reason why she went, he thought. “Things’ve been bad here?”
“Yes, and getting worse. Lots more executions.” Pettikin thought it better not to mention Sharazad’s father in front of Sayada. No point in worrying her. “How about tea? I’ve just made some. You hear about Qasr Jail today?” “What about it?”
“A mob stormed it,” Pettikin said, going into the kitchen for extra cups. “They broke down the door and released everyone, strung up a few SAVAKs and police, and now the rumor is Green Bands have set up shop with kangaroo courts and they’re filling the cells with whom the hell ever and emptying them as quickly in front of firing squads.”
Sayada would have said that the prison had been liberated and that now enemies of the revolution, enemies of Palestine, were getting their just punishment. But she held her peace and listened attentively as Pettikin continued: “Mac went to the airport with Genny early, then to the Ministry, then here. He’ll be back soon. How was the traffic at the airport, JeanLuc?”
“Jammed for miles.”
“The Old Man’s stationed the 125 at Al Shargaz for a couple of weeks to get all our people out - if necessary - or bring in fresh crews.” “Good. Scot Gavallan’s overdue for leave and also a couple of our mechanics - can the 125 get clearance to stop at Shiraz?”
“We’re trying next week. Khomeini and Bazargan want full oil production back, so we think they’ll cooperate.”
“You’ll be able to bring in new crews, Charlie?” Sayada asked, wondering if a British 125 should be allowed to operate so freely. Damn British, always conniving!
“That’s the plan, Sayada.” Pettikin poured more boiling water into the teapot and did not notice the grimace on JeanLuc’s face. “We’ve been more or less ordered by the British embassy to evacuate all nonessential personnel - we got out a few redundancies, and Genny, and then Johnny Hogg went to pick up Manuela Starke at Kowiss.”
“Manuela’s at Kowiss?” Sayada was as surprised as JeanLuc. Pettikin told him how she had arrived and McIver had sent her down there. “So much going on it’s difficult to keep tabs on everything. What’re you doing here and how’re things at Zagros? You’ll stay for dinner - I’m cooking tonight.”
JeanLuc hid his horror. “Sorry, mon vieux, tonight is impossible. As to Zagros, at Zagros things are perfect, as always; after all it is the French sector. I’m here to fetch Schlumberger - I return at dawn tomorrow and will have to bring them back in two days - how can I resist the extra flying?” He smiled at Sayada and she smiled back. “In fact, Charlie, I’m long overdue a weekend - where’s Tom Lochart, when’s he coming back to Zagros?” Pettikin’s stomach twisted. Since they had had the call three days ago from Rudi Lutz at Abadan Tower reporting that HBC had been shot down trying to sneak over the border and that Tom Lochart was “back off leave,” they had had no further information other than one formal call relayed through Kowiss that Lochart had started back for Tehran by road. No official inquiries, yet, about the hijack.
I wish to God Tom was back, Pettikin thought. If Sayada wasn’t here I’d tell JeanLuc about it, he’s a bigger friend of Tom’s than I am, but I don’t know about Sayada. After all, she’s not family, she works for Kuwaitis and this HBC business could be called treason.
Absently he poured a cup and handed it to Sayada, another to JeanLuc, hot, black, with sugar and goat’s milk which neither of them liked but accepted out of politeness. “Tom’s done what he had to do,” he said carefully, making it sound light. “He started back from Bandar Delam day before yesterday by road. God knows how long he’ll take but he should’ve been here last night. Easy. Let’s hope he arrives today.”
“That would be perfect,” JeanLuc said. “Then he could take the Schlumberger team back to Zagros and I’d take a few days’ leave.” “You’ve just had leave. And you’re in command.”
“Well, at the very least he can come back with me, take over the base, and I’ll return here Sunday.” JeanLuc beamed at Sayada. “Voilr, it’s all fixed.” Without noticing it, he took a sip of tea and almost choked. “Mon Dieu, Charlie, I love you like a brother but this is merde.” Sayada laughed and Pettikin envied him. Still, he thought, his heart picking up a beat, Paula’s Alitalia flight’s due back any day… what wouldn’t I give to have her eyes light up for me like Sayada’s do for M’sieur Seduction himself.
Better go easy, Charlie Pettikin. You could make a damn fool of yourself. She’s twenty-nine, you’re fifty-six, and you’ve only chatted her up a couple of times. Yes. But she excites me more than I’ve been excited in years and now I can understand Tom Lochart going overboard for Sharazad. The warning buzzer went on the High Frequency transmitter-receiver on the sideboard. He got up and turned up the volume. “HQ Tehran, go ahead!” “This is Captain Ayre in Kowiss for Captain McIver. Urgent.” The voice was mixed with static and low.
“This is Captain Pettikin, Captain McIver’s not here at the moment. You’re two by five.” This was a measure, one to five, of the signal strength. “Can I help?”
“Standby One.”
JeanLuc grunted. “What’s with Freddy and you? Captain Ayre and Captain Pettikin?”
“It’s just a code,” Pettikin said absently staring at the set, and Sayada’s attention increased. “It just sort of developed and means someone’s there or listening in who shouldn’t. A hostile. Replying with the same formality means you got the message.”
“That’s very clever,” Sayada said. “Do you have lots of codes, Charlie?” “No, but I’m beginning to wish we had. It’s a bugger not knowing what’s going on really - no face-to-face contact, no mail, phones and the telex ropy with so many trigger-happy nutters muscling us all. Why don’t they turn in their guns and let’s all live happily ever after?”
The HF was humming nicely. Outside the windows, the day was overcast and dull, the clouds promising more snow, the late afternoon light making all the city roofs drab and even the mountains beyond. They waited impatiently. “This is Captain Ayre at Kowiss…” Again the voice was eroded by static and they had to concentrate to hear clearly. “… first I relay a message received from Zagros Three a few minutes ago from Captain Gavallan.” JeanLuc stiffened. “The message said exactly: ‘Pan pan pan’” - the international aviation distress signal just below Mayday - ” ‘I’ve just been told by the local komiteh we are no longer persona grata in Zagros and to evacuate the area with all expatriates from all our rigs within forty-eight hours, or else. Request immediate advice on procedure.’ End of message. Did you copy?” “Yes,” Pettikin said hastily, jotting some notes.
“That’s all he said, except he sounded checker.”
“I’ll inform Captain McIver and call you back as soon as possible.” JeanLuc leaned forward and Pettikin let him take the mike.
“This’s JeanLuc, Freddy, please call Scot and tell him I’ll be back as planned tomorrow before noon. Good to talk to you, thanks, here’s Charlie again.” He handed the mike back, all of his bonhomie vanished. “Will do, Captain Sessonne. Nice to talk to you. Next: the 125 picked up our outgoings along with Mrs. Starke, including Captain Jon Tyrer who’d been wounded in an aborted leftist counterattack at Bandar Delam…” “What attack?” JeanLuc muttered.
“First I’ve heard of it.” Pettikin was just as concerned. “… and, according to plan, will bring back replacement crews in a few days. Next: Captain Starke.” They all heard the hesitation and underlying anxiety and the curious stilted delivery as though this information was being read: “Captain Starke has been taken into Kowiss for questioning by a komiteh…” Both men gasped. “… to ascertain facts about a mass helicopter escape of pro-Shah air force officers from Isfahan on the thirteenth, last Tuesday, believed to have been piloted by a European. Next: air operations continue to improve under close supervision of the new management. Mr. Esvandiary is now our IranOil area manager and wants us to take over all Guerney contracts. To do this would require three more 212s and one 206. Please advise. We need spares for HBN, HKJ, and HGX and money for overdue wages. That’s all for now.”
Pettikin kept scribbling, his brain hardly working. “I’ve, er, I’ve noted everything and will inform Captain McIver as soon as he returns. You said, er, you said ‘an attack on Bandar Delam.’ Please give the details.” The airwaves were silent but for static. They waited. Then again Ayre’s voice, not stilted now: “I’ve no information other than there was an anti-Ayatollah Khomeini attack that Captains Starke and Lutz helped put down. Afterward Captain Starke brought the wounded here for treatment. Of our personnel only Tyrer was creased. That is all.”
Pettikin felt a bead of sweat on his face and he wiped it off. “What… what happened to Tyrer?”
Silence. Then: “A slight head wound. Dr. Nutt said he’d be okay.” JeanLuc said, “Charlie, ask him what was that about Isfahan.” As though in dreamtime. Pettikin saw his ringers click on the sender switch. “What was that about Isfahan?”
They waited in the silence. Then: “I have no information other than what I gave you.”
