enough. Is there a rig near that bearing that’s empty - still closed down?”
“Dozens. There’re dozens that’re still as the strikers left them months ago - doors welded closed, crazy, huh? Why?”
“Scrag said one of them might be an ideal spot to park gasoline and refuel.” Starke frowned. “Not in our area, Andy. He’s got some big platforms - ours’re little bitty ones mostly. We’ve none that could take more than one chopper at a time, and we sure as hell wouldn’t want to wait around. What’d old Scrag say?”
Gavallan told him.
“You think he’ll get to go see Rudi?”
“He said in the next few days. I can’t wait that long now. Could you find an excuse to get down to Bandar Delam?”
Starke’s eyes narrowed. “Sure. Maybe we could send a couple of our birds there an’ say we’re redeploying them - even better, tell Hotshot we’re putting ‘em on loan for a week. We can still get occasional clearances - so long as that sonofabitch’s out of the way.”
Gavallan sipped the beer, making it last. “We can’t operate any longer in Iran. Poor old Jordon should never have happened, and I’m damned sorry I didn’t order an evacuation weeks ago. Damned sorry.”
“He wasn’t your fault, Andy.”
“In a way he was. In any event we have to pull out. With or without our planes. We have to try to salvage what we can - without risking personnel.” “Any caper’s going to be goddamn risky, Andy.” Starke’s voice was gentle. “I know. I’d like you to ask your lads if they’d be part of Whirlwind.” “There’s no way we could get out all our choppers. No way.” “I know, so I propose we concentrate on our 212s only.” Gavallan saw Starke look at him with more interest. “Mac agreed. Could you fly your three out?” Starke thought a moment. “Two’s max that I could handle - we’d need two pilots, with say one mechanic per chopper for emergencies and some extra hands to handle the spare drums or inflight refuel - that’d be minimum. It’d be tricky but if we got lucky…” He whistled tonelessly, “Maybe we could send the other 212 to Rudi at Bandar Delam? Sure, why the hell not? I’d tell Hotshot she’s on loan for ten days. You could send me a confirm telex asking for the transfer. But hell, Andy, we’d still have three pilots here an - ”
The interbase phone rang. “Goddamn,” he said irritably, getting up and going over to it. “I’m so used to having the phones out, every time one rings I jump like a scalded cat expecting Armageddon. Hello, this’s Starke. Yeah?” Gavallan watched Starke, tall, lean, and so strong. Wish I was as strong, he thought.
“Ah, thanks,” Starke was saying. “Okay… sure, thanks, Sergeant. Who?… Sure, put him on.” Gavallan noticed the change in the voice and his attention increased. “Evening… No, we can’t, not now…. NO! We can’t! Not now, we’re busy.” He put the phone down with a muttered “sonofabitch.” “Hotshot, wanting to see us. ‘I want you both over in my office at once!’ Asshole!” He sipped some beer and felt better. “It was also Wazari in the tower reporting the last of our birds has just touched down.” “Who?” “Pop Kelly, he’s been on the Flotsam run, ferrying a few oilers from rig to rig - they’re way down in strength, except in fat-ass komitehs who’re more concerned with prayer meetings and kangaroo courts than pumping oil.” He shivered. “I tell you, Andy, the komitehs are Satan-sponsored.” Gavallan noted the word but said nothing as Starke continued, “They’re the pits.” “Yes. Azadeh nearly got killed - by stoning.” “What?”
Gavallan told him about the village and her escape from the village. “We still don’t know where the hell old Erikki is - I saw her before I left and she was… glazed is about the only word, still not over the shock.” Starke’s face became even grimmer. With an effort he shook off his anger. “Say we can get the 212s out, what about the guys? We’ve still three pilots and maybe ten mecs to get out before the caper, what about them? And what about all the spares? We’d be leaving three 206s and the Alouette… and what about all our household bits and pieces, our bank accounts, apartments in Tehran, photos, and all the kids’ stuff - hell, not just ours but all the other guys’, the ones we got out in the exodus? If we shove off, everything’ll be lost. Everything.”
“The company’ll reimburse everyone. I can’t do the bric-a-brac but we’ll pay bank accounts and cover the rest. Most’re minimal as most of you keep your funds in England and draw on them as you need them. For the last few months - certainly since the banks went on strike - we’ve been crediting all pay and allowances in Aberdeen. We’ll pay to replace furniture and personal stuff. Seems to me we can’t get most of it out anyway - ports are still clogged, practically no truckers, railways aren’t working, air freight almost nonexistent. Everyone’ll be reimbursed.”
Starke nodded slowly. He finished his beer to the dregs. “Even if we get the 212s out, you’re going to take a bath.”
Gavallan said patiently, “No. Add it up for yourself. Each 212’s worth $1 million, each 206 $150,000, an Alouette $500,000. We’ve twelve 212s in Iran. If we could get them out we’d be okay, still in business, and I could absorb Iran’s losses. Just. Business’s booming and twelve 212s would keep us going. Any spares we could get out’d be an extra bonus - again we could concentrate on 212 spares only. With our 212s we’re in business.”
He tried to maintain his confidence, but it was waning. So many hurdles to jump, mountains to scale, gorges to cross. Yes, but don’t forget that a journey often thousand leagues begins with one step. Be a little Chinese, he told himself. Remember your childhood in Shanghai and old Nanny Ah Soong and how she taught you about joss - part luck, part karma: “Joss is joss, young Master, good or bad. Sometimes you can pray for good joss and get it, sometimes not. But ayeeyah, don’t trust the gods too far - gods are like people. They sleep, go out to lunch, get drunk, forget what they’re supposed to do, lie, and promise, and lie again. Pray all you want but don’t depend on gods - only yourself and your family and even with them depend on yourself. Remember gods don’t like people, young Master, because people remind them of themselves….”
“Of course we’ll get the lads out, every last one. Meanwhile, would you ask for volunteers to fly out your two birds if, if I push the button on Whirlwind?”
Starke glanced back at the map. Then he said, “Sure. It’ll be me and either Freddy or Pop Kelly - the other guy can take the 212 to Rudi and join him in his plan, they’ve not so far to go.” He smiled wryly. “Okay?” “Thanks,” Gavallan said, feeling very good inside. “Thanks. Did you mention Whirlwind to Tom Lochart when he was here?”
“Sure. He said to count him out, Andy.”
“Oh.” The good feeling vanished. “Then that’s it. If he stays we can’t go forward.”
“He’s a ‘go,’ Andy, whether he likes it or not,” Starke said compassionately. “He’s committed - with or without Sharazad. That’s the tough part, with or without. He can’t escape HBC, Valik, and Isfahan.” After a moment Gavallan said, “I suppose you’re right. Unfair, isn’t it?” “Yes. Tom’s all right, he’ll understand eventually. I’m not so sure about Sharazad.”
“Mac and I tried to see her in Tehran. We went to the Bakravan house and knocked for ten minutes. No answer. Mac went yesterday too. Maybe they’re just not answering the door.”
“Not like Iranians.” Starke took off his flight jacket and hung it up in the small hall. “Soon as Tom gets back here tomorrow, I’ll send him to Tehran if there’s enough daylight left - latest, Monday morning. I was going to clear it with Mac tonight on our regular call.”
“Good idea.” Gavallan went on to the next problem. “Damned if I know what to do about Erikki either. I saw Talbot and he said he’d see what he could do, then I went to the Finnish embassy and saw a first secretary called Tollonen and told him too. He seemed very concerned - and just as helpless. “That’s rather a wild country and the border’s as fluid as the rebellion, insurrection, or fighting that’s going on there. If the KGB’s involved…’ He left it hanging, Duke, just like that. ‘If the KGB’s involved “What about Azadeh, can’t her daddy, the Khan, help?” “Seems they all had a huge row. She was very shook. I asked her to forget her Iranian papers and get on the 125 and wait for Erikki in Al Shargaz, but that went down like a lead balloon. She won’t move till Erikki reappears. I pointed out the Khan’s a law unto himself - he can reach into Tehran and kidnap her back too easily if he wants. She said, ‘Insha’Allah.’”
“Erikki‘11 be okay. I’d bet on that.” Starke was confident. “His ancient gods’ll guard him.”
“Hope so.” Gavallan had kept his parka on. Even so he was still feeling cold. Out of the window he could see the fueling still continuing. “How about a cuppa before I leave?”
“Sure.” Starke went to the kitchen. Above the sink was a mirror and over the butane stove opposite was an old, worn needlepoint mounted in frame that a friend in Falls Church had given to Manuela as a wedding present: SCREW HOME COOKING. He smiled, remembering how they had laughed when they had got it, then noticed the reflection of Gavallan in the mirror brood ing at the map. I must be crazy, he thought, zeroing back to six days and two choppers. How the hell’re we gonna clean out the base and still keep ourselves in one piece ‘cause Andy’s right
