"sayada! mon dieu, che'rie! what are you doing here?"
she was suitably astonished and then he was kissing her and she tasted the sea salt and smelled the sun oil and sweat and decided this afternoon would be perfect after all. "i just arrived, che'ri. i arrived last night from tehran," she said breathlessly, letting her desire fill her. "i'm wait-listed on middle eastern's noon flight to beirut tomorrow but what are you doing here, it's like a miracle!"
"it is, how lucky we are! but you can't go tomorrow, tomorrow's sunday. tomorrow we'll have a barbecue, lobsters and oysters!"
he was completely confident and gallic and charmingly persuasive and she thought, why not? beirut can wait. i've waited so long one more day won't matter.
and he was thinking, how perfect! the weekend was going to be a disaster but now love this afternoon, then siesta. later i'll choose a perfect dinner, then we'll dance a little and love tenderly and sleep soundly, ready for another perfect day tomorrow. "che'rie, i'm desolate but i must leave you for almost an hour," he said with the perfect touch of sadness. "we will lunch here you stay at this hotel? perfect, so do i: 1623. about one-thirty, quarter to two? don't change, you look perfect. c'est bon?" he bent down and kissed her and let his hand stray to her breast, felt her tremor and was pleased.
at the hospital: 1:16 p.m. "good morning, dr. lanoire. captain mciver, is it good or bad?" jean-luc said, speaking french to him anton lanoire's father came from cannes, his mother was bahraini, a sorbonne-trained daughter of an illiterate fisherman who still fished as he had always done, still lived in a hovel though he was a multimillionaire owner of oil wells.
"it's middling."
"how middling is that?"
the doctor steepled his fingers. he was a distinguished man in his late thirties, trained in paris and london, trilingual, arabic, french, and english. "we won't know with much accuracy for a few days; we still have to make several tests. we'll know the real good or bad when he has an angiogram a
month from now, but in the meantime captain mciver's responding to treatment and is not in pain."
"but is he going to be all right?"
"angina is quite ordinary, usually. i understand from his wife he's been under very great stress for the last few months, and even worse for the last few days on this whirlwind exercise of yours and no wonder. what courage! i salute him and you and all those who took part. at the same time i'd strongly advise that all pilots and crews be given two or three months off."
jean-luc beamed. "may i have that in writing, please. of course the three months sick leave should be with full pay and allowances."
"of course. what a magnificent job all of you did for your company, risking your lives you should all get a well-deserved bonus! i wonder why more of you don't have heart attacks. the two months is to recuperate, jean-luc it's essential you have a careful checkup before you continue flying."
jean-luc was perplexed. "we can all expect heart attacks?"
"oh, no, no, not at all." lanoire smiled. "but it would be very wise to be checked thoroughly just in case. you know angina's caused by a sudden blockage of blood? a stroke's when the same happens to the brain. arteries get clogged and that's it! insha'allah. it can happen anytime."
"it can?" jean-luc's discomfort increased. piece of shit! it'd just be my luck to have a heart attack.
"oh, yes," the doctor continued helpfully. "i've known patients in their thirties and early forties with perfectly normal blood pressure, normal cholesterol, and normal ekgs electrocardiograms and poof !" he parodied with his hands expressively. "within a few hours poor!"
"poof! just like that?" jean-luc sat down uneasily.
"i can't fly but i would imagine flying creates a lot of stress, especially somewhere like the north sea. and stress is perhaps the biggest cause of angina, when part of the heart dies an "
"my god, old mac's heart died?" jean-luc was shocked.
"oh, no, just a part. every time you have an attack of angina, however mild, a part's lost forever. dead." dr. lanoire smiled. "of course you can go on quite a long time before you run out of tissue."
mor'dieu, jean-luc thought squeamishly. i don't like this at all. north sea? bucket of shit, i'd better apply for a transfer before i even go there! "how long will mac be in the hospital?"
"four or five days. i would suggest you leave him today and visit tomorrow, but don't tax him. he must have a month's leave, then some further tests."
"what are his chances?"
"that's up to god."
upstairs on the veranda of a pleasant room overlooking the blue waters, genny was dozing in a chair, today's london times, brought by ba's early flight, open on her lap. mciver lay comfortably in the starched clean bed. the breeze came off the sea and touched him and he woke up. wind's changed, he thought. it's back to the standard northeasterly. good. he moved to see better out into the gulf. the slight movement awakened her instantly. she folded the paper and got up.
"how're you feeling, luv?"
"fine. i'm fine now. no pain. just a bit tired. vaguely heard you talking to the doe, what did he say?"
"everything seems fine. the attack wasn't bad. you'll have to take it easy for a few days, then a month off and then some more tests he was very encouraging because you don't smoke, you're ever so fit, considering." genny stood over the bed, against the light, but he could see her face and read the truth thereon. "you can't fly anymore as a pilot," she said and smiled.
"that's a bugger," he said dryly. "have you been in touch with andy?"
"yes. i called last night and this morning and will check again in an hour or so. nothing yet on young marc dubois and fowler but all our birds are safe at al shargaz and being stripped for freighting out tomorrow. andy was so proud of you and scrag. i talked to him this morning too."
the shadow of a smile. "it'll be good to see old scrag. you're okay?"
"oh, yes." she touched his shoulder. "i'm ever so glad you're better you did give me a turn."
"i gave me a turn, gen." he smiled and held out his hand and said gruffly, "thanks, mrs. mciver."
she took it and put it to her cheek, then bent down and touched his lips with hers, warmed by the enormity of the affection in his face. "you did give me such a turn," she said again.
he noticed the newspaper. "that's today's, gen?"
"yes, dear."
"seems years since i saw one. what's new?"
"more of the usual." she folded the paper and put it aside carelessly, not wanting him to see the section she had been reading in case it worried him. "stock market collapse in hong kong." that'll certainly affect struan's and that bastard linbar, she thought, but will it touch s- g and andy? nothing duncan can do, so never mind. "strikes, callaghan's messing up poor old britain more than ever. they say he might call a snap election this year, and if he does maggie thatcher's got a good chance. wouldn't that be super? be a change to have someone sensible in charge."
"because she's a woman?" he smiled wryly. "that'd certainly set the cat among the chickens. christ almighty, a woman pm! don't know how she ever
wangled the leadership away from heath in the first place... she must have iron-plated knickers! if only the bloody liberals'd stayed out of the way..." his voice trailed off and she saw him look out to sea, some passing chows beautiful.
quietly she sat down and waited, wanting to let him drift back into sleep, or talk a little, whatever pleased him. he must be getting better if he's already taking off after the libs, she thought, bemused, letting herself drift, watching the sea. her hair was moved by the breeze that smelled of sea salt. it was pleasant just sitting, knowing that he was all right now, "responding to treatment. no need to worry, mrs. mclver." easy to say, hard not to do.
there'll be a huge change in our lives, has to be, apart from losing iran and all our stuff there, lot of old rubbish, most of it that i won't miss. now that whirlwind's over i must've been mad to suggest it, but oh it worked so well! now we've most of our lads out safely can't thi
nk of tom or marc or fowler, erikki or azadeh or sharazad, god bless them all and our best equipment and our face so we're still in business, our stake in s-g's got to be worth something. we won't be penniless and that's a blessing. i wonder how much we could get for our shares? i suppose we do have a share? but what about the "stock market collapse"? i hope that hasn't buggered us again.
it would be nice to have a little money, but i don't care so long as duncan gets better. perhaps he'll retire and perhaps he won't. i wouldn't want him really to retire, it would kill him. where should we live? near aberdeen? or edinburgh near sarah and trevor, or london near hamish and kathy? not london, nasty down there, and we shouldn't live too near either of the kids, don't want to bother them though it'd be ever so nice to be able to drop by from time to time, even baby-sit. don't want to become the boring mother-inlaw to trevor or to young kathy such a lovely girl. kathy, kathleen, kathy: andrew and kathy, and sometimes going to castle avisyard, and now andrew and maureen and tiny electra. i wouldn't want to be alone, don't want duncan to...
don't want to relive the horror, the pounding, rattling darkness, not being able to see, jets howling, stink of petrol my god, how do they stand the noise and the bouncing around hour after hour and all the time duncan gasping, not knowing if he was alive or dead, twice crying out, "he's dead, he's dead," but no one hearing and no one to help anyway and dear old charlie flying here as fast as he could, the other man, the iranian sergeant, what was his name, ah, yes, wazari, wazari nice but useless. oh, god, that was awful, awful, and lasted forever... but now it's all right and thank god i was there. duncan will be all right. he will be. he must be.
wonder what'll happen to wazari? he looked so frightened when the police took him off. wait a moment, didn't jean-luc say he had heard they would
probably release him into andy's custody as a political exile if andy guaranteed to take him out of bahrain and give him a job?
bloody revolution! bloody nuisance i couldn't get back to collect some of my things. there was that old frying pan that'd never stick, and grannie's teapot that made such a good cup of tea even out of filthy teabags and tehran water. ugh! water! soon no more squatting and using water instead of good soft paper. ugh! if i never have to squat again it will be too soon...
"what are you smiling about, gen?"
"oh, let me think! oh, yes, i was thinking about having to squat, about all the bums in the early morning over the joubs and their bottles of water, poor people. it always looked so awful and at the same time funny. poor people. no more squatting for us, me lad, it's back to blighty." she saw his eyes change and her anxiety returned. "that's not bad, duncan. going home. it won't be, i promise."
after a pause, he nodded, half to himself. "we'll wait and see, gen. we won't make any decision yet. no need to decide what we'll do for a month or two. first i'll get fit and then we'll decide. don't you worry, eh?"
"i'm not worried now."
"good, no need to worry." once more his attention strayed to the sea. i'm not going to spend the rest of my life battling bloody british weather, that'd be awful. retire? christ, i'll have to think of something. if i've got to stop working i'll go mad. maybe we could get a little place by the sea to winter in spain or the south of france. i'll be buggered if i'm going to let gen freeze and get old and bent before her time that bloody awful salt-heavy wind off the north sea! never by god. we'll have more than enough money now whirlwind's a success. nine out of ten 212s! wonderful! can't think about dubois or fowler or tom or erikki, azadeh or sharazad.
his anxiety came back and with it a twinge that increased his anxiety and brought a bigger twinge...
"what're you thinking, duncan?"
"that it's a beautiful day."
"yes, yes, it is."
"will you try andy for me, gen?"
"of course." she picked up the phone and dialed, knowing it would be better for him to talk awhile. "hello? oh, hello, scot, how're you it's genny." she listened then said, "that's good. is your dad there?" listening again, then, "no, just tell him i called for duncan he's fine and can be reached on extension 455 here. he just wants to say hello. will you ask andy to call when he comes back? thanks, scot... no he's really fine, tell charlie too. 'bye."
thoughtfully she replaced the phone on its cradle. "nothing new. andy's out at the international with scrag. they're seeing that jap you know the
one from iran-toda sorry, i wouldn't call him one to his face but that's what he is. still can't forgive them for what they did in the war."
mciver frowned. "you know, gen, perhaps it's time we did. kasigi certainly helped old scrag. the old 'sins of the fathers' bit doesn't add up. perhaps we should start the new era. that's what we've got, gen, like it or not, a new era. eh?"
she saw his smile and it brought tears near again. mustn't cry, all's going to be well, the new era will be good and he's going to get better, must get better oh, duncan, i'm so afraid. "tell you what, me lad," she said brightly, "when you're super fit we'll go to japan on holiday and then we'll see."
"that's a deal. we could even visit hong kong again." he took her hand and squeezed it and both hid their fear of the future, fear for the other.
'811!12141'
al shargaz international hotel: l:5s pm. kasigi was weaving through the busy tables on the immaculate terrace overlooking the swimming pool. "ah, mr. gavallan, captain scragger, so sorry to be late."
"no problem, mr. kasigi, please sit down."
"thank you." kasigi wore a light tropical suit and looked cool though he was not. "so sorry, i loathe being late but in the gulf it's almost impossible to be on time. i had to come from dubai and the traffic... i believe congratulations are in order. i hear your whirlwind was almost a complete success."
"we're still short one chopper with two crew, but we were very lucky, all in all," gavallan said, no joy in him or in scragger. "would you care for lunch or a drink?" their lunch appointment, requested by kasigi, had been for twelvethirty. by prearrangement, gavallan and scragger had not waited and were already on coffee.
"a brandy and mineral water, tall, please, and another mineral water on the side. no lunch thank you, i'm not hungry." kasigi lied politely, not wanting to embarrass himself by eating when they were finished. he smiled at scragger. "so! i'm pleased to see you're safe with your airplanes and crew out. congratulations! "
"sorry i had to duck your questions but, well, now you'll understand."
"the moment i heard, i understood, of course. health!" kasigi drank the mineral water thirstily. "now that whirlwind's out of the way, mr. gavallan, perhaps you can help me solve my problems at iran-toda?"
"i'd like to, of course, but i can't. i'm very sorry but we can't. it's not possible. just not possible, that must be obvious now."
"perhaps it can be made possible." kasigi's eyes did not waver. "i've heard that sunset tonight is a firm deadline to have your airplanes out or they will be impounded."
politely gavallan gestured with his hand. "let's hope it's just another rumor."
"one of your embassy officials informed our ambassador that this was definite. it would be a tragedy to lose all your aircraft after so much success."
"definite? you're certain?" gavallan felt empty.
"my ambassador was certain." kasigi put on a nice smile. "say i could get your deadline extended from sunset tonight to sunset tomorrow, could you solve my problems at iran-toda?"
both men stared at him. "can you extend our deadline, mr. kasigi?"
"i can't but our ambassador might be able to. i have an appointment with 1100
him in an hour. i will ask him perhaps he could influence the iranian ambassador, or the sheik, or both." kasigi saw gavallan's immediate interest and let that hang in the air, far too experienced a fisherman in western waters not to know the bait. "i'm in captain scragger's debt. i haven't forgotten he saved my life, went out of his way to fly me to bandar delam. friends shouldn't forget friends, should they? at ambassador level... perhaps it could
be done."
the japanese ambassador? my god, would it be possible gavallan's heart was racing with hope at the unexpected avenue. "there's no way ours can do anything, my contact was quite clear. i'd appreciate any help i could get, i certainly would. you think he'd help?"
"if he wanted to, i think he could." kasigi sipped the brandy. "as you can help us. my chairman asked to be remembered to you and mentioned your mutual friend sir ian dunross." he saw gavallan's eyes react and added, "they had dinner together two nights ago."
"if i can help... just exactly what are your problems?" and where's the catch and what's the cost? gavallan thought. and where's ian? three times i've tried to reach him and failed.
"i need three 212s and two 206s at iran-toda as soon as possible, under contract for a year. it's essential the plant gets completed and the local komiteh has promised me full cooperation if we start at once. if not at once it will be disastrous."
James Clavell - Whirlwind Page 148