been worried to death if you’d been missing.” “If I’d asked you you’d’ve shanghaied me. I asked Manuela to tell you later, flight time, hotel, and phone number. But I’m glad you’re here, Andy. You can see me off. I’d like someone to see me off, hate seeing myself off - oh, you know what I mean!”
It was then he saw how frail she seemed. “You all right, Genny?” “Oh, yes. It’s just… well, I just must be there, have to be, I can’t sit here, and anyway part of this was my idea, I’m responsible too, and I don’t want anything - anything - to go wrong.”
“It won’t,” he said and both of them touched the wooden seat. Then he slipped his arm through hers. “It’s going to be all right. Listen, one good piece of news.” He told her about Erikki.
“Oh, that’s wonderful. Hakim Khan?” Genny searched her memory. “Wasn’t Azadeh’s brother, the one who was living in … blast, I’ve forgotten, someplace near Turkey, wasn’t his name Hakim?”
“Perhaps the telex was right then and it is Hakim ‘Khan.’ That should be great for them.”
“Yes. Her father sounded like an awful old man.” She looked up at him. “Have you decided yet? If it’s tomorrow?”
“No, not yet, not finally.”
“What about the weather?”
He told her. “Not much of a decider, either way,” she said. “Wish Mac was here. He’d be wise in a situation like this.” “No wiser than you, Andy.” They looked across at the departure board as the announcer called for passengers on Flight 52. They got up. “For what it’s worth, Andy, all other things being equal, Mac’s decided it’s tomorrow.” “Eh? How do you know that?”
“I know Duncan. ‘Bye, darling Andy.” She kissed him hurriedly and did not look back.
He waited until she had vanished. Deep in thought he went outside, not noticing Wesson near the newsstand, putting his fountain pen away.
BOOK FOUR
Chapter 60
AL SHARGAZ - THE OASIS HOTEL: 5:37 A.M. Gavallan stood at his window, already dressed, night still heavy except to the east, dawn due soon now. Threads of mist came in from the coast, half a mile away, to vanish quickly in the desert reaches. Sky eerily cloudless to the east, gradually building to thick cover overall. From where he was he could see most of the airfield. Runway lights were on, a small jet already taxiing out, and the smell of kerosene was on the wind that had veered more southerly. A knock on the door. “Come in! Ah, morning, JeanLuc, morning, Charlie.” “Morning, Andy. If we’re to catch our flight it’s time to leave,” Pettikin said, his nervousness running the words together. He was due to go to Kuwait, JeanLuc to Bahrain.
“Where’s Rodrigues?”
“He’s waiting downstairs.”
“Good, then you’d best be on your way.” Gavallan was pleased that his voice sounded calm. Pettikin beamed, JeanLuc muttered merde. “With your approval, Charlie, I propose pushing the button at 7:00 A.M. as planned - provided none of the bases pull the plug beforehand. If they do we’ll try again tomorrow. Agreed?”
“Agreed. No calls yet?”
“Not yet.”
Pettikin could hardly contain his excitement. “Well, off we go into the wild blue yonder! Come on, JeanLuc!”
JeanLuc’s eyebrows soared. “Mon Dieu, it’s Boy Scouts time!” Then he went for the door. “Great news about Erikki, Andy, but how’s he going to get out?”
“I don’t know. I’m seeing Newbury at the Consulate first thing to try to get a message to him - to get out via Turkey. Both of you call me the second you land. I’ll be in the office from six. See you later.”
He closed the door after them. Now it was done. Unless one of the bases aborted.
AT LENGEH: 5:49 A.M. False dawn’s light was barely perceptible through the overcast. Scragger wore a raincoat and trudged through the drizzle and puddles toward the cookhouse that had the only light on in the base. The wind pulled at his peaked flying cap, driving the soft rain into his face. To his surprise Willi was already in the cookhouse, sitting near the wood stove drinking coffee. “Morning, Scrag, coffee? I’ve just made it.” He motioned with his head into a corner. Curled up on the floor, fast asleep and near to the warmth, was one of the camp Green Bands. Scragger nodded and took off his raincoat. “Tea for me, me son. You’re up early, where’s the cook?” Willi shrugged and put the kettle back on the stove. “Late. I thought I’d have an early breakfast. I’m going to have some scrambled. How about if I cook for you too?”
Scragger was suddenly famished. “You’re on! Four eggs for me and two pieces of toast and I’ll go easy at lunch. We have any bread, sport?” He watched Willi open the refrigerator. Three loaves, plenty of eggs and butter. “Good oh! Can’t eat eggs without buttered toast. They don’t taste right.” He glanced at his watch.
“Wind’s veered almost south and up to thirty knots.” “My nose says she’ll lessen.” “My arse says she’ll lessen too but still she’s shitty.” Scragger laughed. “Have confidence, mate.” “I’ll be much more confident with my passport.” “Too right, so will I - but the plan still stays.” When he had got back last night from the sergeant, Vossi and Willi had been waiting for him. Well away from prying ears he had told them what had happened. Willi had said at once, and Vossi agreed, “We better alert Andy we may have to abort.”
“No,” Scragger said. “I figure it this way, sport: if Andy doesn’t call for Whirlwind in the morning I’ve all day to get our passports. If he calls for Whirlwind, it’ll be exactly at seven. That gives me plenty of time to get to the station at seven-thirty and back by eight. While I’m away you start the plan rolling.” “Jesus, Scrag, we been thr - ”
“Ed, will you listen? We leave anyway but bypass Al Shargaz where we know we’d have trouble and duck into Bahrain - I know the port officer there. We throw ourselves on his mercy - maybe even have an ‘emergency’ on the beach. Meanwhile we radio Al Shargaz the moment we’re clear of Iran skies for someone to meet us and bail us out. It’s the best I can think of and at least we’ve covered, either way.”
And it’s still the best I can think of, he told himself watching Willi at the stove, the butter in the frying pan beginning to sizzle. “I thought we were having scrambled?”
“This’s the way to scramble.” Willi’s voice edged.
“Bloody isn’t, you know,” Scragger said sharply. “You have to use water or milk an - ”
“By God Harry,” Willi snapped, “if you don’t want the… Scheiss! Sorry, didn’t mean to bite your head, Scrag. Sorry.”
“I’m touchy too, sport. No problem.”
“The, er, this way’s the way my mother does them. You put the eggs in without beating them, the whites cook white and then, quick as a wink you put in a little milk and you mix her, then the white’s white and the yolk’s yellow…” Willi found himself not able to stop. He had had a bad night, bad dreams, and bad feelings and now with the dawn he felt no better. Over in the corner the Green Band stirred, his nose filled with the smell of cooking butter and he yawned, nodded to them sleepily, then settled more comfortably and dozed off again. When the kettle boiled Scragger made himself some tea, glanced at his watch: 5:56 A.M. Behind him the door opened and Vossi wandered in, shook the rain off the umbrella.
“Hi, Scrag! Hey, Willi, coffee and two over easy with a side order of crisp bacon and hash brown for me.”
“Get stuffed!”
They all laughed, their anxiety making them light-headed. Scragger glanced at his watch again. Stop it! Stop it, he ordered himself. You’ve got to keep calm, then they’ll be calm. Easy to see they’re both ready to blow.
AT KOWISS: 6:24 A.M. McIver and Lochart were in the tower looking out at the rain and overcast. Both were dressed in flight gear, McIver seated in front of the HF, Lochart standing at the window. No lights on - just the reds and greens of the functioning equipment. No sound but the pleasing hum and the not so pleasing whine of the wind that came in the broken windows, rattling the aerial stanchions.
Lochart glanced at the wind counter. Twenty-five knots, gusting thirty from the south-southeast. Over by the hangar two mechanics were washing down the already clean two 212s, and the 206 McIver had brought from Tehran. Lights on in the cookhouse. Except for a skeleton cookhouse staff, McIver had told the office staff and laborers to take Friday off. After the shock of Esvandiary’s summary execution for “corruption” they had needed no encouragement to leave.
Lochart glanced at the clock. The second hand seemed interminably slow. A truck went by below. Another. Now it was exactly 6:30 A.M. “Sierra One, this is Lengeh.” It was Scragger reporting in as planned. McIver was
