to Iran-Toda! If they come back before I get them, they’re under arrest! Give Traffic Control what they want to know!” He stormed out, leaving three men on base with machine guns. Numir began, “Abadan Control, Bandar Delam: HVV, HGU, HKL, HXC, all 212s. Captains Rudi Lutz, Marc Dubois …”
IN POP KELLY’S COCKPIT: “… Sandor Petrofi, and Ignatius Kelly, all seconded from IranOil by Colonel Zataki’s order to Iran-Toda.”
“Thank you, Bandar Delam, keep us advised.”
Kelly looked right and gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up to Rudi who acknowledged…
IN RUDI’S COCKPIT: … and did the same to Dubois who also acknowledged. Then he peered into the haze once more.
The closely bunched choppers were almost over the coastline. Iran-Toda was to their left, about half a mile away, but Rudi could see none of it through the haze or mist. He accelerated slightly to get ahead, then turned from his heading of due south to due east. This gave them a deliberate direct course over the plant and he increased altitude only enough to clear the buildings. The complex rushed past but he knew that those on the ground would be well aware of their flight because of the howling suddenness of its appearance. Once past, he went down low again and held this same course, now heading inland for a little more than ten miles. Here the land was desolate, no villages nearby. Again, according to their plan, he turned due south for the sea.
At once visibility began to deteriorate. Down here at twenty feet, visibility was barely a quarter of a mile with a partial whiteout where there was no demarcation between sky and sea. Ahead, almost directly in their path, sixty-odd miles away, was Kharg Island with its immensely powerful radar and, beyond that, another two hundred and twenty miles, their landfall Bahrain. At least two hours of flying. With this wind more, the thirty-five southeasterly becoming a relative twenty-knot headwind. Down here in the soup it was dangerous. But they thought they should be able to slip under radar if the screens were manned - and should be able to avoid fighter intercept, if any.
Rudi moved the stick from side to side waggling his chopper, then touched his HF Transmit button momentarily. “Delta Four, Delta Four,” he said clearly, their code to Al Shargaz that all four Bandar Delam choppers were safe and leaving the coast. He saw Dubois point upward asking him to go higher. He shook his head, pointed ahead and down, ordering them to stay low and keep to the plan. Obediently they spread out and together they left the land and went into the deepening haze.
AT AL SHARGAZ HQ: Gavallan was on the phone to the hospital: “Quickly. Give me Captain Starke, please… Hello, Duke, it’s Andy, I just wanted to tell you we received ‘Delta Four’ from Rudi a minute ago, isn’t that marvelous?” “Wonderful, great! Fantastic! Four out and five to go!”
“Yes, but it’s six, don’t forget Erikki…”
Chapter 61
LENGEH: 8:04 A.M. Scragger was still waiting in the outer office of the police station. He sat disconsolately on a wooden bench in front of the gendarme corporal who looked down on him from a tall desk behind a chest-high partition.
Once again Scragger checked his watch. He had arrived at 7:20 in case the office opened early but the corporal had not arrived until 7:45 and waved him politely to the bench and invited him to wait. It was the longest wait he had ever had.
Rudi and the Kowiss lads must be airborne by now, he thought miserably, just like we’d’ve been if it wasn’t for the bloody passports. Another minute then that’s it. Daren’t wait any longer - daren’t; it’ll still take us an hour or more to get away and sure to God there’ll be a slipup somewhere between the three bases, bound to be some nosy parker who’ll start asking questions and set the airwaves afire - apart from that burk, Siamaki. Last night Scragger had been on the HF and had monitored Siamaki’s petulant calls to Gavallan at Al Shargaz, also to McIver at Kowiss telling him that he would meet him today at Tehran Airport.
Bloody burk! But I still think I was right not to call Andy and abort. Hell, we’ve got the easiest shot of all and if I’d put Whirlwind off until tomorrow there’d be something else, either with us or with one of the others, and there’d be no way old Mac could avoid flying back to Tehran today with bloody Kia. Can’t risk that, just can’t. Easy to hear Mac was as nervous as an old woman out to sea in a bucket.
The door opened and he looked up. Two young gendarmes came in, dragging a bruised young man between them, his clothes ripped and filthy. “Who’s he?” the corporal asked.
“A thief. We caught him stealing, Corporal, the poor fool was stealing rice from the bazaari Ishmael. We caught him during our patrol, just before dawn.”
“As God wants. Put him in the second cell.” Then the corporal shouted at the youth, startling Scragger who did not understand the Farsi, “Son of a dog! How can you be so stupid to be caught? Don’t you know it’s no longer a simple beating now! How many times do you all have to be told? It’s Islamic law now! Islamic law!”
“I… I was hungry… my…”
The terrified youth moaned as one of the gendarmes shook him roughly. “Hunger’s no excuse, by God. I’m hungry, our families’re hungry, we’re all hungry, of course we’re hungry!” They frog-marched the youth out of the room.
The corporal cursed him again, sorry for him, then glanced at Scragger, nodded briefly, and went back to his work. How stupid for the foreigner to be here on a Holy Day but if the old one wants to wait all day and all night until the sergeant comes tomorrow he can wait all day and all night. His pen scratched loudly, setting Scragger’s teeth on edge: 8:11. Grimly he got up, pretended to thank the corporal who politely pressed him to stay. Then he went for the door and almost bumped into Qeshemi. “Oh, sorry, mate! Salaam, Agha Qeshemi, salaam.”
“Salaam, Agha.” Qeshemi saw Scragger’s relief and impatience. Sardonically he motioned him to wait as he went over to the desk, his shrewd eyes reading the corporal clearly. “Greetings, Achmed, God’s peace on you.” “And on you, Excellency Sergeant Qeshemi.”
“What trouble do we have today - I know what the foreigner wants.” “There was another Islamic-Marxist meeting near midnight down by the docks. One mujhadin was killed and we’ve another seven in the cells - it was easy, the ambush went easily, thanks be to God, and Green Bands helped us. What’ll we do with them?”
“Obey the new rules,” Qeshemi said patiently. “Bring the prisoners up before the Revolutionary Komiteh when they get here tomorrow morning. Next?” The corporal told him about the youth. “Same with him - son of a dog to be caught!”
Qeshemi went through the partition gate to the safe, pulled out the key, and began to open it.
“Thanks be to God, I thought the key was lost,” the corporal said. “It was but Lafti found it. I went to his house this morning. He had it in his pocket.” The passports were on the boxes of ammunition. He brought them over to the desk, carefully checked them, signed the permit in the name of Khomeini, checked them again. “Here, Agha Pilot,” he said, and handed them to Scragger.
“Mamnoon am, Agha, khoda haefez.” Thank you, Excellency, good-bye. “Khoda haefez, Agha.” Sergeant Qeshemi shook the proffered hand, thoughtfully watched him leave. Through the window he saw Scragger drive off quickly. Too quickly. “Achmed, do we have gasoline in the car?” “There was yesterday, Excellency.”
AT BANDAR DELAM AIRPORT: 8:18 A.M. Now Numir was running frantically from one mechanic’s trailer to the next, but they were all empty. He rushed back to his office. Janan, the radio op, looked at him startled. “They’ve gone! Everyone’s gone, pilots, mechanics… and most of their things are gone too!” Numir stuttered, his face still livid from the blow Zataki had given him. “Those sons of dogs!” “But… but they’ve only gone to Iran-Toda, Excell - ” “I tell you they’ve fled, and they fled with our helicopters!” “But our two 206s are there in the hangar, I saw them, and a fan’s even drying the paint. Excellency Rudi wouldn’t leave a fan on like tha - ”
“By God, I tell you they’ve gone!”
Janan, a middle-aged man wearing glasses, switched on the HF. “Captain Rudi, this’s base, do you read?”
IN RUDI’S COCKPIT: Both Rudi and his mechanic Fagan - witch heard the call clearly. “Base to Captain Rudi, do you read?” Rudi moved the trim a fraction then relaxed again, looking right and left. He saw Kelly motion at his headset, raise two fingers, and gesture. He acknowledged. Then his glee faded: “Tehran, this’s Bandar Delam, do you read?” All pilots tensed. No answer. “Kowiss, this’s Bandar Delam, do you read?” No answer. “Lengeh, this’s Bandar Delam, do you read?”
“Bandar Delam, this’s Lengeh, you’re two by five, go ahead.” At once there was a spate of Farsi from Janan that Rudi did not understand, then the two operators talked back and forth. After a pause, Janan said in English: “Tehran, this is Bandar Delam, do you read?” Static. The call repeated. Static. Then, “Kowiss, do you read?” Then
