floodlight and decided the time was perfect. “Now!” he said in Russian.
The sharpshooter beside him was already centered on the target through his telescopic sight, the rifle barrel resting on the window ledge. At once he flattened his index finger above the trigger guard, felt Mzytryk’s finger on the trigger, and began the countdown as ordered: “Three… two… one… fire!” Mzytryk squeezed the trigger. Both men saw the dumdum bullet go into Hashemi’s lower back, slam him spread-eagled against the car in front, then sprawling into the dirt.
“Good,” Mzytryk muttered grimly, regretting only that his own eyes and hands were not good enough to deal with his son’s murderers by himself. “Three… two… one…” The gunsight wavered. Both of them cursed, for they had seen Armstrong whirl around, look in their direction for an instant, then hurl himself through a gap in the cars and disappear behind one of them.
“He’s near the front wheel. He can’t escape. Be patient - fire when you can!” Mzytryk hurried out of the room to the stairwell and shouted in Turkish to the men waiting below, “Go!” then rushed back again. As he came through the doorway, he saw the sharpshooter fire. “Got him,” the man said with an obscenity.
Mzytryk trained his binoculars but could not see Armstrong. “Where is he?” “Behind the black car - he stuck his head around the front wheel for a second and I got him.”
“Did you kill him?”
“No, Comrade General. I was very careful, just as you ordered.” “You’re sure?”
“Yes, Comrade General, I got him in the shoulder, perhaps the chest.” The headquarters building burning furiously now, firing from the adjoining tenements sporadic, just pockets of resistance, attackers heavily outnumbering defenders, all of them whipped into a frenzy of brutality. Barbarians, Mzytryk thought contemptuously, then looked back at the sprawled body of Hashemi twitching and jerking and twitching again, half in and half out of the joub. Don’t die too quickly, matyeryebyets. “Can you see him, the Englishman?”
“No, Comrade General, but I’ve both sides covered.”
Then Mzytryk saw the broken-down ambulance arriving and men with Red Cross armbands fan out with stretchers to begin picking up the wounded, the battle mostly over now. I’m glad I came tonight, he thought, his rage not yet assuaged. He had decided to direct the retaliation personally the moment Hakim Khan’s message had arrived yesterday. The barely disguised “summons” - together with Pahmudi’s secret report of the manner of his son’s death at the hands of Hashemi and Armstrong - had sent him into a paroxysm of rage. Simple to arrange a helicopter and set down just outside Tabriz last night, simple to arrange a counterattack to ambush the two murderers. Simple to plan his vengeance that would cement relations with Pahmudi by removing his enemy Hashemi Fazir for him and at the same time save both his mujhadin and Tudeh much future trouble. And Armstrong, the elusive MI6 agent, another long-overdue elimination - curse that fornicator for appearing like a ghost after all these years. “Comrade General!”
“Yes, I see them.” Mzytryk watched the Red Cross men put Hashemi on a stretcher and carry him off toward the ambulance. Others went behind the car. The crossed lines of the telescopic sight followed them. Mzytryk’s excitement soared. The sharpshooter waited patiently. When the men reappeared, they were half carrying, half dragging Armstrong between them. “I knew I’d hit the bastard,” the sharpshooter said.
AT THE PALACE: 11:04 P.M. Silently the phosphorescent, red night-flying lights of the massed instrument panel came to life. Erikki’s finger pressed Engine Start. The jets caught, coughed, caught, hesitated as he eased the circuit breakers carefully in and out. Then he shoved them home. The engines began a true warm-up.
Floodlights at half power were on in the forecourt. Azadeh and Hakim Khan, heavy-coated against the night cold, stood just clear of the turning blades, watching him. At the front gate a hundred yards or so away two guards and Hashemi’s two police also watched but idly. Their cigarettes glowed. The two policemen shouldered their Kalashnikovs and strolled nearer. Once more the engines spluttered and Hakim Khan called out over the noise, “Erikki, forget it for tonight!” But Erikki did not hear him. Hakim moved away from the noise, nearer to the gate, Azadeh following him reluctantly. His walk was ponderous and awkward, and he cursed, unused to his crutches. “Greetings, Highness,” the policemen said politely.
“Greetings. Azadeh,” Hakim said irritably, “your husband’s got no patience, he’s losing his senses. What’s the matter with him? It’s ridiculous to keep trying the engines. What good would it do even if he could start them?” “I don’t know, Highness.” Azadeh’s face was white in the pale light and she was very uneasy. “He’s… since the raid he’s been very strange, very difficult, difficult to understand - he frightens me.”
“I don’t wonder! He’s enough to frighten the Devil.”
“Please excuse me, Highness,” Azadeh said apologetically, “but in normal times he’s… he’s not frightening.”
Politely the two policemen turned away, but Hakim stopped them, “Have you noticed any difference in the pilot?”
“He’s very angry, Highness. He’s been angry for hours. Once I saw him kick the machine - but different or not is difficult to say. I’ve never been near to him before.” The corporal was in his forties and wanted no trouble. The other man was younger and even more afraid. Their orders were to watch and wait until the pilot left by car, or any car left, not to hinder its leaving but to report to HQ at once by their car radio. Both of them realized the danger of their position - the arm of the Gorgon Khan had a very long reach. Both knew of the servants and guards of the late Khan accused by him of treason, still rotting in police dungeons. But both also knew the reach of Inner Intelligence was more certain. “Tell him to stop it, Azadeh, to stop the engines.” “He’s never before been so… so angry with me, and tonight …” Her eyes almost crossed in her rage. “I don’t think I can obey him.” “You WILL!”
After a pause she muttered, “When he’s even a little angry, I can do nothing with him.”
The policemen saw her paleness and were sorry for her but more sorry for themselves - they had heard what had happened on the mountainside. God protect us from He of the Knife! What must it be like to many such a barbarian who everyone knows drank the blood of the tribesmen he slaughtered, worships forest spirits against the law of God, and rolls naked in the snow, forcing her to do the same.
The engines spluttered and began to die and they saw Erikki bellow with rage and smash his great fist on the side of the cockpit, denting the aluminum with the force of his blow.
“Highness, with your permission I will go to bed - I think I will take a sleeping pill and hope that tomorrow is a better…” Her words trailed off. “Yes. A sleeping pill is a good idea. Very good. I’m afraid I’ll have to take two, my back hurts terribly and now I can’t sleep without them.” Hakim added angrily, “It’s his fault! If it wasn’t for him I wouldn’t be in pain.” He turned to his bodyguard. “Fetch my guards on the gate, I want to give them instructions. Come along, Azadeh.”
Painfully he walked off, Azadeh obediently and sullenly at his side. The engines started shrieking again. Irritably Hakim Khan turned and snapped at the policemen, “If he doesn’t stop in five minutes, order him to stop in my name! Five minutes, by God!”
Uneasily the two men watched them leave, the bodyguard with the two gate guards hurrying after them up the steps. “If Her Highness can’t deal with him, what can we do?” the older policeman said.
“With the Help of God the engines will continue until the barbarian is satisfied, or he stops them himself.”
The lights in the forecourt went out. After six minutes the engines were still starting and stopping. “We’d better obey.” The young policeman was very nervous. “The Khan said five. We’re late.” “Be prepared to run and don’t irritate him unnecessarily. Take your safety catch off.” Nervously they went closer. “Pilot!” But the pilot still had his back to them and was half inside the cockpit. Son of a dog! Closer, now up to the whirling blades. “Pilot!” the corporal said loudly. “He can’t hear you, who can hear anything? You go forward, I’ll cover you.” The corporal nodded, commended his soul to God, and ducked into the wash of air. “Pilot!” He had to go very close, and touch him. “Pilot!” Now the pilot turned, his face grim, said something in barbarian that he did not understand. With a forced smile and forced politeness, he said, “Please, Excellency Pilot, we would consider it an honor if you would stop the engines, His Highness the Khan has ordered it.” He saw the blank look, remembered that He of the Knife could not speak any civilized language, so he repeated what he had said, speaking louder and slower and using signs. To his enormous relief, the pilot nodded apologetically, turned some switches, and now the engines were slowing and the blades were slowing. Praise be to God! Well done, how clever you are, the corporal thought, gratified. “Thank you, Excellency Pilot. Thank you.” Very pleased with himself he imperiously peered into the cockpit. Now he saw the pilot making signs to him, clearly wishing to please him - as so he should, by God - inviting him to get into the pilot’s seat. Puffed with pride, he watched the barbarian politely lean into the cockpit and move the controls and point at instruments.
