and though she had not said a word all the way, she leaned forward and spoke to the Green Bands pleasantly. At once they were waved through. “My God, Gen, that was wonderful,” McIver said. “What did you tell that bastard?”
“Andy,” she said smugly, “please tell Mr. McIver I told them he was a suspected smallpox carrier who was being sent out of the country.” More Green Bands were on the gate that led to the freighting area and their office, but this time it was easier and clearly they were expected. The 125 was already on the runway, surrounded by armed Green Bands and trucks. Two motorcycle Green Bands motioned them to follow and roared off onto the tarmac, leading the way.
“Why are you late?” the mullah Tehrani said irritably, coming down the 125’s steps, two armed revs following. Both Gavallan and McIver noticed he was wearing new glasses. They caught a glimpse of John Hogg inside the cabin, one of the revs at the head of the steps with a leveled submachine gun. “The aircraft must take off instantly. Why are you late?”
“So sorry, Excellency, the traffic - Insha’Allah! So sorry,” McIver said carefully. “I understand from Captain Lane your work for the Ayatollah, may he live forever, was satisfactory?”
“There was not enough time to complete all my work. As God wants. It is, er, it is necessary to go tomorrow. You will arrange it please. For 9:00 A.M.” “With pleasure. Here is the passenger crew manifest.” McIver gave him the paper. Gavallan, Genny, and Armstrong were on it, Armstrong as going on leave.
Tehrani read the paper easily now, openly ecstatic with his glasses. “Where is this Armstrong?” “Oh, I presumed he was aboard.”
“There’s no one aboard but the crew,” the mullah said irritably, the vast pleasure of being able to see overcoming his nervousness at having allowed the 125 to land. But he was glad he had, the glasses were a gift of God and the second pair promised by the pilot next week a protection against breakage and the third pair just for reading… Oh, God is Great. God is Great, all thanks to God for putting the thought into the pilot’s head and for letting me see so well. “The aircraft must leave at once.”
“It’s not like Mr. Armstrong to be late, Excellency,” Gavallan said with a frown. Neither he nor McIver had heard from him since yesterday - nor had he come to the flat last night. This morning Talbot had shrugged, saying that Armstrong had been delayed, but not to worry, he would be at the airport on time. “Perhaps he’s waiting in the office,” Gavallan said. “There is no one there who should not be there. The aircraft will leave now. It will not wait. Aboard, please! The aircraft will leave now.” “Perfect,” Gavallan said. “As God wants. By the way we’d like clearance for the 125 to come back Saturday and clearance for a 206 to go to Tabriz tomorrow.” With great formality he handed him the papers, neatly filled out. “The, er, the 125 may return but no flights to Tabriz. Perhaps Saturday.” “But, Excellency, don’t y - ”
“No,” the mullah said, conscious of the others watching him. He ordered the truck blocking the runway out of the way and looked at Genny as she got out of the car and nodded approvingly. Gavallan and McIver were surprised to notice that now she had tucked her hair into the scarf part of her hat so none of her hair was showing and, with her long coat, almost gave the impression of being in chador. “Please to get aboard.”
“Thank you, Excellency,” she said in adequate Farsi that she had been rehearsing with the help of a dictionary all morning, with the necessary perfect amount of seriousness, “but with your permission I will stay. My husband is not as healthy in the head as he should be, temporarily, but you - being a man of such intelligence - you would understand that though a wife cannot go against her husband’s wishes, it is written that even the Prophet himself had to be looked after.”
“True, true,” the mullah said and looked at McIver thoughtfully. McIver stared back perplexed, without understanding. “Stay if you wish.” “Thank you,” Genny said, with great deference. “Then I stay. Thank you, Excellency, for your agreement and your wisdom.” She hid her glee at her cleverness and said in English, “Duncan, the mullah Tehrani agrees I should stay.” She saw his eyes cross and added hastily, “I’ll wait in the car.” He was there before her. “You bloody get aboard that kite,” he said, “or I’ll bloody put you aboard.”
“Don’t be silly, Duncan, dear!” She was so solicitous. “And don’t shout, it’s so bad for your bloody pressure.” She saw Gavallan coming over and some of her confidence vanished. Around her was rotten snow and rotten sky and sour youths gaping at her. “You know I really do love this place,” she said brightly, “how could I leave?”
“You - you’re bloody leaving an - ” McIver was so angry he could hardly talk and for a second Genny was afraid she had gone too far.
“I’ll leave if you leave, Duncan. Right now. I’m not repeat not going without you and if you try to force me I’ll throw such a tantrum that it’ll blow the 125 and the whole airport to kingdom come! Andy, explain to this - this person! Oh, I know you can both drag me aboard but if you do you’ll both lose total face and I know you both too well! Andy!” Gavallan laughed. “Mac, you’ve had it!”
In spite of his rage, McIver laughed too, and the mullah watching and listening shook his head with disbelief at the antics of Infidels. “Gen, you…you’ve been planning this all along,” McIver sputtered.
“Who me?” She was all innocence. “Perish the thought!”
“All right, Gen,” McIver said, his jaw still jutting, “all right, you win, but you haven’t just lost face, you’ve lost tail as well.” “Aboard!” the mullah said.
“What about Armstrong?” McIver said.
“He knows the rules and the time.” Gavallan gave Genny a hug and shook hands with McIver. “See you soon and take care.” He went aboard, the jet took off, and during the long drive back to the office neither Genny nor Duncan McIver noticed the time passing. Both were preoccupied. Genny sat in the front. She was very tired but very satisfied. “You’re a good woman, Gen,” he had said the moment that they were alone, “but you’re not forgiven.” “Yes, Duncan,” she had said meekly, as a good woman does - from time to time.
“You’re not bloody forgiven at all.”
“Yes, Duncan.”
“And don’t yes Duncan me!” He drove on for a while, then he said gruffly, “I’d rather have you safe in Al Shargaz but I’m glad you’re here.” She said nothing, wisely. Just smiled. And put her hand on his knee. Both of them at peace now.
It was another foul drive, with many detours, more shootings, and more bodies and dogs and angry crowds, and garbage, the streets not cleaned for months now, the joubs long since clogged. Night came swiftly and the cold increased. Odd cars and some army trucks screamed by, careless of road safety, packed with men. “Are you tired, Duncan. Would you like me to drive?”
“No, I’m fine, thanks,” he said, feeling very tired, and very glad when at length they turned into their street, dark and ominous like all the rest, the only light coming from their penthouse office. He would have preferred to leave the car on the street but he was sure by the time he came back the gasoline would have been siphoned out even though there was a lock on the tank - if the car itself was even still there. He drove into their garage, locked the car, locked the garage, and they climbed the stairs. Charlie Pettikin met them on the landing, his face pasty. “Hi, Mac. Thank God y - ” Then he saw Genny and he stopped. “Oh, Genny! What, what happened? Didn’t the 125 get in?”
“She came in,” McIver said. “What the hell’s happened, Charlie?” Pettikin closed the office door after them, glanced at Genny who said wearily, “All right, I’m going to the loo.”
Christ Almighty, she thought, it’s all so bloody stupid - will they never learn? Duncan‘11 tell me as soon as we’re alone so I’ll hear it anyway and I’d much rather have it from the source. Tiredly she plodded for the door. “No, Gen,” McIver said and she stopped, startled. “You chose to stay so…” He shrugged. She noticed something different in him and did not know if it was good or if it was bad. “Let’s have it, Charlie.”
“Rudi came in on the HF less than half an hour ago,” Pettikin said in a rush. “HBC’s been shot down, blown out of the skies, no survivors b - ” Both Genny and McIver went white, “Oh, my God!” She groped for a chair. “I don’t understand what’s going on,” Pettikin said helplessly. “It’s all crazy, like a dream, but Tom Lochart hasn’t been clobbered, he’s at Bandar Delam with Rudi. H - ”
McIver came back to life. “Tom’s safe?” he burst out. “He got out?” “You don’t get out of a chopper if she was ‘blown out of the skies.’ Nothing makes any sense unless it’s a cover-up. Tom was flying spares, no passengers, but this officer said she was full of people, and Rudi said, ‘Tell Mr. McIver that Captain Lochart’s back off leave.’ I even talked to him!”
McIver gaped at him. “You talked to him? He’s safe? You’re sure? Off what leave, for God’s sake?”
“I don’t know but I did talk to him. He came on the blower.” “Wait a minute, Charlie. How’d Rudi reach us? Is he at Kowiss?” “No, he said he was calling from Abadan Air Traffic Control.” McIver muttered an obscenity, so
