by Jack Terral
.
2300 HOURS
HARRY had a special guest that evening. Archibald Sikes--he would never be Arsalaan or Sikes Pasha to his compatriot-had been invited over to take pleasure in something he hadn't enjoyed in a long, long time.
English beer!
Harry had several cases of Tetley's with him that were neatly stacked in the rear of his tent. The crates that held them were labeled with the Farsi words "mive ab," so that any casual glance by an Iranian Muslim would make him think the Englishman had brought in some fruit juice. Even though the arms dealer had done a lot of business with the Iranians in the past, he still had to be careful about bringing alcohol into one of their military garrisons. Imbibing was seriously frowned on in the Islamic religion, and even enjoying a few brews by himself was considered taboo.
It was because of this that he had invited Sikes over at such a late hour. They could safely enjoy a few pints if they kept the lantern turned low, the tent flaps shut, and their conversation quiet. Sikes seated himself in a camp chair.
Englishmen prefer to drink their beer warm, so there was no need to ice down the goodies. Sikes seemed almost orgasmic as he took the first few tentative sips. After smacking his lips, he quickly consumed three deep gulps.
Harry grinned at him. "So 'ow's that then, Archie lad?"
"Have I died and gone to heaven?" Sikes replied with a wide grin.
"Well, I thought you needed a taste o' Blighty after all the time over 'ere," Harry said.
"I must admit I've missed those good times in the pub," Sikes said. He took a deep breath, then drained the mug. "Gawd! I ain't never gonna see England again, am I, Harry?"
"It's 'ard to tell, lad."
"But things'll look up for me after this invasion," Sikes said. "I'll have a large command and a promotion along with a couple of medals, I should think."
"D'you miss 'ome much?" Harry asked.
"O' course."
"I don't want to make you no worry, lad," Harry said. "But yer mum and dad 'as been 'aving a terrible time of it."
"Oh, Gawd!" Sikes exclaimed. "I was afraid o' that. I ain't heard nothing from the old folks, o' course, but I had a notion that the Army would be going after 'em because o' me."
"It's more'n the Army, Archie," Harry said.
"The antiterrorist coppers have been coming 'round too. They took your dad in one time and kept him under interrogation for a whole bluddy night. It liked to 'ave drove him to an 'eart attack."
"How'd you know about all that then?"
"I got me eyes and ears in Blighty, lad," Harry said, "along with a lot o' other places. Yer folks is worried Mr. Sikes might get the sack at his job."
Sikes grinned and shook his head. "That's not gonna happen, mate. The union looks after their own in a case like that. There'd be plenty o' trouble. I know, 'cause I worked there meself for a year or so. I wasn't worth much, let me tell you, but the foreman didn't dare do nothing about it." Archie laughed. "Management was real happy when they learnt I was leaving to join the Army."
"Everybody's down on your dad," Harry said. "The union too. Since them Wogs blew up the Underground, the whole bluddy population has got a new attitude toward things. It seems there's a couple o' Arab blokes down at that warehouse that's come under suspicion. It was thought your dad might be involved with 'em."
Sikes reached over and picked up another bottle of beer from the bunch on the floor. After opening it, he settled back in the camp chair, glancing at his older friend. "I know things might look bad, Harry. I went from good to bad soldier after that commissioning thing, y'know?"
Harry shook his head. "I never understood that, Archie. Don't get upset with me, but it seems you 'ad a good chance for a commission, but in a different regiment. You shoulda took it, lad."
"There's such a thing as pride, Harry," Sikes said testily. "The fact they said I wasn't good enough for 'em just set me off, hey? Maybe it wasn't logical, but that's the way I felt, and I ain't sorry about it. I ain't sorry about nothing."
Harry eyed him carefully. "Ain't you even sorry about deserting from the Army?"
"Hell, no!" Archie exclaimed loudly, then quickly quieted. "They was gonna kick me out when we got back to Blighty anyhow. They ruined me life, Harry. There I was doing fine in the Army, a sergeant and all, and then they turn around and treat me like shit. It wasn't my fault!"
"I can see yer point, lad," Harry said. "I ain't putting no blame on you."
"It's gonna turn out alright, don't you worry none about that," Sikes assured him. "I got a good command for this invasion, and when we finish up in Afghanistan and take over Pakistan, I'll be sitting pretty in the Iranian Army. I'm a major now and expect to be at least a brigadier when we start our operations over on the other side o' the Persian Gulf. I got real glory ahead o' me, Harry. I'll be able to make up for all that trouble and bother I caused me mum and dad."
Harry smiled. "O' course you will. No problem with that, 'ey?"
"I'll have a lot o' money," Sikes said. "I can send 'em enough to buy a nice house, and my dad won't have to worry about his job. If I'm a gen'ral, the British government and Army have got to forgive me past sins, hey? Maybe I'll even be able to go home for a visit. I mean, they got to show respect to a bluddy gen'ral, ain't they?"
"I would think so," Harry said. He lowered his voice and leaned closer to the younger man. "'Ere, Archie. I notice there ain't no birds around 'ere. When's the last time you got yourself a bit o' tail, 'ey?"
Sikes grinned and shrugged. "I had one of them temporary marriages when I was with the Pashtuns. A thirteen-year-old. But she was mature for her age, Harry. It ain't like I was having it on with a little kid."
"Sure," Harry said. "Them Pashtun girls grow up fast." He winked at Sikes. "I know a place up near Tehran called Khoshi. It's a special place for foreigners. Lots o' liquor and women. We could go up there, you and me, and 'ave us a bit o' fun. Know what I mean?"
"Oh, yeah!" Sikes said. "I feel bluddy deprived, I do. But ain't that risky what with Islamic law and all that?"
Harry shook his head. "The government knows about the place. Them Muslims ain't all stupid. They know they need a place where special guests from the West can get away and ease up a bit."
"I bet a lot them Iranians go there too, hey?"
"They'd be in deep shit," Harry said seriously. "There's times when them mad followers of Islam are 'arder on their own kind than on us infidels."
"I switched to Islam," Sikes reminded him.
"Nobody over there is gonna know about it," Harry said. "You'll just be another soul damned by Allah as far as they'll know."
"The invasion is set for the twentieth," Sikes said.
"That's a week away," Harry said. "We could go up there tomorrow morning and be back in a couple o' days. There's plenty o' time."
"Yeah!" Sikes said. "I'll turn the comp'ny over to Hashiri." He raised the beer bottle. "Let's do it, Harry!"
"Alright, lad," Harry Turpin said. "I'll take care o' everything."
.
SIKES' QUARTERS
14 SEPTEMBER 0200 HOURS
UNDER normal circumstances, Sikes would have been fast asleep after an evening in which he had consumed a dozen bottles of beer. But he was so excited about getting away to that fleshpot for sex, serious drinking, and celebrating, that the effects of the brew had evaporated.
He was also sobered by thoughts about his parents. He hadn't realized the amount of trouble he had caused them. When he deserted, he figured they would be embarrassed, but that that would blow over after a while. The idea of his father enduring a night of police interrogation pained him deeply. His mother's anguish also bit deep into his spirits of well-being. She was fully devoted to his father, and any suffering he went through would be felt doubly by her.
He lay on his bunk, looking up at the darkness of the canvas above him, turning his thoughts to what he could do to help his parents. He smiled as his mind ran through a scenario in which a telegram arrives at his old
home. It comes in the early evening, and his mother answers the door. She takes it into his father, who is watching the telly from his usual easy chair. He opens the telegram, then leaps to his feet. He shouts, "It's a wire for fifty thousand pounds . . . it's from Archie . . . there's more money to come . . . lots more . . . and Archie is a general in the Iranian Army!"
Sikes smiled sleepily to himself, then eased into a deep slumber.
CHAPTER 22
KHOSHI, IRAN
14 SEPTEMBER
IT had been one hell of a day for Archie Sikes, the wandering lad from Manchester, England.
He and his mate, Harry Turpin, had arrived at the airstrip outside the small but modern and chic town of Khoshi at 0830 hours after a short hop from the city of Sabzevar aboard a Cessna Citation S-11. Harry, always insisting on traveling in style, had chartered the aircraft from a private company in Tehran. The trip from the Special Forces camp to the airport hadn't been particularly luxurious, however. They had to hitch a ride in an army supply transport truck, sitting in the front with the driver while their luggage bounced around in the back.
But the dusty ride was forgotten when the Citation landed at Khoshi and the two revelers disembarked from the aircraft. The pilot would be waiting for them for some twenty-four hours, and the international arms dealer had gotten him a room in the same hotel where he and Sikes would be settling in.
Almost immediately after checking in at the Ritz-Kraus, a German-run hostelry, the two Brits left the place to begin exploring the delights offered in the desert sin city. In comparison to Las Vegas, U. S. A., it was a minor-league resort, but to Sikes, who had spent long months in the hinterlands of the Iran-Afghanistan border as well as an isolated military camp, it was like arriving on the French Riviera. Paved streets! Sidewalks! Restaurants! Theaters! Bars!
And, best of all, women!
Harry knew the place well and served as an expert and considerate guide. The first place they went was to Khoshi's finest bordello, called Le Baron. Although it was early in the morning, the place was in full operation. When they walked in, Sikes noted that the "parlor" was actually a bar furnished like a living room, with sofas, love seats, and easy chairs. It was plush and heavily decorated with heavy drapes, a deep Persian rug, and scantily clad females. The clientele, all foreigners stationed in Iran, were having the times of their lives, and a couple of them appeared as if they might have been in the brothel two or three days. These were all Europeans and were doing their best to have some fun during a short respite from their places of employment in the midst of Islamic law.
Harry was well known in the place, and a huge African bouncer greeted him like an old friend. The proprietress, a middle-aged, fleshy Algerian woman named Lola, rushed to the Brit, giving him a tight hug around the middle while planting a wet kiss on his cheek. Lola had once worked in a regimental brothel of the French Foreign Legion, and although Harry hadn't known her during his own legion days, he had visited his own unit's mobile military whorehouse countless times between operations against the Algerian rebels.
After enduring the emotional salutation from Lola, Harry laid his hand on Sikes' shoulder. "'Ere now, Lola, this is a mate o' mine from England. 'Is name is Archie."
Lola gave Sikes a big grin, speaking in a French accent. "Welcome to Le Baron, Archie!" She gestured at the scantily clad females sitting on sofas along the wall. "Our ladies are waiting to pleasure you. We can promise delights of which you have never dreamed. C'est la verite!"
Archie eyed the prostitutes with the longing of a starving man gazing at a T-bone steak. Harry laughed and pointed. "Well, now, Archie. Wot in 'ell are you waiting for, then? Take care o' that itch. Then we can start a day of doing nothing but enjoying ourselves."
Thus began an entire day of sex and alcohol for Archie, with Harry as his host and mentor. When the younger man showed a bit too much inebriation, the older steered him to a restaurant for a good feed and thick, hot Iranian ghahveba-khame , a sweet coffee drink with enough of a caffeine kick to cancel out the effects of Scotch whisky. When Archie was back in reasonably good condition, they would head back for Le Baron to allow him to renew his sexual assaults.
The temporary Islamic marriage that Archie had enjoyed with the Pashtun girl Banafsha had taught him the pleasures of having a single female playmate who would learn what he wanted and liked during sex, then see that he got it. By mid-afternoon he had settled on a dark beauty by the name of Javahere, and Harry forked over enough Euros to Lola in exchange for a guarantee that Javahere would be available for Archie any time he wanted her.
While Archie went slightly mad in his controlled orgy, the old man Harry Turpin slowly imbibed gin tonics while visiting with Lola in her office. In bygone days he would have run through the roster of whores like a lion through a herd of gazelles, but his libido just wasn't up to the task anymore. Lola, a good friend, understood, and made him welcome as they talked about what the Foreign Legion had been like in the days of the Algerian War.
.
2130 HOURS
TO say Archie Sikes was satiated would have been a total understatement. In reality, he was slaked, quenched, and fulfilled to the ultimate. To also state that he was drained to the physical weakness of a baby would have been another minimized depiction. The young Englishman's energy level had sunk close to collapse. However, because of Harry's regulation of his drinking, at least he was not sick or hungover.
Now they sat on the balcony of their hotel room, both consuming some light snacks and beer as the twinkling glare of Khoshi's lights cut upward into the night sky. Harry gazed with amusement at his companion. "Well, Archie, me lad, it appears you've 'ad quite a day, 'ey?"
Sikes chuckled. "You're right about that. And after all them weeks in the desert and mountains, believe me, I deserved it."
"That you do," Harry said. "Are you ready to settle down to a bit o' seriousness, then?"
Sikes was slightly surprised by this somber turn in events, but gave an affirmative nod.
"Them Iranian mates o' yours are a bunch o' sods," Harry said, unsmiling. "And 'ere's something else for nothing, my lad. They're right on the bluddy edge o' disaster."
"Wot the hell are you talking about, Harry?"
"They've been too cheeky for their own good," Harry said. "That's wot I'm talking about. And they're for it. The Iranian people, particularly the young ones, are restless and angry, and the next revolution is gonna send them mullahs packing. And that goes for any poor sod that supported them. And you can believe there's plenty o' outside interests who want to see that 'appen."
"I suppose you're talking about the Americans," Sikes commented.
"I'm talking about nearly the whole of the United Nations," Harry said. "All this nuclear shit and supporting the 'Ezbollah is coming back to 'aunt 'em. So 'ere's a warning for you to heed. Get the 'ell out o' Iran as fast as you can."
"I think I got a future with 'em, Harry," Sikes said. "I ain't got much choice but to stick with 'em."
"If you go back, you're gonna get killed," Harry said.
"Oh, yeah? And by who, may I ask?"
"The Israelis."
Sikes was surprised by that. "Now, how're they gonna do that?"
Harry instinctively lowered his voice. "By bombing the 'ell out o' that camp you just came from." He looked around at the nearby balconies to make sure there was nobody lounging on them before he spoke again. "They know about the Iranians buying all them tanks and armored vehicles from me. They know about the planned invasion of Afghanistan, and they damn well know the Iranians are going to continue their operation of taking over the whole o' the bluddy Middle East and build up WMDs to boot."
"Ha!" Sikes laughed. "Now, how do they know all that?"
"Because I told 'em."
If Sikes still had any lingering effects from the day's drinking left, it quickly faded away in the shock of this revelation. "Wot this all about then?"
"I always know which side me bread is buttered on," Harry said. "In me busin
ess you can't choose causes, right? You got to look after yourself and do what's best for you personally. After I made the deal with the Iranians, I got 'old of the Mossad, and told 'em every bluddy thing I know." He cleared his throat and grabbed his bottle of beer. "Ahem. I'm on their payroll."
"Well, this puts me in bluddy deep shit, Harry!" Sikes said angrily. "Thank you very much."
"You can come out of it smelling like a rose, me lad," Harry said. "I need a younger man for an 'elpmate, 'ey? Someone with youthful energy, know what I mean? A smart, energetic partner. That's you, mate."
Sikes was silent for a moment. "Are you offering me a job, Harry?"
"That's it, Archie," Harry replied. "You'll get rich, lad. I got no son o' me own to leave nothing to, and you'll do fine. You got guts and you're smart."
"Wot'll I do for you, Harry?"
"You'll be me legman," Harry answered. "I'll still set up the deals and you can give me an 'and whilst you're learning the business. And when there's trips to be made and deliveries to check on, I'll send you out."
"I ain't got a passport, Harry. And I'm a deserter from the British Army, or have you forgot that?"
"I ain't forgot," Harry said. "And I can get you a passport from any country with any name we prefer. Think about this--a starting salary of two hundred and fifty thousand Euros a year plus bonuses when deliveries are made." He leaned toward him. "And imagine just 'ow much 'elp you can give your mum and dad when you're rich, 'ey?"
"There's something else," Sikes said. "Me warrant officer, Hashiri, has been a great help to me. He even saved me life the day I was wounded. How about taking him out with me?"
"Can't be done," Harry said. "The first reason is that we ain't going back to that camp, so we can't fetch 'im. And the second is that 'e's a bluddy Wog, so 'e won't be the first 'eathen to die for an English master."
"That's the way it is, hey?" Sikes asked.
"That's it. Now, wot d'you say, lad?"
Sikes grinned. "When do we leave, Harry?"
"Later tonight. That plane I chartered is set up to fly us to my bungalow in Singapore instead of returning us to Sabzevar."
