Whirlwind

  “Fair enough but it has to be from Al Shargaz. We’ll have to refuel in Kuwait and get out of there as fast as we can—if we’re lucky enough to get there and if they’ll let us fly out.”

  “No. Kuwait’s the end of the line for me.”

  “Please yourself,” McIver said, hardening. “But I’ll make sure you don’t get a plane into Tehran, Abadan, or anywhere else in Iran.”

  “You’re a bastard,” Lochart said, sick that McIver had read his intentions so clearly. “Goddamn you to hell!”

  “Yes, sorry. From Al Shargaz I’ll help all I c—” McIver stopped, seeing Lochart mutter a curse. He turned around. Kia and Hussain were still conversing by the car. “What’s the matter?”

  “In the tower.”

  McIver looked up. Then he noticed Wazari, half-hidden by one of the boarded windows, beckoning them clearly. No way to pretend that they had not seen him. As they watched, Wazari beckoned them again and moved back into cover.

  “Goddamn him,” Lochart was saying. “I checked the tower just after you’d left to make sure he hadn’t slipped up there and he hadn’t so I thought he’d made a run for it.” His face flushed with rage. “Come to think of it, I didn’t go right up into the room so he could’ve hidden on the roof—the sonofabitch must’ve been there all the time.”

  “Christalmighty! Maybe he found the broken wire.” McIver was rocked.

  Lochart’s face closed. “You stay here. If he tries to give us any trouble I’ll kill him.” He stalked off.

  “Wait, I’ll come too. Freddy,” he called out, “we’ll be back in a moment.”

  As they passed Hussain and Kia, McIver said, “I’m just going to ask for clearance, Minister. Takeoff in five minutes?”

  Before Kia could answer, the mullah said cryptically, “Insha’Allah.”

  Kia said curtly to McIver, “Captain, you haven’t forgotten I told you I must be in Tehran for an important meeting at 7:00 P.M.? Good,” turned his back on them, again concentrating on Hussain, “You were saying, Excellency?”

  The two pilots went into the office, seething at Kia’s rudeness, bypassed Pavoud and the other staff, and headed for the tower staircase.

  The tower was empty. Then they saw the door to the roof ajar and heard Wazari whisper, “Over here.” He was just outside, crouched by the wall.

  Wazari did not move. “I know what you’re up to. There’s no radio malfunction,” he said, hardly able to contain his excitement. “Four choppers have pushed off from Bandar Delam and vanished. Your managing director Siamaki’s screaming like a stuck pig because he can’t raise Lengeh, us, or Al Shargaz and Mr. Gavallan there—they’re just sitting tight, that’s it, isn’t it? Huh?”

  “What’s that got to do with us?” Lochart said tautly.

  “Everything, of course everything, because it all fits. Numir at Bandar Delam says all expats’ve gone, there’s no one left at Bandar. Siamaki says the same about Tehran, he even told Numir your houseboy, Captain McIver, your houseboy says most of your personal things and a Captain Pettikin’s’re out of the apartment.”

  McIver shrugged and went to switch on the VHF. “Safety precautions while Pettikin’s on leave and I’m away. Been lots of robberies.”

  “Don’t make a call yet. Please. Listen, for crissake, listen, I’m begging you…there’s no way you can stop the truth. Your 212s and guys have gone from Bandar, Lengeh’s silent, so they’re the same, Tehran’s closed down, the same, there’s only here left and you’re all set.” Wazari’s voice was curious and they could not tell yet what was under it. “I’m not gonna give you away, I want to help you. I want to help. I swear I want to help you.”

  “Help us do what?”

  “Get away.”

  “Why should you do that, even if what you say’s true?” Lochart said angrily.

  “You were right not to trust me before, Captain, but I swear to God you can trust me now, I’m together now, earlier I wasn’t but now I am and you’re my only hope to get out. I’m up before the komiteh tomorrow and…and look at me, for crissake!” he burst out. “I’m a mess, and unless I can get to a proper doctor I’ll be a mess forever and maybe even a dead man—there’s something pressing here, hurts like hell,” Wazari touched the top of his mashed nose. “Since that bastard Zataki beat me my head’s been aching and I’ve been crazy, sure I have, I know it, but I can still help. I can cover you from here if you’ll take me with you, just let me sneak aboard the last chopper—I swear I’ll help.” Tears filled his eyes. The two men stared at him.

  McIver clicked on the VHF sender. “Kowiss Tower, IHC testing, testing.”

  A long pause, then in heavily accented English, “This the tower, IHC, you five by five.”

  “Thank you. We seem to have cleared the fault. Our 206 charter to Tehran will leave in ten minutes, also our morning flight to rigs Forty, Abu Sal, and Gordy with spares.”

  “Okay. Report airborne. Your Bandar Delam is been try to contact you.”

  McIver felt the sweat start. “Thanks, Tower. Good day.” He looked at Lochart, then switched on the HF. At once they heard Jahan’s voice in Farsi and Lochart began interpreting: “Jahan’s saying the last sighting of their flight was northeast, inland from the coast…that Zataki…” For a moment his voice faltered, “…that Zataki had ordered the four choppers to service Iran-Toda and should be at Iran-Toda by now and is sure to call or send a message…” Then McIver recognized Siamaki. Lochart was sweating. “Siamaki’s saying he’ll be off the air for half an hour to an hour but he’ll call when he gets back and to keep trying to raise us and Al Shargaz… Jahan says okay and he’ll wait out and if he has any news he’ll call.”

  Static for a moment. Then Jahan’s voice in English: “Kowiss, this is Bandar Delam, do you read?”

  Lochart muttered, “If the tower’s been picking all this up, why aren’t we all in the slammer?”

  “It’s Friday. No reason for them to monitor your company frequency.” Wazari wiped the tears away, back in control now. “Friday crew’s minimal and trainee—no flying, nothing happening, the komiteh sacked all radar officers and five of the sergeants—sent them to the stockade.” He shuddered then hurried on: “Maybe one of the guys picked up Bandar Delam once or twice. So Bandar’ve lost contact with some of their choppers, so what, they’re foreigners and it happens all the time. But, Captain, if you don’t close Bandar and Tehran down, they’ve gotta…someone’s gotta get steamed up.” He took out a grubby handkerchief and wiped a trickle of blood from his nose. “If you switch to your alternate channel you’ll be safe enough, the tower don’t have that.”

  McIver stared at him. “You’re sure?”

  “Sure, listen why don’t y—” He stopped. Footsteps were approaching. Noiselessly he ducked back onto the roof into hiding. Kia stomped halfway up the stairs.

  “What’s keeping you, Captain?”

  “I’m… I’m waiting for clearance to be confirmed, Minister. Sorry, I’ve been told to wait. Nothing I can do.”

  “Of course there is! We can take off and leave! Now! I’m tired of wait—”

  “I’m tired too but I don’t want my head blown off.” McIver’s temper snapped and he flared, “You’ll wait! Wait! Understand? You bloody wait and if your bloody manners don’t improve I’ll cancel the whole trip and mention a pishkesh or two to the mullah Hussain I happened to forget at the questioning. Now get to hell out of here!”

  For a moment they thought Kia was going to explode, but he thought better of it and went away. McIver rubbed his chest, cursing himself for losing his temper. Then he jerked a thumb at the roof and whispered, “Tom, what about him?”

  “We can’t leave him behind. He could give us away in a minute.” Lochart looked around. Wazari was at the doorway.

  “I swear I’ll help,” he whispered desperately. “Listen, when you take off with Kia, what d’you plan, to dump him, huh?” McIver did not answer, still unsure. “Jesus, Captain, you gotta trust me. Look, call Bandar on the alterna
te and chew Numir out like you did that bastard’n tell him you ordered all the choppers here. That’ll take the heat off for an hour or two.”

  McIver glanced at Lochart.

  Lochart said excitedly, “Why not? Hell, that’s a good idea, then you take off with Kia and…and Freddy can get going. I’ll wait here and…” The words trailed off.

  “Then what, Tom?” McIver said.

  Wazari came over and switched to the alternate channel, said quickly to Lochart, “You stall for a while, Cap, and when Cap McIver’s gone and Ayre’s out of the area, you tell Numir you’re sure his four choppers’ve just switched off their HF, no need to use it, and they’re on VHF. That gives you the excuse to get airborne and wander around, then you rush off to the fuel cache.” He saw their look. “Jesus, Cap, anyone’s gotta know you can’t make it in one across the Gulf, no way, so you’ve gotta have stashed spare fuel somewheres. Onshore, or on one of the rigs.”

  McIver took a deep breath and pressed the transmit. “Bandar Delam, this is Captain McIver at Kowiss, do you read?”

  “Kowiss—Bandar Delam, we’ve been trying to reach you for hours an—”

  “Jahan, put Agha Numir on,” McIver said curtly. A moment, then Numir came on but before the IranOil manager could launch into a tirade, McIver cut in with his own. “Where are my four helicopters? Why haven’t they reported in? What’s going on down there? And why are you so inefficient that you don’t know I ordered my helicopters and personnel here…?”

  AT AL SHARGAZ HQ: “…and why don’t you remember that crew replacements are due in Bandar Delam after the weekend?” McIver’s voice was faint but clear over the loudspeaker, and Gavallan, Scot, and Manuela were staring at it, aghast that McIver was still in place at Kowiss—did that mean Lochart, Ayre, and the others too?

  “But we’ve been calling you all morning, Captain,” Numir said, his voice fainter. “You ordered our copters to Kowiss? But why? And why wasn’t I informed? Our copters were supposed to go to Iran-Toda this morning but never landed and have vanished! Agha Siamaki’s also been trying to reach you.”

  “There’s been a fault on our HF. Now listen here, Numir, I ordered my choppers to Kowiss. I never approved an Iran-Toda contract, know nothing about an Iran-Toda contract, so that’s the end to it. Now stop creating a stink about nothing!”

  “But they are our helicopters and everyone’s left, everyone, mechanics and all pilots an—”

  “Goddamnit, I ordered them all here pending an investigation. I repeat I am very dissatisfied with your operation. And will so report to IranOil! Now stop calling!”

  In the office they were all still in shock. That McIver was still in Kowiss was a disaster. Whirlwind was going badly awry. It was 10:42 A.M. and Rudi and his three were overdue Bahrain. “…but we don’t know their actual headwind, Dad,” Scot had said, “or how long they’ll take to inflight refuel. They could be three quarters to an hour late and still be okay—say an ETA at Bahrain of eleven to eleven-fifteen.” But everyone knew that there could not safely be that amount of fuel on board.

  Nothing yet from Scrag and his two but that’s to be expected—they don’t have HF aboard, Gavallan thought. Their flight to Al Shargaz should take about an hour and a half. If they’d left at say seven-thirty and did the pickup and got out without incident, say at seven-forty-five, their ETA’s nine-fifteen whichever way you figure it. “No need to worry, Manuela, you understand about headwinds,” he had said, “and we don’t actually know when they left.”

  So many things to go wrong. My God, this waiting’s rotten. Gavallan felt very old, picked up the phone and dialed Bahrain. “Gulf Air de France? Jean-Luc Sessonne, please? Jean-Luc, anything?”

  “No, Andy. I’ve just called the tower and there’s nothing in the system. Pas problème. Rudi’ll be conserving fuel. The tower said they’d call me the instant they see them. Anything about anyone else?”

  “We just found out Mac’s still in Kowiss.” Gavallan heard the gasp and the obscenities. “I agree. I’ll call you.” He dialed Kuwait. “Charlie, is Genny with you?”

  “No, she’s at the hotel. Andy, I—”

  “We’ve just heard Mac’s still at Kowiss an—”

  “Christalmighty, what’s happened?”

  “Don’t know, he’s still transmitting. I’ll call back when I’ve something definite. Don’t tell Genny yet. ’Bye.”

  Again the nauseating waiting, then the HF came alive. “Tehran, this is Kowiss, Captain McIver. Go ahead.”

  “Kowiss, Tehran, we’ve been calling all morning. Agha Siamaki has been trying to reach you. He’ll be back in about an hour. Please confirm that you ordered the four 212s to Kowiss.”

  “Tehran, this is Kowiss. Bandar Delam, you copy too.” McIver’s voice was slower and clearer but very angry. “I confirm, I have all my 212s—I repeat all my 212s—under my control. All of them. I will be unavailable to talk to Agha Siamaki as I am cleared to leave here for Tehran with Minister Kia in five minutes but will expect Agha Siamaki to meet the 206 at Tehran International. In a few moments we will be closing down for repairs—on orders from the authorities—and will be operating only on VFR. For your information Captain Ayre will be leaving in five minutes for rig Abu Sal with spares and Captain Lochart will remain on standby to meet my Bandar Delam 212s. Did you copy, Tehran?”

  “Affirmative, Captain McIver, but can you please te—”

  McIver cut in over him: “Did you copy, Numir, or are you more useless than ever?”

  “Yes, but I must insist that we be infor—”

  “I’m tired of all this nonsense. I’m managing director of this operation and as long as we operate in Iran that’s the way it is going to be, simple, direct, and no fuss. Kowiss is closing down to make repairs as ordered by Colonel Changiz and will report as soon as we are on the air again. Remain on this channel but keep it clear for testing. Everything will proceed as planned. Over and out!”

  Just then the door opened and Starke came in, an anxious young nurse with him. Manuela was dumbfounded. Gavallan leaped up and helped him to a chair, his chest heavily bandaged. He wore pajama bottoms and a loose terry dressing gown. “I’m okay, Andy,” Starke said. “How are you, honey?”

  “Conroe, are you crazy?”

  “No. Andy, tell me what’s happening?”

  The nurse said, “We really can’t take responsibil—”

  Starke said patiently, “I promise only a couple of hours and I’ll be real careful. Manuela, please take her back to the car, would you, honey?” He looked at her with that special look husbands have for wives and wives for husbands when it’s not the time to argue. At once she got up and ushered the nurse out and when they had both gone, Starke said, “Sorry, Andy, couldn’t stand it anymore. What’s going on?”

  AT KOWISS: 10:48 A.M. McIver came down the tower steps, feeling sick and empty and not sure he would make it to the 206, let alone put the rest of the plan into effect. You’ll make it, he told himself. Get yourself together.

  The mullah Hussain was still talking to Kia, leaning against the car, his AK47 slung over one shoulder. “We’re all set, Minister,” McIver said. “Of course, if it’s all right, Excellency Hussain?”

  “Yes, as God wants,” Hussain said, with a strange smile. Politely he put out his hand. “Good-bye, Minister Kia.”

  “Good-bye, Excellency.” Kia turned and walked off briskly for the 206.

  Uneasily McIver offered his hand to the mullah. “’Bye, Excellency.”

  Hussain turned to watch Kia get into the cockpit. Again the strange smile. “It is written: ‘The mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small.’ Don’t they, Captain?”

  “Yes. But why do you say that?”

  “As a parting gift. You can tell your friend Kia when you land at Tehran.”

  “He’s not my friend, and why then?”

  “You’re wise not to have him as a friend. When will you see Captain Starke again?”

  “I don’t know. Soon I hop
e.” McIver saw the mullah glance back at Kia, and his disquiet increased. “Why?”

  “I would like to see him soon.” Hussain unslung the gun and got into the car and, with his Green Bands, drove off.

  “Captain?” It was Pavoud. He was shaky and upset.

  “Yes, Mr. Pavoud, just a minute. Freddy!” McIver beckoned Ayre who came at a run. “Yes, Mr. Pavoud?”

  “Please, why are the 212s loaded with spares and luggage and all th—”

  “A crew change,” McIver said at once and pretended not to notice Ayre’s eyes crossing. “I’ve four 212s due here from Bandar Delam. You’d better get accommodations ready. Four pilots and four mechanics. They’re due in about two hours.”

  “But we’ve no manifest or reason to h—”

  “Do it!” McIver’s tension boiled over again. “I gave the orders. Me! Me personally! I ordered my 212s here! Freddy, what the hell’re you waiting for? Get going with your spares.”

  “Yessir. And you?”

  “I’m taking Kia, Tom Lochart’s in charge until I get back. Off you go. No, wait, I’ll go with you. Pavoud, what the devil are you waiting for? Captain Lochart will be very bloody irritable if you’re not ready in time.” McIver stomped off with Ayre, praying that Pavoud was convinced.

  “Mac, what the hell’s going on?”

  “Wait till we get to the others.” When McIver reached the 212s he turned his back to Pavoud who still stood on the office steps and quickly told them what was going on. “See you at the coast.”

  “You all right, Mac?” Ayre said, very concerned with his color.

  “Of course I am. Take off!”

  OFF BAHRAIN: 10:59 A.M. Rudi and Pop Kelly were still in tandem battling the headwind, nursing their engines—their fuel gauges reading empty, red warning lights on. Half an hour ago they had both gone into hover. The mechanics had swung the cabin doors open and leaned out, taking off the tank caps. Then they had uncurled the hoses and stuck the nozzle into the tank neck and come back into the cabin. With the makeshift pumps, laboriously they had pumped the first of the forty-gallon drums dry, then the second. Neither of the mechanics had ever refueled in the air like this. Both had been violently sick when they finished. But the operation was successful.