many happy years with Kathy, who had suggested the code. Don’t think about Kathy now, he told himself. Not now. “I hate bloody telex machines - they’re always going wrong,” McIver was saying, his stomach churning, mostly because of the row that he had had last night with Genny, insisting that she go on the 125 today, also because there was still no news from Lochart. Added to that, again none of the Iranian office staff had reported for work, only the pilots who had come in this morning. McIver had sent them all away except Pettikin whom he had put on standby. Nogger Lane had wandered in around noon, reporting that his flight with the mullah Tehrani, six Green Bands, and five women went well. “I think our friendly mullah wants another ride tomorrow. He expects you 5:30 P.M. sharp at the airport.”
“All right. Nogger, you relieve Charlie.”
“Come on, Mac, old chap, I’ve worked hard all morning, above and beyond the call, and Paula’s still in town.”
“How well I know, ‘old chap,’ and the way things look she’ll be here for the week!” McIver had told him. “You relieve Charlie, you get your hot little tail into a chair, bring our aircraft ledgers up to date, and one more bloody word out of you I’ll post you to bloody Nigeria!”
They had waited, grimly conscious that telexes had to go part of the way through phone lines. “Bloody lot of wire between here and Aberdeen,” McIver muttered.
Gavallan said, “Soon as Genny arrives we’ll leave. I’ll make sure she’s all right in Al Shargaz before I go home. You’re quite right to insist.” “I know, you know, and the whole of Iran knows but she bloody doesn’t!” “Women,” Gavallan said diplomatically. “Anything else I can do?” “Don’t think so. Squeezing our two remaining partners helped a lot.” Gavallan had tracked them down, Mohammed Siamaki and Turiz Bakhtiar - a common surname in Iran for those from the rich and powerful and multitudinous Bakhtiar tribe of which the ex-prime minister was one of the chiefs. Gavallan had extracted 5 million rials in cash - a little over $60,000, a pittance against what the partners owed - with promises for more every week, in return for a promise, and a handwritten note, to reimburse them personally “outside the country, should it be necessary, and passage on the 125 should it be necessary.”
“All right, but where’s Valik - how do I get hold of him?” Gavallan had asked, pretending to know nothing about his escape.
“We already told you: he’s on vacation with his family,” Siamaki had said, rude and arrogant as always. “He’ll contact you in London or Aberdeen - there’s the overdue matter of our funds in the Bahamas.”
“Our joint funds, dear partner, and there’s the matter of almost $4 million owing on work already completed, apart from our aircraft lease payments overdue, long overdue.”
“If the banks were open you’d have the money. It’s not our fault the Shah’s pestilential allies ruined him and ruined Iran. We are not to blame for any of the catastrophes, none. As to the monies owed, haven’t we paid in the past?”
“Yes. Usually six months late, but I agree, dear friends, eventually we have extracted our share. But if all joint ventures are suspended as the mullah Tehrani told me, how do we operate from now on?”
“Some joint ventures, not all - your information is exaggerated and incorrect, Gavallan. We are on notice to get back to normal as soon as possible - crews can leave once their replacements are safely here. Oil fields must be returned to full production. There will be no problems. But to forestall any trouble, once more we have bailed out the partnership. Tomorrow my illustrious cousin, Finance Minister Ali Kia, joins the board a - ”
“Hold on a minute! I have prior approval of any change in the board!” “You used to have that power, but the board voted to change that bylaw. If you wish to go against the board you can bring it up at the next meeting in London - but under the circumstances the change is necessary and reasonable. Minister Kia has assured us we’ll be exempt. Of course Minister Kia’s fees and percentage will come out of your share….”
Gavallan tried not to watch the telex machine but he found it difficult, trying to think a way out of the trap. “One moment everything seems okay, the next it’s rotten again.”
“Yes. Yes, Andy, I agree. Talbot was today’s clincher.” This morning, early, they had met Talbot briefly. “Oh, yes, old boy, joint ventures are definitely persona non grata now, so sorry,” he had told them dryly. “The ‘On High’ have decreed that all joint ventures are suspended, pending instructions, though what instructions and from whom, they didn’t impart. Or who the ‘On High’ are. We presume the Olympian decree is from the dear old Komiteh, whoever they are! On the other side of the coin, old chap, the Ayatollah and Prime Minister Bazargan have both said all foreign debts will be honored. Of course Khomeini overrides Bazargan and issues counterinstructions, Bazargan issues instructions which the Revolutionary Komiteh overrules, the local komitehs are vigilantes who’re taking their own version of law as gospel, and not one rotten little urchin has yet handed in a weapon. The jails are filling up nicely, heads are rolling - and apart from the tumbrils it all has a jolly old tediously familiar ring, old boy, and rather suggests we should all retire to Margate for the duration.” “You’re serious?”
“Our advice to evacuate all unessential personnel still stands the moment the airport opens which is God knows when but promised for Saturday - we’ve got BA to cooperate with chartered 747s. As to the illustrious Ali Kia, he’s a minor official, very minor indeed, with no power and a good-weather friend to all sides. By the way, we’ve just heard that the U.S. ambassador in Kabul was abducted by anti-Communist, Shi’ite fundamentalist mujhadin who tried to exchange him for other mujhadin held by the pro-Soviet government. In the following shoot- out he was killed. Things are heating up rather nicely….” The telex clicked on, their attention zeroed, but the machine did not function. Both of them cursed.
“Soon as I get to Al Shargaz I can phone the office and find out what’s the problem…” Gavallan glanced at the door as it opened. To their surprise it was Erikki - he and Azadeh had been due to meet them at the airport. Erikki was smiling his usual smile but there was no light behind it. “Hello, boss, hi, Mac.”
“Hi, Erikki. What’s up?” McIver looked at him keenly.
“Slight change of plan. We’re, er, well, Azadeh and I are going back to Tabriz first.”
Yesterday evening Gavallan had suggested that Erikki and Azadeh take immediate leave. “We’ll find a replacement. How about coming with me tomorrow? Perhaps we could get Azadeh replacement papers in London…” “Why the change, Erikki?” he asked. “Azadeh’s had second thoughts about leaving Iran without Iranian papers?”
“No. An hour ago we got a message - I got a message from her father. Here, read it for yourself.” Erikki gave it to Gavallan, who shared it with McIver. The handwritten note said: “From Abdollah Khan to Captain Yokkonen: I require my daughter to come back here at once and ask you to grant her permission.” It was signed, Abdollah Khan. The message was repeated in Farsi on the other side.
“You’re sure it’s his handwriting?” Gavallan asked.
“Azadeh’s sure, and she also knew the messenger.” Erikki added, “The messenger told us nothing else, only that there’s lots of fighting going on there.”
“By road’s out of the question.” McIver turned to Gavallan. “Maybe our mullah Tehrani’d give Erikki a clearance? According to Nogger, he was like a dog-eating wallah after his joyride this morning. We could fit Charlie’s 206 with long-range tanks, and Erikki could take her, maybe with Nogger or one of the others to bring her right back?”
Gavallan said, “Erikki, you know the risk you’re taking?” “Yes.” Erikki had not yet told them about the killings.
“You’ve thought it through - everything? Rakoczy, the roadblock, Azadeh herself? We could send Azadeh back alone and you could get on the 125 and we’d put her on Saturday’s flight.”
“Come on, boss, you’d never do that and neither will I - I couldn’t leave her.”
“Of course, but it had to be said. All right. Erikki, you take care of the long-range tanks, we’ll try for the clearance. I’d suggest you both come back to Tehran as quickly as possible and take the 125 on Saturday. Both of you. It might be wise for you to transfer and do a tour somewhere else - Australia, Singapore, perhaps - or Aberdeen, but that might be too cold for Azadeh, you let me know.” Gavallan cheerfully stuck out his hand. “Happy Tabriz, eh?”
“Thanks.” Erikki hesitated. “Any news of Tom Lochart?”
“No, not yet - still can’t raise Kowiss or Bandar Delam. Why? Sharazad’s getting anxious?”
“More than that. Her father’s in Evin Jail an - ”
“JesusChrist,” McIver exploded, Gavallan equally shocked, knowing the rumors of arrests and firing squads. “What for?”
“For questioning - by a komiteh - no one knows what for or how long he’ll be held.”
