Whirlwind

  It would be nice to have a little money, but I don’t care so long as Duncan gets better. Perhaps he’ll retire and perhaps he won’t. I wouldn’t want him really to retire, it would kill him. Where should we live? Near Aberdeen? Or Edinburgh near Sarah and Trevor, or London near Hamish and Kathy? Not London, nasty down there, and we shouldn’t live too near either of the kids, don’t want to bother them though it’d be ever so nice to be able to drop by from time to time, even baby-sit. Don’t want to become the boring mother-in-law to Trevor or to young Kathy—such a lovely girl. Kathy, Kathleen, Kathy: Andrew and Kathy, and sometimes going to Castle Avisyard, and now Andrew and Maureen and tiny Electra. I wouldn’t want to be alone, don’t want Duncan to…

  Don’t want to relive the horror, the pounding, rattling darkness, not being able to see, jets howling, stink of petrol—my God, how do they stand the noise and the bouncing around hour after hour—and all the time Duncan gasping, not knowing if he was alive or dead, twice crying out, “He’s dead, he’s dead,” but no one hearing and no one to help anyway and dear old Charlie flying here as fast as he could, the other man, the Iranian sergeant, what was his name, ah, yes, Wazari, Wazari nice but useless. Oh, God, that was awful, awful, and lasted forever…but now it’s all right and thank God I was there. Duncan will be all right. He will be. He must be.

  Wonder what’ll happen to Wazari? He looked so frightened when the police took him off. Wait a moment, didn’t Jean-Luc say he had heard they would probably release him into Andy’s custody as a political exile if Andy guaranteed to take him out of Bahrain and give him a job?

  Bloody revolution! Bloody nuisance I couldn’t get back to collect some of my things. There was that old frying pan that’d never stick, and Grannie’s teapot that made such a good cup of tea even out of filthy teabags and Tehran water. Ugh! Water! Soon no more squatting and using water instead of good soft paper. Ugh! If I never have to squat again it will be too soon…

  “What are you smiling about, Gen?”

  “Oh, let me think! Oh, yes, I was thinking about having to squat, about all the bums in the early morning over the joubs and their bottles of water, poor people. It always looked so awful and at the same time funny. Poor people. No more squatting for us, me lad, it’s back to Blighty.” She saw his eyes change and her anxiety returned. “That’s not bad, Duncan. Going home. It won’t be, I promise.”

  After a pause, he nodded, half to himself. “We’ll wait and see, Gen, We won’t make any decision yet. No need to decide what we’ll do for a month or two. First I’ll get fit and then we’ll decide. Don’t you worry, eh?”

  “I’m not worried now.”

  “Good, no need to worry.” Once more his attention strayed to the sea. I’m not going to spend the rest of my life battling bloody British weather, that’d be awful. Retire? Christ, I’ll have to think of something. If I’ve got to stop working I’ll go mad. Maybe we could get a little place by the sea to winter in Spain or the south of France. I’ll be buggered if I’m going to let Gen freeze and get old and bent before her time—that bloody awful salt-heavy wind off the North Sea! Never by God, We’ll have more than enough money now Whirlwind’s a success. Nine out of ten 212s! Wonderful! Can’t think about Dubois or Fowler or Tom or Erikki, Azadeh or Sharazad.

  His anxiety came back and with it a twinge that increased his anxiety and brought a bigger twinge…

  “What’re you thinking, Duncan?”

  “That it’s a beautiful day.”

  “Yes, yes, it is.”

  “Will you try Andy for me, Gen?”

  “Of course.” She picked up the phone and dialed, knowing it would be better for him to talk awhile. “Hello? Oh, hello, Scot, how’re you—it’s Genny.” She listened then said, “That’s good. Is your dad there?” Listening again, then, “No, just tell him I called for Duncan—he’s fine and can be reached on extension 455 here. He just wants to say hello. Will you ask Andy to call when he comes back? Thanks, Scot…no he’s really fine, tell Charlie too. ’Bye.”

  Thoughtfully she replaced the phone on its cradle. “Nothing new. Andy’s out at the International with Scrag. They’re seeing that Jap—you know the one from Iran-Toda—sorry, I wouldn’t call him one to his face but that’s what he is. Still can’t forgive them for what they did in the War.”

  McIver frowned. “You know, Gen, perhaps it’s time we did. Kasigi certainly helped old Scrag. The old ‘sins of the fathers’ bit doesn’t add up. Perhaps we should start the new era. That’s what we’ve got, Gen, like it or not, a New Era. Eh?”

  She saw his smile and it brought tears near again. Mustn’t cry, all’s going to be well, the New Era will be good and he’s going to get better, must get better—oh, Duncan, I’m so afraid. “Tell you what, me lad,” she said brightly, “when you’re super fit we’ll go to Japan on holiday and then we’ll see.”

  “That’s a deal. We could even visit Hong Kong again.” He took her hand and squeezed it and both hid their fear of the future, fear for the other.

  AL SHARGAZ—INTERNATIONAL HOTEL: 1:55 P.M. Kasigi was weaving through the busy tables on the immaculate terrace overlooking the swimming pool. “Ah, Mr. Gavallan, Captain Scragger, so sorry to be late.”

  “No problem, Mr. Kasigi, please sit down.”

  “Thank you.” Kasigi wore a light tropical suit and looked cool though he was not. “So sorry, I loathe being late but in the Gulf it’s almost impossible to be on time. I had to come from Dubai and the traffic… I believe congratulations are in order. I hear your Whirlwind was almost a complete success.”

  “We’re still short one chopper with two crew, but we were very lucky, all in all,” Gavallan said, no joy in him or in Scragger. “Would you care for lunch or a drink?” Their lunch appointment, requested by Kasigi, had been for twelve-thirty. By prearrangement, Gavallan and Scragger had not waited and were already on coffee.

  “A brandy and mineral water, tall, please, and another mineral water on the side. No lunch thank you, I’m not hungry.” Kasigi lied politely, not wanting to embarrass himself by eating when they were finished. He smiled at Scragger. “So! I’m pleased to see you’re safe with your airplanes and crew out. Congratulations!”

  “Sorry I had to duck your questions but, well, now you’ll understand.”

  “The moment I heard, I understood, of course. Health!” Kasigi drank the mineral water thirstily. “Now that Whirlwind’s out of the way, Mr. Gavallan, perhaps you can help me solve my problems at Iran-Toda?”

  “I’d like to, of course, but I can’t. I’m very sorry but we can’t. It’s not possible. Just not possible, that must be obvious now.”

  “Perhaps it can be made possible.” Kasigi’s eyes did not waver. “I’ve heard that sunset tonight is a firm deadline to have your airplanes out or they will be impounded.”

  Politely Gavallan gestured with his hand. “Let’s hope it’s just another rumor.”

  “One of your embassy officials informed our ambassador that this was definite. It would be a tragedy to lose all your aircraft after so much success.”

  “Definite? You’re certain?” Gavallan felt empty.

  “My ambassador was certain.” Kasigi put on a nice smile. “Say I could get your deadline extended from sunset tonight to sunset tomorrow, could you solve my problems at Iran-Toda?”

  Both men stared at him. “Can you extend our deadline, Mr. Kasigi?”

  “I can’t but our ambassador might be able to. I have an appointment with him in an hour, I will ask him—perhaps he could influence the Iranian ambassador, or the Sheik, or both.” Kasigi saw Gavallan’s immediate interest and let that hang in the air, far too experienced a fisherman in Western waters not to know the bait. “I’m in Captain Scragger’s debt. I haven’t forgotten he saved my life, went out of his way to fly me to Bandar Delam. Friends shouldn’t forget friends, should they? At Ambassador Level…perhaps it could be done.” The Japanese ambassador? My God, would it be possible—Gavallan’s heart was racing with hope at the un
expected avenue. “There’s no way ours can do anything, my contact was quite clear. I’d appreciate any help I could get, I certainly would. You think he’d help?”

  “If he wanted to, I think he could.” Kasigi sipped the brandy. “As you can help us. My chairman asked to be remembered to you and mentioned your mutual friend Sir Ian Dunross.” He saw Gavallan’s eyes react and added, “They had dinner together two nights ago.”

  “If I can help…just exactly what are your problems?” And where’s the catch and what’s the cost? Gavallan thought. And where’s Ian? Three times I’ve tried to reach him and failed.

  “I need three 212s and two 206s at Iran-Toda as soon as possible, under contract for a year. It’s essential the plant gets completed and the local komiteh has promised me full cooperation—if we start at once. If not at once it will be disastrous.”

  Last night Chief Engineer Watanabe at Iran-Toda had sent him a coded telex. “Komiteh chief Zataki is like a mad shark over the S-G hijacking. His ultimatum: either we resume construction at once—for which we must have helicopters—or the whole plant will face immediate possession and nationalization and ‘all foreigners here will face retribution for treason.’ D hour is after sunset prayers Sunday fourth, when I am to appear before the komiteh. Please advise.”

  Urgent telephone calls most of the night to Osaka and Tokyo had only served to increase Kasigi’s rage. “Yoshi, my dear friend,” his cousin and overlord Hiro Toda had said with devastating politeness, “I’ve consulted the Syndicate. We all agree we’re fortunate you’re there on the spot. It’s up to you. We’re completely confident that you will solve these problems—before you leave.”

  The message was quite clear: solve it or don’t come back.

  He had spent the rest of the night trying to find a way out of his dilemma. Then, with the dawn, he had remembered a chance remark that the Japanese ambassador had made about the new Iranian ambassador that gave him a possible means to solve Gavallan’s deadline and his own problem. “To be quite blunt and open, Mr. Gavallan,” he said and almost laughed aloud at so stupid a remark—but so necessary in Western negotiations, “I need a plan by tomorrow sunset and answers by tomorrow sunset.”

  “Why then, may I ask?”

  “Because I made commitments to a friend that I must honor which of course you’d understand,” Kasigi said. “So we both have a deadline, the same one.” Then he judged the time correct and struck hard to make sure the hook was firm. “If you can help me, I would forever appreciate it. Of course I’ll do everything to persuade my ambassador to help you anyway.”

  “There’s no point in offering any of our birds, they’d be impounded instantly, no point in offering you the 206s we left behind—they’re sure to be hors de combat too. S-G’s totally out, so’s Bell, Guerney or any of the other companies. Could you get Japanese nationals who’re helicopter pilots?”

  “No. There’re none trained.” Not yet, Kasigi thought, again furious with the Syndicate for not having the foresight to train their own trustworthy people for the job. “The personnel will have to be foreign. My ambassador could smooth visas, and so forth—of course you know Iran-Toda’s a National Project,” he added, the exaggeration not bothering him. It soon will be when all the information I have gets into the right hands. “What about French or German crews?”

  With an effort Gavallan tore his mind off how Ambassador Level could lead to his own men and choppers being safe, how he would then be out of Linbar’s trap and free to deal with Imperial Helicopters in the North Sea, the Hong Kong crisis, the early retirement of Linbar, and positioning Scot for a future takeover. “So many wonderful possibilities,” he said involuntarily, then covered himself quickly and concentrated on solving Iran-Toda. “There are two parts to the problem. First, equipment and spares: if you could provide a letter of credit at our usual monthly rate, renewable as long as you keep the planes—wherever I can get them from—with a guarantee that if the Iran authorities impound them you’ll assume all lease payments in dollars outside of Iran and reimburse the owners against a total loss, I could get them to Iran-Toda within…within a week.”

  Kasigi said at once, “Our bankers are the Sumitomo; I could arrange a meeting with them here this evening. That’s no problem. Where would you get the airplanes?”

  “Germany or France—can’t use British or American. Same for the pilots. Probably France’s better because of their help to Khomeini. I might be able to get them through some friends at Aerospatiale. What about insurance? It’ll be impossible for me to get you insurance in Iran.”

  “Perhaps I could do that from Japan.”

  “Good. I’d hate to fly uninsured birds. Next: Scrag, say we can get the aircraft, how many pilots and mecs’d you need?”

  “Well, Andy, if you could get them, you’d best have eight to ten pilots, rostering, and ten to fourteen mecs, based outside Iran but close by.”

  “Who’d pay them, Mr. Kasigi? In what currency and where?”

  “Whatever currency they wanted, wherever and however. Standard rates?”

  “I’d think you’d have to offer a ‘danger cost-of-living bonus,’ Iran being what it is.”

  “Would you consider arranging the whole matter for me, Mr. Gavallan, the equipment and the personnel, for say a 10 percent override?”

  “Forget percentages and remember our involvement’d have to be kept very quiet. I’d suggest this: your operation should be controlled—logistics, spares, and repairs—from Kuwait or Bahrain.”

  “Bahrain’d be better, Andy,” Scragger said.

  “Kuwait’s much closer,” Kasigi said.

  “Yes,” Scragger said, “so more liable for pressure from Iran or Iran-sponsored unrest. This side of the Gulf’s due for a battering, I think. Too many Shi’as who’re usually poor, too many sheiks who’re Sunni. Short term or long term you’re better off in Bahrain.”

  “Then Bahrain,” Kasigi said. “Mr. Gavallan, can I have Captain Scragger’s services for a year to run the operation—if it comes to fruition—at double his present salary?” He saw Scragger’s eyes narrow and wondered if he’d gone too far too fast, so he added lightly, “If I ask you to give up your first love, my friend, it’s only right you should be compensated.”

  “That’s a great offer, but, well, I don’t know. Andy?”

  Gavallan hesitated. “It’d mean you’d have to quit S-G, Scrag, and quit flying. You couldn’t run five ships and fly—and anyway you could never go back to Iran, no way.”

  That’s right. Quit flying. So I’m at a crossroads too, Scragger was thinking. Don’t try to pretend Mac’s bad luck didn’t give me a shaft to end all shafts. And why did I faint yesterday? Doc Nutt said it was just exhaustion. Balls, I’ve never fainted in my life before and wot do doctors know anyways? A year in Bahrain? That’s better than a few months in the North Sea always bucking the next medical. No flying? My Gawd! Wait a minute, I could keep current and my hand in with a little local joyriding. “I’d have to think about that, but thanks for the offer, Mr. Kasigi.”

  “Meanwhile, Mr. Gavallan, could you organize the first month or so?”

  “Yes. With a certain amount of luck, within the week I could get enough birds and crew there to get you started, the balance in a week or two for a renewable three-month contract.” Gavallan added as delicately as he could, “So long as we beat our deadline.”

  Kasigi kept his satisfaction covered. “Good. Shall we meet here at nine? I’ll bring Mr. Umura, who’s president of the Sumitomo for the Gulf, to arrange the letters of credit in the form you want, Mr. Gavallan.”

  “Nine o’clock on the dot. Perhaps you could mention to your ambassador, even if tonight’s sunset deadline passes, my freighters won’t arrive till noon tomorrow and I won’t be able to get them loaded and off before tomorrow sunset.”

  “You will keep ‘Ambassador Level’ just between us?”

  “Of course. You have my word. Scrag?”

  Kasigi heard Scrag say the same, and was, as
always, astounded that Westerners could be so naive as to rely on someone’s “word”—word of honor, whose honor, what honor? Hasn’t it ever been that a secret shared is no secret and never will be again? Like Whirlwind, it had been so easy to smoke that one out. “Perhaps we could plan it this way: we settle finances and letters of credit tonight; you begin to arrange the helicopters and spares and crew, how to manage the operation from Bahrain, warehousing, and sum—everything subject to confirmation tomorrow sunset. If you’ve successfully extracted your own equipment by then, you guarantee Iran-Toda will have its helicopters within the week.”

  “You seem very confident you can eliminate our deadline.”

  “My ambassador can, perhaps. I’ll phone and tell you what he says the moment I’ve left him. Captain Scragger, would it be possible for you to run a trainee program for Japanese pilots?”

  “Easy, providing they speak English and have at least a hundred chopper hours. I’d have to get a training captain and…” Scragger stopped. It had suddenly occurred to him this was the perfect solution. “That’s a beaut idea. I could be examiner—I can sign them out in type and that way I’d get enough flying under the right circs. Bonzer!” He beamed. “Tell you wot, sport, if Andy can fix it, I’m in.” He stuck out his hand and Kasigi shook it.

  “Thank you. Perfect. So Mr. Gavallan, do we ‘give her a try’?”

  “Why not?” Gavallan put out his hand and felt Kasigi’s iron-hard grip and for the first time really believed there was a chance. Kasigi’s smart. Very. Now he’s got the standard modern Japanese company operating procedure in place: get foreign experts to train Japanese personnel on site, or to create the market in their own countries, then move in the trainees. We get the short-term profit, they get the long-term market. They’re doing to us in business what they failed to do at war. In spades. So what? It is fair trading. And if Kasigi and his ambassador can extract me from my disaster, it’s no skin off my nose to help him out of his. “We’ll give her a try.”