On Wings Of Eagles (1990)

"Just arrived," Coburn said.

"What's with the beard--you trying to get yourself fired?"

"I thought it might make me look less American here."

"Did you ever see an Iranian with a ginger beard?"

"No," Coburn laughed.

"So, what are you here for?"

"Well, we're obviously not going to bring our people back in here in the foreseeable future, so I've come to police up everyone's personal belongings to get them shipped back to the States."

Taylor shot him a funny look but did not comment. "Where are you going to stay? We've all moved into the Hyatt Crown Regency, it's safer."

"How about I use your old house?"

"Whatever you say."

"Now, about these belongings. Do you have those envelopes everyone left, with their house keys and car keys and instructions for disposal of their household goods?"

"I sure do--I've been referring to them. Everything people don't want shipped I've been selling--washers and dryers, refrigerators. I'm running a permanent garage sale here."

"Can I have the envelopes?"

"Sure."

"How's the car situation?"

"We've rounded up most of them. I've got them parked at a school, with some Iranians watching them, if they're not selling them."

"What about gas?"

"Rich got four fifty-five-gallon drums from the air force and we've got them full down in the basement."

"I thought I smelled gas when I came in."

"Don't strike a match down there in the dark--we'll all be blown to hell."

"What do you do about topping up the drums?"

"We use a couple of cars as tankers--a Buick and a Chevy, with big U.S. gas tanks. Two of our drivers spend all day waiting in gas lines. When they get filled up, they come back here and we siphon the gas into the drums, then send the cars back to the filling station. Sometimes you can buy gas from the front of the line. Grab someone who's just got filled up and offer him ten times the pump price for the gas in his car. There's a whole economy grown up around the gas lines."

"What about fuel oil for the houses, for heating?"

"I've got a source, but he charges me ten times the old price. I'm spending money like a drunken sailor here."

"I'm going to need twelve cars."

"Twelve cars, huh, Jay?"

"That's what I said."

"You'll have room to stash them, at my house--it's got a big walled courtyard. Would you ... for any reason ... like to be able to get the cars refueled without any of the Iranian employees seeing you?"

"I sure would."

"Just bring an empty car to the Hyatt and I'll swap it for a full one."

"How many Iranians do we still have?"

"Ten of the best, plus four drivers."

"I'd like a list of their names."

"Did you know Ross is on his way in?"

"Shit, no!" Coburn was astonished.

"I just got word. He's bringing Bob Young, from Kuwait, to take over this administrative stuff from me, and John Howell to work on the legal side. They want me to work with John, on the negotiations and bail."

"Is that a fact?" Coburn wondered what was on Perot's mind. "Okay, I'm taking off for your place."

"Jay, why don't you tell me what's up?"

"There's nothing I can tell you."

"Screw you, Coburn. I want to know what's going down."

"You got all I'm going to tell you."

"Screw you again. Wait till you see what cars you get--you'll be lucky if they have steering wheels."

"Sorry."

"Jay ..."

"Yeah?"

"That's the funniest looking suitcase I've ever seen."

"So it is, so it is."

"I know what you're up to, Coburn."

Coburn sighed. "Let's go for a walk."

They went out into the street, and Coburn told Taylor about the rescue team.

The next day Coburn and Taylor went to work on hideouts.

Taylor's house, Number 2 Aftab Street, was ideal. Conveniently close to the Hyatt for switching cars, it was also in the Armenian section of the city, which might be less hostile to Americans if the rioting got worse. It had a working phone and a supply of heating oil. The walled courtyard was big enough to park six cars, and there was a back entrance that could be used as an escape route if a squad of police came to the front door. And the landlord did not live on the premises.

Using the street map of Tehran on the wall of Coburn's office--which had, since the evacuation, been marked with the location of every EDS home in the city--they picked three more empty houses as alternative hideouts.

During the day, as Taylor got the cars gassed up, Coburn drove them one by one from Bucharest to the houses, parking three cars at each of the four locations.

Looking again at his wall map, he tried to recall which of the wives had worked for the American military, for the families with commissary privileges always had the best food. He listed eight likely prospects. Tomorrow he would visit them and pick up canned and dried food and bottled drinks for the hideouts.

He selected a fifth apartment, but did not visit it. It was to be a safe house, a hideout for a serious emergency: no one would go there until it had to be used.

That evening, alone in Taylor's apartment, he called Dallas and asked for Merv Stauffer.

Stauffer was cheerful, as always. "Hi, Jay! How are you?"

"Fine."