James Clavell - Whirlwind

by Whirlwind(Lit)

  "tom! in the name of god tell them i'm not a spy or traitor," karim shouted, in english. "tom, tell them!"

  "excellency," lochart said in farsi to the mullah, "surely there's some mistake. this man is pilot captain peshadi, a loyal helper of the ayatollah, a supp "

  "whotre you, excellency?" asked the mullah, dark-eyed, short, stocky. "american?"

  "my name is lochart, excellency, canadian, a pilot for iranoil, and this is the leader of our company across the airfield, captain mciver, an "

  "how do you know this traitor?"

  "excellency, i'm sure there's a mistake, he can't possibly be a traitor, i know him because he is a cousin of my wife and the so "

  "your wife is iranian?"

  "yes, excell "

  "you are muslim?"

  "no, excellen "

  "better then she divorces and so saves her soul from pollution. as god wants. there's no mistake about these traitors mind your own business, excellency." the mullah motioned to the green bands. at once they went on down the steps, half carrying, half dragging the two young of ricers who shouted and protested their innocence, then he turned back for the main door.

  "excellency," lochart called out urgently, catching up to him. "please, in the name of the one god, i know that young man to be loyal to the imam, a good muslim, a patriot of iran, i know for a fact that he was one of those who went against the immortals here at doshan tappeh and helped the revolu "

  "stop!" the mullah's eyes hardened even more. "this is not your affair,

  foreigner. no longer do foreigners or foreign laws or a foreign- dominated shah rule us. you are not iranian, nor a judge, nor a lawgiver. those men were tried and judged."

  "i beg your patience, excellency, there must be some mistake, there mus " lochart whirled as a volley of rifle shots exploded nearby. the sentries below were staring across the road at some barracks and buildings. from his position atop the steps he could not see what they saw. then the green bands reappeared from behind one of the barracks, shouldering their arms. they trooped back up the steps. the mullah motioned them back inside.

  "the law is the law," the mullah said, watching lochart. "heresy must be removed. since you know his family you can tell them to beg forgiveness of god for barbering such a son."

  "what was he supposed to have been guilty of?"

  "not 'supposed,' excellency," the mullah said, an angry edge creeping into his voice. "karim peshadi openly admitted stealing a truck and leaving the base without permission, openly admitted joining forbidden demonstrations, openly declared against our forthcoming absolute islamic state, openly opposed the abolition of the anti-lslamic marriage act, openly advocated acts contrary to islamic law, was caught in suspected acts of sabotage, openly decried the total absoluteness of the koran, openly defied the imam's right to befaqira he who is above the law and final arbiter of the law." he pulled his robes closer about him against the cold. "peace be with you." he went back into the building.

  for a moment lochart could not speak. then he explained to mclver what had been said. "'suspected acts of sabotage,' tom? was he caught in the tower?"

  "what does it matter?" lochart said bitterly. "karim's dead for crimes against god."

  "no, laddie," mclver said kindly, "not against god, against their version of truth spoken in the name of the god they will never know." he squared his shoulders and led the way inside the building. at length they found the base commander's office and were ushered in.

  behind the desk was a major. the mullah sat beside him. above them, the only decoration in the small untidy room was a big photograph of khomeini. "i'm major betami, mr. mclver," the man said crisply in english. "this is the mullah tehrani." then he glanced at lochart and switched to farsi. "as his excellency tehrani does not speak english, you will interpret for me. your name, please."

  "lochart, captain lochart."

  "please sit down, both of you. his excellency says you are married to an iranian. what was her maiden name?"

  lochart's eyes hardened. "my private life is my private life, excellency."

  "not for a foreign helicopter pilot in the middle of our islamic revolution against foreign domination," the major said angrily, "nor one who knows traitors to the state. do you have something to hide, captain?"

  "no, no, of course not."

  "then please answer the question."

  "are you police? by what authority do y "

  the mullah said, "i am a member of the doshan tappeh komiteh you prefer to be summoned officially? now? this minute?"

  "i prefer not to be questioned about my private life."

  "if you have nothing to hide you can answer the question. please choose."

  "bakravan." lochart saw the name register on both men. his stomach became even more queasy.

  "fared bakravan the bazaar) moneylender? one of his daughters?"

  "yes."

  "her name, please."

  lochart held on to his blinding rage, compounded by karim's murder. it is murder, he wanted to shout, whatever you say. "her excellency, sharazad."

  mciver had been watching intently. "what's all this about, tom?"

  "nothing. nothing, i'll tell you later."

  the major made a note on a piece of paper. "what is your relationship to the traitor karim peshadi?"

  "i've known him for about two years, he was one of my student pilots. he's my wife's first cousin was my wife's first cousin and i can only repeat it's inconceivable that he would be a traitor to iran or islam."

  the major made another note on the pad, the pen scratching loudly. "where are you staying, captain?"

  "i... i'm not sure. i was staying at the bakravan house near the bazaar. our... our apartment was commandeered."

  the silence gathered in the room, making it claustrophobic. the major finished writing then picked up a page of notes and looked directly at mciver. "first, no foreign helicopters may be moved in or out of tehran airspace without air force hq clearance."

  lochart translated and mciver nodded noncommittally. this was nothing new, except that the komiteh at tehran international airport had just issued official written instructions on behalf of the all-powerful revolutionary komiteh that the komiteh alone could authorize and grant such clearances. mciver had got permission to send out his remaining 212 and one of his alouettes to kowiss

  "on temporary loan" just in time, he thought grimly, concentrating on the major, but wondering what the sharp farsi exchange with lochart had been all about.

  "second: we require a complete list of all helicopters under your present control, where they are in iran, their engine numbers, and the amount and type of spares you are carrying per helicopter."

  lochart saw mciver's eyes widen, his own mind locked into sharazad and why they wanted to know where he lived and her relationship with karim, hardly listening to the words as he translated back and forth. "captain mciver says: 'very well. it will take me a little time, because of communications, but i will get it for you as soon as possible."'

  "i would like it tomorrow."

  "if i can get it by then, excellency, rest assured you will have it. you will have it as soon as possible."

  "third: all your helicopters in the tehran area will be assembled here starting tomorrow, and from now on will operate only out of here."

  "i will certainly inform my superiors in iranoil of your request, major. instantly."

  the major's face hardened. "the air force is the arbiter of this."

  "of course. i will inform my superiors at once. was that all, major?"

  the mullah said, "about the helicopter." he referred to a note on the desk in front of him. "hbc. we w "

  "hbc!" mciver allowed his panic to explode into a righteous anger that lochart had a hard time keeping up with: "security's the responsibility of the air force on the base and how they could have been so lax to allow hbc to be hijacked i don't know! time and again i've complained about laxness, sentries never appearing, no guards at night. a million dolla
rs of theft! irreplaceable! i am instituting a claim against the air force for negligence an "

  "it wasn't our fault," the major began angrily, but mciver paid no attention and continued the offensive, allowing him no opening, nor did lochart, who turned mciver's tirade into apt iranian words and phrases for an even more slashing attack on air force perfidy.

  "... unbelievable negligence i might even say deliberate treachery and collusion by other of ricers to allow some unknown american to get into our hangar under the very noses of our supposed guardians, to be given clearance to fly off by our supposed protectors, and then allowed to do damage to the great iranian state! unforgivable! of course it was treachery and preplanned by 'persons unknown holding officer rank,' and i must ins "

  "how dare you imply th "

  "of course it must have been with air force of ricer collusion who controls the base? who controls the airwaves, who sits in the tower? we hold the air force responsible and i'm registering the complaint to the highest level of

  iranoil demanding restitution and... and next week, next week i will apply for redress to the illustrious revolutionary komiteh and the imam himself, may god protect him! now, excellency, if you will excuse us we will go about our business. peace be with you!"

  mciver went for the door, lochart following, both men overloaded with adrenaline, mciver feeling terrible, his chest aching.

  "wait!" the mullah ordered.

  "yes, excellency?"

  "how do you explain that the traitor valik who 'happens' to be a partner of your company and kinsman of the usurer and shah supporter bakravan arrived in isfahan in this helicopter to pick up other traitors, one of whom was general seladi, another kinsman of jared bakravan father-in-law to one of your senior pilots?"

  lochart's mouth was very dry as he spoke the doom-filled words but mciver did not hesitate and came back to the attack. "i did not appoint general valik to our board, he was appointed by high-up iranians according to your then current law we did not seek iranian partners, it was iranian law that we had to have them, they were forced upon us. nothing to do with me. as to the rest, insha'allah the will of god!" heart thundering, he opened the door and stalked off. lochart finished translating. "salaam." he followed.

  "you've not heard the last of this," the major shouted after him.

  near the university: 6:07 p.m. they were lying side by side on soft carpets in front of the wood fire that burned merrily in the pleasant room. sharazad and ibrahim kyabi. they were not touching, just watching the fire, listening to the good, modern music from the cassette player, lost in thought, each too aware of the other.

  "thou, gift of the universe," he murmured, "thou of the ruby lips and breath like wine, thou, tongue of heaven..."

  "oh, ibrahim," she laughed. "what is this 'tongue of heaven'?"

  he raised himself onto an elbow and looked down at her, blessing fate that had allowed him to save her from the insane zealot at the women's march, the same fate that would soon guide him to kowiss to revenge his father's murder. "i was quoting the rubdiy~t," he said, smiling at her.

  "i don't believe a word of it! i think you made it up." she returned his smile, then shielded her eyes from the glow of his love by looking again at the embers.

  after the first protest march, now six days ago, long into that evening they had talked together, discussing the revolution and finding common cause in the murder of her father and his father, both of them children of loneliness

  now, their mothers not understanding, only weeping and insha'allah and never the need for revenge. their lives turned upside down like their country, ibrahim no longer a believer only in the strength and purpose of the people her belief shaken, questioning for the first time, wondering how god could permit such evil and all the other evils that had come to pass, the corruption of the land and its spirit. "i agree, ibrahim, you're right. we haven't rid ourselves of one despot to acquire another! you're right, the despotism of the mullahs daily becomes more clear," she had said. "but why does khomeini oppose the rights that the shah gave to us, reasonable rights?"

  "they're your inalienable rights as a human being, not the shah's to give, or anyone's like your body's your own, not a 'field to be glowed."'

  "but why is the imam opposed?"

  "he's not an imam, sharazad, just an ayatollah, a man and a fanatic. it's because he's doing what priests have always done throughout history: he's using his version of religion to drug the people into senselessness, to keep them dependent, uneducated, to secure mullahs in power. doesn't he want only mullahs responsible for education? doesn't he claim mullahs alone understand 'the law,' study 'the law,' have the knowledge of 'the law'? as if they alone have all knowledge!"

  "i never thought of it like that, i accepted so much, so very much. but you're right, ibrahim, you make everything so clear to me. you're right, mullahs believe only what's in the koran as if what was correct for the days of the prophet, peace be upon him, should apply today! i refuse to be a chattel without the vote and the right to choose..."

  finding so many common grounds of thought, he a modern, university trained, she wanting to be modern but unsure of her way. sharing secrets and longings, understanding each other instantly, using the same nuances, belonging to the same heritage he so very much like karim in speech and looks they could be brothers.

  that night she had slept blissfully and the next morning slipped out early to meet him again, drinking coffee in a little cafe, she chadored for safety and secrecy, laughing so much together, for no reason or every reason, serious sometimes. both aware of the currents, no need to speak them. then the second protest march, bigger than the first, better and with little opposition.

  "when do you have to be back, sharazad?"

  "i, i told mother i would be late, that i'd visit a friend on the other side of the city."

  "i'll take you there now, quickly, and you can leave quickly and then, if you like we could talk some more, or even better i've a friend who has an apartment and some wonderful records..."

  that was five days ago. sometimes his friend, another tudeh student leader, would be here, sometimes other students, young men and women, not all of them communist new ideas, free exchange, heady ideas of life and love and living free. occasionally they were alone. heavenly days, marching and talking and laughing and listening to records and peace-filled nights at home near the bazaar.

  yesterday victory. khomeini had relented, publicly, saying that women were not forced to wear chador, provided they covered their hair and dressed modestly. last night celebrating, dancing with joy in the apartment, all of them young, embracing and then going home again. but last night her sleep had been all about him and her together. erotic. lying there half asleep this morning, afraid yet so excited.

  the cassette ended. it was one of the carpenters, slow, romantic. he turned it and now the other side was even better. dare 1? she asked herself dreamily, feeling his eyes on her. through a crack in the curtains she could see that the sky was darkening. "it's almost time to go," she said, not moving, a throb in her voice.

  "jari can wait," he said tenderly. iari, her maid, was party to their secret visits. "better no one knows," he had said on the second day. "even her."

  "she has to know, ibrahim, or i can never get out alone, never see you. i've nothing to hide but i am married and it's..." no need to articulate "dangerous." every moment they were alone screamed danger.

  so he had shrugged and petitioned fate to protect her, as he did now. "jari can wait."

  "yes, yes, she can, but first we've got to do some errands and my dear brother meshang won't tonight i have to have dinner with him and zarah."

  ibrahim was startled. "what's he want? he doesn't suspect you?"

  "oh, no, it's just family, just that." languorously she looked at him. "what about your business in kowiss? will you wait another day or will you go tomorrow?"

  "it's not urgent," he said carelessly. he had delayed and delayed even though his tudeh controller had said t
hat every extra day he stayed in tehran was dangerous: "have you forgotten what happened to comrade yazernov? we hear inner intelligence was involved! they must have spotted you going into the building with him, or coming out of it."

  "i've shaved off my beard, i've not gone home, and i'm avoiding the university. by the way, comrade, it's better we don't meet for a day or two i think i'm being followed." he smiled to himself, remembering the alacrity with which the other man, an old-time tudeh supporter, had vanished around the street corner.

  "why the smile, my darling?"

  "nothing. i love you, sharazad," he said simply and cupped her breast as he kissed her.

  she kissed him back but not completely. his passion grew, and hers, though she tried to hold back, his hands caressing her, fire in their wake.