before scragger could stop him, ali pash called bandar delam and now was speaking farsi into the mike. the two operators talked with one another for a moment or two, then abruptly he signed off. and looked up at scragger. "i don't blame you for leaving," he said. "thank you, agha, for... for the past." then, with great deliberation, he switched the hf off, took out a circuit breaker, and pocketed it. "i told him we... we were closing down for the day."
scragger exhaled. "thanks, me son."
the door opened. qeshemi stood there. "i wish to inspect the base," he said.
al shargaz hq: manuela was saying, "... and then, andy, lengeh's operator, ali pash, said to jahan, 'no, nothing's strange here,' then added, kinda abruptly, 'i'm closing down for the day. i must go to prayers.' numir called him back at once, asking him to wait a few minutes but there was no answer."
"abruptly?" gavallan asked, scot and nogger also listening intently. "what sort of abruptly?"
"like, like he kinda got fed up, or had a gun to his head not usual for an iranian to be that abrupt." manuela added uneasily, "i might be reading something into it that wasn't there, andy."
"does that mean scrag's still there or not?"
scot and nogger grimaced, appalled at the thought. manuela shifted nervously. "if he was, wouldn't he have answered himself to let us know? i think i would have. perhaps h " the phone rang. scot picked it up. "s-g? oh, hello, charlie, hang on." he passed the phone to his father. "from kuwait..."
"hello, charlie. all's well?"
"yes, thanks. i'm at kuwait airport, phoning from patrick's office at guerney's." though the two companies were rivals worldwide, they had very friendly relations. "what's new?"
"delta four, nothing else yet. i'll phone the moment. lean-luc's checked in from bahrain he's with delarne at gulf air de france if you want him. is genny with you?"
"no, she went back to the hotel but i'm all set the moment mac and the others arrive."
gavallan said quietly, "did you tell patrick, charlie?" he heard pettikin's forced laugh.
"funny thing, andy, the ba rep here, a couple of other guys, and patrick have this crazy idea we're up to something like pulling all our birds out. can you imagine?"
gavallan sighed. "don't jump the gun, charlie, keep to the plan." this was to keep quiet until the kowiss choppers were in the kuwait system, then to trust patrick. "i'll phone when i have anything. 'bye oh, hang on, i almost forgot. you remember ross, john ross?"
"could i ever forget? why?"
"i heard he's in kuwait international hospital. check on him when you're squared away, will you?"
"of course, right away, andy. what's the matter with him?"
"don't know. call me if you have any news. 'bye." he replaced the phone. another deep breath. "the word's out in kuwait."
"christ, if it's out th " scot was interrupted by the phone ringing. "hello? just a moment. it's mr. newbury, dad."
gavallan took it. "morning, roger, how're tricks?"
"oh. well, i, er, wanted to ask you that. how are things going? off the record, of course."
"fine, fine," gavallan said noncommittally. "will you be in your office all day? i'll drop by, but i'll call before i leave here."
"yes, please do, i'll be here until noon. it's a long weekend, you know. please phone me the moment you, er, hear anything off the record. the moment. we're rather concerned and, well, we can discuss it when you arrive. 'bye."
"hang on a moment. did you get word about young ross?"
"yes, yes, i did. sorry but we understand he was badly hurt, not expected to survive. damn shame but there you are. see you before noon. 'bye."
gavallan put the phone down. they all watched him. "what's wrong?" manuela asked.
"apparently... it seems young ross is badly hurt, not expected to survive."
nogger muttered, "what a bugger! my god, not fair..." he had regaled them all about ross, how he had saved their lives, and azadeh's.
manuela crossed herself and prayed fervently to the madonna to help him, then begged her again and again to bring all the men back safe, all of them, without favor, and azadeh and sharazad, and let there be peace, please please please...
"dad, did newbury tell you what happened?"
gavallan shook his head, hardly hearing him. he was thinking about ross, of an age with scot, more tough and rugged and indestructible than scot and now... poor laddie! maybe he'll pull through... oh, god, i hope so! what to do? continue, that's all you can do. azadeh'll be rocked, poor lassie. and erikki'll be as rocked as azadeh, he owes her life to him. "i'll be back in a second," he said and walked out, heading for their other of lice where he could phone newbury in private.
nogger was standing at the window, looking out at the day and the airfield, not seeing any of it. he was seeing the wild-eyed maniac killer at tabriz one holding the severed head aloft, baying like a wolf to the sky, the angel of sudden death who became the giver of life to him, to arberry, to dibble, and most of all to azadeh. god, if you are god, save him like he saved us...
"tehran, this is bandar delam, do you read? kowiss, bandar delam, do you read? al shargaz, bandar delam, do you read?"
"five minutes on the dot," scot muttered. "jahan doesn't miss a bloody second. didn't siamaki say he'd be in the office from 0900 onward?"
"yes, yes, he did." all their eyes went to the clock. it read 8:45.
at lengeh airport: 9:01 a.m. qeshemi was standing in the hangar looking at the two parked 206s within. behind him scragger and ali pash watched nervously. a momentary shaft of sun broke the clouds and overcast and sparkled off the 212 that was waiting on the helipad fifty yards away, a battered police car and driver, corporal achmed, beside it. "have you flown in one of those, excellency pash?" qeshemi asked.
"the 206? yes, sergeant excellency," ali pash said, giving the sergeant his most pleasing smile. "the captain sometimes takes me or the other radio operator when we're off duty." he was very sorry the devil had moved his feet here today, worse than sorry because now he was inescapably involved in treason treason to break rules, treason to lie to police, treason not to report curious happenings. "the captain would take you anytime you wished," he said pleasantly, his whole being concentrated now on extricating himself from the mire the devil and the captain had put him into.
"today would be a good day?"
ali pash almost broke under the scrutiny. "of course, if you ask the captain, of course, agha. you wish me to ask?"
qeshemi said nothing, just moved out into the open, careless of the green bands, half a dozen of them, who watched curiously. to scragger he said directly in farsi, "where is everyone today, agha?"
ali pash acted as interpreter for scragger, though he twisted the words, making them sound better and more acceptable, explaining that today being holy day, with no revenue flights, the iranian staff had correctly been given the day off, the captain had ordered the 212s to their designated training area for testing, had allowed the remaining mechanics to go picnicking, and that he himself was leaving to go to the mosque as soon as his excellency the sergeant had finished whatever he wished to finish.
scragger was totally frustrated that he did not understand farsi, and loathed being out of control of the situation but he was, completely. his life and those of his men were in the hands of ali pash.
"his excellency asks, what do you plan for the rest of the day?"
"that's a bloody good question," scragger muttered. then the family motto came into his mind: "you hang for a lamb, you hang for a sheep, so you might as well take the whole bleeding flock" the motto that had been handed down by his ancestor who had been transported for life to australia in the early 1800s. "please tell him as soon as he's finished, i'm going to the cabbage patch as ed vossi needs checking out. his license's due for renewal."
he watched and waited and qeshemi asked a question that ali pash answered and all the time he was wondering what to do if qeshemi said, fine, i'm coming along.
"his excellency asks if you would be so kind as to lend the police some gasoline?"
"wot?"
"he wants some gasoline, captain. wants to borrow some gasoline."
"oh. oh, certainly, certainly, agha." for a moment scragger was filled with hope. hold it, me son, he thought. the cabbage patch's not so far away and qeshemi could want the gas to send the car there and still fly with me. "come on, ali pash, you can give me a hand," he said, not wanting to leave him alone with qeshemi, and led the way to the pump, beckoning the police car. the wind sock was dancing. he saw that the clouds aloft were building up, nimbus among them, traveling fast, shoved along by a contrary wind. here below it was still southeasterly though it had veered even more southerly. good for us but more of a bloody headwind for the others, he thought grimly.
in the helicopters, nearing kish island: 9:07 a.m. rudi's four choppers were in sight of each other, closer than before, cruising calmly just over the waves. visibility varied between two hundred yards to half a mile. all pilots were conserving fuel, seeking maximum range, and again rudi bent forward to tap his gas gauge. the needle moved slightly, still registering just under half full. "no problem, rudi, she's working fine," faganwitch said through the intercom. "we've plenty of time to refuel, right? we're on time and on schedule, right?"
"oh, yes." even so rudi recalculated their range, always coming up with the same answer: enough to reach bahrain but not enough for the legal amount of fuel in reserve. "tehran, this is bandar delam, do you read?" jahan's voice came in his headphones again, irritating him with its persistence. for a moment he was tempted to turn off but dismissed that as too danger
"bander delam, this is tehran. we read you four by five, go ahead!"
now a flood of farsi. rudi picked out
"siamaki" several times but little else as the two radio ops spoke back and forth and then he recognized siamaki's voice, irritable, arrogant, and now very angry. "standby one, bandar delam! al shargaz, this is tehran, do you read?" now even more angrily: "al shargaz, this is director siamaki, do you read?" no answer. the call repeated more angrily, then another spate of farsi, then faganwitch cried out, "ahead! look out!"
the supertanker, almost a quarter of a mile long, was hurtling at them broadside through the haze, towering over them, dwarfing them, easing her way carefully upstream toward her iraqi terminal, foghorn droning. rudi knew he was trapped, no time to climb, no space to break left or right or he would
collide with the others so he went into emergency stop procedure. kelly on his left, banking perilously left, just made it past the stern, sandor, extreme right, safe around the bow dubois not safe but instantly onto max power, stick right and back into a too steep climbing turn, tighter tighter tighter 50 60 70 80 degrees, bow rushing at him, not going to make it, "espece de con..." not going to make it, stick back, g force sucking him and fowler down into their seats, the ship's gunwale racing at them, then they roared over the foredeck with millimeters to spare, the appalled deck crew scattering. once safe, dubois hauled her around into a 180 to go back for rudi in the slight hope rudi had managed to cushion the impact and had escaped into the sea.
rudi had the stick back, nose up, power off, watching the airspeed tumble, nose a little higher, no time to pray, nose higher, side of the tanker closer and closer, nose higher still, stall warning howling, not going to make it, stall warning shrieking, any moment she'll fall out of the sky, tanker only yards away, seeing rivets, portholes, rust, paint peeling, closing on them but slowing, slowing, but too late, too late but maybe enough to soften the crash, now plummeting, stick forward, full power on momentarily to cushion the dreadful impact and fall and suddenly she was locked in hover five feet above the waves, the mushing blades barely inches from the side of the tanker that slid past gently. somehow rudi backed away a yard, then another, and hovered.
when his eyes could focus he looked up. on the bridge of the vessel so far above them he could see the officers staring down at them, most of them shaking their fists in rage. a purple-faced man had a loudspeaker now, and he was shouting at them, "bloody idiot!" but they could not hear him. the stern passed them by, wake churning, the spray speckling them. the way ahead was clear.
"i'm... i'm going to have'ta take a shit." weakly faganwitch began to crawl back into the cabin.
you can take one for me, rudi was thinking, but he had no energy to say it. his knees were trembling and teeth chattering. "careful," he muttered, then eased the throttle open, gained height and forward speed and soon he was quite safe. no sign of the others. then he spotted kelly coming round, looking for him. when kelly saw him he waggled from side to side so happily, came into station alongside, gave him a thumbs-up. to save the others vital fuel coming back to search for the pieces, rudi put his lips very close to the boom mike and hissed through his teeth, "dot-dot-dot-dash, dot-dot-dot-dash, dot-dot- dotdash," their privately agreed code for each to head for bahrain independently, and to let them know he was safe. he heard sandor acknowledge in the same simulated morse, then dubois who swooped alongside out of the haze, adding some self-generated static, and accelerated away. but pop kelly was shaking
