partially audible, and heterodyning badly. Freddy Ayre reported that Starke had returned unharmed.
“Thank God for that!”
“Say ag… I’m read… g you one by five, Cap… … ver.” “I say again,” he said slowly and carefully. “Tell Starke I’m very glad he’s back. He’s okay?”
“……. tain Starke… swered ques…… iteh…… orily.” “Say again, Kowiss.”
“I say again, Capt….. arke answ…. . uestions of the …. iteh sa…” “You’re one by five. Try again at 9:00 A.M.; even better I’ll be here late and I’ll try around eleven.”
“Understand yo… … . ry later .. ound .. leven tonight?” “Yes. Around eleven tonight.”
“Capt… … hart and JeanLuc arriv … Zagro…. ree safely…”
The rest of the transmission was incomprehensible. Then he had settled back to wait. While he waited he slept a little and read a little and now, sitting at the telex machine, again he glanced at his watch: 10:30 P.M. “Soon as this’s done, I’ll call Kowiss,” he said out loud. Carefully he finished the telex to his wife adding for Manuela’s sake that everything was fine at Kowiss - it is, he thought, so long as Starke’s back and he’s okay, and the lads okay.
He fed the hole-punched tape into the cogged sender, typed the number for Al Shargaz, waited interminably for the answer back, then pressed the transmit button. The tape chattered through the cogs. Another long wait but the Al Shargaz accept code came up.
“Good.” He got up and stretched. In the desk drawer were his pills and he took the second of the day. “God- cursed blood pressure,” he muttered. His pressure was 160 over 115 at his last medical. The pills brought it down to a comfortable 135 over 85: “But listen, Mac, that doesn’t mean you can swill the whisky, wine, eggs, and cream - your cholesterol’s up too…” “What bloody whisky and cream, for Christ’s sake, Doc? This’s Iran…” He remembered how foul-tempered he had been and when Genny said, “How was it?” “Great,” he had said, “better than last time and don’t bloody nag!” The hell with it! Nothing I can do that I’m not doing but I certainly could use a large whisky and soda and ice and then another one. Normally there would be a bottle in the safe and ice and soda in the little refrigerator. Now there was none. Supplies zero. He made a cup of tea. What about Karim and HBC? I’ll think about that later: 11:00 P.M.
“Kowiss, this is Tehran, do you read?” Patiently he called and recalled and then stopped. In a quarter of an hour he tried again. No contact. “Got to be the storm,” he said, out of patience now. “To hell with it, I’ll try from home.”
He put on his heavy coat and went up the spiral staircase to the roof to check the level of generator fuel. The night was very black and quiet, hardly any gunfire and what there was was deadened by the snow. No lights anywhere that he could see. Snow still fell gently, almost five inches since dawn. He brushed it off his face and shone the flashlight on the gauge. The level of fuel was all right but somehow they’d have to get another supply in the next few days. Bloody nuisance. What about HBC? If Karim could get the book and the book could be destroyed, there’d be no evidence, would there? Yes, but what about Isfahan, refueling at Isfahan?
Lost in thought, he went back, locked up, and, using the flash to light his way, started down the five flights of stairs. He did not hear the telex chatter into life behind him.
In the garage he went to his car and unlocked it. His heart leaped as he saw a tall figure approaching. SAVAK and HBC jumped into his head; he almost dropped the flash but the man was Armstrong, dark raincoat and hat. “Sorry, Captain McIver, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Well, you bloody did,” he said furiously, heart still pounding. “Why the hell didn’t you announce yourself or come up to the office instead of hiding in the bloody shadows like a bloody villain?”
“You might have had more visitors - I saw one come out so I thought I’d just wait. Sorry. Please put the flash down.”
Angrily McIver did as he was asked - since Gavallan had pinpointed Armstrong, he had searched his own memory but had no recollection of ever meeting him. “Special Branch and CID” did nothing to ease his dislike. “Where the hell’ve you been? We expected you at the airport but you didn’t show.”
“Yes, sorry about that. When does the 125 come back to Tehran?” “Tuesday, God willing. Why?”
“Approximately when?”
“Noon, why?”
“Excellent. That would be perfect. I need to go to Tabriz; could I and a friend charter her?”
“No way. I could never get a clearance and who’s the friend?” “I’ll guarantee the clearance. Sorry, Captain, but it’s very important.” “I heard there’s heavy fighting in Tabriz; it was on the news tonight. Sorry, couldn’t authorize that, it’d be an unnecessary risk to air crew.” “Mr. Talbot will be glad to add his request for assistance,” Armstrong said in the same quiet, patient voice.
“No. Sorry.” McIver turned away but was stopped at the sudden venom. “Before you go shall I ask you about HBC and Lochart and your partner Valik and his wife and two children?”
McIver was shock-still. He could see the chiseled face and the hard mouth and eyes that glittered in the reflected light from the flash. “I - I don’t know what you mean.”
Armstrong reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper and held it up to McIver’s face. McIver directed the circle of light onto it. The paper was a photocopy of an entry in a clearance book. The writing was neat. “EP-HBC cleared at 0620 for an IHC charter to Bandar Delam, delivery of spares; pilot Captain T. Lochart, flight authorized by Captain McIver.” The lower half of the paper was a photocopy of the actual clearance, signed by him with Captain N. Lane crossed out “sick,” and Captain T. Lochart substituted. “A present, with my compliments.”
“Where did you get it?”
“When the 125 gets into Tehran airspace, radio Captain Hogg that he’s got an immediate charter to Tabriz. You’ll have the clearance in good time.” “No. I’ll not se - ”
“If you don’t arrange everything happily, and keep it all rather quiet - just between us,” Armstrong said with such finality that McIver was quite frightened, “the originals of these go to SAVAK - renamed SAVAMA.” “That’s blackmail!”
“It’s barter.” Armstrong shoved the paper into his hand, began to leave. “Wait! Where - where are the originals?”
“Not in their hands, for the moment.”
“If - if I do what you say, I get them back, all right?”
“You must be joking! Of course you get nothing.”
“That’s not fair - that’s not bloody fair!”
Armstrong came back and stood over him, his face a mask. “Of course it’s not fair. If you get these back you’re out of the vise, aren’t you? All of you. So long as these exist, you will do what’s required of you, won’t you?” “You’re a bloody bastard!”
“And you’re a fool who should look after his blood pressure.” McIver gasped. “How d’you know about that?”
“You’d be astounded what I know about you and Genevere MacAllister and Andrew Gavallan and the Noble House and lots of other things that I haven’t begun to use yet.” Armstrong’s voice became rougher, his tiredness and anxiety taking away his control. “Don’t you bloody understand there’s the very strong probability of Soviet tanks and aircraft permanently stationed this side of Hormuz and Iran a bloody Soviet province? I’m tired of playing silly buggers with you ostriches - just do what I ask without arguing and if you don’t I’ll shop the bloody lot of you.”
Tuesday - February 20
Chapter 39
TABRIZ: 5:12 A.M. In the small hut on the edge of the Khan’s estate, Ross was suddenly awake. He lay motionless, keeping his breathing regular but all of his senses concentrated. Seemingly nothing untoward, just the usual insects and closeness of the room. Through the window he could see that the night was dark, the sky mostly overcast. Across the room on the other pallet, Gueng slept curled up, breathing normally. Because of the cold, both men had gone to bed with their clothes on. Noiselessly Ross went to the window and searched the darkness. Still nothing. Then, close to his ear, Gueng whispered, “What is it, sahib?”
“I don’t know. Probably nothing.”
Gueng nudged him and pointed. There was no guard in the seat outside on the veranda.
“Perhaps he’s just gone to take a leak.” There had always been at least one guard. By day or night. Last night there had been two so Ross had made a mock dummy in his bed and left Gueng to divert them and had slipped out
