Escape

by James Clavell

  ‘The doctor ordered him to rest.’

  ‘Perhaps you would send for him, Highness.’

  ‘Of course. But a man of your importance and learning would understand there are rules of honour and hospitality in Azerbaijan, and in my tribe. He is my brother-in-law and even SAVAMA understands family honour.’ Both men knew this was just an opening gambit in a delicate negotiation—delicate because neither wanted SAVAMA’s wrath on their heads, neither knew yet how far to go, or even if a private deal was wanted. ‘I presume many know of this. . . this treason?’

  ‘Only me, here in Tabriz, Highness. At the moment,’ Hashemi said at once. He could see Hakim Khan’s disquiet and was sure he had him trapped. ‘I’m sure you’ll understand, Highness, but I have to answer this telex quickly.’

  Hakim Khan decided on a partial offer. ‘Treason and conspiracy should not go unpunished. Anywhere it is to be found. I’ve sent for the traitor you wanted. Urgently.’

  Hashemi saw the young Khan shift painfully and tried to decide whether to delay or to press home his advantage, sure the pain was genuine. The doctor had given him a detailed diagnosis of the Khan’s possible injuries and those of his sister. To cover every eventuality he had ordered the doctor to give Erikki some heavy sedation tonight, just in case the man tried to escape. ‘There is so much to do in Tabriz, Highness, following your advice of this morning, that I doubt if I could deal with the telex before then.’

  ‘You destroy the leftist mujhadin headquarters tonight?’

  ‘Yes, Highness, now that we have your permission, and your guarantee of no repercussions from the Tudeh. It would be unfortunate if the captain was not available for. . . for questioning this evening.’

  Hakim Khan’s eyes narrowed at the unnecessary threat. As if I didn’t understand, you rude son of a dog. ‘I agree.’ There was a knock on the door. ‘Come in.’

  Azadeh opened it. ‘Sorry to interrupt, Highness, but you told me to remind you half an hour before it was time to go to the hospital for X-rays. Greetings, peace be with you, Colonel.’

  ‘And God’s peace be with you, Highness.’ I’m glad such beauty will be forced into chador soon, Hashemi was thinking. She’d tempt Satan, let alone the unwashed illiterate scum of Iran. He looked back at the Khan. ‘I should be going, Highness.’

  ‘Please come back at seven, Colonel. If I’ve any news before then I’ll send for you.’

  ‘Thank you, Highness.’

  She closed the door after him. ‘How’re you feeling, Hakim, darling?’

  ‘Tired. Lots of pain.’

  ‘Me too. Do you have to see the colonel later?’

  ‘Yes. It doesn’t matter. How’s Erikki?’

  ‘Asleep.’ She was joyous. ‘We’re so lucky, the three of us.’

  Chapter 23

  Tabriz—At the International Hospital: 6:24 P.M. Hakim Khan walked painfully into the private room, the doctor and a guard following him. He was using crutches now and they made his walking easier, but when he bent or tried to sit, they did not relieve the pain. Only pain killers did that. Azadeh was waiting downstairs, her X-ray better than his, her pain less than his.

  ‘So, Ahmed, how do you feel?’

  Ahmed lay in bed, awake, his chest and stomach bandaged. The operation to remove the bullet lodged in his chest had been successful. The one in his stomach had done much damage, he had lost a great deal of blood, and internal bleeding had started again. But the moment he saw Hakim Khan he tried to raise himself.

  ‘Don’t move, Ahmed,’ Hakim Khan said, his voice kind. ‘The doctor says you’re mending well.’

  ‘The doctor’s a liar, Highness.’

  The doctor began to speak but stopped as Hakim said, ‘Liar or not, get well, Ahmed.’

  ‘Yes, Highness. With the Help of God. But you, you are all right?’

  ‘If the X-ray doesn’t lie, I’ve just torn ligaments.’ He shrugged, ‘With the Help of God.’

  ‘Thank you. . . thank you for the private room, Highness. Never have I had. . . such luxury.’

  ‘It’s merely a token of my esteem for such loyalty.’ Imperiously he dismissed the doctor and the guard. When the door was shut, he went closer. ‘You asked to see me, Ahmed?’

  ‘Yes, Highness, please excuse me that I could not. . . could not come to you.’ Ahmed’s voice was phlegmy, and he spoke with difficulty. ‘The Tbilisi man you want. . . The Soviet. . . he sent a message for you. It’s. . . it’s under the drawer. . . he taped it under the drawer there.’ With an effort he pointed to the small bureau.

  Hakim’s excitement picked up. Awkwardly he felt underneath the drawer. The adhesive bandages strapping him made bending difficult. He found the small square of folded paper and it came away easily. ‘Who brought it and when?’

  ‘It was today. . . some time today. . . I’m not sure, I think it was this afternoon. I don’t know. The man wore a doctor’s coat and glasses but he wasn’t a doctor. An Azerbaijani, perhaps a Turk, I’ve never seen him before. He spoke Turkish—all he said was, “This is for Hakim Khan, from a friend in Tbilisi. Understand?” I told him yes and he left as quickly as he arrived. For a long time I thought he was a dream. . ..’

  The message was scrawled in writing Hakim did not recognise: ‘Many, many congratulations on your inheritance, may you live as long and be as productive as your predecessor. Yes, I would like to meet urgently too. But here, not there. Sorry. Whenever you’re ready I would be honoured to receive you, with pomp or in privacy, whatever you want. We should be friends, there’s much to accomplish and we have many interests in common. Please tell Hashemi Fazir that Yazernov is buried in the Russian Cemetery at Jaleh and he looks forward to seeing him when convenient.’ There was no signature.

  Greatly disappointed, he went back to the bed and offered the paper to Ahmed. ‘What do you make of that?’

  Ahmed did not have the strength to take it. ‘Sorry, Highness, please hold it so I can read it.’ After reading it, he said, ‘It’s not Mzytryk’s writing. I’d. . . I’d recognise his writing but it. . . I believe it genuine. He would have transmitted it to. . . to underlings to bring here.’

  ‘Who’s Yazernov and what does it mean?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s a code. . . it’s a code they’d understand.’

  ‘It is an invitation to a meeting, or a threat. Which?’

  ‘I don’t know, Highness. I would guess a meet—’ A spasm of pain went through him. He cursed in his own language.

  ‘Is Mzytryk aware that both the last times they were in ambush? Aware that Abdollah Khan had betrayed him?’

  ‘I. . . I don’t know, Highness. I told you he was cunning and the Khan your father very. . . very careful in his dealings.’ The effort of talking and concentrating was taking much of Ahmed’s strength. ‘That Mzytryk knows they are in contact with you. . . that both of them are here now means nothing, his spies abound. You’re Khan and of course. . . of course you know you’re. . . you’re spied on by all kinds of men, most of them evil, who report to their superiors—most of them even more evil.’ A smile went over his face and Hakim pondered its meaning. ‘But then, you know all about hiding your true purpose, Highness. Not once. . . not once did Abdollah Khan suspect how brilliant you are, not once. If. . . if he’d known one hundredth part of who you really are. . . really are, he would have never banished you but made you. . . made you heir and chief counsellor.’

  ‘He would have had me strangled.’ Not for a millionth of a second was Hakim Khan tempted to tell Ahmed that he had sent the assassins whom Erikki had killed, or about the poison attempt that had also failed. ‘A week ago he would have ordered me mutilated and you would have done it happily.’

  Ahmed looked up at him, eyes deep set and filled with death. ‘How do you know so much?’

  ‘The Will of God.’

  The ebb had begun. Both men knew it. Hakim said, ‘Colo
nel Fazir showed me a telex about Erikki.’ He told Ahmed the contents. ‘Now I have no Mzytryk to barter with, not immediately. I can give Erikki to Fazir or help him escape. Either way my sister is committed to stay here and cannot go with him. What is your advice?’

  ‘For you it is safer to give the Infidel to the colonel as a pishkesh and pretend to her there’s nothing you can do to prevent the. . . the arrest. In truth there isn’t if the colonel wants it that way. He of the Knife. . . he will resist and so he will be killed. Then you can promise her secretly to the Tbilisi. . . But never give her to him, then you will control. . . then you may control him. . . but I doubt it.’

  ‘And if He of the Knife “happens” to escape?’

  ‘If the colonel allowed it. . . he will require payment.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Mzytryk. Now or sometime. . . sometime in the future. While He of the Knife lives, Highness, she will never divorce him—forget the saboteur, he was another lifetime—and when the two years are. . . are over she will go to him, that is if. . . if he allows her to. . . to stay here. I doubt if even Your Highness. . .’ Ahmed’s eyes closed and a tremor went through him.

  ‘What happened with Bayazid and the bandits? Ahmed. . .’

  Ahmed did not hear him. He was seeing the steppes now, the vast plains of his homelands and ancestors, the seas of grass from whence his forebears came forth to ride near the cloak of Genghis Khan, and then that of the grandson Kubla Khan and his brother Hulagu Khan who came down into Persia to erect mountains of skulls of those who opposed him. Here in the golden lands since ancient times, Ahmed thought, lands of wine and warmth and wealth and women of great doe-eyed beauty and sensuality, prized since ancient times like Azadeh. . . ah, now I will never take her like she should be taken, dragged off by the hair as spoils of war, shoved across a saddle to be bedded and tamed on the skins of wolves. . .

  From a long way off he heard himself say, ‘Please, Highness, I would beg a favour, I would like to be buried in my own land and in our own fashion. . .’ Then I can live for ever with the spirits of my fathers, he thought, the lovely space beckoning him.

  ‘Ahmed, what happened with Bayazid and the bandits when you landed?’

  With an effort Ahmed came back. ‘They weren’t Kurds, just tribesmen pretending to be Kurds and He of the Knife killed them all, Highness, with very great brutality,’ he said with strange formality. ‘In his madness he killed them all—with knife and gun and hands and feet and teeth, all except Bayazid who, because of his oath to you, would not come against him.’

  ‘He left him alive?’ Hakim was incredulous.

  ‘Yes, God give him peace. He. . . put a gun in my hand and held the Bayazid near the gun and I. . .’ The voice trailed away, waves of grass beckoning as far as eyes could see. . .

  ‘You killed him?’

  ‘Oh yes, looking. . . looking into his eyes.’ Anger came into Ahmed’s voice. ‘The son of a. . . dog shot me in the back, twice, without honour, the son of a dog, so he died without honour and without. . . without manhood, the son of a dog.’ The bloodless lips smiled and he closed his eyes. He was dying fast now, his words imperceptible. ‘I took vengeance.’

  Hakim said quickly, ‘Ahmed, what haven’t you told me that I need to know?’

  ‘Nothing. . .’ In a little while his eyes opened and Hakim saw into the pit. ‘There is no. . . no other God but God and. . .’ A little blood seeped out of the side of his mouth. ‘. . . I made you Kh. . .’ The last of the word died with him.

  Hakim was uncomfortable under the frozen stare.

  ‘Doctor!’ he called out.

  At once the man came in, and the guard. The doctor closed his eyes. ‘As God wills. What should we do with the body, Highness?’

  ‘What do you usually do with bodies?’ Hakim moved his crutches and walked away, the guard followed. So, Ahmed, he was thinking, so now you’re dead and I’m alone, cut from the past and obliged to no one. Made me Khan? Is that what you were going to say? Did you know there were spy holes in that room too?

  A smile touched him. Then hardened. Now for Colonel Fazir and Erikki, He of the Knife as you called him.

  At the Palace: 6:48 P.M. In the failing light Erikki was carefully repairing one of the bullet holes in the plastic windshield of the 212 with clear tape. It was difficult with his arm in a sling but his hand was strong and the forearm wound shallow—no sign of infection. His ear was heavily taped, part of his hair shaved away for cleanliness, and he was mending fast. The hours of talk that he had had with Azadeh had given him a measure of peace.

  That’s all it is, he thought, it’s only a measure, not enough to forgive the killings or the danger that I am. So be it. That’s what gods made me and that’s what I am. Yes, but what about Ross and what about Azadeh? And why does she keep the kukri so close by her: ‘It was his gift to you, Erikki, to you and to me.’

  ‘It’s unlucky to give a man a knife without taking money, at once, just a token, in return. When I see him I will give him money and accept his gift.’

  Once again he pressed Engine Start. Once again the engine caught, choked and died. What about Ross and Azadeh?

  He sat back on the edge of the cockpit and looked at the sky. The sky did not answer him. Nor the sunset. The overcast had broken up in the west, the sun was down and the clouds menacing. Calls of the muezzins began. Guards on the gate faced Mecca and prostrated themselves; so did those inside the palace and those working in the fields and carpet factory and sheep pens.

  Unconsciously his hand went to his knife. Without wishing to, his eyes checked that the Sten gun was still beside his pilot’s seat and armed with a full clip. Hidden in the cabin were other weapons, weapons from the tribesmen. AK47s and M16s. He could not remember taking them or hiding them, had discovered them this morning when he made his inspection for damage and was cleaning the interior.

  With the tape over his ear he did not hear the approaching car as soon as he would have done normally, and was startled when it appeared at the gate. The Khan’s guards there recognised the occupants and waved the car through to stop in the huge forecourt near the fountain. Again he pressed Engine Start, again the engine caught for a moment, then shuddered the whole airframe as it died.

  ‘’Evening, Captain,’ Hashemi Fazir said. ‘How are you feeling today?’

  ‘With luck, in a week or so I’ll be better than ever,’ Erikki said pleasantly but his caution was complete.

  ‘The guards say that Their Highnesses are not back yet—the Khan expects us, we’re here at his invitation.’

  ‘They’re at the hospital being X-rayed. They left while I was asleep, they shouldn’t be long.’ Erikki watched them. ‘Would you care for a drink? There’s vodka, whisky and tea, of course coffee.’

  ‘Thank you, whatever you have,’ Hashemi said. ‘How’s your helicopter?’

  ‘Sick,’ he said disgustedly. ‘I’ve been trying to start her for an hour. She’s had a miserable week.’ Erikki led the way up the marble steps. ‘The avionics are messed. I need a mechanic badly. Our base’s closed as you know and I tried to phone Tehran but the phones are out again.’

  ‘Perhaps I can get you a mechanic, tomorrow or the next day, from the air base.’

  ‘You could, Colonel?’ His smile was sudden and appreciative. ‘That’d help a lot. And I could use fuel, a full load. Would that be possible?’

  ‘Could you fly down to the airfield?’

  ‘I wouldn’t risk it, even if I could start her—too dangerous. No I wouldn’t risk that.’ Erikki shook his head. ‘The mechanic must come here.’ He led the way along a corridor, opened the door to the small salon on the ground floor that Abdollah Khan had set aside for non-Islamic guests. It was called the European Room. The bar was well stocked. By custom, there were always full ice trays in the refrigerator, the ice made from bottled water, with club soda and soft drinks of many k
inds—and chocolates and the halvah he had adored. ‘I’m having vodka,’ Erikki said.

  Hashemi asked for a soft drink, ‘I’ll have a vodka too, when the sun’s down.’ Faintly the muezzins were still calling. ‘Prosit!’ Erikki clinked glasses and drank the tot in one swallow. He poured himself another. Hearing a car they all glanced out of the window. It was the Rolls.

  ‘Excuse me a minute, I’ll tell Hakim Khan you’re here.’ Erikki walked out and greeted Azadeh and her brother on the steps. ‘What did the X-rays show?’

  ‘No sign of bone damage for either of us.’ Azadeh was happy, her face carefree. ‘How are you, my darling?’

  ‘Wonderful!’ His smile at Hakim was genuine. ‘I’m so pleased. You’ve a guest—I put him in the European Room.’ Erikki saw Hakim’s tiredness. ‘Shall I tell him to come back tomorrow?’

  ‘No, no thank you. Azadeh, would you tell him I’ll be fifteen minutes but to make himself at home. I’ll see you later, at dinner.’ Hakim watched her touch Erikki and smile and walk off. How lucky they are to love each other so much, and how sad for them. ‘Erikki, Ahmed’s dead, I didn’t want to tell her yet.’

  Erikki was filled with sadness. ‘My fault he’s dead—Bayazid—he never gave him a chance. Matyeryebyets.’

  ‘God’s will. Let’s go and talk a moment.’ Hakim went down the corridor into the Great Room, leaning more and more on the crutches. The guards stayed at the door, out of listening range. Hakim went to a niche, put aside his crutches, faced Mecca, gasped with pain as he knelt and tried to make obeisance. Even forcing himself, he failed again and had to be content with intoning the Shahada. ‘Erikki, give me a hand, will you, please?’

  Erikki lifted him easily. ‘You’d better give that a miss for a few days.’

  ‘Not pray?’ Hakim gaped at him.

  ‘I meant. . . perhaps the One God will understand if you say it and don’t kneel. You’ll make your back worse. Did the doctor say what it was?’

  ‘He thinks it’s torn ligaments—I’ll go to Tehran as soon as I can with Azadeh and see a specialist.’ Hakim accepted his crutches. ‘Thanks.’ After a moment’s consideration he chose a chair instead of his usual lounging cushions and eased himself into it, then ordered tea.