Whirlwind

  “You might have had more visitors—I saw one come out so I thought I’d just wait. Sorry. Please put the flash down.”

  Angrily McIver did as he was asked—since Gavallan had pinpointed Armstrong, he had searched his own memory but had no recollection of ever meeting him. “Special Branch and CID” did nothing to ease his dislike. “Where the hell’ve you been? We expected you at the airport but you didn’t show.”

  “Yes, sorry about that. When does the 125 come back to Tehran?”

  “Tuesday, God willing. Why?”

  “Approximately when?”

  “Noon, why?”

  “Excellent. That would be perfect. I need to go to Tabriz; could I and a friend charter her?”

  “No way. I could never get a clearance and who’s the friend?”

  “I’ll guarantee the clearance. Sorry, Captain, but it’s very important.”

  “I heard there’s heavy fighting in Tabriz; it was on the news tonight. Sorry, couldn’t authorize that, it’d be an unnecessary risk to air crew.”

  “Mr. Talbot will be glad to add his request for assistance,” Armstrong said in the same quiet, patient voice.

  “No. Sorry.” McIver turned away but was stopped at the sudden venom.

  “Before you go shall I ask you about HBC and Lochart and your partner Valik and his wife and two children?”

  McIver was shock-still. He could see the chiseled face and the hard mouth and eyes that glittered in the reflected light from the flash. “I—I don’t know what you mean.”

  Armstrong reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper and held it up to McIver’s face. McIver directed the circle of light onto it. The paper was a photocopy of an entry in a clearance book. The writing was neat. “EP-HBC cleared at 0620 for an IHC charter to Bandar Delam, delivery of spares; pilot Captain T. Lochart, flight authorized by Captain McIver.” The lower half of the paper was a photocopy of the actual clearance, signed by him with Captain N. Lane crossed out “sick,” and Captain T. Lochart substituted. “A present, with my compliments.”

  “Where did you get it?”

  “When the 125 gets into Tehran airspace, radio Captain Hogg that he’s got an immediate charter to Tabriz. You’ll have the clearance in good time.”

  “No. I’ll not se—”

  “If you don’t arrange everything happily, and keep it all rather quiet—just between us,” Armstrong said with such finality that McIver was quite frightened, “the originals of these go to SAVAK—renamed SAVAMA.”

  “That’s blackmail!”

  “It’s barter.” Armstrong shoved the paper into his hand, began to leave.

  “Wait! Where—where are the originals?”

  “Not in their hands, for the moment.”

  “If—if I do what you say, I get them back, all right?”

  “You must be joking! Of course you get nothing.”

  “That’s not fair—that’s not bloody fair!”

  Armstrong came back and stood over him, his face a mask. “Of course it’s not fair. If you get these back you’re out of the vise, aren’t you? All of you. So long as these exist, you will do what’s required of you, won’t you?”

  “You’re a bloody bastard!”

  “And you’re a fool who should look after his blood pressure.”

  McIver gasped. “How d’you know about that?”

  “You’d be astounded what I know about you and Genevere MacAllister and Andrew Gavallan and the Noble House and lots of other things that I haven’t begun to use yet.” Armstrong’s voice became rougher, his tiredness and anxiety taking away his control. “Don’t you bloody understand there’s the very strong probability of Soviet tanks and aircraft permanently stationed this side of Hormuz and Iran a bloody Soviet province? I’m tired of playing silly buggers with you ostriches—just do what I ask without arguing and if you don’t I’ll shop the bloody lot of you.”

  TUESDAY

  February 20

  TABRIZ: 5:12 A.M. In the small hut on the edge of the Khan’s estate, Ross was suddenly awake. He lay motionless, keeping his breathing regular but all of his senses concentrated. Seemingly nothing untoward, just the usual insects and closeness of the room. Through the window he could see that the night was dark, the sky mostly overcast. Across the room on the other pallet, Gueng slept curled up, breathing normally. Because of the cold, both men had gone to bed with their clothes on. Noiselessly Ross went to the window and searched the darkness. Still nothing. Then, close to his ear, Gueng whispered, “What is it, sahib?”

  “I don’t know. Probably nothing.”

  Gueng nudged him and pointed. There was no guard in the seat outside on the veranda.

  “Perhaps he’s just gone to take a leak.” There had always been at least one guard. By day or night. Last night there had been two so Ross had made a mock dummy in his bed and left Gueng to divert them and had slipped out of the back window and gone to see Erikki and Azadeh alone. Coming back he had almost stumbled into a patrol but they had been sleepy and unattentive so he had passed them by.

  “Take a look out the back window,” Ross whispered.

  Again they watched and waited. Dawn in about an hour, Ross thought.

  “Sahib, perhaps it was just a spirit of the mountain,” Gueng said softly. In the Land Atop the World it was a superstition that by night, spirits visited the beds of sleeping men and women and children, for good purposes or ill, and that dreams were the stories they whispered.

  The little man kept his eyes and ears feeling out the darkness. “I think perhaps we’d better pay attention to the spirits.” He went back to his bed and pulled on his boots, put the talisman he had kept under his pillow back into his uniform pocket, then put on the tribesman robes and turban. Nimbly he checked his grenades and carbine and settled the rough backpack that contained ammunition, grenades, water, and a little food. No need to check his kookri, that was never out of reach, always oiled and cleaned nightly—and sharpened nightly—just before sleep.

  Now Ross was equally ready. But ready for what? he asked himself. It’s hardly five minutes since you awoke and here you are, kookri loose in the scabbard, safety catch off and for what? If Abdollah meant you harm, he would’ve already taken away your weapons—or tried to take them.

  Yesterday afternoon they had heard the 206 take off and shortly afterward Abdollah Khan had visited them. “Ah, Captain, sorry for the delay but the hue and cry is worse than ever. Our Soviet friends have put a very large price on your heads,” he had said jovially. “Enough even to tempt me, perhaps.”

  “Let’s hope not, sir. How long will we have to wait?”

  “A few days, no more. It seems the Soviets want you very much. I’ve had another deputation from them asking me to help capture you, the first was before you arrived. But don’t worry, I know where the future of Iran lies.”

  Last night Erikki had confirmed about the reward: “Today I was near Sabalan, cleaning out another radar site. Some of the workers thought I was Russian—lots of Russian speakers among the border people—and said they hoped they’d be the ones to catch the tall British saboteur and his helper. The reward’s five horses and five camels and fifty sheep. That’s a fortune, and if they know about you that far north you can bet they’re looking here.”

  “Were Soviets supervising you?”

  “Only Cimtarga, but even then he didn’t seem to be in charge. Just of me and the aircraft. The Russian speakers kept asking me when we were coming over the border in strength.”

  “My God—did they have anything to base that on?”

  “I doubt it, just more rumors. People here feed on them. I said, ‘Never,’ but this man scoffed and said he knew we had ‘leagues’ of tanks and armies waiting, that he’d seen them. I can’t speak Farsi so I don’t know if he was another KGB plant disguised as a tribesman.”

  “The ‘stuff’ you’re carrying? Is it anything important?”

  “I don’t know. Some computers and lots of black boxes and papers—they ke
ep me away from it but none of it’s dismantled by experts, just pulled out of walls, wires cut, and hanging loose and stacked carelessly. The only thing the workers’re interested in is stores, cigarettes particularly.”

  They had talked about escaping. Impossible to make plans. Too many imponderables. “I don’t know how long they want me to keep flying,” Erikki had said. “This bastard Cimtarga told me Prime Minister Bazargan has ordered the Yanks out of two sites, far to the east, near Turkey, the last they’ve got here, ordered them to evacuate at once and to leave the equipment intact. We’re supposed to fly up there tomorrow.”

  “Did you use the 206 today?”

  “No. That was Nogger Lane, one of our captains. He came here with us—to take the 206 back to Tehran. Our base manager told me they’ve co-opted Nogger to look at some places where fighting’s going on. When McIver doesn’t hear from us he’ll go into shock and send out a search party. That might give us another chance. What about you?”

  “We might sneak off. I’m getting very nervous in that rotten little hut. If we evacuate, we might head for your base and hide out in the forest. If we can, we’ll contact you—but don’t expect us. All right?”

  “Yes—but don’t trust anyone at the base—except our two mechanics, Dibble and Arberry.”

  “Anything I can do for you?”

  “Could you leave me a grenade?”

  “Of course, have you ever used one?”

  “No, but I know how they work.”

  “Good. Here. Pull the pin and count to three—not four—and heave it. Do you need a gun?”

  “No, no thanks. I’ve my knife—but the grenade might come in handy.”

  “Remember they can be rather messy. I’d better be going. Good luck.”

  Ross had been looking at Azadeh when he had said it, seeing how beautiful she was, so very aware that their time was already written among the stars or on the wind or in the chimes of the bells that were as much a part of the summer High Country as the peaks themselves. Wondering why she never replied to his letters, then the school telling him she had gone. Gone home. Gone. On their last day she had said, “All this that has come to pass may not come to pass again, my Johnny Brighteyes.”

  “I know. If it doesn’t, I can die happy because I know what love is. Truly. I love you, Azadeh.”

  Last kiss. Then down to his train and waving good-bye, waving until she was lost. Lost forever. Perhaps we both knew that it was forever, he thought, waiting here in the darkness of the little hut, trying to decide what to do, to wait more, to sleep or to flee. Maybe it’s as the Khan said and we’re safe here—for the moment. No reason to mistrust him completely. Vien Rosemont was no fool and he said to trust h—

  “Sahib!”

  He had heard the stealthy footsteps at the same instant. Both men moved into ambush, one covering the other, both of them glad that the time for action had arrived. The door opened quietly. It was a ghoulish spirit of the mountain standing there peering into the greater darkness of the hut—a shape and vague face. To his astonishment he recognized Azadeh, the chador blending her with the night, her face puffy from crying.

  “Johnny?” she whispered anxiously.

  For a moment Ross did not move, gun still leveled and expecting enemies. “Azadeh, here, beside the door,” he whispered back, trying to adjust.

  “Quick, follow me, you’re both in danger! Hurry!” At once she ran off into the night.

  He saw Gueng shake his head uneasily and he hesitated. Then he decided, grabbed his backpack. “We go.” He slid out of the doorway and ran after her, the moonlight small, Gueng following, flanking, automatically covering him. She was waiting beside some trees. Before he reached her, she beckoned him to follow, unerringly led the way through the orchard and around some farm buildings. The snow muffled their way but left tracks and he was very aware of them. He was ten paces behind her, watching the terrain carefully, wondering what danger and why had she been crying and where’s Erikki?

  Clouds were toying with the moon, hiding it mostly. Whenever it came clear, she would stop and motion him to stop and to wait, then she would move on again, using cover well, and he wondered where she had learned woodsmanship then remembered Erikki and his great knife and Finns and Finland—land of lakes and forests and mountains and trolls and hunting. Concentrate, fool, time enough to let your mind wander later, not now when you’re endangering everyone! Concentrate!

  His eyes searched, expecting trouble, wanting it to begin. Soon they were near the perimeter wall. The wall was ten feet high and made of hewn stone, with a wide, empty swath between it and the trees. Again she motioned him to stop in cover and walked forward into the open, seeking a special place. Finding it without trouble, she beckoned him. Before he was beside her she was already climbing, her feet fitting easily into the notches and cracks with sufficient handholds, some natural, some cleverly embedded to make the climb easy. The moon came into a bare patch of sky and he felt naked and climbed more quickly. When he reached the top she was already halfway down the other side. He slithered over and found some footholds, ducked down to wait for Gueng. His anxiety mounted until he saw the shadow darting over the ground, reaching the wall safely.

  The climb down was more difficult and he slipped and fell the last six feet, cursed and looked around to get his bearings. She was already across the boundary road and heading for a rocky outcrop on the steep mountainside two hundred yards away. Below and to the left he could see part of Tabriz, fires on the far side of the city near the airport. Now he could hear distant guns.

  Gueng landed neatly beside him, grinned and motioned him onward. When he reached the outcrop she had vanished.

  “Johnny! Here!”

  He saw the small crack in the rock and went forward. Just enough room to squeeze through. He waited until Gueng came up, and then went through the rock into darkness. Her hand came out and guided him to one side. She beckoned Gueng and did the same for him, then moved a heavy leather curtain across the crack. Ross reached into his pack for his flash but before he could pull it out the match flamed. Her hand was cupped around it. She was kneeling and lit the candle that was in a niche. Quickly he looked around. The curtain over the entrance seemed lightproof, the cave spacious, warm and dry, some blankets, old carpets on the ground, a few drinking and eating utensils—some books and toys on a natural shelf. Ah, a child’s hideout, he thought, and looked back at her. She had stayed kneeling by the candle, her back to him, and now, as she pulled the chador away from her head, she became Azadeh again.

  “Here.” He offered her some water from his water bottle. She accepted it gratefully but avoided his eyes. He glanced at Gueng and read his mind. “Azadeh, do you mind if we put the light out—now that we see where we are—then we can pull the curtain back and keep watch and hear better. I’ve a flash if we need it.”

  “Oh, oh, yes…yes, of course.” She turned back to the candle. “I…oh, just a minute, sorry…” There was a mirror on the shelf he had not noticed. She picked it up and peered at herself, hated what she saw, the streaks of sweat and puffy eyes. Hastily she brushed away some smudges, picked up the comb and tidied herself as best she could. A final check in the mirror and she blew out the candle. “Sorry,” she said.

  Gueng moved the curtain away and went through the rock and stood there listening. More gunfire from the city. A few buildings burning beyond the single runway of the airfield below and to the right. No lights there and very few on in the city itself. A few car headlights in the streets. The palace still dark and silent and he could sense no danger. He came back and told Ross what he had seen, speaking Gurkhali, and added, “Better I stay outside, safer, there’s not much time, sahib.”

  “Yes.” Ross had heard disquiet in his voice but did not comment. He knew the reason. “You all right, Azadeh?” he asked softly.

  “Yes. Yes I am now. It’s better in the dark—sorry I looked such a mess. Yes, I’m better now.”

  “What’s this all about—and where’s
your husband?” He used the word deliberately and heard her move in the darkness.

  “Just after you left last night, Cimtarga and a guard came and told Erikki he had to dress at once and leave—this man Cimtarga said he was sorry but there’d been a change of plan and he wanted to leave at once. And I, I was summoned to see my father. At once. Before I went into his room I overheard him giving orders for you both to be captured and disarmed, just after dawn.” There was a catch to her voice. “He was planning to send for you both to discuss your departure tomorrow, but you would be led into ambush near the farmhouses and bound up and put into a truck and sent north at once.”

  “Where north?”

  “Tbilisi.” Nervously she hurried onward: “I didn’t know what to do, there was no way to warn you—I’m watched as closely as you and kept away from the others. When I saw my father, he said Erikki wouldn’t be back for a few days, that today he, my father, he was going on a business trip to Tbilisi and that…that I would be going with him. He…he said we would be away two or three days and by that time Erikki would be finished and then we would go back to Tehran.” She was almost in tears. “I’m so frightened. I’m so frightened something’s happened to Erikki.”

  “Erikki will be all right,” he said, not understanding about Tbilisi, trying to decide about the Khan. Always back to Vien: “Trust Abdollah with your life and don’t believe the lies about him.” And yet here was Azadeh saying the opposite. He looked across at her, unable to see her, hating the darkness, wanting to see her face, her eyes, thinking that perhaps he could read something from them. Wish to Christ she’d told me all this the other side of the bloody wall or at the hut, he thought, his nervousness increasing. Christ, the guard! “Azadeh, the guard, do you know what happened to him?”

  “Oh, yes, I… I bribed him, Johnny, I bribed him to be away for half an hour. It was the only way I could get…it was the only way.”