On Wings Of Eagles (1990)

Perot liked and trusted both men. They were what he called eagles: high-fliers, who used their initiative, got the job done, gave him results not excuses. The motto of EDS's recruiters was: Eagles Don't Flock--You Have to Find Them One at a Time. One of the secrets of Perot's business success was his policy of going looking for men like this, rather than waiting and hoping they would apply for a job.

Perot said to Sculley: "Do you think we're doing everything we need to do for Paul and Bill?"

Sculley responded without hesitation. "No, I don't."

Perot nodded. These young men were never afraid to speak out to the boss: that was one of the things that made them eagles. "What do you think we ought to do?"

"We ought to break them out," Sculley said. "I know it sounds strange, but I really think that if we don't, they have a good chance of getting killed in there."

Perot did not think it sounded strange: that fear had been at the back of his mind for three days. "I'm thinking of the same thing." He saw surprise on Sculley's face. "I want you two to put together a list of EDS people who could help do it. We'll need men who know Tehran, have some military experience--preferably in Special Forces--type action--and are one hundred percent trustworthy and loyal."

"We'll get on it right away," Sculley said enthusiastically.

The phone rang and Coburn picked it up. "Hi, Keane! Where are you? ... Hold on a minute."

Coburn covered the mouthpiece with his hand and looked at Perot. "Keane Taylor is in Frankfurt. If we're going to do something like this, he ought to be on the team."

Perot nodded. Taylor, a former marine sergeant, was another of his eagles. Six foot two and elegantly dressed, Taylor was a somewhat irritable man, which made him the ideal butt for practical jokes. Perot said: "Tell him to go back to Tehran. But don't explain why."

A slow smile spread across Coburn's young-old face. "He ain't gonna like it."

Sculley reached across the desk and switched on the speaker so they could all hear Taylor blow his cool.

Coburn said: "Keane, Ross wants you to go back to Iran."

"What the hell for?" Taylor demanded.

Coburn looked at Perot. Perot shook his head. Coburn said: "Uh, there's a lot we need to do, in terms of tidying up, administratively speaking--"

"You tell Perot I'm not going back in there for any administrative bullshit!"

Sculley started to laugh.

Coburn said: "Keane, I have somebody else here who wants to talk to you."

Perot said: "Keane, this is Ross."

"Oh. Uh, hello, Ross."

"I'm sending you back to do something very important."

"Oh."

"Do you understand what I'm saying?"

There was a long pause, then Taylor said: "Yes, sir."

"Good."

"I'm on my way."

"What time is it there?" Perot asked.

"Seven o'clock in the morning."

Perot looked at his own watch. It said midnight.

Nineteen seventy-nine had begun.

Taylor sat on the edge of the bed in his Frankfurt hotel room, thinking about his wife.

Mary was in Pittsburgh with the children, Mike and Dawn, staying at Taylor's brother's house. Taylor had called her from Tehran before leaving and told her he was coming home. She had been very happy to hear it. They had made plans for the future: they would return to Dallas, put the kids in school ...

Now he had to call and tell her he would not be coming home after all.

She would be worried.

Hell, he was worried.

He thought about Tehran. He had not worked on the Ministry of Health project, but had been in charge of a smaller contract, to computerize the old-fashioned manual bookkeeping systems of Bank Omran. One day about three weeks ago, a mob had formed outside the bank--Omran was the Shah's bank. Taylor had sent his people home. He and Glenn Jackson were the last to leave. They locked up the building and started walking north. As they turned the corner onto the main street, they walked into the mob. At that moment the army opened fire and charged down the street.

Taylor and Jackson ducked into a doorway. Someone opened the door and yelled at them to get inside. They did--but before their rescuer could lock it again, four of the demonstrators forced their way in, chased by five soldiers.

Taylor and Jackson flattened themselves against the wall and watched the soldiers, with their truncheons and rifles, beat up the demonstrators. One of the rebels made a break for it. Two of his fingers were almost torn off his hand, and blood spurted all over the glass door. He got out but collapsed in the street. The soldiers dragged the other three demonstrators out. One was a bloody mess but conscious: the other two were out cold, or dead.

Taylor and Jackson stayed inside until the street was clear. The Iranian who had saved them kept saying: "Get out while you can."

And now, Taylor thought, I have to tell Mary that I've just agreed to go back into all that.

To do something very important.