added curiously, “By the Prophet I treated you fairly and him fairly and… have not molested her. I ask you.” They had all heard the thread under the voice, perhaps a threat, perhaps not, but Erikki knew beyond any doubt that the fragile bubble of “honor” or “before God” would vanish with the first bullet, that it was up to him now to try to correct the disaster that the attack had become, chasing a Khan already dead, the ransom already half paid, and now Azadeh lying there, hurt as only God knows, and Hakim almost killed. Set-faced he touched her a last time, glanced at the Khan, nodded, half to himself, then got up, abruptly jerked the Sten gun out of the nearest tribesman’s hands. “I’ll accept your word before God and I’ll kill you if you cheat. I’ll drop you north of the city, in the mountains. Everyone in the chopper. Tell them!” Bayazid hated the idea of the gun in the hands of this brooding, revenge-seeking monster. Neither of us has forgotten I threw the grenade that perhaps has killed a houri, he thought. “Insha’Allah!” Quickly he ordered the retreat. Taking the body of their dead comrade with them, they obeyed. “Pilot, we will leave together. Thank you, Agha Hakim Khan, God be with you,” he said and backed to the door, weapon held loosely, but ready. “Come on!”
Erikki raised his hand in farewell to Hakim, consumed with anguish at what he had precipitated. “Sorry…”
“God be with you, Erikki, and come back safely,” Hakim called out and Erikki felt better for that. “Ahmed, go with him, he can’t fly and use a gun at the same time. See that he gets back safely.” Yes, he thought icily, I’ve still a score to settle with him for the attack on my palace!
“Yes, Highness. Thank you, pilot.” Ahmed took the gun from Erikki, checked the action and magazine, then smiled crookedly at Bayazid. “By God and the Prophet, on whose Name be praised, let no man cheat.” Politely he motioned Erikki to leave, then followed him. Bayazid went last.
AT THE FOOTHILLS TO THE PALACE: 11:05 A.M. The police car was racing up the winding road toward the gates, other cars and an army truck filled with troops following. Hashemi Fazir and Armstrong were in the back of the lead car which skidded through the gate into the forecourt where an ambulance was already parked. They got out and followed the guard into the Great Room. Hakim Khan was waiting for them in his place of honor, pale and drawn but regal, guards around him, this part of the palace undamaged.
“Highness, God be praised you were not hurt - we’ve just heard about the attack. May I introduce myself? I’m Colonel Hashemi Fazir of Inner Intelligence and this is Superintendent Armstrong who has assisted us for years and is an expert in certain areas that could concern you - he speaks Farsi by the way. Would you please tell us what happened?” The two men listened intently as Hakim Khan related his version of the attack - they had already heard the rumored details - both of them impressed with his bearing. Hashemi had come prepared. Before leaving Tehran yesterday evening he had meticulously gone through Hakim’s files. For years both he and SAVAK had had him under surveillance in Khoi: “I know how much he owes and to whom, Robert, what favors and to whom, what he likes to eat and read, how good he is with gun, piano, or a knife, every woman he’s ever bedded and every boy.” Armstrong had laughed. “What about his politics?”
“He has none. Unbelievable - but true. He’s Iranian, Azerbaijani, and yet he hasn’t joined any group, taken any sides, none, not said anything even a little seditious - even against Abdollah Khan - and Khoi’s always been a festering bed of nettles.”
“Religion?”
“Shi’ite, but calm, conscientious, orthodox, neither right nor left. Ever since he was banished, no, that’s not quite true, since he was seven when his mother died and he and his sister went to live in the palace, he’s been a feather wafted by his father’s merest breath, waiting in fear for inevitable disaster. As God wants, but it’s a miracle he’s Khan, a miracle that that vile son of a dog died before doing him and his sister harm. Strange! One moment his head’s on the block, and now he controls untold riches, untold power, and I’ve got to deal with him.”
“That should be easy - if what you say’s true.”
“You’re suspicious, always suspicious - is that the strength of the English?”
“Just the lesson an old cop’s learned over the years.”
Hashemi had smiled to himself and now he did it again, concentrating on the young man, Khan of all the Gorgons, in front of him, watching him closely, studying him for clues. What’re your secrets - you’ve got to have secrets! “Highness, how long ago did the pilot leave?” Armstrong was asking. Hakim glanced at his watch. “About two and a half hours ago.” “Did he say how much fuel he had with him?”
“No, only that he would take them a little way and drop them.” Hashemi and Robert Armstrong were standing in front of the raised platform with its rich carpets and cushions, Hakim Khan dressed formally in warm brocades, a string of pearls around his neck with a diamond pendant four times the size of the one he had bartered their lives for. “Perhaps,” Hashemi said delicately, “perhaps Highness, the pilot was really in league with the Kurdish tribesmen, and won’t come back.”
“No, and they weren’t Kurds though they claimed to be, just bandits, and they’d kidnapped Erikki and forced him to lead them against the Khan, my father.” The young Khan frowned, then said firmly, “The Khan my father should not have had their messenger killed. He should have bartered the ransom down, then paid it - and then had them killed for their impertinence.”
Hashemi docketed the clue. “I will see they are all hunted down.” “And all my property recovered.”
“Of course. Is there anything, anything at all, I or my department can do for you?” He was watching the young man closely and saw, or thought he saw, a flash of sardonic amusement and it rattled him. At that moment the door opened and Azadeh came in. He had never met her though he had seen her many times. She should be possessed by an Iranian, he thought, not by a rotten foreigner. How could she contain that monster? He did not notice Hakim scrutinizing him as intently. Armstrong did, watching the Khan without watching him.
She was dressed in Western clothes, gray green that set off her green-flecked eyes, stockings and soft shoes - her face very pale and made up just enough. Her walk was slow and somewhat painful, but she bowed to her brother with a sweet smile. “Sorry to interrupt you, Highness, but the doctor asked me to remind you to rest. He’s about to leave, would you like to see him again?”
“No, no, thank you. You’re all right?”
“Oh, yes,” she said and forced a smile. “He says I’m fine.” “May I present Colonel Hashemi Fazir and Mr. Armstrong, Superintendent Armstrong - Her Highness, my sister, Azadeh.”
They greeted her and she greeted them back. “Superintendent Armstrong?” she said in English with a little frown. “I don’t remember ‘Superintendent’ but we’ve met before, haven’t we?”
“Yes, Highness, once at the French Club, last year. I was with Mr. Talbot of the British embassy and a friend of your husband’s from the Finnish embassy, Christian Tollonen - I believe it was your husband’s birthday party.” “You’ve a good memory, Superintendent.”
Hakim Khan smiled strangely. “That’s a characteristic of MI6, Azadeh.” “Just of ex-policemen, Highness,” Armstrong said easily. “I’m just a consultant to Inner Intelligence.” Then to Azadeh: “Colonel Fazir and I were both so relieved that neither you nor the Khan was hurt.” “Thank you,” she said, her ears and head still aching badly and her back giving her problems. The doctor had said, “We’ll have to wait for a few days, Highness, although we will X-ray you both as soon as possible. Best you go to Tehran, both of you, they have better equipment. With an explosion like that… you never know, Highness, best to go, I wouldn’t like to be responsible …”
Azadeh sighed. “Please excuse me for interrup - ” She stopped abruptly, listening, head slightly tilted. They listened too. Just the wind picking up and a distant car. “Not yet,” Hakim said kindly. She tried to smile and murmured, “As God wants,” then went away. Hashemi broke the small silence. “We should leave you too, Highness,” he said deferentially, in Farsi again; “it was kind of you to see us today. Perhaps we could come back tomorrow?” He saw the young Khan take his eyes off the door and look at him under his dark eyebrows, the handsome face in repose, fingers toying with the jeweled ornamental dagger at his belt. He must be made of ice, he thought, politely waiting to be dismissed. But instead Hakim Khan dismissed all his guards, except one he stationed at the door, well out of listening range, and beckoned the two men closer. “Now we will speak English. What is it you really want to ask me?” he said softly.
Hashemi sighed, sure that Hakim Khan already knew, and more than sure now that here he had a worthy adversary, or ally. “Help on two matters, Highness: your influence in Azerbaijan could immeasurably help us to put down hostile elements in rebellion against the state.”
“What’s second?”
He had heard the touch of impatience and it amused him. “Second is somewhat delicate. It concerns a Soviet called Petr Oleg Mzytryk, an acquaintance of your father, who for some years, from time to time, visited here - as Abdollah Khan visited his dacha in Tbilisi. While Mzytryk posed as a friend of Abdollah Khan and Azerbaijan, in
