Iran, the whole company - it’s obvious we’re not wanted, we can’t operate freely anymore, the company’s not being paid. We’ve been tossed out of the Zagros … one of our mechanics was killed by terrorists a few days ago and young Soot Gavallan missed getting killed by a millimeter. So we’re pulling out. C’est fini.”
“When?”
“Soon. I don’t know exactly.”
“I’ll… I will miss… will miss you, JeanLuc,” she said and nestled closer.
“And I’ll miss you, cherie,” he said gently, noticing the silent tears now flooding her cheeks. “How long are you staying in Tehran?” “I don’t know.” She kept the misery out of her voice. “I’ll give you an address in Beirut, they’ll know where to find me.”
“You can find me through Aberdeen.”
They sat there on the sofa, she lying in his arms, the clock on the mantelpiece over the fireplace ticking, normally so soft but now so loud, both of them conscious of the time that passed and the ending that had occurred - not of their volition.
“Let’s make love,” she murmured, not wanting to but knowing that bed was expected of her.
“No,” he said gallantly, pretending to be strong for both of them, knowing that bed was expected of him and then they would get dressed and be French and sensible about the ending of their affair. His eyes strayed to the clock. Forty-three minutes left.
“You don’t want me?”
“More than ever.” His hand cupped her breast and his lips brushed her neck, her perfume light and pleasing, ready to begin.
“I’m glad,” she murmured in the same sweet voice, “and so glad that you said no. I want you for hours, my darling, not for a few minutes - not now. It would spoil everything to hurry.”
For a moment he was nonplussed, not expecting that gambit in the game they played. But now that it was said he was glad too.
How brave of her to forgo such pleasure, he thought, loving her deeply. Much better to remember the great times than to thrash around hurriedly. It certainly saves me a great deal of sweat and effort and I didn’t check if there’s any hot water. Now we can sit and chat and enjoy the wine, weep a little and be happy. “Yes, I agree. For me too.” Again his lips brushed her neck. He felt her tremble and for a moment he was tempted to inflame her. But decided not to. Poor baby, why torment her?
“How are you all leaving, my darling?”
“We’ll fly out together. Wine?”
“Yes, yes, please, it’s so good.” She sipped the wine, dried her cheeks, and chatted with him, probing this extraordinary “pullout.” Both they and the Voice will find all this very interesting, perhaps even bring me to discover who they are. Until I know I can’t protect my son. Oh, God, help me to corner them.
“I love you so much, cheri,” she said.
AT TEHRAN AIRPORT: 6:05 P.M. Johnny Hogg, Pettikin, and Nogger stared at McIver blankly. “You’re staying - you’re not leaving with us?” Pettikin stuttered.
“No. I told you,” McIver said briskly. “I’ve got to accompany Kia to Kowiss tomorrow.” They were beside his car in their parking lot, away from alien ears, the 125 on the apron, laborers loading the last few crates, the inevitable group of Green Band guards watching. And a mullah. “The mullah’s one we’ve never seen before,” Nogger said nervously, like all of them trying to hide it.
“Good. Is everyone else ready to board?”
“Yes, Mac, except JeanLuc.” Pettikin was very unsettled. “Don’t you think you’d better chance leaving Kia?”
“That’d really be crazy, Charlie. Nothing to worry about. You can set up everything at Al Shargaz Airport with Andy. I’ll be there tomorrow. I’ll get on the 125 tomorrow at Kowiss with the rest of the lads.” “But for God’s sake they’re all cleared, you’re not,” Nogger said. “For God’s sake, Nogger, none of us’re cleared from here, for God’s sake,” McIver added with a laugh. “How the hell will we be sure of our Kowiss lads until they’re airborne and out of Iran airspace? Nothing to worry about. First things first, we’ve got to get this part of the show in the air.” He glanced at the taxi skidding to a stop. JeanLuc got out, gave the driver the other half of the note, and strolled over carrying a suitcase.
“Alors, mes amis,” he said with a contented smile. “Ca marche?” McIver sighed. “Jolly sporting of you to advertise you’re going on a holiday, JeanLuc.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” McIver liked JeanLuc, for his ability, his cooking, and single-mindedness. When Gavallan had told JeanLuc about Whirlwind, JeanLuc had said at once, “Me, I will certainly fly out one of the Kowiss 212s - providing I can be on the Wednesday flight to Tehran and go into Tehran for a couple of hours.”
“To do what?”
“Mon Dieu, you Anglais! To say adieu to the Imam perhaps?” McIver grinned at the Frenchman. “How was Tehran?”
“Magnifique!” JeanLuc grinned back, and thought, I haven’t seen Mac so young in years. Who’s the lady? “Et toi, mon vieux?”
“Good.” Behind him, McIver saw Jones, the copilot, come down the steps two at a time, heading for them. Now there were no more crates left on the tarmac and their Iranian ground crew were all strolling back to the office. “You all set aboard?”
“All set, Captain, except for passengers,” Jones said, matter of fact. “ATC’s getting itchy and says we’re overdue. Quick as you can, all right?” “You’re still cleared for a stop at Kowiss?”
“Yes, no problem.”
McIver took a deep breath. “All right, here we go, just as we planned, except I’ll take the papers, Johnny.” Johnny Hogg handed them to him and the three of them, McIver, Hogg, and Jones, went ahead, straight to the mullah, hoping to distract him. By prearrangement the two mechanics were already aboard, ostensibly loaders. “Good day, Agha,” McIver said, and ostentatiously handed the mullah the manifest, their position blocking a direct view of the steps. Nogger, Pettikin, and JeanLuc went up them nimbly to vanish inside.
The mullah leafed through the manifest, clearly not accustomed to it. “Good. Now inspect,” he said, his accent thick.
“No need for that, Agha, ev - ” McIver stopped. The mullah and the two guards were already going for the steps. “Soon as you’re aboard, start engines, Johnny,” he said softly and followed.
The cabin was piled with crates, the passengers already seated, seat belts fastened. All eyes studiously avoided the mullah. The mullah stared at them. “Who men?”
McIver said brightly, “Crews for replacements, Agha.” His excitement picked up as the engines began to howl. He motioned haphazardly at JeanLuc. “Pilot for Kowiss replacement, Agha,” then more hurriedly, “Tower komiteh wants the aircraft to leave now. Hurry, all right?”
“What in crates?” The mullah looked at the cockpit as Johnny Hogg called out in perfect Farsi, “Sorry to interrupt, Excellency, as God wants, but the tower orders us to take off at once. With your permission, please?” “Yes, yes, of course, Excellency Pilot.” The mullah smiled. “Your Farsi is very good, Excellency.”
“Thank you, Excellency, God keep you, and His blessings on the Imam.” “Thank you, Excellency Pilot, God keep you.” The mullah left. On his way out McIver leaned into the cockpit. “What was that all about, Johnny? I didn’t know you spoke Farsi.”
“I don’t,” Hogg told him dryly - and what he had said to the mullah. “I just learned that phrase, thought it might come in handy.”
McIver smiled. “Go to the top of the class!” Then he dropped his voice. “When you get to Kowiss get Duke to arrange with Hotshot, however he can, to pull the lads’ ferry forward, early as possible in the morning. I don’t want Kia there when they take off - get ‘em out early however he can. Okay?” “Yes, of course, I’d forgotten that. Very wise.”
“Have a safe flight - see you in Al Shargaz.” From the tarmac he gave them a beaming thumbs-up as they taxied away.
The second they were airborne, Nogger exploded, with a cheer, “We did it!” that everyone echoed, except JeanLuc who crossed himself superstitiously and Pettikin touched wood. “Merde,” JeanLuc called out. “Save your cheers, Nogger, you may be grounded in Kowiss. Save your cheers for Friday, too much dust to blow across the Gulf
