Dima glanced at Zirak, who was chewing thoughtfully on his bread.
‘What’s on your mind?’
‘This jam isn’t nearly as good as my mother’s.’
Two minutes later, Darwish was back. In his hand he held a wedding photograph and a business card. He laid the photo on the table and pointed at the groom, a dashing big-built man in his early forties, stern face. Next to him a triumphant, grinning bride.
‘Here is Gazul Halen. He is number three to Al Bashir. In charge of Intelligence.’
Dima pulled the photo closer, studying the face. ‘How do we get to him?’
With an index finger Darwish reached forward and circled the bride. ‘She is my daughter, Amara.’
21
Half an hour later, Dima had all the information he wanted about Amara and her husband. Darwish, between bouts of tears, explained that although he had gone along with the match he didn’t support it.
‘We fell out. Very bad. He’s no good. All he has achieved is with this.’ He made a fist which he banged on the table and with his other hand he made a grabbing gesture at Dima’s groin. ‘All his people, he has their balls in the blender, his finger on the switch. He’s very paranoid. Has his own private security detail twenty-four seven. Not PLR. His own. Same for Amara. They never stay more than few days in each place.’
‘She’s not happy?’
‘So now I’m getting these texts from a number I don’t recognise. Always I have to be careful of who is contacting me. But it’s my Amara, she has Pay As You Go. “Daddy, please can we make up?” Of course we make up! She is my life! “I’m so sorry I made a terrible mistake, I want to come home.” She wants to escape but she is too scared. He keeps her almost a prisoner. Now with all the trouble, the quake, she’s desperate. She texts me every day, sometimes five, six times, but what can I do?’
Dima leaned back, folded his arms. ‘You tell her you are sending help. She tells us where she is. You get your daughter back, and Gazul takes us to Kaffarov and his bomb.’
Relief swept over Darwish’s face. ‘Simple.’
‘Simple,’ repeated Dima, knowing full well it was anything but. The words ‘
‘Darwish, old friend: with you on board, how can we lose?’
22
The Tabriz — Tehran Highway was dead straight: a dark line on the map all the way. Dima drove, pedal to the floor, straddling the two southbound lanes. The Peykan was managing to hold a steady 120 kph. Even though the windows were open and blowing in a steady gale, the heat from the afternoon sun, and what was coming back at them from the screaming engine, turned the inside of the car into an oven.
‘You watching for cracks?’ said Vladimir.
‘I’m watching,’ replied Dima.
‘An earthquake can unzip a road and before you know it you’re in a ravine that wasn’t there two minutes ago.’
The southbound lane was deserted. Northbound was a different story: a solid convoy of vehicles of all types heading away from the quake zone, cars piled high with bedding, trailers full of fridges, TVs and washing machines, buses with people perched on top. In one car a granny remonstrated with the driver, presumably her son, from the back seat, while her daughter-in-law scowled in front. She’s thinking, let’s just wait for the road to open up and throw her in, mused Dima. There had been no sign of serious quake damage so far, but a great cloud of brown dust haze along the horizon, growing ever bigger as they neared the capital, gave a hint of what they would face. They kept the radio on, switching from station to station, each news report predicting more tremors.
Vladimir was slumped across the back seat, finishing a packet of biscuits that was supposed to last them the whole six hundred ks to Tehran.
‘How do they forecast tremors, then?’
‘They measure the vibrations in the ground or something. Leave some for me, you greedy fucker.’
‘I need to keep my strength up. In jail I used to tell fortunes. Ten roubles or five cigarettes, or one joint, and I’d predict whether you’d get beaten or stabbed. If they paid up I’d predict they wouldn’t. And I was always right.’
‘Tell my fortune.’
‘There’s an earthquake coming and you’re gonna get nuked. And if you survive, the PLR’s going to chop your balls off. A thousand rials please.’
‘Piss off. You’ve already had all the biscuits.’
Vladimir screwed up the empty packet and threw it out of the window. After five years in Butyrka, thought Dima, a man was probably entitled to them.
‘What was it like in there, anyhow?’
‘I was doing all right as it goes. I was kind of sorry when Gregorin and Zirak showed up.’
‘Oh, come on. How did they spring you? Explosives? Disguised as a laundry woman? A bloody ugly one.’
‘They explained to the Superintendent that I was urgently needed on a patriotic mission. He was quite glad to see the back of me — I can’t think why.’
‘And have you now seen the error of your ways?’
‘Yeah, I shouldn’t have got caught. That was an error. Steady, you stupid bastard!’
Dima swerved violently to avoid a cow that had wandered into his path. He glanced in the mirror to see Kroll in the other Peykan do the same.
‘How do you rate your chances of finding Kaffarov and his — gadgets?’
‘I’m not a gambling man, remember.’
And rescuing Darwish’s daughter? Since when are you anyone’s knight in shining armour?’
‘If Kroll doesn’t fix Shenk’s tracker, she’s our best hope.’
‘Married to that psycho twat: what a hassle. Aren’t you glad you don’t have kids? Like poor old Kroll.’
‘Maybe they’re what keep him going.’
‘Too bad their mothers don’t let him near them.’
‘It might be good to have a son and heir. Otherwise, what’s it all for?’
‘For a laugh, you stupid cunt.’
In the mirror, Dima could see Vladimir’s incomprehension: build yourself a future? Who needs another thing to worry about? He focused all his concentration on the road ahead, in the effort to screen out what was going on in his head. Paliov’s photographs: confirmation, after twenty years of denials.
They passed through the gap in the Alborz mountains, that stand guard over Tehran’s northern suburbs. Above the dust cloud over the city he saw two planes circle and dive. Vladimir sat up.
‘Are you seeing what I’m seeing?’
23
Asara, North of Tehran
‘Great. That’s all we need.’
Gregorin lowered the binoculars and passed them over. ‘Brand new F-35 Lightnings, straight out of the box. Only one air force has those.’
‘I’m glad one of us is keeping up,’ said Dima.
They had turned off the highway and headed up Route 56, west into the Alborz mountains. From there they had a panoramic view of the city, which sat on the plain that stretched out below. Dima watched the fighters circling a giant column of smoke that was funnelling up from a refinery on the southern side of the capital.
‘First the PLR, then an earthquake. Now the US fucking Air Force. We’ve got the full set.’
‘Look on the bright side. At least they’re attacking the south and west. According to Darwish, Amara’s at her in-laws in the northeast.’
‘Oh well, that’s all right then: no problem. We just ignore the world’s biggest superpower laying siege to one part of the town as we rock up to her door and ask if we can take tea with her husband.’
