"i'm not a betting man. but the chances are good otherwise i wouldn't even contemplate it. mciver's already managed to get three 212s out, that's a saving of better than $3 million. if we get all our 212s out and most of the spares s-g'ii be in good shape."
"rotten shape," linbar said curtly.
"better shape than struan's will be this year."
linbar flushed. "you should have been prepared for this catastrophe, you and bloody mciver. any fool could see the shah was on his last legs."
"enough of this, linbar," gavallan snapped. "i didn't come back to quarrel, just to report, so let's finish and i can get my plane back. what else, profitable?"
"andy, even if you get 'em out what about imperial undercutting you in the north sea, taking twenty-odd contracts from you then there's your commitment for the six x63s?"
"a bloody stupid and ill-timed decision," linbar said.
gavallan dragged his eyes off linbar and concentrated. choy had the right to ask and he had nothing to hide. "so long as i've my 212s i can get back to normal; there's a huge amount of work for them. i'll start dealing with imperial next week i know i'll get some of the contracts back. the rest of the world's frantic for oil, so extex will come around with the new saudi, nigerian, and malaysian contracts, and when they get our report on the x63 they'll double their business with us and so will all the other majors. we'll be able to give them better than ever service, more safety in all weather conditions, at less cost per mile per passenger. the market's great, soon chinatll open up an "
"pipe dream," linbar said. "you and bloody dunross have your heads in the clouds."
"china'll never be any good for us," profitable choy said, his eyes curious. "i agree with linbar."
"i don't." gavallan noticed something odd about choy but his rage took him onward. "we'll wait on that one. china has to have oil somewhere, in abundance. to finalise, i'm in good shape, great shape, last year profits were up fifty percent and this year we're the same if not better. next week i'll b "
linbar interrupted. "next week you'll be out of business."
"this weekend will tell it one way or another." gavallan's chin came out. "i propose we reconvene on monday next. that'll give me time to get back."
"paul and i return to hong kong on sunday. we'll reconvene there."
"that's not possible for me an "
"then we will have to get on without you." linbar's temper broke. "if whirlwind fails you're finished, s-g helicopters will be liquidated, a new company, north sea helicopters, already formed by the way, will acquire the assets, and i doubt if we'll pay half a cent on the dollar."
gavallan flushed. "that's bloody robbery!"
"lust the price of failure! by god if s-g goes down you're finished and none too soon for me, and if you can't afford to buy your own plane ticket to board meetings you won't be missed."
gavallan was beside himself with suppressed rage, but he held on. then at a sudden thought, he looked across at profitable choy. "if whirlwind's a success, will you help me finance a struan buy-out?"
before choy could answer linbar bellowed, "our controlling interest's not for sale."
"maybe it should be, linbar," profitable choy said thoughtfully. "that way maybe you ease out of the hole you're in. why not unload an irritant you two guys hack all the time and for what? why not call it a day, huh?"
linbar said tightly, "would you finance the buy-out?"
"maybe. yeah, maybe, but only if you agreed, linbar, only then. this's a family matter."
"i'll never agree, profitable." linbar's face twisted and he glared at gavallan. "i want to see you rot you and bloody dunross!"
gavallan got up. "i'll see you at the next meeting of the inner of lice. we'll see what they say."
"they'll do what i tell them to do. i'm taipan. by the way, i'm making profitable a member."
"you can't, it's against dirk's nles." dirk struan, founder of the company, had set down that members of the inner office could only be family, however
loosely connected, and christian. "you swore by god to uphold them."
"the hell with dirk's rules," linbar slammed back at him; "you're not party to all of them or to dirk's legacy, only a taipanis, by god, and what i swore to uphold's my own business. you think you're so god damned clever, you're not! profitable's become episcopalian, last year he was divorced, and soon he's going to marry into the family, one of my nieces, with my blessing he'll be more family than you!" he laughed uproariously.
gavallan did not. nor did profitable choy. they watched each other, the die cast now. "i didn't know you were divorced," gavallan said. "i should congratulate you on... on your new life and appointment."
"yeah, thanks," was all his enemy said.
in the al shargaz airport, scot bent down to pick up his father's suitcase, other passengers bustling past, but gavallan said, "thanks, scot, i can manage." he picked it up. "i could use a shower and a couple of hours' sleep. hate flying at night."
"genny's got the car outside." scot had noticed his father's tiredness from the first moment. "you had a rough time back home?"
"no, no, not at all. so glad you're okay. what's new here?"
"everything's terrific, dad, going according to plan. like clockwork."
intehran's northern suburbs: 2:3s r. m. iean-luc, debonair as always in his tailored flying gear and custom-made boots, got out of the taxi. as promised, he took out the hundred-dollar bill and carefully tore it in half. "voim!"
the driver examined his half of the note closely. "only one hour, agha? in god's name, agha, no more?"
"one hour and a half, as we agreed, then straight back to the airport. i'll have some luggage."
"insha'allah." the driver looked around nervously. "i can't wait here too many eyes. one hour and half hour. i around corner, there!" he pointed ahead, then drove off.
jean-luc went up the stairs and unlocked the door of apartment 4a that overlooked the tree-lined road and faced south. this was his pad, though his wife, marie-christene, had found it and arranged it for him and stayed here on her rare visits. one bedroom with a big low double bed, well-equipped kitchen, living room with a deep sofa, good hi-fi and record player: "to beguile your lady friends, che'ri, so long as you don't import one into france!"
"me, che'rie? me, i'm a lover not an importer!"
he smiled to himself, glad to be home and only a little irritated that he had
to leave so much the hi-fi was the best, the records wonderful, the sofa seductive, the bed oh so resilient, the wine so painstakingly smuggled in, and then there were his kitchen utensils. "espece de con," he said out loud and went into the bedroom and tried the phone. it wasn't working.
he took a suitcase out of the neat wall bureau and started packing, quickly and efficiently, for he had given it much thought. first his favorite knives and omelette pan, then six bottles of the very best wines, the remaining forty-odd bottles would stay for the new tenant, a temporary tenant in case he ever came back, who was renting the whole place from him from tomorrow with payment in good french francs, monthly in advance into switzerland, with another good cash deposit for breakages, also in advance.
the deal had been simmering since before he went on christmas leave. while everyone else wore blinkers, he chortled, i was ahead of the game. but then of course i have an extreme advantage over the others. i'm french.
happily he continued packing. the new owner was also french, an elderly friend in the embassy who for weeks had desperately needed an immediate, well-equipped gar~onniere for his teenage georgian- circassian mistress who was swearing to leave him unless he delivered: "jean-luc, my dearest friend, let me rent it for a year, six months, three i tell you emphatically, soon the only europeans resident here will be diplomats. tell no one else, but i have it on the highest authority from our inside contact with khomeini in neauphlele-chateau! frankly we know everything that's going on aren't many of his closest associates french speaking and french university trained? please, i beg you, i simply have to satisfy the light of my life."
my poor old friend, lean-luc thought sadly. thank god i'll never have to kowtow to any woman how lucky marie-christene is that she's married to me who can wisely guard her fortune!
the last items he packed were his flight instruments and half a dozen pairs of sunglasses. all his clothes he had put away in one locked cupboard. of course i shall be reimbursed by the company and buy new ones. who needs old clothes?
now he was finished, everything neat and tidy. he looked at the clock. it had taken him only twenty-two minutes. perfect. the la doucette in the freezer was cool, the freezer still working in spite of the electricity cuts. he opened the bottle and tried it. perfect. three minutes later the door knocker sounded. perfect.
"sayada, che'rie, how beautiful you are," he said warmly and kissed her, but he was thinking, you don't look good at all, tired and weary. "how are you, che'rie?"
"i've had a chill, nothing to worry about," she said. this morning she had seen her worry lines and the dark rings in her mirror and knew jean-luc would
notice. "nothing serious and i'm over it now. and you, cheri?"
"today fine, tomorrow?" he shrugged, helped her off with her coat, lifted her easily into his arms and sank into the embrace of the sofa. she was very beautiful and he was saddened to leave her. and iran. like algiers, he thought.
"what're you thinking about, lean-luc?"
"'63, being shoved out of algiers. just like iran in a way, we're being forced out the same." he felt her stir in his arms. "what is it?"
"the world's so awful sometimes." sayada had told him nothing about her real life. "so unfair," she said sickened, remembering the '67 war in gaza and the death of her parents, then fleeing her story much like his remembering more the catastrophe of teymour's murder and them. nausea swept into her as she pictured little yassar and what they would do to her son if she misbehaved. if only i could find out who they are...
jean-luc was pouring the wine that he had put on the table in front of them. "bad to be serious, che'rie. we've not much time. sante!"
the wine tasted cool and delicate and of spring. "how much time? aren't you staying?"
"i must leave in an hour."
"for zagros?"
"no, cherie, for the airport, then kowiss."
"when will you be back?"
"i won't," he said and felt her stiffen. but he held her firmly and, in a moment, she relaxed again, and he continued never a reason not to trust her implicitly. "between us, kowiss is temporary, very. we're pulling out of iran, the whole company it's obvious we're not wanted, we can't operate freely anymore, the company's not being paid. we've been tossed out of the zagros... one of our mechanics was killed by terrorists a few days ago and young scot gavallan missed getting killed by a millimeter. so we're pulling out. c'est full. "
"when?"
"soon. i don't know exactly."
"i'll... i will miss... will miss you, jean-luc," she said and nestled closer.
"and i'll miss you, cherie," he said gently, noticing the silent tears now flooding her cheeks. "how long are you staying in tehran?"
"i don't know." she kept the misery out of her voice. "i'll give you an address in beirut, they'll know where to find me."
"you can find me through aberdeen."
they sat there on the sofa, she lying in his arms, the clock on the mantelpiece over the fireplace ticking, normally so soft but now so loud, both of them conscious of the time that passed and the ending that had occurred not of their volition.
"let's make love," she murmured, not wanting to but knowing that bed was expected of her.
"no," he said gallantly, pretending to be strong for both of them, knowing that bed was expected of him and then they would get dressed and be french and sensible about the ending of their affair. his eyes strayed to the clock. forty-three minutes left.
"you don't want me?"
"more than ever." his hand cupped her breast and his lips brushed her neck, her perfume light and pleasing, ready to begin.
"i'm glad," she murmured in the same sweet voice, "and so glad that you said no. i want you for hours, my darling, not for a few minutes not now. it would spoil everything to hurry."
for a moment he was nonplussed, not expecting that gambit in the game they played. but now that it was said he was glad too. how brave of her to forgo such pleasure, he thought, loving her deeply. much better to remember the great times than to thrash around hurriedly. it certainly saves me a great deal of sweat and effort and i didn't check if there's any hot water. now we can sit and chat and enjoy the wine, weep a little and be happy. "yes, i agree. for me too." again his lips brushed her neck. he felt her tremble and for a moment he was tempted to inflame her. but decided not to. poor baby, why torment her?
