James Clavell - Whirlwind

by Whirlwind(Lit)

  she leaned back against the basin, facing her nemesis.

  "first we go to the french club," he said. "you will get the rest of the material and give it to me. clear?"

  "yes."

  "from now on you will work for us. secretly. you will work for us. agreed?"

  "do i have a choice?"

  "yes. you can die. badly." the man's lips thinned even more and his eyes became reptilian. "after you have died, a child by the name of yassar bialik will receive attention."

  all color left her face.

  "ah, good! then you remember your little son who lives with your uncle's family in beirut's street of the flower merchants?" the man stared at her, then demanded, "well, do you?"

  "yes, yes, of course," she said, barely able to talk. impossible for them to know about my darling yassar, even my husband doesn't kn

  "what happened to the boy's father?"

  "he... he was killed... he was... killed."

  "where?"

  "in... the golan heights."

  "sad to lose a young husband just a few months married," the man said thinly. "how old were you then?"

  "sev... seventeen."

  "your memory does not fail you. good. now if you choose to work for us, you and your son and uncle and his family are safe. if you do not obey us perfectly, or if you try to betray us, or commit suicide, the boy yassar will cease to be a man and cease to see. clear?"

  helplessly she nodded, her face ashen.

  "if we die, others will make sure we are avenged. do not doubt it. now, what's your choice?"

  "i will serve you," and make my son safe and be avenged but how, how?

  "good, on the eyes and balls and cock of your son you will serve us?"

  "yes. pl... please, who... who do i serve?"

  both men smiled. without humor. "never ask again or try to find out. we will tell you when it is necessary, if it is necessary. clear?"

  "yes."

  the man with the gun unscrewed the silencer and put it and the gun into his pocket. "we want to know immediately when either the frenchman or lochart return you will make it your duty to find out also how many helicopters they have here in tehran and where. clear?"

  "yes. how do i get in touch with you, please?"

  "you will be given a phone number." the eyes flattened even more. "for yourself alone. clear?"

  "yes."

  "where does armstrong live? robert armstrong?"

  "i don't know." warning signals rushed through her. rumorhad it that armstrong was a trained assassin employed by mi6.

  "who is george telbot?"

  "talbot? he's an official in the british embassy."

  "what official? what's his job?"

  "i don't know, just an official."

  "are either of them your lovers?"

  "no. they... they go to the french club sometimes. acquaintances."

  "you will become armstrong's mistress. clear?"

  "i... i will try."

  "you have two weeks. where is lochart's wife?"

  "i... i think at the bakravan family house near the bazaar."

  "you will make sure. and get a key to the front door." the man saw her eyes flicker and hid his amusement. if that goes against your scruples, he thought, never mind. soon you'll be eating shit with great joy if we wish it. "get your coat, we go at once."

  her knees were weak as she went across the bedroom, heading for the front door.

  "wait!" the man stuffed the contents back into her handbag and then, as an afterthought, carelessly wrapped that which was on the pillow in one of her paper tissues and put that also into the handbag. "to remind you to obey."

  "no, please." her tears flooded. "i can't... not that."

  the man shoved the handbag into her hands. "then get rid of it."

  in misery she staggered back to the bathroom and threw it into the squatter and was very sick again, more than before.

  "hurry up!"

  when she could make her legs work she faced him. "when the others... when they come back and find... if i'm not here they... they will know that... that i'm part of those who... who did this and..."

  "of course. do you think we're fools? do you think we're alone? the moment the four of them return they're dead and this place conflagrated."

  at mciver's apartment: 4:20 p.m. ross said, "i don't know, mr. gavallan, i don't remember much after i left azadeh on the hill and went into the base, more or less up to the time we got here." he was wearing one of

  pettikin's uniform shirts and a black sweater and black trousers and black shoes and was shaved and neat, but his face showed his utter exhaustion. "but before that, everything happened as... as i told you."

  "terrible," gavallan said. "but, thank god for you, captain. but for you the others'd be dead. without you they'd all be lost. let's have a drink, it's so damned cold. we've some whisky." he motioned to pettikin. "charlie?"

  pettikin went to the sideboard. "sure, andy."

  "i won't, thanks, mr. mciver," ross said.

  "i'm afraid i will and the sun's not over the yardarm," mciver said.

  "so will i," gavallan said. the two of them had arrived not long ago, still shaken from their almost disaster and worried because at the bakravan house they had used the iron door knocker again and again but to no avail. then they had come here. ross, dozing on the sofa, had almost leaped out of sleep when the front door opened, kookri threateningly in his hand.

  "sorry," he had said shakily, sheathing the weapon.

  "that's all right," gavallan had pretended, not over his fright. "i'm andrew gavallan. hi, charlie! where's azadeh?"

  "she's still asleep in the spare bedroom," pettikin answered.

  "sorry to make you jump," gavallan had said. "what happened, captain, at tabriz?"

  so ross had told them, disjointedly, jumping back and forth until he had finished. exploding out of heavy sleep had disoriented him. his head ached, everything ached, but he was glad to be telling what had happened, reconstructing everything, gradually filling in the blank parts, putting the pieces into place. except azadeh. no, i can't put her in place yet.

  this morning when he had come out of a malevolent wake-sleep dream, he had been terrified, everything mixed up, jet engines and guns and stones and explosions and cold, and staring at his hands to make sure what was dream and what was real. then he had seen a man peering at him and had cried out, "where's azadeh?"

  "she's still asleep, captain ross, she's in the spare room down the hall," pettikin had told him, calming him. "remember me? charlie pettikin doshan tappeh?"

  searching his memory. things coming back slowly, hideous things. big blanks, very big. doshan tappeh? what about doshan tappeh? going there to hitch a chopper ride and..."ah, yes, captain, how are you? good to... to see you. she's asleep?"

  "yes, like a baby."

  "best thing, best thing for her to sleep," he had said, his brain still not working easily.

  "first a cuppa. then a bath and shave and i'll fix you up with some clothes

  and shaving gear. you're about my size. you hungry? we've eggs and some bread, the bread's a bit stale."

  "oh, thanks, no, no, i'm not hungry you're very kind."

  "i owe you one no, at least ten. i'm damned pleased to see you. listen, much as i'd like to know what happened... well, mciver's gone to the airport to pick up our boss, andy gavallan. they'll be back shortly, you'll have to tell them so i can find out then so no questions till then, you must be exhausted."

  "thanks, yes it's... it's still all a bit... i can remember leaving azadeh on the hill, then almost nothing, just flashes, dreamlike, until i woke a moment ago. how long have i been asleep?"

  "you've been out for about sixteen hours. we, that's nogger and our two mecs, half carried you both in here and then you both passed out. we put you and azadeh to bed like babies mac and i. we undressed you, washed part of the muck off, carried you to bed not too gently by the way but you never woke up, either of you."

  "she
's all right? azadeh?"

  "oh, yes. i checked her a couple of times but she's still flat out. what did... sorry, no questions! first a shave and bath. 'fraid the water's barely warm but i've put the electric heater in the bathroom, it's not too bad..."

  now ross was watching pettikin who was handing the whisky to mciver and to gavallan. "sure you won't, captain?"

  "no, no thanks." without noticing it he felt his right wrist and rubbed it. his energy level was ebbing fast. gavallan saw the man's tiredness and knew there was not much time. "about erikki. you can't remember anything else to give us an idea where he might be?"

  "not any more than i've told you. azadeh may be able to help the soviet's name was something like certaga, the man erikki was forced to work with up by the border as i said they were using her as a threat and there was some complication about her father and a trip they were going to make together sorry, i can't remember exactly. the other man, the one who was friends with abdollah khan was called mzytryk, petr oleg." that reminded ross about vien rosemont's code message for the khan, but he decided that was none of gavallan's business, nor about all the killing, nor about shoving the old man in front of the truck on the hill, nor that one day he would go back to the village and hack off the head of the butcher and the kalandar who, but for the grace of god or the spirits of the high land, would have stoned her and mutilated him. he would do that after the debriefing when he saw armstrong, or talbot, or the american colonel, but before that he would ask them who had betrayed the operation at mecca. someone had. for a moment the thought of rosemont and tenzing and gueng blinded him. when the mist cleared, he

  saw the clock on the mantelpiece. "i have to go to a building near the british embassy. is that far from here?"

  "no, we could take you if you like."

  "could that be now? sorry, but i'm afraid i'll pass out again if i don't get with it."

  gavallan glanced at mciver. "mae, let's go now... perhaps i can catch talbot. we'll still have time to come back to see azadeh, and nogger if he's here."

  "good idea."

  gavallan got up and put on his heavy coat.

  pettikin said to ross, "i'll lend you a coat and some gloves." he saw his eyes stray down the corridor. "would you like me to wake azadeh?"

  "no, thanks. i'll... i'll just look in."

  "it's the second door on the left."

  they watched him go along the corridor, his walk noiseless and catlike, open the door noiselessly and stand there a moment and close it again. he collected his assault rifle and the two kookris, his and gueng's. he thought a moment, then put his on the mantelpiece.

  "in case i don't get back," he said, "tell her this's a gift, a gift for erikki. for erikki and her."

  at the palace of the khan: 5:19 p.m. the kalandar of abu mard was on his knees and petrified. "no, no, highness, i swear it was the mullah mahmud who told us't "

  "he's not a real mullah, you son of a dog, everyone knows that! by god, you... you were going to stone my daughter?" the khan shrieked, his face mottled, his breath coming in great pants, "you decided? you decided you were going to stone my daughter?"

  "it was him, highness," the kalandar whimpered, "it was the mullah who decided after questioning her and her admitting adultery with the saboteur..."

  "you son of a dog! you aided and abetted that false mullah... liar! ahmed told me what happened!" the khan propped himself on his bed pillows, a guard behind him, ahmed and other guards close to the kalandar in front of him, najoud, his eldest daughter, and aysha, his young wife, seated to one side trying to hide their terror at his rage and petrified that he would turn on them. kneeling beside the door still in his travel-stained clothes and filled with dread was hakim, azadeh's brother, who had just arrived and had been rushed here under guard in response to the khan's summons, and who had listened

  with equal rage to ahmed relating what had happened at the village.

  "you son of a dog," the khan shouted again, his mouth salivating. "you let... you let the dog of a saboteur escape... you let him drag my daughter off with him... you harbor the saboteur and then... then you dare to judge one of my my family and would stone... without seeking my my approval?"

  "it was the mullah..." the kalandar cried out, repeating it again and again.

  "shut him up!"

  ahmed hit him hard on one of his ears, momentarily stunning him. then dragged him roughly back onto his knees and hissed, "say one more word and i'll cut your tongue out."

  the khan was trying to catch his breath. "aysha, give me... give me one of those... those pills..." she scurried over, still on her knees, opened the bottle and put a pill into his mouth and wiped it for him. the khan kept the pill under his tongue as the doctor had told him and in a moment the spasm passed, the thundering in his ears lessened, and the room stopped weaving. his bloodshot eyes went back onto the old man who was whimpering and shaking uncontrollably. "you son of a dog! so you dare to bite the hand that owns you you, your butcher, and your festering village. ibrim," the khan said to one of the guards. "take him back to abu mard and stone him, have the villagers stone him, stone him, then cut off the hands of the butcher."

  ibrim and another guard pulled the howling man to his feet, smashed him into silence, and opened the door, stopped as hakim said harshly, "then burn the village!"

  the khan looked at him, his eyes narrowed. "yes, then burn the village," he echoed and kept his eyes on hakim who looked back at him, trying to be brave. the door closed and now the quiet heightened, broken only by abdollah's labored breathing. "najoud, aysha, leave!" he said.

  najoud hesitated, wanting to stay, wanting to hear sentence pronounced on hakim, gloating that azadeh had been caught in her adultery and was therefore due punishment whenever she was recaptured. good, good, good. with azadeh they both perish, hakim and the redhead of the knife. "i will be within instant call, highness," she said.

  "you can go back to your quarters. aysha you wait at the end of the corridor." both women left. ahmed closed the door contentedly, everything going as planned. the other two guards waited in silence.

  the khan shifted painfully, motioning to them. "wait outside. ahmed, you stay." when they had gone and there were just the three of them in the big, cold room he turned his gaze back to hakim. "burn the village, you said. a good idea. but that doesn't excuse your treachery, or your sister's."

  "nothing excuses treachery against a father, highness. but neither azadeh nor i have betrayed you or plotted against you."

  "liar! you heard ahmed! she admitted fornicating with the saboteur, she admitted it."

  "she admitted 'loving' him, highness, years and years ago. she swore before god she had never committed adultery or betrayed her husband. never! in front of those dogs and sons of dogs and worse, that mullah of the left hand, what should the daughter of a khan say? didn't she try to protect your name in front of that godless mob of shit?"

  "still twisting words, still protecting the whore she became?"

  hakim's face went ashen. "azadeh fell in love as mother fell in love. if she's a whore, then you whored my mother!"

  blood surged back into the khan's face. "how dare you say such a thing!"

  "it's true. you lay with her before you were married. because she loved you she let you secretly into her bedroom and so risked death. she risked death because she loved you and you begged her. didn't our mother persuade her father to accept you, and persuade your father to allow you to marry her, instead of your older brother who wanted her as a second wife for himself?" hakim's voice broke, remembering her in her dying, him seven, azadeh six, not understanding very much, only that she was in terrible pain from something called "tumor" and outside, in the courtyard, their father abdollah beset with grief. "didn't she always stand up for you against your father and your older brother and then, when your brother was killed and you became heir, didn't she heal the breach with your father?"

  "you can't... can't know such things, you were... you were too young!"

&
nbsp; "old nanny fatemeh told us, she told us before she died, she told us everything she could remember..."

  the khan was hardly listening, remembering too, remembering his brother's hunting accident he had so deftly engineered old nanny might have known about that too and if she did then hakim knows and azadeh knows, all the more reason to silence them. remembering, too, all the magic times he had had with napthala the fair, before and after marriage and during all the days until the beginning of the pain. they had been married not even one year when hakim was born, two when azadeh appeared, napthala just sixteen then, tiny, physically a pattern of aysha but a thousand times more beautiful, her long hair like spun gold. five more heavenly years, no more children, but that never mattered, hadn't he a son at long last, strong and upright where his three sons from his first wife had all been born sickly, soon to die, his four daughters ugly and squabbling. wasn't his wife still only twenty- two, in good health, as strong and as wonderful as the two children she had already birthed? plenty of time for more sons.