On Wings Of Eagles (1990)

It was farcical. They could all be killed in the next few hours, and here was Dadgar still talking about applicable provisions of the legal code.

Abolhasan began to translate the dossier aloud into Farsi. Howell knew that choosing Mahvi as an Iranian partner had not been the smartest move EDS ever made: Mahvi had got the company its first small contract in Iran, but subsequently he had been blacklisted by the Shah and had caused trouble over the Ministry of Health contract. However, EDS had nothing to hide. Indeed, Howell's boss Tom Luce, in his eagerness to place EDS above suspicion, had filed details of the EDS-Mahvi relationship with the American Securities Exchange Commission, so that much of what was in the dossier was already public knowledge.

The phone interrupted Abolhasan's translation. Dadgar picked it up, then handed it to Abolhasan, who listened for a moment, then said: "It's Keane Taylor."

A minute later he hung up and said to Howell: "Keane has been up on the roof at Bucharest. He says there are fires down by Gasr Prison. If the mob attacks the prison, Paul and Bill could get hurt. He suggested we ask Dadgar to turn them over to the American Embassy."

"Okay," Howell said. "Ask him."

He waited while Abolhasan and Dadgar conversed in Farsi.

Finally Abolhasan said: "According to our laws, they have to be kept in an Iranian prison. He can't consider the U.S. Embassy to be an Iranian prison."

Crazier and crazier. The whole country was falling apart, and Dadgar was still consulting his book of rules. Howell said: "Ask how he proposes to guarantee the safety of two American citizens who have not been charged with any crime."

Dadgar's reply was: "Don't be concerned. The worst that could happen is that the prison might be overrun."

"And what if the mob decides to attack Americans?"

"Chiapparone will probably be safe--he could pass for Iranian."

"Terrific," said Howell. "And what about Gaylord?"

Dadgar just shrugged.

Rashid left his house early that morning.

His parents, his brother, and his sister planned to stay indoors all day, and they had urged him to do the same, but he would not listen. He knew it would be dangerous on the streets, but he could not hide at home while his countrymen were making history. Besides, he had not forgotten his conversation with Simons.

He was living by impulse. On Friday he had found himself at Farahabad Air Base during the clash between the homafars and loyalist Javadan Brigade. For no particular reason, he had gone into the armory and started passing out rifles. After half an hour of that he got bored and left.

That same day he had seen a dead man for the first time. He had been at the mosque when a bus driver who had been shot by soldiers had been brought in. On impulse Rashid had uncovered the face of the corpse. A whole section of the head was destroyed, a mixture of blood and brains: it had been sickening. The incident seemed like a warning, but Rashid was in no mood to heed warnings. The streets were where things were happening, and he had to be there.

This morning the atmosphere was electric. Crowds were everywhere. Hundreds of men and boys were toting automatic rifles. Rashid, wearing a flat English cap and an open-neck shirt, mingled with them, feeling the excitement. Anything could happen today.

He was vaguely heading for Bucharest. He still had duties: he was negotiating with two shipping companies to transport the belongings of the EDS evacuees back to the States, and he had to feed the abandoned dogs and cats. The scenes on the streets changed his mind. Rumor said that the Evin Prison had been stormed last night; today it might be the turn of the Gasr Prison, where Paul and Bill were.

Rashid wished he had an automatic rifle like the others.

He passed an army building that appeared to have been invaded by the mob. It was a six-story block containing an armory and a draft registration office. Rashid had a friend who worked there, Malek. It occurred to him that Malek might be in trouble. If he had come to work this morning, he would be wearing his army uniform--and that alone might be enough to get him killed today. I could lend Malek my shirt, Rashid thought; and impulsively he went into the building.

He pushed his way through the crowd on the ground floor and found the staircase. The rest of the building seemed empty. As he climbed, he wondered whether soldiers were hiding out on the upper floors: if so, they might shoot anyone who came along. He went on regardless. He climbed to the top floor. Malek was not there. Nobody was there. The army had abandoned the place to the mob.

Rashid returned to the ground floor. The crowd had gathered around the entrance to the basement armory, but no one was going in. Rashid pushed his way to the front and said: "Is this door locked?"

"It might be booby-trapped," someone said.

Rashid looked at the door. All thoughts of going to Bucharest had now left him. He wanted to go to the Gasr Prison, and he wanted to carry a gun.