James Clavell - Whirlwind

by Whirlwind(Lit)

  help of god we'll be at the airfield in a few minutes, captain scragger."

  "with the help of god we'll be there in one piece and not fifty." scragger would have preferred to drive but it had not been allowed, nor were any irantoda personnel allowed to drive themselves. "we've found it to be good policy, captain scragger, the roads and the rules and iranians being what they are," watanabe, the engineer in charge, had said. "but mohammed is one of our best drivers and very reliable. see you this evening."

  to scragger's relief he saw the airfield ahead. green bands guarded the gate. the driver paid them no attention, just barreled through and pulled up in a shower of water outside the two-story office building. "allah-u akbar," he said proudly.

  scragger exhaled. "allah-u akbar it is," he said, unlocked his seat belt, readying his umbrella as he looked around, his first time here. big apron and small tower, some windows smashed, others boarded up, the two-story office building derelict with more broken windows, s-g company trailers, good hangars now closed against the storm, with bullet holes all over and in the walls of the trailers. he whistled, remembering being told about the fight here between the green bands and the mujhadin. must've been a lot worse than duke let on, he thought.

  two royal iran air twin jet passenger airplanes were parked haphazardly the

  "royal" now crudely slashed out with black paint tires flat, cockpit windows smashed, and left to rot. "bloody sacrilege," he muttered, seeing the rain pouring into the cockpits.

  "minoru, me son, tell mohammed here not to move a muscle till we're ready to leave, okay?"

  minoru did as he was asked, then followed scragger out into the rain. scragger stood beside the car, not knowing where to go. then one of the trailer doors opened.

  "mein gott, scrag! i thought it was you what the helltre you doing here?" it was rudi lutz, beaming. then he saw starke join rudi and his heart picked up.

  "hi, me sons!" he shook hands warmly with both of them, all three talking together for a moment. "well, duke, this's a pleasant surprise!"

  "what the helltre you doing here, scrag?"

  "first things first, me son. this's minoru fuyama, radio mec with irantoda. my uhf was acting up on the way in i'm on a beaus charter from lengeh. minoru's pulled the box and it's in the car, can you replace her?"

  "no problem. come along, mr. fuyama." rudi went next door to find fowler joines to make the arrangements.

  "i'm damn glad to see you, scrag lots to talk about," starke said.

  "like weather problems and whirlwinds?"

  "yes, yes, i'd say the weather's been on my mind a lot." starke seemed older, his eyes ranging the base, the downpour even heavier than before, the day warm and tacky.

  "i saw manuela at al shargaz, she's same as usual, pretty as a picture anxious, but okay."

  rudi rejoined them, splashing through the rain, and led the way back into his office trailer. "you won't be flying in this mess, scrag. would you like a beer?"

  "no thanks, mate, but i'd love a cuppa." scragger said it automatically though his thirst for a cool beer was monumental. but ever since his first medical with dr. nutt just after he had sold sheik aviation to gavallan, and dr. nutt had said, "scrag, unless you quit smoking and cut down on the beer you'll be grounded in a couple of years," he had been extra careful. too bloody right, he thought. no fags, no booze, no food, and plenty of sheilas. "you still have supplies, rudi? at lengeh it's getting rough 'cept for de plessey and his wine."

  "i got some off a tanker that's tied up down at the port," rudi called back from the small kitchen, putting on the kettle. "casevac, seaman with his head and face smashed up. the captain said he'd had a fall but it looked more like a bad fight. not surprisingly really, the ship's been stuck at anchor for three months. mein gott, scrag, did you see the pileup in the port when you came in? must be a hundred ships waiting to unload, or to take on oil."

  "same at kharg and all along the coast, rudi, everywhere's clogged. wharfs sky-high with crates, bales, an' gawd knows what, all left rotting in the sun or rain. enough of that, wot're you doing here, duke?"

  "i ferried a 212 from kowiss yesterday. but for the weather i'dtve left at dawn glad i didn't now."

  scragger heard the caution in the voice and looked around. no one listening that he could see. "problem?" he saw starke shake his head. rudi turned on the music cassette. wagner. scragger hated wagner. "wot's up?"

  "just cautious these damn walls are too thin and i caught one of the staff eavesdropping. i think most of them are spies. then we've a new base manager, numir, nasty numi we call him. he's off today, otherwise you'd be explaining why you're here in triplicate." rudi made his voice lower. "there are whirlwinds to talk about. but what are you doing here, scrag? why didn't you call us?"

  "came into iran-toda yesterday on a charter for a guy called kasigi who's the big buyer of siri crude and a bigwig with iran-toda old georges de plessey arranged it. i'm here for today, leave tomorrow early. andy asked me to see you to sound you out and this was as soon as i could make it. i couldn't raise you on the uhf coming in could've been the storm, i just snuck in in

  time. couldn't get permission to fly over here, so i pulled a wire off the pot just in case and 'urgently needed a repair.' duke, andy told you wot we talked about in al shargaz?"

  "yes, yes, he did. and you better know there's a new twist. andy's been told we're being grounded pending nationalisation and we've only five days five safe days only. if we're to do it, at the latest it should be friday."

  "jesus h. christ!" scragger felt his chest tighten. "duke, there's no way i can get ready by friday."

  "andy says we take out 212s only."

  "eh?"

  starke explained what had happened at kowiss and what, hopefully, would happen "if andy pushes the go."

  "come off it not if, when. andy has to. the question is, do we stick our necks out?"

  starke laughed. "you already have. i said i'm in if everyone else is with two 212s it's possible for me, and now that... well, now that our birdstre back on british registry once we're out, that makes it legit."

  "the hell it does," rudi said. "it's just not legal. i told you last night and pop kelly agreed. scrag, how're "

  "pop's here?"

  "sure," starke said. "he came down with me." he explained why, then added, "hotshot approved the 'loan,' we got two guys out on the 125 and the rest scheduled for thursday but i'm not so sure about that. colonel changiz said in future all personnel movements're to be approved by him, not just by hotshot."

  "how're you getting back?"

  "i'll take a 206." starke looked out of the window at the rain. "goddamn front!"

  "she'll be through by tonight, duke," scragger said confidently.

  rudi said, "how're you going to get your men out, scrag? hein?"

  "if it's just my two 212s, that makes it much easier. much." scragger saw rudi quaff some of his ice-cold beer, the beads on the can glistening, and his thirst increased. "friday'd be a good day for a caper because iranians'll be at prayer meetings or whatever."

  "i'm not so sure, scrag," rudi said. "friday they still man the radar they'll have to know something's up with my four birds charging across the gulf, let alone your three and duke's two. abadan's itchy as all hell about choppers particularly after hbc."

  "there been any more inquiries about her, rudi?"

  "yes. last week abbasi came by, he's the pilot who blew her out of the sky. same questions, nothing more."

  "does he know his brother was hbc's pilot?"

  "not yet, scrag."

  "tom lochart was bloody lucky. bloody lucky."

  "we've all been 'bloody lucky.' so far," starke said. "except erikki." he brought scragger up to date with the little they knew.

  "christ, wot next? how're we going to do whirlwind with him still in iran?"

  "we can't scrag that's what i think," rudi said. "we can't leave him."

  "that's right but maybe..." starke drank some coffee, his own anxiety mak
ing him feel a little bilious. "maybe andy won't push the button. meanwhile we hope to god erikki gets away, or is let go before friday. then andy can. shit, if it was up to me, just me, god damned if i'd risk whirlwind."

  "nor me." rudi was equally queasy.

  "if they were all your planes and your company and your future, bet you would. know i would." scragger beamed. "me, i'm for whirlwind. i got to be for it, sport, no bloody company'll employ me at my age so i bloody have to keep dirty dunc and andy the gav in biz if i'm to keep flying." the kettle began singing. he got up. "i'll make it, rudi. wot about you? you in or out?"

  "me, i'm in if you two are, and if it's a possible but i like it not a bit and i'm telling you straight i'll only lead my four out if i really think we've a chance. we talked to the other pilots last night, scrag. marc dubois and pop kelly said they'd have a go, block and forsyth said thanks, but no thanks, so we've three pilots for four 212s. i've asked andy to send me a volunteer." rudi mirrored his disquiet. "but reissen mit scheissen! i'll have four to get airborne somehow, all at the same time, when we're supposed to have startup clearance with green bands all over the base, our radio op jahan no idiot, and then there's nasty numi..." his eyebrows soared.

  "you've no problem, old cock," scragger said airily. "tell 'em you're going to do a flyby victory salute for khomeini over abadan!"

  "up yours, scrag!" the music ended and rudi turned the tape over. then his face hardened. "but i agree with you that andy will push the button and the when's friday. me, i say if one of us aborts we all abort agreed?"

  scragger broke the silence. "if andy says go, i go. i have to."

  bandar delam port: 3:17 p.m. scragger's station wagon turned off a main road in the sprawling, noisy town into a lesser road, cut down it, then turned into a square in front of a mosque, mohammed driving as usual, his finger on the horn almost constantly. the rain had lessened appreciably but the day was still miserable. in the backseat minoru dozed, cradling the replacement radio. scragger was absently staring ahead, so much to think about, plans, codes, and what about erikki? poor old bugger! but if anyone can make it he

  will. swear to god old erikki'll make it somehow. say he doesn't or andy doesn't push go, wot you going to do for a job? i'll worry about that next week.

  he did not see the police car come charging out of a side turning, skid on the slippery surface, and smash into the back of them. there was no way that mohammed could have avoided the accident, and the speed of the police car, added to his own, hurtled them broadside across the road into a street stall and the crowds, killing one old woman, decapitating another, and injuring many as the wheels fell into the joub, the momentum rolling the car over to smash it against the high walls with a howling screech of metal.

  instinctively scragger had put his hands over his face but the final crash bashed his head against the side, stunning him momentarily, the seat belt saving him from real damage. the driver had gone through the windshield and now was half in and half out of the car, badly injured. in the back, the seat had protected minoru and he was the first to recover, the radio still protectively in his lap. amid the screams and pandemonium he fought his door open and scrambled out, covered by the melee of pedestrians and injured, unnoticed as a passenger, japanese from iran-toda normal in the streets here.

  at that moment the occupants of the police car that now was swiveled half across the road its front crumpled ran over. the police shoved their way up to the station wagon, took one look at the driver then pulled the side door open and hauled scragger out.

  angry shouts of

  "amerikan!" and more screams and noise, scragger still half stunned. "the... thanks, i'm... i'm okay..." but they held him firmly, shouting at him.

  "for christ's sake..." he gasped, "i wasn't driving... what the hell happ " around him was a tumult of farsi and panic and anger and one of the police snapped handcuffs on him and then they dragged him roughly to the other car, pushed him into the backseat and got in, still cursing him. the driver started up.

  on the other side of the road, minoru was futilely trying to push through the crowd to help scragger. he stopped, crestfallen, as the car hurtled away down the street.

  near doshan tappeh: 3:30 p.m. mciver was driving along the empty perimeter road outside the barbed-wire fence of the military airfield. the fenders were badly bent and there were many more dents than before. one headlight was cracked and roughly taped, the red glass of one taillight missing, but the engine still sounded sweet and her snow tires were firm on the surface. snow banked the roadway. no sun came through the overcast that was barely twelve hundred feet and obscured all but the foothills of the northern mountains. it was cold and he was late.

  on the inside of his windshield was a big green permit and, seeing it, the motley group of green band and air force guards stationed near the gate waved him through, then crowded back around the open fire to warm themselves. he headed for the s-g hangar. before he could reach it, tom lochart came out of a side door to intercept him.

  "hi mac," he said, getting in quickly. he was wearing flight gear and carried his flight bag and had just flown in from kowiss. "how's sharazad?"

  "sorry to take so long, traffic was terrible."

  "have you seen her?"

  "no, not yet. sorry." he saw lochart's immediate tension. "i went again early this morning. a servant answered the door but didn't seem to understand me i'll get you there as soon as i can." he let in the clutch and turned for the gate. "how was zagros?"

  "rotten, i'll fill you in on that in a second," lochart said hurriedly. "before we can leave we've got to report to the base commander."

  "oh? why?" mciver put on the brake.

  "they didn't say. they left a message with the clerk that when you came in today to report to base commander. any problems?"

  "not that i know of." mciver let in the clutch and swung around. now what? he thought, holding down his anxiety.

  "could it be hbc?"

  "let's hope not."

  "what happened to lulu? you have a prang?"

  "no, just some street vandals," mciver said, his mind on hbc.

  "every day it gets rougher. any news of erikki?"

  "nothing. he's just vanished. azadeh sits by the phone all day in the office."

  "she's still staying with you?"

  "no, she went back to her own apartment on saturday." mciver was heading for the buildings on the other side of the runway. "tell me about zagros." he listened without comment until lochart had finished. "awful, just awful!"

  "yes, but nitchak khan didn't give the signal to shoot us down. if he had he'd've gotten away with it. goddamn hard to break the 'terrorist' story. anyway, when we got to kowiss, duke and andy had had a fracas with hotshot." lochart told him about that. "but the ruse seems to be working; yesterday duke and pop ferried the 212 to rudi and this morning echotangolimalima came in for jordon's body."

  "terrible. feel very responsible for old effer."

  "guess we all do." ahead they could see the hq building with sentries outside it. "we all turned out and put the coffin aboard, young freddy played a lament on the pipes, not much else we could do. curiously colonel changiz sent an air force honor guard and gave us a proper coffin. iranians're strange, so strange. they seemed genuinely sorry." lochart was talking automatically, sick with anxiety at the delays having to wait at kowiss, then flying here and atc harassing him, then no transport and waiting interminably for mciver to arrive and now another delay. what's happened to sharazad?

  they were near the office building that housed the base commander's suite and officers' mess where they both had spent many good times in the past. doshan tappeh had been an elite base the shah had kept some of his private jet fleet and his fokker friendship here. now the walls of the two-story building

  were scored by bullets and broken here and there by hellfire, most windows out, a few boarded up. outside a few green bands and slovenly airmen lolled around as sentries.

  "peace be with you! ex
cellency mciver and lochart to see the camp commandant," lochart said in farsi. one of the green bands waved them into the building. "where is the office, please?"

  "inside."

  they walked up the steps toward the main door, the air heavy with the smell of fire and cordite and drains. just as they reached the top step, the main door slammed open and a mullah with some green bands hurried out, dragging two young air force officers between them, their hands bound and uniforms torn and filthy. lochart gasped, recognizing one of them. "karim!" he burst out and now mciver recognized the youth also karim peshadi, sharazad's adored cousin, the man he had asked to try to retrieve hbc's clearance from the tower.