On Wings Of Eagles (1990)

"I' ll tell Sculley."

"Okay."

Perot hung up. Oh, boy, he thought; at last things are beginning to go right!

Pat Sculley's orders from Perot were to go to the border, ensure that the Dirty Team got across safely, and bring them to Istanbul. If the Dirty Team failed to reach the border, he was to go into Iran and find them, preferably in a plane stolen by Dick Douglas, or failing that, by road.

Sculley and the Turkish Rescue Team took a scheduled flight from Istanbul to Ankara, where a chartered jet was waiting for them. (The charter plane would take them to Van and bring them back: it would not go anywhere they pleased. The only way of making the pilot take them into Iran would have been to hijack the plane.)

The arrival of a jet seemed to be a big event in the town of Van. Getting off the plane, they were met by a contingent of policemen who looked ready to give them a hard time. But Mr. Fish went into a huddle with the police chief and came out smiling.

"Now, listen," said Mr. Fish. "We're going to check into the best hotel in town, but I want you to know it's not the Sheraton, so please don't complain."

They went off in two taxis.

The hotel had a high central hall with three floors of rooms reached via galleries, so that every room door could be seen from the hall. When the Americans walked in, the hall was full of Turks, drinking beer and watching a soccer match on a black-and-white TV, yelling and cheering. As the Turks noticed the strangers, the room quieted down until there was complete silence.

They were assigned rooms. Each bedroom had two cots and a hole in the corner, screened by a shower curtain, for a toilet. There were plank floors and whitewashed walls without windows. The rooms were infested with cockroaches. On each floor was one bathroom.

Sculley and Mr. Fish went to get a bus to take them all to the border. A Mercedes picked them up outside the hotel and took them to what appeared to be an electrical appliance store with a few ancient TV sets in the window. The place was closed--it was evening by now--but Mr. Fish banged on the iron grille protecting the windows, and someone came out.

They went into the back and sat at a table under a single lightbulb. Sculley understood none of the conversation, but by the end of it Mr. Fish had negotiated a bus and a driver. They returned to the hotel in the bus.

The rest of the team were gathered in Sculley's room. Nobody wanted to sit on these beds, let alone sleep in them. They all wanted to leave for the border immediately, but Mr. Fish was hesitant. "It's two o'clock in the morning," he said. "And the police are watching the hotel."

"Does that matter?" said Sculley.

"It means more questions, more trouble."

"Let's give it a try."

They all trooped downstairs. The manager appeared, looking anxious, and started to question Mr. Fish. Then, sure enough, two policemen came in from outside and joined in the discussion.

Mr. Fish turned to Sculley and said: "They don't want us to go."

"Why not?"

"We look very suspicious. Don't you realize that?"

"Look, is it against the law for us to go?"

"No, but--"

"Then we're going. Just tell them."

There was more argument in Turkish, but finally the policemen and the hotel manager appeared to give in, and the team boarded the bus.

They left town. The temperature dropped rapidly as they drove up into the snow-covered hills. They all had warm coats, and blankets in their backpacks, and they needed them.

Mr. Fish sat next to Sculley and said: "This is where it gets serious. I can handle the police, because I have ties with them; but I'm worried about the bandits and the soldiers--I have no connections there."

"What d'you want to do?"

"I believe I can talk my way out of trouble, so long as none of you have guns."

Sculley considered. Only Davis was armed anyway; and Simons had always worried that weapons could get you into trouble more readily than they could get you out of it: the Walther PPKs had never left Dallas. "Okay," Sculley said.

Ron Davis threw his .38 out of the window into the snow.

A little later the headlights of the bus revealed a soldier in uniform standing in the middle of the road, waving. The bus driver kept right on going, as if he intended to run the man down, but Mr. Fish yelled and the driver pulled up.

Looking out the window, Sculley saw a platoon of soldiers armed with high-powered rifles on the mountainside, and thought: if we hadn't stopped, we'd have been mown down.

A sergeant and a corporal got on the bus. They checked all the passports. Mr. Fish offered them cigarettes. They stood talking to him while they smoked; then they waved and got off.

A few miles farther on, the bus was stopped again, and they went through a similar routine.