On Wings Of Eagles (1990)

The night before Boulware left, his wife started giving him a hard time about money. He had taken a thousand dollars out of the bank, without telling her, before he went to Paris--he believed in carrying cash money--and she had subsequently discovered how little was left in their account. Boulware did not want to explain to her why he had taken the money and how he had spent it. Mary insisted that she needed money. Boulware was not too concerned about that: she was staying with good friends and he knew she would be looked after. But she didn't buy his brush-off, and--as often happened when she was really determined--he decided to make her happy. He went into the bedroom, where he had left the box containing the radios and the forty thousand dollars, and counted out five hundred. Mary came in while he was doing it, and saw what was in the box.

Boulware gave her the five hundred and said: "Will that hold you?"

"Yes," she said.

She looked at the box, then at her husband. "I'm not even going to ask," she said; and she went out.

Boulware left the next day. He met Schwebach and Sculley in London, gave them five of the six radio sets, kept one for himself, and flew on to Istanbul.

He went from the airport straight to the office of Mr. Fish, the travel agent.

Mr. Fish met him in an open-plan office with three or four other people sitting around.

"My name is Ralph Boulware, and I work for EDS," Boulware began. "I think you know my daughters, Stacy Elaine and Kecia Nicole." The girls had played with Mr. Fish's daughters during the evacuees' stopover in Istanbul.

Mr. Fish was not very warm.

"I need to talk to you," Boulware said.

"Fine, talk to me."

Boulware looked around the room. "I want to talk to you in private."

"Why?"

"You'll understand when I talk to you."

"These are all my partners. There are no secrets here."

Mr. Fish was giving Boulware a hard time. Boulware could guess why. There were two reasons. First, after all that Mr. Fish had done during the evacuation, Don Norsworthy had tipped him $150, which was derisory, in Boulware's opinion. ("I didn't know what to do!" Norsworthy had said. "The man's bill was twenty-six thousand dollars. What should I have tipped him--ten percent?")

Secondly, Pat Sculley had approached Mr. Fish with a transparent tale about smuggling computer tapes into Iran. Mr. Fish was neither a fool nor a criminal, Boulware guessed; and of course he had refused to have anything to do with Sculley's scheme.

Now Mr. Fish thought EDS people were (a) cheapskates and (b) dangerously amateurish lawbreakers.

But Mr. Fish was a small businessman. Boulware understood small businessmen--his father had been one. They spoke two languages: straight talk, and cash money. Cash money would solve problem (a), and straight talk, problem (b).

"Okay, let's start again," Boulware said. "When EDS was here you really helped those people, treated the children nice, and did a great deal for us. When they left there was a mix-up about showing you our appreciation. We're embarrassed that this was not handled properly and I need to settle that score."

"It's no big deal--"

"We're sorry," Boulware said, and he gave Mr. Fish a thousand dollars in hundred-dollar bills.

The room went very quiet.

"Well, I'm going to check in to the Sheraton," Boulware said. "Maybe we can talk later."

"I'll come with you," said Mr. Fish.

He personally checked Boulware into the hotel and ensured that he got a good room, then agreed to meet him for dinner that night in the hotel coffee shop.

Mr. Fish was a high-class hustler, Boulware thought as he unpacked. The man had to be smart to have what appeared to be a very prosperous business in this dirt-poor country. The evacuees' experience showed that he had the enterprise to do more than issue plane tickets and make hotel bookings. He had the right contacts to oil the wheels of bureaucracy, judging by the way he had got everyone's baggage through customs. He had also helped solve the problem of the adopted Iranian baby with no passport. EDS's mistake had been to see that he was a hustler and overlook the fact that he was high class--deceived, perhaps, by his unimpressive appearance: he was rather fat and dressed in drab clothes. Boulware, learning from past mistakes, thought he could handle Mr. Fish.

That night over dinner Boulware told him he wanted to go to the Iran-Turkey border to meet some people coming out.

Mr. Fish was horrified. "You don't understand," he said. "That is a terrible place. The people are Kurds and Azerbaijanis--wild mountain men, they don't obey any government. You know how they live up there? By smuggling, robbery, and murder. I personally would not dare to go there. If you, an American, go there, you will never come back. Never."

Boulware thought he was probably exaggerating. "I have to go there, even if it's dangerous," he said. "Now, can I buy a light plane?"

Mr. Fish shook his head. "It is illegal in Turkey for individuals to own airplanes."

"A helicopter?"

"Same thing."