Escape

by James Clavell

  ‘Highness!’ Ahmed gave Hakim Khan the purse. Leisurely he opened it, spilling the jewels into his hands. Emeralds and diamonds and sapphires, necklaces, encrusted golden bracelets, pendants. A great sigh went through the room. Judiciously Hakim chose a ruby necklace worth ten to fifteen million rials, pretending not to notice how all eyes were concentrated and the almost physical smell of greed that permeated the room. Abruptly he discarded the rubies and chose a pendant worth twice as much, three times as much.

  ‘Here,’ he said still speaking Turkish, ‘here is full payment.’ He held up the diamond pendant and offered it to Bayazid who, mesmerised by the fire glittering from the single stone, came forward, his hand out. But before Bayazid could take it, Hakim closed his fist. ‘Before God you accept it as full payment?’

  ‘Yes. . . yes, as full payment, before God,’ Bayazid muttered, never believing that God would grant him so much wealth—enough to buy herds and guns and grenades and silks and warm clothes. He held out his hand, ‘I swear it before God!’

  ‘And you will leave here at once, in peace, before God?’

  Bayazid pulled his brain off his riches. ‘First we have to get to our village, agha, we need the airplane and the pilot.’

  ‘No, by God, the ransom’s for the safe return of the airplane and the pilot, nothing more.’ Hakim opened his hand, never taking his eyes off Bayazid who now only saw the stone. ‘Before God?’

  Bayazid and his men stared at the liquid fire in the rock steady hand. ‘What’s. . . what’s to prevent me taking all of them, everything,’ he said sullenly, ‘what’s to prevent me killing you—killing you and burning the palace and taking her hostage to force the pilot, eh?’

  ‘Nothing. Except honour. Are Kurds without honour?’ Hakim’s voice rasped and he was thinking, how exciting this is, life the prize and death for failure. ‘This is more than full payment.’

  ‘I. . . I accept it before God as payment in full, for the pilot and the. . . and the airplane.’ Bayazid tore his eyes off the gem. ‘For the pilot and the airplane. But for you, you and the woman. . .’ The sweat was trickling down his face. So much wealth there, his mind was shouting, so much, so easy to take, so easy but there is honour in this, oh yes, very much. ‘For you and the woman there should be a fair ransom too.’

  Outside a car gunned its engine. Men rushed to the broken window. The car was racing for the main gate and as they watched, it hurtled through, heading for the city below.

  ‘Quick,’ Bayazid said to Hakim, ‘make up your mind.’

  ‘The woman is worthless,’ Hakim said, afraid of the lie, aware that he had to bargain or they were still lost. His fingers chose a ruby bracelet and offered it. ‘Agreed?’

  ‘To you the woman may be worthless—not to the pilot. The bracelet and the necklace, that one, together with the bracelet with the green stones.’

  ‘Before God that’s too much,’ Hakim exploded, ‘this bracelet’s more than enough—that’s more than the value of the pilot and the airplane!’

  ‘Son of a burnt father! This one, the necklace and that other bracelet, the one with the green stones!’

  They haggled back and forth, angrier and angrier, everyone listening intently except Erikki who was still locked in his own private hell, only concerned with Azadeh and where was the doctor and how he could help her and help Hakim. His hand was stroking her hair, his nerves pushed near the breaking point by the enraged voices of the two men as they reached the crescendo, the insults even more violent. Then Hakim judged the moment right and let out a wail that was also part of the game of bargaining. ‘You’re too good a negotiator for me, by God! You’ll beggar me! Here, my final offer!’ He put the diamond bracelet and the smaller of the emerald necklaces and the heavy gold bracelet on to the carpet. ‘Do we agree?’

  It was a fair price now, not as much as Bayazid wanted but far more than he had expected. ‘Yes,’ he said and scooped up his prize and contentment filled the room. ‘You swear by God not to pursue us? Not to attack us?’

  ‘Yes, yes, before God.’

  ‘Good. Pilot, I need you to take us home. . .’ Bayazid said in English now and saw the rage soar into Hakim’s face and added hastily, ‘I ask, not order, agha. Here,’ he offered Erikki the gold bracelet, ‘I wish to hire your services, this’s paym—’ He stopped and looked up as one of his men guarding the patio, called out urgently, ‘There’s a car coming up from the city!’

  Bayazid was sweating more now. ‘Pilot, I swear by God I’ll not harm you.’

  ‘There’s not enough gasoline.’

  ‘Then not all the way, halfway, just halfw—’

  ‘There’s not enough gasoline.’

  ‘Then take us and drop us in the mountains—just a little way. I ask you—not order,’ Bayazid said, then added curiously, ‘By the Prophet I treated you fairly and him fairly and. . . have not molested her. I ask you.’

  They had all heard the threat under the voice, perhaps a threat, perhaps not, but Erikki knew beyond any doubt that the fragile bubble of ‘honour’ or ‘before God’ would vanish with the first bullet, that it was up to him now to try to correct the disaster that the attack had become, chasing a Khan already dead, the ransom already half paid, and now Azadeh lying there, hurt as only God knows, and Hakim almost killed. Set-faced he touched her a last time, glanced at the Khan, nodded, half to himself, then got up, abruptly jerked the Sten gun out of the nearest tribesman’s hands. ‘I’ll accept your word before God and I’ll kill you if you cheat. I’ll drop you north of the city, in the mountains. Everyone in the chopper. Tell them!’

  Bayazid hated the idea of the gun in the hands of this brooding, revenge-seeking monster. Neither of us has forgotten I threw the grenade that perhaps has killed this Houri, he thought. ‘Insha’Allah!’ Quickly he ordered the retreat. Taking the body of their dead comrade with them, they obeyed. ‘Pilot, we will leave together. Thank you, Agha Hakim Khan. God be with you,’ he said and backed to the door, weapon held loosely, but ready. ‘Come on!’

  Erikki raised his hand in farewell to Hakim, consumed with anguish at what he has precipitated. ‘Sorry. . .’

  ‘God be with you, Erikki, and come back safely,’ Hakim called out and Erikki felt better for that. ‘Ahmed, go with him, he can’t fly and use a gun at the same time. See that he gets back safely.’ Yes, he thought, icily, I’ve still a score to settle with him for the attack on my palace!

  ‘Yes, Highness. Thank you, Pilot.’ Ahmed took the gun from Erikki, checked the action and magazine, then smiled crookedly at Bayazid. ‘By God and the Prophet, on whose Name be Praise, let no man cheat.’ Politely he motioned Erikki to leave, then followed him. Bayazid went last.

  At the Foothills to the Palace: 11:05 A.M. The police car was racing up the winding road towards the gates, other cars and an army lorry filled with troops following. Hashemi Fazir in the back of the lead car which skidded through the gate into the forecourt where an ambulance and other cars were already parked. Hakim Khan was waiting for him in his place of honour, pale and drawn but regal, guards around him, this part of the palace undamaged.

  ‘Highness, God be praised you were not hurt—we’ve just heard about the attack. May I introduce myself? I’m Colonel Hashemi Fazir of Inner Intelligence. Would you please tell me what happened?’ Hakim Khan related his version of the attack.

  ‘Highness, how long ago did the pilot leave?’

  Hakim glanced at his watch. ‘About two and a half hours ago.’

  ‘Did he say how much fuel he had with him?’

  ‘No, only that he would take them a little way and drop them.’

  Hashemi was standing in front of the raised platform with its rich carpets and cushions, Hakim Khan dressed formally in warm brocades, a string of pearls around his neck with a diamond pendant four times the size of the one he had bartered their lives for. ‘They weren’t Kurds though they claimed to be, j
ust bandits, and they’d kidnapped Erikki and forced him to lead them against the Khan, my father.’ The young Khan frowned then said firmly, ‘The Khan my father should not have had their messenger killed. He should have bartered the ransom down then paid it—and then had them killed for their impertinence.’

  ‘I will see they are all hunted down.’

  ‘And all my property recovered.’

  ‘Of course. Is there anything, anything at all, I or my department can do for you?’ He was watching the young man closely and saw, or thought he saw, a flash of sardonic amusement and it rattled him. At that moment the door opened and Azadeh came in.

  She was dressed in Western clothes, grey green that set off her green-flecked eyes, stockings and soft shoes—her face very pale and made up just enough. Her walk was slow and somewhat painful, but she bowed to her brother with a sweet smile, ‘Sorry to interrupt you, Highness, but the doctor asked me to remind you to rest. He’s about to leave, would you like to see him again?’

  ‘No, no thank you. You’re all right?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said and forced a smile. ‘He says I’m fine.’

  ‘May I present Colonel Hashemi Fazir—Her Highness, my sister, Azadeh.’

  ‘I was so relieved that neither you or the Khan were hurt.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, her ears and head still aching badly and her back giving her problems. The doctor had said, ‘We’ll have to wait for a few days, Highness, although we will X-ray you both as soon as possible. Best you go to Tehran, both of you, they have better equipment. With an explosion like that. . . you never know, Highness, best to go, I wouldn’t like to be responsible. . .’

  Azadeh sighed, ‘Please excuse me for interrup—’ She stopped abruptly, listening, head slightly on its side. They listened too. Just the wind picking up and a distant car.

  ‘Not yet,’ Hakim said kindly.

  She tried to smile and murmured, ‘As God wants,’ then went away.

  Hashemi broke the small silence. ‘We should leave you too, Highness,’ he said deferentially, in Farsi again. ‘Perhaps we could come back tomorrow?’ He saw the young Khan take his eyes off the door and look at him under his dark eyebrows, the handsome face in repose, fingers toying with the jewelled ornamental dagger at his belt. He must be made of ice, he thought, politely waiting to be dismissed.

  But instead Hakim Khan dismissed all his guards, except one he stationed at the door, well out of listening range. ‘Now we will speak English. What is it you really want to ask me?’ he said softly.

  Hashemi sighed, sure that Hakim Khan already knew, and more than sure now that here he had a worthy adversary, or ally. ‘Help on two matters, Highness: your influence in Azerbaijan could immeasurably help us to put down hostile elements in rebellion against the state.’

  ‘What’s the second?’

  He had heard the touch of impatience and it amused him. ‘Second is somewhat delicate. It concerns a Soviet called Petr Oleg Mzytryk, an acquaintance of your father, who for some years, from time to time, visited here—as Abdollah Khan visited his dacha in Tbilisi. Whilst Mzytryk posed as a friend of Abdollah Khan and Azerbaijan, in reality he’s a very senior KGB officer and very hostile.’

  ‘Ninety-eight out of every hundred Soviets who come to Iran are KGB, therefore enemy, and the other two GRU, therefore enemy. As Khan, my father would have to deal with all manner of enemies’—again a fleeting sardonic smile that Hashemi noted—‘all manner of friends and all those in between. So?’

  ‘We would very much like to interview him.’ Hashemi waited for some reaction but there was none and his admiration for the young man increased. ‘Before Abdollah Khan died he had agreed to help us. Through him we heard the man intended secretly to come over the border last Saturday and again on Tuesday, but both times he did not appear.’

  ‘How was he entering?’

  Hashemi told him, not sure how much Hakim Khan knew, feeling his way with greater caution. ‘We believe the man may contact you—if so, would you please let us know? Privately.’

  Hakim Khan decided it was time to put this Tehrani enemy in place. Son of a burnt father, am I so naive I don’t know what’s going on? ‘In return for what?’ he said bluntly.

  Hashemi was equally blunt. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘First: all senior SAVAK and police officers in Azerbaijan put on suspension at once, pending review—by me—and all future appointments to be subject to my prior approval.’

  Hashemi flushed. Not even Abdollah Khan had ever had this. ‘What’s second?’ he asked dryly.

  Hakim Khan laughed. ‘Good, very good, agha. Second will wait until tomorrow or the next day, so will third and perhaps fourth. But about your first point, at 10 a.m. tomorrow bring me specific requests how I could help stop all fighting in Azerbaijan—and how you, personally, if you had the power, how you would. . .’ he thought for a moment, then added, ‘how you would make us safe against enemies from without, and safe from enemies from within.’ He frowned. ‘How would I have access to the Mzytryk information?’

  ‘However you want, Highness,’ Hashemi said, ‘however you want.’

  Another small silence. ‘I’ll consider what y—’ Hakim Khan stopped, listening. Now they all heard the approaching putt-putt of rotors and the sound of the jets. Both men started for the tall windows. ‘Wait,’ Hakim said. ‘Please give me a hand.’

  Astonished, they helped him stand. ‘Thank you,’ he said, painfully. ‘That’s better. It’s my back. In the explosion I must have twisted it.’ Hashemi took some of his weight and between them he hobbled to the tall windows that overlooked the forecourt.

  The 212 was coming in slowly, drifting down to her landing. As she got closer they recognised Erikki and Ahmed in the front seats but Ahmed was slumped down, clearly hurt. A few bullet holes in the airframe, a great chunk of plastic out of a side window. Their concern increased. She settled into a perfect landing. At once the engines began to die. Now they saw the blood staining Erikki’s white collar and sleeve.

  ‘Christ. . .’ Armstrong muttered.

  ‘Agha,’ Hakim Khan said urgently to Hashemi, ‘see if you can stop the doctor leaving.’ Instantly Hashemi rushed off.

  From where they were they could see the front steps. The huge door opened and Azadeh ran out and stood there a moment, a statue, others gathering beside her now, guards and servants and some of the family. Erikki opened his side door and got out awkwardly. Tiredly he went towards her. But his walk was firm and tall and then she was in his arms.

  BOOK THREE

  Friday

  Chapter 20

  Al Shargaz—The Oasis Hotel: 5:37 A.M. Gavallan stood at his window, already dressed, night still heavy except to the east, dawn due soon now. Threads of mist came in from the coast, half a mile away, to vanish quickly in the desert reaches. Sky eerily cloudless to the east, gradually building to thick cover overall. From where he was he could see most of the airfield. Runway lights were on, a small jet already taxiing out, and the smell of kerosene was on the wind that had veered more southerly. A knock on the door. ‘Come in! Ah, ‘morning, Jean-Luc, ‘morning, Charlie.’

  ‘’Morning, Andy. If we’re to catch our flight it’s time to leave,’ Pettikin said, his nervousness running the words together. He was due to go to Kuwait, Jean-Luc to Bahrain.

  ‘Yes, best be on your way,’ Gavallan was pleased that his voice sounded calm. Pettikin beamed, Jean-Luc muttered Merde. ‘With your approval, Charlie, I propose pushing the button at 7 a.m. as planned—provided none of the bases pull the plug beforehand. If they do we’ll try again tomorrow. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed. No calls yet?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Pettikin could hardly contain his excitement. ‘Well, off we go into the wild blue yonder! Come on, Jean-Luc!’

  Jean-Luc’s eyebrows soared. ‘Mon Dieu, it’s Boy Scouts time! Erikki, Andy. H
e still doesn’t know about “Whirlwind”?’

  ‘No, not actually. But Mac sent him and Azadeh a code message to Tabriz to get out at once, he sent it through Talbot at the embassy a few days ago. They should be well over the border by now into Turkey—Talbot wouldn’t fail us. I’m seeing Newbury at the consulate first thing to alert our folk there that Erikki and Azadeh should be expected and to ease things for them. You two had better get going. Call me the moment you land. I’ll be in the office from 6 a.m.’

  He closed the bedroom door after them. Now it was done. Unless one of the bases aborted.

  At Al Shargaz Headquarters: 6:59 A.M. Gavallan, his son, Scot, Nogger Lane and Genny were watching the clock. Outside the weather was cheerless, the wind blustering. A British Airways jet took off enhancing their silence. 0700.

  ‘Well, here we go,’ Gavallan said and picked up the mike, clicked the transmit button and gave the code: ‘This is Sierra One, you read?’

  ‘Check, Sierra One,’ came over the loudspeaker as the bases across the Gulf acknowledged in turn.

  ‘This is Sierra One. Our forecast is settled. We expect improving weather but watch out for small whirlwinds. Do you copy?’

  “We copy, Sierra One and will watch for whirlwinds,’ came the confirm reports, hetrodyning badly.

  Now there was only radio static. Gavallan bit his lower lip. It’s done, he thought, heart grinding. Nine 212s and their crews are launched, shit or bust.