Erikki’s mind was on Azadeh. So little time. ‘The best back specialist in the world’s Guy Beauchamp, in London. He fixed me up in five minutes after doctors said I’d have to lie in traction for three months or have two joints fused. Don’t believe an ordinary doctor about your back, Hakim. The best they can do is pain killers.’
The door opened. A servant brought in the tea. Hakim dismissed him and the guards. ‘See that I’m not disturbed.’ The tea was hot, mint-flavoured, sweet and drunk from tiny silver cups. ‘Now, we must settle what you’re to do. You can’t stay here.’
‘I agree,’ Erikki said, glad that the waiting was over. ‘I know I’m. . . I’m an embarrassment to you as Khan.’
‘Part of Azadeh’s agreement and mine with my father, for us to be redeemed and me to be made heir, were the oaths we swore to remain in Tabriz, in Iran, for two years. So, though you must leave, she may not.’
‘She told me about the oaths.’
‘Clearly you’re in danger, even here. I can’t protect you against police or the government. You should leave at once, fly out of the country. After two years when Azadeh can leave, she will leave.’
‘I can’t fly. Fazir said he could give me a mechanic tomorrow, maybe. And fuel. If I could get hold of McIver in Tehran he could fly someone up here.’
‘Did you try?’
‘Yes, but the phones are still out. I would have used the HF at our base but the office’s totally wrecked—I flew over the base coming back here, it’s a mess, no transport, no fuel drums. When I get to Tehran McIver can send a mechanic here to repair the 212. Until she can fly, can she stay where she is?’
‘Yes. Of course.’ Hakim poured himself some more tea, convinced now that Erikki knew nothing about the escape of the other pilots and helicopters. But that changes nothing, he told himself. ‘There aren’t any airlines serving Tabriz or I’d arrange one of those for you. Still, I think you should leave at once; you are in very great danger, immediate danger.’
Erikki’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘What danger?’
‘I can’t tell you. But it’s not in my control, it’s serious, immediate, does not concern Azadeh at the moment but could, if we’re not careful. For her protection this must remain just between us. I’ll give you a car, any one you want from the garage. There’re about twenty, I believe. What happened to your Range Rover?’
Erikki shrugged, his mind working. ‘That’s another problem, killing that matyeryebyets mujhadin who took my papers, and Azadeh’s, then blasting the others.’
Hakim pressed onward. ‘There’s not much time.’
Erikki moved his head around to ease the tension in his muscles and take away the ache. ‘How immediate a danger, Hakim?’
Hakim’s eyes were level. ‘Immediate enough to suggest you wait till dark, then take the car and go—and get out of Iran as quickly as you can,’ he added deliberately. ‘Immediate enough to know that if you don’t, Azadeh will have greater anguish. Immediate enough to know you should not tell her before you leave.’
‘You swear it?’
‘Before God I swear that is what I believe.’
He saw Erikki frown and he waited patiently. He liked his honesty and simplicity but that meant nothing in the balance. ‘Can you leave without telling her?’
‘If it’s in the night, nearer to dawn so long as she’s sleeping. If I leave tonight, pretending to go out, say to go to the base, she’ll wait for me and if I don’t come back it will be very difficult—for her and for you. The village preys on her. She’ll have hysterics. A secret departure would be wiser, just before dawn. She’ll be sleeping then—the doctor gave her sedatives. She’ll be sleeping and I could leave a note.’
Hakim nodded, satisfied. ‘Then it’s settled.’ He wanted no hurt or trouble for or from Azadeh either.
Erikki had heard the finality and he knew beyond any doubt, now, that if he left her he would lose her for ever.
In the Bathhouse: 7:15 P.M. Azadeh lowered herself into the hot water up to her neck. The bath was beautifully tiled and fifteen yards square and many tiered, shallow at one end with lounging platforms, the hot water piped from the furnace room adjoining. The room was warm and large, a happy place with kind mirrors. Her hair was tied up in a towel and she rested against one of the tilted backrests, her legs stretched out, the water easing her. ‘Oh, that’s so good, Mina,’ she murmured.
Mina was a strong good-looking woman, one of Azadeh’s three maid-servants. She stood over her in the water, wearing just a loincloth, gently massaging her neck and shoulders. The bathhouse was empty but for Azadeh and the maidservant—Hakim had sent the rest of the family to other houses in Tabriz: ‘to prepare for a fitting Mourning Day for Abdollah Khan,’ had been the excuse, but all were aware that the forty days of waiting was to give him time to inspect the palace at his leisure and reapportion suites as it pleased him. Only the old Khananum was undisturbed, and Aysha and her two infants.
Without disturbing Azadeh’s tranquillity, Mina eased her into shallower water and on to another platform where Azadeh lay full length, her head propped comfortably on a pillow, so that she could work on her chest and loins and thighs and legs, preparing for the real oil massage that would come later when the water’s heat had become deep-seated.
‘Oh, that’s so good,’ Azadeh said again. She was thinking how much nicer this was than their own sauna—that raw strong heat and then the frightful plunge into the snow, the aftershock tingling and life-giving but not as good as this, the sensuality of the perfumed water and quiet leisure and no aftershocks and oh that is so good. . . but why is the bathhouse a village square and now it’s so cold and there’s the butcher and the false mullah’s shouting, ‘First his right hand. . . stone the harlottttt!’ She screamed soundlessly and leapt away.
‘Oh, did I hurt you, Highness, I’m so sorry!’
‘No, no, it wasn’t you, Mina, it was nothing, nothing, please go on.’ Again the soothing fingers. Her heart slowed. I hope soon I’ll be able to sleep without. . . without the village. Last night with Erikki it was already a little better, in his arms it was better, just being near him. Perhaps tonight it will be better still. I wonder how Johnny is. He should be on his way home now, home to Nepal on leave. Now that Erikki’s back I’m safe again, just so long as I’m with him, near him. By myself I’m not. . . not safe even with Hakim. I don’t feel safe anymore. I just don’t feel safe anymore.
The door opened and Aysha came in. Her face was lined with grief, her eyes filled with fear, the black chador making her appear even more emaciated. ‘Hello, Aysha dear, what’s the matter?’
‘I don’t know. The world is strange and I’ve no. . . I’m centreless.’
‘Come into the bath,’ Azadeh said, sorry for her, she looked so thin and old and frail and defenceless. Difficult to believe she’s my father’s widow with a son and daughter, and only seventeen. ‘Get in, it’s so good.’
‘No, no, thank you I. . . I just wanted to talk to you.’ Aysha looked at Mina then dropped her eyes and waited. Two days ago she would have just sent for Azadeh who would have come at once and bowed and knelt and waited for orders, as now she knelt as petitioner. As God wills, she thought; except for my terror for the future of my children I would shout with happiness—no more of the foul stench and sleep-shattering snores, no more of the crushing weight and moans and rage and biting and desperation to achieve that which he could but rarely. ‘It’s your fault, your fault your fault. . .’ How could it be my fault? How many times did I beg him to show me what to do to help, and I tried and tried and tried and yet it was only so rarely and then at once the weight was gone, the snoring would begin, and I was left awake to lie in the sweat and in the stink. Oh, how many times I wanted to die.
‘Mina, leave us alone until I call you,’ Azadeh said. She was obeyed instantly. ‘What’s th
e matter, Aysha dear?’
The girl trembled. ‘I’m afraid. I’m afraid for my son, and I came to beg you to protect him.’
Azadeh said gently, ‘You’ve nothing to fear from Hakim Khan and me, nothing. We’ve sworn by God to cherish you, your son and daughter, you heard us, we did it in front of. . . of your husband, our father, and then again, after his death. You’ve nothing to fear. Nothing.’
‘I’ve everything to fear,’ the girl stammered. ‘I’m not safe anymore, nor is my son. Please, Azadeh, couldn’t. . . couldn’t Hakim Khan. . . I’d sign any paper giving up any rights for him, any paper, I only want to live in peace and for him to grow up and live in peace.’
‘Your life is with us, Aysha. Soon you will see how happy we’ll all be together,’ Azadeh said. The girl’s right to be afraid, she thought. Hakim will never surrender the Khanate out of his line if he has sons of his own—he must marry now, I must help find him a fine wife. ‘Don’t worry, Aysha.’
‘Worry? You’re safe now, Azadeh, you who just a few days ago lived in terror. Now I’m not safe and I’m in terror.’
Azadeh watched her. There was nothing she could do for her. Aysha’s life was settled. She was the widow of a Khan. She would stay in the palace, watched and guarded, living as best she could. Hakim would not dare to let her remarry, could not possibly allow her to give up a son’s rights granted by the public will of the dying husband. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said.
‘Here.’ Aysha pulled out a bulky manila envelope from under her chador. ‘This is yours.’
‘What is it?’ Azadeh’s hands were wet and she didn’t want to touch it.
The girl opened the envelope and showed her the contents. Azadeh’s eyes widened. Her passport, ID, and other papers, Erikki’s also, all the things that had been stolen from them by the mujhadin at the roadblock. This was a pishkesh indeed. ‘Where did you get them?’
The girl was sure there was no one listening, but still lowered her voice. ‘The leftist mullah, the same mullah of the village, he gave them to His Highness, the Khan, to Abdollah Khan two weeks ago, when you were in Tehran. . . the same mullah as at the village.’
Incredulously Azadeh watched her. ‘How did he get them?’
Nervously the girl shrugged her thin shoulders. ‘The mullah knew all about the roadblock and what happened there. He came here to try to take possession of the. . . of your husband. His Highness. . .’ She hesitated, then continued in her halting whispers. ‘His Highness told him no, not until he approved it, sent him away, and kept the papers.’
‘Do you have other papers, Aysha? Private papers?’
‘Not of yours or your husband’s.’ Again the girl trembled. ‘His Highness hated you all so much. He wanted your husband destroyed, then he was going to give you to the Soviet, and your brother was to be. . . neutered. There’s so much I know that could help you and him, and so much I don’t understand. Ahmed. . . beware of him, Azadeh.’
‘Yes,’ Azadeh said slowly. ‘Did Father send the mullah to the village?’
‘I don’t know. I think he did. I heard him ask the Soviet to dispose of Mahmud, ah, yes, that was that false mullah’s name. Perhaps His Highness sent him there to torment you and the saboteur, and also sent him to his own death—but God intervened. I heard the Soviet agree to send men after this Mahmud.’
Azadeh said casually, ‘How did you hear that?’
Aysha nervously gathered the chador closer around her and knelt on the edge of the bath. ‘The palace is a honeycomb of listening holes and spy holes, Azadeh. He. . . His Highness trusted no one, spied on everyone, even me. I think we should be friends, allies, you and I, we’re defenceless—even you, perhaps you more than any of us and unless we help each other we’re all lost. I can help you, protect you.’ Beads of sweat were on her forehead. ‘I only ask you to protect my son, please. I can protect you.’
‘Of course we should be friends,’ Azadeh said, not believing that she was under any threat, but intrigued to know the secrets of the palace. ‘You will show me these secret places and share your knowledge?’
‘Oh, yes, yes, I will.’ The girl’s face lit up. ‘I’ll show you everything and the two years will pass quickly. Oh, yes, we’ll be friends.’
‘What two years?’
‘While your husband is away, Azadeh.’
Azadeh jerked upright, filled with alarm. ‘He’s going away?’
Aysha stared at her. ‘Of course. What else can he do?’
In the European Room: Hashemi was reading the scrawled message from Mzytryk that Hakim had just given him.
‘Colonel, what’s this about Yazernov and Jaleh Cemetery?’
Hashenu said, smoothly, ‘It’s an invitation, Highness. Yazernov’s an intermediary Mzytryk uses from time to time, acceptable to both sides, when something of importance to both sides has to be discussed. As soon as convenient to meet Yazernov!’ Hashemi said, ‘I think, Highness, we’d better return to Tehran tomorrow.’
‘Yes,’ Hakim said. Coming back in the car from the hospital with Azadeh, Hakim had decided the only way to deal with Mzytryk’s message was head-on. ‘When will you come back to Tabriz?’
‘If it pleases you, next week. Then we could discuss how to tempt Mzytryk here. With your help there’s much to do in Azerbaijan. We’ve just had a report that the Kurds are in open rebellion nearer to Rezaiyeh, now heavily provisioned with money and guns by the Iraqis—may God consume them. Khomeini has ordered the army to put them down, once and for all time.’
‘The Kurds?’ Hakim smiled. ‘Even he, God keep him safe, even he won’t do that—not once and for all.’
‘This time he might, Highness. He has fanatics to send against fanatics.’
‘Green Bands can obey orders and die but they do not inhabit those mountains, they do not have Kurdish stamina nor their lust for earthly freedom en route to Paradise.’
‘With your permission I will pass on your advice, Highness.’
Hakim said sharply, ‘Will it be given any more credence than my father’s—or my grandfather’s—whose advice was the same?’
‘I would hope so, Highness. I would hope. . .’ His words were drowned as the 212 fired up, coughed, held for a moment, then died again. Out of the window they saw Erikki unclip one of the engine covers and stare at the complexity inside with a flashlight. Hashemi turned back to the Khan who sat on a chair, stiffly upright. The silence became complicated, the two men’s minds racing, each as strong as the other, each bent on violence of some kind.
Hakim Khan said carefully, ‘He cannot be arrested in my house or my domain. Even though he knows nothing of the telex, he knows he cannot stay in Tabriz, even Iran, nor may my sister go with him, even leave Iran for two years. He knows he must leave at once. His machine cannot fly. I hope he avoids arrest.’
‘My hands are tied, Highness.’ Hashemi’s voice was apologetic and patently sincere. ‘It is my duty to obey the law of the land.’ Absently he noticed a piece of fluff on his sleeve and brushed it away with the perfect amount of sadness. ‘It’s our duty to obey the law.’
‘I’m certain, quite certain, he was not part of any conspiracy, knows nothing about the flight of the others, and I would like him left alone to leave in peace.’
‘I would be glad to inform SAVAMA of your wishes.’
‘I would be glad if you would do what I suggest.’
‘I will, Highness. If others intercept him. . .’ Hashemi shrugged. ‘As God wants.’
Chapter 24
Tabriz—At the Palace: 10:05 P.M. The three of them were sitting in front of the wood fire drinking after-dinner coffee and watching the flames, the room small and richly brocaded, warm and intimate, one of Hakim’s guards beside the door. But there was no peace between them, though all pretended otherwise, now and during the evening. The flames held their attention, each seeing different pictures therein. Erikki w
as watching the fork in the road, always the fork, one way the flames leading to loneliness, the other to fulfilment—perhaps and perhaps not. Azadeh watched the future, trying not to watch it.
Hakim Khan took his eyes off the fire and threw down the gauntlet. ‘You’ve been distracted all evening, Azadeh,’ he said.
‘Yes. I think we all are.’ Her smile was not real. ‘Do you think we could talk in private, the three of us?’
‘Of course.’ Hakim motioned to the guard. ‘I’ll call if I need you.’ The man obeyed and closed the door after him. Instantly the mood of the room changed. Now all three were adversaries, all aware of it, all on guard and all ready. ‘Yes, Azadeh?’
‘Is it true that Erikki must leave at once?’
‘Yes.’
‘There must be a solution. I cannot endure two years without my husband.’
‘With the Help of God the time will pass quickly.’ Hakim Khan sat stiffly upright, the pain eased by the codeine.
‘I cannot endure two years,’ she said again.
‘Your oath cannot be broken.’
Erikki said, ‘He’s right, Azadeh. You gave the oath freely, Hakim is Khan and the price. . . fair. But all the killings—I must leave, the fault’s mine, not yours or Hakim’s.’
‘You did nothing wrong, nothing, you were forced into protecting me and yourself, they were carrion bent on murdering us, and as to the raid. . . you did what you thought best, you had no way of knowing the ransom was part paid or Father was dead. . . he should not have ordered the messenger killed.’
‘That changes nothing. I have to go tonight. We can accept it, and leave it at that,’ Erikki said, watching Hakim. ‘Two years will pass quickly.’
‘If you live, my darling.’ Azadeh turned to her brother who looked back at her, his smile still the same, eyes the same.
Erikki glanced from brother to sister, so different and yet so similar. What’s changed her, why has she precipitated that which should not have been precipitated?
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