“Coffee?”
“Thanks - I’ll help myself.” Kelly handed him the paper and went over to the kitchen area. The paper had hastily jotted columns of figures on it, temperatures, wind directions, and strengths for every few thousand feet, barometric pressures and tomorrow’s forecast. “Abadan Tower said it was up to date. They claimed it included all today’s incoming BA data. Doesn’t look too bad, eh?”
“If it’s accurate.” The forecast predicted lessening precipitation around midnight and reduced wind strength. Rudi turned up the music, and Kelly sat down beside him. Rudi dropped his voice. “It could be all right for us, but a bitch for Kowiss. We’ll still have to refuel in flight to make Bahrain.” Kelly sipped his coffee with enjoyment, hot, strong, with a spoon of condensed milk. “What’d you do if you were Andy?”
“With the three bases to worry about I’d…” A slight noise outside. Rudi got up and glanced out of the window. Nothing. Then again the sound of the tomcat, closer. “Damn cats, they give me the creeps.”
“I rather like cats.” Kelly smiled. “We’ve three at home: Matthew, Mark, and Luke. Two’re Siamese, the other’s a tabby; Betty says the boys’re driving her mad to get ‘John’ to round it off.”
“How is she?” Today’s BA flight into Abadan had brought Sandor Petrofi for the fourth 212, along with mail from Gavallan, routed since the troubles through HQ at Aberdeen, their first for many weeks.
“Fine, super in fact - three weeks to go. The old girl’s usually on time. I’ll be glad to be home when she pops.” Kelly beamed. “The doc says he thinks it’s going to be a girl at long last.”
“Congratulations! That’s wonderful.” Everyone knew that the Kellys had been hoping against hope. “Seven boys and one girl, that’s a lot of mouths to feed.” Rudi thought how hard he found it to keep up with the bills and school fees with only three children and no mortgage on the house - the house left to his wife by her father, God bless the old bastard. “Lots of mouths, don’t know how you do it.”
“Oh, we manage, glory be to God.” Kelly looked down at the forecast, frowned. “You know, if I was Andy I’d press the tit and not postpone.” “If it was up to me I’d cancel and forget the whole crazy idea.” Rudi kept his voice down and leaned closer. “I know it’ll be rough for Andy, maybe the company’ll close, maybe. But we can all get new jobs, even better paying ones, we’ve families to think of and I hate all this going against the book. How in the hell can we sneak out? Not possible. If we - ” Car headlights splashed the window, the approaching sound of the high- powered engine growing then stopping outside.
Rudi was the first at the window. He saw Zataki get out of the car with some Green Bands, then Numir, their base manager, came from the office trailer with an umbrella to join him. “Scheiss,” Rudi muttered again, turned the music down, quickly checked the trailer for incriminating evidence, and put the forecast into his pocket. “Salaam, Colonel,” he said, opening the door. “You were looking for me?”
“Salaam, Captain, yes, yes, I was.” Zataki came into the room, a U.S. army submachine gun over his shoulder. “Good evening,” he said. “How many helicopters are here now, Captain?”
Numir began, “Four 212s an - ”
“I asked the captain,” Zataki flared, “not you. If I want information from you I’ll ask! Captain?” “Four 212s, two 206s, Colonel.”
To their shock, particularly Numir’s, Zataki said, “Good. I want two 212s to report to Iran-Toda tomorrow at 8:00 A.M. to work under instructions of Agha Watanabe, the chief there. From tomorrow, you’ll report daily. Have you met him?”
“Er, yes, I, er, once they had a CASEVAC and we helped them out.” Rudi tried to collect himself. “Er, will… will they be working on, er, Holy Day, Colonel?” “Yes. So will you.” Numir said, “But the Ayatollah sa - ” “He’s not the law. Shut up.” Zataki looked at Rudi. “Be there at 8:00 A.M.” Rudi nodded. “Er, yes. Can I, er, can I offer you coffee, Colonel?” “Thank you.” Zataki propped his submachine gun against the wall and sat at the built-in table, eyes on Pop Kelly. “Didn’t I see you at Kowiss?” “Yes, yes, you did,” the tall man said. “That’s, er, that’s my normal base. I, er, I brought down a 212. I’m Ignatius Kelly.” Weakly he sank back into his chair opposite him, as blown as Rudi, wilting under the searching gaze. “A night for fishes, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“The, er, the rain.”
“Ah, yes,” Zataki said. He was glad to be speaking English, improving his, convinced that Iranians who could speak the international language and were educated were going to be sought after, mullahs or no mullahs. Since taking the pills Dr. Nutt had given him, he felt much better, the blinding headaches lessening. “Will the rain prevent flying tomorrow?” “No, not - ”
“It depends,” Rudi called out quickly from the kitchen, “if the front worsens or improves.” He brought the tray with two cups of sugar and condensed milk, still trying to cope with this new disaster. “Please help yourself, Colonel. About Iran-Toda,” he said carefully, “all our choppers are on lease, are contracted to IranOil and Agha Numir here’s in charge.” Numir nodded, started to say something, but thought better of it. “We’ve contracts with IranOil.”
The silence thickened. They all watched Zataki. Leisurely he put three heaped teaspoons of sugar into his coffee, stirred, and sipped it. “It’s very good, Captain. Yes, very good, and yes, I know about IranOil, but I have decided Iran-Toda takes preference over IranOil for the time being and tomorrow you will supply two 212s at 8:00 A.M. to Iran-Toda.” Rudi glanced at his base manager who avoided his eyes. “But… well, presuming this is all right with IranOil th - ” “It is all right,” Zataki said to Numir. “Isn’t it, Agha?” “Yes, yes, Agha,” meekly, Numir nodded. “I, I will of course inform Area Headquarters of your… your eminent instructions.” “Good. Then everything is arranged. Good.” It’s not arranged, Rudi wanted to shout out in dismay. “May I ask how, er, how we’ll be paid for the, er, new contract?” he asked, feeling stupid.
Zataki shouldered his gun and got up. “Iran-Toda will make arrangements. Thank you, Captain, I will be back after first prayer tomorrow. You will fly one helicopter and I will accompany you.”
“Smashing idea, Colonel,” Pop Kelly burst out suddenly, beaming, and Rudi could have killed him. “No need to come before 8:00 A.M. , that’d be better for us - that’s plenty of time to get there by, say, 8:15. Smashing idea to service Iran-Toda, smashing. We’ve always wanted that contract, can’t thank you enough, Colonel! Fantastic! In fact, Rudi, we should take all four birds, put the lads into the picture at once, save time, at once, yes, sir, I’ll set them up for you!” He rushed off. Rudi stared after him, almost cross-eyed with fury.
Chapter 59
NEAR AL SHARGAZ AIRPORT: 8:01 P.M. The night was beautiful and balmy, heavy with the smell of flowers, and Gavallan and Pettikin were sitting on the terrace of the Oasis Hotel, on the edge of the airfield on the edge of the desert. They were having a predinner beer, Gavallan smoking a thin cigar and staring into the distance where the sky, purple-black and star-studded, met the darker land. The smoke drifted upward. Pettikin shifted in his lounging chair. “Wish to God there was something more I could do.” “Wish to God old Mac was here, I’d break his bloody neck,” Gavallan said and Pettikin laughed. A few guests were already in the dining room behind them. The Oasis was old and dilapidated, Empire baroque, the home of the British Resident when British power was the only power in the Gulf and, until ‘71 kept down piracy and maintained the peace. Music as ancient as the three-piece combo wafted out of the tall doors - piano, violin, and double bass, two elderly ladies and a white-haired gentleman on the piano. “My God, isn’t that Chu Chin Chow?” “You’ve got me, Andy.” Pettikin glanced back at them, saw JeanLuc among the diners, chatting with Nogger Lane, Rodrigues, and some of the other mechanics. He sipped his beer, noticed Gavallan’s glass was empty. “Like another?”
“No thanks.” Gavallan let his eyes drift with the smoke. “I think I’ll go over to the Met office, then look in on ours.” “I’ll come with you.” “Thanks, Charlie, but why don’t you stay in case there’s a phone call?” “Sure, just as you like.”
“Don’t wait for me to eat, I’ll join you for coffee. I’ll drop by the hospital to see Duke on my way back.” Gavallan got up, walked through the dining room, greeting those of his men who were there, and went into the lobby that also had seen better days. “Mr. Gavallan, excuse me, Effendi, but there’s a phone call for you.” The receptionist indicated the phone booth to one side. It had red plush inside, no air-conditioning and no privacy. “Hello? Gavallan here,” he said.
“Hello, boss, Liz Chen… just to report we’ve had a call about the two consignments from Luxembourg and they’ll arrive late.” “Consignment from Luxembourg” was code for the two 747 freighters he had chartered. “They can’t arrive Friday - they’ll only guarantee Sunday 4:00 P.M.” Gavallan was dismayed. He had been warned by the charterers that they had a very tight schedule between charters and there might be a twenty-four-hour delay. He had had great difficulty arranging the airplanes. Obviously none of the regular airlines that serviced the Gulf or Iran could be approached and he had had to be vague about the reason for the charters and their cargo. “Get back to
