would like possession of the contents of the U.S. ambassador’s safe.
“When does the Frenchman, your lover, return?”
“I don’t know,” she said at once, allowing her surprise to show. “Where is he now?”
“At his base in the Zagros. It’s called Zagros Three.”
“Where is the pilot Lochart?”
“I think also at Zagros.”
“When does he return here?”
“You mean here? This apartment? I don’t think he’ll ever return here.” “To Tehran?”
Her eyes strayed to the bedroom as much as she tried to resist and she saw Teymour. Her stomach revolted, she groped for the toilet and was violently sick. The man watched without emotion, satisfied that one of her barriers was broken. He was used to bodies reacting of their own volition to terror. Even so, his gun covered her and he watched carefully in case of a trick. When the spasm had passed, she cleaned her mouth with a little water, trying to dominate her nausea, cursing Teymour for being so stupid as to send the others away. Stupid! she wanted to shriek, stupid when you’re surrounded by enemies on the Right, or the Left, or in the Center - did it ever bother me before to make love when others were around, so long as the door was closed? She leaned back against the basin, facing her nemesis.
“First we go to the French Club,” he said. “You will get the rest of the material and give it to me. Clear?”
“Yes.”
“From now on you will work for us. Secretly. You will work for us. Agreed?” “Do I have a choice?”
“Yes. You can die. Badly.” The man’s lips thinned even more and his eyes became reptilian. “After you have died, a child by the name of Yassar Bialik will receive attention.”
All color left her face.
“Ah, good! Then you remember your little son who lives with your uncle’s family in Beirut’s Street of the Flower Merchants?” The man stared at her, then demanded, “Well, do you?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” she said, barely able to talk. Impossible for them to know about my darling Yassar, even my husband doesn’t kn - “What happened to the boy’s father?”
“He… he was killed… he was… killed.”
“Where?”
“In… the Golan Heights.”
“Sad to lose a young husband just a few months married,” the man said thinly. “How old were you then?”
“Sev… seventeen.”
“Your memory does not fail you. Good. Now if you choose to work for us, you and your son and uncle and his family are safe. If you do not obey us perfectly, or if you try to betray us, or commit suicide, the boy Yassar will cease to be a man and cease to see. Clear?”
Helplessly she nodded, her face ashen.
“If we die, others will make sure we are avenged. Do not doubt it. Now, what’s your choice?”
“I will serve you,” and make my son safe and be avenged but how, how? “Good, on me eyes and balls and cock of your son you will serve us?”
“Yes. PI… please, who… who do I serve?”
Both men smiled. Without humor. “Never ask again or try to find out. We will tell you when it is necessary, if it is necessary. Clear?” “Yes.”
The man with the gun unscrewed the silencer and put it and the gun into his pocket. “We want to know immediately when either the Frenchman or Lochart return - you will make it your duty to find out - also how many helicopters they have here in Tehran and where. Clear?”
“Yes. How do I get in touch with you, please?”
“You will be given a phone number.” The eyes flattened even more. “For yourself alone. Clear?”
“Yes.”
“Where does Armstrong live? Robert Armstrong?”
“I don’t know.” Warning signals rushed through her. Rumor had it that Armstrong was a trained assassin employed by MI6.
“Who is George Telbot?”
“Talbot? He’s an official in the British embassy.”
“What official? What’s his job?”
“I don’t know, just an official.”
“Are either of them your lovers?”
“No. They… they go to the French Club sometimes. Acquaintances.” “You will become Armstrong’s mistress. Clear?”
“I… I will try.”
“You have two weeks. Where is Lochart’s wife?”
“I… I think at die Bakravan family house near the bazaar.” “You will make sure. And get a key to the front door.” The man saw her eyes flicker and hid his amusement. If diat goes against your scruples, he thought, never mind. Soon you’ll be eating shit widi great joy if we wish it. “Get your coat, we go at once.”
Her knees were weak as she went across the bedroom, heading for the front door.
“Wait!” The man stuffed the contents back into her handbag and then, as an afterthought, carelessly wrapped that which was on the pillow in one of her paper tissues and put that also into the handbag. “To remind you to obey.” “No, please.” Her tears flooded. “I can’t… not that.”
The man shoved the handbag into her hands. “Then get rid of it.” In misery she staggered back to the bathroom and threw it into the squatter and was very sick again, more man before.
“Hurry up!”
When she could make her legs work she faced him. “When the others… when they come back and find… if I’m not here they … they will know that… that I’m part of those who… who did this and…”
“Of course. Do you think we’re fools? Do you think we’re alone? The moment the four of them return they’re dead and this place conflagrated.”
AT MCIVER’S APARTMENT: 4:20 P.M. Ross said, “I don’t know, Mr. Gavallan, I don’t remember much after I left Azadeh on the hill and went into the base, more or less up to the time we got here.” He was wearing one of Pettikin’s uniform shirts and a black sweater and black trousers and black shoes and was shaved and neat, but his face showed his utter exhaustion. “But before that, everything happened as… as I told you.”
“Terrible,” Gavallan said. “But, thank God for you, Captain. But for you the others’d be dead. Without you they’d all be lost.
Let’s have a drink, it’s so damned cold. We’ve some whisky.” He motioned to Pettikin. “Charlie?”
Pettikin went to the sideboard. “Sure, Andy.”
“I won’t, thanks, Mr. McIver,” Ross said.
“I’m afraid I will and the sun’s not over the yardarm,” McIver said.
“So will I,” Gavallan said. The two of them had arrived not long ago, still shaken from their almost disaster and worried because at the Bakravan house they had used the iron door knocker again and again but to no avail. Then they had come here. Ross, dozing on the sofa, had almost leaped out of sleep when the front door opened, kookri threateningly in his hand. “Sorry,” he had said shakily, sheathing the weapon. “That’s all right,” Gavallan had pretended, not over his fright. “I’m Andrew Gavallan. Hi, Charlie! Where’s Azadeh?”
“She’s still asleep in the spare bedroom,” Pettikin answered. “Sorry to make you jump,” Gavallan had said. “What happened, Captain, at Tabriz?” So Ross had told them, disjointedly, jumping back and forth until he had finished. Exploding out of heavy sleep had disoriented him. His head ached, everything ached, but he was glad to be telling what had happened, reconstructing everything, gradually filling in the blank parts, putting the pieces into place. Except Azadeh. No, I can’t put her in place yet. This morning when he had come out of a malevolent wake- sleep dream, he had been terrified, everything mixed up, jet engines and guns and stones and explosions and cold, and staring at his hands to make sure what was dream and what was real. Then he had seen a man peering at him and had cried out, “Where’s Azadeh?”
“She’s still asleep, Captain Ross, she’s in the spare room down the hall,” Pettikin had told him, calming him.
