Chapter 51
NEAR DOSHAN TAPPEH: 3:30 P.M. McIver was driving along the empty perimeter road outside the barbed- wire fence of the military airfield. The fenders were badly bent and there were many more dents than before. One headlight was cracked and roughly taped, the red glass of one taillight missing, but the engine still sounded sweet and her snow tires were firm on the surface. Snow banked the roadway. No sun came through the overcast that was barely twelve hundred feet and obscured all but the foothills of the northern mountains. It was cold and he was late.
On the inside of his windshield was a big green permit and, seeing it, the motley group of Green Band and air force guards stationed near the gate waved him through, then crowded back around the open fire to warm themselves. He headed for the S-G hangar. Before he could reach it, Tom Lochart came out of a side door to intercept him.
“Hi Mac,” he said, getting in quickly. He was wearing flight gear and carried his flight bag and had just flown in from Kowiss. “How’s Sharazad?” “Sorry to take so long, traffic was terrible.”
“Have you seen her?”
“No, not yet. Sorry.” He saw Lochart’s immediate tension. “I went again early this morning. A servant answered the door but didn’t seem to understand me - I’ll get you there as soon as I can.” He let in the clutch and turned for the gate. “How was Zagros?”
“Rotten, I’ll fill you in on that in a second,” Lochart said hurriedly. “Before we can leave we’ve got to report to the base commander.” “Oh? Why?” McIver put on the brake.
“They didn’t say. They left a message with the clerk that when you came in today to report to base commander. Any problems?”
“Not that I know of.” McIver let in the clutch and swung around. Now what? he thought, holding down his anxiety.
“Could it be HBC?”
“Let’s hope not.”
“What happened to Lulu? You have a prang?”
“No, just some street vandals,” McIver said, his mind on HBC. “Every day it gets rougher. Any news of Erikki?”
“Nothing. He’s just vanished. Azadeh sits by the phone all day in the office.”
“She’s still staying with you?”
“No, she went back to her own apartment on Saturday.” McIver was heading for the buildings on the other side of the runway. “Tell me about Zagros.” He listened without comment until Lochart had finished. “Awful, just awful!” “Yes, but Nitchak Khan didn’t give the signal to shoot us down. If he had he’d’ve gotten away with it. Goddamn hard to break the ‘terrorist’ story. Anyway, when we got to Kowiss, Duke and Andy had had a fracas with Hotshot.” Lochart told him about that. “But the ruse seems to be working; yesterday Duke and Pop ferried the 212 to Rudi and this morning EchoTangoLimaLima came in for Jordon’s body.”
“Terrible. Feel very responsible for old Effer.”
“Guess we all do.” Ahead they could see the HQ building with sentries outside it. “We all turned out and put the coffin aboard, young Freddy played a lament on the pipes, not much else we could do. Curiously Colonel Changiz sent an air force honor guard and gave us a proper coffin. Iranians’re strange, so strange.
They seemed genuinely sorry.” Lochart was talking automatically, sick with anxiety at the delays - having to wait at Kowiss, then flying here and ATC harassing him, then no transport and waiting interminably for McIver to arrive and now another delay. What’s happened to Sharazad? They were near the office building that housed the base commander’s suite and officers’ mess where they both had spent many good times in the past. Doshan Tappeh had been an elite base - the Shah had kept some of his private jet fleet and his Fokker Friendship here. Now the walls of the two-story building were scored by bullets and broken here and there by shellfire, most windows out, a few boarded up. Outside a few Green Bands and slovenly airmen lolled around as sentries.
“Peace be with you! Excellency McIver and Lochart to see the camp commandant,” Lochart said in Farsi. One of the Green Bands waved them into the building. “Where is the office, please?”
“Inside.”
They walked up the steps toward the main door, the air heavy with the smell of fire and cordite and drains. Just as they reached the top step, the main door slammed open and a mullah with some Green Bands hurried out, dragging two young air force officers between them, their hands bound and uniforms torn and filthy. Lochart gasped, recognizing one of them. “Karim!” he burst out and now McIver recognized the youth also - Karim Peshadi, Sharazad’s adored cousin, the man he had asked to try to retrieve HBC’s clearance from the tower.
“Tom! In the Name of God tell them I’m not a spy or traitor,” Karim shouted, in English. “Tom, tell them!”
“Excellency,” Lochart said in Farsi to the mullah, “surely there’s some mistake. This man is Pilot Captain Peshadi, a loyal helper of the Ayatollah, a supp - ”
“Who’re you, Excellency?” asked the mullah, dark-eyed, short, stocky. “American?”
“My name is Lochart, Excellency, Canadian, a pilot for IranOil, and this is the leader of our company across the airfield, Captain McIver, an - ” “How do you know this traitor?”
“Excellency, I’m sure there’s a mistake, he can’t possibly be a traitor, I know him because he is a cousin of my wife and the so - ” “Your wife is Iranian?”
“Yes, Excell - ”
“You are Muslim?”
“No, Excellen - ”
“Better then she divorces and so saves her soul from pollution. As God wants. There’s no mistake about these traitors - mind your own business, Excellency.” The mullah motioned to the Green Bands. At once they went on down the steps, half carrying, half dragging the two young officers who shouted and protested their innocence, then he turned back for the main door.
“Excellency,” Lochart called out urgently, catching up to him. “Please, in the Name of the One God, I know that young man to be loyal to the Imam, a good Muslim, a patriot of Iran, I know for a fact that he was one of those who went against the Immortals here at Doshan Tappeh and helped the revolu - ”
“Stop!” The mullah’s eyes hardened even more. “This is not your affair, foreigner. No longer do foreigners or foreign laws or a foreign-dominated Shah rule us. You are not Iranian, nor a judge, nor a lawgiver. Those men were tried and judged.”
“I beg your patience, Excellency, there must be some mistake, there mus - ” Lochart whirled as a volley of rifle shots exploded nearby. The sentries below were staring across the road at some barracks and buildings. From his position atop the steps he could not see what they saw. Then the Green Bands reappeared from behind one of the barracks, shouldering their arms. They trooped back up the steps. The mullah motioned them back inside. “The law is the law,” the mullah said, watching Lochart. “Heresy must be removed. Since you know his family you can tell them to beg forgiveness of God for harboring such a son.”
“What was he supposed to have been guilty of?”
“Not ‘supposed,’ Excellency,” the mullah said, an angry edge creeping into his voice. “Karim Peshadi openly admitted stealing a truck and leaving the base without permission, openly admitted joining forbidden demonstrations, openly declared against our forthcoming absolute Islamic state, openly opposed the abolition of the anti-Islamic Marriage Act, openly advocated acts contrary to Islamic law, was caught in suspected acts of sabotage, openly decried the total absoluteness of the Koran, openly defied the Imam’s right to be faqira - he who is above the law and final arbiter of the law.” He pulled his robes closer about him against the cold. “Peace be with you.” He went back into the building.
For a moment Lochart could not speak. Then he explained to McIver what had been said. ‘“Suspected acts of sabotage,’ Tom? Was he caught in the tower?” “What does it matter?” Lochart said bitterly. “Karim’s dead - for crimes against God.”
“No, laddie,” McIver said kindly, “not against God, against their version of truth spoken in the Name of the God they will never know.” He squared his shoulders and led the way inside the building. At length they found the base commander’s office and were ushered in.
Behind the desk was a major. The mullah sat beside him. Above them, the only decoration in the small untidy room was a big photograph of Khomeini. “I’m Major Betami, Mr. McIver,” the man said crisply in English. “This is
