T. J. had the plane checked out by Jeff Heller, an EDS vice-president and former Vietnam pilot, and two of Heller's friends, one an American Airlines pilot and the other a flight engineer. Heller reported that the plane seemed to be in good shape, as far as they could tell without flying it. The decor was kind of overripe, he said with a smile.
At seven-thirty the following morning T. J. called the president of Omni and got him out of the shower. The president had talked to his vice-president and he was sure they could do business.
"Good," said T. J. "Now what about crew, ground facilities, insurance--"
"We don't charter planes," said the president. "We lease them."
"What's the difference?"
"It's like the difference between taking a cab and renting a car. Our planes are for rent."
"Look, we're in the computer business, we know nothing about airlines," said T. J. "Even though you normally don't do it, will you make a deal with us where you supply all the extras, crew and so on? We'll pay you for it."
"It'll be complicated. The insurance alone..."
"But you'll do it?"
"Yes, we'll do it."
It was complicated, T. J. learned during the course of the day. The unusual nature of the deal did not appeal to the insurance companies, who also hated to be hurried. It was hard to figure out which regulations EDS needed to comply with, since they were not an airline. Omni required a deposit of sixty thousand dollars in an offshore branch of a U.S. bank. The problems were solved by EDS executive Gary Fernandes in Washington and EDS house lawyer Claude Chappelear in Dallas: the contract, which was executed at the end of the day, was a sales demonstration lease. Omni found a crew in California and sent them to Dallas to pick up the plane and fly it on to Washington.
By midnight on Monday the plane, the crew, the extra pilots, and the remnants of the rescue team were all in Washington with Ross Perot.
T. J. had worked a miracle.
That was why it took so long.
3____
The negotiating team--Keane Taylor, Bill Gayden, John Howell, Bob Young, and Rich Gallagher, augmented now by Rashid, Cathy Gallagher, and the dog, Buffy--spent the night of Sunday, February 11, at the Hyatt. They got little sleep. Close by, the mob was attacking an armory. It seemed part of the army had now joined the revolution, for tanks were used in the attack. Toward morning they blew a hole in the wall and got in. From dawn on, a stream of orange cabs ferried weapons from the armory downtown to where the fighting was still heavy.
The team kept the line to Dallas open all night: John Howell lay on the couch in Gayden's sitting room with the phone to his ear.
In the morning Rashid left early. He was not told where the others were going--no Iranians were to know the location of the hideout.
The others packed their suitcases and left them in their rooms, just in case they should get a chance to pick them up later. This was not part of Simons's instructions, and he would certainly have disapproved, for the packed bags showed that the EDS people were no longer living here--but by morning they all felt Simons was overdoing his security precautions. They gathered in Gayden's sitting room a few minutes after the seven o'clock deadline. The Gallaghers had several bags, and did not really look as if they were going to the office.
In the foyer they met the hotel manager. "Where are you going?" he asked incredulously.
"To the office," Gayden told him.
"Don't you know there's a civil war going on out there? All night long we've been feeding the revolutionaries out of our kitchens. They asked if there were any Americans here--I told them there was nobody here. You must go back upstairs and stay out of sight."
"Life must go on," said Gayden, and they all walked out.
Joe Poche was waiting in a Range Rover, silently fuming because they were fifteen minutes late and he had instructions from Simons to be back at seven forty-five, with or without them.
As they walked to the cars, Keane Taylor saw a hotel clerk drive in and park. He went over to speak to the man. "How are the streets?"
"Roadblocks all over the place," said the clerk. "There's one right here, at the end of the hotel driveway. You shouldn't go out."
"Thank you," said Taylor.
They all got into the cars and followed Poche's Range Rover. The guards at the gate were preoccupied, trying to jam a banana clip into a machine pistol that did not take that kind of ammunition, and they paid no attention to the three cars.
The scene outside was scary. Many of the weapons from the armory had found their way into the hands of teenage boys who had probably never handled firearms before, and the kids were running down the hill, yelling and waving their guns, and jumping into cars to tear off along the highway, shooting into the air.
Poche headed north on Shahanshahi, following a roundabout route to avoid roadblocks. At the intersection with Pahlavi there were the remains of a barricade--burned cars and tree trunks across the road--but the people manning the roadblock were celebrating, chanting and firing into the air, and the three cars drove straight through.
As they approached the hideout they entered a relatively quiet area. They turned into a narrow street; then, half a block down, they drove through gates into a walled garden with an empty swimming pool. The Dvoranchik place was the bottom half of a duplex, with the landlady living upstairs. They all went in.
During Monday, Dadgar continued to search for Paul and Bill.
Bill Gayden called Bucharest, where a skeleton staff of loyal Iranians continued to man the phones. Gayden learned that Dadgar's men had called twice, speaking to two different secretaries, and asked where they could find Mr. Chiapparone and Mr. Gaylord. The first secretary had said she did not know the names of any of the Americans, which was a brave lie--she had been working for EDS for four years and knew everyone. The second secretary had said: "You will have to speak to Mr. Lloyd Briggs, who is in charge of the office."
"Where is he?"
"Out of the country."
"Well, who is in charge of the office in his absence?"
"Mr. Keane Taylor."
"Let me speak to him."
"He's not here right now."
The girls, bless them, had given Dadgar's men the runaround.
Rich Gallagher was keeping in touch with his friends in the military (Cathy had a job as secretary to a colonel). He called the Evin Hotel, where most of the military were staying, and learned that "revolutionaries" had gone to both the Evin and the Hyatt showing photographs of two Americans for whom they were looking.
Dadgar's tenacity was almost incredible.
Simons decided they could not stay at the Dvoranchik house more than forty-eight hours.
The escape plan had been devised for five men. Now there were ten men, a woman, and a dog.
They had only two Range Rovers. An ordinary car would never take those mountain roads, especially in snow. They needed another Range Rover. Coburn called Majid and asked him to try to get one.
The dog worried Simons. Rich Gallagher was planning to carry Buffy in a knapsack. If they had to walk or ride horseback through the mountains to cross the border, a single yap could get them all kitted--and Buffy barked at everything. Simons said to Coburn and Taylor: "I want you two to lose that fucking dog."
"Okay," Coburn said. "Maybe I'll offer to walk it, then just let it go."
"No," said Simons. "When I say lose it, I mean permanently."
Cathy was the biggest problem. That evening she felt ill--"Feminine problems," Rich said. He was hoping that a day in bed would leave her feeling stronger; but Simons was not optimistic. He fumed at the Embassy. "There are so many ways the State Department could get someone out of the country and protect them if they wanted to," he said. "Put them in a case, ship them out as cargo ... if they were interested, it would be a snap."
Bill began to feel like the cause of all the trouble. "I think it's insane for nine people to risk their lives for the sake of two," he said. "If Paul and I weren't here, none of yo
u would be in any danger--you could just wait here until flights out resume. Maybe Paul and I should throw ourselves on the mercy of the U.S. Embassy."
Simons said: "And what if you two get out, then Dadgar decides to take other hostages?"
Anyway, Coburn thought, Simons won't let these two out of his sight now, not until they're back in the U.S.A.
The bell at the street gate rang, and everybody froze.
"Move into the bedrooms, but quietly," Simons said.
Coburn went to the window. The landlady still thought there were only two people living here, Coburn and Poche-- she had never seen Simons--and neither she nor anyone else was supposed to know that there were now eleven people in the house.
As Coburn watched, she walked across the courtyard and opened the gate. She stood there for a few minutes, talking to someone Coburn could not see, then closed the gate and came back alone.
When he heard her door slam shut upstairs, he called: "False alarm."
They all prepared for the journey by looting the Dvoranchik place for warm clothes. Paul thought: Toni Dvoranchik would die of embarrassment if she knew about all these men going through her drawers. They ended up with a peculiar assortment of ill-fitting hats, coats, and sweaters.
After that they had nothing to do but wait: wait for Majid to find another Range Rover, wait for Cathy to get better, and wait for Perot to get the Turkish Rescue Team organized.
They watched some old football games on a Betamax video. Paul played gin with Gayden. The dog got on everyone's nerves, but Coburn decided not to slit its throat until the last minute, in case there was a change of plan and it could be saved. John Howell read The Deep by Peter Benchley: he had seen part of the movie on the flight over and had missed the ending because the plane landed before the movie finished, and he had never figured out who were the good guys and who were the bad guys. Simons said: "Those who wish to drink can do so, but if we have to move fast we'll be much better without any alcohol in our systems," but despite the warning both Gayden and Gallagher surreptitiously mixed Drambuie with their coffee. The bell rang once more, and they all went through the same routine, but again it was for the landlady.
They were all remarkably good-tempered, considering how many of them were crammed into the living room and three bedrooms of the place. The only one to get irritable was--predictably--Keane Taylor. He and Paul cooked a big dinner for everyone, almost emptying the freezer; but by the time Taylor came in from the kitchen, the others had eaten every scrap and there was nothing for him. He cursed them all roundly for a bunch of greedy hogs, and they all laughed, the way they always did when Taylor got mad.
During the night he got mad again. He was sleeping on the floor next to Coburn, and Coburn snored. The noise was so awful that Taylor could not get to sleep. He could not even wake Coburn to tell him to stop snoring, and that made him even madder.
It was snowing in Washington that night. Ross Perot was tired and tense.
With Mitch Hart, he had spent most of the day in a last-ditch effort to persuade the government to fly his people out of Tehran. He had seen Undersecretary David Newsom at the State Department, Thomas V. Beard at the White House, and Mark Ginsberg, a young Carter aide whose job was liaison between the White House and the State Department. They were doing their best to arrange to fly the remaining one thousand Americans out of Tehran, and they were not about to make special plans for Ross Perot.
Resigned to going to Turkey, Perot went to a sporting-goods store and bought himself cold-weather clothes. The leased 707 arrived from Dallas, and Pat Sculley called from Dulles Airport to say that some mechanical problems had surfaced during the flight: the transponder and the inertial navigation system did not work properly, the Number I engine was using oil at twice the normal rate, there was insufficient oxygen aboard for cabin use, there were no spare tires, and the water-tank valves were frozen solid.
While mechanics worked on the plane, Perot sat in the Madison Hotel with Mort Meyerson, a vice-president of EDS.
At EDS there was a special group of Perot associates, men such as T. J. Marquez and Merv Stauffer, to whom he turned for help with matters that were not part of the day-to-day business of computer software: schemes like the prisoners-of-war campaign, the Texas War on Drugs, and the rescue of Paul and Bill. Although Meyerson did not get involved in Perot's special projects, he was fully informed about the rescue plan and had given it his blessing: he knew Paul and Bill well, having worked alongside them in earlier years as a systems engineer. For business matters he was Perot's top man, and he would soon become president of EDS. (Perot would continue to be chairman of the board.)
Now Perot and Meyerson talked business, reviewing each of EDS's current projects and problems. Both knew, though neither said, that the reason for the conference was that Perot might never come back from Turkey.
In some ways the two men were as different as chalk and cheese. Meyerson's grandfather was a Russian Jew who had saved for two years to buy his rail ticket from New York to Texas. Meyerson's interests ranged from athletics to the arts: he played handball, was involved with the Dallas Symphony Orchestra and was himself a good pianist. Making fun of Perot and his "eagles," Meyerson called his own close colleagues "Meyerson's toads." But in many ways he was like Perot, a creative and daring businessman whose bold ideas often scared more conventional executives in EDS. Perot had given instructions that, if something were to happen to him during the rescue, all his stock would be voted by Meyerson. EDS would continue to be run by a leader, not a bureaucrat.
While Perot discussed business and worried about the plane and fumed against the State Department, his deepest concern was for his mother. Lulu May Perot was sinking fast, and Perot wanted to be with her. If she were to die while he was in Turkey, he would never see her again, and that would break his heart.
Meyerson knew what was on his mind. He broke off the business talk to say: "Ross, why don't I go?"
"What do you mean?"
"Why don't I go to Turkey instead of you? You've done your share--you went to Iran. There's nothing you can do that I can't do in Turkey. And you want to stay with your mother."
Perot was touched. Mort didn't have to say that, he thought. "If you're willing..." He was tempted. "That's something I'd sure want to think about. Let me think about it."
He was not sure he had the right to let Meyerson do this instead of him. "Let's see what the others think." He picked up the phone, called Dallas, and reached T. J. Marquez. "Mort's offered to go to Turkey instead of me," he told T. J. "What's your reaction to that?"
"It's the worst idea in the world," T. J. said. "You've been close to this project from the start, and you couldn't possibly tell Mort everything he needs to know in a few hours. You know Simons, you know how his mind works--Mort doesn't. Plus, Simons doesn't know Mort--and you're aware of how Simons feels about trusting people he doesn't know. Well, he won't trust them, that's how he feels."
"You're right," Perot said. "It's not for consideration."
He hung up. "Mort, I sure appreciate your offer, but I'm going to Turkey."
"Whatever you say."
A few minutes later Meyerson left, to return to Dallas in the chartered Lear jet. Perot called EDS again and spoke to Merv Stauffer. "Now, I want you guys to work in shifts and get some sleep," Perot said. "I don't want to be talking to a bunch of zombies back there."
"Yes, sir!"
Perot took his own advice and got some sleep.
The phone woke him at two A.M. It was Pat Sculley, calling from the airport: the plane's mechanical problems were fixed.
Perot got a cab to Dulles Airport. It was a hair-raising thirty-mile ride on icy roads.
The Turkish Rescue Team was now together: Perot; Pat Sculley and Jim Schwebach--the deadly duo; young Ron Davis; the crew of the 707; and the two extra pilots, Dick Douglas and Julian "Scratch" Kanauch. But the plane was not mended. It needed a spare part that was not available in Washington. Gary Femandes--the EDS manager who had
worked on the leasing contract for the plane--had a friend who was in charge of ground support for one of the airlines at New York's LaGuardia Airport: he called the friend, and the friend got out of bed, found the part, and put it on a plane for Washington. Meanwhile, Perot lay down on a bench in the terminal and slept for a couple more hours.
They boarded at six A.M. Perot looked around the interior of the aircraft in amazement. It had a bedroom with a king-size bed, three bars, a sophisticated hi-fi system, a television, and an office with a phone. There were plush carpets, suede upholstery, and velvet walls. "It looks like a Persian whorehouse," said Perot, although he had never seen a Persian whorehouse.
The plane took off. Dick Douglas and Scratch Kanauch immediately curled up and went to sleep. Perot tried to follow their example: he had sixteen hours of nothing to do in front of him. As the plane headed out across the Atlantic Ocean, he wondered again whether he was doing the right thing.
He might, after all, have left Paul and Bill to take their chances in Tehran. Nobody would have blamed him: it was the government's job to rescue them. Indeed, the Embassy might even now be able to get them out unharmed.
On the other hand, Dadgar might pick them up and throw them in jail for twenty years--and the Embassy, on past performance, might not protect them. And what would the revolutionaries do if they got hold of Paul and Bill? Lynch them?
No, Perot could not leave his men to take then chances--it was not his way. Paul and Bill were his responsibility--he did not need his mother to tell him that. The trouble was that he was now putting more men at risk. Instead of having two people hiding in Tehran, he would now have eleven employees on the run in the wilds of northwest Iran, and another four, plus two pilots, searching for them. If things went wrong--if someone got killed--the world would see this whole thing as a foolhardy adventure by a man who thought he was still living in the Wild West. He could imagine the newspaper headlines: MILLIONAIRE TEXAN'S IRAN RESCUE BID ENDS IN DEATH ...
Suppose we lose Coburn, he thought; what would I tell his wife? Liz might find it hard to understand why I staked the lives of seventeen men to gain the freedom of two.
He had never broken the law in his life, and now he was involved in so many major illegal activities he could not count them.