by Tony Criddle
Sinclair slid into a parking spot near the busy, odorous market in the shadow of a blue, high domed temple. Nick helped Sarah wrestle her straw shopping bags free then headed towards the town centre. Sarah headed for the pungent, colourful stalls.
Nick looked around carefully before sliding into one of the smaller, less pretentious hotels. He’d deliberately avoided the few high-rises that dominated close to the markets but even that hotel was owned by an American chain. He knew the phones would work in there, and five minutes to nine was close enough.
Nick dialled and the phone at the other end was picked up instantly.
“It’s me Fred.”
“Thanks for calling Nick. I really mean that.”
“So, how do you think I can help?”
Amini had already thought about what to say. “I’m stationed at Abadan, a small city in the Shatt-Al-Arab delta, close to Iraq. I’m a commander now and CO of a flotilla of six patrol boats that run from a small naval base on the Karun River. The Iraqis are building up a big army position just across the river from us, but nobody knows what for yet, so we’re building one north of the city ourselves. I need to disappear before something solidifies mate.” His breath was almost a sigh.
“Right now the whole area is pretty hot politically, so that’s probably why I haven’t been picked up yet, but I hear it’s happening in town.”
“Shit Fred, Abadan and back, that’s a long way! The things I fly haven’t got anything like the legs for that. There are heaps of people at your end too, so it would be difficult to scrounge fuel as well.”
“I know Nick I’ve been hammering the maps too. The Karun is navigable to Vey where it joins the Dez, and I’m pretty sure the Dez is okay until we get to a hydroelectric dam where it leaves the mountains.” Amini paused.
“Are you familiar with Do Rud on your side of the mountains? It’s a Bakhtaran town with a few mullahs but no rabid ayatollahs.”
Nick thought about it. “I’ve flown around north of there for sure, but not down the river.”
“Okay. The patrol boats have got a fairly shallow draft so I know I can get one that far, and most of the people in that area are Bakhtaran, so I think we’ll be able to pay for a vehicle to get us past the dam. Above it we can hire a motor-boat to get to Do Rud. My boats normally carry a crew of twelve, but I’m working on getting a smaller crew to do a maintenance run with me, and they’re all Bakhtaran themselves. Not everybody here follows the radical clergy and they want to get out too. Can you get as far as Do Rud?”
“I haven’t got a map handy Fred but isn’t Do Rud hundreds of miles from Abadan?” Seamen and airmen think in nautical miles.
“It’s slightly under 300, and the boats can do twenty-five knots, with a range of over a 1000 miles at economical cruising. Distance isn’t a problem, but I do have to get through both Ahvaz and Dezful at night for obvious reasons. That’s about 200 miles in the first fifteen hours, but that’s my problem not yours.”
“If I remember rightly Do Rud is less than a 300 mile round trip from here, and I’ve got long-range tanks, so I could do that okay. There isn’t much in the way of roads on the higher slopes either, and the few people up there are related to the people in our town. A few hundred metres above that it‘s a water-shed and isn’t populated at all. As long as I avoid a couple of bigger towns I’ll be okay.”
“You’re making it sound feasible, Nick. I’d be eternally grateful.”
“Cut the crap Fred, we’re not there yet. When’s this all supposed to happen?”
“Towards the end of next week. The Sabbath is pretty strictly enforced amongst the civilians down here so I’ll book the boat out for a test on Thursday afternoon. I’ll tell the staff I’ll chug around up river until we get it fixed. The base would be pretty much shut down for the Friday Sabbath by the time we’d be expected back, so we probably won’t be missed until Saturday or even Sunday.”
“So where do you want to meet me and when?”
“How about twenty-five clicks south of Do Rud at 1400 on the Saturday. I can do that and it’s still pretty isolated and mountainous in there.”
“Okay, but anything could happen in the next week. I’ll phone this number next Wednesday at the same time and have a look around tomorrow to bowl out any problems. We’ll have to be honest with each other though Fred. I work for an American company and things are a bit unsettled at this end too.”
“Thanks Nick, and honestly I won’t drop you in it.”
Nick Evans was deep in thought when he replaced the receiver. It was a good ten minutes before he climbed into the jeep. He studiously ignored an inquisitive glance from Sinclair. Sarah had returned with brimming baskets as he arrived, so he didn’t open up on the trip back south either.
Chapter Fourteen
They dropped Sarah off before heading back to an ominously quiet airfield. Sinclair went about making coffee while Nick laid large scale, topographical flying maps on a table. The Scot had mugs in his hand when he sat.
“I’ve held my peace for some time now laddie but if you don’t say something soon I’m going to smack you in the bloody eye.”
Nick waved at a map. “I’m sorry Jock. I needed this in front of me to make some sense out of it.”
“So what does your navy mate want?”
Nick opened and smoothed out a plastic covered small scale. He pointed out Abadan.
“That’s where he is.” He pointed south of Do Rud. “And that’s where he wants to be picked up.”
Sinclair contemplated the vast acres of beige and purple, only studded with strips of green around the coast and rivers. “Well you’re the one who knows about distances and payloads. Can it be done?”
“He runs a squadron of patrol boats and reckons he can get as far as there. I’ve done a few surveys around Do Rud and the birds can make that okay.”
“Sounds like a piece of piss then laddie.”
“Hang on though mate, something is already going on down there. People are disappearing and someone is enforcing some pretty harsh rules. It’s only the military that haven’t been affected so far. Iraq is building a big army base across the border from Abadan and nobody’s worked out what it’s for yet, so Iran is building one too.”
“So what have you agreed to?”
“I’ll do the planning this end and he’ll fix up what he needs to at his. I’ll give him a quick phone call a week from now to confirm.”
“Right-o laddie. We’d better lay a few smoke-screens then.”
Jock Sinclair and his boys dragged a machine onto the oil stained concrete pad and plugged in a chipped yellow battery starter for the externals. Low, thin vortexes of sand whirled and cavorted around the company buildings, further scouring the flaked exterior paint, but nothing else stirred. The civil terminal flickered in the distance, seemingly liquid and distorted. It was more a quivering mirage than a set of buildings, but even that movement was imagined.
Nick climbed the few steps onto the veranda and from higher up could make out Qom dancing randomly in the afternoon heat. But in truth, only a few watery high-rises and minaret’s wavered above the sands, the houses below them were still buried in stifling heat waves. Even so, no army vehicles drove the dusty bitumen strip that ran to Kashan.
They had to keep up appearances, things had to look normal, and this flight was vital, and when they were surveying there were always two heads in the cockpit. Jock would have to fly instead, but from now on the Tikka would get more attention than the survey maps.
Nick was carrying two lightweight headsets and a map when he strode out. Sinclair adjusted his while the pilot got the machine burning and turning. It was more a courtesy really, but Nick did radio the low tower attached to the terminal for flight clearance, although he wasn’t surprised when it was ignored. He persisted with another call without an answer then Imran got a thumb’s up. Nick kept low as he accelerated passed the mud-brick terminal building but it was impossible to see through the dark, reflective film on the windows. Nobody came o
ut to watch him whistle by.
They buzzed up a slow, placid Qom river, and only started to climb after the chopper passed Shahabad. The thin carpets of green along the river’s edge were dotted with herd animals browsing amongst stands of healthy walnut and fig, while most of the lower ravines sprouted oak, poplar and willow. Above that, flattened, pied tussock covered the flats between the rocky tors, and the higher he went the more the rustling grasses were burnt to a uniform straw by uncaring elements. The bare, stunted bushes that linked them were as twisted as varicose veins. Battered coastal mangrove looked healthier.
It wasn’t surprising really. Up there it was a frigid water catchment all year round and the rolling mountains saw more precipitation than the inland plateaus ever did. Shallow trickles threaded haphazardly around the yellowed grass and jumbled grey rocks, the agitated water throwing out wavering silver rays as it merged and widened into meandering streams. But flora needed something more than just water to flourish in the cold, dangerous winter, although it didn’t seem to worry the few ibex they saw.
The temperature plummeted noticeably as they climbed, and now eroded, icy peaks filled the perspex windscreen. Sinclair called them braes, and couldn’t break the habit, but they didn’t look much like the misty green Scottish highlands to Nick.
And he needed this recce. The pick-up would be over territory he hadn’t flown before, and up there the isolated hamlets and small villages were connected by a network of dusty, rural roads. He needed to know exactly where they led.
The mountain people themselves he wasn’t worried about. They were descended from the earlier Persians and it was unlikely they even knew an ayatollah, let alone would try to appease one, but some of the larger towns and small cities he was less sure about. There could be other than Bakhtaran eyes up there, particularly on the lower slopes.
High in the hills, Nick followed the meandering paths of headwaters that dodged through lonely beige valleys eroded into lilac mountains over aeons. Streaks of thin radiation fog mottled the saturated, boggy ground below them, while the few tracks appeared little more than narrow, potholed wheel-ruts. The chopper did run down some ram-shackled, temporary dwellings on the lower, more fertile slopes, but they were far apart and he was lucky if he saw them before he thundered passed.
As he got in deeper still the snow dusted hills became as unpopulated as the Antarctic on a bad day. Wet and marshy for mile after mile, covered with soggy, unfriendly turf, and now there were no herds or people up there at all. The land was useless to build on, far too difficult to drag materials up to anyway, and there was nothing around to heat the dwellings with either. Even yellowed pickings for the herds were short and sparse. The prickling apprehension that had been with him since the phone call began to abate. It was cold, stark and unfriendly, just what Nick wanted.
And no surprises up there. He could see that the vast Zagros chain was composed of old, soft rock by the way it had been battered and broken by unforgiving elements. It was as if a celestial giant had lashed around with a huge blunt axe. Bands of sandstone were studded with darkened areas of slate grey shale, under which discoloured traces of minerals seeped haphazardly, but erosion had far outweighed any growth from tectonic plate movement or volcanic action. The rounded, rolling range was definitely on the decline.
They’d mostly been muttering in mono-syllables up to then but the next stretch was over virgin territory that the trip could hinge on. Nick handed the map to the Scot and pointed with a finger.
“This map is Iranian, Jock, so the scale is in kilometres. The Dez is about ten clicks ahead and loops back to Do Rud about twenty clicks north. Got it?”
“Aye, I can see that. What do you want to do?”
“Keep us at least fifteen clicks south east of Do Rud but I want to see what it looks like down river. Take us southwest to avoid the bigger towns. The people are mostly herders around here but some could be a bit iffy.”
“Okay, your first heading is 210.”
Nick descended as he skirted a small, indistinct township before turning towards the gloomy, steep ravine that the river had channelled for itself. This was new ground. The hills were steeper and more barren.
Nick had never flown south of Do Rud so he didn’t know what to expect, but the single railway track running along the river wasn’t part of it. That could be a real danger if knowledgeable eyes saw him pass. The synapses sparked instantly, fuelled by a tidal wave of adrenalin. Once in the river valley he’d figured it would be a cake-walk but that had changed in just thirty seconds.
Nick knew the rail line from Tehran ran to Do Rud but hadn’t realised it carried on through the mountains. And the steel track sparkled and glittered where it was hit by the rays of morning sunshine. It obviously got some use.
“Shit, I thought there was only a dirt road in there, not a bloody railway as well?” His voice was a notch higher.
“I can’t see a railway on this map Nick, but its small scale and a 1938 edition. The track could be newer. Did your mate mention it?”
“No way. Perhaps he didn’t want to spook me. Right-o mate, get us out of here before some tosser wonders what we’re up to.”
They returned low level, landing within forty minutes.
A dented yellow fuel truck rumbled up when they called for it and the driver joked in his fractured English as he helped them refuel. Things were still normal, but Sinclair knew that the small airfield got half its annual revenue from the company alone, so he wasn’t surprised. Amen. He after-flighted the machine before his boys helped him put it away.
Intestinal butterflies were still with Nick when he sketched a route on his topographical. The railway had him worried, although a later, large scale map of the area did show tracks all the way to Abadan. He’d never used that map and had rarely spotted a train using the tracks north of Do Rud either, but ‘Murphy’s Law’ didn’t apply just in Ireland. It could be a problem but he had to get philosophical about it. Down there was Amini’s problem, he just needed to amend the pickup.
Nick poured over the Do Rud 1 in 25 scale map carefully. A tiny, isolated village called Lenjabad hugged the rail line several kilometres into the river gorge, but the dusty road wasn’t marked beyond it. No other villages showed on the line either, none even got close, and there were no junctions of road or rail until the track crossed through to the Euphrates plains. A poorly maintained dirt track at the start shouldn’t matter all that much.
Getting that flight in early had been the right thing to do. Now he had answers to many of his questions, and many potentials weren’t problems any more. He’d go for another flight in the high country but he didn’t need to visit Do Rud again. Nick was scribbling a few things to jog his memory as the maintenance team straggled into the building.
“Got the escape all sorted out then laddie?” Jock looked serious.
Nick flashed Sinclair a warning glance.
“Relax Nick, we can’t do this without help from these lads. They’re Pathans. Real tough bastards. I’d trust them with my life mate, and they’re going to see him when we get back anyway.” Sinclair pulled out a chair and sat opposite the pilot.
“The chopper ride isn’t the end of it either. He’s going to spend time in your shack and he’s hardly going to prance around in a fancy bloody uniform while he does it. Baggy Pakistani clobber and a headdress sound’s okay though, and where do you think we’ll get that from? When you’ve got it sorted, include them. They’ll appreciate the confidence.”
Nick inclined his head. He could see through the reasoning. “You’re right Jock, but I’ve been regimented all my bloody life. I’ve had to live with all that need-to-know crap for donkey’s years. This is all a bit new to me. I didn’t think about the implications of most of the things I did before, but now it’s different.”
“Aye, but we’re out on the end of a swaying branch this time laddie, so we’re going to need someone watching our six o’clock.”
“I know, but it’s a funny feeling. Nobody�
�s relied on me for quite some time.”
“Well-I-never laddie, welcome back to the human race.”
The jeep snarled its way towards Qom again on the Wednesday morning, Nick in the passenger seat and Sarah behind with her basket. Sinclair parked in almost exactly the same spot, and while the housekeeper attacked the markets the pilot strolled casually to the entrance of a different hotel. He and Jock had refined some more on another flight and it was a goer. He got through again without any problems.
“Fred; Nick, I’m happy to give it a go from this end.”
“That’s really great Nick, because things are hotting up around here.”
“Okay. There’s a village on the river called Lenjabad thirty odd clicks southwest of Do Rud. I’ll pick you up five clicks south of that. Did you know that a single track railway line runs from Do Rud to where you are?”
“I did Nick. Two trains run in either direction each week. It figured in the plan originally but there are a hell of a lot of long isolated stretches on route. We can’t afford to be trapped if the train is searched, and you can bet your sweet arse it will be if someone notices we’re gone.”
“Well, if you’re happy with it, it won’t affect me much.”
“It won’t mate. My engines chief and four sailors will be with me. They’re all Bakhtaran and it’s only a few kilometres walk to the roads and a railway station from there. They could be anywhere a few hours after we arrive, and they’ll be amongst their own people anyway.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier for you to catch a train as well?”
“It’s not so easy for me. My genes go back to Aryan Russians and Alexander the Great. It’s why the skin’s a lot lighter, and the nose can be a bit prominent on us males. I’d stick out like a sore thumb.” Amini laughed. “Former shahs used to hunt with hawks Nick. They got to look like their birds in the end.”
Nick smiled. “Okay Fred, I’ll be there at 1400 on Saturday. Is there anything else I can do?”
“That’s it Nick, I’ll do the rest.”
