Now he was downstairs and still alone, still no firing. Again he shouted for Ahmed but his words just echoed off the walls and he wandered into rooms, no one around, everyone vanished and then a gun was in his face, another in his back. Ahmed and a guard, both nervous.
“Ahmed, quick,” he burst out, “is it true that Abdollah’s dead and there’s a new Khan and that half the ransom’s paid?”
Ahmed just gaped at him.
“For Christ’s sake is it true?” he snarled.
“Yes, yes, that’s true. But th—”
“Quick, you’ve got to tell them!” Relief flooding over him, for he had only half believed Hakim. “Quick, they’ll kill him and kill Azadeh—come on!”
“Then the…they’re not dead?”
“No, of course not, come on!”
“Wait! What exactly did th…did His Highness say?”
“What the hell difference do—”
The gun jammed into Erikki’s face. “What did he say exactly?”
Erikki searched his memory and told him as best he could, then added, “Now for the love of God, come on!”
For Ahmed time stopped. If he went with the Infidel he would probably die, Hakim Khan would die, his sister would die and the Infidel who was responsible for all this trouble would probably escape with his devil tribesmen. But then, he thought, if I could persuade them to let the Khan live and his sister live, persuade them to leave the palace, I will have proved myself beyond all doubt, both to the Khan and to her, and I can kill the pilot later. Or I can kill him now and escape easily and live—but only as a fugitive despised by all as one who betrayed his Khan. Insha’Allah!
His face creased into a smile. “As God wants!” He took out his knife and gave it and his gun to the white-faced guard and walked around Erikki. “Wait,” Erikki said. “Tell the guard to send for a doctor. Urgently. Hakim and my wife…they may be hurt.”
Ahmed told the man to do it and went along the corridor and into the hall and up the staircase. On the landing, tribesmen searched him roughly for arms then escorted him into the Khan’s room, crowding after him, shoving him into the vast, empty space—Erikki they held at the door, a knife at his throat—and when Ahmed saw his Khan was truly alive, sitting bleakly on the cushions near Azadeh who was still unconscious, he muttered, “Praised be to God,” and smiled at him. “Highness,” he said calmly, “I’ve sent for a doctor.” Then he picked out Bayazid.
“I am Ahmed Dursak the Turkoman,” he said proudly, speaking Turkish with great formality. “In the Name of God: it’s true that Abdollah Khan is dead, true that I paid half the ransom—5 million rials—last night on the new Khan’s behalf to two messengers of the chief al-Drah of the village of Broken Tree, as an act of faith because of the unwarranted dishonor to your messenger ordered by the dead Abdollah Khan. Their names were Ishmud and Alilah and I hurried them north in a fine car.” A murmur of astonishment went through the room. There could be no mistake, for all knew these false names, code names, given to protect the village and the tribe. “I told them, on behalf of the new Khan, the second half would be paid the moment the pilot and his air machine were released safely.”
“Where is this new Khan, if he exists?” Bayazid scoffed. “Let him talk for himself.”
“I am Khan of all the Gorgons,” Hakim said, and there was a sudden silence. “Hakim Khan, eldest son of Abdollah Khan.”
All eyes left him and went to Bayazid who noticed the astonishment on Erikki’s face. He scowled, unsure. “Just because you say it doesn’t mean th—”
“You call me a liar in my own house?”
“I only say to this man,” Bayazid jerked a thumb at Ahmed, “that just because he says he paid the ransom, half of it, does not mean he paid it and did not then have them ambushed and killed—like my other messenger, by God!”
“I told you the truth, before God, and say again before God that I sent them north, safely with the money. Give me a knife, you take a knife, and I will show you what a Turkoman does to a man who calls him liar!” The tribesmen were horrified that their leader had put himself into such a bad position. “You call me liar and my Khan liar?”
In the silence Azadeh stirred and moaned, distracting them. At once Erikki began to go to her but the tribesman’s knife never wavered, the tribesman muttered a curse, and he stopped. Another little moaning sigh that almost drove him mad, then he saw Hakim awkwardly move closer to his sister and hold her hand and this helped him a little.
Hakim was afraid, aching everywhere, knowing he was as defenseless as she was defenseless and needing a doctor urgently, that Ahmed was under siege, Erikki impotent, his own life threatened and his Khanate in ruins. Nonetheless he gathered his courage back. I didn’t outfox Abdollah Khan and Najoud and Ahmed to concede victory to these dogs! Implacably he looked up at Bayazid. “Well? Do you call Ahmed a liar—yes or no?” he said harshly in Turkish so all could understand him and Ahmed loved him for his courage. All eyes now on Bayazid. “A man must answer that question. Do you call him a liar?”
“No,” Bayazid muttered. “He spoke the truth, I accept it as truth.” Someone said, “Insha’Allah,” fingers loosened off triggers but nervousness did not leave the room.
“As God wants,” Hakim said, his relief hidden, and rushed onward, every moment more in command, “More fighting will achieve nothing. So, half the ransom is already paid and the other half promised when the pilot is released safely. The…” He stopped as nausea threatened to overwhelm him but dominated it, easier this time than before. “The pilot’s there and safe and so is his machine. Therefore I will pay the rest at once!”
He saw the greed and promised himself vengeance on all of them. “Ahmed, over by the table, Najoud’s satchel’s somewhere there.” Ahmed shoved through the tribesmen arrogantly, to begin searching the debris for the soft leather purse. Hakim had been showing it to Azadeh just before the attack began, happily telling her the jewels were family heirlooms that Najoud had admitted stealing and, in complete contrition, had given him before she left. “I’m glad you didn’t relent, Hakim, very glad,” Azadeh had said. “You’d never be safe with her and her brood close to you.”
I’ll never be safe again, he thought without fear, watching Ahmed. I’m glad I left Ahmed whole, he thought, and glad we had the sense, Azadeh and I, to stay in the alcove under cover of the wall at the first sound of firing. If we’d been here in the room…
Insha’Allah. His fingers gripped her wrist and the warmth pleased him, her breathing still regular. “God be praised,” he murmured, then noticed the men threatening Erikki. “You,” he pointed imperiously at them, “let the pilot go!” Nonplussed the rough, bearded men looked at Bayazid who nodded. At once Erikki went through them to Azadeh, eased his heavy sweater away to give him readier access to the knife in the center of his back, then knelt, holding her hand, and faced Bayazid, his bulk protecting her and Hakim.
“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 10 to 15 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, mesmerized 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?”
“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 honor. Are Kurds without honor?” 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 honor 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 ever 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 onto 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 off 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.”
“I can’t take you,” Erikki said. “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—ask 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 thread under the voice, perhaps a threat, perhaps not, but Erikki knew beyond any doubt that the fragile bubble of “honor” 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 a 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 had 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, cheeked the action and magazine, then smiled crookedly at Bayazid. “By God and the Prophet, on whose Name be praised, 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 toward the gates, other cars and an army truck filled with troops following. Hashemi Fazir and Armstrong were in the back of the lead car which skidded through the gate into the forecourt where an ambulance was already parked. They got out and followed the guard into the Great Room. Hakim Khan was waiting for them in his place of honor, 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 and this is Superintendent Armstrong who has assisted us for years and is an expert in certain areas that could concern you—he speaks Farsi by the way. Would you please tell us what happened?” The two men listened intently as Hakim Khan related his version of the attack—they had already heard the rumored details—both of them impressed with his bearing.
Hashemi had come prepared. Before leaving Tehran yesterday evening he had meticulously gone through Hakim’s files. For years both he and SAVAK had had him under surveillance in Khoi: “I know how much he owes and to whom, Robert, what favors and to whom, what he likes to eat and read, how good he is with gun, piano, or a knife, every woman he’s ever bedded and every boy.”
Armstrong had laughed. “What about his politics?”
“He has none. Unbelievable—but true. He’s Iranian, Azerbaijani, and yet he hasn’t joined any group, taken any sides, none, not said anything even a little seditious—even against Abdollah Khan—and Khoi’s always been a festering bed of nettles.”
“Religion?”
“Shi’ite, but calm, conscientious, orthodox, neither right nor left. Ever since he was banished, no, that’s not quite true, since he was seven when his mother died and he and his sister went to live in the palace, he’s been a feather wafted by his father’s merest breath, waiting in fear for inevitable disaster. As God wants, but it’s a miracle he’s Khan, a miracle that that vile son of a dog died before doing him and his sister harm. Strange! One moment his head’s on the block, and now he controls untold riches, untold power, and I’ve got to deal with him.”
“That should be easy—if what you say’s true.”
“You’re suspicious, always suspicious—is that the strength of the English?”
“Just the lesson an old cop’s learned
over the years.”
Hashemi had smiled to himself and now he did it again, concentrating on the young man, Khan of all the Gorgons, in front of him, watching him closely, studying him for clues. What’re your secrets—you’ve got to have secrets!
“Highness, how long ago did the pilot leave?” Armstrong was asking.
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 and Robert Armstrong were 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. “Perhaps,” Hashemi said delicately, “perhaps Highness, the pilot was really in league with the Kurdish tribesmen, and won’t come back.”
“No, and they weren’t Kurds though they claimed to be, just 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.”
Hashemi docketed the clue. “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. He had never met her though he had seen her many times. She should be possessed by an Iranian, he thought, not by a rotten foreigner. How could she contain that monster? He did not notice Hakim scrutinizing him as intently. Armstrong did, watching the Khan without watching him.
She was dressed in Western clothes, gray 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?”
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