blamed - even though he had been present when the Khan had told them not to interfere with the pilot. He gave the order and came back. “Are you all right, Highness?”
“Yes, thank you. Don’t leave the room… wake me at dawn. Keep the fire going and wake me at dawn.”
Gratefully Hakim let himself go into the sleep that beckoned so seductively, his back no longer paining him, his mind focused on Azadeh and on Erikki. When she had walked out of the small room and left him alone with Erikki, he had allowed his grief to show: “There’s no way out of the trap, Erikki. We’re trapped, all of us, you, Azadeh, and me. I still can’t believe she’d renounce Islam, at the same time I’m convinced she won’t obey me or you. I’ve no wish to hurt her but I’ve no alternative, her immortal soul is more important than her temporary life.”
“I could save her soul, Hakim. With your help.”
“How?” He had seen the tension in Erikki, his face tight, eyes strange. “Remove her need to destroy it.”
“How?”
“Say, hypothetically, this madman of a pilot was not Muslim but barbarian and so much in love with his wife that he goes a little more mad and instead of just escaping by himself, he suddenly knocks her out, kidnaps her, flies her out of her own country against her will, and refuses to allow her to return. In most countries a husband can … can take extreme measures to hold on to his wife, even to force her obedience and curb her. This way she won’t have broken her oath, she’ll never need to give up Islam, you’ll never need to harm her, and I’ll keep my woman.” “It’s a cheat,” Hakim had said bewildered. “It’s a cheat.” “It’s not, it’s make-believe, hypothetical, all of it, only make-believe, but hypothetically it fulfills the rules you swore to abide by, and no one’d ever believe the sister of the Gorgon Khan would willingly break her oath and renounce Islam over a barbarian. No one. Even now you don’t know for certain she would, do you?”
Hakim had tried to find the flaws. There’re none, he had thought, astonished. And it would solve most of… wouldn’t it solve everything if it came to pass? If Erikki was to do this without her knowledge and help… Kidnap her! It’s true, no one’d ever believe she’d willingly break her oath. Kidnapped! I could deplore it publicly and rejoice for her in secret, if I want her to leave, and him to live. But I have to, it’s the only way: to save her soul I have to save him.
In the peace of the bedroom he opened his eyes briefly. Flame shadows danced on the ceiling. Erikki and Azadeh were there. God will forgive me, he thought, swooping into sleep. I wonder if I’ll ever see her again?
Chapter 69
TEHRAN - NEAR THE UNIVERSITY: 11:58 P.M. In the chill darkness Sharazad stood with the phalanx of Green Bands protecting the front of the massed, shouting Islamics. They were packed together, chanting “Allahhhh-u Akbarrrr” in unison, a living barrier against the two to three thousand roaring, leftist students and agitators approaching down the road. Flashlights and burning torches, some cars on fire, guns, sticks, wooden clubs. Her fingers gripped the automatic in her pocket, grenade ready in her other pocket. “God is Great!” she shrieked.
The enemy was closing fast and Sharazad saw their clenched fists, the tumult growing on both sides, shouts more hoarse, nerves more stretched, anticipation rocketing - “There is no other God but God…” Now their enemies were so near she could see individual faces. Suddenly she realized they were not massed satanic revolutionaries, not all of them, but the vast majority students, men and women of her own age, the women bravely not chadored and shouting for women’s rights, the vote, and all the sensible, God given, hard fought for, never-turning-back things.
She was transported back to the heady excitement of the Women’s March, all of them in their best clothes, hair free, as free as their hair, with freedom and justice for all in their new Islamic republic where she and her son- to-be and Tommy would live happily ever after. But there again in front of her was the knife-wielding fanatic tearing the future away, but that didn’t matter for her Ibrahim had stopped him, Ibrahim the student leader, he was there to save her. Oh, Ibrahim, are you here tonight, leading them now as you did with us? Are you here once more fighting for freedom and justice and women’s rights or were you martyred in Kowiss as you wanted, killing your evil, two-faced mullah who murdered your father as mine was also murdered?
But… but Father was killed by Islamics, not leftists, she thought bewildered. And the Imam’s still implacably for everything as it was in the Prophet’s time … And Meshang… And Tommy forced out. And forced divorce and forced marriage to that foul old man and no rights!
“What am I doing here?” she gasped in the pandemonium. “I should be over there with them, I should be over there with them, not here… no, no, not there either! What about my child, my son-to-be, it’s dangerous for him an - ”
Somewhere a gun went off, then others and mayhem became general, those in the fore trying to retreat and those behind trying to get to the fight. Around Sharazad there was a mindless surge. She felt herself being crushed and carried forward, her feet hardly touching the ground. A woman beside her screamed and went under the feet. An old man stumbled, and vanished below mumbling the Shahada, almost bringing her down. Someone’s elbow went into her stomach, she cried out in pain and her fear became terror. “Tommyyyy! Help meeeeee…” she shrieked.
A hundred yards or so ahead Tom Lochart was pressed against a shop front by the student marchers, his coat torn, peaked cap gone, more desperate than he had ever been. For hours he had been searching the groups of students hoping against hope to find her, sure she was somewhere among them. Where else would she go? Surely not to this student’s apartment, the one Jari said she met, this Ibrahim or whatever his name was who meant nothing. Better she’s there than here, he thought in despair. Oh, God, let me find her. Chanting women passed, most in Western dress, jeans, jackets, and then he saw her. He fought alongside but once more he had made a mistake and he apologized and shoved his way to the side again, a few curses shouted after him. Then he thought he saw her on the far side of the roadway but again he was mistaken. The girl wore similar ski clothes to Sharazad and had the same hairstyle and was about her age. But she carried a Marxist-Islamic banner and, scourged by his disappointment, he cursed her, hating her for her stupidity. The shouts and countershouts were reaching him too, agitating him, and he wanted to pick up the cudgel and smash the evil out of them. Oh, God, help me find her. “God IS great,” he muttered, and though he was frantic with worry for her, at the same time his heart was soaring. Becoming Muslim will make all the difference. Now they will accept me, I’m one of them, I can go on the Hajj to Mecca, I can worship in any mosque, color or race means nothing to God. Only belief. I believe in God and that Mohammed was the Prophet of God, I won’t be fundamentalist, or Shi’a. I’ll be orthodox Sunni. I’ll find a teacher and study and learn Arabic. And I’ll fly for IranOil and the new regime and we will be happy, Sharazad and I… A gun went off nearby, fires of a burning tire barricade soared into the air as small groups of screaming students were throwing themselves at the ranks of the Green Bands, other guns began firing, and now the whole street erupted into shouting, heaving bodies, the weak crushed underfoot. A berserk phalanx of youths dragged him with them toward the fighting. Eighty yards away Sharazad was screaming, fighting for her life, trying to shove and kick and push her way to the side where there would be comparative safety. Her chador was torn away, her scarf vanished. She was bruised, pain in her stomach. Those around her were a mob now, hacking at those opposing it, all for themselves but wrapped into the mob beast. The battle waged back and forth, no one knowing who was friend or enemy, except mullahs and Green Bands who shouted, trying to control the riot. With an earsplitting roar, the Islamic mob hesitated a moment, then advanced. The weak fell and were crushed. Men, women. Screams and shouts and pandemonium, all calling on their own version of God.
Desperately the students fought back but they were swamped. Relentlessly. Many went down. Feet trampled them. Now the rest broke, the rout began, and the sides intermixed.
Lochart used his superior height and strength to batter his way to the side and now stood between two cars, protected by them for the moment. A few yards away he saw a small, half-hidden alleyway that led toward a broken-down mosque where there would be sanctuary. Ahead was a huge explosion as a car tank exploded, scattering flames. The fortunate were killed instantly, the wounded began to scream. In the flame light he thought he caught a glimpse of her, then a group of fleeing youths swarmed over him, a fist went into his back, others pummeled him out of the way, and he fell under their boots.
Sharazad was only thirty yards away, hair awry, clothes torn, still locked into the press of the mob, still pulled along by the juggernaut, still screaming for help, no one hearing or caring. “Tommyyyy… help meeeeee…” The crowd parted momentarily. She darted for the opening, squeezing her way toward the barred and locked shops and parked cars. The tumult was lessening. Arms pushed for breathing space, hands wiped sweat and filth off, and men saw their neighbors.
