On Wings Of Eagles (1990)

Dadgar went on: "I am conducting an investigation. When it is complete, I will either release your clients or prosecute them."

Howell said: "We're willing to cooperate with your investigation. In the meantime, what can we do to get Paul and Bill released?"

"Pay the bail."

"And if they are released on bail, will they be permitted to leave Iran?"

"No."

2___

Jay Coburn walked through the double sliding glass doors into the lobby of the Sheraton. On his right was the long registration desk. To his left were the hotel shops. In the center of the lobby was a couch.

In accordance with his instructions, he bought a copy of Newsweek magazine at the newsstand. He sat on the couch, facing the doors so that he could see everyone who came in, and pretended to read the magazine.

He felt like a character in a spy movie.

The rescue plan was in a holding pattern while Majid researched the colonel in charge of the jail. Meanwhile, Coburn was doing a job for Perot.

He had an assignation with a man nicknamed Deep Throat (after the secretive character who gave "deep background" to reporter Bob Woodward in All the President's Men). This Deep Throat was an American management consultant who gave seminars to foreign corporate executives on how to do business with the Iranians. Before Paul and Bill were arrested, Lloyd Briggs had engaged Deep Throat to help EDS get the Ministry to pay its bills. He had advised Briggs that EDS was in bad trouble, but for a payment of two and a half million dollars they could get the slate wiped clean. At the time EDS had scorned this advice: the government owed money to EDS, not vice versa; it was the Iranians who needed to get the slate wiped clean.

The arrest had given credibility to Deep Throat (as it had to Bunny Fleischaker) and Briggs had contacted him again. "Well, they're mad at you now," he had said. "It's going to be harder than ever, but I'll see what I can do."

He had called back yesterday. He could solve the problem, he said. He demanded a face-to-face meeting with Ross Perot.

Taylor, Howell, Young, and Gallagher all agreed there was no way Perot was going to expose himself to such a meeting--they were horrified that Deep Throat even knew Perot was in town. So Perot asked Simons if he could send Coburn instead, and Simons consented.

Coburn had called Deep Throat and said he would be representing Perot.

"No, no," said Deep Throat, "it has to be Perot himself."

"Then all deals are off," Coburn had replied.

"Okay, okay." Deep Throat had backed down and given Coburn instructions.

Coburn had to go to a certain phone booth in the Vanak area, not far from Keane Taylor's house, at eight P.M.

At exactly eight o'clock the phone in the booth rang. Deep Throat told Coburn to go to the Sheraton, which was nearby, and sit in the lobby reading Newsweek. They would meet there and identify one another by a code. Deep Throat would say: "Do you know where Pahlavi Avenue is?" It was a block away, but Coburn was to reply: "No, I don't. I'm new in town."

That was why he felt like a spy in a movie.

On Simons's advice he was wearing his long, bulky down coat, the one Taylor called his Michelin Man coat. The object was to find out whether Deep Throat would frisk him. If not, he would be able, at any future meetings, to wear a recording device under the coat and tape the conversation.

He flicked through the pages of Newsweek.

"Do you know where Pahlavi Avenue is?"

Coburn looked up to see a man of about his own height and weight, in his early forties, with dark, slicked-down hair and glasses. "No, I don't. I'm new in town."

Deep Throat looked around nervously. "Let's go," he said. "Over there."

Coburn got up and followed him to the back of the hotel. They stopped in a dark passage. "I'll have to frisk you," said Deep Throat.

Coburn raised his arms. "What are you afraid of?"

Deep Throat gave a scornful laugh. "You can't trust anyone. There are no rules anymore in this town." He finished his search.

"Do we go back in the lobby now?"

"No. I could be under surveillance-I can't risk being seen with you."

"Okay. What are you offering?"

Deep Throat gave the same scornful laugh. "You guys are in trouble," he said. "You've already messed up once, by refusing to listen to people who know this country."

"How did we mess up?"

"You think this is Texas. It's not."

"But how did we mess up?"

"You could have got out of this for two and a half million dollars. Now it'll cost you six."

"What's the deal?"

"Just a minute. You let me down last time. This is going to be your last chance. This time, there's no backing out at the last minute."

Coburn was beginning to dislike Deep Throat. The man was a wise guy. His whole manner said: You're such fools, and I know so much more than you; it's hard for me to descend to your level.

"Whom do we pay the money to?" Coburn asked.

"A numbered account in Switzerland."