"how do you recognize him?"
"by his voice, and there is always a code." she pulled her sweater over her head and now she was dressed, except for her boots. the automatic with the
silencer had never wavered. "the code is that he always mentions the previous day in some way or another in the first few minutes, whatever the day is."
"go on."
"we searched under the floorboards and found the material letters, files, and some books. i put them into my bag and went to the french club and... and then, because the strap on the bag broke, i left half and came here."
"when did you meet the man, dimitri yazernov?"
"i never have, i was just told to go there with abdollah and to make sure that no one was watching, to find the papers and to give them to teymour."
"why teymour?"
"i did not ask. i never ask."
"wise. what does what did teymour do?"
"i don't know, exactly, other than he's... he was an iranian, trained as a freedom fighter by the plo," she said.
"which branch?"
"i don't know." beyond the man she could see into the bedroom but she kept her eyes away from the bed and on this man who knew too much. from the questioning they could be agents of savama, kgb, cia, mi6, israel, jordan, syria, iraq, even one of the plo extremist groups who did not acknowledge arafat as leader all of whom would like possession of the contents of the u.s. ambassador's safe.
"when does the frenchman, your lover, return?"
"i don't know," she said at once, allowing her surprise to show.
"where is he now?"
"at his base in the zagros. it's called zagros three."
"where is the pilot lochart?"
"i think also at zagros."
"when does he return here?"
"you mean here? this apartment? i don't think he'll ever return here."
"to tehran?"
her eyes strayed to the bedroom as much as she tried to resist and she saw teymour. her stomach revolted, she groped for the toilet and was violently sick. the man watched without emotion, satisfied that one of her barriers was broken. he was used to bodies reacting of their own volition to terror. even so, his gun covered her and he watched carefully in case of a trick.
when the spasm had passed, she cleaned her mouth with a little water, trying to dominate her nausea, cursing teymour for being so stupid as to send the others away. stupid! she wanted to shriek, stupid when you're surrounded by enemies on the right, or the left, or in the center did it ever bother me before to make love when others were around, so long as the door was closed?
she leaned back against the basin, facing her nemesis.
"first we go to the french club," he said. "you will get the rest of the material and give it to me. clear?"
"yes."
"from now on you will work for us. secretly. you will work for us. agreed?"
"do i have a choice?"
"yes. you can die. badly." the man's lips thinned even more and his eyes became reptilian. "after you have died, a child by the name of yassar bialik will receive attention."
all color left her face.
"ah, good! then you remember your little son who lives with your uncle's family in beirut's street of the flower merchants?" the man stared at her, then demanded, "well, do you?"
"yes, yes, of course," she said, barely able to talk. impossible for them to know about my darling yassar, even my husband doesn't kn
"what happened to the boy's father?"
"he... he was killed... he was... killed."
"where?"
"in... the golan heights."
"sad to lose a young husband just a few months married," the man said thinly. "how old were you then?"
"sev... seventeen."
"your memory does not fail you. good. now if you choose to work for us, you and your son and uncle and his family are safe. if you do not obey us perfectly, or if you try to betray us, or commit suicide, the boy yassar will cease to be a man and cease to see. clear?"
helplessly she nodded, her face ashen.
"if we die, others will make sure we are avenged. do not doubt it. now, what's your choice?"
"i will serve you," and make my son safe and be avenged but how, how?
"good, on the eyes and balls and cock of your son you will serve us?"
"yes. pl... please, who... who do i serve?"
both men smiled. without humor. "never ask again or try to find out. we will tell you when it is necessary, if it is necessary. clear?"
"yes."
the man with the gun unscrewed the silencer and put it and the gun into his pocket. "we want to know immediately when either the frenchman or lochart return you will make it your duty to find out also how many helicopters they have here in tehran and where. clear?"
"yes. how do i get in touch with you, please?"
"you will be given a phone number." the eyes flattened even more. "for yourself alone. clear?"
"yes."
"where does armstrong live? robert armstrong?"
"i don't know." warning signals rushed through her. rumorhad it that armstrong was a trained assassin employed by mi6.
"who is george telbot?"
"talbot? he's an official in the british embassy."
"what official? what's his job?"
"i don't know, just an official."
"are either of them your lovers?"
"no. they... they go to the french club sometimes. acquaintances."
"you will become armstrong's mistress. clear?"
"i... i will try."
"you have two weeks. where is lochart's wife?"
"i... i think at the bakravan family house near the bazaar."
"you will make sure. and get a key to the front door." the man saw her eyes flicker and hid his amusement. if that goes against your scruples, he thought, never mind. soon you'll be eating shit with great joy if we wish it. "get your coat, we go at once."
her knees were weak as she went across the bedroom, heading for the front door.
"wait!" the man stuffed the contents back into her handbag and then, as an afterthought, carelessly wrapped that which was on the pillow in one of her paper tissues and put that also into the handbag. "to remind you to obey."
"no, please." her tears flooded. "i can't... not that."
the man shoved the handbag into her hands. "then get rid of it."
in misery she staggered back to the bathroom and threw it into the squatter and was very sick again, more than before.
"hurry up!"
when she could make her legs work she faced him. "when the others... when they come back and find... if i'm not here they... they will know that... that i'm part of those who... who did this and..."
"of course. do you think we're fools? do you think we're alone? the moment the four of them return they're dead and this place conflagrated."
at mciver's apartment: 4:20 p.m. ross said, "i don't know, mr. gavallan, i don't remember much after i left azadeh on the hill and went into the base, more or less up to the time we got here." he was wearing one of
pettikin's uniform shirts and a black sweater and black trousers and black shoes and was shaved and neat, but his face showed his utter exhaustion. "but before that, everything happened as... as i told you."
"terrible," gavallan said. "but, thank god for you, captain. but for you the others'd be dead. without you they'd all be lost. let's have a drink, it's so damned cold. we've some whisky." he motioned to pettikin. "charlie?"
pettikin went to the sideboard. "sure, andy."
"i won't, thanks, mr. mciver," ross said.
"i'm afraid i will and the sun's not over the yardarm," mciver said.
"so will i," gavallan said. the two of them had arrived not long ago, still shaken from their almost disaster and worried because at the bakravan house they had used the iron door knocker again and again but to no avail. then they had come here. ross, dozing on the sofa, had almost leaped out of sleep when the front door opened, kookri threateningly in his hand.
"sorry," he had said shakily, sheathing the weapon.
"that's all right," gavallan had pretended, not over his fright. "i'm andrew gavallan. hi, charlie! where's azadeh?"
"she's still asleep in the spare bedroom," pettikin answered.
"sorry to make you jump," gavallan had said. "what happened, captain, at tabriz?"
so ross had told them, disjointedly, jumping back and forth until he had finished. exploding out of heavy sleep had disoriented him. his head ached, everything ached, but he was glad to be telling what had happened, reconstructing everything, gradually filling in the blank parts, putting the pieces into place. except azadeh. no, i can't put her in place yet.
this morning when he had come out of a malevolent wake-sleep dream, he had been terrified, everything mixed up, jet engines and guns and stones and explosions and cold, and staring at his hands to make sure what was dream and what was real. then he had seen a man peering at him and had cried out, "where's azadeh?"
"she's still asleep, captain ross, she's in the spare room down the hall," pettikin had told him, calming him. "remember me? charlie pettikin doshan tappeh?"
searching his memory. things coming back slowly, hideous things. big blanks, very big. doshan tappeh? what about doshan tappeh? going there to hitch a chopper ride and..."ah, yes, captain, how are you? good to... to see you. she's asleep?"
"yes, like a baby."
"best thing, best thing for her to sleep," he had said, his brain still not working easily.
"first a cuppa. then a bath and shave and i'll fix you up with some clothes
and shaving gear. you're about my size. you hungry? we've eggs and some bread, the bread's a bit stale."
"oh, thanks, no, no, i'm not hungry you're very kind."
"i owe you one no, at least ten. i'm damned pleased to see you. listen, much as i'd like to know what happened... well, mciver's gone to the airport to pick up our boss, andy gavallan. they'll be back shortly, you'll have to tell them so i can find out then so no questions till then, you must be exhausted."
"thanks, yes it's... it's still all a bit... i can remember leaving azadeh on the hill, then almost nothing, just flashes, dreamlike, until i woke a moment ago. how long have i been asleep?"
"you've been out for about sixteen hours. we, that's nogger and our two mecs, half carried you both in here and then you both passed out. we put you and azadeh to bed like babies mac and i. we undressed you, washed part of the muck off, carried you to bed not too gently by the way but you never woke up, either of you."
"she's all right? azadeh?"
"oh, yes. i checked her a couple of times but she's still flat out. what did... sorry, no questions! first a shave and bath. 'fraid the water's barely warm but i've put the electric heater in the bathroom, it's not too bad..."
now ross was watching pettikin who was handing the whisky to mciver and to gavallan. "sure you won't, captain?"
"no, no thanks." without noticing it he felt his right wrist and rubbed it. his energy level was ebbing fast. gavallan saw the man's tiredness and knew there was not much time. "about erikki. you can't remember anything else to give us an idea where he might be?"
"not any more than i've told you. azadeh may be able to help the soviet's name was something like certaga, the man erikki was forced to work with up by the border as i said they were using her as a threat and there was some complication about her father and a trip they were going to make together sorry, i can't remember exactly. the other man, the one who was friends with abdollah khan was called mzytryk, petr oleg." that reminded ross about vien rosemont's code message for the khan, but he decided that was none of gavallan's business, nor about all the killing, nor about shoving the old man in front of the truck on the hill, nor that one day he would go back to the village and hack off the head of the butcher and the kalandar who, but for the grace of god or the spirits of the high land, would have stoned her and mutilated him. he would do that after the debriefing when he saw armstrong, or talbot, or the american colonel, but before that he would ask them who had betrayed the operation at mecca. someone had. for a moment the thought of rosemont and tenzing and gueng blinded him. when the mist cleared, he
saw the clock on the mantelpiece. "i have to go to a building near the british embassy. is that far from here?"
