Kuwait, or Iraq.” “Safe? Iraq? Those thieves? Saudi or Kuwait? By God, they’re decadent sheikdoms ripe for overthrow by the people. Dangerous to attempt a long-term business with the sheiks, very dangerous. They don’t obey God’s law. Iran does now. Iran is in balance now. The Imam, God’s peace on him, has rescued us. He has ordered oil to flow. There must be some other way of getting helicopters and crews! Gavallan and his mob of pirates have our property. I can’t assist pirates to escape. Do you want pirates to escape?” “Heaven forbid, I would never suggest that. Of course we don’t know they are pirates, Excellency. I heard that these are just foul rumors spread by more enemies who want Iran hurt even more. Even if it were true, would you equate nine used airplanes against $3.1 billion already spent and another $1.1 billion my government might be persuaded to commit?”
“Yes. Piracy is piracy, the law is the law, the Sheik has agreed to the inspection, the truth is the truth. Insha’Allah.”
“I totally agree, Excellency, but you know that truth is relative and a postponement until after sunset tomorrow would be in your national interests…” He had bitten back a curse and corrected his slip quickly, “in the interests of the Imam and your Islamic state.”
“God’s truth is not relative.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Kasigi said, outwardly calm but inwardly gnashing his teeth. How can anyone deal with these lunatics who use their beliefs as a coverall and “God” whenever they wish to close a legitimate line of logic. They’re all mad, blinkered! They won’t understand as we Japanese do you’ve got to be tolerant about other people’s beliefs, and that life is “from nothing into nothing,” and heaven and hell and god merely opium smoke from an abberated brain - until proven otherwise!
“Of course you’re right, Excellency. But they won’t be his airplanes or crews - I just need his temporary connections.” Wearily he had waited and cajoled and listened, then played his penultimate card: “I’m sure the Sheik and the foreign minister would consider it an immense favor if you’d postpone the inspection until tomorrow so they could go to my ambassador’s special reception at eight this evening.”
“Reception, Mr. Kasigi?”
“Yes, it’s sudden but terribly important - I happen to know you’re invited as the most important guest.” Kasigi had dropped his voice even more. “I beg you not to mention where you got the knowledge but, again in private, I can tell you that my government is seeking long-term oil contracts that would prove astoundingly profitable to you if Iran can continue to supply us. It would be a perfect moment t - ”
“Long-term contracts? I agree the Shah-negotiated contracts are no good, one-sided and must go. But we value Japan as a customer. Japan’s never tried to exploit us. I’m sure your ambassador would not mind delaying his reception an hour until after the inspection. The Sheik, the foreign minister, Newbury, and I could go directly from the airport.” Kasigi was not sure how far he dared go. But, Mister Excuse for an Ambassador, he thought, if you don’t postpone your inspection, I will be revenged because you will have made me commit the only sin we acknowledge: failure. “It’s fortunate Iran’s so well represented here.” “I will certainly come to the reception, Mr. Kasigi, after the inspection.”
Kasigi’s ultimate card had then been delivered with all the elegance needed: “I have a feeling, Excellency, you will soon be personally invited to my country to meet the most important, most important leaders there - for you of course realize how vital your Islamic state is to Japan - and to inspect facilities that would be valuable to Iran.”
“We … we certainly need untainted friends,” Abadani said. Kasigi had watched him carefully and had seen no reaction, still the same pitiless eyes and inflexibility. “In these troubled times it’s essential to look after friends, isn’t it? You never know when disaster may strike you, whoever you are? Do you?”
“That’s in the Hands of God. Only His.” There had been a long pause, then Abadani had said, “As God wants. I will consider what you have said.” Now in the privacy of his hotel bedroom, Kasigi was very afraid. It’s only essential to look after yourself. However wise or careful you are, you never know when disaster will strike. If gods exist, they exist only to torment you.
JUST INSIDE TURKEY: 4:23 P.M. They had landed just outside the village this morning, barely a mile inside Turkey. Erikki would have preferred to have gone farther into safety but his tanks were dry. He had been intercepted and ambushed again, this time by two fighters and two Huey gunships and had had to endure them for more than a quarter of an hour before he could duck across the line. The two Hueys had not ventured after him but remained circling in station just their side of the border.
“Forget them, Azadeh,” he had said joyously. “We’re safe now.” But they were not. The villagers had surrounded them, and the police had arrived. Four men, a sergeant, and three others, all in uniform - crumpled and ill fitting - with bolstered revolvers. The sergeant wore dark glasses against the glare of the sun off the snow. None of them spoke English. Azadeh had greeted them according to the plan she and Erikki had concocted, explaining that Erikki, a Finnish citizen, had been employed by a British company under contract to Iran-Timber, that in the Azerbaijan riots and fighting near Tabriz his life had been threatened by leftists, that she, his wife, had been equally threatened, so they had fled.
“Ah, the Effendi is Finnish but you’re Iranian?”
“Finnish by marriage, Sergeant Effendi, Iranian by birth. Here are our papers.” She had given him her Finnish passport which did not include references to her late father, Abdollah Khan. “May we use the telephone, please? We can pay, of course. My husband would like to call our embassy, and also his employer in Al Shargaz.”
“Ah, Al Shargaz.” The sergeant nodded pleasantly. He was heavyset, close-shaven, even so the blue-black of his beard showed through his golden skin. “Where’s that?”
She told him, very conscious of the way she and Erikki looked, Erikki with the filthy, bloodstained bandage on his arm and the crude adhesive over his damaged ear, she with her hair matted and dirty clothes and face. Behind her the two Hueys circled. The sergeant watched them thoughtfully. “Why would they dare to send fighters into our airspace and helicopters after you?” “The Will of God, Sergeant Effendi. I’m afraid that on that side of the border many strange things are happening now.”
“How are things over the border?” He motioned the other policemen toward the 212 and began to listen attentively. The three policemen wandered over, peered into the cockpit. Bullet holes and dried blood and smashed instruments. One of them opened the cabin door. Many automatic weapons. More bullet holes. “Sergeant!”
The sergeant acknowledged but waited politely until Azadeh had finished. Villagers listened wide-eyed, not a chador or veil among them. Then he pointed to one of the crude village huts. “Please wait over there in the shade.” The day was cold, the land snowbound, the sun bright off the snow. Leisurely the sergeant examined the cabin and the cockpit. He picked up the kookri, half pulled it out of the scabbard, and shoved it home again. Then he beckoned Azadeh and Erikki with it. “How do you explain the guns, Effendi?”
Uneasily Azadeh translated the question for Erikki.
“Tell him they were left in my plane by tribesmen who were attempting to hijack her.”
“Ah, tribesmen,” the sergeant said. “I’m astonished tribesmen would leave such wealth for you to fly away with. Can you explain that?” “Tell him they were all killed by loyalists, and I escaped in the melee.”
“Loyalists, Effendi? What loyalists?”
“Police. Tabrizi police,” Erikki said, uncomfortably aware that each question would pull them deeper into the quicksand. “Ask him if I can use the telephone, Azadeh.”
“Telephone? Certainly. In due time.” The sergeant studied the circling Hueys for a moment. Then he turned his hard brown eyes back to Erikki. “I’m glad the police were loyal. Police have a duty to the state, to the people, and to uphold the law. Gunrunning is against the law. Fleeing from police upholding the law is a crime. Isn’t it?”
“Yes, but we’re not gunrunners, Sergeant Effendi, nor fleeing from police upholding the law,” Azadeh had said, even more afraid now. The border was so close, too close. For her the last part of their escape had been terrifying. Obviously Hakim had alerted the border area; no one but he had the power to arrange such an intercept so fast, both on the ground and in the air. “Are you armed?” the sergeant asked politely.
“Just a knife.”
“May I have it please?” The sergeant accepted it. “Please follow me.” They had gone to the police station, a small brick building with cells and a few offices and telephones near the mosque in the little village square. “Over the last months we’ve had many refugees of all sorts passing along our road, Iranians, British, Europeans, Americans, many Azerbaijanis, many - but no Soviets.” He laughed at his own joke. “Many refugees, rich, poor, good, bad, many criminals among them. Some were sent back, some went on. Insha’Allah, eh? Please wait there.”
