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would expect American businessmen to escape via the
        Soviet Union.
        Bill also missed Emily and the children badly, and Paul felt somewhat
        responsible, because he had asked Bill to come to Iran.
        Still, it was almost over. Today they would see Mr. Dadgar and get their
        passports back. Bill had a reservation on a plane out tomorrow. Emily was
        planning a welcome-home party for him on New Year's Eve. Soon all this
        would seem like a bad dream.
    Paul smiled at Bill. "Ready to go?"
    "Any time."
        "Let's get Abolhasan." Paul picked up the phone. Abolhasan was the most
        senior Iranian employee, and advised Paul on Iranian business methods. The
        son of a distinguished lawyer, he was married to an American woman, and
        spoke very good English. One of his jobs was translating EDS's contracts
        into Farsi. Today he would translate for Paul and Bill at their meeting
        with Dadgar.
        He came immediately to Paul's office and the three men left. They did not
        take a lawyer with them. According to the Embassy this meeting would be
        routine, the questioning informal. To take lawyers along would not only be
        pointless, but might antagonize Mr. Dadgar and lead him to suspect that
        Paul and Bill had something to hide. Paul would have liked to have a member
        of the Embassy staff present, but this idea also had been turned down by
        Lou Goelz: it was not normal procedure to send Embassy representatives to
        a meeting such as this. However, Goelz had advised Paul and Bill to take
        with them documents establishing when they had come to Iran, what their
        official positions were, and the scope of their responsibilities.
        As the car negotiated its way through the usual insane Tehran traffic, Paul
        felt depressed. He was glad to be going home, but he hated to admit
        failure. He had come to Iran to build up EDS's business here, and he found
        himself dismantling it. Whatever way you looked at it the company's first
        overseas venture had been a failure. It was not Paul's fault that the
        government of Iran
        ON WINGS OF EAGLES 33
     
    had run out of money, but that was small consolation: excuses did not make
    profits.
        They drove down the treelined Eisenhower Avenue, as -wide and straight as
        any American highway, and pulled into the courtyard of a square, ten-story
        building set back from the stieet and guarded by soldiers with automatic
        rifles. This was the Social Security Organization of the Ministry of Health
        and Social Welfare. It was to have been the powerhouse of the new Iranian
        welfare state: here, side by side, the Iranian government and EDS had
        worked to build a social-security system. EDS occupied the entire seventh
        floor-Bill's office was there.
        Paid, Bill, and Abolhasan showed their passes and went in. The corridors
        were duty and poorly decorated, and the building was cold: the heat was off
        again. They were directed to the office Mr. Dadgar was using.
        They found him in a small room with dirty walls, sitting behind an old gray
        steel desk. In front of him on the desk were a notebook and a pen. Through
        the window Paul could see the data center EDS was building next door.
        Abolhasan introduced everyone. There was an Iranian woman sitting on a
        chair beside Dadgar's desk: her name was Mrs. Nourbash, and she was
        Dadgar's interpreter.
        They all sat down on dilapidated metal chairs. Tea was served. Dadgar began
        to speak in Farsi. His voice was soft but rather deep, and his expression
        was blank. Paul studied him as he waited for the translation. Dadgar was a
        short, stocky man in his fifties, and for some reason he made Paul think