On Wings Of Eagles (1990)

Coburn was astonished. For someone who had spent twenty-five years in jail, Bolourian was remarkably well informed. ISIRAN--Information Systems Iran--was a data-processing company that had once been owned by Abolfath Mahvi and had subsequently been bought by the government. The company was widely believed to have close links with the secret police, SAVAK. Worse, EDS did have a contract with ISIRAN: in partnership, the two companies had created a document-control system for the Iranian Navy back in 1977.

"We have absolutely nothing to do with ISIRAN," Gayden lied.

"Can you give us some proof of whom you work for?"

That was a problem. Before leaving Tehran they had all destroyed any papers connected with EDS, under Simons's instructions. Now they all searched their pockets for anything they might have overlooked.

Keane Taylor found his health insurance card, with "Electronic Data Systems Corp." printed across the bottom. He handed it to the interpreter, saying: "Electronic Data Systems is the parent company of PDS."

Bolourian got up and left the room.

The interpreter, the armed Kurds, and the EDS men waited in silence. Coburn thought: What now?

Could Bolourian possibly know that EDS had once had a contract with ISIRAN? If so, would he jump to the conclusion that the EDS men were connected with SAVAK? Or had his question about ISIRAN been a shot in the dark? In that case, had he believed their story about being ordinary businessmen trying to go home?

Opposite Coburn, on the far side of the circle, Bill was feeling strangely at peace. He had peaked out on fear during the questioning, and he was simply incapable of worrying any longer. We've tried our hardest to get out, he thought, and if they put us up against the wall right now and shoot us, so be it.

Bolourian walked back in, loading a gun.

Coburn glanced at Simons: his eyes were riveted on the gun.

It was an old M1 carbine that looked as if it dated from World War II.

He can't shoot us all with that, Coburn thought.

Bolourian handed the gun to the interpreter and said something in Farsi.

Coburn gathered his muscles to spring. There would be a hell of a mess if they opened fire in this room--

The interpreter took the gun and said: "And now you will be our guests, and drink tea."

Bolourian wrote on a piece of paper and handed it to the interpreter. Coburn realized that Bolourian had simply issued the gun to the interpreter and given him a permit to carry it. "Christ, I thought he was going to shoot us," Coburn muttered.

Simons's face was expressionless.

Tea was served.

It was not dark outside. Rashid asked whether there was somewhere the Americans could spend the night. " You will be our guests," said the interpreter. "I will personally look after you." Coburn thought: For that, he needs a gun? The interpreter went on: "In the morning our mullah will write a note to the mullah of Rezaiyeh, asking him to let you pass."

Coburn murmured to Simons: "What do you think? Should we stay the night here, or go on?"

"I don't think we have a choice," Simons said. "When he said 'guests,' he was just being polite."

They drank their tea, and the interpreter said: "Now we will go and have dinner."

They got up and put on their shoes. Walking out to the cars, Coburn noticed that Gayden was limping. "What's the matter with your feet?" he said.

"Not so loud," Gayden hissed. "I got all the money stuffed up in the toes of my shoes and my feet are killing me."

Coburn laughed.

They got into the cars and drove off, still accompanied by Kurdish guards and the interpreter. Gayden surreptitiously eased off his shoes and rearranged the money. They pulled into a filling station. Gayden murmured: "If they weren't going to let us go, they wouldn't take us to gas up ... would they?"

Coburn shrugged.

They drove to the town restaurant. The EDS men sat down, and the guards sat at tables around them, forming a rough circle and cutting them off from the townspeople.

A TV set was on, and the Ayatollah was making a speech. Paul thought: Jesus, it had to be now, when we're in trouble, that this guy comes to power. Then the interpreter told him that Khomeini was saying Americans should not be molested, but should be allowed to leave Iran unharmed, and Paul felt better.

They were served chella kebab--lamb with rice. The guards ate heartily, their rifles on the tables beside their plates.

Keane Taylor ate a little rice, then put down his spoon. He had a headache: he had been sharing the driving with Rashid, and he felt as if the sun had been in his eyes all day. He was also worried, for it occurred to him that Bolourian might call Tehran during the night to check out EDS. The guards kept telling him, with gestures, to eat, but he sat and nursed a Coke.

Coburn was not hungry either. He had recalled that he was supposed to phone Gholam. It was late: they would be worried sick in Dallas. But what should he tell Gholam--that they were okay, or that they were in trouble?