That’s wise, the Khan thought, disgusted with Hakim—and Azadeh—that they had allowed Najoud’s perjury to be buried for so many years and to let it go unpunished for so many years—loathing Najoud and Mahmud for being so weak. No courage, no strength. Well, Hakim’ll learn and she’ll learn. If only I had more time…
“Aza’deh.”
“Yes, Father?”
“Naj’oud. Wh’at punish’ment?”
She hesitated, frightened again, knowing how his mind worked, feeling the trap close on her. “Banishment, Banish her and her husband and family.”
Fool, you’ll never breed a Khan of the Gorgons, he thought, but he was too tired to say it so he just nodded and motioned her to leave. Before she left, Azadeh went to the bed and bent and kissed her father’s hand. “Be merciful, please be merciful, Father.” She forced a smile, touched him again, and then she left.
He watched her close the door. “Hak’im?”
Hakim also had detected the trap and was petrified of displeasing his father, wanting vengeance but not the malevolent sentence the Khan would pronounce. “Internal banishment forever, penniless,” he said. “Let them earn their own bread in future and expel them from the tribe.”
A little better, thought Abdollah. Normally that would be a terrible punishment. But not if you’re a Khan and them a perpetual hazard. Again he moved his hand in dismissal. Like Azadeh, Hakim kissed his father’s hand and wished a good night’s sleep.
When they were alone, Abdollah said, “Ah’med?”
“Tomorrow banish them to the wastelands north of Meshed, penniless, with guards. In a year and a day when they’re sure they’ve escaped with their lives, when they’ve got some business going or house or hut, burn it and put them to death—and their three children.”
He smiled. “G’ood, do i’t.”
“Yes, Highness.” Ahmed smiled back at him, very satisfied.
“Now sl’eep.”
“Sleep well, Highness.” Ahmed saw the eyelids close and the face fall apart. In seconds the sick man was snoring badly.
Ahmed knew he had to be most careful now. Quietly he opened the door. Hakim and Azadeh were waiting in the corridor with the nurse. Worriedly, the nurse went past him, took the Khan’s pulse, peering at him closely.
“Is he all right?” Azadeh asked from the doorway.
“Who can say, lassie? He’s tired himself, tired himself badly. Best you all leave now.”
Nervously Hakim turned to Ahmed, “What did he decide?”
“Banished to the lands north of Meshed at first light tomorrow, penniless and expelled from the tribe. He will tell you himself tomorrow, Highness.”
“As God wants.” Azadeh was greatly relieved that worse had not been ordered. Hakim was glowing that his advice had been taken. “My sister and I, we, er, we don’t know how to thank you for helping us, Ahmed, and, well, for bringing the truth out at long last.”
“Thank you, Highness, but I only obeyed the Khan. When the time comes I will serve you as I serve His Highness, he made me swear it. Good night.” Ahmed smiled to himself and closed the door and went back to the bed. “How is he?”
“No’ so good, Agha.” Her back was aching and she was sick with tiredness. “I must have a replacement tomorrow. We should have two nurses and a sister in charge. Sorry, but I canna continue alone.”
“Whatever you want you will have, provided you stay. His Highness appreciates your care of him. If you like I will watch him for an hour or two. There’s a sofa in the next room and I can call you in case anything happens,”
“Oh, that’s very kind of you, I’m sure. Thank you, I could use a wee rest, but call me if he wakes, and anyway in two hours.”
He saw her into the next room, told the guard to relieve him in three hours and dismissed him, then began a vigil. Half an hour later he quietly peered in at her. She was deeply asleep. He came back into the sickroom and locked the door, took a deep breath, tousled his hair and rushed for the bed, shaking the Khan roughly. “Highness,” he hissed as though in panic, “wake up, wake up!”
The Khan clawed his way out of leaden sleep, not knowing where he was or what had happened or if he was nightmaring again. “Wh’at…wh’at…” Then his eyes focused and he saw Ahmed, seemingly terrified which was unheard of. His spirit shuddered. “Wh’a—”
“Quick, you’ve got to get up, Pahmudi’s downstairs, Abrim Pahmudi with SAVAMA torturers, they’ve come for you,” Ahmed panted; “someone opened the door to them, you’re betrayed, a traitor betrayed you to him, Hashemi Fazir’s given you to Pahmudi and SAVAMA as a pishkesh, quick, get up, they’ve overpowered all the guards and they’re coming to take you away…” He saw the Khan’s gaping horror, the bulging eyes, and he rushed on: “There’re too many to stop! Quick, you’ve got to escape…”
Deftly he unclipped the saline drip and tore the bedclothes back, started to help the frantic man to get up, abruptly shoved him back, and stared at the door. “Too late,” he gasped, “listen, here they come, here they come, Pahmudi at the head, here they come!”
Chest heaving, the Khan thought he could hear their footsteps, could see Pahmudi, could see his thin gloating face and the instruments of torture in the corridor outside, knowing there would be no mercy and they would keep him alive to howl his life away. Demented he shouted at Ahmed, Quick, help me. I can get to the window, we can climb down if you help me! In the Name of God, Ahmeddddddd…but he could not make the words come out. Again he tried but still his mouth did not coordinate with his brain, his neck muscles stretched with effort, the veins overloaded.
It seemed forever he was screaming and shouting at Ahmed who just stood watching the door, not helping him, footsteps coming closer and closer. “He’lp,” he managed to gasp, fighting to get out of bed, the sheets and coverlet weighing him down, restricting him, drowning him, chest pains growing and growing, monstrous now like the noise.
“There’s no escape, they’re here, I’ve got to let them in!”
At the limit of his terror he saw Ahmed start for the door. With the remains of his strength he shouted at him to stop but all that happened was a strangled croak. Then he felt something twist in his brain and something else snap. A spark leaped across the wires of his mind. Pain ceased, sound ceased. He saw Ahmed’s smile. His ears heard the quiet of the corridor and silence of the palace and he knew that he was truly betrayed. With a last, all-embracing effort, he lunged for Ahmed, the fires in his head lighting his way down into the funnel, red and warm and liquid, and there, at the nadir, he blew out all the fire and possessed the darkness.
Ahmed made sure the Khan was dead, glad that he had not had to use the pillow to smother him. Hastily he reconnected the saline drip, checked that there were no telltale leaks, partially straightened the bed, and then, with great care, examined the room. Nothing to give him away that he could see. His breathing was heavy, his head throbbing, and his exhilaration immense. A second check, then he walked over to the door, quietly unlocked it, noiselessly returned to the bed. The Khan was lying sightlessly against the pillows, blood hemorrhaged from his nose and mouth.
“Highness!” he bellowed. “Highness…” then leaned forward and grabbed him for a moment, released him, and rushed across the room, tote open the door. “Nurse!” he shouted and rushed into the next room, grabbed the woman out of her deep sleep and half carried, half dragged her back to the Khan.
“Oh, my God,” she muttered, weak with relief that it had not happened while she was alone, perhaps to be blamed by this knife-wielding, violent bodyguard or these mad people, screaming and raving. Sickly awake now, she wiped her brow and pushed her hair into shape, feeling naked without her headdress. Quickly she did what she had to and closed his eyes, her ears hearing Ahmed moaning and grief-stricken. “Nothing anyone could do, Agha,” she was saying. “It could have happened any time. He was in a great deal of pain, his time had come, better this way, better than living as a vegetable.”
“Yes…yes, I suppose
so.” Ahmed’s tears were real. Tears of relief. “Insha’Allah. Insha’Allah.”
“What happened?”
“I… I was dozing and he just…just gasped and started to bleed from his nose and mouth.” Ahmed wiped some of the tears away, letting his voice break. “I grabbed him as he was falling out of bed and then…then I don’t know I…he just collapsed and…and I came running for you.”
“Dinna worry, Agha, nothing anyone could do. Sometimes it’s sudden and quick, sometimes not. Better to be quick, that’s a blessing.” She sighed and straightened her uniform, glad it was over and now she could leave this place. “He, er, he should be cleaned before the others are summoned.”
“Yes. Please let me help, I wish to help.”
Ahmed helped her sponge away the blood and make him presentable and all the time he was planning: Najoud and Mahmud to be banished before noon, the rest of their punishment a year and a day from now; find out if Fazir caught Petr Oleg; make sure the ransom messenger’s throat was cut this afternoon as he had ordered in the Khan’s name.
Fool, he said to the corpse, fool to think I’d arrange to pay ransom to bring back the pilot to fly you to Tehran to save your life. Why save a life for a few more days or a month? Dangerous to be sick and helpless with your sickness, minds become deranged, oh, yes, the doctor told me what to expect, losing more of your mind, more vindictive than ever, more dangerous than ever, dangerous enough to perhaps turn on me! But now, now the succession is safe, I can dominate the whelp and with the help of God marry Azadeh. Or send her north—her hole’s like any other.
The nurse watched Ahmed from time to time, his deft strong hands and their gentleness, for the first time glad of his presence and not afraid of him, now watching him combing the beard. People are so strange, she thought. He must have loved this evil old man very much.
WEDNESDAY
February 28
TEHRAN: 6:55 A.M. McIver continued sorting through the files and papers he had taken from the big office safe, putting only those that were vital into his briefcase. He had been at it since five-thirty this morning and now his head ached, his back ached, and the briefcase was almost full. So much more I should be taking, he thought, working as fast as he could. In an hour, perhaps less, his Iranian staff would arrive, and he would have to stop.
Bloody people, he thought irritably, never here when we wanted them but now for the last few days, can’t get rid of them, like bloody limpets: “Oh, no, Excellency, please allow me to lock up for you, I beg you for the privilege…” or “Oh, no, Excellency, I’ll open the office for you, I insist, that is not the job of Your Excellency.” Maybe I’m getting paranoid, but it’s just as though they’re spies, ordered in to watch us, the partners more nosy than ever. Almost as though someone’s on to us.
And yet, so far—touch wood—everything’s working like a well-tuned jet: us out by noon today or a little after; already Rudi’s poised for Friday with all of his extra bods and a whole load of spares already out of Bandar Delam by road to Abadan where a BA Trident snuck in, cleared by Duke’s friend Zataki to evacuate British oilers; at Kowiss, by now Duke should have cached the extra fuel, all his lads still cleared to leave tomorrow on the 125—touch more wood—already three truckloads of spares out to Bushire for transshipment to Al Shargaz; Hotshot, Colonel Changiz, and that damned mullah, Hussain, still behaving themselves, fifty times touch wood; at Lengeh Scrag’ll be having no problems, plenty of coastal ships available for his spares and nothing more to do but wait for D—no, not D day—W day.
Only bad spot, Azadeh. And Erikki. Why the devil didn’t she tell me before leaving on a wild-goose chase after poor old Erikki? My God, she escapes Tabriz with the skin of her skin and then goes and puts her pretty little head back in it. Women! They’re all crazy. Ransom? Balls! I’ll bet it’s another trap set by her father, the rotten old bastard. At the same time, it’s just as Tom Lochart said: She would have gone anyway, Mac, and would you have told her about Whirlwind?
His stomach began churning. Even if the rest of us get out there’s still the problem of Erikki and Azadeh. Then there’s poor old Tom and Sharazad. How the hell can we get those four to safety? Must come up with something. We’ve two more days, perhaps by th—
He whirled, startled, not having heard the door open. His chief clerk, Gorani, stood in the doorway, tall and balding, a devout Shi’ite, a good man who had been with them for many years. “Salaam, Agha.”
“Salaam. You’re early.” McIver saw the man’s open surprise at all the mess—normally McIver was meticulously tidy—and felt as though he’d been caught with his hand in the chocolate box.
“As God wants, Agha. The Imam’s ordered normality and everyone to work hard for the success of the revolution. Can I help?”
“Well, er, no, no, thank you, I, er, I’m just in a hurry. I’ve lots to do today, I’m off to the embassy.” McIver knew his voice was running away from him but he was unable to stop it. “I’ve, er, appointments all day and must be at the airport by noon. I have to do some homework for the Doshan Tappeh komiteh. I won’t come back to the office from the airport so you can close early, take the afternoon off—in fact you can take the day off.”
“Oh, thank you, Agha, but the office should remain open until the us—”
“No, we’ll close for the day when I leave. I’ll go straight home and be there if I’m needed. Please come back in ten minutes, I want to send some telexes.”
“Yes, Agha, certainly, Agha.” The man left.
McIver hated the twistings of the truth. What’s going to happen to Gorani? he asked himself again, to him and all the rest of our people all over Iran, some of them fine, them and their families?
Unsettled, he finished as best he could. There were 100,000 rials in the cashbox. He left the notes, relocked the safe, and sent some inconsequential telexes. The main one he had sent at five-thirty this morning to Al Shargaz with a copy to Aberdeen in case Gavallan had been delayed: “Air freighting the five crates of parts to Al Shargaz for repairs as planned.” Translated, the code meant that Nogger, Pettikin and he, and the last two mechanics he had not yet been able to get out of Tehran, were readying to board the 125 today, as planned, and it was still all systems go.
“Which crates are these, Agha?” Somehow Gorani had found the copies of the telex.
“They’re from Kowiss, they’ll go on the 125 next week.”
“Oh, very well. I’ll check it for you. Before you go, could you please tell me when does our 212 return? The one we lent to Kowiss.”
“Next week, why?”
“Excellency Minister and Board Director Ali Kia wanted to know, Agha.”
McIver was instantly chilled. “Oh? Why?”
“He probably has a charter for it, Agha. His assistant came here last night, after you had left, and he asked me. Minister Kia also wanted a progress report today of our three 212s sent out for repairs. I, er, I said I would have it today—he’s coming this morning so I can’t close the office.”
They had never discussed the three aircraft, or the peculiarly great number of spares they had been sending out by truck, car, or as personal baggage—no aircraft space for freight. It was more than possible that Gorani would know the 212s did not need repair. He shrugged and hoped for the best. “They’ll be ready as planned. Leave a note on the door.”
“Oh, but that would be very impolite. I will relay that message. He said he would return before noon prayer and particularly asked for an appointment with you. He has a very private message from Minister Kia.”
“Well, I’m going to the embassy.” McIver debated a moment. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Irritably he picked up the briefcase and hurried down the stairs, cursing Ali Kia and then adding a curse for Ali Baba too.
Ali Baba—so named because he reminded McIver of the Forty Thieves—was the wheedling half of their live-in couple who had been with them for two years but had vanished at the beginning of the troubles. Yesterday at dawn Ali Baba came back
, beaming and acting as though he had just been away for the weekend instead of almost five months, happily insisting he take their old room back: “Oh, most definitely, Agha, the home has to be most clean and prepared for the return of Her Highness; next week my wife will be here to do that but meanwhile I bring you tea-toast in a most instant as you ever liked. May I be sacrificed for you but I bargained mightily today for fresh bread and milk from the market at the oh so reasonable best price for me only, but the robbers charge five times last year’s, so sad, but please give me the money now, and as most soon as the bank is opened you can pay me my mucroscupic back salary…”
Bloody Ali Baba, the revolution hasn’t changed him a bit. “Microscopic”? It’s still one loaf for us and five for him, but never mind, it was fine to have tea and toast in bed—but not the day before we sneak out. How the hell are Charlie and I going to get our baggage out without him smelling the proverbial rat?
In the garage he unlocked his car. “Lulu, old girl,” he said, “sorry, there’s bugger all I can do about it, it’s time for the Big Parting. Don’t quite know how I’m going to do it, but I’m not leaving you as a burnt offering or for some bloody Iranian to rape.”
Talbot was waiting for him in a spacious, elegant office. “My dear Mr. McIver, you’re bright and early, I heard all the adventures of young Ross—my word we were all very lucky, don’t you think?”
“Yes, yes, we were, how is he?”
“Getting over it. Good man, did a hell of a good job. I’m seeing him for lunch and we’re getting him out on today’s BA flight—just in case he’s been spotted, can’t be too careful. Any news of Erikki? We’ve had some inquiries from the Finnish embassy asking for help.”
Whirlwind Page 105
