James Clavell - Whirlwind

by Whirlwind(Lit)

  on the second floor of the palace hakim was blearily leaning out of his bedroom window, grasped from drugged sleep by the noise. his bodyguard, margol, was beside him. they saw the 212 almost collide with a small wooden outhouse, her skids ripping away part of the roof, then struggle onward in a drunken climb. outside the walls was the police car, the sergeant silhouetted in the beam of its headlights. hakim watched him aim and willed the bullets to miss.

  erikki heard bullets zinging off metal, prayed they had touched nothing vital, and banked dangerously away from the exposed outer wall toward some space where he could slip behind the safety of the palace. in the wild turn the bundled carpet containing azadeh toppled over and tangled with the controls. for a moment he was lost, then he used his massive strength to shove her away. the wound in his forearm split open.

  now he swerved behind the north wing, the chopper still only a few feet high, and headed toward the other perimeter wall near the hut where ross and gueng had been hidden. a stray bullet punctured his door, hacked into the instrument panel, exploding glass.

  when the helicopter had disappeared from hakim's view, he had hobbled across the huge bedroom, past the wood fire that blazed merrily, out into the corridor to the windows there. "can you see him?" he asked, panting from the exertion.

  "yes, highness," margol said, and pointed excitedly. "there!"

  the 212 was just a black shape against more blackness, then the perimeter floodlights came on and hakim saw her stagger over the wall with only inches to spare and dip down behind it. a few seconds later she had reappeared, gaining speed and altitude. at that moment aysha came running along the corridor, crying out hysterically, "highness, highness... azadeh's gone, she's gone... that devil's kidnapped her and mina's been knocked unconscious..."

  it was hard for hakim to concentrate against the pills, his eyelids never so heavy. "what are you talking about?"

  "azadeh's gone, your sister's gone, he wrapped her in a carpet and he's kidnapped her, taken her with him..." she stopped, afraid, seeing the look on hakim's face, ashen in this bleak light, eyes drooping not knowing about the sleeping pills. "he's kidnapped her!"

  "but that... that's not possible... not pass "

  "oh, but it is, she's kidnapped and mina's unconscious!"

  hakim blinked at her, then stuttered, "sound the alarm, aysha! if she's kidnapped... by god, sound... sound the alarm! i've taken sleeping pills and they... i'll deal with that devil tomorrow, by god, i can't, not now, but send someone... to the police... to the green bands... spread the alarm, there's a khan's ransom on his head! margol, help me back to my room."

  frightened servants and guards were collecting at the end of the corridor and aysha ran tearfully back to them, telling them what had happened and what the khan had ordered.

  hakim groped for his bed and lay back, exhausted. "margol, tell the... tell guards to arrest those fools at the gate. how could they have let that happen?"

  "they can't have been vigilant, highness." margol was sure they would be blamed someone had to be blamed even though he had been present when the khan had told them not to interfere with the pilot. he gave the order and came back. "are you all right, highness?"

  "yes, thank you. don't leave the room... wake me at dawn. keep the fire going and wake me at dawn."

  gratefully hakim let himself go into the sleep that beckoned so seductively, his back no longer paining him, his mind focused on azadeh and on erikki. when she had walked out of the small room and left him alone with erikki, he had allowed his grief to show: "there's no way out of the trap, erikki. we're trapped, all of us, you, azadeh, and me. i still can't believe she'd renounce islam, at the same time i'm convinced she won't obey me or you. i've no wish to hurt her but i've no alternative, her immortal soul is more important than her temporary life."

  "i could save her soul, hakim. with your help."

  "how?" he had seen the tension in erikki, his face tight, eyes strange.

  "remove her need to destroy it."

  "how?"

  "say, hypothetically, this madman of a pilot was not muslim but barbarian and so much in love with his wife that he goes a little more mad and instead of just escaping by himself, he suddenly knocks her out, kidnaps her, flies her out of her own country against her will, and refuses to allow her to return. in most countries a husband can... can take extreme measures to hold on to his wife, even to force her obedience and curb her. this way she won't have broken her oath, she'll never need to give up islam, you'll never need to harm her, and i'll keep my woman."

  "it's a cheat," hakim had said bewildered. "it's a cheat."

  "it's not, it's make-believe, hypothetical, all of it, only make-believe, but hypothetically it fulfills the rules you swore to abide by, and no one'd ever believe the sister of the gorgon khan would willingly break her oath and renounce islam over a barbarian. no one. even now you don't know for certain she would, do you?"

  hakim had tried to find the flaws. there're none, he had thought, astonished. and it would solve most of... wouldn't it solve everything if it came to pass? if erikki was to do this without her knowledge and help... kidnap her! it's true, no one'd ever believe she'd willingly break her oath. kidnapped! i could deplore it publicly and rejoice for her in secret, if i want her to leave, and him to live. but i have to, it's the only way: to save her soul i have to save him.

  in the peace of the bedroom he opened his eyes briefly. flame shadows danced on the ceiling. erikki and azadeh were there. god will forgive me, he thought, swooping into sleep. i wonder if i'll ever see her again?

  ihi1~12~' [i

  tehran near the university: 11:5x p.m. in the chill darkness sharazad stood with the phalanx of green bands protecting the front of the massed, shouting islamics. they were packed together, chanting

  "allahhhh-u akbarrrr" in unison, a living barrier against the two to three thousand roaring, leftist students and agitators approaching down the road. flashlights and burning torches, some cars on fire, guns, sticks, wooden clubs. her fingers gripped the automatic in her pocket, grenade ready in her other pocket. "god is great!" she shrieked.

  the enemy was closing fast and sharazad saw their clenched fists, the tumult growing on both sides, shouts more hoarse, nerves more stretched, anticipation rocketing

  "there is no other god but god..." now their enemies were so near she could see individual faces. suddenly she realized they were not massed satanic revolutionaries, not all of them, but the vast majority students, men and women of her own age, the women bravely not chadored and shouting for women's rights, the vote, and all the sensible, god given, hard fought for, never-turning-back things.

  she was transported back to the heady excitement of the women's march, all of them in their best clothes, hair free, as free as their hair, with freedom and justice for all in their new islamic republic where she and her son-to-be and tommy would live happily ever after. but there again in front of her was the knife-wielding fanatic tearing the future away, but that didn't matter for her ibrahim had stopped him, ibrahim the student leader, he was there to save her. oh, ibrahim, are you here tonight, leading them now as you did with us? are you here once more fighting for freedom and justice and women's rights or were you martyred in kowiss as you wanted, killing your evil, two-faced mullah who murdered your father as mine was also murdered?

  but... but father was killed by islamics, not leftists, she thought bewildered. and the imam's still implacably for everything as it was in the prophet's time... and meshang... and tommy forced out. and forced divorce and forced marriage to that foul old man and no rights!

  "what am i doing here?" she gasped in the pandemonium. "i should be over there with them, i should be over there with them, not here... no, no, not there either! what about my child, my son-to-be, it's dangerous for him an "

  somewhere a gun went off, then others and mayhem became general, those in the fore trying to retreat and those behind trying to get to the fight. around

  sharazad there was a mi
ndless surge. she felt herself being crushed and carried forward, her feet hardly touching the ground. a woman beside her screamed and went under the feet. an old man stumbled, and vanished below mumbling the shahada, almost bringing her down. someone's elbow went into her stomach, she cried out in pain and her fear became terror. "tommyyyy! help meeeeee..." she shrieked.

  a hundred yards or so ahead tom lochart was pressed against a shop front by the student marchers, his coat torn, peaked cap gone, more desperate than he had ever been. for hours he had been searching the groups of students hoping against hope to find her, sure she was somewhere among them. where else would she go? surely not to this student's apartment, the one jari said she met, this ibrahim or whatever his name was who meant nothing. better she's there than here, he thought in despair. oh, god, let me find her.

  chanting women passed, most in western dress, jeans, jackets, and then he saw her. he fought alongside but once more he had made a mistake and he apologized and shoved his way to the side again, a few curses shouted after him. then he thought he saw her on the far side of the roadway but again he was mistaken. the girl wore similar ski clothes to sharazad and had the same hairstyle and was about her age. but she carried a marxist-islamic banner and, scourged by his disappointment, he cursed her, hating her for her stupidity. the shouts and countershouts were reaching him too, agitating him, and he wanted to pick up the cudgel and smash the evil out of them.

  oh, god, help me find her. "god is great," he muttered, and though he was frantic with worry for her, at the same time his heart was soaring. becoming muslim will make all the difference. now they will accept me, i'm one of them, i can go on the hajj to mecca, i can worship in any mosque, color or race means nothing to god. only belief. i believe in god and that mohammed was the prophet of god, i won't be fundamentalist, or shi'a. i'll be orthodox sunni. i'll find a teacher and study and learn arabic. and i'll fly for iranoil and the new regime and we will be happy, sharazad and i...

  a gun went off nearby, fires of a burning tire barricade soared into the air as small groups of screaming students were throwing themselves at the ranks of the green bands, other guns began firing, and now the whole street erupted into shouting, heaving bodies, the weak crushed underfoot. a berserk phalanx of youths dragged him with them toward the fighting.

  eighty yards away sharazad was screaming, fighting for her life, trying to shove and kick and push her way to the side where there would be comparative safety. her chador was torn away, her scarf vanished. she was bruised, pain in her stomach. those around her were a mob now, hacking at those opposing it, all for themselves but wrapped into the mob beast. the battle waged back and forth, no one knowing who was friend or enemy, except mullahs and green

  bands who shouted, trying to control the riot. with an earsplitting roar, the islamic mob hesitated a moment, then advanced. the weak fell and were crushed. men, women. screams and shouts and pandemonium, all calling on their own version of god.

  desperately the students fought back but they were swamped. relentlessly. many went down. feet trampled them. now the rest broke, the rout began, and the sides intermixed.

  lochart used his superior height and strength to batter his way to the side and now stood between two cars, protected by them for the moment. a few yards away he saw a small, half-hidden alleyway that led toward a brokendown mosque where there would be sanctuary. ahead was a huge explosion as a car tank exploded, scattering flames. the fortunate were killed instantly, the wounded began to scream. in the flame light he thought he caught a glimpse of her, then a group of fleeing youths swarmed over him, a fist went into his back, others pummeled him out of the way, and he fell under their boots.

  sharazad was only thirty yards away, hair awry, clothes torn, still locked into the press of the mob, still pulled along by the juggernaut, still screaming for help, no one hearing or caring. "tommyyyy... help meeeeee..."

  the crowd parted momentarily. she darted for the opening, squeezing her way toward the barred and locked shops and parked cars. the tumult was lessening. arms pushed for breathing space, hands wiped sweat and filth off, and men saw their neighbors. "you god-cursed communist harlot," the man in her path shouted, eyes almost out of his sockets with rage.

  "i'm not, i'm not, i'm muslim," she gasped, but his hands had caught her ski jacket the zipper wrecked his hand went in and grabbed her breast.

  "harlot! muslim women don't flaunt themselves, muslim women wear chad "

  "i lost it it was torn off me," she shrieked.

  "harlot! god curse you! our women wear chador."

  "i lost it it was torn off me," she shrieked again and tried to pull away, "there is no oth "

  "harlot! whore! satanist!" he shouted, his ears closed to her, the madness on him and the feel of her breast through her silk shirt and undershirt further inflaming him. his fingers clawed at the silk and ripped it away and now he held her roundness, his other hand dragging her closer to subdue her and strangle her as she kicked and screamed. those nearby jostled them, or tried to move out of the way, hard to see in the darkness that was only rent by the light from fires, not know what was going on except someone had caught a leftist whore here in the ranks of the godly. "by god, she's not a leftist, i heard her shouting for the imam..." someone called out but cries ahead overrode him, another

  pocket of fighting flared up and men shoved forward to help or elbowed space to retreat and they left her and him together.

  she fought him with her nails and feet and voice, his breath and obscenities choking her. with a final effort she called on god for help, hacked upward and missed and remembered her gun. her hand grasped it, shoved it into him, and pulled the trigger. the man screamed, most of his genitals blown off, and he collapsed howling. there was a sudden hush around her. and space. her hand came out of the pocket still holding the gun. a man near to her grabbed it.

  blankly she stared down at her attacker who twisted and moaned in the dirt.

  "god is great," she stuttered, then noticed her disarray and pulled her jacket together, looked up and saw the hatred surrounding her. "he was attacking me... god is great, god is great..."

  "she's just saying that, she's a leftist..." a woman screeched.

  "look at her clothes, she's not one of us..."

  just a few yards away, lochart was picking himself out of the dirt, head hurting, ears ringing, hardly able to see or to hear. with a great effort he stood upright, then shouldered his way forward toward the dark mouth of the alley and safety. others had had the same thought and already the entrance was clogged. then her voice, mingled with shouting, reached him and he turned back.

  he saw her at bay, backed against a wall, a mob around her, clothes half torn off, the sleeve of her jacket ripped away, eyes staring, a grenade in her hand. at that second a man made a move at her, she pulled the pin out, the man froze, everyone began to back off, lochart burst through the cordon to reach her and seized the grenade, keeping the lever down. "get away from her," he roared in farsi and stood in front of her, protecting her. "she's muslim, you sons of dogs. she's muslim and my wife and i'm muslim!"

  "you're a foreigner and she's a leftist by god!"

  lochart darted at the man and his fist now armored with the grenade crushed the man's mouth in, shattering his jaw. "god is great," lochart bellowed. others took up the shout and those who disbelieved him did nothing, afraid of him but more afraid of the grenade. holding her tightly with his free arm, half guiding, half carrying her, lochart went at the first rank, grenade ready. "please let us pass, god is great, peace be with you." the first rank parted, then the next, and he shoved through, muttering, "god is great... peace be with you," continually until he had broken out of the cordon and into the crowded alley, stumbling in the filth and potholes, bumping people here and there in the darkness. a few lights were on outside the mosque ahead. at the fountain he stopped, broke the ice, and with one hand scooped some water into his face,

  the torrent in his brain still raging. "christ," he m
uttered and used more water. "oh, tommyyyy!" sharazad cried out, her voice far off and strange, near breaking. "where did you come from, where, oh i... i was so afraid, so afraid."

  "so was i," he stammered, the words hard to get out. "i've been searching for hours for you, my darling." he pulled her to him. "you all right?"

  "oh, yes, yes." her arms were tight around him, her face buried in his shoulder.

  sudden firing, more shrieks back toward the street. instinctively he held her tighter but sensed no danger here. just half-seen crowds passing in the semidarkness, the firing becoming more distant and the noise of the riot decreasing.