On Wings Of Eagles (1990)

In a typical Tehran arrangement, Dvoranchik's home was the ground floor of a two-story house, with the landlord living upstairs. Taylor and the rescue team left Perot alone with Simons. Perot looked around the living room distastefully. No doubt the place had been spotless when Toni Dvoranchik lived here, but now, inhabited by five men, none of whom was very interested in housekeeping, it was dirty and run-down, and it stank of Simons's cigars.

Simons's huge frame was slumped in an armchair. His white whiskers were bushy and his hair long. He was chain-smoking, as usual, drawing heavily on his little cigar and inhaling with relish.

"You've seen the new prison," Perot said.

"Yeah," Simons rasped.

"What do you think?"

"The idea of taking that place with the kind of frontal attack we had in mind just isn't worth talking about."

"That's what I figured."

"Which leaves a number of possibilities."

It does? thought Perot.

Simons went on: "One: I understand there are cars parked in the prison compound. We may find a way to get Paul and Bill driven out of there in the trunk of a car. As part of that plan, or as an alternative, we may be able to bribe or blackmail this general who is in charge of the place."

"General Mohari."

"Right. One of your Iranian employees is getting us a rundown on the man."

"Good."

"Two: the negotiating team. If they can get Paul and Bill released under house arrest, or something of that kind, we can snatch the two of them. Get Taylor and those guys to concentrate on this house-arrest idea. Agree to any conditions the Iranians care to name, but get 'em out of that jail. Working on the assumption that they would be confined to their homes and kept under surveillance, we're developing a new rescue scenario."

Perot was beginning to feel better. There was an aura of confidence about this massive man. A few minutes ago Perot had felt almost hopeless: now Simons was calmly listing fresh approaches to the problem, as if the move to the new jail, the bail problems, and the collapse of the legitimate government were minor snags rather than total catastrophe.

"Three," Simons went on, "there's a revolution going on here. Revolutions are predictable. The same things happen every damn time. You can't say when they'll occur, only that they will, sooner or later. And one of the things that always happens is, the mob storms the prisons and lets everyone out."

Perot was intrigued. "Is that so?"

Simons nodded. "Those are the three possibilities. Of course, at this point in the game we can't pick one: we have to prepare for each of them. Whichever of the three happens first, we'll need a plan for getting everyone out of this goddam country just as soon as Paul and Bill are in our hands."

"Yes." Perot was worried about his own departure: that of Paul and Bill would be a good deal more hazardous. "I've had promises of help from the American military--"

"Sure," Simons said. "I'm not saying they're insincere, but I will say they have higher priorities, and I'm not prepared to place a great deal of reliance on their promises."

"All right." That was a matter for Simons's judgment, and Perot was content to leave it to him. In fact, he was content to leave everything to Simons. Simons was probably the best-qualified man in the world to do this job, and Perot had complete faith in him. "What can I do?"

"Get back to the States. For one thing, you're in danger here. For another, I need you over there. Chances are, when we eventually come out, it won't be on a scheduled flight. We may not fly at all. You'll have to pick us up somewhere--it could be Iraq, Kuwait, Turkey, or Afghanistan--and that will take organizing. Go home and stay ready."

"Okay." Perot stood up. Simons had done to him what Perot sometimes did to his staff: inspired him with the strength to go one more mile when the game seemed lost. "I'll leave tomorrow."

He got a reservation on British Airways flight 200, Tehran to London via Kuwait, leaving at 10:20 A.M. on January 20, the next day.

He called Margot and asked her to meet him in London. He wanted a few days alone with her: they might not get another chance, once the rescue started to unfold.

They had had good times in London in the past. They would stay at the Savoy Hotel. (Margot liked Claridge's, but Perot did not--they turned the heat too high, and if he opened the windows he was kept awake by the roar of the all-night traffic along Brook Street.) He and Margot would see plays and concerts, and go to Margot's favorite London nightclub, Annabel's. For a few days they would enjoy life.

If he got out of Iran.

In order to minimize the amount of time he would have to spend at the airport, he stayed at the hotel until the last minute. He called the airport to find out whether the flight would leave on time, and was told that it would.

He checked in a few minutes before ten o'clock.