up an unpaved mountain road.
Rashid restarted the stalled engine and put the car into fourwheel drive
and reverse gear. Slowly he inched back up the bank and onto the road.
The Range Rover was covered with mud. Rashid turned on the wipers and
washed the windshield. When the mud splashes were gone, so was the pass
that had been written on with magic marker. Rashid could have rewritten it,
but nobody had a magic marker.
They drove west, heading for the southern tip of Lake Rezaiyeh. 'Me Range
Rovers were built for rough roads, and they could still do forty miles per
hour. They were climbing all the time: the temperature dropped steadily,
and the countryside was covered with snow, but the road was clear. Coburn
wondered whether they might even make the border tonight, instead of
tomorrow as planned.
Gayden, in the backseat, leaned forward and said: "Nobody's going to
believe it was this easy. We better make up some war stories to tell when
we get home."
He spoke too soon.
As daylight faded they approached Mahabad. Its outskirts were marked by a
few scattered huts, made of wood and mud brick, along the sides of the
winding road. The two Range Rovers swept around a bend and pulled up
sharply: the road was blocked by a parked truck and a large but apparently
disciplined crowd. The men were wearing the traditional baggy trousers,
black vest, red-and-white checkered headdress and bandolier of Kurdish
tribesmen.
Rashid jumped out of the lead car and went into his act.
Coburn studied the guns of the guards, and saw both Russian and American
automatic weapons.
"Everyone out of the cars," said Rashid.
By now it was routine. One by one they were searched. This time the search
was a little more thorough, and they found Keane Taylor's little
switchblade knife, but they let him keep it. They did not find Coburn's
knife, or the money.
Coburn waited for Rashid to say: "We can go." It was taking longer than
usual. Rashid argued with the Kurds for a few
316 Ken Follett
minutes, then said: "We have to go and see the head man of the town. "
They got back into the cars. A Kurd with a rifle joined them in each car
and directed them into the little town.
They were ordered to stop outside a small whitewashed building. One of the
guards went in, came out again a minute later, and got back into the car
without explanation.
They stopped again outside what was clearly a hospital. Here they picked up
a passenger, a young Iranian in a suit.
Coburn wondered what the hell was going on.
Finally they drove down an alley and parked outside what looked like a
small private house.
They went inside. Rashid told them to take off their shoes.
Gayden had several thousand dollars in hundred-dollar bills in his shoes.
As he took them off he frantically stuffed the money up into the toes of
the shoes.
They were ushered into a large room furnished with nothing but a beautiful
Persian carpet. Simons quietly told everyone where to sit. Leaving a space
in the circle for the Iranians, he put Rashid on the right of the space.
Next to Rashid was Taylor, then Coburn, then Simons himself opposite the
space. On Simons's right Paul and Bill sat, back a little from the line of
the circle, where they would be least conspicuous. Gayden, completing the
circle, sat on Bill's right.
As Taylor sat down he saw that he had a big hole in the toe of his sock,
and hundred-dollar bills were poking through the hole. He cursed under his
breath and hastily pushed the money back toward his heel.
The young man in the suit followed them in. He seemed educated and spoke
good English. "You are about to meet a man who has just escaped after
twenty-five years it. jail," he said.
Bill almost said: Well, how about that, I've just escaped from jail
myself!--but he stopped himself just in time.
"You are to be put on trial, and this man will be your judge," the young
Iranian went on.
The words on trial hit Paul like a blow, and he thought: we've come all
this way for nothing.
ON WINGS OF EAGLES 317
3
The Clean Team spent Wednesday at Lou Goelz's house in Tehran.
Early in the morning a call came through from Tom Walter in Dallas. The
line was poor and the conversation confused, but Joe Poche was able to tell
Walter that he and the Clean Team were safe, would move into the Embassy as
soon as possible, and would leave the country whenever the Embassy got the
evacuation flights finally organized. Poch6 also reported that Cathy
Gallagher's condition had not improved, and she had been taken to the
hospital the previous evening.
John Howell called Abolhasan, who had another message from Dadgar. Dadgar
was willing to negotiate a lower bail. If EDS located Paul and Bill, the