On Wings Of Eagles (1990)

Stauffer said: "I don't know about flights to Washington from DFW on Sundays--"

"Charter a jet," Perot said.

Stauffer picked up the phone.

"We're going to need secretaries here twenty-four hours a day for the next few days," Perot went on.

"I'll see to that," said T. J.

"Now, the military has promised to help us, but we can't rely on them--they may have bigger fish to fry. The likeliest alternative is for the team to drive out via Turkey. In that event, the plan is for us to meet them at the border or if necessary fly into the northwest of Iran to pull them out. We need to assemble the Turkish Rescue Team. Boulware is already in Istanbul. Schwebach, Sculley, and Davis are in the States--somebody call them and have the three of them meet me in Washington. We may also need a helicopter pilot and another pilot for small fixed-wing aircraft, in case we want to sneak into Iran. Sally, call Margot and ask her to pack me a case--I'll need casual clothes, a flashlight, all-weather boots, thermal underwear, a sleeping bag, and a tent."

"Yes, sir." Sally left the room.

"Ross, I don't think that's a good idea," T. J. said. "Margot might get scared."

Perot suppressed a sigh: it was just like T. J. to argue. But he was right. "Okay, I'll go home and do it myself. Come with me so we can talk while I'm packing."

"Sure."

Stauffer put down the phone and said: "There's a Lear jet waiting for you at Love Field."

"Good."

Perot and T. J. went downstairs and got in their cars. They left EDS and turned right on Forest Lane. A few seconds later T. J. looked at his speedometer and saw that he was doing eighty--and Perot, in Margot's Jaguar, was losing him.

At Page Terminal in Washington, Perot ran into two old friends: Bill Clements, Governor of Texas and former Deputy Secretary of Defense; and Clements's wife, Rita.

Clements said: "Hi, Ross! What the hell are you doing in Washington on a Sunday afternoon?"

"I'm up here on business," said Perot.

"No, what are you doing really?" said Clements with a grin.

"Have you got a minute?"

Clements had a minute. The three of them sat down, and Perot told the story of Paul and Bill.

When he had finished, Clements said: "There's a guy you need to talk to. I'll write down his name."

"How am I going to get him on a Sunday afternoon?"

"Hell, I'll get him."

The two men walked over to a pay phone. Clements put in a coin, called the Pentagon switchboard, and identified himself. He asked to be put through to the home of one of the most senior military officers in the country. Then he said: "I've got Ross Perot from Texas with me. He's a friend of mine and a good friend to the military, and I want you to help him." Then he handed the phone to Perot and walked away.

Half an hour later Perot was in an operations room in the Pentagon basement, surrounded by computer terminals, talking to half a dozen generals.

He had never met any of them before, but he felt he was among friends: they all knew of his campaign for the American prisoners of war in North Vietnam.

"I want to get two men out of Tehran," Perot told them. "Can you fly them out?"

"No," said one of the generals. "We're grounded in Tehran. Our air base, Doshen Toppeh, is in the hands of the revolutionaries. General Gast is in the bunker beneath MAAG headquarters, surrounded by a mob. And we have no communications because the phone lines have been cut."

"Okay," said Perot. He had half-expected that answer. "I'm going to have to do it myself."

"It's on the other side of the world, and there's a revolution going on," said a general. "It won't be easy."

Perot smiled. "I have Bull Simons over there."

They broke up. "Dammit, Perot!" said one of them. "You aren't giving the Iranians an even chance!"

"Right." Perot grinned. "I may have to fly in myself. Now, can you give me a list of all the airfields between Tehran and the Turkish border?"

"Sure."

"Could you find out whether any of those airfields are obstructed?"

"We can just look at the satellite photographs."

"Now, what about radar? Is there a way to fly in there without appearing on the Iranians' radar screens?"

"Sure. We'll get you a radar map at five hundred feet."

"Good!"

"Anything else?"

Hell, Perot thought, this is just like going into McDonald's! "That'll do for now," he said.

The generals started pushing buttons.

T. J. Marquez picked up the phone. It was Perot.

"I got your pilots," T. J. told him. "I called Larry Joseph, who used to be head of Continental Air Services in Vientiane, Laos--he's in Washington now. He found the guys--Dick Douglas and Julian Kanauch. They'll be in Washington tomorrow."

"That's great," said Perot. "Now, I've been to the Pentagon and they can't fly the guys out--they're grounded in Tehran. But I have all kinds of maps and stuff so we can fly in ourselves. Now, this is what I need: a jet plane, capable of crossing the Atlantic, complete with a crew and equipped with a single-sideband radio, like we used to have in Laos, so we can make phone calls from the plane."

"I'll get right on it," said T. J.