we're safe at last. no, not yet, there's still the grenade no pin to make it safe, no way to make it safe. over her head and those of the passersby, he saw a burned-out building by the side of the mosque across the little square. i can get rid of it there safely, he persuaded himself, not thinking clearly yet, holding on to her and gathering strength from her embrace. the crowds had increased, now packing the alley. until their numbers lessened it would be difficult and dangerous to dispose of the grenade across the square so he moved her closer to the fountain where the darkness was deeper. "don't worry. we'll wait a second, then go on." they were talking english, softly so much to tell, so much to ask. "you sure you're all right?"
"yes, oh, yes. how did you find me? how? when did you get back? how did you find me?"
"i... i flew back tonight and went to the house but you'd gone." then he burst out, "sharazad, i've become muslim."
she gaped at him. "but... but that was just a trick, a trick to get away from them!"
"no, i swear it! i really have. i swear it. i said the shahada in front of three witnesses, meshang and zarah and jari, and i believe. i do believe. everything's going to be all right now."
her disbelief vanished seeing the joy in him, his voice telling her over and over what had happened. "oh, how wonderful, tommy," she said, beyond herself with happiness, at the same time utterly certain that, for them, nothing would change. nothing will change meshang, she thought. meshang will find a way to destroy us whether my tommy's a believer or not. nothing will change, the divorce will stay, the marriage will stay. unless...
her fears vanished. "tommy, can we leave tehran tonight? can we run away tonight, my darling?"
"there's no need for that, not now. i've wonderful plans. i've quit s-g. now that i'm muslim i can stay and fly for iranoil, don't you see?" both
were oblivious of the crowds passing, packed more tightly, anxious to be home. "no need to worry, sharazad."
someone stumbled and jostled him, then another, a pileup beginning that encroached on their little sanctuary. she saw him shove a man away and others began to curse. quickly she took his hand, and pulled him into the mainstream. "let's go home, husband," she said loudly in coarsened farsi, cautioning him, holding on tightly, then whispered, "speak farsi," then a little louder, "we're not safe here and we can talk better at home."
"yes, yes, woman. better we go home." walking was better and safer and sharazad was here and tomorrow would solve tomorrow, tonight there would be a bath and sleep and food and sleep and no dreams or only happy ones.
"if we wanted to leave tonight secretly, could we? could we, tommy?"
tiredness washed over him and he almost shouted at her that didn't she understand what he had just told her? instead he held back the anger and just said, "there's no need to escape now."
"you're quite right, husband, as always. but could we?"
"yes, yes, i suppose so," he said wearily, and told her how, stopping and starting again with the rest of the pedestrians as the alley narrowed, more claustrophobic every moment.
now she was aglow, quite sure she could convince him. tomorrow they would leave. tomorrow morning i'll collect my jewels, we'll pretend to meshang we'll meet him in the bazaar at lunchtime, but by then we will be flying south in tommy's plane. he can fly in the gulf states or canada or anywhere, you can be muslim and canadian without harm, they told me when i went to the embassy. and soon, in a month or so we'll come home to iran and live here forever...
contentedly she went even closer to him, hidden in the crowd and by the darkness, not afraid anymore, certain their future would be grand. now that he's a believer he will go to paradise, god is great, god is great, and so will i, and together, with the help of god, we will leave sons and daughters behind us. and then, when we are old, if he dies first, on the fortieth day i will make sure his spirit is remembered perfectly, and then, afterward, i will curse his younger wife or wives and their children, then put my affairs in order and peacefully wait to join him in god's time. "oh, i do love you, tommy, i'm so sorry that you've had so much trouble... trouble over me..."
now they were breaking out of the alley into a street. the crowds were even heavier, swarming all over the roadway and in the traffic. but there was a lightness on them all, men, women, mullahs, green bands, young and old, the night well spent doing god's work. "allah-u akbar!" someone shouted, the words echoed and reechoed by a thousand throats. ahead an impatient car
lurched, bumped into some pedestrians who bumped into others who brought down others amid curses and laughter. sharazad and lochart among them, no one hurt. he had caught her safely and, laughing together, they rested on the ground a moment, the grenade still tight in his hand. they did not hear its warning hiss without knowing it, in falling he had slackened the lever an instant, but just enough. for an infinity of time he smiled at her and she at him. "god is great," she said and he echoed her just as confidently. and, the same instant, they died.
saturday march 3
~112~'
ez3~
al shargaz: 6:34 a.m. the tip of the sun crested the horizon and turned black desert into a crimson sea, staining the old port city and chows in the gulf beyond. from the minaret loudspeakers muezzins began but the music in their voices did not please gavallan or any of the other s-g personnel on the veranda of the oasis hotel, finishing a hurried breakfast. "it gets to you, scrag, doesn't it?" gavallan said.
"right you are, sport," scragger said. he, rudi lutz, and pettikin shared gavallan's table, all of them tired and dispirited. whirlwind's almost complete success was turning into a disaster. dubois and fowler still missing in bahrain, mciver not yet out of danger. tom lochart back in tehran, god knows where. no news of erikki and azadeh. no sleep for most of them last night. and sunset today still their deadline.
from the moment yesterday when the 212s had started landing, they had all helped to strip them, removing rotors and tail booms for storing on the jumbo freighters when they arrived, if they arrived. last night roger newbury had returned from the al shargaz palace meeting with the foreign minister in a foul humor: "not a bloody thing i can do, andy. the minister said he and the sheik had been asked to make a personal inspection of the airport by the new iranian representative or ambassador who had seen eight or nine strange 212s at the airport, claiming them to be their 'hijacked' iran registereds. the minister said that of course his highness, the sheik, had agreed how could he refuse? the inspection's at sunset with the ambassador, i'm 'cordially invited' as the british rep for a thorough check of ids, and if any're found to be suspect, old boy, tough titty!"
gavallan had been up all night trying to bring the arrival of the freighters forward, or to get substitutions from every international source he could conjure up. none were available. the best his present charterers could do was "perhaps" to bring forward the eta to noon tomorrow, sunday. "bloody people," he muttered and poured some more coffee. "when you've got to have a couple of 747s there're none and usually with a single phone call you can get fifty."
pettikin was equally worried, also about mciver in bahrain hospital.
no news was expected until noon today about the seriousness of mclver's heart attack. "pas probleme," jean-luc had said last night. "they've let genny stay in the next room at the hospital, the doctor's the best in bahrain, and i'm here. i've canceled my early flight home and i'll wait, but send me some money tomorrow to pay the bills."
* * *
pettikin toyed with his coffee cup, his breakfast untouched. all yesterday and last night helping to get the helicopters ready so no chance to see paula and she was off again to tehran this morning, still evacuating italian nationals, and would not be back for at least two days. gavallan had ordered an immediate retreat of all whirlwind participants out of the gulf area, pending review. "we can't be too careful," he had told them all. "everyone's got to go for the time being."
later pettikin had said, "you're right, andy, but what about tom and erikki? we should leave someone her
e i'd be glad to volun "
"for christ's sake, charlie, give over," gavallan had flared. "you think i'm not worried sick about them? and fowler and dubois? we have to do it one step at a time. everyone who's not necessary is out before sunset and you're one of them!" that had been about 1:00 a.m. this morning in the office when pettikin had come to relieve scot who was still blearily manning the hf. the rest of the night he had sat there. no calls. at 5:00 a.m. nogger lane had relieved him and he had come here for breakfast, gavallan, rudi, and scragger already seated. "any luck with the freighters, andy?"
"no, charlie, it's still tomorrow noon at the earliest," gavallan had said. "sit down, have some coffee." then had come the dawn and the muezzins. now their singsong ceased. some of the violence left the veranda.
scragger poured himself another cup of tea, his stomach still upset. another sudden chill zapped up from his bowels and he hurried to the bathroom. the spasm passed quickly with very little to show for it, but there was no blood therein, and doc nutt had said he didn't think it was dysentery: "just take it easy for a few days, scrag. i'll have the result of all the tests tomorrow." he had told doc nutt about the blood in his urine and the pain in his stomach over the last few days. to hide it would have been an unforgivable added danger, both to his passengers and to his chopper. "scrag, best you stay here in hospital for a few days," doc nutt had said.
"get stuffed, old cock! there's things to do and mountains to conquer."
going back to the table he saw the brooding gloom upon everyone and hated it, but had no solution. nothing to do except wait. no way to transit out because they would have to go through saudi, emirate, or oman airspace and no possibility of a clearance for a few days. he had suggested, jokingly, they reassemble the helicopters, find out when the next british supertanker was outbound through hormuz and then take off and land on her: "... and we just sail off into the wild blue and get off in mombasa, or sail on around africa to nigeria."
"hey, scrag," vossi had said in admiration, "that's wild-assed. i could use a cruise. how about it, andy?"
"we'd be arrested and in the brig before the rotors had begun."
scragger sat down and waved a fly away. the sun's birth color was less red now and all of them were wearing dark glasses against the glare.
gavallan finished his coffee. "well, i'm off to the office in case i can do something. if you want me i'm there. how soon'll you be finished, rudi?"
rudi was in charge of getting the choppers ready for transshipment. "your target was noon today. it'll be noon." he swallowed the last of his coffee and got up. "time to leave, meine kinder!" groans and catcalls from the others but mostly good-natured through their fatigue. a general exodus to transport waiting outside.
"andy," scragger said, "i'll come along with you if it's okay."
"good idea, scrag. charlie, no need for you to be on rudi's team as we're ahead of schedule. why don't you come over to the office later?"
pettikin smiled at him. "thanks." paula was not due to leave her hotel until 1o:oo a.m. now he would have plenty of time to see her. to say what? he asked himself, waving them good-bye.
gavallan drove out of the gates. the airport was still partially in shadow. already a few jets with their navigation lights on, engines winding up. the iran evacuation was still priority. he glanced at scragger, saw the grimace. "you all right?"
"sure, andy. just a touch of gippy tummy. had it bad in new guinea so i've always been careful. if i could get some of old dr. collis brown's elixir i'd be raring to go!" this was a marvelous and highly effective tincture invented by dr. collis brown, an english army surgeon, to combat the dysentery that tens of thousands of soldiers were dying of during the crimean war. "six drops of the old magic and bob's your unbloody uncle!"
"you're right, scrag," gavallan said absently, wondering if pan am freighting had had any cancellations. "i never travel without collis... wait a minute!" he suddenly beamed. "my survival kit! there's some there. liz always sticks it into my briefcase. collis brown's, tiger balm, aspirins, a golden sovereign, and a can of sardines."
"eh? sardines?"
"in case i get hungry." gavallan was glad to talk to take his mind off the looming disaster. "liz and i have a mutual friend we met years ago in hong kong, fellow called marlowe, a writer. he always carried a can with him, iron rations in case of famine and liz and i, we always laughed about it. it became kind of a symbol to remind ourselves how lucky we really are."
"peter marlowe? the one who wrote changi about the pow camp in singapore?"
"yes. do you know him?"
"no. but i read that book, not the others, but i read that one." scragger
was suddenly reminded about his own war against the japanese and then about kasigi and iran-toda. last night he had called other hotels to track kasigi down and eventually had found him registered at the international and had left a message but as yet had not heard back. probably he's checker i let him down, he told himself, because we can't help him at iran-toda. stone the crows! bandar delam and iran-toda seem a couple of years ago instead of just a couple of days. even so, if it weren't for him, i'd still be handcuffed to that bleeding bed.
"pity we don't all have our can of sardines, andy," he said. "we really do forget our luck, don't we? look how lucky we were to get out of lengeh in one piece. wot about old duke? soon he'll be fit as a fiddle. a fraction of an inch and he'd be dead but he isn't. scot the same. wot about whirlwind! all the lads're out and so're our birds. erikki's safe. mac'll be all right, you wait and see! dubois and fowler? it's got to happen sometime, but it hasn't yet, so far as we know, so we can still hope. tom? well, he chose that and he'll get out."
near theiran-turk1sh border: 7:59 a.m. some seven hundred miles northward, azadeh shielded her eyes against the rising sun. she had seen something glint in the valley below. was that light reflected off a gun, or harness? she readied the m16, picked up the binoculars. behind her erikki lay sprawled on some blankets in the 212's open cabin, heavily asleep. his face was pale and he had lost a lot of blood, but she thought he was all right. through the lenses she saw nothing move. down there the countryside was snow-locked and sparsely treed. desolate. no villages and no smoke. the day was good but very cold. no clouds and the wind had dropped in the night. slowly she searched the valley. a few miles away was a village she had not noticed before.
the 212 was parked in rough mountainous country on a rocky plateau. last night after the escape from the palace, because a bullet had smashed some instrumentation, erikki had lost his way. afraid to exhaust all his fuel, and unable to fly and at the same time stanch the flow of blood from his arm, he had decided to risk landing and waiting for dawn. once on the ground, he had pulled the carpet out of the cockpit and unrolled it. azadeh was still sleeping peacefully. he had tied up his wound as best he could, then rewrapped her in the carpet for warmth, brought out some of the guns, and leaned against the skid on guard. but much as he tried he could not keep his eyes open.
he had awakened suddenly. false dawn was touching the sky. azadeh was still huddled down in the carpet but now she was watching him. "so. you've kidnapped me!" then her pretended coldness vanished and she scrambled into
his arms, kissing him and thanking him for solving the dilemma for all three of them with such wisdom, saying the speech she had rehearsed: "i know a wife can do little against a husband, erikki, hardly anything at all. even in iran where we're civilised, here, a wife's almost a chattel and the imam is very clear on wifely duties, and in the koran," she added, "in the koran and sharia her duties are oh so clear. also i know i'm married to a nonbeliever, and i openly swear i will try to escape at least once a day to try to go back to fulfill my oath, and though i'll be petrified and know you'll catch me every time and will keep me without money or beat me and i have to obey whatever you order, i will do it." her eyes were brimming with happy tears. "thank you, my darling, i was so afraid..."
"would you have done that? given up your god?"
"erikki, oh, how i prayed god would guide you."
"would you?"
"there's no need now even to think the unthinkable, is there, my love?"
"ah," he said, understanding. "then you knew, didn't you? you knew that this was what i had to do!"
"i only know i'm your wife, i love you, i must obey you, you took me away without my help and against my will. we need never discuss it again. please?"
blearily he peered at her, disoriented, and could not understand how she could seem to be strong and have come out of the drugged sleep so easily. sleep! "azadeh, i've got to have an hour of proper sleep. sorry, i can't go on. without an hour or so, i can't. we should be safe enough here. you guard, we should be safe enough."
"where are we?"
"still in iran, somewhere near the border." he gave her a loaded mid, knowing she could use it accurately. "one of the bullets smashed my compass." she saw him stagger as he went for the cabin, grope for some blankets, and lie down. instantly he was asleep. while she waited for the daylight she thought about their future and about the past. still johnny to settle. nothing else. how strange life is. i thought i would scream a thousand times closed up in that vile carpet, pretending to be drugged. as if i would be so stupid as to drug myself in case i would have to help defend us! so easy to dupe mina and my darling erikki and even hakim, no longer my darling: "... her everlasting spirit's more important than her temporary body!" he would have killed me. me! his beloved sister! but i tricked him.
James Clavell - Whirlwind Page 146