"you mean ali kia and the partners?"
talbot shrugged. "ours not to reason why, eh?"
"this is official?''
"my dear chap, good lord, no!" talbot was quite shocked. "lust a personal observation, off the record. what can i do for you?"
"off the record, on andy gavallan's instructions, all right?"
"let's have it on the record."
mciver saw the slightly pink humorless face and got up, relieved. "no way, mr. talbot. it was andy's idea to keep you in the picture, not mine."
talbot sighed with practiced eloquence. "very well, off the record."
mciver sat. "we're, er, we're transferring our hq to al shargaz today."
"very wise. so?"
"we're going today. all remaining expat personnel. on our 125."
"very wise. so?"
"we're, er, we're closing down all operations in iran. on friday."
talbot sighed wearily. "without personnel i'd say that's axiomatic. so?"
mciver was finding it very hard to say what he wanted to say. "we, er, we're taking our aircraft out on friday this friday."
"bless my soul," talbot said in open admiration. "congratulations! how on earth did you twist that rotter kia's arm to get the permits? you must've promised him a life membership at the royal box at ascot!"
"er, no, no, we didn't. we decided not to apply for exit permits, waste of time." mciver got up. "well, see you soo "
talbot's face almost fell off his face. "no permits?"
"no. you know yourself our birds're going to be nicked, nationalized, taken over, whatever you want to call it, there's no way we could get exit permits so we're just going." mciver added airily, "friday we flit the coop."
"oh, my word!" talbot was shaking his head vigorously, his fingers toying with a file on his desk. "bless my soul, very very unbloody- wise."
"there isn't any alternative. well, mr. talbot, that's all, have a nice day. andy wanted to forewarn you so you could... so you could do whatever you want to do."
"what the hell is that?" talbot exploded.
"how the hell do i know?" mciver was equally exasperated. "you're supposed to protect your nationals."
"but y "
"i'm just not going to be put out of business and that's the end of it!"
talbot's fingers drummed nervously. "i think i need a cup of tea." he clicked on the intercom. "celia, two cups of the best and i think you better insert a modest amount of nelson's blood into the brew."
"yes, mr. talbot," the adenoidal voice said and sneezed.
"bless you," talbot said automatically. his fingers stopped drumming and he smiled sweetly at mciver. "i'm awfully glad you didn't tell me anything about anything, old boy."
"so'm i."
"rest assured, should i ever hear that you're in pokey doing what's the expression? ah, yes, 'doing porridge' i shall be glad to visit you on behalf
of her majesty's government and attempt to extricate you from the errors of your ways." talbot's eyebrows went off his forehead. "grand larceny! bless my soul, but jolly good luck, old boy."
in azadeh's apartment: s:10 a.m. the old maidservant carried the heavy silver breakfast tray along the corridor four boiled eggs, toast and butter and marmalade, two exquisite coffee cups, steaming coffeepot, and the finest egyptian cotton napkins. she put the tray down and knocked.
"come in."
"good morning, highness. salaam."
"salaam," sharazad said dully. she was propped against the many pillows of the carpet bed, her face puffy from tears. the bathroom door was ajar, sound of water running. "you can put it here, on the bed."
"yes, highness." the old woman obeyed. with a sidelong glance at the bathroom, she left silently.
"breakfast, tommy," sharazad called out, trying to sound bright. no answer. she half shrugged to herself, sniffed a little, more tears not far away, then looked up as lochart came back into the bedroom. he was shaved and dressed in winter flying gear boots, trousers, shirt, and heavy sweater. "coffee?" she asked with a tentative smile, hating his set face and the air of disapproval that he wore.
"in a minute," he said without enthusiasm. "thank you."
"1... i ordered everything just as you like it."
"looks good don't wait for me." he went over to the bureau and began to tie his tie.
"it really was wonderful of azadeh to lend us the apartment while she's away, wasn't it? so much nicer than home."
lochart looked at her in the mirror. "you didn't say that at the time."
"oh, tommy, of course you're right but please don't let's quarrel."
"i'm not. i've said it all and so have you." i've had that, he thought, anguished, knowing she was as miserable as he was but unable to do anything about it. when meshang had challenged him in front of her and zarah, two nights ago, the nightmare had begun that continued even now, tearing them apart, bringing him to the edge of madness. two days and nights of broken tears and him saying over and over, "no need to worry, we'll manage somehow, sharazad," and then discussing the future. what future? he asked his reflection, once more wanting to explode.
"here's your coffee, darling tommy."
glumly he took it, sat on a chair facing her, not looking at her. the coffee
was hot and excellent but it did not take away the foul taste in his mouth, so he left it almost untouched and got up and went for his flight jacket. thank god i've today's ferry to kowiss, he thought. goddamn everything!
"when do i see you, darling, when do you come back?"
he watched himself shrug, hating himself, wanting to take her in his arms and tell her the depth of his love but he had been through that agony four times in the last two days and she was still as relentless and inflexible as her brother: "leave iran? leave home forever?" she had cried out. "oh, i can't, i can't!"
"but it won't be forever, sharazad. we'll spend some time in al shargaz then go to england, you'll love england and scotland and aberd "
"but meshang says th "
"screw meshang!" he had shouted and saw the fear in her and that only served to whip his anger into a frenzy. "meshang's not god almighty, for christ's sake! what the goddamn hell does he know?" and she had sobbed like a terrified child, cowering away from him. "oh, sharazad, i'm so sorry..." taking her into his arms, almost crooning his love to her, she safe in his arms.
"tommy, listen, my darling, you were right and i was wrong, it was my fault, but i know what to do, tomorrow i'll go and see meshang, i'll persuade him to give us an allowance and... what's the matter?"
"you haven't heard a god damned word i've said."
"oh, but i have, yes, indeed, i listened very carefully, please don't be angry again, you're right of course to be angry but i list "
flaring back: "didn't you hear what meshang said? we've no money the money's finished, the building's finished, he has total control over the family money, total, and unless you obey him and not me you'll get nothing more. but that's not important, i can make enough for us! i can! the point is we have to leave tehran. leave for... for a little while."
"but i haven't any papers, i haven't, tommy, and can't get any yet and meshang's right when he says if i leave without papers they'll never let me back, never, never."
more tears and more arguing, not being able to get through to her, more tears, then going to bed, trying to sleep, no sleep for either of them. "you can stay here, tommy. why can't you stay here, tommy?"
"oh, for christ's sake, sharazad, meshang made that very clear. i'm not wanted and foreigners are out. we'll go somewhere else. nigeria, or aberdeen, somewhere else. pack a suitcase. you'll get on the 125 and we'll meet at al shargaz you've a canadian passport. you're canadian!"
"but i can't leave without papers," she wailed and sobbed and the same arguments, over and over, and more tears.
then, yesterday morning, hating himself, he had put aside his pride and had
gone to the bazaar to reason with meshang, to get him to relent all that h
e was going to say painstakingly worked out. but he had come up against a wall as high as the sky. and worse.
"my father held a controlling interest in the ihc partnership, which of course i inherit."
"oh, that's wonderful, that makes all the difference, meshang."
"it makes no difference at all. the point is how do you intend to pay your debts, pay your ex-wife, and pay for my sister and her child without a very great infusion of charity?"
"a job's not charity, meshang, it's not charity. it could be mightily profitable for both of us. i'm not suggesting a partnership, anything like that, i'd work for you. you don't know the helicopter business, i do, inside out. i could run the new partnership for you, make it instantly profitable. i know pilots and how to operate. i know all of iran, most of the fields. that would solve everything for both of us. i'd work like hell to protect the family interests, we'd stay in tehran, sharazad could have the baby here an "
"the islamic state will require iranian pilots only, minister kia assures me. one hundred percent."
sudden understanding. his universe abruptly ripped asunder. "ah, now i get it, no exceptions, eh, particularly me?"
he had seen meshang shrug disdainfully. "i'm very busy. to be blunt, you cannot stay in iran. you've no future in iran. out of iran sharazad has no future of any value with you and she will never permanently exile herself which will happen if she goes without my permission and without proper papers. therefore you must divorce."
"no."
"send sharazad back from the khan's apartment this afternoon more charity by the way and leave tehran immediately. your marriage wasn't muslim so it's unimportant the canadian civil ceremony will be annulled."
"sharazad will never agree."
"oh? be at my house at 6:00 rm and we will make final this matter. after you've left i'll settle your iranian debts i cannot have bad debts hanging over our good name. 6:00 rm. sharp. good morning."
not remembering how he got back to the apartment but telling her and more tears and then to the bakravan house that evening and meshang repeating what he had said, infuriated with sharazad's abject begging: "don't be ridiculous, sharazad! stop howling, this is for your own good, your son's good, and the family's good. if you leave on a canadian passport without proper iranian papers you'll never be allowed back. live in aberdeen? god protect you, you'd die of cold in a month and so would your son... nanny jari won't go with you, not that he could pay for her; she's not mad, she won't leave iran and
her family forever. you'll never see us again, think of that... think of your son..." over and over until sharazad was reduced to incoherence and lochart to pulp.
"tommy."
this brought him out of his reverie. "yes?" he asked, hearing the old tone to her voice.
"thou, art thou leaving me forever?" she said in farsi.
"i can't stay in iran," he said, at peace now, the "thou" helping so very much. "when we're closed down there's no job for me here, i've no money, and even if the place hadn't burned down... well, i was never one for handouts." his eyes were without guile. "meshang's right about a lot of things: there wouldn't be much of a life with me and you're right to stay, certainly without papers it'd be dangerous to leave, and you've to think of the child, i know that. there's also... no, let me finish," he said kindly, stopping her. "there's also hbc." this reminded him about her cousin, karim. another horror yet to arrive. poor sharazad...
"thou, art thou leaving me forever?"
"i'm leaving today for kowiss. i'll be there a few days then i'll go to al shargaz. i'll wait there, i'll wait a month. this will give you time to think it through, what you want. a letter or telex care of al shargaz airport will find me. if you want to join me, the canadian embassy'll arrange it at once, priority, i've already fixed that... and of course i'll keep in touch."
"through mac?"
"through him or somehow."
"thou, art thou divorcing me?"
"no, never. if you want that or... iet me put it another way, if you think it's necessary to protect our child, or for whatever reason, then whatever you want i will do."
the silence grew and she watched him, a strange look in her huge dark eyes, somehow older than before and yet so much younger and more frail, the translucent nightgown enhancing the sheen of her golden skin, her hair flowing around her shoulders and breasts.
lochart was consumed with helplessness, dying inside, wanting to stay, knowing there was no longer any reason to stay. it's all been said and now it's up to her. if i was her i wouldn't hesitate, i'd divorce, i'd've never have married in the first place. "thou," he said in farsi, "fare thee well, beloved."
"and thee, beloved."
he picked up his jacket and left. in a moment she heard the front door close. for a long time she stared after him, then, thoughtfully, poured some coffee and sipped it, hot and strong and sweet and life-giving.
as god wants, she told herself, at peace now. either he will come back or
he will not come back. either meshang will relent or he will not relent. either way i must be strong and eat for two and think good thoughts while i build my son.
she decapitated the first of the eggs. it was perfectly cooked and tasted delicious.
at mciver's apartment: 11:50 a.m. pettikin came into the living room carrying a suitcase and was surprised to see the servant, ali baba, tentatively polishing the sideboard. "i didn't hear you come back. i thought i'd given you the day off," he said irritably, putting down the suitcase.
"oh, yes, agha, but there is most much to do, the place she is filth-filled and the kitchen..." his lush brown eyebrows rose to heaven.
"yes, yes, that's true but you can start in tomorrow." pettikin saw him looking at the suitcase and swore. directly after breakfast he had sent ali baba off for the day with instructions to be back at midnight, which normally would mean that he would not come back until the next morning. "now off you go."
"yes, agha, you are going on holiday or on the leaves?"
"no, i'm, er, i'm going to stay with one of the pilots for a few days, so make sure my room's cleaned tomorrow. oh, yes, and you better give me your key, i've misplaced mine." pettikin held out his hand, cursing himself for not thinking of it before. with curious reluctance, ali baba gave it to him. "captain mciver wants the place to himself, he has work to do and doesn't want to be disturbed. see you soon, good-bye!"
"but, agha..."
"good-bye!" he made sure ali baba had his coat, opened the door, half shoved him out, and closed it again. nervously he glanced again at his watch. almost noon and still no mciver and they were supposed to be at the airport by now. he went into the bedroom, reached into the cupboard for the other suitcase, also packed, then came back and put it beside the other one, near the front door.
two small cases and a carryall, he thought. not much to show for all the years in iran. never mind, i prefer to travel light and perhaps this time i can get lucky and make more money or start a business on the side and then there's paula. how in the hell can i afford to get married again? married? are you mad? an affair's about all you could manage. yes, but god damn, i'd like to marry her an
the phone rang and he almost jumped out of himself, so unused to its ringing. he picked it up, his heart pounding. "hello?"
"charlie? it's me, mac, thank god the bloody thing's working, tried it on the off chance. i've been delayed."
"you've a problem?"
"don't know, charlie, but i've got to go and see ali kia bastard's sent his bloody assistant and a green band to fetch me."
"what the hell does kia want?" outside, all over the city, muezzins began calling the faithful to noon prayer, distracting him.
"don't know. the appointment's in half an hour. you'd better go on out to the airport and i'll get there as soon as i can. get johnny hogg to delay."
"okay, mac. what about your gear, is it in the office?"
"i snuck it out early this morning while ali baba was snoring, and it's in lulu's boot. charlie, t
here's one of genny's needlepoints in the kitchen, 'down with cornbeef pie.' stick it in your suitcase for me, will you? she'd have my guts for garters if i forgot that. if i've time i'll come back and make sure everything's okay."
"do i shut the gas off, or electricity?"
"christ, i don't know. leave it, okay?"
"all right. you sure you don't want me to wait?" he asked, the metallic, loudspeaker voices of muezzins adding to his disquiet. "i don't mind waiting. might be better, mac."
James Clavell - Whirlwind Page 110