"oh, yes, agha, but there is most much to do, the place she is filth-filled and the kitchen..." his lush brown eyebrows rose to heaven.
"yes, yes, that's true but you can start in tomorrow." pettikin saw him looking at the suitcase and swore. directly after breakfast he had sent ali baba off for the day with instructions to be back at midnight, which normally would mean that he would not come back until the next morning. "now off you go."
"yes, agha, you are going on holiday or on the leaves?"
"no, i'm, er, i'm going to stay with one of the pilots for a few days, so make sure my room's cleaned tomorrow. oh, yes, and you better give me your key, i've misplaced mine." pettikin held out his hand, cursing himself for not thinking of it before. with curious reluctance, ali baba gave it to him. "captain mciver wants the place to himself, he has work to do and doesn't want to be disturbed. see you soon, good-bye!"
"but, agha..."
"good-bye!" he made sure ali baba had his coat, opened the door, half shoved him out, and closed it again. nervously he glanced again at his watch. almost noon and still no mciver and they were supposed to be at the airport by now. he went into the bedroom, reached into the cupboard for the other suitcase, also packed, then came back and put it beside the other one, near the front door.
two small cases and a carryall, he thought. not much to show for all the years in iran. never mind, i prefer to travel light and perhaps this time i can get lucky and make more money or start a business on the side and then there's paula. how in the hell can i afford to get married again? married? are you mad? an affair's about all you could manage. yes, but god damn, i'd like to marry her an
the phone rang and he almost jumped out of himself, so unused to its ringing. he picked it up, his heart pounding. "hello?"
"charlie? it's me, mac, thank god the bloody thing's working, tried it on the off chance. i've been delayed."
"you've a problem?"
"don't know, charlie, but i've got to go and see ali kia bastard's sent his bloody assistant and a green band to fetch me."
"what the hell does kia want?" outside, all over the city, muezzins began calling the faithful to noon prayer, distracting him.
"don't know. the appointment's in half an hour. you'd better go on out to the airport and i'll get there as soon as i can. get johnny hogg to delay."
"okay, mac. what about your gear, is it in the office?"
"i snuck it out early this morning while ali baba was snoring, and it's in lulu's boot. charlie, there's one of genny's needlepoints in the kitchen, 'down with cornbeef pie.' stick it in your suitcase for me, will you? she'd have my guts for garters if i forgot that. if i've time i'll come back and make sure everything's okay."
"do i shut the gas off, or electricity?"
"christ, i don't know. leave it, okay?"
"all right. you sure you don't want me to wait?" he asked, the metallic, loudspeaker voices of muezzins adding to his disquiet. "i don't mind waiting. might be better, mac."
"no, you go on out. i'll be there right smartly. 'bye."
"'bye." pettikin frowned, then, having a dialing tone, he dialed their office at the airport. to his astonishment the connection went through.
"iran helicopters, hello?"
he recognized the voice of their freight manager. "morning, adwani, this's captain pettikin. has the 125 come in yet?"
"ah, captain, yes it's in the pattern and should be landing any minute."
"is captain lane there?"
"yes, just a moment please..."
pettikin waited, wondering about kia.
"hello, charlie, nogger here you've friends in high places?"
"no, the phone just started working. can you talk privately?"
"no. not possible. what's cooking?"
"i'm still at the flat. mac's been delayed he's got to go and see ali kia. i'm on my way to the airport now and he'll come directly from kia's office. are you ready to load?"
"yes, charlie, we're sending the engines for repairs and reconditioning as captain mciver ordered. everything as ordered."
"good, are the two mecs there?"
"yes. both those spares are also ready for shipping."
"good. no problem that you can see?"
"not yet, old chum."
"see you." pettikin hung up. he packed the needlepoint and looked around
the apartment a last time, now curiously saddened. good times and bad times but the best when paula was staying. out of the window he noticed distant smoke over jaleh and now as the muezzins' voices died away, the usual sporadic gunfire. "the hell with all of them," he muttered. he got up and went out with his luggage and locked the door carefully. as he drove out of the garage he saw ali baba duck back into a doorway across the road. with him were two other men he had never seen before. what the hell's that bugger up to? he thought uneasily.
at the ministry of transport: 1:07 p.m. the huge room was freezing in spite of a log fire, and minister ali kia wore a heavy, expensive astrakhan overcoat with a hat to match, and he was angry. "i repeat, i need transport to kowiss tomorrow and i require you to accompany me."
"can't tomorrow, sorry," mciver said, keeping his nervousness off his face with difficulty. "i'd be glad to join you next week. say monday an "
"i'm astonished that after all the 'cooperation' i've given you it's necessary even to argue! tomorrow, captain, or... or i shall cancel all clearances for our 125 in fact, i'll hold it on the ground today, impound it today pending investigations!"
mciver was standing in front of the vast desk, kia sitting behind it in a big carved chair that dwarfed him. "could you make it today, excellency? we've an alouette to ferry to kowiss. captain lochart's leav "
"tomorrow. not today." kia flushed even more. "as ranking board director you are ordered: you will come with me, we will leave at ten o'clock. do you understand?"
mciver nodded bleakly, trying to figure a way out of the trap. then pieces of a tentative plan fell into place. "where do you want to meet?"
"where's the helicopter?"
"doshan tappeh. we'll need a clearance. unfortunately there's a major delami there, along with a mullah, and both're rather difficult, so i don't see how we can do it."
kia's face darkened even more. "the pm's given new orders about mullahs and interference with the legal government and the imam agrees wholeheartedly. they both better behave. i will see you at ten tomorrow an "
at that moment there was a large explosion outside. they rushed to the window but could see only a cloud of smoke billowing into the cold sky from around the bend in the road. "sounded like another car bomb," mciver said queasily. over the last few days there had been a number of assassination attempts and car bomb attacks by left-wing extremists, mostly on high-ranking ayatollahs in the government.
"filthy terrorists, may god burn their fathers, and them!" kia was clearly frightened, which pleased mciver.
"the price of fame, minister," he said, his voice heavy with concern. "those in high places, important people like you, are obvious targets."
"yes... yes... we know, we know. filthy terrorists..."
mciver smiled all the way back to his car. so kia wants to go to kowiss. i'll see he bloody gets to kowiss and whirlwind continues as planned.
around the corner, the main road ahead was partially blocked with debris, a car still on fire, others smoldering, and a hole in the roadbed where the parked car bomb had exploded, blowing out the front of a restaurant and the shuttered foreign bank beside it, glass from them and other shop windows scattered everywhere. many injured, dead or dying. agony and panic and the stink of burning rubber.
traffic was jammed both ways. there was nothing to do but wait. after half an hour an ambulance arrived, some green bands, and a mullah began directing traffic. in time mciver was waved forward, cursed forward. easing past the wreckage, all traffic enraged and blaring, he did not notice the headless body of talbot half buried under the restaurant debris, nor recognize ross dressed in civvies, lying unconscious nearby, half against the wall, his coat ripped, blood seeping from his nose and ears.
al shargaz airport foyer across the gulf: 2:05 p.m. scot gavallan was among the crowd waiting outside the custom and immigration area, his right arm in a sling. from the loudspeaker came air traffic announcements in arabic and english, and the big arrival and departure board clattered, fixing schedules and boarding gates, the whole terminal thriving. he saw his father come through the green door, his face lit up, and he went forward to intercept him. "hi, dad!"
"oh, scot, laddie!" gavallan said happily and hugged him back but carefully, because of his shoulder. "how are you?"
"i'm fine, dad, really. i told you, i'm fine now."
"yes, i can see that." since gavallan had left on monday he had spoken to his son by phone many times. but talking on the phone's not the same, he thought. "i i was so worried..."
gavallan had not wanted to leave at all but the english doctor at the hospital had assured him scot was all right, and there were urgent business problems in england and the postponed board meeting to deal with. "the x rays show no bone damage, mr. gavallan. the bullet's gone through part of the muscle, the wound nasty but repairable." to scot the doctor had said: "it'll ache a lot and you won't be flying for two months or more. as to the tears
... no need to worry either. it's just a fairly normal reaction to a gunshot wound. the flight from zagros didn't help you escaped in a coffin, you say? that's enough to give you the heebiejeebies, let alone being shot. it would me. we'll keep you overnight."
"is that necessary, doctor? i'm... i'm feeling much better..." scot had got up, his knees had given way on him, and he would have fallen if gavallan had not been ready to catch him.
"first we have to fix you up. a good sleep and he'll be as right as rain, mr. gavallan, promise you." the doctor gave scot a sedative and gavallan had stayed with him, reassuring him about jordon's death. "if anyone's responsible, it's me, scot. if i'd ordered an evacuation before the shah left, jordon'd still be alive."
"no, that's not right, dad... the bullets were meant for me..."
gavallan had waited until he was asleep. by this time he had missed his connection but just caught the midnight flight and was in london in good time.
"what the hell's going to happen in iran?" linbar had asked without preamble.
"what about the others?" gavallan had said tightly. only one other director was in the room, paul choy, nicknamed "profitable," who had flown in from hong kong. gavallan respected him greatly for his business acumen the only cloud between them choy's close involvement at david macstruan's accidental death and linbar's subsequent succession. "we should wait for them, don't you think?"
"no one else is coming," linbar rapped. "i canceled them and don't need them. i'm taipan and can do whatever i like. wh "
"not with s-g helicopters, you can't." tightly gavallan looked across at choy. pi propose we postpone."
"sure we can," profitable choy said easily, "but hell, andy, i came in special and the three of us can constitute a quorum, if we want to vote it."
"i vote it," linbar said. "what the hell're you afraid of?"
"nothing. bu "
"good. then we've a quorum. now what about iran?"
gavallan held on to his temper. "friday's d day, weather permitting. whirlwind's set up as best we can."
"i'm sure of that, andy." profitable choy's smile was friendly. "linbar says you plan only to try to get 212s out?" he was a good-looking, immensely wealthy man in his late thirties, a director of struan's and many of its subsidiary boards for a number of years, who had major interests outside of struan's, in shipping, pharmaceutical manufacturing in hong kong and japan, and in the chinese stock exchange. "what about our 206s and alouettes?"
"we have to leave them can't possibly fly them out. no way." a silence followed his explanation.
paul choy said, "what's the final whirlwind plan?"
"friday at 7:00 a.m., weather permitting, i radio the code that whirlwind's a go. all flights get airborne. we'll have four 212s positioned at bandar delam under rudi, they'll head for bahrain, refuel, then on to al shargaz; our two 212s at kowiss have to refuel on the coast then head for kuwait for more fuel, then to jeilet that's a small island off saudi where we've cached fuel then on to bahrain and al shargaz. the three at lengeh under scragger shouldn't have any problem, they just head for al shargaz direct. erikki gets out through turkey. as soon as they arrive we start stripping them for loading into the 747s i've already chartered and get out as fast as possible."
"what odds're you giving on not losing a man or a chopper?" profitable choy asked, his eyes suddenly hard. he was a famous gambler and racehorse owner and a steward of hong kong's jockey club. rumor had it he was also a member of macao's gambling syndicate.
