Whirlwind

by James Clavell

  “There’s…there’s not that amount of cash in…in the whole plant, so sorry.”

  The policeman swore and continued to haggle but then the door opened. Orderlies with a trolley and another body came in, eyeing them curiously. Abruptly the policeman said, “Very well. We will go to your office at once.”

  They went and got the last amount Kasigi had offered, 250,000 rials—about $3,000—but no receipt, only a verbal agreement that Scragger could leave. Not trusting the man, Kasigi gave him half in the office and put the rest into an envelope that he kept in his pocket. They returned to the hospital. There he waited in the car while Minoru and the man went inside. The waiting seemed interminable but finally Minoru and Scragger came down the steps with the policeman. Kasigi got out and gave the policeman the envelope. The man cursed all foreigners and went away truculently.

  “So,” Kasigi said and smiled at Scragger. They shook hands, Scragger thanking him profusely, apologizing for all the trouble, both men cursing fate, blessing it, getting into the car quickly. The Iranian chauffeur swerved out into the traffic, swore loudly at an overtaking car that had the right of way and almost collided with him, jabbing the horn.

  “Tell him to slow down, Minoru,” Kasigi said. Minoru obeyed and the driver nodded and smiled and obeyed. The slowdown lasted a few seconds.

  “Are you all right, Captain?”

  “Oh, yes. Headache’s a beaut but okay. The worst was wanting to pee.”

  “What?”

  “The bastards kept me handcuffed to the bed and wouldn’t let me get to the loo. I just couldn’t do it in my pants, or in the bed, and it wasn’t till early this morning a nurse brought me a bottle. Christ, I thought my bladder was bust.” Scragger rubbed the tiredness out of his eyes. “No problem, old sport. I owe you one. Plus the ransom! How much was it?”

  “Nothing, nothing to you. We have a fund for these hazards.”

  “It’s no problem, Andy Gavallan’ll pay—oh, that reminds me, he said he knew your boss some years ago, Toda, Hiro Toda.”

  “Ah so desu ka?” Kasigi was genuinely surprised. “Gavallan has choppers in Japan?”

  “Oh, no. It was when he was a China trader, out of Hong Kong, when he was working for Struan’s.” The name sent a warning bolt through Kasigi that he kept bottled. “You ever heard of them?”

  “Yes, a fine company. Toda’s do, or did business with Struan’s,” Kasigi said smoothly, but he docketed the information for future consideration—wasn’t it Linbar Struan who unilaterally canceled five ship-leasing contracts two years ago that almost broke us? Perhaps Gavallan could be an instrument to recoup, one way or another. “Sorry you had such a bad time.”

  “Not your fault, cobber. But Andy’d want to pay the ransom. Wot’d they stick us for?”

  “It was very modest. Please, let it be a gift—you saved my ship.”

  After a pause Scragger said, “Then I owe you two, old sport.”

  “We selected the driver—it was our fault.”

  “Where is he, where’s Mohammed?”

  “So sorry, he’s dead.”

  Scragger swore. “It wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t at all.”

  “Yes, yes, I know. We have given his family compensation, and we will do the same for the victims.” Kasigi was trying to read how shaken Scragger was, wanting to know very much when he would be fit to fly, and greatly irritated with the day’s delay. It was imperative to get back to Al Shargaz as soon as possible, thence home to Japan. His work here was finished. Chief Engineer Watanabe was now totally on his side, the copies of his private reports would cement his own corporate position and enormously help him—and Hiro Toda—to reopen the possibility of persuading the government to declare Iran-Toda a National Project.

  Not possibility, certainty! he thought, more confident than he had ever been. We’ll be saved from bankruptcy, we’ll bury our enemies, the Mitsuwari and Gyokotomo, and gain nothing but face ourselves—and profit, vast profit! Oh, yes. And the added piece of good fortune, Kasigi allowed himself a cynical smile, the explosively important copy of dead Chief Engineer Kasusaka’s private report to Gyokotomo, dated and signed, that Watanabe had miraculously “found” in a forgotten file while I was in Al Shargaz! I’ll have to be very careful how I use it, oh, very careful indeed, but it makes it all the more important that I get home as soon as possible.

  The streets and alleys were clogged with traffic. Above, the sky was still overcast but the storm had passed through and he knew the weather was flyable. Ah, I wish I had my own airplane, he thought. Say a Lear jet. The reward for all my work here should be substantial.

  He let himself drift happily, enjoying his sense of achievement and power. “It looks like we will be able to begin construction very soon now, Captain.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. The head of the new komiteh assured us of their cooperation. It seems he knows one of your pilots, a Captain Starke—his name’s Zataki.”

  Scragger glanced at him sharply. “He’s the one Duke, Duke Starke, saved from the leftists and flew to Kowiss. If I were you, cobber, I’d, er, watch him.” He told Kasigi how volatile the man was. “He’s a right madman.”

  “He didn’t give that appearance, not at all. Curious—Iranians are very…very curious. But more important, how are you feeling?”

  “I’m bonzer now.” Scragger exaggerated blithely. Yesterday and all night had been very bad, all the cursing and shouting and being handcuffed, not being able to make anyone understand, surrounded by hostility, eyes everywhere. Lost. And afraid. The pain increasing. Time agonizingly slow, hope fading, sure that Minoru was injured or dead along with the driver so that no one would know where he was or what had happened.

  “Nothing that a good cup of tea won’t cure. If you’d like to leave at once, I’m okay. Just a quick bath and shave and cuppa and some grub and we’ll be on our merry way.”

  “Excellent. Then we’ll leave the moment you’re ready—Minoru has installed the radio and checked it.”

  All the way to the refinery and during the flight back to Lengeh, Kasigi was in very good spirits. Near Kharg they thought they spotted the huge hammerhead shark Scragger had once mentioned. They kept low and close inshore, the clouds still low and heavy, nimbus here and there with an occasional flash of lightning menacing them but not badly, only a little bumpy now and then. Radar surveillance and clearances were efficient and immediate which increased Scragger’s foreboding. Two days to Whirlwind, not counting today, was in the forefront of his mind. Losing a day makes it all the more hairy, he thought anxiously. Wot’s happened since I was away?

  Well past Kharg he landed to refuel and take a break. His stomach still ached nastily and he noticed a little blood in his urine. Nothing to worry about, he told himself. Sure to be a little hemorrhage after an accident like that. Shit in a bucket but I was lucky!

  They were on a sandbank, finishing a packed lunch—cold rice and pieces of fish and pickles. Scragger had a big hunk of Iranian bread he had scrounged from the spotless cookhouse and lots of cold yakatori chicken and soy sauce that he enjoyed very much. Kasigi was sipping Japanese beer that Scragger had refused: “Thanks, but drinking and driving don’t mix.”

  Kasigi ate sparingly, Scragger hungrily and quickly. “Good grub,” he said. “Soon as you’re ready we’d better get on.”

  “I’m finished.” Soon they were airborne again. “Will there be time to get me on to Al Shargaz or Dubai today?”

  “Not if we go to Lengeh.” Scragger adjusted his headset slightly. “Tell you wot, when we get into Kish Traffic Control I’ll ask if I can divert to Bahrain. You could pick up an international or local flight there. We’ll need to refuel at Lavan but they’ll approve that if they agree. As I said, I owe you a couple.”

  “You owe us nothing.” Kasigi smiled to himself. “At the komiteh meeting yesterday, this man Zataki asked how soon we’d have our chopper fleet up to strength. I promised immediate action. As you know Guerney no longer services us. What
I’d like is three of your 212s and two 206s for the next three months, a year-long contract to be negotiated then, depending on our needs, renewable annually—with you in charge. Would that be possible?”

  Scragger hesitated, not knowing how to reply. Normally such an offer would send glad tiding bells ringing all the way to Aberdeen, Gavallan would be on the phone personally, and everyone would be in for a huge bonus. But with Whirlwind scheduled, Guerney out of the picture, and no one else available, there was no way to help Kasigi. “When, er, when would you need the birds to start?” he asked to give himself time to think.

  “Immediately,” Kasigi continued blithely, watching a tanker below. “I guaranteed Zataki and the komiteh that if they cooperated we’d start up at once. Tomorrow or the next day at the latest. Perhaps you could ask your head office temporarily to divert some of the 212s stationed at Bandar Delam and not being used to capacity. Yes?”

  “I’ll certainly ask, as soon as we land.”

  “For a week or so we’ll need a temporary air link with Kuwait to pick up and replace crews from Japan—Zataki said their komiteh’d arrange with the Abadan airport komiteh today to open it for us, certainly by the end of the week…”

  Scragger was only half listening to the confident plans of this man who had befriended him, without whom he would still be handcuffed to the bed. His choice was simple: you tell him about Whirlwind or you leave him in the shit. But if you tell him you betray a bigger trust, a long-term trust. Kasigi might let Whirlwind slip. He’s bound to tell de Plessey. The question is how far can I trust him—and de Plessey?

  Greatly unsettled he glanced out of his window and rechecked his position. “Sorry to interrupt but I’ve got to report in,” He pressed the send button: “Kish radar, this is HotelSierraTango, do you read?”

  “HST, Kish radar, we read you four by five, go ahead.”

  “HST on charter from Iran-Toda inbound to home base in Lengeh, approaching Lavan at one thousand, one passenger aboard. Request permission to refuel at Lavan and divert to Bahrain to drop my passenger who has urgent business on behalf of Iran.”

  “Request refused, maintain one thousand and present heading.”

  “My passenger is Japanese, head of Iran-Toda, and urgently needs to consult his Japanese government on behalf of the Iran government’s wish to resume immediate operations. Request special consideration in this instance.”

  “Request refused. No trans-Gulf flights are authorized without a twenty-four-hour notice. Turn to 095 degrees for direct Lengeh, report abeam Kish, not overhead Kish. Do you copy?”

  Scragger glanced at Kasigi who could also hear the exchange, “Sorry, mate.” He eased onto the new heading. “HST copies. Request clearance for Al Shargaz at dawn tomorrow with one passenger.”

  “Standby One.” Static cracked in their earphones. To starboard the sea bridge of tankers continued, inbound and outbound, from or to the Gulf terminals of Saudi, the Emirates, Abu Dhabi, Bahrain, Kuwait, and Iraq. None were loading at Kharg or Abadan where normally a dozen would be serviced with another dozen waiting. Now there were only the swarms of ships waiting, some over two months. The sky was still overcast and nasty. “HST, this is Kish. In this instance your request is approved to go from Lengeh to Al Shargaz, tomorrow Wednesday twenty-eighth, noon departure. Until further notice all, repeat, all trans-Gulf flights will require a twenty-four-hour notice, and all, repeat, all engine starts require clearance. Do you copy?”

  Scragger swore, then acknowledged.

  “What is it?” Kasigi asked.

  “We’ve never had to get clearance to start engines before. The bastards are really getting touchy.” Scragger was thinking about Friday and his two 212s to start up and Kish too nosy and too efficient. “Crummy lot!”

  “Yes. Will you be able to head up our chopper requirements?”

  “There’re lots of better guys than me.”

  “Ah, so sorry, but it would be important to me. I would know that the operation would be in good hands.”

  Again Scragger hesitated. “Thanks, if I could, I would, sure, sure I would.”

  “Then it’s settled. I’ll formally apply to your Mr. Gavallan.” Kasigi glanced at Scragger. Something’s changed, he thought. What? Now that I think of it, the pilot didn’t react with the amount of enthusiasm I would have forecast when I announced the deal—he certainly would understand the value of the contract he’s being offered. What’s he hiding? “Could you contact Bandar Delam through your base at Kowiss to ask them about supplying us with at least one 212 tomorrow?” he asked, beginning to probe.

  “Yes, yes, of course…soon as we arrive.”

  Ah, Kasigi thought, having watched and listened very carefully, I was right, something’s very definitely different now. The friendliness is gone. Why? I’ve certainly not said anything to offend him. It can’t be the deal—that’s too good for any chopper company. His health? “Are you feeling all right?”

  “Oh, fine, old sport, I’m fine.”

  Ah, the smile was real that time and the voice as usual. Then it has to be something to do with the choppers. “If I don’t have your help, it will make things very difficult for me.”

  “Yes, I know. Me, I’d like to help you all I can.”

  Ah, the smile vanished and the voice became serious again. Why? And why the “me, I’d like to help” as though he would help but is forbidden to help by someone else. Gavallan? Could it be he knows that Gavallan, because of Struan’s, wouldn’t help us?

  For a long time Kasigi considered all manner of permutations but could not come up with a satisfactory answer. Then he fell back on the one, almost infallible, ploy to use with a foreigner such as this one.

  “My friend,” he said, using his most sincere voice, “I know something’s the matter, please tell me what it is?” Seeing Scragger’s face become even more solemn, he added the coup de grace. “You can tell me, you can trust me, I really am your friend.”

  “Yes…yes, I know that, mate.”

  Kasigi watched Scragger’s face and waited, watched the fish wriggling on the hook that was held by a line so thin and so strong that stretched back to a broken rotor blade, a handshake, shared danger aboard the Rikumaru, shared war service, and common reverence for dead comrades. So many of us dead, so young. Yes, he thought with a sudden anger, but if we’d had a tenth of their airplanes, their armaments and their ships and a twentieth part of their oil and raw materials we would have been invincible and the emperor would never have had to terminate the war as he did. We’d have been invincible—but for the bomb, the two bombs. All gods torment for all eternity those who invented the bomb that broke his will that took preference over ours. “What is it?”

  “I, er, can’t tell you, just yet—sorry.”

  Danger signals went through Kasigi. “Why, my friend? I assure you, you can trust me,” he said soothingly.

  “Yes…yes, but it’s not just up to me. In Al Shargaz, tomorrow, bear with me, will you?”

  “If it’s that important, I should know now, shouldn’t I?” Again Kasigi waited. He knew the value of waiting and of silence at a time like this. No need to remind the other man of the “I owe you two.” Yet.

  Scragger was remembering. At Bandar Delam, Kasigi saved my bloody neck and no doubt about that. Aboard his ship at Siri he proved he’s got balls and today he’s proved a good friend, he needn’t’ve gone to all that trouble so fast, tomorrow or the next day wouldn’t have mattered to him.

  His eyes were scanning the instruments and the outside and he saw no dangers within or without, Kish coming up soon to starboard and he glanced across at Kasigi. Kasigi was staring ahead, his strong, good-looking face set, frowning slightly. Shit, old sport, if you don’t perform, Zataki’s likely to go berserk! But you can’t perform. You can’t, old sport, and it’s so hard to see you just sitting there, not reminding me wot I owe you. “Kish, this is HST. Abeam Kish, steady at one thousand.”

  “Kish. Maintain one thousand. You have traffic due east
at ten thousand.”

  “I have them in sight.” They were two fighters. He pointed for Kasigi who had not seem them. “They’re F14s, probably out of Bandar Abbas,” he said. Kasigi did not reply, just nodded, and this made Scragger feel worse. The minutes passed. Droning onward.

  Then Scragger decided, hating having to do it. “Sorry,” he said gruffly, “but you’ll have to wait until Al Shargaz. Andy Gavallan can help, I can’t.”

  “He can help? In what way? What’s the trouble?”

  After a pause Scragger said, “If anyone can help, he can. Let’s leave it at that, cobber.”

  Kasigi heard the finality but dismissed it and let the matter rest for a moment, his mind abuzz with fresh danger signals. That Scragger had not fallen into his trap and told him the secret made him respect the man more. But that doesn’t forgive him, he thought, his fury building. He’s told me enough to forewarn me, now it’s up to me to find out the rest. So Gavallan’s the key? To what?

  Kasigi felt his head about to burst. Haven’t I promised that madman Zataki we would be in business at once? How dare these men jeopardize our whole project—our National Project. Without choppers we can’t start! It’s tantamount to treason against Japan! What is it they’re planning?

  With a great effort he kept his face bland. “I’ll certainly see Gavallan as soon as possible, and let’s hope you’ll head up our new operation, eh?”

  “Whatever Andy Gavallan says, it’s up to him.”

  Don’t be too sure, Kasigi was thinking, because whatever happens I will have choppers, at once—yours, Guerney’s, I don’t care whose. But by my samurai ancestors, the Iran-Toda will not be put to further risk! It will not! Nor will I!

  TABRIZ—AT THE KHAN’S PALACE: 10:50 A.M. Azadeh followed Ahmed into the Western-style room and over to the four-poster bed, and now that she was again within the walls she felt her skin crawling with fear. Sitting near the bed was a nurse in a starched white uniform, a book half open in her lap, watching them curiously through her glasses. Musty brocade curtains covered the windows against drafts. Lights were dimmed. And the stench of an old man hung in the air.