Escape

by James Clavell

The air hissed out of Hakim’s mouth. ‘My father was going to take my sister to. . . he was going to take her to this dacha and give her to Mzytryk?’

  ‘Yes, Highness, he even ordered me to send her north if. . . if he had to leave for hospital in Tehran.’

  ‘Send for Mzytryk. Urgently. Ahmed, do it now. At once.’

  ‘Yes Highness,’ Ahmed said and trembled at the contained violence. ‘Best, at the same time, best to remind him of his promises to Abdollah Khan, that you expect them fulfilled.’

  ‘Good, very good. You’ve told me everything?’

  ‘Everything I can remember now,’ Ahmed told him sincerely. ‘There must be other things—in time I can tell you all manner of secrets, Khan of all the Gorgons, and I swear again before God to serve you faithfully.’ I’ll tell you everything, he thought fervently, except the manner of the Khan’s death and that now, more than ever, I want Azadeh as wife. Some way I will make you agree—she’ll be my only real protection against you, spawn of Satan!

  Just Outside Tabriz: 7:20 A.M. Erikki’s 212 came over the rise of the forest, inbound at max revs. All the way Erikki had been at treetop level, avoiding roads and airfields and towns and villages, his mind riveted on Azadeh and vengeance against Abdollah Khan, all else forgotten. Now, suddenly ahead, the city was rushing towards them. As suddenly a vast unease washed over him.

  ‘Where’s the palace, pilot?’ Sheik Bayazid shouted gleefully, ‘where is it?’

  ‘Over the ridge, agha,’ he said into the boom mike, part of him wanting to add, We’d better rethink this, decide if the attack’s wise, the other part shouting, This’s the only chance you’ve got, Erikki, you can’t change plans, but how in the hell’re you going escape with Azadeh from the palace and from this bunch of maniacs? ‘Tell your men to fasten their seat belts, to wait until the skids touch down, not to take off their safety catches until they’re on the ground and spread out, tell two of them to guard the chopper and protect it with their lives. I’ll count down from “ten” for the landing and. . . and I’ll lead.’

  ‘Where’s the palace, I can’t see it.’

  ‘Over the ridge, a minute away—tell them!’ The trees were blurring as he went closer to them, his eyes on the col in the mountain ridge, horizon twisting. ‘I want a gun,’ he said, sick with anticipation.

  Bayazid bared his teeth. ‘No gun until we possess the palace.’

  ‘Then I won’t need one,’ he said with a curse. ‘I’ve got to ha—’

  ‘You can trust me, you have to. Where’s this palace of the Gorgons?’

  ‘There!’ Erikki pointed to the ridge just above them, ‘Ten. . . nine. . . eight. . .’

  He had decided to come in from the east, partially covered by the forests, city well to his right, the col protecting him. Fifty yards to go. His stomach tightened.

  The rocks hurtled at them. He felt more than saw Bayazid cry out and hold up his hands to protect himself against the inevitable crash, then Erikki slid through the col and swung down, straight for the walls. At the exact last moment he cut all power, hauled the chopper up over the wall with inches to spare, flaring into an emergency stop procedure, banked slightly for the forecourt and let her fall out of the air, cushioned the fall perfectly and set down on the tiles to skid forward a few yards with a screech, then stop. His right hand jerked the circuit breakers out, his left unsnapped the seat belt and shoved the door open and he was still easily first on the ground and rushing for the front steps. Behind him Bayazid was now following, the cabin doors open and men pouring out, falling over one another in their excitement, the rotor still turning but the engines dying.

  As he reached the front door and swung it open, servants and an astonished guard came running up to see what all the commotion was about. Erikki tore the assault rifle out of his hands, knocked him unconscious. The servants scattered and fled, a few recognising him. For the moment the corridor ahead was clear. ‘Come on!’ he shouted, then as Bayazid and some of the others joined him, rushed down the hallway and up the staircase towards the landing. A guard poked his head over the banister, levelled his gun but tribesmen peppered him. Erikki jumped over the body and rushed the corridor.

  A door opened ahead. Another guard came out, gun blazing. Erikki felt bullets slice through his parka but he was untouched, Bayazid blew the man against the doorjamb, and together they charged past towards the Khan’s room. Once there Erikki kicked the door open. Sustained gunfire came at him, missed him and the Sheik but caught the man next to him and spun the man around. The others scattered for cover and the badly hurt tribesman went forward towards the tormentor, taking more bullets and more but firing back even after he was dead.

  For a second or two there was a respite, then to Erikki’s shock Bayazid pulled the pin out of a grenade and tossed it through the doorway. The explosion was huge. Smoke billowed out into the corridor. At once Bayazid leaped through the opening, gun levelled, Erikki beside him.

  The room was wrecked, windows blown out, curtains ripped, the carpet bed torn apart, the remains of the guard crumpled against a wall. In the alcove at the far end of the huge room, half-covered from the main bedroom, the table was upended, a serving-maid moaning, and two inert bodies half buried under tablecloth and smashed dishes. Erikki’s heart stopped as he recognised Azadeh. In panic he rushed over and shoved the debris off her—in passing noticed the other person was Hakim—lifted her into his arms, her hair flowing, and carried her into the light. His breathing did not start again until he was sure she was still alive—unconscious, only God knew how damaged, but alive. She wore a long blue cashmere peignoir that hid all of her, but promised everything. The tribesmen pouring into the room were swept by her beauty. Erikki took off his flight jacket and wrapped it around her, oblivious of them. ‘Azadeh. . . Azadeh. . .’

  ‘Who this, pilot?’

  Through his fog Erikki saw Bayazid was beside the wreckage. “That’s Hakim, my wife’s brother. Is he dead?’

  ‘No.’ Bayazid looked around furiously. Nowhere else for the Khan to hide. His men were crowding through the doorway and he cursed them, ordering them to take up defensive positions at either end of the corridor and for others to go outside on to the wide patio and to guard that too. Then he scrambled over to Erikki and Azadeh and looked at her bloodless face and breasts and legs pressing against the cashmere, ‘Your wife?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She’s not dead, good.’

  ‘Yes, but only God knows if she’s hurt. I’ve got to get a doctor. . .’

  ‘Later, first we ha—’

  ‘Now! She may die!’

  ‘As God wants, pilot,’ Bayazid said, then shouted angrily, ‘You said you knew everything, where the Khan would be, in the Name of God where is he?’

  ‘These. . . these were his private quarters, agha, private, I’ve never seen anyone else here, heard of anyone else here, even his wife could only come here by invitation an—’ A burst of firing outside stopped Erikki. ‘He’s got to be here if Azadeh and Hakim are here!’

  ‘Where? Where can he hide?’

  In turmoil Erikki looked around, settled Azadeh as best he could then rushed for the windows—they were barred, the Khan could not have escaped this way. From here, a defensible corner abutment of the palace, he could not see the forecourt or the chopper, only the best view of the gardens and orchards southward, past the walls to the city a mile or so distant below. No other guards threatening them yet. As he turned, his peripheral vision caught a movement from the alcove, he saw the automatic, shoved Bayazid out of the way of the bullet that would have killed him and lunged for Hakim who lay in the debris. Before other tribesmen could react he had the young man pinioned, the automatic out of his hand and was shouting at him, trying to get him to understand, ‘You’re safe, Hakim, it’s me, Erikki, we’re friends, we came to rescue you and Azadeh from the Khan. . . we came to rescue you!’

  ‘R
escue me. . . rescue me from what?’ Hakim was staring at him blankly, still numb, still dazed, blood seeping from a small wound in his head. ‘Rescue?’

  ‘From the Khan an—’ Erikki saw terror come into the eyes, whirled and caught the butt of Bayazid’s assault rifle just in time. ‘Wait, agha, wait, it’s not his fault, he’s dazed. . . wait, he was. . . he was aiming at me not you, he’ll help us. Wait!’

  ‘Where’s Abdollah Khan?’ Bayazid shouted, his men beside him now, guns cocked and ready to kill. ‘Hurry and tell me or you’re both dead men!’

  And when Hakim didn’t answer at once, Erikki snarled, ‘For God’s sake, Hakim, tell him where he is or we’re all dead.’

  ‘Abdollah Khan’s dead, he’s dead. . . he died last night, no. . . the night before last. He died the night before last, near midnight. . .’ Hakim said weakly and they stared at him with disbelief, his mind coming back slowly and he still could not understand why he was lying here, head pounding, legs numb, Erikki holding him when Erikki was kidnapped by tribesmen, when he was having breakfast with Azadeh, then guns exploding and diving for cover, guards firing and then the explosion and half the ransom’s already been paid.

  Abruptly his mind cleared. ‘In God’s Name,’ he gasped. He tried to get up and failed. ‘Erikki, in God’s Name why did you fight in here, half your ransom’s been paid. . . why?’

  Erikki got up angrily. ‘There’s no ransom, the messenger’s throat was cut, Abdollah Khan had the man’s throat cut!’

  ‘But the ransom—half was paid, Ahmed did it last night!’

  ‘Paid, paid to whom?’ Bayazid snarled. ‘What lies are these?’

  ‘Not lies, half was paid last night, half paid by the new Khan as. . . as an act of faith for the. . . the mistake about the messenger. Before God, I swear it. Half’s paid!’

  ‘Lies,’ Bayazid scoffed, and aimed the gun at him. ‘Where’s the Khan?’

  ‘Not lies! Should I lie before God? I tell you before God! Before God! Send for Ahmed, send for the man Ahmed, he paid them.’

  One of the tribesmen shouted something, Hakim blanched and repeated in Turkish: ‘In the Name of God, half the ransom’s already paid! Abdollah Khan’s dead! He’s dead and half the ransom was paid.’ A murmur of astonishment went through the room. ‘Send for Ahmed, he’ll tell you the truth. Why are you fighting here, there’s no reason to fight!’

  Erikki rushed in: ‘If Abdollah Khan’s dead and half s been paid, agha, the other half promised, your honour’s vindicated. Agha, please do as Hakim asks, send for Ahmed—he’ll tell you who he paid and how.’

  Fear in the room was very high now, Bayazid and his men hating the closeness here, wanting to be in the open, in the mountains, away from these evil people and place, feeling betrayed. But if Abdollah’s dead and half s paid. . . ‘Pilot, go and get his man Ahmed,’ Bayazid said, ‘and remember, if you cheat me, you will find your wife noseless.’ He ripped the automatic out of Erikki’s hand. ‘Go and get him!’

  ‘Yes, yes of course.’

  ‘Erikki. . . first help me up,’ Hakim said, his voice throaty and weak. Erikki was helplessly trying to make sense of all this as he lifted him easily and pushed through the men crowding near, and settled him on the sofa cushions beside Azadeh. Both saw her pallid face, but both also noticed her regular breathing. ‘God be thanked,’ Hakim muttered.

  Then once more Erikki was half in nightmare, walking out of the room unarmed to the head of the stairs, shouting for Ahmed not to shoot, ‘Ahmed, Ahmed, I’ve got to talk to you, I’m alone. . .’

  Now he was downstairs and still alone, still no firing. Again he shouted for Ahmed but his words just echoed off the walls and he wandered into rooms, no one around, everyone vanished and then a gun was in his face, another in his back. Ahmed and a guard, both nervous.

  ‘Ahmed, quick,’ he burst out, ‘is it true that Abdollah’s dead and there’s a new Khan and that half the ransom’s paid?’

  Ahmed just gaped at him.

  ‘For Christ sake is it true?’ he snarled.

  ‘Yes, yes that’s true. But th—’

  ‘Quick, you’ve got to tell them!’ Relief flooding over him for he had only half believed Hakim. ‘Quick, they’ll kill him and kill Azadeh—come on!’

  ‘Then the. . . they’re not dead?’

  ‘No, of course not, come on!’

  ‘Wait! What exactly did th. . . did His Highness say?’

  ‘What the hell difference do—’

  The gun jammed into Erikki’s face. ‘What did he say exactly?’

  Erikki searched his memory and told him as best he could, then added, ‘Now for the love of God, come on!’

  For Ahmed time stopped. If he went with the Infidel he would probably die, Hakim Khan would die, his sister would die and the Infidel who was responsible for all this trouble would probably escape with his devil tribesmen. But then, he thought, if I could persuade them to let the Khan live and his sister live, persuade them to leave the palace, I would have proved myself beyond all doubt, both to the Khan and to her and I can kill the pilot later. Or I can kill him now and escape easily and live—but only as a fugitive despised by all as one who betrayed his Khan. Insha’Allah!

  His face creased into a smile. ‘As God wants!’ He took out his knife and gave it and his gun to the white-faced guard and walked around Erikki. ‘Wait,’ Erikki said. ‘Tell the guard to send for a doctor. Urgently. Hakim and my wife. . . they may be hurt.’

  Ahmed told the man to do it and went along the corridor and into the hall and up the staircase. On the landing tribesmen searched him roughly for arms then escorted him into the Khan’s room, crowding after him, shoving him into the vast, empty space—Erikki they held at the door, a knife at his throat—and when Ahmed saw his Khan was truly alive, sitting bleakly on the cushions near Azadeh who was still unconscious, he muttered, ‘Praised be to God,’ and smiled at him. ‘Highness,’ he said calmly, ‘I’ve sent for a doctor.’ Then he picked out Bayazid.

  ‘I am Ahmed Dursak the Turkoman,’ he said proudly, speaking Turkish with great formality. ‘In the Name of God: it’s true that Abdollah Khan is dead, true that I paid half the ransom—five million rials—last night on the new Khan’s behalf to two messengers of the chief al-Drah of the village of Broken Tree as an act of faith because of the unwarranted dishonour to your messenger ordered by the dead Abdollah Khan. Their names were Ishmud and Alilah and I hurried them north in a fine car.’ A murmur of astonishment went through the room. There could be no mistake for all knew these false names, code names, given to protect the village and the tribe. ‘I told them, on behalf of the new Khan, the second half would be paid the moment the pilot and his air machine were released safely.’

  ‘Where is this new Khan, if he exists?’ Bayazid scoffed. ‘Let him talk for himself.’

  ‘I am Khan of all the Gorgons,’ Hakim said and there was a sudden silence. ‘Hakim Khan, eldest son of Abdollah Khan.’

  All eyes left him and went to Bayazid who noticed the blank astonishment on Erikki’s face. He scowled, unsure. ‘Just because you say it doesn’t mean th—’

  ‘You call me a liar in my own house?’

  ‘I only say to this man,’ Bayazid jerked a thumb at Ahmed, ‘just because he says he paid the ransom, half of it, does not mean he paid it and did not then have them ambushed and killed—like my other messenger, by God!’

  Ahmed said venomously, ‘I told you the truth before God, and say again before God that I sent them north, safely with the money. Give me a knife, you take a knife, and I will show you what a Turkoman does to a man who calls him liar!’ The tribesmen were horrified that their leader had put himself into such a bad position. ‘You call me a liar and my Khan liar?’

  In the silence Azadeh stirred and moaned, distracting them. At once Erikki began to go to her but the knife never wavered, the tribesman muttered a curse and he
stopped. Another little moaning sigh that almost drove him mad, then he saw Hakim awkwardly move closer to his sister and hold her hand and this helped him a little.

  Hakim was afraid, aching everywhere, knowing he was as defenceless as she was defenceless and needing a doctor urgently, that Ahmed was under siege, Erikki impotent, his own life threatened and his Khanate in ruins. Nonetheless he gathered his courage back. I didn’t outfox Abdollah Khan and Najoud and Ahmed to concede victory to these dogs! Implacably he looked up at Bayazid. ‘Well? Do you call Ahmed a liar—yes or no?’ he said harshly in Turkish so all could understand him and Ahmed loved him for his courage. All eyes now on Bayazid. ‘A man must answer that question. Do you call him a liar?’

  ‘No,’ Bayazid muttered. ‘He spoke the truth, I accept it as truth.’ Someone said, ‘Insha’Allah,’ fingers loosened off triggers but nervousness did not leave the room.

  ‘As God wants,’ Hakim said, his relief hidden, and rushed onward, every moment more in command. ‘More fighting will achieve nothing. So, half the ransom is already paid and the other half promised when the pilot is released safely. The. . .’ He stopped as nausea threatened to overwhelm him but dominated it, easier this time than before. ‘The pilot’s there and safe and so is his machine. Therefore I will pay the rest at once!’

  He saw the greed and promised himself vengeance on all of them. ‘Ahmed, over by the table, Najoud’s satchel’s somewhere there.’ He watched Ahmed shove through the tribesmen arrogantly, to begin searching the debris for the soft leather purse he had been showing to Azadeh just before the attack began, happily telling her the jewels were family heirlooms that Najoud had admitted stealing and, in complete contrition, had given him before she left. ‘I’m glad you didn’t relent, Hakim, very glad,’ Azadeh had said. ‘You’d never be safe with her and her brood close to you.’

  I’ll never be safe again, he thought without fear, concentrating on Ahmed. I’m glad I left Ahmed whole, he thought, and glad we had the sense, Azadeh and I, to stay in the alcove under cover of the wall at the first sound of firing. If we’d been here in the room. . . Insha’Allah. His fingers gripped her wrist and the warmth pleased him, her breathing still regular. ‘God be praised,’ he murmured then noticed the men threatening Erikki. ‘You,’ he pointed imperiously at them, ‘let the pilot go!’ Nonplussed the rough, bearded men looked at Bayazid who nodded. At once Erikki went through them to Azadeh, eased his heavy sweater away to give him readier access to the knife in the centre of his back, then knelt, holding her hand, and faced Bayazid, his bulk protecting her and Hakim.