Escape

by James Clavell

  ‘It’s true. You lay with her before you were married. Because she loved you she let you secretly into her bedroom and so risked death. She risked death because she loved you and you begged her. Didn’t our mother persuade her father to accept you, and persuade your father to allow you to marry her, instead of your older brother who wanted her as a second wife for himself?’ Hakim’s voice broke, remembering her in her dying, him seven, Azadeh six, not understanding very much, only that she was in terrible pain from something called ‘tumour’ and outside, in the courtyard, their father Abdollah beset with grief. ‘Didn’t she always stand up for you against your father and your older brother and then, when your brother was killed and you became heir, didn’t she heal the breach with your father?’

  ‘You can’t, can’t know such things, you were. . . you were too young!’

  ‘Old Nanny Fatemeh told us, she told us before she died, she told us everything she could remember. . .’

  The Khan was hardly listening, remembering too, remembering his brother’s hunting accident he had so deftly engineered—old Nanny might have known about that too and if she did then Hakim knows and Azadeh knows, all the more reason to silence them. Remembering, too, all the magic times he had had with Napthala the Fair, before and after marriage and during all the days until the beginning of the pain. They had been married not even one year when Hakim was born, two when Azadeh appeared, Napthala just sixteen then, tiny, physically a pattern of Aysha but a thousand times more beautiful, her long hair like spun gold. Five more heavenly years, no more children but that never mattered, hadn’t he a son at long last, strong and upright—where his three sons from his first wife had all been born sickly, soon to die, his four daughters ugly and squabbling. Wasn’t his wife still only twenty-two, in good health, as strong and as wonderful as the two children she had already birthed? Plenty of time for more sons.

  Then the pain beginning. And the agony. No help from all the doctors in Tehran.

  Insha’Allah, they said.

  No relief except drugs, ever more strong as she wasted away. God grant her the peace of Paradise and let me find her there. He was watching Hakim, seeing the pattern of Azadeh who was a pattern of the mother, listening to him running on. ‘Azadeh only fell in love, Highness. If she loved that man, can’t you forgive her? Wasn’t she only sixteen and banished to school in Switzerland as later I was banished to Khvoy?’

  ‘Because you were both treacherous, ungrateful, and poisonous!’ the Khan shouted, his ears beginning to thunder again. ‘Get out! You’re to. . . to stay away from all others, under guard, until I send for you. Ahmed, see to it, then come back here.’

  Hakim got up, near tears, knowing what was going to happen and powerless to prevent it. He stumbled out. Ahmed gave the necessary orders to the guards and came back into the room. Now the Khan’s eyes were closed, his face very grey, his breathing more laboured than before. Please God do not let him die yet, Ahmed prayed.

  The Khan opened his eyes and focused. ‘I have to decide about him, Ahmed. Quickly.’

  ‘Yes, Highness,’ his counsellor began, choosing his words carefully, ‘you have but two sons, Hakim and the babe. If Hakim were to die or,’ he smiled strangely, ‘happened to become sightless and crippled, then Mahmud, husband of her Highness Najoud will be regent unt—’

  ‘That fool? Our lands and power would be lost within a year!’ Patches of redness flared in the Khan’s face and he was finding it increasingly difficult to think clearly. ‘Give me another pill.’

  Ahmed obeyed and gave him water to drink, gentling him. ‘You’re in God’s hands, you will recover, don’t worry.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ the Khan muttered, pain in his chest. ‘The Will of God the mullah died in time. . . strange. Petr Oleg kept his bargain. . . though he. . . the mullah died too fast. . . too fast.’

  ‘Yes, Highness.’

  In time the spasm again passed. ‘Wh. . . what’s your advice. . . about Hakim?’

  Ahmed pretended to think a moment. ‘Your son Hakim is a good Muslim, he could be trained, he has managed your affairs in Khvoy well and has not fled as perhaps he could have done. He is not a violent man—except to protect his sister, eh? But that’s very important, for therein lies his key.’ He came closer and said softly, ‘Decree him your heir, High—’

  ‘Never!’

  ‘Providing he swears by God to guard his young brother as he would his sister, providing further his sister returns at once of her own will to Tabriz. In truth, Highness, you have no real evidence against them, only hearsay. Entrust me to find out the truth of him and of her—and to report secretly to you.’

  The Khan was concentrating, listening carefully though the effort was taxing him. ‘Ah, the brother’s the bait to snare the sister—as she was the bait to snare the husband?’

  ‘As they’re both bait for the other! Yes, Highness, of course you thought of it before me. In return for giving the brother your favour, she must swear before God to stay here to help him.’

  ‘She’ll do that, oh, yes, she’ll do that!’

  ‘Then they’ll both be within your reach and you can toy with them at your pleasure, giving and withholding at your whim, whether they’re guilty or not.’

  ‘They’re guilty.’

  ‘If they’re guilty, and I will know quickly if you give me complete authority to investigate, then it’s God’s will that they will die slowly, that you decree Fazulia’s husband to be Khan after you, not much better than Mahmud. If they’re not guilty, then let Hakim remain heir, providing she stays. And if it were to happen, again at God’s will, that she is a widow, she’d even betroth him whom you choose, Highness, to keep Hakim your heir.’

  Abdollah Khan sighed, lost in his thoughts. Tiredness swamped him. ‘I’ll sleep now. Send my guard back and after I’ve eaten tonight, assemble my “devoted” family here and we will do as you suggest.’ His smile was cynical. ‘It’s wise to have no illusions.’

  ‘Yes, Highness.’ Ahmed got to his feet. The Khan envied him his lithe and powerful body.

  ‘Wait, there was something. . . something else.’ The Khan thought a moment, the process strangely tiring. ‘Ah yes, where’s Redhead of the Knife?’

  ‘With Cimtarga, up near the border, Highness. Cimtarga said they might be away for a few days: They left Tuesday night.’

  ‘Tuesday? What’s today?’

  ‘Saturday, Highness,’ Ahmed replied, hiding his concern.

  ‘Ah yes, Saturday.’ Another wave of tiredness. His face felt strange and he lifted his hand to rub it but found the effort too much. ‘Ahmed, find out where he is. If anything happens. . . if I have another attack and I’m. . . well, see that. . . that I’m taken to Tehran, to the International Hospital, at once. At once. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, Highness.’

  ‘Find out where he is and. . . and for the next few days keep him close by. . . overrule Cimtarga. Keep He of the Knife close by.’

  ‘Yes, Highness.’

  When the guard came back into the room, the Khan closed his eyes and felt himself sinking into the depths. ‘There is no other God but God. . .’ he muttered, very afraid.

  Near the North Border, East of Julfa: 6:05 P.M. It was near sunset and Erikki’s 212 was under a crude, hastily constructed lean-to, the roof already a foot deep in snow from the storm last night, and he knew much more exposure in sub zero weather would ruin her. ‘Can’t you give me blankets or straw or something to keep her warm?’ he had asked Sheik Bayazid the moment they had arrived back from Rezaiyeh with the body of the old woman, the Chieftain, two days ago. ‘The chopper needs warmth.’

  ‘We do not have enough for the living.’

  ‘If she freezes she won’t work,’ he had said, fretting that the Sheik would not allow him to leave at once for Tabriz, barely sixty miles away—worried sick about Azadeh and wondering what had happened to Ross and Gu
eng. ‘If she won’t work, how are we going to get out of these mountains?’

  Grudgingly, the Sheik had ordered his people to construct the lean-to and had given him some goat and sheep skins that he had used where he thought they would do the most good. Just after dawn yesterday he had tried to leave. To his total dismay Bayazid had told him that he and the 212 were to be ransomed.

  ‘You can be patient, Captain, free to walk our village with a calm guard, to tinker with your airplane,’ Bayazid had said curtly, ‘or you can be impatient and angry and you will be bound up and tethered as a wild beast. I seek no trouble, Captain, want none, or argument. We seek ransom from Abdollah Khan.’

  ‘But I’ve told you he hates me and won’t help me to be rans—’

  ‘If he says no, we seek ransom elsewhere. From your company in Tehran, or your government—perhaps your Soviet employers. Meanwhile, you stay here as guest, eating as we eat, sleeping as we sleep, sharing equally. Or bound and tethered and hungry. Either way you stay until ransom is paid.’

  ‘But that might take months an—’

  ‘Insha’Allah!’

  All day yesterday and half the night Erikki had tried to think of a way out of the trap. They had taken his grenade but left him his knife. But his guards were watchful and constant. In these deep snows, it would be almost impossible for him in flying boots and without winter gear to get down to the valley below, and even then he was in hostile country. Tabriz was barely thirty minutes away by 212, but by foot?

  ‘More snow tonight, Captain.’

  Erikki looked around. Bayazid was a pace away and he had not heard him approach. ‘Yes, and a few more days in this weather and my bird, my airplane, won’t fly—the battery’ll be dead and most of the instruments wrecked. I have to start her up to charge the battery and warm her pots, have to. Who’s going to ransom a wrecked 212 out of these hills?’

  Bayazid thought a moment. ‘For how long must engines turn?’

  ‘Ten minutes a day—absolute minimum.’

  ‘All right. Just after full dark, each day you may do it but first you ask me. We help you drag her—why is it “she”, not an “it” or a “he”?’

  Erikki frowned. ‘I don’t know. Ships are always “she”—this is a ship of the sky.’ He shrugged.

  ‘Very well. We help you drag her into open and you start her up and while her engines running there will be five guns within five feet should you be tempted.’

  Erikki laughed. ‘Then I won’t be tempted.’

  ‘Good.’ Bayazid smiled. He was a handsome man though his teeth were bad.

  ‘When do you send word to the Khan?’

  ‘It already gone. In these snows it takes a day to get down to road, even on horseback, but not long to reach Tabriz. If the Khan replies favourably, at once, perhaps we hear tomorrow, perhaps day after, depending on the snows.’

  ‘Perhaps never. How long will you wait?’

  ‘Are all people from Far North so impatient?’

  Erikki’s chin jutted. ‘The ancient gods were very impatient when they were held against their will—they passed it on to us. It’s bad to be held against your will, very bad.’

  ‘We are a poor people, at war. We must take what the One God gives us. To be ransomed is an ancient custom.’ He smiled thinly. ‘We learned from Saladin to be chivalrous with our captives, unlike many Christians. Christians are not known for their chivalry. We are treat—‘His ears were sharper than Erikki’s and so were his eyes. ‘There, down in the valley!’

  Now Erikki heard the engine also. It took him a moment to pick out the low-flying, camouflaged helicopter approaching from the north. ‘A Kajychokiv 16. Close-support Soviet army gunship. . . what’s she doing?’

  ‘Heading for Julfa.’ The Sheik spat on the ground. ‘Those sons of dogs come and go as they please.’

  ‘Do many sneak in now?’

  ‘Not many—but one is too many.’

  Sunday

  Chapter 16

  In the Northern Suburbs: 9:14 P.M. Azadeh drove the small, badly dented car fast along the street that was lined with fine houses and apartment buildings—most of them dark, a few vandalised—headlights carelessly on full, dazzling the oncoming traffic, her horn blaring. She braked, skidded as she cut dangerously across the traffic, narrowly avoiding an accident, and headed into the garage of one of the buildings with a screech of rubber.

  The garage was dark. In the side pocket was a flash. She turned it on, got out, and locked the car. Her coat was well cut and warm, skirt and boots and fur mitts and hat, her hair flowing. On the other side of the garage was a staircase and a switch for the lights. When she tried it, the nearest bulb sparked and died. She went up the stairs heavily. Four apartments on each landing. The apartment that her father had loaned to her and Erikki was on the third landing, facing the street. ‘It’s not risky, Mac,’ she had said when she announced she was going and he had tried to persuade her to remain in his apartment, ‘but if my father orders me back in Tabriz, staying here with you won’t help me at all. In the apartment I’ve a phone, I’m only half a mile away and can walk it easily, I’ve clothes there and a servant. I’ll check every day and come into the office, and wait, that’s all I can do.’

  She had not said that she preferred to be away from him and Charlie Pettikin. I like them both dearly, she thought, but they’re nothing like Erikki. Or Johnny. Ah, Johnny, you were wise to leave Mac’s, so wise, yet still so close, your embassy, so close. What to do about you, dare I see you again?

  The third landing was dark but she had the flash and found her key, put it in the lock, felt eyes on her and whirled in fright. The swarthy, unshaven lout had his pants open and he waved his stiff penis at her. ‘I’ve been waiting for you, princess of all whores, and God curse me if it’s not ready for you front or back or sideways. . .’ He came forward mouthing obscenities and she backed against the door in momentary terror, grabbed the key, turned it and flung the door open.

  The Doberman guard dog was there. The man froze. An ominous growl, then the dog charged. In panic the man screamed and tried to beat the dog off, then took to his heels down the steps, the dog growling and snarling and ripping at his legs and back, tearing his clothes, and Azadeh shouted after him, ‘Now show it to me!’

  ‘Oh, Highness, I didn’t hear you knock, what’s going on?’ the old man-servant called out, rushing from the kitchen area.

  Angrily she wiped the perspiration off her face and told him. ‘God curse you, Ali, I’ve told you twenty times to meet me downstairs with the dog. I’m on time, I’m always on time. Have you no brains?’

  The old man apologised but a rough voice behind her cut him short. ‘Go and get the dog!’ She looked around. Her stomach twisted.

  ‘Good evening, Highness.’ It was Ahmed Dursak, tall, bearded, chilling, standing in the doorway of the living-room. Insha’Allah, she thought. The waiting is over and now it begins again. ‘Good evening, Ahmed.’

  ‘Highness, please excuse me, I didn’t realise about people in Tehran or I would have waited downstairs myself. Ali, get the dog!’

  Afraid and still mumbling apologies, the servant scuttled down the stairs. Ahmed closed the door and watched Azadeh use the heel fork to take off her boots, slip her small feet into curved Turkish slippers. She went past him into the comfortable, Western-style living room and sat down, her heart thumping. A fire flickered in the grate. Priceless carpets, others used as wall hangings. Beside her was a small table. On the table was the kukri that Ross had left her. ‘You have news of my father and my husband?’

  ‘His Highness the Khan is ill, very ill an—’

  ‘What illness?’ Azadeh asked, at once genuinely concerned.

  ‘A heart attack.’

  ‘God protect him—when did this happen?’

  ‘On Thursday last.’ He read her thought. ‘That was the day you and. . . and the s
aboteur were in the village of Abu Mard. Wasn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose so. The last few days have been very confused,’ she said icily. ‘How is my father?’

  ‘The attack on ‘Thursday was mild, thanks be to God. Just before midnight Saturday he had another. Much worse.’ He watched her.

  ‘How much worse? Please don’t play with me! Tell me everything at once!’

  ‘Ah so sorry, Highness, I did not meant to toy with you.’ He kept his voice polite and his eyes off her legs, admiring her fire and pride and wanting to toy with her very much. ‘The doctor called it a stroke and now the left side of His Highness is partially paralysed; he can still talk—with some difficulty—but his mind is as strong as ever. The doctor said he would recover much quicker in Tehran but the journey is not possible yet.’

  ‘He will recover?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know, Highness. As God wants. To me he seems very sick. The doctor, I don’t think much of him, all he said was His Highness’s chances would be better if he was here in Tehran.’

  ‘Then bring him here as soon as possible.’

  ‘I will, Highness, never fear. Meanwhile I have a message for you. The Khan, your father, says, “I wish to see you. At once. I do not know how long I will live but certain arrangements must be made and confirmed. Your brother Hakim is with me now and—” ’

  ‘God protect him,’ Azadeh burst out. ‘Is my father reconciled with Hakim?’

  ‘His Highness has made him his heir. But pl—’

  ‘Oh that’s wonderful, wonderful, God be praised! But h’

  ‘Please be patient and let me finish his message: “Your brother Hakim is with me now and I have made him my heir, subject to certain conditions, from you and from him.” ’ Ahmed hesitated and Azadeh wanted to rush into the gap, her happiness brimming and her caution brimming. Her pride stopped her.

  ‘ “It is therefore necessary that you return with Ahmed at once.” That is the end of the message, Highness.’

  The front door opened. Ali relocked it and unleashed the dog. At once the dog loped into the living room and put his head in Azadeh’s lap. ‘Well done, Reza,’ she said petting him, welcoming the moment to collect her wits. ‘Sit. Go on, sit! Sit!’ Happily the dog obeyed, then lay at her feet, watching the door and watching Ahmed who stood near the other sofa. Absently her hand played with the hilt of the kukri, its touch giving her reassurance. Obliquely Ahmed was conscious of it and its implications. ‘Before God you have told me the truth?’