McIver lived only a few blocks away. Lochart was surprised to find him fully dressed. “Hello, Tom. Come on in. The clearance came through at midnight, delivered by hand. Valik’s got power—I never believed we’d get it. Coffee?”
“Thanks. Did he see you last night?”
“Yes.” McIver led the way into the kitchen. Coffee was perking nicely. No sign of Genny, Paula, or Nogger Lane. He poured for Lochart. “Valik told me he’d seen you and that you’d agreed to go.”
Lochart grunted. “I said I’d go after you approved it and after I’d seen you—if we got the clearance. Where’s Nogger?”
“Back in his flat. I canceled him last night. He’s still pretty shook from being involved in that riot.”
“I can imagine. What happened to the girl? Paula?”
“She’s in the spare room, her Alitalia flight’s still grounded, but she’ll probably be off today. George Talbot of the embassy dropped by last night and said he heard the airport’s been cleared of revolutionaries and today, with any luck, there’ll be a few flights in and out.”
Lochart nodded thoughtfully. “Then maybe Bakhtiar will win after all.”
“Let’s hope, eh? The BBC this morning said Doshan Tappeh’s still in Khomeini hands and the Immortals are just ringing it, sitting on their tails.”
Lochart shuddered at the thought of Sharazad there. She had promised not to go again. “Did Talbot say anything about a coup?”
“Only that the rumor is that Carter’s opposed to it—if I was Iranian, and a general, I wouldn’t hesitate. Talbot agreed, said the coup’ll happen in the next three days, it’ll have to, the revs are getting too many guns.”
Lochart could almost see Sharazad chanting with the thousands, young Captain Karim Peshadi declaring for Khomeini and three Immortals deserting. “Don’t know what I’d do, Mac, if I was one of them.”
“Thank God we’re not and this’s Iran, not England with us at the barricades. Anyway, Tom, if the 125 comes in today I’ll put Sharazad on her. She’ll be better off in Al Shargaz, at least for a couple of weeks. Did she get her Canadian passport?”
“Yes, but Mac, I don’t think she’ll go.” Lochart told him about her joining the insurrection at Doshan Tappeh.
“My God, she needs her head examined. I’ll get Gen to see her.”
“Is Genny going to Al Shargaz?”
McIver said testily, “No. If it was up to me she’d’ve been there a week already. I’ll do what I can. Sharazad’s all right?”
“Wonderful, but I wish to God Tehran’d settle down. I get worried sick about her here and me in Zagros.” Lochart gulped some coffee. “If I’m going I’d better get with it. Keep an eye on her, will you?” He looked at McIver, hard and straight. “What’s this charter about, Mac?”
Stonily McIver looked back at him. “Tell me exactly what Valik said to you last night.”
Lochart told him. Exactly.
“He’s a right bastard to try to make you lose face like that.”
“He succeeded very well. Unfortunately he’s still family and in Iran—well, you know.” Lochart kept the bitterness out of his voice. “I asked him what’s so important about a few spares and a few rials and he sloughed me off.” He saw that McIver’s face was set and seemed older and heavier than he had ever known, yet tougher. “Mac, what is so important about a few spares and a few rials?”
McIver finished his coffee and poured some more. He dropped his voice. “Don’t want to wake Genny or Paula, Tom. This’s between us,” He told Lochart what had happened in the office. Exactly.
Lochart felt the sudden rash of blood to his face. “SAVAK? Him and Annoush and little Setarem and Jalal? Jesus wept!”
“That’s why I agreed to try. Have to. I’m equally trapped. We’re both trapped. But there’s more.” McIver told him about the money.
Lochart gasped. “12 million rials, cash? Or the equivalent in Switzerland?”
“Keep your voice down. Yes, 12 for me, and another 12 for the pilot. Last night he said his offer still stands and not to be ‘naive.’” McIver added grimly, “If Gen hadn’t been here, I’d’ve thrown him out.”
Lochart was hardly listening. 12 million rials or cash elsewhere? Mac’s right. If Valik offered that here in Tehran what would he really pay when he’s in sight of the border? “Christ!”
McIver watched him. “What do you think, Tom? Do you still want to go?”
“I can’t refuse. I can’t. Not now we’ve got the clearance.” It was on the kitchen table and he picked it up. It read: “EP-HBC cleared to Bandar Delam. Priority flight for urgent spares. Refuel at IIAF Base Isfahan. One crew: Captain Lane.” Lane had been crossed out, and marked, “Sick. Substitute pilot——,” then a blank and it was not yet countersigned by McIver.
McIver glanced at the kitchen door that was closed, then back to Lochart. “Valik wants to be picked up outside of Tehran, privately.”
“This gets smellier and smellier. Where’s the pickup point?”
“If you get to Bandar Delam, Tom, and that’s not even probable, he’ll pressure you to take them on to Kuwait.”
“Of course.” Lochart stared back at McIver.
“He’ll use any pressure, family, Sharazad, the lot. Particularly money.”
“Millions. In cash—which we both know I can use.” Lochart’s voice was level. “But if I fly on to Kuwait without Iranian clearance, in an Iranian registered chopper, without Iranian or company approval, with unauthorized Iranian passengers trying to escape their still legal government, I’m a hijacker, subject to God knows how many criminal charges here and in Kuwait—the Kuwait authorities’d impound the chopper, shove me in jail, and certainly extradite me to Iran. In any event I’d’ve blown my future as a pilot and could never come back to Iran and Sharazad—SAVAK might even grab her so I’m not about to do that.”
“Valik’s a dangerous sod. He’ll come armed. He could put a gun to your head and force you to go on.”
“That’s possible.” Lochart’s voice stayed but his insides were churning. “I have no option. I’ve got to help him, and I will—but I’m not goddamn stupid.” After a pause, he added, “Does Nogger know about this?”
“No.” In the watches of the night, after weighing possible plans, McIver had decided to go himself and not risk Nogger Lane or Lochart. The hell with the medical and that I’d be illegal, he had told himself—the whole flight’s mad so a little extra madness won’t hurt.
His plan was simple: after talking it out with Tom Lochart he would just say he had decided not to authorize the flight and would not countersign the clearance, that he would drive to the pickup point with enough gasoline for Valik to make the journey by road. Even if Lochart wanted to come with him, it would be easy to fix a rendezvous, then never go to it but just drive to Galeg Morghi, put his own name on the clearance as pilot and take off. At the pickup point…
“What?” he asked.
“There are only three possibilities,” Lochart said again. “You refuse to authorize the flight, you authorize me or you authorize someone else. You’ve canceled Nogger, Charlie’s not here, so that leaves you or me. You can’t go, Mac. You just can’t, it’s too dangerous.”
“Of course I wouldn’t go, my license h—”
“You can’t go, Mac,” Lochart said firmly, “Sorry. You just can’t.”
McIver sighed, his wisdom overcame his obsession to fly and he decided on his second plan. “Yes. Yes, you’re right. I agree. So listen carefully: if you want to do it, that’s up to you, I’m not ordering it. I will authorize you if you want but there arc conditions. If you get to the pickup point and it seems clean, pick them up. Then go on to Isfahan. Valik said he’d fix that. If Isfahan’s okay, go on. Maybe Mr. Fixit Iran can do just that, all the way. That’s what we’d have to gamble on.”
“That’s what I’m gambling on.”
“Bandar Delam’s the end of the line. You don’t go over the border. Agreed?” McIver put out his hand.
&
nbsp; “Agreed,” Lochart said, shaking hands with a prayer that he could keep his promise.
McIver told him the pickup point, signed the clearance, and noticed his hands were trembling. If anything goes wrong, guess who SAVAK’ll come after? Both of us. And even maybe Gen, McIver thought, again filled with dread. He did not tell Lochart that she had overheard Valik last night and figured out the rest. “But I agree, Duncan,” she had said gravely. “It’s terribly risky but you’ve got to try to help them, Tom too, he’s equally trapped. There isn’t any option.”
McIver handed Lochart the clearance. “Tom, you’re specifically ordered not to go over the border. If you do, I think you really will lose everything, including Sharazad.”
“This whole scheme’s crackpot, but, there you are.”
“Yes. Good luck.”
Lochart nodded, smiled back at him, and left.
McIver closed the front door. I hope that’s the right decision, he thought, his head aching. Madness to go myself, and yet… I wish I was going and not him. I wish…
“Oh,” he said, startled. Genny was standing by the kitchen door, a warm robe over her nightdress. She was not wearing her glasses and she peered at him.
“I’m… I’m awfully glad you didn’t go, Duncan,” she said in a tiny voice.
“What?”
“Oh, come on, silly, I know you too well. You hardly slept a wink trying to decide—nor did I, worrying about it for you. I know if I’d been you I’d’ve gone, or wanted to go. But, Duncan, Tom’s strong and he’ll be all right and I do so hope he takes Sharazad and never comes back…” The tears began running down her cheeks. “I’m ever so glad you didn’t go.” She brushed the tears away and went to the stove and put on the kettle. “Damn, sorry, I really do get into a tizzy sometimes. Sorry.”
He put his arms around her. “Gen, if the 125 comes today, will you get on it? Please.”
“Certainly, dear. If you get on it too.”
“But Gen. You must.”
“Duncan, listen a moment, please.” She turned and put her arms around him and rested her head against his chest and continued in the same small voice that troubled him greatly, “Three of your partners have already fled with their families and all the money they can, the Shah and his family’ve gone with all their money, thousands of others, most of the people we know’ve gone, you said so yourself and now if even the great General Valik’s running away, even with all his contacts and they’ve got to be on both sides of the fence, and…and if even the Immortals haven’t squashed the little rebellion at Doshan Tappeh of a few air force cadets and badly armed civilians—practically on their home ground—it’s time we should close down and leave.”
“We can’t, Gen,” he burst out, and she could hear his heart in his chest and her concern for him increased. “That’d be a disaster.”
“It’d only be for a short time, until things get better.”
“If I scuttled Iran it’d ruin S-G.”
“I don’t know about that, Duncan, but surely the decision’s up to Andy, not you—he sent us here.”
“Yes, but he’d ask me what I thought and I couldn’t recommend quitting and leaving $20- to $30-odd million worth of choppers and spares behind—in this mess they wouldn’t last a week, they’d be looted or damaged, we’d lose everything, everything—don’t forget, Gen, all our retirement money’s tied up in S-G, everything.”
“But, Duncan, don’t you think th—”
“I won’t leave our choppers and spares.” McIver felt flushed and in momentary panic at the thought. “I just can’t.”
“Then take them with you.”
“For God’s sake, we can’t get ’em out, we can’t get the clearances, can’t get off Iranian registry—we can’t—we’re stuck here until the war’s over.”
“We’re not. Duncan, not you or me or our lads, you’ve got to think of them too. We have to get out. They’ll throw us out anyway, whoever wins, most of all Khomeini.” A tremor went through her as she thought of his first speech at the cemetery: “I pray God to cut off the hands of all foreigners…”
AT TABRIZ ONE: 9:30 A.M. The red Range Rover came out of the gates of the Khan’s palace and headed down the rise toward Tabriz and the road for Tehran. Erikki was driving, Azadeh beside him. It had been her cousin, Colonel Mazardi, the chief of police, who had persuaded Erikki not to drive to Tehran on Friday: “The road would be highly dangerous—it’s bad enough during the day,” he said. “The insurgents won’t return now, you’re quite safe. Much better to go and see His Highness the Khan and ask his advice. That would be much wiser,”
Azadeh had agreed. “Erikki, of course we will do whatever you want but I would really feel happier if we went home for the night and saw Father.”
“My cousin’s right, Captain; of course you may do as you wish, but I swear by the Prophet, God keep His words safe forever, that Her Highness’s safety is just as important to me as to you. If you still feel so inclined, leave tomorrow. I can assure you there’s no danger here. I’ll post guards. If this so-called Rakoczy or any other foreigner or this mullah comes within half a mile of here or the Gorgon palace they’ll regret it.”
“Oh, yes, Erikki, please,” Azadeh said enthusiastically. “Of course, my darling, we’ll do whatever you like but it might be you would want to consult His Highness, my father, about what you plan to do.”
Reluctantly Erikki had agreed. Arberry and the other mechanic, Dibble, had decided to go into Tabriz to the International Hotel and spend the weekend there. “Spares’re due Monday, Captain. Old Skinflint McIver knows our 212’s got to be working by Wednesday or he’ll have to send another one and he won’t like that. We’ll just sit tight and get the job done and get her airborne. Our apology for a base manager can come and fetch us. We’re British, we’ve nothing to worry about—no one’s going to touch us. And don’t forget we’re working for their guver’ment, whoever’s the bleeding guver’ment, and we’ve no quarrel with any of these bleeding wo—these bleeders, begging your pardon. Now don’t you worry about us, you and the Missus. We’ll just sit tight and expect you back by Wednesday. Have a fun time in Tehran.”
So Erikki had gone in convoy with Colonel Mazardi to the outskirts of Tabriz. The sprawling palace of the Gorgon Khans was set in mountain foothills, in acres of gardens and orchards behind high walls. When they arrived, the whole house awoke and congregated—stepmother, half sisters, nieces, nephews, servants, and children of servants, but not Abdollah Khan, her father. Azadeh was received with open arms and tears and happiness and more tears, and immediate plans were made for a luncheon feast the next day to celebrate their good fortune in having her home at long last—“But, oh, how terrible! Bandits and a rogue mullah daring to come on your land? Hasn’t His Highness, our revered father, donated barrels of rials and hundreds of acres of land to various mosques in and around Tabriz!”
Erikki Yokkonen was welcomed politely, and guardedly. All of them were afraid of him, the enormity of his size, his quickness with a knife, the violence of his temper, and could not understand his gentleness toward his friends and the vast love he radiated for Azadeh. She was the fifth of six half sisters, and an infant half brother. Her mother, dead now many years, had been Abdollah Khan’s second, concurrent wife. Her own adored blood brother, Hakim, a year older than she, had been banished by Abdollah Khan and was still in disgrace at Khoi to the northwest—banished for crimes against the Khan that both Hakim and Azadeh swore he was not guilty of.
“First a bath,” her half sisters said gaily, “and you can tell us all that happened, every detail, every detail.” Happily, they dragged Azadeh away. In the privacy of their bathhouse, warm and intimate and luxurious and completely outside the domain of all men, they chatted and gossiped until the dawn. “My Mahmud hasn’t made love to me for a week,” Najoud, Azadeh’s eldest half sister, said with a toss of her head.
“It has to be another woman, darling Najoud,” someone said.
“No, it’s not that.
His erection is giving him trouble.”
“Oh, you poor darling! Have you tried giving him oysters…”
“Or tried using oil of roses on your breasts…”
“Or rubbed him with extract of jacaranda, rhino horn, and musk…”
“Jacaranda, musk with rhino horn? I haven’t heard of that one, Fazulia.”
“It’s brand new from an ancient recipe from the time of Cyrus the Great. This is a secret but the Great King’s penis was quite small as a young man, but after he conquered the Medes, miraculously it became the envy of the host! It seems that he obtained a magic potion from the Medes that if rubbed on over a period of a month… Their high priest gave it to Cyrus in return for his life, providing the Great King swore to keep the secret in his family alone. It’s come down from father to son over the centuries and now, dear sisters, the secret’s in Tabriz!”
“Oh, who, dearest darling Sister Fazulia, who? The Blessings of God be upon thee forever, who? My rotten husband Abdullah, may his three remaining teeth fall out, he hasn’t had an erection for years. Who?”
“Oh, be quiet, Zadi, how can she talk if you talk! Go on, Fazulia.”
“Yes, be quiet, Zadi, and bless your good fortune—my Hussan is erect morning, noon, and night and so filled with desire for me he gives me no time to even wash my teeth!”
“Well, the secret of the elixir was bought by the great-great-grandfather of the present owner at a huge cost, I was told for a fistful of diamonds…”
“Eeeeeeeeee…”
“…but now you can buy a small vial for fifty thousand rials!”
“Oh, that’s too much! Where on earth can I get so much cash?”
“As always you’ll find it in his pockets, and you can always bargain. Is anything too much for such a potion when we can’t have other men?”
“If it works…”
“Of course it works, oh, where do we buy it, dearest dearest Fazulia?”
“In the bazaar, in the shop of Abu Bakra bin Hassan bin Saiidi. I know the way! We’ll go tomorrow. Before lunch. You will come with us, darling Azadeh!”