noticed it. A nimble of thunder. Sheet lightning flickered in the Zagros, most of the mountains clouded. As he worked hurriedly, he told Lochart how Wazari had spent so much time on the roof yesterday fixing the cable. “When I came on this morning I made a routine call so I knew she was working and we were loud and clear at 6:30 and again at 6:40. The wind must’ve pulled the wire between then and now…” The pliers slipped and he ripped a finger and cursed more. “Let me do it?”
“No, it’s fine. Couple of seconds.”
Lochart went back into the tower cabin: 7:07. The base still quiet. Over at the air base some trucks were moving around but no airplanes. Down by the hangar their two mechanics still fiddled with the 212s, according to plan, Freddy Ayre with them. Then he saw Wazari cycling along the inside perimeter road. His heart nipped. “Mac, there’s Wazari, coming from the base.” “Stop him, tell him anything but stop him.” Lochart rushed off down the stairs. McIver’s heart was thundering. “Come on, for God’s sake,” he said and cursed himself again for not checking. Check check and recheck, safety is no accident it has to be planned!
Again the pliers slipped. Again he applied them and now the nuts were moving down the bolt. Now one side was tight. For a second he was tempted to risk it, but his caution overcame his anxiety and he tightened the other side. A tentative pull on the cable. Tight. He hurried back, sweat pouring off him: 7:16.
For a moment he could not catch his breath. “Come on, McIver, for the love of God!” He took a deep breath and that helped. “Sierra One, this is Kowiss, do you read?”
Scot’s anxious voice came back at once. “Kowiss, Sierra One, go ahead.” “Do you have any information on any weather for us?”
At once Gavallan’s voice, even more anxious: “Kowiss, we sent out the following at exactly 0700: our forecast’s settled and we expect improving weather but watch out for small whirlwinds. Do you copy?” McIver exhaled. “We copy, and will watch for small whirlwinds. Did, did the others copy?”
“Affirmative…”
AT AL SHARGAZ HQ: “… I say again, affirmative.” Gavallan repeated into the mike. “What happened?”
“No problem,” McIver’s voice came back, his signal weak. “See you soon, out.” Now the airwaves were silent. A sudden cheer erupted in the room, Scot embraced his father and gasped as pain ripped up from his shoulder but no one noticed in the pandemonium. Manuela was hugging Gavallan, and she said, “I’m going to phone the hospital, Andy, I’ll be back in a second,” and ran off. Nogger was jumping up and down with glee and Gavallan said happily, “I think all nonpilots deserve a large bottle of beer!”
AT KOWISS: McIver switched off the set and slumped back in the chair, collecting himself, feeling strange - light-headed and heavy-handed. “Never mind that, it’s a go!” he said. It was quiet in the tower except for the wind that creaked the door he had left open in his haste. He closed it and saw the rain had stopped, the clouds still gloomy. Then he noticed his finger was still bleeding. Beside the HF was a paper towel and he tore a piece off and wrapped it crudely around the wound. His hands were trembling. On a sudden impulse, he went outside and knelt beside the connecting wire. It took all his strength to pull it loose. Then he double checked the tower, wiped the sweat off his brow, and went down the stairs.
Lochart and Wazari were in Esvandiary’s office, Wazari unshaven and grubby, a curious electricity in the air. No time to worry about that, McIver thought, Scrag and Rudi’re already airborne. “Morning, Sergeant,” McIver said curtly, aware of Lochart’s scrutiny. “I thought I gave you the day off - we’ve no traffic of any importance.”
“Yeah, Captain, you did but I, er, I couldn’t sleep and… I don’t feel safe over in the base.” Wazari noticed McIver’s flushed face and the crude paper bandage. “You okay?”
“Yes, I’m all right, just cut my finger on the broken window.” McIver glanced at Lochart who was sweating as much as he was. “We’d better be going, Tom. Sergeant, we’re ground-testing the 212s.” He saw Lochart glance at him abruptly. “Yes sir. I’ll inform base,” Wazari said. “No need for that.” Momentarily McIver was at a loss, then the answer came to him. “For your own sake, if you’re going to hang around here, you’d better get ready for Minister Kia.” The color went out of the man’s face. “What?” “He’s due shortly for the return flight to Tehran. Weren’t you the only witness against him and poor bloody Hotshot?”
“Sure, but I heard them,” Wazari flared, needing to justify himself. “Kia’s a bastard and a liar and so’s Hotshot and they had this deal cooking. Have you forgotten Hotshot was the one who ordered Ayre beaten up? They would have killed him, have you forgotten mat? Esvandiary and Kia, everything 1 said was true, it was true.”
“I’m sure it was. I believe you. But he’s bound to be plenty bloody aggravated if he sees you, isn’t he? So will the office staff, they were all very angry. They’ll certainly give you away. Perhaps I can divert Kia,” McIver said as a sop, hoping to keep him on their side, “perhaps not. If I were you I’d make myself scarce, don’t hang around here. Come on, Tom.” McIver turned to go but Wazari stood in his way.
“Don’t forget I’m the one who stopped a massacre by saying Sandor’s load shifted, but for me he’d be dead, but for me you’d all be up before a komiteh… you’ve got to help me…” Tears were streaming down his face now, “you gotta help me…”
“I’ll do what I can,” McIver said, sorry for him, and walked out. Outside he had to stop himself from running over to the others, seeing their anxiety, then Lochart caught up with him.
“Whirlwind?” he asked, having to hurry to keep alongside. “Yes, Andy pressed the button on the dot at 0700 as planned, Scrag and Rudi copied and are probably already on their way,” McIver said, the words tumbling over one another, not noticing Lochart’s sudden despair. Now they reached Ayre and the mechanics. “Whirlwind!” McIver croaked and to all of them the word sounded like a clarion call.
“Jolly good.” Freddy Ayre kept his voice flat, holding his excitement inside. The others did not. “Why the delay? What happened?” “Tell you later, start up, let’s get on with it!” McIver headed for the first 212, Ayre the second, the mechanics already jumping into the cabins. At that moment a staff car with Colonel Changiz and some airmen swung into the compound and stopped outside the office building. All the airmen carried guns, all wore green armbands.
“Ah, Captain, you’re flying Minister Kia back to Tehran?” Changiz seemed a little flustered, and angry.
“Yes, yes, I am, at ten, ten o’clock.”
“I had a message that he wants to bring his departure forward to eight o’clock but you’re not to leave until ten as your clearance states. Clear?” “Yes, but th - ”
“I would have phoned but your phones are out again and there’s something wrong with your radio. Don’t you service your equipment? It was working then went off.” McIver saw the colonel look at the three choppers lined up, begin to go toward them. “I didn’t know you had revenue flights today.” “Just ground-testing one and the other has to test avionics for tomorrow’s crew change at Rig Abu Sal, Colonel,” McIver said hastily and to further divert him, “What’s the problem with Minister Kia?”
“No problem,” he said irritably, then glanced at his watch and changed his mind about inspecting the helicopters. “Get someone to fix your radio and you come with me. The mullah Hussain wants to see you. We’ll be back in good time.”
Lochart got his mouth moving. “I’d be glad to drive Captain McIver over in a minute, there’re a few things here he sho - ”
“Hussain wants to see Captain McIver, not you - now! You deal with the radio!” Changiz told his men to wait for him, got into the driver’s seat, and beckoned McIver to sit beside him. Blankly, McIver obeyed. Changiz drove off and his driver wandered toward the office, the other airmen spread out, peered at the choppers. Both 212s were crammed with the last of the important spares, loaded last night. Trying to be nonchalant, the mechanics closed the cabin doors, started polishing.
Ayre and Lochart stared after the departing car. Ayre said, “Now what?” “I don’t know - we can’t leave without him.” Lochart felt nauseous.
AT BANDAR DELAM: 7:26 A.M. The four 212s were out of the hangar parked for takeoff. Fowler Joines and the other three mechanics were pottering in the back of the cabins, waiting impatiently. Unwieldy forty-gallon drums of reserve gasoline were lashed in place. Many crates of spares. Suitcases hidden under tarpaulins.
“Com’ on, for effs sweet sake,” Fowler said and wiped the sweat off, the air of the cabin heavy with gasoline.
Through the open cabin door he could see Rudi, Sandor, and Pop Kelly still waiting in the hangar, everything ready as planned except for the last pilot, Dubois, ten minutes late and no one knowing if Base Manager Numir or one of the staff or Green Bands had intercepted him. Then he saw Dubois come out of his door and almost had a fit. With Gallic indifference, Dubois was carrying a suitcase, his raincoat over his arm. As he strolled passed the office,
