Whirlwind

by James Clavell

“In a day or two there won’t be,” he had told her. “Meanwhile the palace will change to the way I want it.”

  “Of course you know best, my darling. What about the ransom?”

  “Ah, yes, at once.” He had sent for Ahmed.

  “I regret, Highness, the Khan your father ordered the messenger’s throat cut yesterday afternoon.”

  Both he and Azadeh had been appalled. “But that’s terrible! What can be done now?” she had cried out.

  Ahmed said, “I will try to contact the tribesmen—perhaps, because now the Khan your father is dead they will…they will treat with you newly. I will try.”

  Sitting there in the Khan’s place, Hakim had seen Ahmed’s suave confidence and realized the trap he was in. Fear swept up from his bowels. His fingers were toying with the emerald ring on his finger. “Azadeh, come back in half an hour, please.”

  “Of course,” she said obediently, and when he was alone with Ahmed, he said, “What arms do you carry?”

  “A knife and an automatic, Highness.”

  “Give them to me.” He remembered how his heart had throbbed and there was an unusual dryness in his mouth but this had had to be done and done alone. Ahmed had hesitated then obeyed, clearly not pleased to be disarmed. But Hakim had pretended not to notice, just examined the action of the gun and cocked it thoughtfully. “Now listen carefully, Counselor: you won’t try to contact the tribesmen, you will do it very quickly and you will make arrangements to have my sister’s husband returned safely—on your head, by God and the Prophet of God!”

  “I—of course, Highness.” Ahmed tried to keep the anger off his face.

  Lazily Hakim pointed the gun at his head, sighting down it. “I swore by God to treat you as first counselor and I will—while you live.” His smile twisted. “Even if you happen to be crippled, perhaps emasculated, even blinded by your enemies. Do you have enemies, Ahmed Dursak the Turkoman?”

  Ahmed laughed, at ease now, pleased with the man who had become Khan and not the whelp that he had imagined—so much easier to deal with a man, he thought, his confidence returning, “Many, Highness, many. Isn’t it custom to measure the quality of a man by the importance of his enemies? Insha’Allah! I didn’t know you knew how to handle guns.”

  “There are many things you don’t know about me, Ahmed,” he had said with grim satisfaction, an important victory gained. He had handed him back the knife, but not the automatic. “I’ll keep this as pishkesh. For a year and a day don’t come into my presence armed.”

  “Then how can I protect you, Highness?”

  “With wisdom.” He had allowed a small measure of the violence he had kept pent up for years to show. “You have to prove yourself. To me. To me alone. What pleased my father won’t necessarily please me. This is a new era, with new opportunities, new dangers. Remember, by God, the blood of my father rests easily in my veins.”

  The remainder of the day and well into the evening he had received men of importance from Tabriz and Azerbaijan and asked questions of them, about the insurrection and the leftists, the mujhadin, and fedayeen and other factions. Bazaaris had arrived and mullahs and two ayatollahs, local army commanders and his cousin, the chief of police, and he had confirmed the man’s appointment. All of them had brought suitable pishkesh.

  And so they should, he thought, very satisfied, remembering their contempt in the past when his fortune had been zero and his banishment to Khoi common knowledge. Their contempt will be very costly to every last one…

  “Your bath is ready, Highness, and Ahmed’s waiting outside.”

  “Bring him in, Ishtar, You stay.” He watched the door open. Ahmed was tired and crumpled.

  “Salaam. Highness.”

  “What about the ransom?”

  “Late last night I found the tribesmen. There were two of them. I explained that Abdollah Khan was dead and the new Khan had ordered me to give them half the ransom asked at once as a measure of faith, promising them the remainder when the pilot is safely back. I sent them north in one of our cars with a trusted driver and another car to follow secretly.”

  “Do you know who they are, where their village is?”

  “They told me they were Kurds, one named Ishmud, the other Alilah, their chief al-Drah and their village was called Broken Tree in the mountains north of Khoi—I’m sure all lies, Highness, and they’re not Kurds though they claim to be. I’d say they were just tribesmen, bandits mostly.”

  “Good. Where did you get the money to pay them?”

  “The Khan, your father, put twenty million rials into my safekeeping against emergencies.”

  “Bring the balance to me before sunset.”

  “Yes, Highness.”

  “Are you armed?”

  Ahmed was startled. “Only with my knife, Highness.”

  “Give it to me,” he said, hiding his pleasure that Ahmed had fallen into the trap he had set for him, accepting the knife, hilt first. “Didn’t I tell you not to come into my presence armed for a year and a day?”

  “But as…you gave my knife back to me I thought… I thought the knife…” Ahmed stopped, seeing Hakim standing in front of him, knife held correctly, eyes dark and hard and the pattern of the father. Behind him, the guard Ishtar watched openmouthed. The hackles on Ahmed’s neck twisted. “Please excuse me, Highness, I thought I had your permission,” he said in real fear.

  For a moment Hakim Khan just stared at Ahmed, the knife poised in his hand, then he slashed upward. With great skill only the point of the blade went through Ahmed’s coat, touched the skin but only enough to score it then came out again in perfect position for the final blow. But Hakim did not make it, though he wanted to see blood flow and this a good time, but not the perfect time. He still had need of Ahmed.

  “I give you back your…your body.” He chose the word and all it implied with great deliberation. “Intact, just—this—once.”

  “Yes, Highness, thank you, Highness,” Ahmed muttered, astonished that he was still alive, and went down on his knees. “I…it will never happen again.”

  “No, it won’t. Stay there. Wait outside, Ishtar.” Hakim Khan sat back on the cushions and toyed with the knife, waiting for the adrenaline to subside, remembering that vengeance was a dish best eaten cold. “Tell me everything you know about the Soviet, this man called Mzytryk: what holds he had over my father, my father over him.”

  Ahmed obeyed. He told him what Hashemi Fazir had said in the 125, what the Khan had told him in secret over the years, about the dacha near Tbilisi that he too had visited, how the Khan contacted Mzytryk, their code words, what Hashemi Fazir had said and threatened, what was in Mzytryk’s letter, what he had overheard and what he had witnessed a few days ago.

  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 here 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 toward 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 to 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 pound, and then to 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 recognizing 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 toward the landing. A guard poked his head over the banister, leveled his gun, but a tribesman 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 toward 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 toward his 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 leveled, 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 recognized 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 to 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 onto 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?”

  “I don’t know. 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!”

  “Rescue 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, wait, 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 been 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, other half promised, your honor’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…”