City of Whispering Stone

by George C. Chesbro

  “You saved my life, probably at considerable risk to your own.”

  Darius shrugged wearily. As usual, he was wearing a conservatively cut business suit, and looked as if he might have stopped off to see me on his way to the university; except that he’d been spending a lot of time lately in that one suit. It was soiled and baggy, like the puffy flesh under his tired eyes.

  “How long has it been since you slept?” I asked.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “How did you know where I was?”

  I wasn’t sure he was going to answer, but he finally said, “We have our own sources of information. We knew you’d be picked up after you visited the Razvan home. Our fear was that they’d execute you outright, or throw you in prison. Then we wouldn’t have been able to help.”

  “I was pretty sure I was going to be one dead dwarf.”

  “Cholera can be treated if it’s caught in time. We were able to keep replenishing your body fluids until the disease had run its course. Finding you was more difficult; we followed the truck into the desert. Naturally, we had to keep a good distance between us, and it took more than an hour to locate you after they’d dumped you.”

  I tried to think of something profound to say; it came out “Thank you.”

  Darius cleared his throat. “Our motives aren’t entirely altruistic, Mongo. You’re my friend, but that’s not the reason you’re alive. Many of my friends, not to mention my sister, have died in the past few years. Many more are now rotting in prison. In other words, the fact that you are my friend would not in itself be a reason for me to risk my life and the lives of those who have sheltered and cared for you.”

  “I’m an investment, then?”

  He thought about it, nodded. “Yes, an investment: a witness to the ruthlessness of this regime, and insurance that Mehdi Zahedi won’t be going back to the United States.”

  This particular bullet had been picked up from the desert sand, brushed off, and was about to be fired by the other side. I was beginning to feel slightly used. “You’re here now. What difference does it make where Zahedi is? I’d think you’d want him back in the United States so he’d be out of your hair here.”

  Darius shook his head. “There are others in New York who must continue to operate in secrecy. Also, the time for open fighting has not yet arrived. I’ve prepared carefully. No one else at the university will question my absence; they think I’m on a sabbatical. Zahedi would know immediately what happened, and I can’t have that. There would be too much pressure on us here.”

  “You’re assuming that I’ll cover for you.”

  “Yes, I am,” Darius said, a faint note of surprise in his voice. “Am I wrong?”

  “I won’t betray you, and you know it. But you’re the one who canceled friendship out of this particular equation. The only reason I’m alive is that you want something from me.”

  “It’s true I said that. I have a great responsibility; I wanted to make you understand.”

  “I appreciate your honesty, and I understand.”

  The air cleared, Darius smiled and handed me another apple. I finished that and had an orange as a chaser. Darius produced a pack of American cigarettes. I lighted one, but it tasted terrible and I ground it out. “Where are we?” I asked.

  “In the home of friends.”

  “I’d like to thank them.”

  “They have their thanks.”

  The wariness in Darius’ voice served to remind me that I could be captured again, and he didn’t want me to know any more than I had to. I changed the subject. “How long have I been here?”

  “A week. Much of the time you’ve been under sedation; it speeds the recuperative process.”

  “What happens now?”

  He gently touched my arm. “I realize you’re still very weak, my friend, but we must leave.”

  It made sense. Every moment I stayed there meant danger for everyone involved. By now Arsenjani and Zahedi would be having fits at not being able to find my corpse, and they weren’t likely to believe I’d ascended bodily into heaven. That would mean a house-to-house search of the area. “Where will we go?”

  “There are places.” The wariness again.

  “But you won’t tell me where?”

  “Eventually. For now it’s better if you simply follow instructions. You’re still not out of the country.”

  “They have my passport.”

  “All will be taken care of.”

  “Darius, I can’t leave until I find out what’s happened to Garth.”

  “If your brother is alive, I promise you GEM will do what it can to get him safely out of Iran. There’s absolutely nothing you can do on your own—except get yourself, and me, killed.”

  He was right. As much as it rankled, it was time for me to go home.

  Food was brought by a maid who carefully avoided looking at either of us. I ate quickly. Despite my hunger, the food tasted flat; it seemed it was going to take my taste buds longer than my appetite to fully recover. I downed three cups of steaming tea, then got out of bed. I was a little wobbly, but I managed to dress in the clothes someone had laid out for me on a chair. They were hand-sewn and fitted fairly well. Darius watched me in silence. I knew I wasn’t going to get any more from him than he wanted to tell me, but I decided to test the limits.

  “Did you have this whole GEM thing planned before you left Iran?”

  “No,” Darius said after a moment’s hesitation. “As I told you back in New York, I was not a political man at that time. I left finally because everything around me reminded me too much of my sister. Call it guilt at my own noninvolvement. It never occurred to me that the government responsible for killing her should—much less could—be replaced. That came much later.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  Darius inclined his head to the left and touched his forehead in a distinctive and peculiar gesture I’d seen many times before. Finally he smiled. “Irreverence,” he said at last, smoothing his long white hair back into place. “Specifically, the irreverence I found in the United States. It’s good that men should be irreverent; it keeps them from taking themselves and the things they do too seriously. Irreverence is the perfect antidote to the poison of kings.”

  “And you’re the most irreverent of all; the top man.”

  “That isn’t quite the way I’d put it.”

  “How would you put it?”

  “It’s true that I put GEM together, but now there are a number of ‘top men.’ I’m principally a theorist and organizer.”

  “If you knew how hard they’re working to nail you, you wouldn’t be so modest.”

  “Over the past few years many men have risked and sacrificed their lives while I’ve lived comfortably in the United States.”

  “How did you maintain secrecy? Men don’t lie well when they’re being tortured.”

  “A man can’t tell what he doesn’t know. We used a pyramidal command structure composed of triangular personnel modules. I’ll discuss it with you one day in what I hope will be happier times.”

  “I’m familiar with the structure; they used it in Algiers.”

  “It’s a good system, but not perfect. Key personnel were being captured, and when that happens the central pyramid begins to crumble. Zahedi was very close to the truth. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Pyramid,” I said. “You’ve been living in the United States. There has to be somebody else at your level here in Iran, a top operational chief who makes sure that your plans are carried out. Also, you’re wired into the SAVAK, right?”

  Darius remained silent, and I knew I’d reached the limit. That was one more thing I’d have to ask Darius in happier times. I’d like to meet the man who’d spent all this time operating under the SAVAK’s nose; he had to be a genius.

  Darius led me out of the house through a back door and motioned me into a waiting pickup truck. The bed of the truck was covered with a canvas tarpaulin. “I’ll have to ask you to get in the back,
” Darius said. “I’m afraid you’d be easily recognized.”

  “I can’t imagine why,” I said, crawling under the tarpaulin.

  That much exercise promptly put me to sleep. I zipped through three or four recurring nightmares and woke up when somebody yanked back the tarpaulin. That levitated me about two feet into the air, but it was only Darius.

  “We’re here, Mongo. How do you feel?”

  “You just scared the hell out of me and I ache all over, in that order.”

  “I’m sorry there isn’t more time to rest.”

  “You worry about my transportation and I’ll worry about my beauty sleep.”

  “Agreed.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to be dropped off at Times Square.”

  “Ah. Regrettably, your tour ends at Kennedy Airport. After that you’ll have to fend for yourself.”

  “That’ll do, assuming there isn’t a cab strike.”

  “You’re also responsible for getting yourself out of the truck.”

  “Don’t you want to blindfold me?”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  I climbed out. The truck with its silent driver pulled away, and I glanced around me. We were back at Persepolis, on the slope of the mountain overlooking the ruins. Darius immediately started off up a rocky trail leading along the base of a cliff. I followed, but lost him twenty minutes later when he turned a corner.

  Feeling very foolish, I stood on the spot in the trail where Darius had disappeared. My repertoire of magic incantations being rather limited, I waited. A moment later Darius appeared from behind a large outcropping of rock at the side of the trail. He pulled the “rock” to one side and I could see that it was a painted, dirt-encrusted canvas sheet covering the entrance to a cave.

  “You’re the first American to see this,” Darius said. “In fact, this particular entrance has eluded even the Iranian archaeologists.”

  Stepping into the gloom, I felt a damp chill. Darius lifted a torch from a bracket on the wall and dipped it into a vat of oil at the side of the entrance; he touched a match to the wide end and the torch burst into flame.

  “Not as convenient as battery lamps,” he said, “but more dependable.”

  The light penetrated only a few feet into the darkness, but that was enough for me to see that the small cave branched off into three tunnels. “Where are we?”

  “The Persian catacombs,” he said. “It’s part of the original aqueduct system built for Persepolis. The conduits stretch for miles under the mountains. Stay close behind me; if you get lost, it could be centuries before anyone found you.”

  I followed Darius into the middle tunnel, moving along paths that had been worn by slaves and artisans thousands of years in the past. The man-made tunnels intersected with other, natural tunnels that even a tall man like Darius could comfortably walk in. I wondered how many millions of man-hours had gone into the construction of the system.

  “The government may not know about that particular entrance,” I said, “but they certainly know about the aqueduct system. It must have occurred to the SAVAK that you could be hiding guns and supplies here; it occurred to me. You must bring them in across the Gulf, probably through Iraq.”

  He shrugged noncommittally. “I’m sure it’s occurred to them, but the system is so vast that it would be next to impossible to find something unless you knew exactly where to look.”

  We emerged from the tunnel into a large room carved from the rock by some prehistoric underground river. Here the light was supplied by bulbs strung across the ceiling and powered by a gasoline generator; all the conveniences of modern living.

  The crates of precious LS-180s were stacked up along the opposite wall and clashed with the ancient, stony decor surrounding them. “Your arsenal,” I said. “Enough for a good many forays, but not enough to sustain any kind of prolonged guerrilla operation.”

  Darius smiled. “But this is only a small fraction of our arms, smuggled into the country piece by piece over the years. They’re not all LS-180s, to be sure; we’ve only been able to obtain them in the past year. The rest is hidden in various caches around the country.” He glanced at his watch. “You’ll be safe here until it’s time for you to travel, which will be in a few hours.”

  “How will you get my brother away from the SAVAK, assuming he’s still alive?”

  He looked at me reprovingly. “I haven’t promised anything, Mongo. You must be content with the belief that we’ll do whatever is possible without unduly jeopardizing the lives of our own people.”

  “Okay. How do you plan to get me out of the country without a passport?”

  He smiled wryly. “By the same route the guns come in—and you’ve already guessed that. At ten, a guide will meet you in the desert two miles due west of here. You’ll be taken to the Gulf, across that into Kuwait, then north into Iraq. You’ll receive further instructions at that time. Have you ever ridden a camel?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding; I can barely handle a bicycle.”

  Darius laughed. For a moment he reminded me of the gentle professor I’d known at the university. “Nonsense: I’m aware of your athletic abilities. You should have a wonderful time; it will be an experience you’ll never forget.”

  “Goddamn it, Darius, I’m serious.”

  “So am I,” he said, still laughing. “The camel is an unjustly slandered beast. You’ll have no trouble as long as the one you’re riding takes to you.”

  “Yeah? How can I tell if he’s going to take to me?”

  “If a camel likes you, he won’t bite.”

  “Jesus Christ!”

  Darius turned serious again. “The journey to the Gulf should take you about two days; you’ll ride only at night. Once you’re in Iraq, you’ll be safe. As I’ve indicated, arrangements have already been made for a passport and transportation back to the United States.”

  There was something about the whole business that still wasn’t quite right. It was rattling around in my brain like a pebble in a shoe, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

  “You must eat and sleep again, if you can,” Darius continued. “There’ll be little opportunity for either when you’re out on the desert.”

  Darius produced a small Sterno unit and heated some rice, which we ate in silence. After that I lay down on a pile of rugs in a corner. I didn’t think I could sleep any more, which was an indication of how little I knew about the wasting effects of cholera.

  This time I dreamed of men and land and power, and of dead men who had dreamed the same dreams. I dreamed of a planet covered with people, a shrinking orb where there were no new worlds to conquer—only the old ones left for men to do battle and die for, a deadly game of musical chairs played with ideology and real estate.

  Despite the dreams, I awoke refreshed. Darius handed me a small sack and a canteen of water; inside the sack were a compass and a few handfuls of nuts and dried fruit.

  “It’s time,” Darius said.

  More torches and tunnels. This time the way was more tortuous, and it slanted upward. Finally Darius extinguished the torch and we crawled the last fifty yards on our bellies with a hot desert wind blowing in our faces. At the end was a crypt, and beyond that a huge platform cut into the sharply sloping side of the mountain. Aside from the narrow hole we’d squeezed through to reach the crypt, there were no secrets here; the platform was littered with candy wrappers, soda bottles and a stray prophylactic or two: the ubiquitous footprints of the tourist. A hundred feet below the lip of the platform, the ruins stretched across the landscape like scattered bones bleached by the bright moonlight.

  “Remember this place when you return home, my friend,” Darius said, pointing to the dead city. “The Persians ruled a great empire for thousands of years. Once we were an enlightened people, one of the greatest civilizations the world has ever known. But the time of kings is past. One day, if it is Allah’s will, we will learn to use our riches wisely. With the proper leadership, we’ll be great again.”<
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  Now it was Darius who listened to the whispering of the ruins; he stood for more than a minute in complete silence staring out at them. Then he abruptly turned and pointed above and to the left where a faint trail cut a scar up and across the face of the mountain. “Follow the path to the other side,” he continued matter-of-factly. “Then remember to walk due west. Your guide will be waiting for you.”

  “How do I get up to the trail?”

  “You’ll have to climb.” He pointed toward the lip of the platform. “Most of the way is easy going, but the first thirty or forty yards are fairly steep. Be careful.”

  “What about you?”

  “I have work to do.”

  “Try not to get yourself killed, okay?”

  “Goodbye, my friend.”

  “Goodbye, hell. After you take over this quaint little desert community, I expect to be named an honorary citizen.”

  “You’ve earned it.”

  “And Grand Exalted Vizier.”

  “Yes. That will be fine. We’ll create the post specially for you.”

  “You … won’t forget about Garth.”

  “I won’t forget.”

  I was reaching for his hand when the searchlight came on above me; the light hit me full in the face, piercing my eyes like hot wires. I reacted instinctively, throwing my arms up over my face and staggering to the edge of the circle of light.

  “Don’t move!” The command came in English. It was Arsenjani’s voice.

  Darius lunged forward and pushed me out of the light. That didn’t do much good; where we were standing there were vertical walls of rock on either side of the platform. I tripped and fell—an opportune pratfall that saved my life; there was the sharp report of a rifle and the rock above my head sprouted obscene little splinters of death. Once again the searchlight found me and held. There was the sound of feet clambering down the mountainside above us.

  Darius stepped back, spun around and stuck his hand inside his shirt. The spotlight swung back, gripping him. His hand came out empty, but his body began to twitch under the incessant prompting of automatic-weapons fire; he danced like a crippled puppet as the slugs tore through his body. His silver hair turned to a crown of blood.