“It was after they had eaten lunch, sahib, the Khan and the Soviet, and they were beside the Soviet’s car when he was leaving—I was in the undergrowth near and could hear well. At first I could not understand them, but then the Khan said, Let’s talk English—there are servants nearby. The Soviet said, Thanks for all the information and the offer. The Khan said, Then we have an agreement? Everything, Patar? The Soviet said, Yes I’ll recommend everything you want. I’ll see the pilot never bothers you again. When he’s finished here he’ll be brought north…” Gueng stopped as the air hissed out of Azadeh’s mouth. “Yes, memsahib?”
“Nothing.”
Gueng concentrated, wanting to get it perfect for them: “The Soviet said, I’ll see the pilot never bothers you again. When he’s finished here he’ll be brought north, permanently. Then…” He thought a moment. “Ah, yes! Then he said, The mullah won’t trouble you again and in return you’ll catch the British saboteurs for me? Alive, I’d like them alive if possible. The Khan said, Yes, I’ll catch them, Patar, do y—”
“Petr,” Azadeh said, her hand on Erikki’s shoulder. “His name was Petr Mzytryk.”
“Christ!” Ross muttered as it fell into place.
“What?” Erikki said.
“I’ll tell you later. Finish, Gueng.”
“Yes, sahib. The Khan said, I’ll catch them, Patar, alive if I can. What’s my favor if they’re alive? The Soviet laughed. Anything, within reason, and mine? The Khan said, I’ll bring her with me on my next visit. Sahib, that was all. Then the Soviet got into his car and left.”
Azadeh shuddered.
“What?” Erikki said.
“He means me,” she said, her voice small.
Ross said, “I don’t follow.”
Erikki hesitated, the tightness in his head greater than before. She had told him about being summoned for lunch by her father, and about Petr Mzytryk inviting her to Tbilisi—“and your husband, of course, if he’s free; I would love to show you our countryside…” and how attentive the Soviet had been. “It’s…it’s personal. Not important,” he said. “It seems you’ve done me a big favor. How can I help?” He smiled tiredly and stuck out his hand. “My name’s Yokkonen, Erikki Yokkonen and this is my wife, Az—”
“Sahib!” Gueng hissed warningly.
Ross jerked to a stop. Now he saw Erikki’s other hand was under the pillow. “Don’t move a muscle,” he said, kookri suddenly out of its scabbard. Erikki recognized the tone and obeyed. Cautiously Ross moved the pillow aside but the hand was not near the knife. He picked the knife up. The blade glinted in the shaft of moonlight. He thought a moment, then handed it back to Erikki, haft first. “Sorry, but it’s better to be safe.” He shook the outstretched hand that had never wavered and felt the enormous strength. He smiled at him and turned slightly, the light now on his face for the first time. “My name’s Ross, Captain John Ross, and this’s Gueng…”
Azadeh gasped and jerked upright. They all looked at her and now Ross saw her clearly for the first time. It was Azadeh, his Azadeh of ten years ago, Azadeh Gorden as he had known her then, Azadeh Gorden of the High Country staring up at him, more beautiful than ever, eyes bigger than ever, still heaven-sent. “My God, Azadeh, I didn’t see your face…”
“Nor I yours, Johnny.”
“Azadeh…good God,” Ross stammered. He was beaming and so was she, and then he heard Erikki and looked down and saw him staring up at him, the great knife in his fist, and a shaft of fear rushed through him and through her.
“You’re ‘Johnny Brighteyes’?” Erikki said it flat.
“Yes, yes, I’m… I had the privilege of knowing your wife years ago, many years ago… Good Lord, Azadeh, how wonderful to see you!”
“And you…” Her hand had not left Erikki’s shoulder.
Erikki could feel her hand and it was burning him but he did not move, mesmerized by the man in front of him. She had told him about John Ross and about their summer and the result of the summer, that the man had not known about the almost child, nor had she ever tried to find him to tell him, nor did she want him ever to know. “The fault was mine, Erikki, not his,” she had told him simply. “I was in love, I was just a few days seventeen and he nineteen—Johnny Brighteyes I called him; I had never seen a man with such blue eyes before. We were deeply in love but it was only a summer love, not like ours which is forever, mine is, and yes, I will marry you if Father will allow it, oh, yes, please God, but only if you can live happily with knowing that once upon a time, long long ago, I was growing up. You must promise me, swear to me you can be happy as a man and a husband for perhaps one day we will meet him—I will be happy to meet him and I will smile at him but my soul will be yours, my body yours, my life yours, and all that I have…”
He had sworn as she had wished, truly and with all his soul, happily brushing aside her concern. He was modern and understanding and Finnish—wasn’t Finland always progressive, hadn’t Finland been the second country on earth after New Zealand to give women the vote? There was no worry in him. None. He was only sad for her that she had not been careful, for she had told him of her father’s anger—an anger he could understand.
And now here was the man, fine and strong and young, far nearer her size than he, far nearer her age than he. Jealousy ripped him apart.
Ross was trying to collect his wits, her presence possessing him. He pulled his eyes off her and the memory of her and looked back at Erikki. He read his eyes clearly. “A long time ago I knew your wife, in Switzerland at… I was at school there for a short time.”
“Yes, I know,” Erikki said. “Azadeh told me about you. I’m… I’m…it’s a…it’s a sudden meeting for all of us.” He got out of bed, towering over Ross, the knife still in his hand, all of them aware of the knife. He saw that Gueng, on the other side of the bed, still had his kookri out. “So. Again, Captain, again thanks for the warning.”
“You said you’re being forced to fly the Soviets?”
“Azadeh’s hostage for my good behavior,” Erikki said simply.
Thoughtfully Ross nodded. “Not much you can do about that if the Khan’s hostile. Christ, that’s a mess! My thought was that as you were threatened too, you’d want to escape too and that you’d give us a ride in the chopper.”
“If I could I would, yes…yes, of course. But I’ve twenty guards on me all the time I’m flying and Azadeh…my wife and I are watched very closely when we’re here. There’s another Soviet called Cimtarga who’s like my shadow, and Abdollah Khan’s…very careful.” He had not yet decided what to do about this man Ross. He glanced at Azadeh and saw that her smile was true, her touch on his shoulder true, and that clearly this man meant nothing more than an old friend to her now. But this did not take away his almost blinding urge to ran amok. He made himself smile at her. “We must be careful, Azadeh.”
“Very.” She had felt the surge under her hand when he had said “Johnny Brighteyes” and knew that, of the three of them, only she could control this added danger. At the same time, Erikki’s jealousy that he sought so hard to hide excited her, as did the open admiration of her long-lost love. Oh, yes, she thought, Johnny Brighteyes, you are more wonderful than ever, slimmer than ever, stronger than ever—more exciting, with your curved knife and unshaven face and filthy clothes and man smell—how could I not have recognized you? “A moment ago when I corrected this man’s ‘Patar’ to ‘Petr’ it meant something to you, Johnny. What?”
“It was a code message I had to give the Khan,” Ross said, achingly aware she still bewitched him. ‘“Tell Abdollah Khan that Peter’—that could be Gueng’s Patar or Petr, the Soviet—‘that Peter’s after the Gorgon’s head and Peter’s son is worse than Peter. The son plays with curds and whey and so does the father, who’ll try to use a Medusa to catch the Gorgon.’”
Azadeh said, “That’s easy. Erikki?”
“Yes,” Erikki said, distracted. “But why ‘curds and whey’?”
“Perhaps this,” she said, her exc
itement rising. “Tell Abdollah Khan that Petr Mzytryk, KGB, is after his head, that Mzytryk’s son—let’s presume also KGB—is worse than his father. The son plays at curds and whey—perhaps that means the son is involved with the Kurds and their rebellion that threatens Abdollah Khan’s power base in Azerbaijan, that the KGB, the father, and the son are also involved—and that Petr Mzytryk will use a Medusa to catch the Gorgon.” She thought a moment. “Could that be another pun and mean ‘use a woman,’ perhaps even an evil woman to catch my father?”
Ross was shocked. “The Khan’s… My God, the Khan’s your father?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. Gorgon’s my family name,” Azadeh said, “not Gorden. But the principal of the school at Château d’Or told me the first day I could hardly have a name like Gorgon—I would get teased to death—so I was to be just Azadeh Gorden. It was fun for me, and the principal thought it better for me that I was just plain Azadeh Gorden and not the daughter of a Khan.”
Erikki broke a silence. “If the message’s correct, the Khan won’t trust that matyeryebyets at all.”
“Yes, Erikki. But my father trusts no one. No one at all. If Father’s playing both sides as Johnny thinks—there’s no telling what he’ll do. Johnny, who gave you the message to give to him?”
“A CIA agent who said I could trust your father with my life.”
Erikki said witheringly, “I always knew the CIA were…were crazy.”
“This one was all right,” Ross said more sharply than he meant. He saw Erikki flush and her smile vanish.
Another silence. More jagged. The moonlight in the room faded as the moon went behind a bank of cloud. It was uneasy in the gloom. Gueng who had watched and listened felt the increased disquiet and he silently called on all gods to extricate them from Medusas, the pagan devil with snakes for hair that the missionaries had taught about in his first school in Nepal. Then his special sense felt the approaching danger, he hissed a warning and went to the window and peered out. Two armed guards with a Doberman pinscher on a leash were coming up the staircase opposite.
The others were equally rigid now. They heard the guards pad along the terrace, the dog sniffing and straining on the leash. Then go toward the outside door. Again it creaked open. The men came into the building.
Muffled voices outside the door of the bedroom and the sound of the dog snuffling. Then near the door of the anteroom. Gueng and Ross moved into ambush, kookris ready. In time the guards moved down the corridor, out of the building and down the staircase again. Azadeh shifted nervously. “They don’t come here normally. Ever.”
Ross whispered back hastily, “Maybe they saw us coming up here. We’d better leave. If you hear firing, you don’t know us. If we’re still free tomorrow night, could we come here, say just after midnight? We could perhaps make a plan?”
“Yes,” Erikki said. “But make it earlier. Cimtarga warned me we might have to leave before dawn. Make it around 11:00 P.M. We’d better have several plans ready—to get out is going to be very difficult, very.”
“How long will you be working for them—before you’re finished?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps three or four days.”
“Good. If we don’t make contact with you—forget us. Okay?”
“God protect you, Johnny,” Azadeh told him anxiously. “Don’t trust my father, you mustn’t let him…mustn’t let him or them take you.”
Ross smiled and it lit up the room, even for Erikki. “No problem—good luck to all of us.” He waved a devil-may-care salute and opened the door. In a few seconds he and Gueng were gone as quietly as they had arrived. Erikki watched out of the window and saw them only as shadows going down the steps, noting how cleverly and silently the two men used the night, envying Ross his careless elegance of manner and movement.
Azadeh was standing alongside him, a head smaller, her arm around his waist, also watching. After a moment, his arm went around her shoulders. They waited, expecting shouting and firing, but the night remained undisturbed. The moon came out from the clouds again. No movement anywhere. He glanced at his watch. It was 4:23.
He looked at the sky, no sign of any dawn yet. At dawn he had to leave, not to the north face of Sabalan but to other radar sites farther west. Cimtarga had told him that the CIA still operated certain sites nearer the Turkish border but that today the Khomeini government had ordered them closed, evacuated, and left intact. “They’ll never do that,” Erikki had said. “Never.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not.” Cimtarga had laughed. “The moment we get orders, you and I will just fly there with my ‘tribesmen’ and hurry them up…”
Matyer! And matyer Johnny Brighteyes arriving to complicate our lives. Even so, thank all gods for the warning he brought. What’s Abdollah planning for Azadeh? I should kill that old swine and have done with it. Yes, but I can’t, I swore by the ancient gods an oath that may not be broken, not to touch her father—as he himself swore by the One God not to hinder us though he’ll find a way to break that oath. Can I do the same? No. An oath is an oath. Like the one you swore to her that you could live happily with her, knowing about him—him—didn’t you? His mind blackened and he was glad of the darkness.
So the KGB plan to kidnap me. If it’s a real plan I’m done for. Azadeh? What’s that devil Abdollah planning for her now? And now this Johnny arrives to harass us all—I never thought he’d be so good-looking and tough and no man to mix with, him with that sodding great knife, killing knife…
“Come back to bed, Erikki,” she said. “It’s very cold, isn’t it?”
He nodded and followed and got in his side, greatly troubled. When they were back under the great quilt, she snuggled against him. Not enough to provoke a reaction but just enough to appear normal and untouched. “How extraordinary to find it was him, Erikki! John Ross—in the street I certainly wouldn’t have recognized him. Oh, that was such a long time ago, I’d forgotten all about him. I’m so pleased you married me, Erikki,” she said, her voice calm and loving, sure that his mind was grinding her long-lost love to dust. “I feel so safe with you—if it hadn’t been for you I would have died of fright.” She said it as though expecting an answer. But I don’t expect one, my darling, she thought contentedly and sighed.
He heard her sigh and wondered what it meant, feeling her warmth against him, loathing the rage that possessed him. Was it because she’s sorry she had smiled at her lover as she did? Or is she furious with me—she must have seen my jealousy. Or is she saddened that I have forgotten my oath, or is she hating me because I hate that man? I swear I’ll exorcise him from her…
Ah, Johnny Brighteyes, she was thinking, what ecstasy I enjoyed in your arms, even the first time when it was supposed to hurt, but it never did. Just a pain that became a burning that became a melting that tore away life and gave life back to me again, better than before, oh, how so much better than before! And then Erikki…
It was much warmer now under the quilt. Her hand went across his loins. She felt him move slightly and she hid her smile, sure that her warmth was reaching him now, so easy to warm him further. But unwise. Very unwise, for then she knew he would only take her with Johnny in the forefront of his mind, taking her to spite Johnny and not to love her—perhaps even thinking that in her acquiescence she was feeling guilty and was trying to make up for her guilt. Oh, no, my love, I’m not a foolish child, you’re the guilty one, not me. And though you’d be stronger than usual and more rough, which would normally increase my pleasure, this time it would not, for, like it or not, I would resist even more than you, aware of my other love. So, my darling, it is ten thousand times better to wait. Until the dawn. By then, my darling, if I’m lucky you will have persuaded yourself that you are wrong to hate and be jealous and you will be my Erikki again. And if you haven’t? Then I will begin again—there are ten thousand ways to heal my man. “I love you, Erikki,” she said and kissed the cloth that covered his chest, turned over, and settled her back against him and went into sleep, smiling.
“You will obey my flight orders!” Esvandiary, the IranOil manager, shouted at him, his voice echoing around the S-G base. “I’ve ordered you to deliver a new mud tank and pipe under Guerney’s contract to Rig Si—”
“No flying until Captain Starke’s back!” Ayre snarled. They were on the flight line near the three 212s that Esvandiary had scheduled for today’s operations, the three pilots geared and ready since dawn, the rest of the expats watching in varying degrees of nervousness or anger. Around them were a truckload of hostile Green Bands and servicemen from the base who had just arrived with Esvandiary. Four of Zataki’s men squatted near the choppers but none of them had moved since the quarrel had erupted though all of them were watching closely. “All flights are grounded!” Ayre repeated.
Furiously Esvandiary called out in Farsi, “These foreigners refuse to obey legitimate orders of IranOil.” A mutter of anger went through his supporters, guns covered the expats, and he stabbed a finger at Ayre. “They need an example!”
Without warning rough hands grabbed Ayre, and the beating began. One of the pilots, Sandor Petrofi, rushed forward to intervene but he was shoved back, slipped, and was kicked back to the others who were helpless under the guns.
“Stop it!” Pop Kelly, the tall captain, shouted out, his face chalky. “Leave Ayre alone, we’ll fly the missions!”
“Good.” Esvandiary told his men to stop. They dragged Ayre to his feet. “Get all flights under way. At once!”
When the flights were airborne he dismissed the expats roughly. “There’ll be no more mutinies against the Islamic state. By God, all orders of IranOil will—will—be obeyed instantly.” Very satisfied with himself that he had put down the mutiny as he had promised the camp commandant, he strode into the main office, down the corridor into Starke’s office that he had commandeered, and stood at the window surveying his domain.
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