mciver felt the knot tightening around them all lochart, pettikin, him. don't lose your wits, he ordered himself, be careful. you daren't admit anything. don't admit anything. "far as i know tom was nowhere near hbc."
"liar!" the young man said enraged and spilled out what he had concluded all the way here, walking, fighting on a bus, walking again, snow falling and cold and desperate the komiteh still to appear before. "you must've signed the clearance, you or pettikin, and tom's name's got to be on the clearance i know you all too well, you and your hammering into us about flying by the book, signing forms, always have a form signed. you did, didn't you? didn't you?" he shouted.
"i think you'd better go, captain," mciver said curtly.
"you're as involved as tom, don't you see? you're in trouble as mu "
"i think you'd better leave it. i know you're overwrought and it's terrible about your father," he said kindly. "i'm truly, terribly sorry."
there was no sound but the gentle hum of the hf and the generator that
was above on the roof. mciver waited. karim waited. then the young man half nodded. "you're right," he said crestfallen, "why should you trust me? trust's gone away from us. our world's become hell on earth and all because of the shah. we trusted him but he failed us, gave us false allies, muzzled our generals, ran away and left us in the pit, shamed, left us to false mullahs. i swear by god you can trust me but what difference does that make to you or anyone? trust's gone from us." his face twisted. "perhaps god's gone from us." the hf in the other room crackled gently, static from an electrical storm somewhere. "can you get zagros? sharazad said tom went back this morning."
"i tried earlier but can't raise them," mclver said truthfully. "this time of the year it's almost impossible but i heard they arrived safely. our base in kowiss relayed a report just after noon."
"you'd... you'd better tell tom, tell him what i told you. tell him to get out." karim's voice was dulled. "you're all blessed, you can all go home." then his despair burst and tears spilled down his cheeks.
"oh, laddie..." compassionately mclver put an arm around his shoulders and gentled him, the youth of an age with his own son safe in england, safely born english, safe on the ground, a doctor and nothing to do with flying, safe... god in heaven, who the hell is ever safe?
in a little while he felt the heaving of the youth's chest lessen. to save karim's face, he backed off and turned and looked at the kitchenette. "i was just going to have some tea, will you join me?"
"i'll... just have some water and then, then i'll go, thank you."
at once mclver went to fetch some. poor lad, he was thinking, how terrible about his father such a wonderful fellow, tough, hard-line but straight and loyal and never a fiddle on the side. terrible. god almighty, if they'll shoot him, they'll shoot anyone. we'll all be dead soon, one way or another. "here," he said, sickened, giving karim the glass.
the youth accepted it, embarrassed that he had lost control in front of a foreigner. "thank you. good night." he saw mclver staring at him strangely. "what is it?"
"lust a sudden idea, karim. could you get access to doshan tappeh tower?"
"i don't know. why?"
"if you could, without anyone knowing what you wanted, maybe you could get hbc's clearance it's got to be in the takeoff book, if they were using one that day. then we could see, couldn't we, who was flying her. eh?"
"yes, but what good would that do?" karim watched the pale eyes set in the craggy face. "they'd have the automatic tape recorders on."
"maybe, maybe not. there'd been fighting there maybe they were not so efficient. far as we know, whoever took hbc didn't have verbal clearance to or from the tower. he just took off. maybe in all the excitement they didn't
even record any clearance." mclver's hope grew as he developed his thought. "only the book'd tell, the takeoff clearance book. wouldn't it?"
karim tried to see where mclver was leading him. "and what if it says tom lochart?"
"i don't see how it could, because then it'd have my signature on it, and then it'd, er, it'd have to be a forgery." mclver loathed the falsehoods, his hastily made-up story sounding weaker every minute. "the only clearance i signed was for nogger lane to take some spares to bandar delam but canceled it and him before he could go. the spares were unimportant and what with one thing and another, by that time hbc'd been hijacked."
"the clearance's the only proof?"
"only god knows that for certain. if the clearance says tom lochart and it's signed by me, it's a forgery. a forgery like that could cause lots of troubles. as such it shouldn't exist. should it?"
slowly karim shook his head, his mind already taking him to the tower, past the guards would there be guards.9 finding the book and the right page and seeing... seeing the green band in the doorway but killing him, taking the book and hurrying away, as silently and secretly as he had entered, going to the ayatollah, telling him about the monstrous crime committed against his father, the ayatollah wise and listening and not like the dogs who abused the word, at once ordering revenge in the name of the one god. then going to meshang and telling him the family was saved, but more important, knowing the sharazad he loved to distraction and wanted to distraction but never possible in this life first cousin and against koranic law was also saved.
"the clearance shouldn't exist," he said, very tired now. he got up. "i'll try. yes, i'll try. what happened to tom?"
behind mciver the telex began to chatter. both jumped. mclver put his attention back on karim. "when you see him ask him, that's the right thing to do. isn't it? you ask tom."
"salaam."
they shook hands and he left and mciver relocked the door. the telex was from genny in al shargaz: "hello number one child. talked at length with chinaboy who arrives tomorrow night, monday, and will be on the 125 to tehran, tuesday. he says imperative you meet him for conference at airport. all arrangements made here for repairs on the 21 2s and fast turnaround. acknowledge. 'llalked to kids in england and all's well. i'm having a wonderful time here, whooping it up and on the town, glad you're not here, why aren't you? macallister."
macallister was her maiden name and she used it only when she was very pissed off with him. "good old gen," he said aloud, the thought of her making him feel better. glad she's safe and out of this mess. glad she called the kids, that'll make her happy. good old gen. he reread the telex. what the hell's imperative with andy? i'll know soon enough. at least we're in touch through al shargaz. he sat at the secretary chair and began to type out the acknowledgment.
at dusk he had got a telex from hq in aberdeen, but it had arrived garbled. only the signature was legible: gavallan. at once he had telexed for a repeat and had been waiting ever since. tonight radio reception was also bad. there were rumors of big snowstorms in the mountains and the bbc world service, fading badly and worse than usual, told of huge storms across all of europe and the east coast of america, terrible floods in brazil. news had been generally rotten: strikes continuing in britain, heavy fighting inside vietnam between chinese and vietnamese armies, a rhodesian airliner coming in to land shot down by guerrillas, carter expected to order gasoline rationing, soviets testing a fifteen-hundred-mile cruise missile, and in iran, "chairman yasir arafat met ayatollah khomeini in a tumultuous welcome, the two leaders embraced publicly, and the plo took over israeli mission headquarters in tehran. four more generals were reported shot. heavy fighting continues in azerbaijan between pro- and anti-khomeini forces, prime minister bazargan ordered the u.s. to close two radar listening posts on the iran-soviet border, and arranged a meeting with the soviet ambassador and ayatollah khomeini in the next few days to discuss outstanding differences..."
depressed, mciver had turned the set off, the strain of trying to sift the news from the static had given him a worse headache. he had had one all day. it had started after his meeting this morning with minister ali kia. kia had accepted the notes on a swiss bank, "license fees" for the three 212 departures, and also for six la
ndings and takeoffs for the 125 and had promised to find out about the zagros expulsions: "tell the zagros komiteh meanwhile their order is overruled by this department pending investigation."
fat lot of good that'll do when you're looking down the barrel of a gun! he thought. wonder how erikki and nogger are doing now? this afternoon a telex relayed by tabriz atc from iran-timber had come in: "captains yokkonen and lane are required here for emergency work for three days. usual terms for the charter. thanks." it was signed as usual by the area manager and a normal request. better for nogger than sitting on his butt, mclver had thought. wonder what azadeh's father wanted her for?
promptly at 7:30 p.m. kowiss had come through but transmission was barely two by five, just enough to be partially audible, and heterodyning badly. freddy ayre reported that starke had returned unharmed.
"thank god for that!"
"say ag... i'm read g you one by five, cap ver."
"i say again," he said slowly and carefully. "tell starke i'm very glad he's back. he's okay?"
" lain starke swered quesitch orily."
"say again, kowiss."
"i say again, capt arke answ. uestions of the itch sa "
"you're one by five. try again at 9:00 a.m.; even better i'll be here late and i'll try around eleven."
"understand yo..... ry later.. ound.. ieven tonight?"
"yes. around eleven tonight."
"capt hart and jean-luc arrivzagro ree safely"
the rest of the transmission was incomprehensible. then he had settled back to wait. while he waited he slept a little and read a little and now, sitting at the telex machine, again he glanced at his watch: 10:30 rm.
"soon as this's done, i'll call kowiss," he said out loud. carefully he finished the telex to his wife adding for manuela's sake that everything was fine at kowiss it is, he thought, so long as starke's back and he's okay, and the lads okay.
he fed the hole-punched tape into the cogged sender, typed the number for al shargaz, waited interminably for the answer back, then pressed the transmit button. the tape chattered through the cogs. another long wait but the al shargaz accept code came up.
"good." he got up and stretched. in the desk drawer were his pills and he took the second of the day. "god-cursed blood pressure," he muttered. his pressure was 160 over 115 at his last medical. the pills brought it down to a comfortable 135 over 85: "but listen, mac, that doesn't mean you can swill the whisky, wine, eggs, and cream your cholesterol's up too..."
"what bloody whisky and cream, for christ's sake, doc? this's iran..."
he remembered how foul-tempered he had been and when genny said, "how was it?"
"great," he had said, "better than last time and don't bloody nag!" the hell with it! nothing i can do that i'm not doing but i certainly could use a large whisky and soda and ice and then another one. normally there would be a bottle in the safe and ice and soda in the little refrigerator. now there was none. supplies zero. he made a cup of tea. what about karim and hbc? i'll think about that later: 11:00 rm.
"kowiss, this is tehran, do you read?" patiently he called and recalled and then stopped. in a quarter of an hour he tried again. no contact. "got to be the storm," he said, out of patience now. "to hell with it, i'll try from home."
he put on his heavy coat and went up the spiral staircase to the roof to check the level of generator fuel. the night was very black and quiet, hardly any gunfire and what there was was deadened by the snow. no lights anywhere that he could see. snow still fell gently, almost five inches since dawn. he brushed it off his face and shone the flashlight on the gauge. the level of fuel was all right but somehow they'd have to get another supply in the next few days. bloody nuisance. what about hbc? if karim could get the book and
the book could be destroyed, there'd be no evidence, would there? yes, but what about isfahan, refueling at isfahan?
lost in thought, he went back, locked up, and, using the flash to light his way, started down the five flights of stairs. he did not hear the telex chatter into life behind him.
in the garage he went to his car and unlocked it. his heart leaped as he saw a tall figure approaching. savak and hbc jumped into his head; he almost dropped the flash but the man was armstrong, dark raincoat and hat.
"sorry, captain mciver, i didn't mean to startle you."
"well, you bloody did," he said furiously, heart still pounding. "why the hell didn't you announce yourself or come up to the office instead of hiding in the bloody shadows like a bloody villain?"
"you might have had more visitors i saw one come out so i thought i'd just wait. sorry. please put the flash down."
angrily mciver did as he was asked since gavallan had pinpointed armstrong, he had searched his own memory but had no recollection of ever meeting him. "special branch and cid" did nothing to ease his dislike. "where the hell've you been? we expected you at the airport but you didn't show."
"yes, sorry about that. when does the 125 come back to tehran?"
"tuesday, god willing. why?"
"approximately when?"
"noon, why?"
"excellent. that would be perfect. i need to go to tabriz; could i and a friend charter her?"
"no way. i could never get a clearance and who's the friend?"
"i'll guarantee the clearance. sorry, captain, but it's very important."
"i heard there's heavy fighting in tabriz; it was on the news tonight. sorry, couldn't authorize that, it'd be an unnecessary risk to air crew."
"mr. talbot will be glad to add his request for assistance," armstrong said in the same quiet, patient voice.
"no. sorry." mciver turned away but was stopped at the sudden venom.
"before you go shall i ask you about hbc and lochart and your partner valik and his wife and two children?"
mciver was shock-still. he could see the chiseled face and the hard mouth and eyes that glittered in the reflected light from the flash. "i i don't know what you mean."
armstrong reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper and held it up to mciver's face. mciver directed the circle of light onto it. the paper was a photocopy of an entry in a clearance book. the writing was neat. "ep-hbc cleared at 0620 for an ihc charter to bandar delam, delivery of spares; pilot captain t. lochart, flight authorized by captain mciver." the
lower half of the paper was a photocopy of the actual clearance, signed by him with captain n. lane crossed out "sick," and captain t. lochart substituted. "a present, with my compliments."
"where did you get it?"
"when the 125 gets into tehran airspace, radio captain hogg that he's got an immediate charter to tabriz. you'll have the clearance in good time."
"no. i'll not se "
"if you don't arrange everything happily, and keep it all rather quiet just between us," armstrong said with such finality that mciver was quite frightened, "the originals of these go to savak renamed savama."
"that's blackmail!"
"it's barter." armstrong shoved the paper into his hand, began to leave.
"wait! where where are the originals?"
"not in their hands, for the moment."
"if if i do what you say, i get them back, all right?"
"you must be joking! of course you get nothing."
"that's not fair that's not bloody fair!"
armstrong came back and stood over him, his face a mask. "of course it's not fair. if you get these back you're out of the vise, aren't you? all of you. so long as these exist, you will do what's required of you, won't you?"
"you're a bloody bastard!"
"and you're a fool who should look after his blood pressure."
mciver gasped. "how d'you know about that?"
"you'd be astounded what i know about you and genevere macallister and andrew gavallan and the noble house and lots of other things that i haven't begun to use yet." armstrong's voice became rougher, his tiredness and anxiety taking away his control. "don't you bloody understand there's the very strong probabi
lity of soviet tanks and aircraft permanently stationed this side of hormuz and iran a bloody soviet province? i'm tired of playing silly buggers with you ostriches just do what i ask without arguing and if you don't i'll shop the bloody lot of you."
tuesday february 20
tabriz: 5:12 a.m. in the small hut on the edge of the khan's estate, ross was suddenly awake. he lay motionless, keeping his breathing regular but all of his senses concentrated. seemingly nothing untoward, just the usual insects and closeness of the room. through the window he could see that the night was dark, the sky mostly overcast. across the room on the other pallet, gueng slept curled up, breathing normally. because of the cold, both men had gone to bed with their clothes on. noiselessly ross went to the window and searched the darkness. still nothing. then, close to his ear, gueng whispered, "what is it, sahib?"
James Clavell - Whirlwind Page 78