JeanLuc frowned. “To me and to the base… actually Darius said, ‘This is from the kalandaran for the base and to give thanks for France’s help to the Imam, may God protect him.’ Why?”
“Nothing,” Lochart had said but later he had taken Scot aside. “Were you there when Darius delivered the goat?”
“Yes, yes, I was. I happened to be in the office and just thanked him an - ” The color had left Scot’s face. “Now that I think of it, Darius said as he was leaving, ‘It’s fortunate that the kalandaran is a great shot, isn’t it?’ I think I said, ‘Yes, fantastic.’ That’d be a dead giveaway, wouldn’t it?” “Yes - if you add it to my slip which now, now I mink’s got to be a deliberate trap. I was trapped too, so now Nitchak’s got to know there’re two of us who could be witnesses against the village.”
Last night and all today Lochart had been wondering what to do, how to get Scot and himself out, and he still had no solution.
Absently he climbed into the 206, waited until JeanLuc was clear, and took off. Now he was flying over the Ravine of the Broken Camels. The road that led to the village was still buried under tons of snow the avalanche had brought. They’ll never dig that out, he thought. On the rolling plateau he could see herds of goats and sheep with their shepherds. Ahead was Yazdek village. He skirted it. The schoolhouse was a scar in the earth, black amid the whiteness. Some villagers were in the square and they looked up briefly then went about their business. I won’t be sorry to leave, he thought. Not with Jordon murdered here. Zagros Three‘11 never be the same. The base was in chaos, men milling about - the last of those brought from other rigs and due to go to Shiraz, thence out of Iran. Cursing, exhausted mechanics were still packing spares, piling boxes and luggage for transshipment to Kowiss. Before he could get out of the cockpit, the refueling tender arrived with Freddy Ayre jauntily sitting on the hood. Yesterday, at Starke’s suggestion, Lochart had brought Ayre and another pilot, Claus Schwartenegger, to substitute for Scot. “I’ll take her now, Tom,” Ayre said. “You go and eat.”
“Thanks, Freddy. How’d it go?”
“Ropy. Claus’s taken another load of spares to Kowiss and he’ll be back in good time for the last one. Come sunset I’ll take the Alouette, she’s loaded to the gills and a bit more. What d’you want to fly out?” “The 212 - I’ll have Jordon aboard. Claus can take the 206. You’re off to Shiraz?”
“Yes. We’ve still got ten bods to get there - I was, er, thinking of taking five passengers instead of four for two trips. Eh?”
“If they’re small enough - no luggage - and so long as I don’t see you. Okay?”
Ayre laughed, the cold making his bruises more livid. “They’re all so anxious I don’t think they care much about luggage - one of the guys from Rig Maria said they heard shooting nearby.”
“One of the villagers hunting, probably.” The specter of the huntress with her high-powered rifle or for that matter any of the Kash’kai - all expert marksmen - filled him with dread. We’re so goddamn helpless, he thought, but kept it off his face. “Have a safe trip, Freddy.” He went to the cookhouse and got some hot horisht.
“Agha,” the cook said nervously, the other four helpers crowding around. “We’re due two months’ pay - what’s going to happen to our pay and to us?” “I’ve already told you, Ali. We’ll take you back to Shiraz where you came from. This afternoon. We pay you off there and as soon as I can I’ll send you the month’s severance pay we owe you. You keep in touch through IranOil as usual. When we come back you get your jobs back.”
“Thank you, Agha.” The cook had been with them for a year. He was a thin, pale man with stomach ulcers. “I don’t want to stay among these barbarians,” he said nervously. “When this afternoon?”
“Before sunset. At four o’clock you start cleaning up and get everything neat and tidy.”
“But, Agha, what’s the point of that? The moment we leave, the lice-covered Yazdeks will come and steal everything.”
“I know,” Lochart said wearily. “But you will leave everything neat and tidy and I will lock the door and maybe they won’t.”
“As God wants, Agha. But they will.”
Lochart finished his meal and went to the office. Scot Gavallan was there, face drawn, arm painfully in a sling. The door opened. Rod Rodrigues came in, dark rings around his eyes, his face pasty. “Hi, Tom, you haven’t forgotten, huh?” he asked anxiously. “I’m not on the manifest.” “No problem. Scot, Rod’s going with HJX. He’s going with you and JeanLuc to Al Shargaz.”
“Great, but I’m fine, Tom. I think I’d rather go to Kowiss.” “For Christ’s sake, you’re out to Al Shargaz and that’s the end of it!” Scot flushed at the anger. “Yes. All right, Tom.” He walked out. Rodrigues broke the silence. “Tom, what you want we send with HJX?” “How the hell do I know, for Ch - ” Lochart stopped. “Sorry, I’m getting tired. Sorry.”
“No sweat, Tom, so’re we all. Maybe we send her empty, huh?” With an effort Lochart put away his fatigue. “No, put the spare engine aboard - and any other 212 spares to make up the load.”
“Sure. That’d be good. Maybe y - ” The door opened and Scot came back in quickly. “Nitchak Khan! Look out the window!”
Twenty or more men were coming up the track from the village. All were armed. Others were already spreading out over the base, Nitchak Khan heading for the office trailer. Lochart went to the back window, jerked it open. “Scot, go to my hut, keep away from the windows, don’t let ‘em see you and don’t move until I come get you. Hurry!”
Awkwardly Scot climbed out and rushed off. Lochart pulled the window closed. The door opened. Lochart got up. “Salaam, Kalandar.”
“Salaam. Strangers have been seen in the forests nearby. The terrorists must be back so I have come to protect you.” Nitchak Khan’s eyes were hard. “As God wants, but I would regret it if there were more deaths before you leave. We will be here until sunset.” He left.
“What’d he say?” Rodrigues asked, not understanding Farsi. Lochart told him and saw him tremble. “No problem, Rod,” he said, covering his own fear. There was no way they could take off or land without being over forest, low, slow, and in sitting-duck range. Terrorists? Bullshit! Nitchak knows about Scot, knows about me, and I’ll bet my life he’s got marksmen planted all around, and if he’s here till sunset there’s no way to sneak off, he’ll know which chopper we’re on. Insha’Allah. Insha’Allah, but meanwhile what the hell’re you going to do?
“Nitchak Khan knows the countryside,” he said easily, not wanting to panic Rod, enough fear on the base already without adding to it. “He’ll protect us, Rod - if they’re there. Is the spare engine crated?”
“Huh? Sure, Tom, sure, she’s crated.”
“You take care of the loading. I’ll see you later. No sweat.” For a long time Lochart stared at the wall. When it was time to return to Rig Rosa, Lochart went to find Nitchak Khan. “You will Want to see that Rig Rosa’s been closed down properly, Kalandar, isn’t it on your land?” he said, and though the old man was reluctant, to his great relief he managed to persuade him with flattery to accompany him. With the Khan aboard, Lochart knew he would be safe for the time being.
So far so good, he thought. I’ll have to be the last away. Until we’re well away, Scot and I, I have to be very clever. Too much to lose now: Scot, the lads, Sharazad, everything.
AT RIG ROSA: 5:00 P.M. Jesper was driving their unit truck fast along the path through the pines that led to the last well to be capped. Beside him was Mimmo Sera, the roustabout and his assistant were in the back, and he was humming to himself, mostly to keep awake. The plateau was large, almost half a mile between wells, the countryside beautiful and wild. “We’re overdue,” Mimmo said wearily, looking at the lowering sun. “Stronzo!” “We’ll give it a go,” Jesper said. In the side pocket was the last of the energy-giving chocolate bars. The two men shared it. “This looks a lot like Sweden,” Jesper said, skidding a bend, the speed exhilarating him. “Never been to Sweden. There she is,” Mimmo said. The well was in a clearing, already on stream and producing about 12,000 barrels daily, the whole field immensely rich. Over the well was a giant column of valves and pipes, called the Christmas Tree, that connected it to the main pipeline. “This was the first we drilled here,” he said absently. “Before your time.” When Jesper switched the engine off, the silence was eerie, no pumps needed here to bring the oil to the surface - abundant gas pressure trapped in the oil dome thousands of feet below did that for them and would do so for years yet. “We’ve no time to cap it properly, Mr. Sera - unless you want to overstay our welcome.”
The older man shook his head, pulled his woolen cap down over his ears. “How long will the valves hold?”
Jesper shrugged. “Should be as long as you want - but unattended or inspected from time to time? Don’t know. Indefinitely - unless we get a gas surge - or one of the valves or seals’re faulty.”
“Stronzo!”
