"no, m'sieur. after the first burst, the attackers vanished."
"what about the damage to the pumping system?"
"i don't know. i'm waiting for a... ah, just a moment, here's m'sieur legrande." after a moment again in french: "this's legrande. three burned, two iranians very badly, the other's paul beaulieu, hands and arms call for a casevac at once. i saw a couple of men heading for the cove probably the saboteurs, and they've probably a boat there. i'm assembling everyone so we can see who's missing."
"yes, at once. what about the damage?"
"not major. with luck we'll have that fixed in a week certainly by the time the next tanker arrives."
"i'll come ashore as soon as i can. wait a moment!" de plessey looked at the others and told them what legrande had said.
scragger said at once, "i'll take the casevac, no need to call for one."
kasigi said, "bring the injured aboard we've a surgery and a doctor. he's very skilled, particularly with burns."
"good on you!" scragger rushed off.
into the mike de plessey said, "we'll deal with the casevac from here. get the men onto stretchers. captain scragger will bring them aboard at once. there's a doctor here."
a young japanese deck officer came and spoke briefly to the captain who shook his head and replied curtly, then explained in english to de plessey: "the three iranians who were left aboard when the others on the barge fled want to be taken ashore at once. i said they could wait." then he called down to the engine room preparing to make way.
kasigi was staring at the island. and at the tanks there. i need that oil, he thought, and i need the island safe. but it's not safe and nothing i can do to make it safe.
"i'm going ashore," de plessey said and left.
scragger was already at the 206, unhooking the rear doors.
"what're you doing, scrag?" de plessey said, hurrying up to him.
"i can lay the stretcher on the backseat and lash it safe. quicker than rigging an outside carry sling."
"i'll come with you."
"hop in!" they glanced around at the noise behind them. the three iranians had run over and were jabbering at him. it was clear they wanted to go ashore in the helicopter. "shall we take them, scrag?"
scragger was already in the pilot's seat, his fingers dancing over the switches. "no. you're an emergency, they're not. get in, old sport." he pointed at the right seat then waved the iranians away. "nah, ajuleh daram" no, i'm in a hurry he said, using one of the few expressions in farsi he knew. two of them backed off obediently. the third, saiid, slid into the backseat and started to buckle up. scragger shook his head, motioning him to get out. the man took no notice and spoke rapidly and forced a smile and pointed at the shore.
impatiently scragger motioned him out, one finger pressing the engine start button switch. the whine began instantly. again the man refused and, angry now, pointed at the shore, his voice drowned by the cranking engine. for a moment scragger thought, okay, why not? then he noticed the sweat dripping off the man's face, his sweat-soaked overalls, and seemed to smell his fear. "out!" he said, studying him very carefully.
saiid paid no attention to him. above them the blade was turning slowly, gaining speed.
"let him stay," de plessey called out over. "we'd better hurry."
abruptly scragger aborted the engine start, and with very great strength for such a small man, had saiid's belt unbuckled and the man out on the deck, half unconscious, before anyone knew what was happening. he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted up at the bridge. "hey there, aloft! kasigi! this joker's too bloody anxious to go ashore wasn't he belowdecks?" without waiting for an answer, he jumped back into the cockpit and jabbed engine start.
de plessey watched him silently. "what did you see in that man?"
scragger shrugged. long before the engine came to full power, seamen had grabbed the man and the other two and were herding them up to the bridge.
the 206 went like an arrow for the shore. the two injured men were already on stretchers. rapidly a spare stretcher was lashed in place across the backseat and the first stretcher lashed to this. scragger helped the injured frenchman, arms and hands bandaged, into the front seat alongside him, and trying to close his nostrils to the stench, eased her airborne and flew back, landing like gossamer. medics and the doctor were waiting, plasma ready, morphine hypodermic ready.
in seconds scragger darted shoreward again. in more seconds the last sketcher was in place and he was away, again to land delicately. once more the doctor was waiting, needle ready, and again he ducked down and ran for the stretcher under the whirling blades. this time he did not use the needle. "ah so sorry," he said in halting english. "this man dead." then, keeping his head low, he scurried for his surgery. medics took the body away.
when scragger had shut down and had everything locked and safe, he went to the side of the ship and was violently sick. ever since he had seen and heard and smelled a pilot in a crashed, burning biplane, years upon years ago, it had been an abiding horror of his to be caught in the same way. he had never been able to stomach the smell of burned human hair and skin.
after a while he wiped his mouth, breathing the good air, and blessed his luck. three times he had been shot down, twice in flames, but each time he had got out safely. four times he had had to autorotate to save himself and his passengers, twice over jungle and into the trees, once with an engine on fire. "but my name wasn't on the list," he muttered. "not those times." footsteps were approaching. he turned to see kasigi walking across the deck, an ice cold bottle of kirin beer in each hand.
"please excuse me, but here," kasigi said gravely, offering the beer. "burns do the same for me. i was sick too. i... i went down to the surgery to see how the injured were and... i was very sick."
scragger drank gratefully. the cool, hops-flavored liquid, bubbles tingling as he swallowed, rebirthed him. "christ jesus that was good. thanks, cobber." and having said it once it became easier to say it the second time. "thanks, cobber." kasigi heard it both times and considered it a major victory. both of them looked at the seaman hurrying up to them with a teleprinter message in his hand. he gave it to kasigi who went to the nearest light, put on his glasses, and peered at it. scragger heard him suck in his breath and saw him become even more ashen.
"bad news?"
after a pause kasigi said, "no just, just problems."
"anything i can do?"
kasigi did not answer him. scragger waited. he could see the turmoil written in the man's eyes though not his face, and he was sure kasigi was trying to decide whether to tell him. then kasigi said, "i don't think so. it's... it's about our petrochemical plant at bandar delam."
"the one lapan's building?" along with most everyone else in the gulf, scragger knew about the enormous $3.5 billion endeavor that, when completed, would easily be the biggest petrochemical complex in asia minor and the middle east, with a 300,000-ton ethylene plant as its heart. it had been building since '71 and was almost finished, 85 percent complete. "that's some plant!"
"yes. but it's being built by japanese private industry, not by the japanese government," kasigi said. "the iran-toda plant's privately financed."
"ah," scragger said, the connection falling into place. "toda shipping iran-toda! you're the same company?"
"yes, but we're only part of the japanese syndicate that put up the money and technical advice for the shah... for iran," kasigi corrected himself. all gods great and small curse this land, curse everyone in it, curse the shah for creating all the oil crises, curse opec, curse all the misbegotten fanatics and liars who live here. he glanced at the message again and was pleased to see his fingers were not shaking. it was in private code from his chairman, hiro toda.
it read: "urgent. due to absolute and continuous iranian intransigence, i have finally had to order all construction at bandar delam to cease. present cost overruns total $500 million and would probably go to 1 billion before we could begin production. present interest
payments are $495,000 daily. due to infamous secret pressure by 'broken sword,' our contingency plan 4 has been rejected. go to bandar delam urgently and give me a personal report. chief engineer director watanabe is expecting you. please acknowledge."
it's impossible to get there, kasigi thought crestfallen. and if plan 4 is rejected, we're ruined.
contingency plan 4 called for hiro toda to approach the japanese government
for low-interest loans to take up the shortfall, and at the same time, discreetly, to petition the prime minister to declare the iran-toda complex at bandar delam a
"national project." "national project" meant that the government formally accepted the vital nature of the endeavor and would see it through to completion. "broken sword" was their code name for hiro toda's personal enemy and chief rival, hidoyoshi ishida, who headed the enormously powerful group of trading companies under the general name of mitsuwari.
all gods curse that jealous, lying son of vermin, ishida, kasigi was thinking, as he said, "my company is only one of many in the syndicate."
"i flew over your plant once," scragger said, "going from our base to abadan. i was on a ferry, ferrying a 212. you've trouble there?"
"some temporary..." kasigi stopped and stared at him. pieces of a plan fell into place. "some temporary problems... important but temporary. as you know we've had more than our fair share of problems since the beginning, none of them our fault." first there was february '71 when twenty-three oil producers signed the opec price agreement, formed their cartel, and doubled the price to $2.16... then the yom kippur war of '73 when opec cut shipments to the united states and raised the price to $5.12. then the catastrophe of '74 when opec shipments were resumed but again at over double the price, $10.95, and the world recession began. "why the u.s. allowed opec to wreck the economy of the world when they alone had the power to smash it, we'll never know. baka! and now we're all in a perpetual pawn to opec, now our major supplier iran is in revolution, oil's almost $20 a barrel and we have to pay it, have to." he bunched his fist to smash it on the gunnel, then unclenched, disgusted with his lack of control. "as to iran-toda," he said, forcing outward calm, "like everyone else we found iranians very... very difficult to deal with in recent years." he motioned at the message. "my chairman asked me to go to bandar delam."
scragger whistled. "that's going to be dicey difficult."
"yes."
"is it important?"
"yes. yes, it is." kasigi left that hanging in the air, sure that scragger would suggest the solution. ashore the oil-soaked earth around the sabotaged valve complex still burned brightly. the fire truck was spreading foam now. they could see de plessey nearby, talking to legrande.
scragger said, "listen, old sport, you're an important client of de plessey, eh? he could fix a charter for you. we've a spare 206. if he agreed, all our aircraft are contracted to iranoil but to him in truth, perhaps we could get permission from air traffic control to fly you up the coast or if you could clear immigration and customs at lengeh, maybe we could nip you across the
gulf to dubai or al shargaz. from there perhaps you could get a flight into abadan or bandar delam. whichever, old sport, he could let us get you started."
"do you think he would?"
"why not? you're important to him."
kasigi was thinking, of course we're very important to him and he knows it. but i'll never forget that iniquitous $2-a-barrel premium. "sorry? what did you say?"
"i said, wot made you start the project anyway? it's a long way from home and had to be nothing but trouble. wot started you?"
"a dream." kasigi would like to have lit a cigarette but smoking was only allowed in certain fireproofed areas. "eleven years ago, in '68, a man called banjo kayama, a senior engineer working for my company and kinsman of our president, hiro toda, was driving through the oil fields around abadan. it was his first visit to iran and everywhere he went he saw jets of natural gas being flared off. he had a sudden thought: why can't we turn that wasted gas into petrochemicals? we've the technology and the expertise and a long-rangeplanning attitude. japanese skill and money married to iranian raw materials that presently are totally wasted! a brilliant idea unique and another fist! the feasibility planning took three years, quite long enough, though jealous rivals claimed we went too quickly, at the same time they tried to steal our ideas and tried to poison others against us. but the toda plan correctly went forward and the $3.5 billion raised. of course, we're only a part of the gyokotomo-mitsuwari-toda syndicate, but toda ships will carry lapan's share of the products that our industries desperately need." if ever we can finish the complex, he thought disgustedly.
"and now the dream's a nightmare?" scragger asked. "didn't i hear... wasn't it reported that the project was running out of money?"
"enemies spread all sorts of rumors." under the ever-present drone of the ship's generators, his ears heard the beginning of a scream that he had been expecting surprised it had been so long arriving. "when de plessey comes back aboard, will you help me?"
"glad to. he's the man who c " scragger stopped. again the thin edge of the scream. "burns must be terrible painful."
kasigi nodded.
another gush of flame took their attention to the shore. they watched the men there. now the fire was almost under control. another scream. kasigi dismissed it, his mind on bandar delam and the teleprinter reply he should make at once to hiro toda. if anyone can solve our problem it's hiro toda. he has to solve it if he doesn't, i'm ruined, his failure becomes mine.
"kasigi-san!" it was the captain calling from the bridge.
"hal?"
scragger listened to the stream of japanese from the captain, the sound of the japanese not pleasing to his ears.
kasigi gasped. "domo," he shouted back, then, urgently to scragger all else forgotten, "come on!" he led the rush to the gangway. "the iranian you remember, the one you threw out of the chopper? he's a saboteur and he's planted an explosive device below."
scragger followed kasigi through the hatchway, down the gangway two steps a time, rushed along the corridor, and down another deck and another and then he remembered the screams. i thought they came from the bridge and not from below! he told himself. wot did they do to him?
they caught up with the captain and his chief engineer. two angry seamen half shoved, half dragged the petrified saiid ahead of them. tears ran down his face and he was jabbering incoherently, one hand holding his pants up. he stopped, trembling and moaning, and pointed at the valve. the captain squatted on his haunches. very carefully he reached behind the huge valve. then he stood up. the plastic explosive just covered his hand. the timing device was chemical, a vial embedded in it and taped strongly in place.
"turn it off," he said angrily in hesitant farsi and held it out to the man who backed off, jabbering and screaming, "you can't turn it off. it's overdue to explode... don't you understand!"
the captain froze. "he says it's overdue!"
before he could move, one of the seamen grabbed it out of his hand and half dragging saiid with him, half smashing him ahead, rushed for the gangway there were no portholes on this deck but there were on the next. the nearest porthole was in a corner of the corridor, clamped shut by two heavy metal wing nuts. he almost flung saiid at it, shouting at him to open it. with his free hand he began unscrewing one of them. the swing bolt fell away, then saiid's. the seaman swung the port open. at that second the device exploded and blew both his hands off and most of his face and tore saiid's head apart and splattered the far bulkhead with blood.
the others charging up from below were almost blown backward down the gangway. then kasigi went forward and knelt beside the bodies. numbly he shook his head.
the captain broke the silence. "karma," he muttered.
at tehran: 8:33 p.m. after tom lochart had left mciver near their of lice he had driven home a few diversions, some angry police but nothing untoward. home was a fine penthouse apartment in a modern six-story building, in the
best residential area a wedding present from his father- in-law. sharazad was waiting for him. she threw her arms around him, kissed him passionately, begged him to sit in front of the fire and take his shoes off, rushed to fetch some wine that was iced exactly as he liked, brought him a snack, told him that dinner would be ready soon, ran into the kitchen and in her lilting, liquid voice, urged their maid and the cook to hurry for the master was home and hungry, then came back and sat at his feet the floor beautifully and heavily carpeted her arms around his knees, adoring him. "oh, i'm so happy to see you, tommy, i've missed you so much," her english lovely. "oh, i've had such an interesting time today and yesterday."
she wore light silk persian trousers and a long loose blouse and was, for him, achingly beautiful. and desirable. her twenty-third birthday was in a few days. he was forty-two. they had been married almost a year and he had been spellbound from the first moment he had seen her.
James Clavell - Whirlwind Page 23