yemeni scowled and said to the guards in coarse farsi, "hurry the dog of a foreigner!"
starke snapped in farsi, "this is our ruler's tent. there are very particular laws in the holy koran about defending the leader of your tribe in his tent against armed men." the two guards stopped, nonplussed. yemeni gaped at starke, not expecting farsi, then backed a pace as starke got up to his full height and continued: "the prophet, whose name be praised, laid down rules of manners amongst friends, and also amongst enemies, and also that dogs are vermin. we are people of the book and not vermin."
yemeni flushed, turned on his heel, and left. starke wiped the sweat from his hands on his trousers. "rudi, let's see what's with kyabi."
they followed yemeni across the tarmac, the guards with them. the night was clean and the air tasted good to starke after the closeness of the little office.
"what was all that about?" rudi asked.
starke explained, his mind elsewhere, wishing he was back at kowiss. he had hated leaving manuela but thought she was safer there than in tehran. "honey," he had said, just before he had left, "i'll get you out the soonest."
"i'm safe here, darling', safe as texas. i've got lots of time, the kids are safe in lubbock i didn't leave england till i knew they were home and you know granddaddy starke won't let them come to harm."
"sure. the kidstll be fine, but i want you out of iran as soon as possible."
he heard rudi saying, "who're 'people of the book'?"
"christians and jews," he replied, wondering how he could get the 125 into kowiss. "mohammed considered our bible and the torah as holy books too a lot of what's in them's also in the koran. many scholars, our scholars, think he just copied them, though muslim legend says that mohammed couldn't read or write. he recited the koran, all of it, can you imagine that?" he said, still awed by the accomplishment. "others wrote it all down years after he was dead. in arabic it's fantastically beautiful, his poetry, so they say."
ahead now was the office trailer, guards outside smoking, and starke felt good within himself and pleased that he had dealt satisfactorily with yemeni and all day with the mullah hussain fifteen landings, all perfect, waiting at the rigs while the mullah harangued the workers for khomeini with never a soldier or policeman or savak in sight, expecting them any second and always
at the next letdown. yemeni's chicken shit compared to hussain, he thought. zataki and both mullahs were waiting in the office trailer. iahan, the radio op. was on the hf. zataki sat behind rudi's desk. the office had been very neat. now it was a mess, with files open and papers spilled everywhere, dirty cups, cigarette stubs in the cups and on the floor, half-eaten food on the desk rice and goat meat. and the air stank of cigarette smoke.
"mein gott!" rudi said, enraged. "it's a verruckte pigsty and y "
"shut up!" zataki exploded. "this is a war situation, we need to search," then added, more quietly, "you... you can send one of your men to clean up. you will not tell kyabi about us. you will act normally and take my instructions, you will watch me. do you understand, captain?"
rudi nodded, his face set. zataki motioned to the radio op who said into the mike, "excellency kyabi, here is captain lutz."
rudi took the mike. "yes, boss?" he said, using their nickname for him. both he and starke had known yusuf kyabi for a number of years. kyabi had been trained at texas a&m, then by extex before taking over the southern sector, and they were on good terms with him.
"evening, rudi," the voice said in american english. "we've a break in one of our pipelines, somewhere north of you. it's a bad one it's only just shown up in our pumping stations. god knows how many barrels have been pumped out already, or how much is left in the pipe. i'm not calling for a casevac but want a helicopter at dawn to find it. can you pick me up early?"
zataki nodded in agreement so rudi said, "okay, boss. we'll be there as soon after dawn as possible. would you want a 206 or 212?"
"a 206, there'll be me and my chief engineer. come yourself, will you? it may be sabotage may be a break. you had any problems at bandar delam?"
rudi and starke were very conscious of the guns in the room. "no, no more than usual. see you tomorrow," rudi said, wanting to cut him off because kyabi was usually very outspoken about revolutionaries. he did not approve of insurrection or khomeini's fanaticism, and hated the interference with their oil complex.
"hold on a moment, rudi. we heard there're more riots in abadan, and we could hear shooting in ahwaz. did you know that an american oilman and one of our own people were ambushed and killed near ahwaz, yesterday?"
"yes, tommy stanson. lousy."
"very. god curse all murderers! tudeh, mujhadin, fedayeen, or whom the hell ever!"
"sorry, boss, got to go, see you tomorrow."
"yes. good, we can talk tomorrow. insha'allah, rudi. insha'allah!"
the transmission went dead. rudi breathed a sigh of relief. he did not think that kyabi had said anything that could harm him. unless these men were
secretly tudeh or one of the other extremists and not khomeini supporters as they claimed. "all our extremists use mullahs as a cover, or try to use them," kyabi had told him. "sadly most mullahs are impoverished, dull-witted peasants, and easy prey for trained insurgents. god curse khomeini..."
rudi felt the sweat on his back.
"one of my men will go with you, and this time you will not remove his magazine," zataki said.
rudi's jaw came out and tension in the room soared. "i will not fly armed men. it is against all company rules, air rules, and particularly iranian caa orders. disobeying icaa rules invalidates our licenses," he said, loathing them.
"perhaps i will shoot one of your men unless you obey." furiously zataki slammed a cup off his desk and it skittered across the room.
starke came forward, as angry. zataki's gun covered him. "are the followers of ayatollah khomeini murderers? is this the law of islam?"
for a moment starke thought zataki was going to pull the trigger, then the mullah hussain got up. "i will go in the airplane." then to rudi, "you swear you will play no tricks and return here without tricks?"
after a pause rudi said shakily, "yes."
"you are christian?"
"yes."
"swear by god you will not cheat us."
again rudi paused. "all right. i swear by god i won't cheat you."
"how can you trust him?" zataki asked.
"i don't," hussain said simply. "but if he cheats god, god will punish him. and his companions. if we don't return or if he brings back trouble..." he shrugged.
aberdeen gavallan's mansion: 7:23 p.m. they were in the tv room watching on a big screen a replay of today's rescheduled scotland versus france rugby match gavallan, his wife maureen, john hogg who normally flew the company 125 jet, and some other pilots. the score was 17-11 in france's favor deep in the second half. all the men groaned as a scot fumbled, a french forward recovered and gained forty yards. "ten pounds that scotland still wins!" gavallan said.
"i'll take that," his wife said and laughed at his look. she was tall and redhaired and wore elegant green that matched her eyes. "after all i'm half french."
"a quarter your grandmother was norman, queue horreur, and sh " an enormous cheer that was echoed in the room drowned his pleasantry as the
scottish serum half grabbed the ball from the scrimmage, threw it to a wing half who threw it to another who broke loose of the pack, smashed two enemy out of his way, and hurtled for the goal line fifty yards away, weaving, brilliantly changing direction to rush onward again, then stumble but somehow stay upright, then charge in a last, chest-heaving glorious run to dive over the line to be buried at once by bodies and thunderous applause. touchdown! 17 to 15 now. a successful goal kick will make it 17 all. "scotland foreverrrr..."
the door opened and a manservant stood there. at once gavallan got up, achingly watched the kick that was good and breathed again. "double or nothing, maureen?" he asked over the pandemonium, grinning at her as he
hurried off.
"taken!" she called out after him.
she's down twenty quid, he thought, very pleased with himself, and crossed the corridor of the big, rambling old house that was well furnished with old leather and good paintings and fine antiques, many of them from asia, and went into his study opposite. in it, his chauffeur, also gun bearer and trusty, who had been dialing mciver in tehran for three hours and monitoring his incoming calls, held up one of the two phones. "sorry to interrupt, sir, th "
"you got him, williams? great score's seventeen all."
"no, sir, sorry, circuits're still busy but i thought this one was important enough sir ian dunross."
gavallan's disappointment vanished. he took the phone. williams went out and closed the door. "ian, how wonderful to hear from you this is a pleasant surprise."
"hello, andy, can you speak up, i'm phoning from shanghai?"
"i thought you were in japan; i can hear you very well. how's it going?"
"grand. better than i expected. listen, have to be quick but i heard a buzz, two in fact, the first that the taipan needs some financial success to get himself and struan's out of the hole this year. what about iran?"
"everyone advises that it will cool down, ian. mac's got things under control, as much as possible; we've been promised all of guerney's contracts so we should be able to more than keep our end up, even double our profits, presuming there's no act of god."
"perhaps you should presume there might be."
gavallan's bonhomie vanished. time and again his old friend had privately given him a warning or information that had later proved to be astonishingly correct he never knew where dunross obtained the information, or from whom, but he was rarely wrong. "i'll do that right away."
"next, i've just heard that a secret, very high-level even perhaps cabinet level shuffle has been ordered, financial as well as management, for imperial air. will that affect you?"
gavallan hesitated. imperial air owned imperial helicopters, his main competition in the north sea. "i don't know, ian. in my opinion they squander taxpayers' money; they could certainly use reorganisation we beat them hands down in every area i can think of, safety, tenders, equipment i've ordered six x63s by the way."
"does the taipan know?"
"the news almost broke his sphincter." gavallan heard the laugh, and for a moment he was back in hong kong in the old days when dunross was taipan and life was hairy but wildly exciting, when kathy was kathy and not sick. loss, he thought, and again concentrated. "anything to do with imperial's important i'll check at once. other business news from here is very good new contracts with extex i was going to announce them at the next board meeting. struan's isn't in danger, is it?"
again the laugh. "the noble house is always in danger, laddie! lust wanted to advise you got to go give my love to maureen."
"and to penelope. when do i see you?"
"soon. i'll call when i can; give my best to mac when you see him, bye."
lost in thought, gavallan sat on the edge of his fine desk. his friend always said "soon" and that could mean a month or a year, even two years. it's over two years since i last caught up with him, he thought. pity he's not taipan still damn shame he retired, but then we all have to move on and move over sometime. "i've had it, andy," dunross had said, "struan's is in cracking good shape, the '70s promise to be a fantastic era for expansion and... well, now there's no excitement anymore." that was in '70, just after his hated main rival, quillan gornt, taipan of rothwell-gornt, had drowned in a boating accident off sha tin in hong kong's new territories.
imperial air? gavallan glanced at his watch, reached for the phone, but stopped at the discreet knock. maureen stuck her head in, beamed when she saw he wasn't on the phone. "i won twenty-one to seventeen busy?"
"no, come in, darling."
"can't, have to check dinner's ready. in ten minutes? you can pay me now if you like!"
he laughed, caught her in his arms, and gave her a hug. "after dinner! you're a smashing bird, mrs. gavallan."
"good, don't forget." she was comfortable in his arms. "everything all right with mac?"
"it was ian he just called to say hello. from shanghai."
"now there's a lovely man too. when do we see him?"
"soon."
again she laughed with him, dancing eyes and creamy skin. they had first met seven years ago at castle avisyard where the then taipan, david macstruan,
was giving a hogmanay ball. she was twenty-eight, just divorced, and childless. her smile had blown the cobwebs from his head and scot had whispered, "dad, if you don't drag that one off to the altar, you're crazy." his daughter melinda had said the same. and so, somehow, three years ago it had happened, and every day since then a happy day.
"ten minutes, andy? you're sure?"
"yes, just have to make one call." gavallan saw her frown and added quickly, "promise. just one and then williams can monitor the calls."
she gave him a quick kiss and left. he dialed. "good evening, is sir percy free this is andrew gavallan." sir percy smedley-taylor, director of struan's holdings, an mp, and slated as the probable minister for defence if the conservatives won the next election.
"hello, andy, nice to hear from you if it's about the shoot next saturday, i'm on. sorry not to have told you before but things have been rather busy with the so-called government shoving the country up the creek, and the poor bloody unions as well, if they only knew it."
"i quite agree. am i disturbing you?"
"no, you just caught me i'm off to the house for another late-night vote. the stupid twits want us out of nato, amongst other things. how did the x63 test out?"
"wonderful! better than they claimed. she's the best in the world!"
"i'd love a ride in her if you could fix it. what can i do for you?"
"i heard a buzz that there's a secret, high-level reorganisation of imperial air going on. have you heard anything?"
"my god, old man, your contacts are bloody good i only heard the rumor myself this afternoon, whispered in absolute secrecy by an unimpeachable opposition source. damn curious! didn't mean much to me at the time wonder what they're up to. have you anything concrete to go on?"
"no. just the rumor."
"i'll check. i wonder... i wonder if the burks might be positioning imperial to formally nationalise it, therefore imp helicopters, therefore you and all the north sea?"
"god almighty!" gavallan's worry increased. this thought had not occurred to him. "could they do that if they wanted?"
"yes. simple as that."
sunday february 11
outside bandar delam: 6:55 a.m. it was just after dawn and rudi had landed away from the culvert and now the four of them were standing on the lip. the early sun was good, and so far no problems. oil still poured out of the pipe but it was no longer under pressure. "it's just what's left in the line," kyabi said. "it should stop entirely in an hour." he was a strong-faced man in his fifties, clean-shaven with glasses, and he wore used khakis and a hard hat. angrily he looked around. the earth was soaked with oil and the fumes almost overpowering. "this whole area's lethal." he led the way to the overturned car. three bodies were twisted in or near the wreckage and already beginning to smell.
"amateurs?" rudi said, waving away the flies. "premature explosion?"
kyabi did not answer. he went below into the culvert. it was hard to breathe but he searched the area carefully, then climbed back onto the road. "i'd say you were right, rudi." he glanced at hussain, his face set. "yours?"
the mullah took his eyes off the car. "it is not the imam's orders to sabotage pipelines. this is the work of enemies of islam."
"there are many enemies of islam who claim to be followers of the prophet,
who have taken his words and twisted them," kyabi said bitterly, "betraying him and betraying islam."
"i agree, and god will seek them out and punish them. when iran is ruled according to islamic law we will seek them out and punish them for h
im." hussain's dark eyes were equally hard. "what can you do about the oil spill?"
it had taken them two hours backtracking to find the break. they had circled at a few hundred feet, appalled at the extent of the spill that had inundated the small river and its marshlands and carried by the current was already some miles downstream. a thick black scum covered the surface from bank to bank. so far only one village was in its path. a few miles south there were many others. the river supplied drinking water, washing water, and was the latrine.
"burn it off. as soon as possible." kyabi glanced at his engineer. "eh?"
"yes, yes, of course. but what about the village, excellency?" the engineer was a nervous, middle-aged iranian who watched the mullah uneasily.
James Clavell - Whirlwind Page 18