Escape

by James Clavell

  The climb down was more difficult and he slipped and fell the last six feet, cursed and looked around to get his bearings. She was already across the boundary road and heading for a rocky outcrop on the steep mountainside two hundred yards away. Below and to the left he could see part of Tabriz, fires on the far side of the city near the airport. Now he could hear distant guns.

  Gueng landed neatly beside him, grinned and motioned him onward. When he reached the outcrop she had vanished.

  ‘Johnny! Here!’

  He saw the small crack in the rock and went forward. Just enough room to squeeze through. He waited until Gueng came up, and then went through the rock into darkness. Her hand came out and guided him to one side. She beckoned Gueng and did the same for him, then moved a heavy leather curtain across the crack. Ross reached into his pack for his flash but before he could pull it out the match flamed. Her hand was cupped around it. She was kneeling and lit the candle that was in a niche. Quickly he looked around. The curtain over the entrance seemed lightproof, the cave spacious, warm and dry, some blankets, old carpets on the ground, a few drinking and eating utensils—some books and toys on a natural shelf. Ah, a child’s hideout, he thought and looked back at her. She had stayed kneeling by the candle, her back to him, and now, as she pulled the chador away from her head, she became Azadeh again.

  ‘Here.’ He offered her some water from his water bottle. She accepted it gratefully but avoided his eyes. He glanced at Gueng and read his mind. ‘Azadeh, do you mind if we put the light out—now that we see where we are—then we can pull the curtain back and keep watch and hear better. I’ve a flash if we need it.’

  ‘Oh, oh, yes. . . yes, of course.’ She turned back to the candle. ‘I. . . oh, just a minute, sorry. . .’ There was a mirror on the shelf he had not noticed. She picked it up and peered at herself, hated what she saw, the streaks of sweat and puffy eyes. Hastily she brushed away some smudges, picked up the comb and tidied herself as best she could. A final check in the mirror and she blew out the candle. ‘Sorry,’ she said.

  Gueng moved the curtain away and went through the rock and stood there listening. More gunfire from the city. A few buildings burning beyond the single runway of the airfield below and to the right. No lights there and very few on in the city itself. A few car headlights in the streets. The palace still dark and silent and he could sense no danger. He came back and told Ross what he had seen, speaking Gurkhali, and added, ‘Better I stay outside, safer, there’s not much time, sahib.’

  ‘Yes.’ Ross had heard disquiet in his voice but did not comment. He knew the reason. ‘You all right, Azadeh?’ he asked softly.

  ‘Yes. Yes I am now. It’s better in the dark—sorry I looked such a mess. Yes, I’m better now.’

  ‘What’s this all about—and where’s your husband?’ He used the word deliberately and heard her move in the darkness.

  ‘Just after you left last night, Cimtarga and a guard came and told Erikki he had to dress at once and leave—this man Cimtarga said he was sorry but there’d been a change of plan and he wanted to leave at once. And I, I was summoned to see my father. At once. Before I went into his room I overheard him giving orders for you both to be captured and disarmed, just after dawn.’ There was a catch to her voice. ‘He was planning to send for you both to discuss your departure tomorrow, but you would be led into ambush near the farmhouses and bound up and put into a truck and sent north at once.’

  ‘Where north?’

  ‘Tbilisi.’ Nervously she hurried onward: ‘I didn’t know what to do, there was no way to warn you—I’m watched as closely as you and kept away from the others. When I saw my father, he said Erikki wouldn’t be back for a few days, that today he, my father, he was going on a business trip to Tbilisi and that. . . that I would be going with him. He. . . he said we would be away two or three days and by that time Erikki would be finished and then we would go back to Tehran.’ She was almost in tears. ‘I’m so frightened. I’m so frightened something’s happened to Erikki.’

  ‘Erikki will be all right,’ he said, not understanding about Tbilisi, trying to decide about the Khan. Always back to Vien: ‘Trust Abdollah with your life and don’t believe the lies about him.’ And yet here was Azadeh saying the opposite. He looked across at her, unable to see her, hating the darkness, wanting to see her face, her eyes, thinking that perhaps he could read something from them. Wish to Christ she’d told me all this the other side of the bloody wall or at the hut, he thought, his nervousness increasing. Christ, the guard! ‘Azadeh, the guard, do you know what happened to him?’

  ‘Oh, yes I. . . I bribed him, Johnny, I bribed him to be away for half an hour. It was the only way I could get. . . it was the only way.’

  ‘God Almighty,’ he muttered. ‘Can you trust him?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Ali is. . . he’s been with Father for years. I’ve known him since I was seven and I gave him a pishkesh of some jewellery, enough for him and his family for years. But, Johnny, about Erikki. . . I’m so worried.’

  ‘No need to worry, Azadeh. Didn’t Erikki say they might send him near to Turkey?’ he said encouraging her, anxious to get her back safely. ‘I can’t thank you enough for warning us. Come on, first we’d better get you an—’

  ‘Oh, no, I can’t,’ she burst out. ‘Don’t you understand? Father’ll take me north and I’ll never get away, never—my father hates me and he’ll leave me with Mzytryk, I know he will, I know he will.’

  ‘But what about Erikki?’ he said shocked. ‘You can’t just run away!’

  ‘Oh, yes, I have to, Johnny, I have to. I daren’t wait, I daren’t go to Tbilisi, it’s much safer for Erikki that I run away now. Much safer.’

  ‘What’re you talking about? You can’t run away just like that! That’s madness! Say Erikki comes back tonight and finds you gone? Wh—’

  ‘I left him a note—we made an arrangement that in an emergency I’d leave a note in a secret place in our room. We had no way of telling what Father would do while he was away. Erikki’ll know. There’s something else. Father’s going to the airport today, around noon. He has to meet a plane, someone from Tehran, I don’t know who or what about but I thought perhaps you could. . . perhaps there are other planes. . . you could persuade them to take us back to Tehran or we could sneak aboard or you. . . you could force them to take us.’

  ‘You’re crazy,’ he said angrily. ‘This’s all crazy, Azadeh. It’s madness to run off and leave Erikki—how do you know it’s not just as your father says, for God’s sake? You say the Khan hates you—my God, if you run off like this, whether he does or doesn’t he’ll blow a gasket. Either way you put Erikki into more danger.’

  ‘How can you be so blind? Don’t you see? So long as I’m here Erikki has no chance, none. If I’m not here he has to think only of himself. If he knows I’m in Tbilisi he’ll go there and be lost for ever. Don’t you see? I’m the bait. In the Name of God, Johnny, open your eyes! Please help me!’

  He heard her crying now, softly but still crying, and this only increased his fury. Christ Almighty, we can’t take her along. There’s no way I could do that. That’d be murder—if what she says about the Khan’s true the dragnet’ll be out for us in a couple of hours and we’ll be lucky if we see sunset—the dragnet’s already out for God’s sake, think clearly! Bloody nonsense about running away! ‘You have to go back. It’s better,’ he said.

  The crying stopped. ‘Insha’Allah,’ she said in a different voice. ‘Whatever you say, Johnny. It’s better you leave quickly. You’ve not much time. Which way will you go?’

  ‘I—I don’t know.’ He was glad for the darkness that hid his face from her. My God, why must it be Azadeh? ‘Come on, I’ll see you safely back.’

  ‘There’s no need. I’ll. . . I’ll stay here for a while.’

  He heard the falsehood and his nerves jangled even more. ‘You’re going to go back. You’ve got to.’r />
  ‘No,’ she said defiantly. ‘I can never go back. I’m staying here. He won’t find me, I’ve hidden here before. Once I was here two days. I’m safe here. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be all right. You go on. That’s what you’ve got to do.’

  Exasperated, he managed to control his urge to drag her to her feet, and instead sat back against the wall of the cave. I can’t leave her, can’t carry her back against her will, can’t take her. Can’t leave her, can’t take her. Oh you can take her with you but for how long and then, when she’s captured, she’s mixed up with saboteurs and Christ only knows what else they’d accuse her of and they stone women for that. ‘When we’re found missing—if you are not—the Khan’ll know you tipped us off. If you stay here, eventually you’ll be found and anyway the Khan’ll know you gave us the tip and that’ll make it worse than ever for you, and worse for your husband. You must go back.’

  ‘No, Johnny. I’m in the Hands of God and not afraid.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Azadeh, use your head!’

  ‘I am. I’m in God’s hands, you know that. Didn’t we talk about that in our High Country a dozen times? I’m not afraid. Just leave me a grenade like the one you gave to Erikki. I’m safe in God’s hands. Please go now.’

  In the other time they had talked about God often. On a Swiss mountaintop it was easy and ordinary and nothing to be shy about—not with your beloved who knew the Koran and could read Arabic and felt very close to the Infinite and believed in Islam absolutely. Here in the darkness of the small cave it was not the same. Nothing was the same.

  ‘Insha’Allah it is,’ he said and decided. ‘We’ll go back, you and I, and I’ll send Gueng on.’ He got up.

  ‘Wait.’ He heard her get up too and felt her breath and nearness. Her hand touched his arm. ‘No, my darling,’ she said, her voice as it used to be. ‘No, my darling, that would destroy my Erikki—and you and your soldier. Don’t you see, I’m the lodestone to destroy Erikki. Remove the lodestone and he has a chance. Outside my father’s walls, you too have a chance. When you see Erikki, tell him. . . tell him.’

  What should I tell him? he was asking himself. In the darkness he took her hand in his and, feeling its warmth, was back in time again in the darkness together in the great bed, a vast summer storm lashing the windows, the two of them counting the seconds between the lightning flashes and the thunder that bounced off the sides of the high valley—sometimes only one or two seconds, oh, Johnny it must be almost overhead, Insha’Allah if it hits us, never mind we’re together—holding hands together just like this. But not like this, he thought sadly. He put her hand to his lips and kissed it. ‘You can tell him yourself,’ he said. ‘We’ll give it a go—together. Ready?’

  ‘You mean go on—together?’

  ‘Yes.’

  After a pause she said, ‘First ask Gueng.’

  ‘He does what I say.’

  ‘Yes, of course. But please ask him. Another favour. Please?’

  He went to the neck of the cleft. Gueng was leaning against the rocks outside. Before he could say anything Gueng said softly in Gurkhali, ‘No danger yet, sahib. Outside.’

  ‘Ah, you heard?’

  ‘Yes, sahib.’

  ‘What do you think?’

  Gueng smiled. ‘What I think, sahib, has no weight, affects nothing. Karma is karma. I do what you say.’

  At Tabriz Airport: 12:40 P.M. They were in the trees at the edge of the airport. Ross had his binoculars trained. The terminal was empty but for soldiers, a few burnt-out wrecks of passenger aircraft.

  ‘Not a hope in hell,’ he said. ‘We’ll try Erikki’s airport. Perhaps we can hide there until a chopper arrives.’ He led the way deeper into the forest, of necessity keeping to the crude path.

  On the edge of this clump of forest were frozen fields that in the summer would be abundant with crops, most of it belonging to a few landowners, in spite of the Shah’s land reforms. Beyond the fields were the outlying slums of Tabriz. They could see the minarets of the Blue Mosque and smoke from many fires pulled away by the wind. ‘Can we skirt the city, Azadeh?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘but it’s. . . it’s quite a long way.’

  They heard her underlying concern. So far she had moved quickly and without complaint. But she was still a hazard. They wore their tribesmen’s clothes over their uniforms. Their scrubby boots would pass. So would their weapons. And her chador. He looked at her, still not used to the ugliness that it made of her. She felt his glance and tried to smile. She understood. Both about the chador and about being a burden.

  ‘Let’s go through the town,’ she said. ‘We can stay in the side streets. I have some. . . some money and we can buy food. Johnny, you could pretend to be Caucasian from, say, from Astara, I could pretend to be your wife. Gueng, you speak Gurkhali or a foreign tongue and be rough and arrogant like the Turkomen from the north—you’d pass for one of them—they were descended from the Mongols, many Iranians are. Or perhaps I could buy some green scarves and make you Green Bands. . . That’s the best I can do.’

  ‘That’s good, Azadeh. Perhaps we’d better not stay bunched up. Gueng, you tail us.’

  Azadeh said, ‘In the streets Iranian wives follow their husbands. I. . . I will stay a pace behind you, Johnny.’

  ‘It’s a good plan, memsahib,’ Gueng said. ‘Very good. You guide us.’

  Her smile thanked him. Soon they were in the markets and the streets and alleys of the slums. Once a man shoved into Gueng carelessly. Without hesitation Gueng slammed his fist into the man’s throat, sending him sprawling into the joub senseless, cursing him loudly in a dialect of Ghurkali. There was a moment’s silence in the crowd, then noise picked up again and those nearby kept their eyes down and passed onward, a few surreptitiously making a sign against the evil eye that all those who came from the north, the descendants of the hordes who knew not the One God, were known to possess.

  Azadeh bought food from street vendors, fresh bread from the kilns, charcoaled lamb kebab and bean and vegetable horisht, heavy with rice. They sat on rough benches and gorged, then went on again. No one paid any attention to them. Occasionally someone would ask him to buy something but Azadeh would intervene and protect him well, coarsening her voice and talking the local Turkish dialect. When the muezzins called for afternoon prayer, she stopped, afraid. Around them, men and women searched for a piece of carpet or material or newspaper or cardboard or box to kneel on and began to pray. Ross hesitated, then following her pleading look, pretended to pray also and the moment passed. In the whole street only four or five remained standing, Gueng among them, leaning against a wall. No one bothered those who stood. Tabrizi came from many races, many religions.

  They continued onward, making their way southeast and now were in the outlying suburbs, shantytowns filled with refuse and mangy, half-starved dogs, the joub the only sewer. Soon the hovels would end, the fields and orchards would begin, then the forest and the main Tehran road that curled upward to the pass that would lead them to Tabriz One. What he would do when they got there, Ross did not know, but Azadeh had said that she knew of several caves nearby where they could hide until a helicopter landed.

  They went through the last of the slums, out on to the crude, snow-banked track. The snow of the surface was stained from mule and donkey droppings, pitted and treacherous, and they joined others who trudged along, some leading burdened donkeys, others bent over under the weight of their loads, others relieving themselves, men and women and children—a handful of snow with the left hand, then on again—a polyglot of people, tribesmen, nomads, townspeople—only their poverty in common, and their pride.

  Azadeh was feeling very tired, the strain of crossing the city heavy on her. She had been afraid she would make a mistake, afraid they would be spotted, frantic with worry over Erikki and worried how they would get to the base and what then? Insha’Allah, she told herself, over an
d over. God will look after you and after him and after Johnny.

  When they came near the junction of the track and the Tehran road they saw Green Bands and armed men standing beside a makeshift roadblock, peering into vehicles and watching the people filing past. There was no way to avoid them.

  ‘Azadeh, you go first,’ Ross whispered. ‘Wait for us up the road—if we get stopped, don’t interfere, just go on—head for the base. We’ll split up, safer.’ He smiled at her. ‘Don’t worry.’ She nodded, her fear making her face more pale, and walked off. She was carrying his rucksack. Coming out of the town she had insisted: ‘Look at all the other women, Johnny. If I don’t carry something, I’ll stand out terribly.’

  The two men waited, then went to the side of the track and urinated into the snowbank. People plodded by. Some noticed them. A few cursed them as Infidels. One or two wondered about them—unknowingly, they were relieving themselves towards Mecca, an act no Muslim would ever do.

  ‘Once she’s through, you next, Gueng. I’ll follow in ten minutes.’

  ‘Better you next,’ Gueng whispered back. ‘I’m a Turkoman.’

  ‘All right, but if I’m stopped—do not interfere. Sneak by in the fracas and get her to safety. Don’t fail me!’

  The little man grinned, his teeth very white. ‘Don’t you fail, sahib. You have much yet to do before you’re a Lord of the Mountain.’ Gueng looked past him towards the roadblock, a hundred yards away. He saw that Azadeh was in line now. One of the Green Bands said something to her, but she kept her eyes averted, replied, and the man waved her through. ‘Don’t wait for me on the road, sahib. I may cross the fields. Don’t worry about me—I’ll track you.’ He pushed through the pedestrians and joined the stream going back towards the town. After a hundred yards or so, he sat on an upturned crate and unlaced his boot as though it were hurting him. His socks were in shreds but that did not matter. The soles of his feet were like iron. Taking his time, he relaced his boots, enjoying being a Turkoman.