James Clavell - Whirlwind

by Whirlwind(Lit)

  "it'll all work out," mciver said, sick with worry.

  "sure, mac. no sweat."

  "yes, not to worry." when mciver had got back home to his apartment from all kia and the ministry, elated, tom lochart was there, arrived just moments before. his even greater joy at finding tom lochart safe was dashed at once by the look of him and by the news pettikin gave him about freddy ayre's relayed radio call from scot gavallan at zagros, and about starke being taken by the kowiss komiteh for questioning about "the isfahan escape."

  "it's all my goddamn fault, mac, all of it," tom lochart had said.

  "no, not your fault, tom. we were both trapped anyway i okayed the flight, not that it helped valik. were they all aboard; how the hell did you get out? tell us what happened, then i'll call freddy you'd like a drink?"

  "no, no, thanks. listen, mac, i've got to find sharazad. she wasn't home, i'm hoping she's at her folks' house and i've got t "

  "she's there, i know she's there, tom. erikki told me just before he left this morning for tabriz. did you hear about her father?"

  "yes, i have, awful, bloody awful! you're sure she's there?"

  "yes." mciver walked heavily over to the sideboard and fixed himself a drink as he continued: "she hasn't been at your flat since you left and she was fine until... erikki and azadeh saw her day before yesterday. yesterday they..."

  "did erikki say how she was?"

  "he said she was as well as could be expected you know how close iranian families are. we don't know anything about her dad other than what erikki told us that he had been ordered to the jail as a witness, and the next thing the family was told to pick up his body, he'd been been shot for 'crimes against islam.' erikki said they picked up the er, the body and, well, yesterday they were in mourning. sorry, but there you are." he took a deep swallow of the lovely, peat-tasting drink and felt a little better. "she's safe at home first tell us what happened to you, then i'll call freddy and we'll go and find sharazad."

  quickly lochart did so. they listened, appalled. "when rudi told me that this iranian air force officer, abbasi, was the one who shot down hbc i almost went mad. i, i kinda collapsed and the next thing i remember was the next day. abbasi and the others had gone by then and it was all sop. mac, charlie's idea about a 'hijack' that's not going to stand up no way!"

  "we know that, tom," mciver had said. "first finish your story."

  "i couldn't get a clearance to fly back so i borrowed a car, just got back a couple of hours ago and went straight to the apartment. the bastard of it is

  it's been confiscated by green bands, along with all mr. bakravan's property, except the shop in the bazaar and his family home."

  lochart told them what had happened, adding, "i'm i'm a waif in the storm. i've nothing now, we've nothing, sharazad and i." he laughed and it was a bad laugh and mciver could see that he was dying inside. "it's true it was jared's building, the apartment and everything in it, though... though part of sharazad's, er, dowry... let's go, huh, mac?"

  "first let me call freddy. th "

  "oh, of course, sure, sorry. i'm so worried i can't think straight."

  mclver finished his drink and went to the hf. he stared at it. "tom," he said sadly, "what do you want to do about zagros?"

  tom lochart hesitated. "i could take sharazad there with me."

  "too dangerous, laddie. sorry, but there it is." mclver saw lochart look into himself and measure himself, and sighed, feeling very old.

  "if sharazad's okay i'll go back with jean-luc tomorrow morning and we'll sort out zagros, and she goes on the next shuttle to al shargaz," lochart said. "depending on what we find at zagros... if we have to close down, insha'allah, we'll ferry all our riggers to shiraz to go out by regular flights their company'll tell them where they're to go and we'll move everything to kowiss, airplanes, spares, and personnel. okay?"

  "yes. meanwhile i'll get on to the ministry first thing tomorrow and see if i can straighten it out." mclver clicked on the sender. "kowiss, this is hq. do you read?"

  almost instantly: "hq this is kowiss, captain ayre, go ahead please, captain mclver."

  "first, about zagros three: tell captain gavallan that captains lochart and sessonne will be back tomorrow around noon with instructions. meanwhile prepare plans to obey the komiteh." rotten bloody sods, he thought, then went on for the benefit of those who were listening in: "the zagros iranoil base manager should remind the komiteh that the ayatollah and the government have specifically ordered oil production back to normal. closing down zagros will severely interfere with orderly production in that area. inform captain gavallan i will take this up at once with minister kia personally who, an hour ago, confirmed this to me, and gave me written approvals to take out and replace crew by our own 125 until..."

  "christ, mac, that's great news," came over the airwaves involuntarily.

  "yes... by our own 125 until regular service resumes. crew replacements and replacement aircraft to service all the extra work and guerney contracts the government are asking us to service, so i cannot understand the actions of the local komiteh. got it, captain ayre?"

  "yessing message received five by five."

  "has captain starke returned yet?"

  a long silence, then: "negative, hq."

  mclver's voice became even colder. "call me at once when he does. captain ayre, just between you and me and to go no further: if he has any problems whatsoever and isn't safe back at base by dawn, i will ground all our aircraft throughout iran, close down all our operations, and order 100 percent of all our personnel out of iran."

  "good, mac," pettikin said softly.

  mclver was too concentrated to hear him. "did you get that, kowiss?"

  silence, then: ''affirmative.''

  "as far as you're concerned," mclver added, developing his sudden thought, "inform major changiz and hotshot from me, i'm ordering you right now to cease all operations including all casevacs until starke's back on the base. got that?"

  silence, then: "affirmative. the message will be relayed at once."

  "good. but only the information that applies to your base. the rest's private until dawn." he smiled grimly, then added, "i'll be making an inspection trip as soon as the 125 returns so make sure all manifests are up to date. anything else?"

  "no, sir. not for the present. we'll look forward to seeing you and we'll listen out as usual."

  "hq over and out."

  pettikin said, "that should do it, mac, that'll put a hornet up their arses."

  "maybe, maybe not. we can't stop casevacs apart from humanitarian reasons that makes us illegal and they can steal everything." mclver finished his drink, glanced at his watch. "come on, tom, we won't wait for jean-luc, let's go and find sharazad."

  the traffic had lessened a little now but was still inching along, snow griming the windshield. the road was slippery and banked with dirty snow.

  "turn right at the next corner," lochart said.

  "okay, tom." they drove in silence again. mclver turned the corner. "tom, did you sign for the fuel at isfahan?"

  "no, no, i didn't."

  "anyone interview you, ask for your name, that sort of thing? green bands? anyone?"

  lochart pulled his mind off sharazad. "no, not that i remember. i was just 'captain' and part of the scenery. far as i remember i wasn't introduced to anyone. valik and... and annoush and the kids, they went off for lunch as soon as we landed with the other general christ, i can't even remember his name ah, yes, seladi, that was it. everyone called me 'captain' i was just

  a piece of the scenery. matter of fact i stayed with the chopper at the hangar all the time we were there, watching the refueling and checking her out they even brought me some food on a tray and i ate sitting in the cabin. i stayed there all the time until those goddamn green bands fell on me and dragged me off and locked me in the room. i had no warning, mac. they just enveloped the base, they must've been helped lavishly from inside, had to be. the bastards that grabbed me were all hopped
up, shouting i was cia, american they kept on about that, but they were more concerned about subduing the base than about me. take the left fork, mac. it's not far now."

  mclver drove on uneasily, the area very run down and passersby glaring at them. "maybe we could get away with it pretend hbc was hijacked from doshan tappeh by someone unknown. maybe they won't follow it up from isfahan."

  "then why did they grab duke starke?"

  "routine." mciver sighed heavily. "i know it's a long shot but it might work. maybe the 'american cia' will stick and that's all. grow a mustache, or beard, just in case."

  lochart shook his head. "that's no help. i'm on the first clearance. we both are... that's the kicker."

  "when you took off from doshan tappeh, who saw you off?"

  lochart thought a moment. "no one. i think it was nogger who supervised the fueling the day before. th "

  "that's right, i remember now, he was bitching, said i was giving him too much work with young paula in town. were there any iranian staff, guards there? did you pay anyone baksheesh?"

  "no, there was no one. but they could have me on their automatic recorders..." lochart peered out of the side window. his excitement picked up and he pointed. "there's the turning, not far now."

  mciver steered into the narrow street, just room for two cars to pass. snow banked the sides up to the high walls doors and doorways either side. mciver had never been here before and was surprised that bakravan, so rich, would live in an area so clearly poor. was rich, he reminded himself with an involuntary shiver, and now very dead for "crimes against the state" and what constitutes a crime against the state? again he shivered.

  "there's the door, there on the left."

  they stopped beside the snowbank heavy with refuse. the nondescript doorway was cut into the high, mildewed wall. the door was iron- banded, the iron rusty. "come on in, mac."

  "i'll wait for a moment, then if all's well i'll leave. i'm pooped." there's only one solution, mciver thought, and he reached out and stopped lochart. "tom, we've permission to fly out three 212s. you take one. tomorrow. the

  hell with zagros, jean-luc can cope with that. i don't know about sharazad, if they'll let her go or not, but you'd better get out, fast as you can. it's the only thing to do, get out while you can. we'll put her on the next 125 flight."

  "and you, what about you, mac?"

  "me? nothing to worry about. you get out if they'll let her go, take her too. jean-luc can handle zagros looks like we'll have to close down there anyway. all right?"

  lochart looked at him. "let me think about that one, mac. but thanks." he got out. "i'll be by just after dawn don't let jean-luc go without me. we can decide then, okay?"

  "yes." mciver watched his friend use the old-fashioned knocker. the sound was loud. both men waited, lochart nauseous with anxiety, preparing for the family surrounding him, the tears and the welcome and the questions, having to be polite when all he wanted was to take her off to their own rooms and hold her and feel safe and all the nightmare gone. waiting in front of the door. then knocking again, louder. waiting. mciver switching off to save gasoline, the silence making the waiting worse. snowflakes on the windshield building up. people passing like wraiths, everyone suspicious and hostile.

  muffled footsteps approached and the grilled peephole opened a fraction. the eyes that peered at lochart were cold and hard and he did not recognize the little part of the face he could see.

  "it's me, excellency lochart," he began in farsi, trying to sound normal. "my wife, the lady sharazad is here."

  the eyes peered closer to see if he was alone or accompanied, examining the car behind him and mciver in the driving seat. "please wait, agha."

  the peephole closed. again waiting, stamping his feet against the cold, waiting, then impatiently using the knocker again, wanting to smash the door down, knowing he couldn't. more footsteps. the peephole opened again. different eyes and face. "what's your name, agha?"

  lochart wanted to shriek at the man but he did not. "my name is agha pilot thomas lochart, husband of sharazad. open the door. it is cold and i'm tired and i have come for my wife."

  silently the peephole closed. a moment of agonized waiting, then to his relief he heard the bolts being pulled back. the door swung open. the servant held an oil lamp on high. beyond him was the high-walled courtyard, an exquisite fountain in the renter, trees and plants winter- protected. on the far side was another door, iron-studded. this door was open and he saw her silhouetted against the lamplight; he rushed forward and she was in his arms, weeping and moaning.

  the door on the street slammed closed and the bolts shoved home. "wait!"

  lochart called out to the servant, remembering mclver. then he heard the car start up and drive off.

  "what is it, agha?" the servant asked.

  "nothing," he said and helped sharazad into the house and into the warmth. when he saw her in the light, his happiness vanished and his stomach filled with ice. her face was puffy and dirty, her hair limp and dirty, eyes sightless, her clothes were crumpled.

  "jesus christ..." he muttered but she paid no attention, just clung to him demented, moaning a mixture of farsi and english, tears running down her cheeks. "sharazad, it's all right, all right now..." he said, trying to gentle her. but she just continued with her monotonous gibberish.

  "sharazad, sharazad, my darling. i'm back now... it's all right..." he stopped. it was almost as though he hadn't said anything and, suddenly, he was petrified that her mind had gone. he started to shake her gently but that had no effect either. then he noticed the old servant standing by the staircase, waiting for orders. "where's where's her highness bakravan?" he asked, sharazad's arms tight around his neck.

  "she's in her rooms, agha."

  "please tell her i'm here and... and that i'd like to see her."

  "oh, she'll see no one now, agha. no one. as god wants. she hasn't seen anyone since the day." tears glistened in the old eyes. "your excellency has been away, perhaps you won't know that his ex "

  "i heard. yes, i heard."

  "insha'allah, agha, insha'allah, but what crimes could the master commit? insha'allah that he should be chosen, insh "

  "insha'allah. please tell her highness... sharazad, stop it! come on, darling," he said in english, her moans maddening him, "stop it!" then in farsi to the servant, "please ask her highness to see me."

  "oh, yes, i'll ask her, agha, but her highness won't open the door nor answer me nor see you but i'll go at once and do your bidding." he began to leave.

  "wait, where is everyone?"

  "who, agha?"

  "the family? where's the rest of the family?"

  "ah, the family. her highness is in her rooms, the lady sharazad is here."

  again lochart felt his rage scourged by her moaning. "i mean where's excellency meshang and his wife and children and my sisters-in-law and their husbands?"

  "where else would they be but in their homes, agha?"

  "then tell excellency meshang i'm here," he said. meshang, the eldest son,

  and his family were the only ones semipermanently in residence here.

  "certainly, agha. as god wants, i'll go to the bazaar myself."

  "he's at the bazaar?"

  the old man nodded. "of course, agha, tonight he is, he and his family. now he is the master and has to run the business. as god wants, agha, he is head of the house of bakravan now. i'll go at once."

  "no, send someone else." the bazaar was close by and it would be no imposition. "is there anyone... sharazad, sharazad, stop it!" he said roughly, but she did not seem to have heard him. "is there hot water in the house?"

  "there should be, agha. the furnace is very good but it's not on."

  "you've no fuel?"

  "oh, there should be fuel, agha. would you like me to make sure?"

  "yes, put the furnace on and bring us some food, and tea."

  "certainly, agha. what is it his excellency's pleasure to have?"

  lochart
held on to his sanity with difficulty, her whimperings setting him even more on edge. "anything no, rice and horisht, chicken horisht," he said, correcting himself, naming a common and easy dish. "chicken horisht."

  "if you wish it, agha, but the cook prides himself on his chicken horisht and it will take him hours to make it to your satisfaction." politely the old man waited, eyes going from lochart to the girl and back again.

  "then... then, oh, for the love of god, just fruit. fruit and tea, whatever fruit you have..." lochart could stand it no longer and he lifted sharazad into his arms and went up the staircase and along the corridors to the rooms they usually used in this three-story, flat-roofed house that was palatial, rich, and meandering. he opened the door and kicked it closed.