he had been extra careful. Too bloody right, he thought. No fags, no booze, no food, and plenty of sheilas. “You still have supplies, Rudi? At Lengeh it’s getting rough ‘cept for de Plessey and his wine.”
“I got some off a tanker that’s tied up down at the port,” Rudi called back from the small kitchen, putting on the kettle. “CASEVAC, seaman with his head and face smashed up. The captain said he’d had a fall but it looked more like a bad fight. Not surprisingly really, the ship’s been stuck at anchor for three months. Mein Gott, Scrag, did you see the pileup in the port when you came in? Must be a hundred ships waiting to unload, or to take on oil.”
“Same at Kharg and all along the coast, Rudi, everywhere’s clogged. Wharfs sky-high with crates, bales, an’ Gawd knows what, all left rotting in the sun or rain. Enough of that, wot’re you doing here, Duke?” “I ferried a 212 from Kowiss yesterday. But for the weather I’d’ve left at dawn - glad I didn’t now.”
Scragger heard the caution in the voice and looked around. No one listening that he could see. “Problem?” He saw Starke shake his head. Rudi turned on the music cassette. Wagner. Scragger hated Wagner. “Wot’s up?” “Just cautious - these damn walls are too thin - and I caught one of the staff eavesdropping. I think most of them are spies. Then we’ve a new base manager, Numir, Nasty Numi we call him. He’s off today, otherwise you’d be explaining why you’re here in triplicate.” Rudi made his voice lower. “There are whirlwinds to talk about. But what are you doing here, Scrag? Why didn’t you call us?”
“Came into Iran-Toda yesterday on a charter fora guy called Kasigi who’s the big buyer of Siri crude and a bigwig with Iran-Toda - old Georges de Plessey arranged it. I’m here for today, leave tomorrow early. Andy asked me to see you to sound you out and this was as soon as I could make it. I couldn’t raise you on the UHF coming in - could’ve been the storm, I just snuck in in time. Couldn’t get permission to fly over here, so I pulled a wire off the pot just in case and ‘urgently needed a repair.’ Duke, Andy told you wot we talked about in Al Shargaz?”
“Yes, yes, he did. And you better know there’s a new twist. Andy’s been told we’re being grounded pending nationalization and we’ve only five days - five safe days only. If we’re to do it, at the latest it should be Friday.” “Jesus H, Christ!” Scragger felt his chest tighten. “Duke, there’s no way I can get ready by Friday.”
“Andy says we take out 212s only.”
“Eh?”
Starke explained what had happened at Kowiss and what, hopefully, would happen “if Andy pushes the go.”
“Come off it - not if, when. Andy has to. The question is, do we stick our necks out?”
Starke laughed. “You already have. I said I’m in if everyone else is - with two 212s it’s possible for me, and now that… well, now that our birds’re back on British registry once we’re out, that makes it legit.” “The hell it does,” Rudi said. “It’s just not legal. I told you last night and Pop Kelly agreed. Scrag, how’re - ”
“Pop’s here?”
“Sure,” Starke said. “He came down with me.” He explained why, then added, “Hotshot approved the ‘loan,’ we got two guys out on the 125 and the rest scheduled for Thursday but I’m not so sure about that. Colonel Changiz said in future all personnel movements’re to be approved by him, not just by Hotshot.”
“How’re you getting back?”
“I’ll take a 206.” Starke looked out of the window at the rain. “Goddamn front!”
“She’ll be through by tonight, Duke,” Scragger said confidently. Rudi said, “How’re you going to get your men out, Scrag? Hein?” “If it’s just my two 212s, that makes it much easier. Much.” Scragger saw Rudi quaff some of his ice-cold beer, the beads on the can glistening, and his thirst increased. “Friday’d be a good day for a caper because Iranians’ll be at prayer meetings or whatever.”
“I’m not so sure, Scrag,” Rudi said. “Friday they still man the radar - they’ll have to know something’s up with my four birds charging across the Gulf, let alone your three and Duke’s two. Abadan’s itchy as all hell about choppers - particularly after HBC.”
“There been any more inquiries about her, Rudi?”
“Yes. Last week Abbasi came by, he’s the pilot who blew her out of the sky. Same questions, nothing more.”
“Does he know his brother was HBC’s pilot?”
“Not yet, Scrag.”
“Tom Lochart was bloody lucky. Bloody lucky.”
“We’ve all been ‘bloody lucky.’ So far,” Starke said. “Except Erikki.” He brought Scragger up to date with the little they knew.
“Christ, wot next? How’re we going to do Whirlwind with him still in Iran?” “We can’t Scrag - that’s what I think,” Rudi said. “We can’t leave him.” “That’s right but maybe…” Starke drank some coffee, his own anxiety making him feel a little bilious. “Maybe Andy won’t push the button. Meanwhile we hope to God Erikki gets away, or is let go before Friday. Then Andy can. Shit, if it was up to me, just me, goddamned if I’d risk Whirlwind.” “Nor me.” Rudi was equally queasy.
“If they were all your planes and your company and your future, bet you would. Know I would.” Scragger beamed. “Me, I’m for Whirlwind. I got to be for it, sport, no bloody company’ll employ me at my age so I bloody have to keep Dirty Dunc and Andy the Gav in biz if I’m to keep flying.” The kettle began singing. He got up. “I’ll make it, Rudi. Wot about you? You in or out?”
“Me, I’m in if you two are, and if it’s a possible - but I like it not a bit and I’m telling you straight I’ll only lead my four out if I really think we’ve a chance. We talked to the other pilots last night, Scrag. Marc Dubois and Pop Kelly said they’d have a go, Block and Forsyth said thanks, but no thanks, so we’ve three pilots for four 212s. I’ve asked Andy to send me a volunteer.” Rudi mirrored his disquiet. “But reissen mit scheissen! I’ll have four to get airborne somehow, all at the same time, when we’re supposed to have start-up clearance - with Green Bands all over the base, our radio op Janan no idiot, and then there’s Nasty Numi…” His eyebrows soared. “You’ve no problem, old cock,” Scragger said airily. “Tell ‘em you’re going to do a flyby victory salute for Khomeini over Abadan!”
“Up yours, Scrag!” The music ended and Rudi turned the tape over. Then his face hardened. “But I agree with you that Andy will push the button and the when’s Friday. Me, I say if one of us aborts we all abort - agreed?” Scragger broke the silence. “If Andy says go, I go. I have to.”
BANDAR DELAM PORT: 3:17 P.M. Scragger’s station wagon turned off a main road in the sprawling, noisy town into a lesser road, cut down it, then turned into a square in front of a mosque, Mohammed driving as usual, his finger on the horn almost constantly. The rain had lessened appreciably but the day was still miserable. In the backseat Minoru dozed, cradling the replacement radio. Scragger was absently staring ahead, so much to think about, plans, codes, and what about Erikki? Poor old bugger! But if anyone can make it he will. Swear to God old Erikki‘11 make it somehow. Say he doesn’t or Andy doesn’t push go, wot you going to do for a job? I’ll worry about that next week.
He did not see the police car come charging out of a side turning, skid on the slippery surface, and smash into the back of them. There was no way that Mohammed could have avoided the accident, and the speed of the police car, added to his own, hurtled them broadside across the road into a street stall and the crowds, killing one old woman, decapitating another, and injuring many as the wheels fell into the joub, the momentum rolling the car over to smash it against the high walls with a howling screech of metal. Instinctively Scragger had put his hands over his face but the final crash bashed his head against the side, stunning him momentarily, the seat belt saving him from real damage. The driver had gone through the windshield and now was half in and half out of the car, badly injured. In the back, the seat had protected Min-oru and he was the first to recover, the radio still protectively in his lap. Amid the screams and pandemonium he fought his door open and scrambled out, covered by the melee of pedestrians and injured, unnoticed as a passenger, Japanese from Iran-Toda normal in the streets here. At that moment the occupants of the police car that now was swiveled half across the road - its front crumpled - ran over. The police shoved their way up to the station wagon, took one look at the driver then pulled the side door open and hauled Scragger out.
Angry shouts of “Amerikan!” and more screams and noise, Scragger still half stunned. “Tha… thanks, I’m… I’m okay…” but they held him firmly, shouting at him.
“For Christ’s sake…” he gasped, “I wasn’t driving … what the hell happ - ” Around him was a tumult of Farsi and panic and anger and one of the police snapped handcuffs on him and then they dragged him roughly to the other car, pushed him into the backseat and got in, still cursing him. The driver started up.
On the other side of the road, Minoru was futilely trying to push through the crowd to help Scragger. He stopped, crestfallen, as the car hurtled away down the street.
