Hotshot, Colonel Changiz, and that damned mullah, Hussain, still behaving themselves, fifty times touch wood; at Lengeh Scrag‘11 be having no problems, plenty of coastal ships available for his spares and nothing more to do but wait for D - no, not D day - W day. Only bad spot, Azadeh. And Erikki. Why the devil didn’t she tell me before leaving on a wild-goose chase after poor old Erikki? My God, she escapes Tabriz with the skin of her skin and then goes and puts her pretty little head back in it. Women! They’re all crazy. Ransom? Balls! I’ll bet it’s another trap set by her father, the rotten old bastard. At the same time, it’s just as Tom Lochart said: She would have gone anyway, Mac, and would you have told her about Whirlwind?
His stomach began churning. Even if the rest of us get out there’s still the problem of Erikki and Azadeh. Then there’s poor old Tom and Sharazad. How the hell can we get those four to safety? Must come up with something. We’ve two more days, perhaps by th - He whirled, startled, not having heard the door open. His chief clerk, Gorani, stood in the doorway, tall and balding, a devout Shi’ite, a good man who had been with them for many years. “Salaam, Agha.”
“Salaam. You’re early.” McIver saw the man’s open surprise at all the mess - normally McIver was meticulously tidy - and felt as though he’d been caught with his hand in the chocolate box.
“As God wants, Agha. The Imam’s ordered normality and everyone to work hard for the success of the revolution. Can I help?”
“Well, er, no, no, thank you, I, er, I’m just in a hurry. I’ve lots to do today, I’m off to the embassy.” McIver knew his voice was running away from him but he was unable to stop it. “I’ve, er, appointments all day and must be at the airport by noon. I have to do some homework for the Doshan Tappeh komiteh. I won’t come back to the office from the airport so you can close early, take the afternoon off - in fact you can take the day off.” “Oh, thank you, Agha, but the office should remain open until the us - ” “No, we’ll close for the day when I leave. I’ll go straight home and be there if I’m needed. Please come back in ten minutes, I want to send some telexes.”
“Yes, Agha, certainly, Agha.” The man left.
McIver hated the twistings of the truth. What’s going to happen to Gorani? he asked himself again, to him and all the rest of our people all over Iran, some of them fine, them and their families?
Unsettled, he finished as best he could. There were 100,000 rials in the cashbox. He left the notes, relocked the safe, and sent some inconsequential telexes. The main one he had sent at five-thirty this morning to Al Shargaz with a copy to Aberdeen in case Gavallan had been delayed: “Air freighting the five crates of parts to Al Shargaz for repairs as planned.” Translated, the code meant that Nogger, Pettikin and he, and the last two mechanics he had not yet been able to get out of Tehran, were readying to board the 125 today, as planned, and it was still all systems go.
“Which crates are these, Agha?” Somehow Gorani had found the copies of the telex.
“They’re from Kowiss, they’ll go on the 125 next week.”
“Oh, very well. I’ll check it for you. Before you go, could you please tell me when does our 212 return? The one we lent to Kowiss.”
“Next week, why?”
“Excellency Minister and Board Director Ali Kia wanted to know, Agha.” McIver was instantly chilled. “Oh? Why?”
“He probably has a charter for it, Agha. His assistant came here last night, after you had left, and he asked me. Minister Kia also wanted a progress report today of our three 212s sent out for repairs. I, er, I said I would have it today - he’s coming this morning so I can’t close the office.” They had never discussed the three aircraft, or the peculiarly great number of spares they had been sending out by truck, car, or as personal baggage - no aircraft space for freight. It was more than possible that Gorani would know the 212s did not need repair. He shrugged and hoped for the best. “They’ll be ready as planned. Leave a note on the door.”
“Oh, but that would be very impolite. I will relay that message. He said he would return before noon prayer and particularly asked for an appointment with you. He has a very private message from Minister Kia.” “Well, I’m going to the embassy.” McIver debated a moment. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Irritably he picked up the briefcase and hurried down the stairs, cursing Ali Kia and then adding a curse for Ali Baba too. Ali Baba - so named because he reminded McIver of the Forty Thieves - was the wheedling half of their live-in couple who had been with them for two years but had vanished at the beginning of the troubles. Yesterday at dawn Ali Baba came back, beaming and acting as though he had just been away for the weekend instead of almost five months, happily insisting he take their old room back: “Oh, most definitely, Agha, the home has to be most clean and prepared for the return of Her Highness; next week my wife will be here to do that but meanwhile I bring you tea-toast in a most instant as you ever liked. May I be sacrificed for you but I bargained mightily today for fresh bread and milk from the market at the oh so reasonable best price for me only, but the robbers charge five times last year’s, so sad, but please give me the money now, and as most soon as the bank is opened you can pay me my mucroscupic back salary…”
Bloody Ali Baba, the revolution hasn’t changed him a bit. “Microscopic”? It’s still one loaf for us and five for him, but never mind, it was fine to have tea and toast in bed - but not the day before we sneak out. How the hell are Charlie and I going to get our baggage out without him smelling the proverbial rat?
In the garage he unlocked his car. “Lulu, old girl,” he said, “sorry, there’s bugger all I can do about it, it’s time for the Big Parting. Don’t quite know how I’m going to do it, but I’m not leaving you as a burnt offering or for some bloody Iranian to rape.”
Talbot was waiting for him in a spacious, elegant office. “My dear Mr. McIver, you’re bright and early, I heard all the adventures of young Ross - my word we were all very lucky, don’t you think?”
“Yes, yes, we were, how is he?”
“Getting over it. Good man, did a hell of a good job. I’m seeing him for lunch and we’re getting him out on today’s BA flight - just in case he’s been spotted, can’t be too careful. Any news of Erikki? We’ve had some inquiries from the Finnish embassy asking for help.”
McIver told him about Azadeh’s note. “Bloody ridiculous.” Talbot steepled his fingers. “Ransom doesn’t sound too good. There’s, er, there’s a rumor the Khan’s very sick indeed. Stroke.”
McIver frowned. “Would that help or hurt Azadeh and Erikki?” “I don’t know. If he does pop off, well, it’ll certainly change the balance of power in Azerbaijan for a while, which will certainly encourage our misguided friends north of the border to agitate more than usual, which’ll cause Carter and his powers-that-be to fart more dust.”
“What the devil’s he doing now?”
“Nothing, old boy, sweet Fanny Adams - that’s the trouble. He scattered his peanuts and scarpered.”
“Anything more on us being nationalized - Armstrong said it’s imminent.” “It might well be you’ll lose positive control of your aircraft imminently,” Talbot said with studied care and McIver’s attention zeroed. “It, er, might be more of a personal acquisition by interested parties.” “You mean Ali Kia and the partners?” Talbot shrugged. “Ours not to reason why, eh?” “This is official?”
“My dear chap, good Lord, no!” Talbot was quite shocked. “Just a personal observation, off the record. What can I do for you?”
“Off the record, on Andy Gavallan’s instructions, all right?” “Let’s have it on the record.”
McIver saw the slightly pink humorless face and got up, relieved. “No way, Mr. Talbot. It was Andy’s idea to keep you in the picture, not mine.” Talbot sighed with practiced eloquence. “Very well, off the record.” McIver sat. “We’re, er, we’re transferring our HQ to Al Shargaz today.” “Very wise. So?”
“We’re going today. All remaining expat personnel. On our 125.” “Very wise. So?”
“We’re, er, we’re closing down all operations in Iran. On Friday.” Talbot sighed wearily. “Without personnel I’d say that’s axiomatic. So?” McIver was finding it very hard to say what he wanted to say. “We, er, we’re taking our aircraft out on Friday - this Friday.”
“Bless my soul,” Talbot said in open admiration. “Congratulations! How on earth did you twist that rotter Kia’s arm to get the permits? You must’ve promised him a life membership at the Royal Box at Ascot!” “Er, no, no, we didn’t. We decided not to apply for exit permits, waste of time.” McIver got up. “Well, see you soo - ” Talbot’s face almost fell off his face. “No permits?” “No. You know yourself our birds’re going to be nicked, nationalized, taken over, whatever you want to call it, there’s no way we could get exit permits so we’re just going.” McIver added airily, “Friday we flit the coop.”
“Oh, my word!” Talbot was shaking his head vigorously, his fingers toying with a file on his desk. “Bless my soul, very very unbloody-wise.” “There isn’t any alternative. Well, Mr. Talbot, that’s all, have a nice day. Andy
