Whirlwind

by James Clavell

  The Khan’s eyes were closed, his face pasty and breathing strangled, his arm connected to a saline drip that stood beside the bed. Half asleep in a chair nearby was Aysha, curled up and tiny, her hair disheveled and her face tear-stained. Azadeh smiled at her tentatively, sorry for her, then said to the nurse in a voice not her own, “How is His Highness, please?”

  “Fair. But he mustn’t have any excitement, or be disturbed,” the nurse said softly in hesitant Turkish. Azadeh looked at her and saw that she was European, in her fifties, dyed brown hair, a red cross on her sleeve.

  “Oh, you’re English, or French?”

  “Scots,” the woman replied in English with obvious relief, her accent slight. She kept her voice down, watching the Khan. “I’m Sister Bain from the Tabriz Hospital and the patient is doing as well as can be expected—considering he will no’ do as he’s told. And who might you be, please?”

  “I’m his daughter, Azadeh. I’ve just arrived from Tehran—he sent for me. We’ve…we’ve traveled all night.”

  “Ah, yes,” she said, surprised that someone so beautiful could have been created by a man so ugly, “If I might suggest, lassie, it would be better to leave him sleeping. As soon as he wakes I’ll tell him you’re here and send for you. Better he steps.”

  Ahmed said irritably, “Please, where’s His Highness’s guard?”

  “There’s no need for armed men in a sickroom. I sent him away.”

  “There will always be a guard here unless the Khan orders him out or I order him out.” Angrily Ahmed turned and left.

  Azadeh said, “It’s just a custom, Sister.”

  “Aye, very well. But that’s another custom we can do without.”

  Azadeh looked back at her father, hardly recognizing him, trying to stop the terror that possessed her. Even like that, she thought, even like that he can still destroy us, Hakim and me—he still has his running dog Ahmed. “Please, really, how is he?”

  The lines on the nurse’s face creased even more. “We’re doing all we can.”

  “Would it be better for him to be in Tehran?”

  “Aye, if he has another stroke, yes, it would.” Sister Bain took his pulse as she talked. “But I wouldna recommend moving him, not at all, not yet.” She made a notation on a chart and then glanced at Aysha. “You could tell the lady there’s no need to stay, she should get some proper rest too, poor child.”

  “Sorry, I may not interfere. Sorry, but that’s a custom too. Is…is it likely he’ll have another stroke?”

  “You never know, lassie, that’s up to God. We hope for the best.” They looked around as the door opened. Hakim stood there beaming. Azadeh’s eyes lit up and she said to the nurse, “Please call me the instant His Highness awakes,” then hurried across the room, out into the corridor, closed the door, and hugged him. “Oh, Hakim, my darling, it’s been such a long time,” she said breathlessly. “Oh, is it really true?”

  “Yes, yes, it is but how did…” Hakim stopped, hearing footsteps. Ahmed and a guard turned into the corridor and came up to them. “I’m glad you’re back, Ahmed,” he said politely. “His Highness will be happy too.”

  “Thank you, Highness. Has anything happened in my absence?”

  “No, except that Colonel Fazir came this morning to see Father.”

  Ahmed was chilled. “Was he allowed in?”

  “No. You left instructions no one was to be admitted without His Highness’s personal permission; he was asleep at the time and he’s been asleep most of the day—I check every hour and the nurse says he’s unchanged.”

  “Good. Thank you. Did the colonel leave a message?”

  “Only that he was going to Julfa today as arranged with his ‘associate.’ Does that mean anything to you?”

  “No, Highness,” Ahmed lied blandly. He glanced from one to the other but before he could say anything, Hakim said, “We’ll be in the Blue Salon; please summon us the moment my father awakens.”

  Ahmed watched them go arm in arm down the corridor, the young man tall and handsome, the sister willowy and desirable. Traitors? Not much time to get the proof, he thought. He went back into the sickroom and saw the pallor of the Khan, his nostrils rebelling against the smell. He squatted on his haunches, careless of the disapproving nurse, and began his vigil.

  What did that son of a dog Fazir want? he asked himself. Saturday evening when Hashemi Fazir and Armstrong had come back from Julfa without Mzytryk, Fazir had angrily demanded to see the Khan. Ahmed had been present when the Khan had seen them, declared himself as mystified as they that Mzytryk was not with the helicopter. “Come back tomorrow—if the man brings me a letter you can see it,” the Khan had said.

  “Thank you, but we will wait—the Chevy can’t be far behind us.”

  So they had waited, the Khan seething but unable to do anything, Hashemi’s men spread around the palace in ambush. An hour later the Chevy had arrived. He himself had admitted the chauffeur while Hashemi and the Farsi-speaking Infidel hid in the room next door. “I have a private message for His Highness,” the Soviet had said.

  In the sickroom the Soviet said, “Highness, I’m to give it to you when you’re alone.”

  “Give it to me now. Ahmed is my most trusted counselor. Give it to me!” Reluctantly the man obeyed and Ahmed remembered the sudden flush that had rushed into the Khan’s face the moment he began to read it.

  “There is an answer?” the Soviet had said truculently.

  Choked with rage the Khan had shaken his head and dismissed the man and had handed Ahmed the letter. It read: “My friend, I was shocked to hear about your illness and would be with you now but I have to stay here on urgent matters. I have bad news for you: it may be that you and your spy ring are betrayed to Inner Intelligence or SAVAMA—did you know that turncoat Abrim Pahmudi now heads this new version of SAVAK? If you’re betrayed to Pahmudi, be prepared to defect at once or you’ll quickly see the inside of a torture chamber. I have alerted our people to help you if necessary. If it appears safe, I will arrive Tuesday at dusk. Good luck.”

  The Khan had had no option but to show the message to the two men. “Is it true? About Pahmudi?”

  “Yes. He’s an old friend of yours, isn’t he?” Fazir had said, taunting him.

  “No…no he is not. Get out!”

  “Certainly, Highness. Meanwhile this palace is under surveillance. There’s no need to defect. Please do nothing to interfere with Mzytryk’s arrival on Tuesday, do nothing to encourage any more revolt in Azerbaijan. As to Pahmudi and SAVAMA, they can do nothing here without my approval. I’m the law in Tabriz now. Obey and I’ll protect you, disobey and you’ll be his pishkesh!”

  Then the two men had left, and the Khan had exploded with rage, more angry than Ahmed had ever seen him. The paroxysm became worse and worse then suddenly it ceased, the Khan was lying on the floor, and he was looking down on him, expecting to see him dead but he was not. Just a waxen pallor and twitching, breathing choked.

  “As God wants,” Ahmed muttered, not wanting to relive that night.

  IN THE BLUE SALON: 11:15 A.M. When they were quite alone, Hakim swung Azadeh off her feet. “Oh, it’s wonderful wonderful wonderful to see you again…” she began, but he whispered, “Keep your voice down, Azadeh, there are ears everywhere and someone’s sure to misinterpret everything and lie again.”

  “Najoud? May she be cursed forever an—”

  “Shushhhh, darling, she can’t hurt us now. I’m the heir, officially.”

  “Oh, tell me what happened, tell me everything!”

  They sat on the long cushion sofa and Hakim could hardly get the words out fast enough. “First about Erikki: the ransom is 10 million rials, for him and the 212 an—”

  “Father can bargain that down and pay, he can certainly pay, then find them and have them torn apart.”

  “Yes, yes, of course he can and he told me in front of Ahmed as soon as you’re back he’ll start and it’s true he’s made me his heir provided I swear by God t
o cherish little Hassan as I would cherish you—of course I did that happily at once—and said that you would also swear by God to do the same, that we would both swear to remain in Tabriz, me to learn how to follow him and you to be here to help me and oh we’re going to be so happy!”

  “That’s all we have to do?” she asked incredulously.

  “Yes, yes, that’s all—he made me his heir in front of all the family—they looked as though they would die but that doesn’t matter, Father named the conditions in front of them, I agreed at once, of course, as you will—why shouldn’t we?”

  “Of course, of course—anything! God is watching over us!” Again she embraced him, burying her face into his shoulder so that the tears of joy would be dried away. All the way back from Tehran, the journey rotten and Ahmed uncommunicative, she had been terrified what the “conditions” would be. But now? “It’s unbelievable, Hakim, it’s like magic! Of course we’ll cherish little Hassan and you’ll pass the Khanate on to him or his successors if that’s Father’s wish. God protect us and protect him and Erikki, and Erikki can fly as much as he likes—why shouldn’t he? Oh, it’s going to be wonderful.” She dried her eyes. “Oh, I must look awful.”

  “You look wonderful. Now tell me what happened to you—I know only that you were caught in the village with…with the British saboteur and then somehow escaped.”

  “It was another miracle, only with the help of God, Hakim, but at the time terrible, that vile mullah—I can’t remember how we got out only what Johnny…what Johnny told me. My Johnny Brighteyes, Hakim.”

  His eyes widened. “Johnny from Switzerland?”

  “Yes. Yes it was him; he was the British officer.”

  “But how… It seems impossible.”

  “He saved my life, Hakim, and oh, there’s so much to tell.”

  “When Father heard about the village he…you know the mullah was shot by Green Bands, don’t you?”

  “I don’t remember it but Johnny told me.”

  “When Father heard about the village he had Ahmed drag the kalandar here, questioned him, then sent him back, had him stoned, the hands of the butcher cut off, and then the village burned. Burning the village was my idea—those dogs!”

  Azadeh was greatly shocked. The whole village was too terrible a vengeance. But Hakim allowed nothing to interrupt his euphoria. “Azadeh, Father’s taken off the guard and I can go where I like—I even took a car and went into Tabriz today alone. Everyone treats me as heir, all the family, even Najoud, though I know she’s gnashing her teeth and has to be guarded against. It’s…it’s not what I expected.” He told her how he had been almost dragged from Khoi, expecting to be killed, or mutilated. “Don’t you remember when I was banished, he cursed me and swore Shah Abbas knew how to deal with traitorous sons?”

  She trembled, recollecting that nightmare, the curses and rage and so unfair, both of them innocent. “What made him change? Why should he change toward you, toward us?”

  “The Will of God. God’s opened his eyes. He has to know he’s near death and must make provision…he’s, he’s the Khan. Perhaps he’s frightened and wants to make amends. We were guilty of nothing against him. What does the reason matter? I don’t care. We’re free of the yoke at long last, free.”

  IN THE SICKROOM: 11:16 A.M. The Khan’s eyes opened. Without moving his head he looked to his limits. Ahmed, Aysha, and the guard. No nurse. Then he centered on Ahmed who was sitting on the floor. “You brought her?” He stammered the words with difficulty.

  “Yes, Highness. A few minutes ago.”

  The nurse came into his field of vision. “How do you feel, Excellency?” she said in English as he had ordered her, telling her her Turkish was vile.

  “S’ame.”

  “Let me make you more comfortable.” With great tenderness and care—and strength—she lifted him and straightened the pillows and bed. “Do you need a bottle, Excellency?”

  The Khan thought about that. “Yes.”

  She administered it and he felt befouled that it was done by an Infidel woman, but since she had arrived he had learned she was tremendously efficient, very wise and very good, the best in Tabriz, Ahmed had seen to that—so superior to Aysha who had proved to be totally useless. He saw Aysha smile at him tentatively, big eyes, frightened eyes. I wonder if I’ll ever thrust it in again, up to its hilt, stiff as bone, like the first time, her tears and writhing improving the act, momentarily.

  “Excellency?”

  He accepted the pill and the sip of water and was glad for the cool of the nurse’s hands that guided the glass. Then he saw Ahmed again and he smiled at him, glad his confidant was back. “Good jour’ney?”

  “Yes, Highness.”

  “Will’ingly? Or with for’ce?”

  Ahmed smiled. “It was as you planned, Highness. Willingly. Just as you planned.”

  “I dinna think you should talk so much, Excellency,” the nurse said.

  “Go aw’ay.”

  She patted his shoulder kindly. “Would you like some food, perhaps a little horisht?”

  “Halvah.”

  “The doctor said sweets were not good for you.”

  “Halvah!”

  Sister Bain sighed. The doctor had forbidden them and then added, “But if he insists you can give him them, as many as he wants, what does it matter now? Insha’Allah.” She found them and popped one into his mouth and wiped the saliva away, and he chewed it with relish, nutty but smooth and oh so sweet.

  “Your daughter’s arrived from Tehran, Excellency,” she said. “She asked me to tell her the moment you awoke.”

  Abdollah Khan was finding talking very strange. He would try to say the sentences, but his mouth did not open when it was supposed to open and the words stayed in his mind for a long time and then, when a simple form of what he wanted to say came out, the words were not well formed though they should have been. But why? I’m not doing anything differently than before. Before what? I don’t remember, only a massive blackness and blood roaring and possessed by red-hot needles and not being able to breathe.

  I can breathe now and hear perfectly and see perfectly and my mind’s working perfectly and filled with plans as good as ever. It’s just getting it all out. “Ho’w?”

  “What, Excellency?”

  Again the waiting. “How ta’lk better?”

  “Ah,” she said, understanding at once, her experience of strokes great. “Dinna worry, you’ll find it just a wee bit difficult at first. As you get better, you’ll regain all your control. You must rest as much as you can, that’s very important. Rest and medicine, and patience, and you’ll be as good as ever. All right?”

  “Y’es.”

  “Would you like me to send for your daughter? She was very anxious to see you, such a pretty girl.”

  Waiting. “Late’r. See late’r. Go ’way, everyone…not Ahm’d.”

  Sister Bain hesitated, then again patted his hand kindly. “I’ll give you ten minutes—if you promise to rest afterward. All right?”

  “Y’es.”

  When they were alone Ahmed went closer to the bed. “Yes, Highness?”

  “Wh’at time?”

  Ahmed glanced at his wristwatch. It was gold and ornate and he admired it very much. “It’s almost eleven-thirty on Tuesday.”

  “Pe’tr?”

  “I don’t know, Highness.” Ahmed told him what Hakim had related. “If Petr comes today to Julfa, Fazir will be waiting for him.”

  “Insha’Allah. Az’deh?”

  “She was genuinely worried about your health and agreed to come here at once. A moment ago I saw her together with your son. I’m sure she will agree to anything to protect him—as he will to protect her.” Ahmed was trying to say everything clearly and concisely, not wanting to tire him. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Ev’thing.” Everything I’ve discussed with you and a little more, the Khan thought with relish, his excitement picking up: Now that Azadeh’s back, cut the throat of the ransom
messenger so the tribesmen in fury will do the same to the pilot; find out if those whelps’re traitors by whatever means you want, and if they are, take out Hakim’s eyes and send her north to Petr. If they’re not, cut up Najoud slowly and keep them close-confined here, until the pilot’s dead by whatever means, then send her north. And Pahmudi! Now I’m putting a price on his head that would tempt even Satan. Ahmed, offer it first to Fazir and tell him I want vengeance, I want Pahmudi racked, poisoned, cut up, mutilated, castrated…

  His heart began creaking, palpitating, and he lifted his hand to rub his chest but his hand did not move. Not an inch. Even now as he looked down at it lying on the bedspread, willing it to move, there was no motion. Nothing. Nor feeling. Neither in his hand nor in his arm. Fear gushed through him.

  Don’t be afraid, the nurse said, he reminded himself desperately, sound of waves roaring in his ears. You’ve had a stroke, that’s all, not a bad one the doctor said and he said many people have strokes. Old Komargi had one a year or so ago and he’s still alive and active and claims he can still bed his young wife. With modern treatment…you’re a good Muslim and you’ll go to Paradise so there’s nothing to fear, nothing to fear, nothing to fear…nothing to fear, if I die I go to Paradise…

  I don’t want to die, he shrieked. I don’t want to die, he shrieked again, but it was only in his head and no sound came out.

  “What is it, Highness?”

  He saw Ahmed’s anxiety and that calmed him a little. God be thanked for Ahmed. I can trust Ahmed, he thought, sweat pouring out of him. Now what do I want him to do? “Fam’ly, all he’re later. First Az’deh, H’kim, Naj’oud—under’s’d?”

  “Yes, Highness. To confirm the succession?”

  “Y’es.”

  “I have your permission to question Her Highness?”

  He nodded, his eyelids leaden, waiting for the pain in his chest to lessen. While he waited he moved his legs, feeling pins and needles in his feet. But nothing moved, not the first time, only the second, and only then with an effort. Terror rushed back into him. In panic he changed his mind: “Pay ran’som quick’ly, get pil’ot here, Erikki here, me to Teh’ran. Under’stand?” He saw Ahmed nod. “Quickly,” he mouthed and motioned him to go but his left hand still did not move. Terrified he tried his right hand and it worked, not easily, but it moved. Part of his panic subsided. “Pay ran’som no’w—kee’p secr’t. Get nur’se.”