On Wings Of Eagles (1990)

Rashid did the talking, in a mixture of Farsi, Turkish, and English. He produced the letter from the library again, and gave the name of the deputy leader. Someone went off to check with the committee in Rezaiyeh. Coburn wondered how they would do that: the oil lamp indicated there was no electricity here, so how could they have phones? All the passports were examined again. People kept coming in and going out.

What if they have got a phone? wondered Coburn. And what if the committee in Rezaiyeh has heard from Dadgar?

We might be better off if they do check us out, he thought; at least that way somebody knows we're here. At the moment we could be killed, our bodies would disappear without a trace in the snow, and nobody would ever know we had been here.

A tribesman came in, handed the library letter to Rashid, and spoke to the mullah.

"It's okay," Rashid said. "We've been cleared."

Suddenly the whole atmosphere changed.

The ugly mullah turned into the Jolly Green Giant and shook hands with everyone. "He welcomes you to his village," Rashid translated. Tea was brought. Rashid said: "We are invited to be the guests of the village for the night."

Simons said: "Tell him definitely no. Our friends are waiting for us at the border."

A small boy of about ten years appeared. In an effort to cement the new friendship, Keane Taylor took out a photograph of his son Michael, aged eleven, and showed it to the tribesmen. They got very excited, and Rashid said: "They want to have their pictures taken."

Gayden said: "Keane, get out your camera."

"I'm out of film," said Taylor.

"Keane, get out your fucking camera."

Taylor took out his camera. In fact, he had three shots left, but he had no flash, and would have needed a camera far more sophisticated than his Instamatic to take pictures by the light of the lantern. But the tribesmen lined up, waving their rifles in the air, and Taylor had no option but to snap them.

It was incredible. Five minutes earlier these people had seemed ready to murder the Americans: now they were horsing around, hooting and hollering and having a good time.

They could probably change again just as quickly.

Taylor's sense of humor took over and he started hamming it up, making like a press photographer, telling the tribesmen to smile or move closer together so he could get them all in, "taking" dozens of shots.

More tea was brought. Coburn groaned inwardly. He had drunk so much tea in the last few days that he felt awash with it. He surreptitiously poured his out, making an ugly brown stain on the gorgeous rug.

Simons said to Rashid: "Tell them we have to go."

There was a short exchange; then Rashid said: "We must drink tea once more."

"No," said Simons decisively, and he stood up. "Let's move." Smiling calmly, nodding and bowing to the tribesmen, Simons started giving very sharp commands in a voice that belied his courteous demeanor: "On your feet, everybody. Get your shoes on. Come on, let's get out of here, let's go."

They all got up. Every man in the tribe wanted to shake hands with every one of the visitors. Simons kept herding them toward the door. They found their shoes and put them on, still bowing and shaking hands. At last they got outside and climbed into the Range Rovers. There was a wait, while the villagers maneuvered the two jeeps blocking the exit. At last they moved off, following the same two jeeps along the mountain track.

They were still alive, still free, still moving.

The tribesmen took them to the bridge, then said goodbye.

Rashid said: "But aren't you going to escort us to the border?"

"No," one of them replied. "Our territory ends at the bridge. The other side belongs to Sero."

The man in the long black overcoat shook hands with everyone in both Range Rovers. "Don't forget to send us the pictures," he said to Taylor.

"You bet," said Taylor with a straight face.

The chain across the bridge was down. The two Range Rovers drove to the far side and accelerated up the road.

"I hope we don't have the same trouble at the next village," said Rashid. "I saw the head man this afternoon and arranged everything with him."

The Range Rover built up speed.

"Slow down," said Simons.

"No, we must hurry."

They were a mile or so from the border.

Simons said: "Slow the goddam jeep down. I don't want to get killed at this point in the game."

They were driving past what looked like a filling station. There was a little hut with a light on inside. Suddenly Taylor yelled: "Stop! Stop!"

Simons said: "Rashid--"

In the following car Paul honked and flashed his headlights.

Out of the corner of his eye Rashid saw two men running out from the filling station, locking and loading their rifles as they ran.

He stood on the brake.

The car screeched to a halt. Paul had already stopped, right by the gas station. Rashid backed up and jumped out.

The two men pointed their rifles at him.

Here we go again, he thought.

He went into his routine, but they weren't interested. One of them got into each car. Rashid climbed back into the driving seat.