chance, about Tom.” He repeated what Sharazad had told him. “How could Tom be alive and them all dead?”
McIver felt the hurt in his chest begin again. “She’s mistaken.” “In the Name of God, tell me the truth! You must know! Tom must’ve told you, you can trust me,” the young man exploded, beside himself with worry. “You’ve got to trust me. Perhaps I can help. Tom’s in terrible danger, so’s Sharazad and all our families! You’ve got to trust me! How did Tom get out?”
629 McIver felt the knot tightening around them all - Lochart, Pettikin, him. Don’t lose your wits, he ordered himself, be careful. You daren’t admit anything. Don’t admit anything. “Far as I know Tom was nowhere near HBC.” “Liar!” the young man said enraged and spilled out what he had concluded all the way here, walking, fighting on a bus, walking again, snow falling and cold and desperate - the komiteh still to appear before. “You must’ve signed the clearance, you or Pettikin, and Tom’s name’s got to be on the clearance - I know you all too well, you and your hammering into us about flying by the book, signing forms, always have a form signed. You did, didn’t you? Didn’t you?” he shouted.
“I think you’d better go, Captain,” McIver said curtly.
“You’re as involved as Tom, don’t you see? You’re in trouble as mu - ” “I think you’d better leave it. I know you’re overwrought and it’s terrible about your father,” he said kindly. “I’m truly, terribly sorry.” There was no sound but the gentle hum of the HF and the generator that was above on the roof. McIver waited. Karim waited. Then the young man half nodded. “You’re right,” he said crestfallen, “why should you trust me? Trust’s gone away from us. Our world’s become hell on earth and all because of the Shah. We trusted him but he failed us, gave us false allies, muzzled our generals, ran away and left us in the pit, shamed, left us to false mullahs. I swear by God you can trust me but what difference does that make to you or anyone? Trust’s gone from us.” His face twisted. “Perhaps God’s gone from us.” The HF in the other room crackled gently, static from an electrical storm somewhere. “Can you get Zagros? Sharazad said Tom went back this morning.”
“I tried earlier but can’t raise them,” McIver said truthfully. “This time of the year it’s almost impossible but I heard they arrived safely. Our base in Kowiss relayed a report just after noon.”
“You’d… you’d better tell Tom, tell him what I told you. Tell him to get out.” Karim’s voice was dulled. “You’re all blessed, you can all go home.” Then his despair burst and tears spilled down his cheeks. “Oh, laddie…” Compassionately McIver put an arm around his shoulders and gentled him, the youth of an age with his own son safe in England, safely born English, safe on the ground, a doctor and nothing to do with flying, safe… God in heaven, who the hell is ever safe?
In a little while he felt the heaving of the youth’s chest lessen. To save Karim’s face, he backed off and turned and looked at the kitchenette. “I was just going to have some tea, will you join me?”
“I’ll…just have some water and then, then I’ll go, thank you.” At once McIver went to fetch some. Poor lad, he was thinking, how terrible about his father - such a wonderful fellow, tough, hard-line but straight and loyal and never a fiddle on the side. Terrible. God Almighty, if they’ll shoot him, they’ll shoot anyone. We’ll all be dead soon, one way or another. “Here,” he said, sickened, giving Karim the glass.
The youth accepted it, embarrassed that he had lost control in front of a foreigner. “Thank you. Good night.” He saw McIver staring at him strangely. “What is it?”
“Just a sudden idea, Karim. Could you get access to Doshan Tappeh Tower?” “I don’t know. Why?”
“If you could, without anyone knowing what you wanted, maybe you could get HBC’s clearance - it’s got to be in the takeoff book, if they were using one that day. Then we could see, couldn’t we, who was flying her. Eh?” “Yes, but what good would that do?” Karim watched the pale eyes set in the craggy face. “They’d have the automatic tape recorders on.” “Maybe, maybe not. There’d been fighting there - maybe they were not so efficient. Far as we know, whoever took HBC didn’t have verbal clearance to or from the tower. He just took off. Maybe in all the excitement they didn’t even record any clearance.” McIver’s hope grew as he developed his thought. “Only the book’d tell, the takeoff clearance book. Wouldn’t it?” Karim tried to see where McIver was leading him. “And what if it says Tom Lochart?”
“I don’t see how it could, because then it’d have my signature on it, and then it’d, er, it’d have to be a forgery.” McIver loathed the falsehoods, his hastily made-up story sounding weaker every minute. “The only clearance I signed was for Nogger Lane to take some spares to Bandar Delam but canceled it and him before he could go. The spares were unimportant and what with one thing and another, by that time HBC’d been hijacked.” “The clearance’s the only proof?”
“Only God knows that for certain. If the clearance says Tom Lochart and it’s signed by me, it’s a forgery. A forgery like that
could cause lots of troubles. As such it shouldn’t exist. Should it?” Slowly Karim shook his head, his mind already taking him to the tower, past the guards - would there be guards? - finding the book and the right page and seeing… seeing the Green Band in the doorway but killing him, taking the book and hurrying away, as silently and secretly as he had entered, going to the Ayatollah, telling him about the monstrous crime committed against his father, the Ayatollah wise and listening and not like the dogs who abused the Word, at once ordering revenge in the Name of the One God. Then going to Meshang and telling him the family was saved, but more important, knowing the Sharazad he loved to distraction and wanted to distraction but never possible in this life - first cousin and against Koranic law - was also saved.
“The clearance shouldn’t exist,” he said, very tired now. He got up. “I’ll try. Yes, I’ll try. What happened to Tom?”
Behind McIver the telex began to chatter. Both jumped. McIver put his attention back on Karim. “When you see him ask him, that’s the right thing to do. Isn’t it? You ask Tom.”
“Salaam.”
They shook hands and he left and McIver relocked the door. The telex was from Genny in Al Shargaz: “Hello number one child. Talked at length with Chinaboy who arrives tomorrow night, Monday, and will be on the 125 to Tehran, Tuesday. He says imperative you meet him for conference at airport. All arrangements made here for repairs on the 212s and fast turnaround. Acknowledge. Talked to kids in England and all’s well. I’m having a wonderful time here, whooping it up and on the town, glad you’re not here, why aren’t you? MacAllister.”
MacAllister was her maiden name and she used it only when she was very pissed off with him. “Good old Gen,” he said aloud, the thought of her making him feel better. Glad she’s safe and out of this mess. Glad she called the kids, that’ll make her happy. Good old Gen. He reread the telex. What the hell’s imperative with Andy? I’ll know soon enough. At least we’re in touch through Al Shargaz. He sat at the secretary chair and began to type out the acknowledgment.
At dusk he had got a telex from HQ in Aberdeen, but it had arrived garbled. Only the signature was legible: Gavallan. At once he had telexed for a repeat and had been waiting ever since. Tonight radio reception was also bad. There were rumors of big snowstorms in the mountains and the BBC World Service, fading badly and worse than usual, told of huge storms across all of Europe and the East Coast of America, terrible floods in Brazil. News had been generally rotten: strikes continuing in Britain, heavy fighting inside Vietnam between Chinese and Vietnamese armies, a Rhodesian airliner coming in to land shot down by guerrillas, Carter expected to order gasoline rationing, Soviets testing a fifteen-hundred-mile cruise missile, and in Iran, “Chairman Yasir Arafat met Ayatollah Khomeini in a tumultuous welcome, the two leaders embraced publicly, and the PLO took over Israeli Mission Headquarters in Tehran. Four more generals were reported shot. Heavy fighting continues in Azerbaijan between pro-and anti-Khomeini forces, Prime Minister Bazargan ordered the U.S. to close two radar listening posts on the Iran-Soviet border, and arranged a meeting with the Soviet ambassador and Ayatollah Khomeini in the next few days to discuss outstanding differences …”
Depressed, McIver had turned the set off, the strain of trying to sift the news from the static had given him a worse headache. He had had one all day. It had started after his meeting this morning with Minister Ali Kia. Kia had accepted the notes on a Swiss bank, “license fees” for the three 212 departures, and also for six landings and takeoffs for the 125 and had promised to find out about the Zagros expulsions: “Tell the Zagros komiteh meanwhile their order is overruled by this department pending investigation.”
Fat lot of good that’ll do when you’re looking down the barrel of a gun! he thought. Wonder how Erikki and Nogger are doing now? This afternoon a telex relayed by Tabriz ATC from Iran-Timber had come in: “Captains Yokkonen and Lane are required here for emergency work for three days. Usual terms for the charter. Thanks.” It was signed as usual by the area manager and a normal request. Better for Nogger than sitting on his butt, McIver had thought. Wonder what Azadeh’s father wanted her for?
Promptly at 7:30 P.M. Kowiss had come through but transmission was barely two by five, just enough to be
