James Clavell - Whirlwind

by Whirlwind(Lit)

  then, for an instant that watanabe noticed, kasigi's face fell to pieces as the answer came to him: because the immense overrun and management failure of the iran-toda complex, added to the disastrous slump in world shipping, will break toda shipping industries, will break hiro toda personally and lay us open to a takeover! takeover by whom? of course by yoshi gyokotomo. of course by that jumped-up peasant family who has hated us who are highborn, samurai-descended from ancient tim

  then again kasigi felt as though his brain was going to explode:

  of course by yoshi gyokotomo but aided and abetted of course by our arch rivals, mitsuwari industries! oh, gyokotomotll lose a fortune but they can sustain their portion of the loss while they grease the correct palms suggesting that they will jointly absorb toda's losses, dismember it, and with the benevolence of miti put it under proper management. with the todas will go their kinsmen: the kasigis and the kayamas. i might as well be dead.

  oh ho!

  and now i am the one who has to bring back the terrible news. watanabe's reports will prove nothing, for of course gyokotomo will deny everything, damning me for trying to accuse him and will shout from the rooftops that the watanabe reports prove conclusively hiro toda's mismanagement for years. so i'm in trouble either way. perhaps it was hiro toda's plan to put me in the middle of this mess! perhaps he wants to replace me with one of his brothers or neph

  at that moment there was a knock and the door burst open. watanabe's distraught young assistant came in hurriedly, apologising profusely for disturbing them. "oh, so sorry, watanabe-san, oh, yes, so sorr "

  "what is it?" watanabe said, bringing him up short.

  "a komiteh is arriving in strength, watanabe-san, kasigi-sama! look!" the white-faced young man pointed at the other windows that fronted the building.

  kasigi was there first. in front of the main door was a truck filled with revolutionaries, other trucks and cars following. men jumped out of them, began to collect in haphazard groups.

  scragger was approaching and they saw him stop, then go on again toward the main door, but he was waved away as a big mercedes drove up. out of its back came a heavyset man in black robes and a black turban with a white beard, accompanied by another much younger man, mustached, dressed in light clothes with an open-neck shirt. both wore glasses. watanabe sucked in his breath.

  "who are they?" kasigi asked.

  "i don't know, but an ayatollah means trouble. mullahs wear white turbans, ayatollahs wear black." surrounded by half a dozen guards the two men strode into the building. "bring them up here, takeo, ceremoniously." the young man rushed off at once. "we've only had one visit by an ayatollah, last year, just after the abadan fire. he called a meeting of all our iranian staff, harangued them for three minutes, then in the name of khomeini ordered them to strike." his face settled into a mask. "that was the beginning of our trouble here we expatriates have carried on as best we could ever since."

  "what now?" kasigi asked.

  watanabe shrugged, strode over to a bureau, and lifted up a framed photo of khomeini that kasigi had not noticed and hung it on the wall. "just for politeness," he said with a sardonic smile. "shall we sit down? they expect formality from us please take the head of the table."

  "no, watanabe-san. please, you are in charge. i am only a visitor."

  "as you wish." watanabe took his usual seat, and faced the door.

  kasigi broke the silence. "what was that about the abadan fire?"

  "ah, sorry," watanabe said apologetically, actually disgusted that kasigi did not know about that most important event. "it was last august, during their holy month of ramadan when no believer may take food or drink from sunup to sunset and tempers are normally thin. at that time there was only a small amount of national protest against the shah, mostly in tehran and qom, but nothing serious then and the clashes easily contained by police and savak. on august fifteenth arsonists set fire to a movie house, the rex cinema in abadan. all the doors 'happened' to be locked or jammed, firemen and police 'happened' to be slow arriving, and in the panic almost five hundred died, mostly women and children."

  "how terrible!"

  "yes. the whole nation was outraged. instantly savak was blamed, and therefore the shah, the shah blamed leftists and swore the police and savak had nothing to do with it. of course he set up an inquiry which went on for weeks. unfortunately it left the question of responsibility unresolved." watanabe was listening for the sound of footsteps. "that was the spark that united the warring opposing factions under khomeini and tore the pahlavis from their throne."

  after a pause kasigi said, "who do you think set fire to the cinema?"

  "who wanted to destroy the pahlavis? so easy to cry savak!" watanabe heard the elevator stop. "what're five hundred women and children to a fanatic of any persuasion?"

  the door was opened by the assistant takeo. the ayatollah and the civilian strode in importantly, six armed men crowding after them. watanabe and kasigi got up politely and bowed.

  "welcome," watanabe said in japanese though he could speak very good farsi. "i am naga watanabe, in charge here, this is mr. kasigi from our head office in japan. whom do i have the pleasure of addressing please?"

  takeo, who could speak perfect farsi, began to interpret but the civilian, who had already sat down, cut him short. "vous parlez francis?" he said rudely to watanabe.

  "iye" no watanabe said in japanese.

  "when stir, m'sieur," kasigi said hesitantly, his french mediocre. "je parle un pea, mais je parle anglais mieux, et m'sieur watanabe aussi." i speak a little french but i speak english better and mr. watanabe also.

  "very well," the man said curtly, his english parisian-accented. "then we will speak english. i am muzadeh, deputy minister for the abadan area for prime minister bazargan an "

  "but bazargan doesn't make the law, the imam does," the ayatollah interrupted him sharply. "the imam appointed bazargan temporary prime minister until, with the help of god, our islamic state is formed." he was in his late sixties, a round-faced man, his eyebrows as white as his beard, his black robe meticulous. "under the imam's leadership," he added pointedly.

  "yes, of course," muzadeh said, then went on as though there had been no interruption, "and i inform you officially that the iran-toda is now under our direct control. there will be a meeting in three days to organize controls and future operations. all previous shah-inspired, therefore illegal, contracts are voided. i will appoint a new controlling board, myself as chairman, workers representatives, one japanese worker and yourself. you w "

  "and myself, and a mullah from bandar delam," the ayatollah said, glaring at him.

  muzadeh angrily switched to farsi, "we can discuss the makeup of the committee later." there was an edge to his voice. "the important thing is to have the workers represented."

  "the important thing is to do the work of god."

  "in this the work of the people and the work of god is the same."

  "not if the 'work of the people' is a covert name for the work of satan!"

  all six of the iranian guards shifted uneasily. unconsciously they had regrouped into four and two. in the silence their eyes went from man to man seated at the table. one of the men quietly eased off a safety catch.

  "you were saying?" watanabe said quickly and almost added, banzai, with relief, as he saw everyone turn their attention back to him. "you wish to form a new committee?"

  "yes." with an effort muzadeh tore his gaze off the ayatollah and continued, "you will have all books ready for our perusal and you will be held responsible for any any problems whatsoever, past or future or crimes against iran, past or future."

  "we've been joint partners with the government of iran since the beg "

  "with the shah, not with the iranian people," muzadeh cut in. behind him the guards, youths, some teenagers, some hardly bearded, began muttering.

  "true, mr. muzadeh," watanabe said, unafraid. he had been through the same sort of confrontation many times in the past few
months. "but we are japanese. iran-toda is being built by japanese technicians with maximum help from iranian trainees and workers, it's paid for totally by japanese money."

  "that has noth "

  "yes, we know," the ayatollah said loudly but agreeably, overriding the other, "we know that and you're welcome in iran. we know japanese are not vile americans or insidious british, and though you're not muslim, unhappily for yourselves, your eyes not yet open to allah, we welcome you. but now, now with the help of god we have possessed our country back, now we must make... make new arrangements for future operations. our people will stay on here, asking questions. please cooperate with them you have nothing to fear. remember, we want the plant finished and operating as much as you. my name is ishmael ahwazi, and i am ayatollah of this area." he got up with an abruptness that made some of the men jump. "we will return on the fourth day from now!"

  muzadeh said in farsi hotly, "there are other orders for these foreign "

  but the ayatollah had already left. contemptuously muzadeh got up and stalked out, his men following.

  when they were quite alone kasigi allowed himself to take a handkerchief out and mop his brow. young takeo was shock-still. watanabe searched his pockets for his cigarettes but the pack was empty. he crushed the box. takeo

  came to life and hurried to a drawer and found a fresh pack, opened it, and offered it.

  "thank you, takeo." watanabe sat and accepted a light. "you can go now." he looked at kasigi. "so," he said, "now it begins again."

  "yes," kasigi said, the implications of a new komiteh committed to successful completion possessing him. "that's the best news we could have. that will be very welcome in japan." in fact, he thought with growing excitement, this news will take the curse off watanabe's reports and perhaps somehow we hiro toda and i together we can neutralize gyokotomo. and if, even better, hiro retired in place of his brother that would be perfect!

  "what?" he asked, seeing watanabe looking at him.

  "i didn't mean work begins again, kasigi-san," the chief engineer said sharply. "the new komiteh won't be any better than the other in fact it will be worse. with the partners the inevitable pishkesh opened doors and you knew where you were. but with these fanatics, these amateurs?" irritably watanabe ran his hand through his hair. all gods and spirits give me the strength not to curse this fool for his continual stupidity! he thought. be wise, calm yourself, he's only an ape, not as well born as you who are a direct descendant of the lords of the north.

  "the ayatollah lied, then?" kasigi's happiness vanished.

  "no. that poor fool believed what he said but nothing will happen. police and savak, whatever new name it will have, still control abadan and this area the locals are mostly arab, sunnis, not shiite iranians. i meant the killing begins again." watanabe explained the clash the two men had had in farsi. "now it's going to be much worse with every faction maneuvering for power."

  "these barbarians won't obey khomeini? won't disarm?"

  "i'm saying the leftists like muzadeh will carry on the war, aided and abetted by the soviets who are desperate to possess iran, have always wanted iran, will always want iran not for the oil but for the strait of hormuz. for with their foot on the strait they possess the western world and japan. as far as i'm concerned the west, america and the rest of the world, can rot, but we must go to war if the strait is prohibited to our ships."

  "i agree. of course i agree." kasigi was equally irritable. "we all know that. of course it means war while we depend on oil."

  "yes." watanabe smiled grimly. "ten years, no more."

  "yes." both men were aware of the enormous national effort in research projects, overt and covert, to develop the alternate source of energy that would make the japanese self-sufficient the national project. the source: the sun and the sea. "ten years, yes, for ten years only." kasigi was confident. "if we have ten years of peace and free access to the u.s. market then we'll have

  our alternate and then we'll own the world. but meanwhile," he added, his anger returning, "for the next ten years we have to kowtow to barbarians and bandits of every kind!"

  "didn't khrushchev say the soviets didn't have to do anything about iran because 'iran's a rotten apple that'll drop into our hands.'" watanabe was enraged. "i guarantee those dungeaters are shaking the tree with all their might."

  "we beat them once," kasigi said darkly, remembering the japanese- russian naval war of 1904 that his grandfather had served in. "we can do it again. that man muzadeh? perhaps he's just a progressive and antimullah they're not all fanatical khomeinites."

  "i agree, kasigi-san. but some're equally fanatic for their god lenin-marx and equally stupid. but i'd bet long odds muzadeh is one of those so- called intellectuals, an ex-french university student whose tuition was paid for by shah grants, who was adopted, trained, and fawned on by left-wing teachers in france. i spent two years in the sorbonne, doing a postgraduate degree. i know these intellectuals, these cretins and some of the teachers they tried to induct me. once wh "

  a short sharp burst of gunfire outside stopped him. for a moment both men were still, then they rushed for the window. four stories down the ayatollah and muzadeh were on the front steps. below them in the forecourt one man was threatening them with an automatic rifle, standing alone in the middle of a semicircle of other armed men, the rest were scattered nearer to the trucks, some of them shouting and all hostile. scragger was on the outskirts and as they watched they saw him ease into a better defensive position. the ayatollah raised his arms and exhorted them all. watanabe could not hear what the man was saying. carefully he opened a window and peered down.

  "he's saying, 'in the name of god give up your weapons, the imam has ordered it you've all heard his broadcast and message i say again, obey him and give up your weapons!'"

  there was more angry shouting and countershouting, men shaking their fists at one another. in the confusion they saw scragger slip away and vanish behind a building. watanabe leaned farther out, straining to hear better. "the man covering them with the gun... i can't see if he's wearing a green armband or not... ah, he isn't so he must be fedayeen or tudeh..."

  now in the forecourt there was a great silence. imperceptibly men began easing for a better position, all weapons armed, everyone eyeing his neighbor, all nerves jagged. the man covering the two of them raised his gun and bellowed at the ayatollah, "order your men to put down their guns!"

  muzadeh stepped forward, not wanting a confrontation here, knowing he was outnumbered. "stop it, hassan! you will st "

  "we didn't fight and our brothers didn't die to give our guns and power to mullahs!"

  "the government has power! the government!" muzadeh raised his voice even more. "everyone will keep their guns now but hand them into my office as i represent the new government and th "

  "you don't," the ayatollah shouted. "first, in the name of god, all nonlslamic guards will put their guns on the ground and go in peace. second, the government is subject to the revolutionary komiteh under the direct guidance of the lmam, and this man muzadeh is not yet confirmed so has no authority at all! obey or you will be disarmed!"

  "i am the government here!"

  "you are not!"

  "allah-u akbarrr!" someone shouted and pulled his trigger and hassan, the youth in the center of them all, took the burst in his back and pirouetted in his death dance. at once other guns went off and men dived for cover or turned on their neighbor. the battle was short and vicious. many died, but the men of muzadeh were heavily outnumbered. the green bands were ruthless. some of them had seized muzadeh and now had him on his knees in the dirt, begging for mercy.

  on the steps was the ayatollah. a spray of bullets had caught him in the chest and stomach and now he lay in a man's arms, blood marring his robes. a trickle of blood seeped from his mouth into his beard. "god is great... god is great..." he muttered, then let out a dribbling groan as pain took him.

  "master," the man holding him said, tears running down his cheeks
, "tell god we tried to protect you, tell the prophet."

  "god... is... great..." he murmured.

  "what about this muzadeh?" someone else asked. "what shall we do with him?"

  "do god's work. kill him... kill him as you must kill all enemies of islam. there is no other god but god..."

  the order was obeyed instantly. cruelly. the ayatollah died smiling, the name of god on his lips. others wept openly envying him paradise.

  at kowiss air force base: 2:32 p.m. manuela starke was in the bungalow kitchen making chili. country music filled the small room from a battery cassette player on the windowsill. on the butane stove was a big stewpot filled with stock and some of the makings, and as it came to a boil she turned the gas to simmer and glanced at her wristwatch to gauge the time. just right, she thought. we'll eat around 7:00 rm. and candles will make the table pretty.