Escape

by James Clavell

  ‘Not mercy, vengeance!’ Then Erikki roared, ‘Vengeance!’ There was an astonished silence. ‘For you and for me! Don’t you deserve vengeance for such dishonour?’

  The younger man hesitated. ‘What trickery is this?’

  ‘I can help you regain your honour—I alone. Let us sack the palace of the Khan and both be revenged on him.’ Erikki prayed to his ancient gods to make his tongue golden.

  ‘Are you mad?’

  ‘The Khan is my enemy more than yours, why else would he disgrace both of us if not to infuriate you against me? I know the palace. I can get you and fifteen armed men into the forecourt in a split second an—’

  ‘Madness,’ the Sheik scoffed. ‘Should we throw our lives away like hashish-infected fools? The Khan has too many guards.’

  ‘Fifty-three on call within the walls, no more than four or five on duty at any one time. Are your fighters so weak they can’t deal with fifty-three? We have surprise on our side. A sudden commando attack from the sky, a relentless charge to avenge your honour—I could get you in and out the same way in minutes. Abdollah Khan’s sick, very sick, guards won’t be prepared, nor the household. I know the way in, where he sleeps, everything. . .’

  Erikki heard his voice pick up excitement, knowing it could be done: the violent flare over the walls and sudden touchdown, jumping out, leading the way up the steps and in, up the staircase on to the landing, down the corridor, knocking aside Ahmed and whoever stood in the way, into the Khan’s room, then stepping aside for Bayazid and his men to do what they wanted, somehow getting to the north wing and Azadeh and saving her, and if she was not there or hurt, then killing and killing, the Khan, guards, these men, everyone.

  His plan possessed him now. ‘Wouldn’t your name last a thousand years because of your daring? Sheik Bayazid, he who dared to humble, to challenge the Khan of all the Gorgons inside his lair for a matter of honour? Wouldn’t minstrels sing songs about you for ever at the campfires of all the Kurds? Isn’t that what Saladin the Kurd would do?’

  He saw the eyes in the firelight glowing differently now, saw Bayazid hesitate, the silence growing, heard him talk softly to his people—then one man laughed and called out something that others echoed and then, with one voice, they roared approval.

  Willing hands cut him loose. Men fought viciously for the privilege of being on the raid. Erikki’s fingers trembled as he pressed Engine Start. The first of the jets exploded into life.

  In the Palace of the Khan: 6:35 A.M. Hakim came out of sleep violently. His bodyguard near the door was startled. ‘What is it, Highness?’

  ‘Nothing, nothing, Ishtar, I was. . . I was just dreaming.’ Now that he was wide awake, Hakim lay back and stretched luxuriously, eager for the new day. ‘Bring me coffee. After my bath, breakfast here—and ask my sister to join me.’

  ‘Yes, Highness, at once.’

  His bodyguard left him. Again he stretched his taut body. Dawn was murky. The room ornate and vast and draughty and chilly but the bedroom of the Khan. In the huge fireplace a fire burned brightly, fed by the guard through the night, no one else allowed in, the guard chosen by him personally from the fifty-three within the palace, pending a decision about their future. Where to find those to be trusted, he asked himself, then got out of bed, wrapping the warm brocade dressing gown tighter—one of a half a hundred that he had found in the wardrobe—faced Mecca and the open Koran in the ornately tiled niche, knelt and said the first prayer of the day. When he had finished he stayed there, his eyes on the ancient Koran, immense, bejewelled, hand calligraphed and without price, the Gorgon Khan’s Koran—his Koran. So much to thank God for, he thought, so much still to learn, so much still to do—but a wonderful beginning already made.

  Not long after midnight yesterday, before all the assembled family in the house, he had taken the carved emerald and gold ring—symbol of the ancient Khanate—from the index finger of his father’s right hand and put it on his own. He had had to fight the ring over a roll of fat and close his nostrils to the stink of death that hung in the room. His excitement had overcome his revulsion, and now he was truly Khan. Then all the family present knelt and kissed his ringed hand, swearing allegiance, Azadeh proudly first, next Aysha trembling and frightened, then the others, Najoud and Mahmud outwardly abject, secretly blessing God for the reprieve.

  Then downstairs in the Great Room with Azadeh standing behind him, Ahmed and the bodyguards also swore allegiance—the rest of the far-flung family would come later, along with other tribal leaders, personal and household staff and servants. At once he had given orders for the funeral and then he allowed his eyes to see Najoud. ‘So.’

  ‘Highness,’ Najoud said unctuously, ‘with all our hearts, before God, we congratulate you, and swear to serve you to the limits of our power.’

  ‘Thank you, Najoud,’ he had said. ‘Thank you. Ahmed, what was the Khan’s sentence decreed on my sister and her family before he died?’ Tension in the Great Room was sudden.

  ‘Banishment, penniless to the wastelands north of Meshed, Highness, under guard—at once.’

  ‘I regret, Najoud, you and all your family will leave at dawn as decreed.’

  He remembered how her face had gone ashen and Mahmud’s ashen and she had stammered, ‘But, Highness, now you are Khan, your word is our law. I did not expect. . . you’re Khan now.’

  ‘But the Khan, our father, gave the order when he was the law, Najoud. It is not correct to overrule him.’

  ‘But you’re the law now,’ Najoud had said with a sickly smile. ‘You do what’s right.’

  ‘With God’s help I will certainly try, Najoud. I can’t overrule my father on his deathbed.’

  ‘But, Highness. . .’ Najoud had come closer. ‘Please, may. . . may we discuss this in private?’

  ‘Better here before the family, Najoud. What did you want to say?’

  She had hesitated and come even closer and he felt Ahmed tense and saw his knife hand ready, and the hair on his neck stiffened. ‘Just because Ahmed says that the Khan gave such an order doesn’t mean that it. . . does it?’ Najoud had tried to whisper but her words echoed off the walls.

  Breath sighed out of Ahmed’s lips. ‘May God burn me for ever if I lied.’

  ‘I know you didn’t, Ahmed,’ Hakim had said sadly. ‘Wasn’t I there when the Khan decided? I was there, Najoud, so was Her Highness, my sister, I regret th—’

  ‘But you can be merciful!’ Najoud had cried out. ‘Please, please be merciful!’

  ‘Oh but I am, Najoud. I forgive you. But the punishment was for lying in the Name of God,’ he had said gravely, ‘not punishment for lying about my sister and me, causing us years of grief, losing us our father’s love. Of course we forgive you that, don’t we, Azadeh?’

  ‘Yes, yes, that is forgiven.’

  ‘That is forgiven openly. But lying in the Name of God? The Khan made a decree. I cannot go against it.’

  Mahmud burst out over her pleadings, ‘I knew nothing about this, Highness, nothing, I swear before God, I believed her lies. I divorce her formally for being a traitor to you, I never knew anything about her lies!’

  In the Great Room everyone watched them both grovel, some loathing them, some despising them for failing when they had had the power. ‘At dawn, Mahmud, you are banished, you and your family,’ he had said so sadly, ‘penniless, under guard. . . pending my pleasure. As to divorce it is forbidden in my house. If you wish to do that north of Meshed. . . Insha’Allah. You are still banished there, pending my pleasure. . .’

  Oh you were perfect, Hakim, he told himself delightedly, for of course everyone knew this was your first test. You were perfect! Never once did you gloat openly or reveal your true purpose, never once did you raise your voice, keeping calm and gentle and grave as though you really were sad with your father’s sentence but, rightly, unable to overrule it. And the benign, sweet promise of
‘pending my pleasure’? My pleasure’s that you’re all banished for ever and if I hear one tiny threat of a plot, I will snuff you all out as quickly as an old candle. By God and the Prophet, on whose Name be Praise, I’ll make the ghost of my father proud of this Khan of all the Gorgons—may he be in hell for believing such wanton lies of an evil old hag.

  So much to thank God for, he thought, mesmerised by the firelight flickering in the Koran’s jewels. Didn’t all the years of banishment teach you secretiveness, deception and patience? Now you’ve your power to cement, Azerbaijan to defend, a world to conquer, wives to find, sons to breed and a lineage to begin. May Najoud and her whelps rot!

  At dawn he had ‘regretfully’ gone with Ahmed to witness their departure. Wistfully he had insisted that none of the rest of the family see them off. ‘Why increase their sorrow and mine?’ There, on his exact instructions, he had watched Ahmed and guards tear through their mountains of bags, removing anything of value until there was but one suitcase each for them and their three children who watched, petrified.

  ‘Your jewellery, woman,’ Ahmed had said.

  ‘You’ve taken everything, everything. . . please, Hakim. . . Highness, please. . .’ Najoud sobbed. Her special jewel satchel, secreted in a pocket of her suitcase, had already been added to the pile of valuables. Abruptly Ahmed reached out and ripped off her pendant and tore the neck of her dress open. A dozen necklaces weighed her down, diamonds, rubies, emeralds and sapphires.

  ‘Where did you get these?’ Hakim had said, astonished.

  ‘They’re. . . they’re my. . . my mother’s and mine I bought over the ye—’ Najoud stopped as Ahmed’s knife came out. ‘All right. . . all right. . .’ Frantically she pulled the necklaces over her head, unfastened the rest and gave them to him. ‘Now you have everyth—’

  ‘Your rings!’

  ‘But Highness leave me someth—’ She screamed as Ahmed impatiently grabbed a finger to cut it off with the ring still on it, but she pulled away, tore the rings off and also the bracelets secreted up her sleeve, howling with grief, and threw them on the floor. ‘Now you’ve everything. . ..’

  ‘Now pick them up and hand them to His Highness, on your knees!’ Ahmed hissed and when she did not obey instantly, he grabbed her by the hair and shoved her face on the floor, and now she was grovelling and obeying.

  Ah, that was a feast, Hakim thought, reliving every second of their humiliation. After they’re dead, God will burn them.

  He made another obeisance, put God away until next prayer at noon and jumped up, brimming with energy. A maid was on her knees pouring the coffee, and he saw the fear in her eyes and was very pleased. The moment he became Khan, he had known it was vital to work quickly to take over the reins of power. Yesterday morning he had inspected the palace. The kitchen was not clean enough for him, so he had had the chef beaten senseless and put outside the walls, then promoted the second chef in his place with dire warnings. Four guards were banished for oversleeping, two maids whipped for slovenliness. ‘But, Hakim, my darling,’ Azadeh had said when they were alone, ‘surely there was no need to beat them?’

  ‘In a day or two there won’t be,’ he had told her. ‘Meanwhile the palace will change to the way I want it.’

  ‘Of course you know best, my darling. What about the ransom?’

  ‘Ah yes, at once.’ He had sent for Ahmed.

  ‘I regret, Highness, the Khan your father ordered the messenger’s throat cut yesterday afternoon.’

  Both he and Azadeh had been appalled. ‘But that’s terrible! What can be done now?’ she had cried out.

  Ahmed said, ‘I will try to contact the tribesmen—perhaps, because now the Khan your father is dead they will. . . they will treat with you newly. I will try.’

  Sitting there in the Khan’s place, Hakim had seen Ahmed’s suave confidence and realised the trap he was in. Fear swept up from his bowels. His fingers were toying with the emerald ring on his finger. ‘Azadeh, come back in half an hour, please.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said obediently and when he was alone with Ahmed, he said, ‘What arms do you carry?’

  ‘A knife and an automatic, Highness.’

  ‘Give them to me.’ He remembered how his heart had throbbed and there was an unusual dryness in his mouth but this had had to be done and done alone. Ahmed had hesitated then obeyed, clearly not pleased to be disarmed. But Hakim had pretended not to notice, just examined the action of the gun and cocked it thoughtfully. ‘Now listen carefully, Counsellor: you won’t try to contact the tribesmen, you will do it very quickly and you will make arrangements to have my sister’s husband returned safely—on your head, by God and the Prophet of God!’

  ‘I—of course, Highness.’ Ahmed tried to keep the anger off his face.

  Lazily Hakim pointed the gun at his head, sighting down it. ‘I swore by God to treat you as first counsellor and I will—while you live.’ His smile twisted. ‘Even if you happen to be crippled, perhaps emasculated, even blinded by your enemies. Do you have enemies, Ahmed Dursak the Turkoman?’

  Ahmed laughed, at ease now, pleased with the man who had become Khan and not the whelp that he had imagined—so much easier to deal with a man, he thought, his confidence returning. ‘Many, Highness, many. Isn’t it custom to measure the quality of a man by the importance of his enemies? Insha’Allah! I didn’t know you knew how to handle guns.’

  ‘There are many things you don’t know about me, Ahmed,’ he had said with grim satisfaction, an important victory gained. He had handed him back the knife, but not the automatic. ‘I’ll keep this as pishkesh. For a year and a day don’t come into my presence armed.’

  ‘Then how can I protect you, Highness?’

  ‘With wisdom.’ He had allowed a small measure of the violence he had kept pent up for years to show. ‘You have to prove yourself. To me. To me alone. What pleased my father won’t necessarily please me. This is a new era, with new opportunities, new dangers. Remember, by God, the blood of my father rests easily in my veins.’

  The remainder of the day and well into the evening he had received men of importance from Tabriz and Azerbaijan and asked questions of them, about the insurrection and the leftists, the mujhadin and fedayeen and other factions. Bazaaris had arrived and mullahs and two ayatollahs, local army commanders and his cousin, the chief of police, and he had confirmed the man’s appointment. All of them had brought suitable pishkesh.

  And so they should, he thought, very satisfied, remembering their contempt in the past when his fortune had been zero and his banishment to Khvoy common knowledge. Their contempt will be very costly to every last one.

  ‘Your bath is ready, Highness, and Ahmed’s waiting outside.’

  ‘Bring him in, Ishtar. You stay.’ He watched the door open. Ahmed was tired and crumpled.

  ‘Salaam, Highness.’

  ‘What about the ransom?’

  ‘Late last night I found the tribesmen. There were two of them. I explained that Abdollah Khan was dead and the new Khan had ordered me to give them half the ransom asked at once as a measure of faith, promising them the remainder when the pilot is safely back. I sent them north in one of our cars with a trusted driver and another car to follow secretly.’

  ‘Do you know who they are, where their village is?’

  ‘They told me they were Kurds, one named Ishmud, the other Alilah, their chief al-Drah and their village was called Broken Tree in the mountains north of Khvoy—I’m sure all lies, Highness, and they’re not Kurds though they claim to be. I’d say they were just tribesmen, bandits mostly.’

  ‘Good. Where did you get the money to pay them?’

  ‘The Khan, your father, put twenty million rials into my safekeeping against emergencies.’

  ‘Bring the balance to me before sunset.’

  ‘Yes, Highness.’

  ‘Are you armed?’

  Ah
med was startled. ‘Only with my knife, Highness.’

  ‘Give it to me,’ he said, hiding his pleasure that Ahmed had fallen into the trap he had set for him, accepting the knife, hilt first. ‘Didn’t I tell you not to come into my presence armed for a year and a day?’

  ‘But as. . . you gave my knife back to me I thought. . . I thought the knife. . .’ Ahmed stopped, seeing Hakim standing in front of him, knife held correctly, eyes dark and hard and the pattern of the father. Behind him, the guard Ishtar watched open-mouthed. The hackles on Ahmed’s neck twisted. ‘Please excuse me, Highness, I thought I had your permission,’ he said in real fear.

  For a moment Hakim Khan just stared at Ahmed, the knife poised in his hand, then he slashed upwards. With great skill only the point of the blade went through Ahmed’s coat, touched the skin but only enough to score it then came out again in perfect position for the final blow. But Hakim did not make it, though he wanted to see blood flow and this a good time, but not the perfect time. He still had need of Ahmed.

  ‘I give you back your. . . your body.’ He chose the word and all it implied with great deliberation. ‘Intact, just this once.’

  ‘Yes, Highness, thank you, Highness,’ Ahmed muttered, astonished that he was still alive, and went down on his knees. ‘I. . . it will never happen again.’

  ‘No, it won’t. Stay there. Wait outside, Ishtar.’ Hakim Khan sat back on the cushions and toyed with the knife, waiting for the adrenalin to subside, remembering that vengeance was a dish best eaten cold. ‘Tell me everything you know about the Soviet, this man called Mzytryk: what holds he had over my father, my father over him.’

  Ahmed obeyed. He told him all the Khan had told him in secret over the years, about the dacha near Tbilisi that he too had visited, how the Khan contacted Mzytryk, their code words, what Hashemi Fazir had said and threatened, what was in Mzytryk’s letter, what he had overheard and what he had witnessed a few days ago.