James Clavell - Whirlwind

by Whirlwind(Lit)

  "not much potential there," scot said with pretended diffidence. "do you think air struan would have a future?" then he let his smile out.

  "again this is all just between us linbar's not been given all the facts yet."

  scot frowned. "will he approve me going out there, joining struan's and doing this?"

  "he hates me, scot, not you. he hasn't opposed you seeing his niece, has he?"

  "not yet. no, he hasn't, not yet."

  "the timing's right and we have to have a future plan for the family. you're the right age, i think you could do it." gavallan's eyes picked up light. "you're half-dunross, you're a direct descendant of dirk struan, and so you've responsibilities above and beyond yourself. you and your sister inherited your mother's shares, you'd qualify for the inner office if you're good enough. that burk linbar'll have to retire one day even he can't destroy the noble house totally. what do you say to my plan?"

  "i'd like to think it over, dad."

  what's there to think over, laddie, he thought. "night, scot, i may drop back later." he gave him a careful pat on his good shoulder and walked out. scot won't fail me, he told himself proudly.

  in the spacious customs and immigration hall, passengers were trickling in from immigration, others waiting for their baggage. the arrival board announced that the gulf air flight 52 from muscat, oman's capital, had arrived

  on time and was due to leave in fifteen minutes for abu dhabi, bahrain, and kuwait. the newstand was still open so he wandered over to see what papers were in. he was reaching for the london times when he saw the headline, prime minister callaghan cites labour's successes, and changed his mind. what do i need that for? he thought. then he saw genny mciver.

  she was sitting alone, near the boarding gate with a small suitcase beside her. "hello, genny, what are you doing here?"

  she smiled sweetly. "i'm going to kuwait."

  he smiled sweetly back. "what the hell for?"

  "because i need a holiday."

  "don't be ridiculous. the button's not even pushed yet and anyway, there's nothing you can do there, nothing. you'd be in the way. you're much better off waiting here. genny, for god's sake be reasonable."

  the set smile had not even flickered. "are you finished?"

  "yes."

  "i am reasonable, i'm the most reasonable person you know. duncan mciver isn't. he's the most misguided, misbegotten twit i've ever come across in all my born days and to kuwait i am going." it was all said with an olympian calm.

  wisely he changed tactics. "why didn't you tell me you were going instead of sneaking off like this? i'd've been worried to death if you'd been missing."

  "if i'd asked you you'dtve shanghaied me. i asked manuela to tell you later, flight time, hotel, and phone number. but i'm glad you're here, andy. you can see me off. i'd like someone to see me off, hate seeing myself off oh, you know what i mean!"

  it was then he saw how frail she seemed. "you all right, genny?"

  "oh, yes. it's just... well, i just must be there, have to be, i can't sit here, and anyway part of this was my idea, i'm responsible too, and i don't want anything anything to go wrong."

  "it won't," he said and both of them touched the wooden seat. then he slipped his arm through hers. "it's going to be all right. listen, one good piece of news." he told her about erikki.

  "oh, that's wonderful. hakim khan?" genny searched her memory. "wasn't azadeh's brother, the one who was living in... blast, i've forgotten, someplace near turkey, wasn't his name hakim?"

  "perhaps the telex was right then and it is hakim 'khan.' that should be great for them."

  "yes. her father sounded like an awful old man." she looked up at him. "have you decided yet? if it's tomorrow?"

  "no, not yet, not finally."

  "what about the weather?"

  he told her. "not much of a decider, either way," she said.

  "wish mac was here. he'd be wise in a situation like this."

  "no wiser than you, andy." they looked across at the departure board as the announcer called for passengers on flight 52. they got up. "for what it's worth, andy, all other things being equal, mac's decided it's tomorrow."

  "eh? how do you know that?"

  "i know duncan. 'bye, darling andy." she kissed him hurriedly and did not look back.

  he waited until she had vanished. deep in thought he went outside, not noticing wesson near the newsstand, putting his fountain pen away.

  march 2, 197

  al sharga~the oasis hotel: 5:37 a.m. gavallan stood at his window, already dressed, night still heavy except to the east, dawn due soon now. threads of mist came in from the coast, half a mile away, to vanish quickly in the desert reaches. sky eerily cloudless to the east, gradually building to thick cover overall. from where he was he could see most of the airfield. runway lights were on, a small jet already taxiing out, and the smell of kerosene was on the wind that had veered more southerly. a knock on the door. "come in! ah, morning, jean-luc, morning, charlie."

  "morning, andy. if we're to catch our flight it's time to leave," pettikin said, his nervousness running the words together. he was due to go to kuwait, jean-luc to bahrain.

  "where's rodrigues?"

  "he's waiting downstairs."

  "good, then you'd best be on your way." gavallan was pleased that his voice sounded calm. pettikin beamed, jean-luc muttered merde. "with your approval, charlie, i propose pushing the button at 7:00 a m as planned provided none of the bases pull the plug beforehand. if they do we'll try again tomorrow. agreed?"

  "agreed. no calls yet?"

  "not yet."

  pettikin could hardly contain his excitement. "well, off we go into the wild blue yonder! come on, jean-luc!"

  jean-luc's eyebrows soared. "mon dieu, it's boy scouts time!" then he went for the door. "great news about erikki, andy, but how's he going to get out?"

  "i don't know. i'm seeing newbury at the consulate first thing to try to get a message to him to get out via turkey. both of you call me the second you land. i'll be in the office from six. see you later."

  he closed the door after them. now it was done. unless one of the bases aborted.

  at lengeh: 5:49 a.m. false dawn's light was barely perceptible through the overcast. scragger wore a raincoat and trudged through the drizzle and puddles toward the cookhouse that had the only light on in the base. the wind pulled at his peaked flying cap, driving the soft rain into his face.

  to his surprise willi was already in the cookhouse, sitting near the wood stove drinking coffee. "morning, scrag, coffee? i've just made it." he motioned with his head into a corner. curled up on the floor, fast asleep and near to the warmth, was one of the camp green bands. scragger nodded and took off his raincoat.

  "tea for me, me son. you're up early, where's the cook?"

  willi shrugged and put the kettle back on the stove. "late. i thought i'd have an early breakfast. i'm going to have some scrambled. how about if i cook for you too?"

  scragger was suddenly famished. "you're on! four eggs for me and two pieces of toast and i'll go easy at lunch. we have any bread, sport?" he watched willi open the refrigerator. three loaves, plenty of eggs and butter. "good oh! can't eat eggs without buttered toast. they don't taste right." he glanced at his watch.

  "wind's veered almost south and up to thirty knots."

  "my nose says she'll lessen."

  "my arse says she'll lessen too but still she's shitty."

  scragger laughed. "have confidence, mate."

  "i'll be much more confident with my passport."

  "too right, so will i but the plan still stays." when he had got back last night from the sergeant, vossi and willi had been waiting for him. well away from prying ears he had told them what had happened.

  willi had said at once, and vossi agreed, "we better alert andy we may have to abort."

  "no," scragger said. "i figure it this way, sport: if andy doesn't call for whirlwind in the morning i've all day to get our passports. if he
calls for whirlwind, it'll be exactly at seven. that gives me plenty of time to get to the station at seven-thirty and back by eight. while i'm away you start the plan rolling."

  "jesus, scrag, we been thr "

  "ed, will you listen? we leave anyway but bypass al shargaz where we know we'd have trouble and duck into bahrain i know the port of ricer there. we throw ourselves on his mercy maybe even have an 'emergency' on the beach. meanwhile we radio al shargaz the moment we're clear of iran skies for someone to meet us and bail us out. it's the best i can think of and at least we've covered, either way."

  and it's still the best i can think of, he told himself watching willi at the stove, the butter in the frying pan beginning to sizzle. "i thought we were having scrambled?"

  "this's the way to scramble." willi's voice edged.

  "bloody isn't, you know," scragger said sharply. "you have to use water or milk an "

  "by god harry," willi snapped, "if you don't want the... scheiss! sorry, didn't mean to bite your head, scrag. sorry."

  "i'm touchy too, sport. no problem."

  "the, er, this way's the way my mother does them. you put the eggs in without beating them, the whites cook white and then, quick as a wink you put in a little milk and you mix her, then the white's white and the yolk's yellow..." willi found himself not able to stop. he had had a bad night, bad dreams, and bad feelings and now with the dawn he felt no better.

  over in the corner the green band stirred, his nose filled with the smell of cooking butter and he yawned, nodded to them sleepily, then settled more comfortably and dozed off again. when the kettle boiled scragger made himself some tea, glanced at his watch: 5:56 a.m. behind him the door opened and vossi wandered in, shook the rain off the umbrella.

  "hi, scrag! hey, willi, coffee and two over easy with a side order of crisp bacon and hash brown for me."

  "get stuffed!"

  they all laughed, their anxiety making them light-headed. scragger glanced at his watch again. stop it! stop it, he ordered himself. you've got to keep calm, then they'll be calm. easy to see they're both ready to blow.

  at kowiss: 6:24 a.m. mciver and lochart were in the tower looking out at the rain and overcast. both were dressed in flight gear, mciver seated in front of the hf, lochart standing at the window. no lights on just the reds and greens of the functioning equipment. no sound but the pleasing hum and the not so pleasing whine of the wind that came in the broken windows, rattling the aerial stanchions.

  lochart glanced at the wind counter. twenty-five knots, gusting thirty from the south-southeast. over by the hangar two mechanics were washing down the already clean two 212s, and the 206 mciver had brought from tehran. lights on in the cookhouse. except for a skeleton cookhouse staff, mciver had told the office staff and laborers to take friday off. after the shock of esvandiary's summary execution for "corruption" they had needed no encouragement to leave.

  lochart glanced at the clock. the second hand seemed interminably slow. a truck went by below. another. now it was exactly 6:30 a.m. "sierra one, this is lengeh." it was scragger reporting in as planned. mciver was greatly relieved. lochart became grimmer.

  "lengeh this is sierra one, you're five by five." scot's voice from al shargaz was clean and clear. sierra one was code for the office at al shargaz airport, gavallan not wanting to draw any more attention to the sheikdom than necessary.

  mciver clicked on the hf transmit. "sierra one, this is kowiss."

  "kowiss, this is sierra one, you're four by five."

  "sierra one, this's bandar delam." both heard the tremble in rudi's voice.

  "bander delam, this's sierra one, you're two by five."

  now only static from the loudspeaker. mciver wiped his palms. "so far so good." the coffee in his cup was cold and tasted awful but he finished it.

  "rudi sounded uptight, didn't he?" lochart said.

  "i'm sure i did too. so did scrag." mciver studied him, concerned for him; lochart did not meet his eyes, just went over to the electric kettle and plugged it in. on the desk were four phones, two internal and two outside lines. in spite of his resolve, lochart tried one of the outside phones, then the other. both still dead. dead for days now. dead like me. no way of being in touch with sharazad, no post.

  "there's a canadian consul in al shargaz," mciver said gruffly. "they could get through to tehran for you from there."

  "sure." a gust rattled the temporary boarding over the broken window. lochart paid the outside no attention, wondering about sharazad, praying she would join him. join me for what? the kettle began to sing. he watched it. since he had walked out of the apartment, he had blocked the future out of his mind. in the night it had surged back, much as he tried to prevent it.

  from the base came the first call of a muezzin. "come to prayer, come to progress, prayer is better than sleep..."

  at bandar delam: 6:38 a.m. a sodden dawn, rain slight, wind less than yesterday. at the airfield rudi lutz, sandor petrofi, and pop kelly were in rudi's trailer, no lights on, drinking coffee. outside on the veranda, marc dubois was stationed on guard against eavesdroppers. no lights on elsewhere in the base. rudi glanced at his watch. "hope to god it's today," rudi said.

  "it's today or never." kelly was very grim. "make the call, rudi."

  "a minute yet."

  through the window rudi could see the maw of the hangar and their 212s. none of them had long-range tanks. somewhere in the darkness, fowler joines and three mechanics were quietly putting the last of the spare fuel aboard, finishing preparations begun cautiously last night while the pilots diverted the camp guards and numir. just before going to bed the four of them had individually made their range calculations. they were all within ten nautical miles of each other.

  "if the wind holds at this strength, we're all in the goddamn sea," sandor had said softly, difficult to talk over the music but not safe without it earlier fowler joines had spotted numir lurking near rudi's trailer.

  "yes," marc dubois had agreed. "about ten kilometers out."

  "maybe we should blow bahrain and divert to kuwait, rudi?"

  "no, salvador, we've got to leave kuwait open for kowiss. six iranian registered choppers all zeroing in there? they'd have a hemorrhage."

  "where the hell're the new registration numbers we were promised?" kelly said, his nervousness growing every moment.

  "we're being met. charlie pettikin's going to kuwait, jean-luc to bahrain."

  "mon dieu, that's our bad luck," dubois had said, disgustedly. "lean- luc's always late, always. those pieds noirs, they think like arabs."

  "if jean-luc screws up this time," sandor had said, "he'll be goddamn burger meat. listen, about the gas, maybe we can get extra from iran- toda. it's gonna look mighty suspicious to be loaded with all that gas, just to go down there."

  "rudi, make the call. it's time."

  "okay, okay!" rudi took a deep breath, picked up the mike. "sierra one, this's bandar delam, do you read? this is... "

  at al shargaz hq: 6:40 a.m. "... bandar delam, do you read?"

  gavallan was sitting in front of the hf, scot beside him, nogger lane leaning against a desk behind them, manuela in the only other chair. all were rigid, staring at the loudspeaker, all sure the call meant trouble as the whirlwind plan called for radio silence before 7:00 a.m. and during the actual escape, except in emergencies. "bander delam, sierra one," scot said throatily. "you're two by five, go ahead."

  "we don't know how your day is but we've some planned flights this morning and we'd like to bring them forward to now. do you approve?"

  "standby one," scot said.

  "damnation," gavallan muttered. "it's essential all bases leave at the same time." then again the airwaves crackled into life.

  "sierra one, this's lengeh," scragger's voice was much louder and clearer and more sharp. "we've flights too but the later the better. how's your weather?"

  "standby one, lengeh." scot glanced across at gavallan, waiting.

  "call kowiss," gavallan said
and everyone relaxed a little. "we'll check with them first.''

  "kowiss, this's sierra one, do you read?" silence. "kowiss, this's sierra one, do you read?"

  "this's kowiss, go ahead." mciver's voice sounded strained and was intermittent.

  "did you copy?"