On Wings Of Eagles (1990)

It was unnerving. Bill had got used to this jail, and--despite his occasional paranoia--basically he trusted his cellmates. He feared the change would be for the worse.

Paul asked Neghabat to try to get news of the move to EDS, maybe by bribing the colonel in charge of the jail.

The cell father, the old man who had been so concerned for their welfare, was upset that they were leaving. He watched sadly as Paul took down the pictures of Karen and Ann Marie. Impulsively Paul gave the photographs to the old man, who was visibly moved and thanked him profusely.

At last they were taken out into the courtyard and herded onto a minibus, along with half a dozen other prisoners from different parts of the jail. Bill looked around at the others, trying to figure out what they had in common. One was a Frenchman. Were all the foreigners being taken to a jail of their own, for their safety? But another was the burly Iranian who had been boss of the downstairs cell where they had spent their first night--a common criminal, Bill assumed.

As the bus pulled out of the courtyard, Bill spoke to the Frenchman. "Do you know where we're going?"

"I am to be released," the Frenchman said.

Bill's heart leaped. This was good news! Perhaps they were all to be released.

He turned his attention to the scene in the streets. It was the first time for three weeks he had seen the outside world. The government buildings all around the Ministry of Justice were damaged: the mobs really had run wild. Burned cars and broken windows were everywhere. The streets were full of soldiers and tanks, but they were doing nothing--not maintaining order, not even controlling the traffic. It seemed to Bill only a matter of time before the weak Bakhtiar government would be overthrown.

What had happened to the EDS people--Taylor, Howell, Young, Gallagher, and Coburn? They had not appeared at the jail since the Shah left. Had they been forced to flee, to save their own lives? Somehow Bill was sure they were still in town, still trying to get him and Paul out of jail. He began to hope that this transfer had been arranged by them. Perhaps, instead of taking the prisoners to a different jail, the bus would divert and take them to the U.S. air base. The more he thought about it, the more he believed that everything had been arranged for their release. No doubt the American Embassy had realized, since the departure of the Shah, that Paul and Bill were in serious danger, and had at last got on the case with some real diplomatic muscle. The bus ride was a ruse, a cover story to get them out of the Ministry of Justice jail without arousing the suspicion of hostile Iranian officials such as Dadgar.

The bus was heading north. It passed through districts with which Bill was familiar, and he began to feel safer as the turbulent south of the city receded behind him.

Also, the air base was to the north.

The bus entered a wide square dominated by a huge structure like a fortress. Bill looked interestedly at the building. Its walls were about twenty-five feet high and dotted with guard towers and machine-gun emplacements. The square was full of Iranian women in chadors, the traditional black robes, all making a heck of a noise. Was this some kind of palace, or mosque? Or perhaps a military base?

The bus approached the fortress and slowed down.

Oh, no.

A pair of huge steel doors was set centrally in the front. To Bill's horror, the bus drove up and stopped with its nose to the gateway.

This awesome place was the new prison, the new nightmare.

The gates opened and the bus entered.

They were not going to the air base, EDS had not arranged a deal, the Embassy had not got moving, they were not going to be released.

The bus stopped again. The steel doors closed behind it and a second pair of doors opened in front. The bus passed through and stopped in a massive compound dotted with buildings. A guard said something in Farsi, and all the prisoners stood up to get off the bus.

Bill felt like a disappointed child. Life is rotten, he thought. What did I do to deserve this?

What did I do?

"Don't drive so fast," said Simons.

Joe Poche said: "Do I drive unsafe?"

"No, I just don't want you violating the laws."

"What laws?"

"Just be careful."

Coburn interrupted: "We're there."

Poche stopped the car.

They all looked across the heads of the weird women in black and saw the vast fortress of the Gasr Prison.

"Jesus Christ," said Simons. His deep, rough voice was tinged with awe. "Just look at that bastard."

They all stared at the high walls, the enormous gates, the guard towers and the machine-gun nests.

Simons said: "That place is worse than the Alamo."

It dawned on Coburn that their little rescue team could not attack this place, not without the help of the entire U.S. Army. The rescue they had planned so carefully and rehearsed so many times was now completely irrelevant. There would be no modifications or improvements to the plan, no new scenarios; the whole idea was dead.