“You mean go on - together?”
“Yes.”
After a pause she said, “First ask Gueng.”
“He does what I say.”
“Yes, of course. But please ask him. Another favor. Please?” He went to the neck of the cleft. Gueng was leaning against the rocks outside. Before he could say anything Gueng said softly in Gurkhali, “No danger yet, sahib. Outside.”
“Ah, you heard?”
“Yes, sahib.”
“What do you think?”
Gueng smiled. “What I think, sahib, has no weight, affects nothing. Karma is karma. I do what you say.”
AT TABRIZ AIRPORT: 12:40 P.M. Abdollah Khan stood beside his bulletproof Rolls on the snow-covered concrete apron near the airport terminal. He was flushed with rage, watching the 125 turn onto final, praying it would crash. Yesterday a telex relayed through police HQ had been brought by his nephew, Colonel Mazardi, the chief of police. “Please meet jet G-ETLL, ETA 1240 tomorrow Tuesday, [signed] Colonel Hashemi Fazir.” The name had sent an immediate shudder through him and everyone else who had access to the message. Inner Intelligence had always been above the law and Colonel Hashemi Fazir its grand inquisitor, a man whose ruthlessness was legend even in Iran where ruthlessness was expected and admired.
“What does he want here, Highness?” Mazardi had asked, very afraid. “To discuss Azerbaijan,” he had said, hiding his dread and seething at the curtness of the telex, completely thrown by this unexpected and unwanted arrival. “Of course to ask how he can assist me - he’s been a secret friend for years,” he added, lying automatically.
“I’ll order an honor guard and welcoming komiteh and ma - ” “Don’t be a fool! Colonel Fazir likes secrecy. Do nothing, don’t go near the airport, just make sure the streets are quiet and… ah, yes, increase pressure on the Tudeh. In fact, implement Khomeini’s orders to crush them. Bum their headquarters tonight and arrest their known leaders.” That will be a perfect pishkesh should I need one, he had thought, delighted with his cleverness. Isn’t Fazir fanatically anti-Tudeh? God be thanked that Petr Oleg gave his approval.
Then he had sent Mazardi away and cursed everyone near him and sent them away too. Now what does that son of a dog Fazir want with me? Over the years they had met several times and had exchanged information, to their mutual advantage. But Colonel Hashemi Fazir was one of those who believed that Iran’s only protection lay in absolute centralized government, ruled from Tehran, and that tribal chieftains were archaic and a danger to the state - and also Fazir was a Tehrani with the power to uncover too many secrets, secrets that could be used against him. God curse all Tehranis and send them to hell. And Azadeh, and her God-cursed husband! Azadeh! Did I truly sire that demon? It’s not possible! Someone must have… God forgive me that I suspect my Beloved Napthala! Azadeh’s Satan-possessed. But she won’t escape, oh no, I swear I’ll take her to Tbilisi and I’ll let Petr use her…
Blood began roaring in his ears again and the clawing started in his chest again, a grasping pain. Stop it, he told himself desperately, calm yourself. Put her aside, you’ll get your revenge later. Stop it or you’ll kill yourself! Stop it and put her aside and think of Fazir, you’ll need all your cunning to deal with him. She can’t escape.
When, just after dawn, petrified guards had rushed in to tell him the two prisoners had vanished and, almost at the same time she was also discovered missing, his violence had known no bounds. At once he had sent men to search her hiding place in the rocks that he had known about for years and ordered them not to come back without her or the saboteurs. He had had the nose of the night guard cut off, the rest of the guards flogged and shoved into jail, charged with conspiracy, her maids whipped. At length he had stormed off to the airport, leaving a pall of terror over the whole palace. God curse them all, he thought, making a great effort to calm himself, his eyes never leaving the jet. The sky was patchy blue with ominous clouds and a bad wind that swept the snow-covered runway. He wore an Astrakhan hat and fur-collared winter coat and fur-lined boots, the cold misting his glasses. In his pocket was a small revolver. Behind him, the small terminal building was empty but for his men who had secured it and the access road beyond. Above, on the roof, he had put a sniper into ambush with instructions to shoot Fazir if he took out a white handkerchief and blew his nose. I’ve done all I can, he thought, now it is up to God. Crash, you son of a burnt father!
But the 125 made a perfect touchdown, snow flaring from her wheels in a vast spray. His dread increased. And the sound of his own heartbeat. “As God wants,” he muttered and got into the back of the car, partitioned from the chauffeur and Ahmed, his most trusted counselor and bodyguard, by the movable, bulletproof glass. “Intercept it,” he ordered and checked the revolver, leaving the safety off.
The 125 came off the far end of the runway into the feeder area, turned into the wind and stopped. It was bleak here, just snowdrifts and empty space. The big black Rolls pulled up alongside, and the door of the jet swung open. He saw Hashemi Fazir standing there, beckoning him, “Salaam! Peace be upon you, Highness, come aboard.”
Abdollah Khan opened the window and called back, “Salaam, peace be upon you, Excellency, join me here.” You must think me a fool to put my head in such a trap, he thought. “Ahmed, go aboard, go armed and pretend you don’t speak English.”
Ahmed Dursak was a Muslim Turkoman, very strong, very quick with a knife or gun. He got out, the submachine gun loose in one hand, and ran nimbly up the steps, the wind pulling at his long coat. “Salaam, Excellency Colonel,” he said in Farsi, standing outside on the top step. “My Master begs you to please join him in the car - cabins of small jets make him disquieted. In the car you can talk in private and in peace, totally alone if you wish. He asks if you will honor his poor house and stay with him during your stay here.”
Hashemi was shocked that Abdollah had had the effrontery - and confidence - to send the emissary armed. Going to the car did not suit him either, too easy to be bugged, or booby-trapped. “Tell His Highness I sometimes have car sickness and I beg him to come here. Here we can speak in private, be alone also and it would be a favor to me. Of course you should search the cabin in case a foul alien sneaked aboard.”
“My Master would prefer, Excellency, that you j - ” Hashemi came closer to him and now his lips were a thin line and his voice as tight. “Search the airplane! Now! And do it quickly, Ahmed Dursak, three times murderer - one a woman called Najmeh - and do what I order or you will not last one more week on this earth.”
“Then all the sooner I will be in Paradise because serving the Khan I do God’s work,” Ahmed Dursak said, “but I will search as you wish.” He stepped through the doorway and saw the two pilots in the cockpit. In the cabin was Armstrong. His eyes narrowed but he said nothing, just went past politely and opened the lavatory door making sure it was empty. There was nowhere else that anyone could hide. “Should what you suggest be possible, Excellency, the pilots will leave?”
Earlier Hashemi had asked the captain, John Hogg, if he would oblige, should it become necessary.
“Sorry, sir,” Hogg had said, “but I don’t like that idea at all.” “It would only be for a few minutes. You can take the ignition key with you - and the circuit breakers,” Robert Armstrong had said. “I will personally guarantee no one gets into the cockpit or touches anything.” “I still don’t like that idea, sir.”
“I know,” Armstrong had said. “But Captain McIver told you you were to do what we asked. Within reason. And this’s within reason.”
Hashemi saw the arrogance in Ahmed’s face and he wanted to smash it off. That comes later, he promised himself. “The pilots will wait in the car.” “And the Infidel?”
“This Infidel speaks better Farsi than you, lice, and if you’re wise, lice, you’ll be polite to him and call him Excellency for I can assure you and your dog Turkoman ancestors he has as long a memory as me and can be more cruel than you can imagine.”
Ahmed’s mouth smiled. “And His Excellency, the Infidel, he waits on the runway also?”
“He stays here. The pilots wait in the car. Should His Highness want one guard with him - to make sure no assassins wait in ambush - he is of course welcome. If this arrangement does not suit him, then perhaps we should meet in police headquarters. Now take your foul manners away.” Ahmed thanked him politely and strode back and told the Khan what had been said, adding, “I think that dog’s turd must be very sure of himself to be so rude.” And in the airplane Hashemi was saying in English, “Robert, that son of a dog must be very sure of himself to have such arrogant servants.” “You’d really haul the Khan of all the Gorgons down to police HQ?” “I could try.” Hashemi lit another cigarette. “I don’t think I’d succeed. His nephew Mazardi’s still chief of police and police here still hold most of their power - Green Bands and komitehs aren’t dominant. Yet.” “Because of Abdollah?”
