“Obviously to land.”
“Find out who’s aboard. And don’t try any tricks.”
Together they went to the UHF in his office. “HXT, do you read?” “HXT, loud and clear. This is Captain Starke of Kowiss.” A pause, then, “Captain Lutz?”
“Yes, it’s Captain Lutz, Captain Starke,” he said, knowing by the formality that there must be hostiles aboard, as Starke would know something was wrong here.
“Request permission to land. I’m low on gas and require refueling. I’m cleared by Abadan radar.”
Rudi glanced at Zataki. “Ask who’s in that airplane?” the man said. “Who’ve you got aboard?”
There was a pause. “Four passengers. What’s the problem?” Rudi waited. Zataki did not know what to do. Any of the military bases might be listening in. “Let him land… near the hangar.”
“Permission to land, HXT. Set her down near the east hangar.” “HXT.”
Zataki leaned over and switched off the set. “In future you will only use the radio with permission.”
“There are routine reports to give to Abadan and Kharg radar. My radio op’s been with us f - ”
Blood soared into Zataki’s face and he shouted, “Until further orders your radio’s only to be used with one of us listening in. Nor will any planes take off, nor land here without permission. You are responsible.” Then the rage evaporated as quickly as it had arrived. He lifted his gun. The safety was still off. “If you’d continued the blow you would have broken my neck, my throat, and I would have died. Yes?”
After a pause, Rudi nodded. “Yes.”
“Why did you stop?”
“I’ve…I’ve never killed anyone. I did not want to start.” “I’ve killed many - doing God’s work. Many - thanks be to God. Many. And will kill many more enemies of Islam, with God’s help.” Zataki clicked on the safety. “It was the Will of God the blow was stopped, nothing more. I cannot give you that man. He is Iranian, this is Iran, he is an enemy of Iran and Islam.”
They watched from the hangar as the 206 came in. There were four passengers aboard, all civilians, all armed with submachine guns. In the front seat was a mullah and some of Zataki’s tension left him, but not his anger. The moment the chopper touched down his revolutionaries swarmed out of hiding, guns leveled, and surrounded her.
The mullah Hussain got out. His face tightened seeing Zataki’s hostility. “Peace be with you. I am Hussain Kowissi of the Kowiss komiteh.” “Welcome to my area in the Name of God, mullah,” Zataki said, his face even grimmer. “I am Colonel Zataki of the Abadan komiteh. We rule this area and do not approve of men putting themselves between us and God.” “Sunnis and Shi’as are brothers, Islam is Islam,” Hussain said. “We thank our Sunni brethren of the Abadan oil fields for their support. Let us go and talk, our Islamic revolution is not yet won.”
Tautly Zataki nodded and called his men off and beckoned the mullah to follow him out of earshot.
At once Rudi hurried under the rotors.
“What the hell’s going on, Rudi?” Starke said from the cockpit, his shoulders aching, finishing shutdown procedures.
Rudi told him. “What about you?”
As rapidly Starke told him what had happened during the night and in Colonel Peshadi’s office. “The mullah and these thugs came back at midday and they near bust a gut when I refused to fly armed men. Man, I liked to die, but I’m not flying armed men, that makes us accessories to revolution, and the revolution’s nowhere near settled yet - we saw hundreds of troops and roadblocks coming here.” His hard eyes went over the base and the pockets of Green Bands here and there, the rest of the crew still standing near their barracks under guard, and the fitter still senseless. “Bastards,” he said and got out. He stretched against the ache in his back and felt better. “Eventually we compromised. They kept their weapons but I kept their magazines and stowed them in the baggage compart - ” He stopped. The tall mullah, Hussain, was approaching them, the blade above circling leisurely now.
“The baggage key please, Captain,” Hussain said.
Starke gave it to him. “There’s no time to get back to Kowiss and no time to get to Abadan.”
“Can’t you night fly?”
“I can but it’s against your regulations. You had a headset, you heard how radar is here. You’ll have military choppers and airplanes buzzing us like hornets before we’re halfway airborne. I’ll refuel and we’ll overnight here - least I will. You can always grab some transport from your buddies here if you need to go into town.”
Hussain flushed. “Your time is very short, American,” he said in Farsi. “You and all your imperialist parasites.”
“If it is the Will of God, mullah, if it’s the Will of God. I’ll be ready to leave after first prayer. Then I leave, with or without you.” “You will take me to Abadan and wait and then return to Kowiss as I wish and as Colonel Peshadi ordered!”
Starke snapped in English, “If you’re ready to leave after first prayer! But Peshadi didn’t order it - I’m not under his orders, or yours - IranOil asked me to fly you on this charter. I’ll have to refuel on the way back.” Hussain said irritably, “Very well, we will leave at dawn. As to refueling…” He thought a moment. “We will do that at Kharg.” Both Starke and Rudi were startled. “How we going to get cleared into Kharg? Kharg’s loyal, er, still air force controlled. You’d have your heads blown off.”
Hussain just looked at them. “You will wait here until the komiteh has decided. In one hour I want to talk to Kowiss on the HF.” He stormed off. Starke said quietly. “These bastards’re too well organized, Rudi. We’re up shit creek.”
Rudi could feel the weakness in his legs. “We’d better get ourselves organized, prepare to get to hell out of here.”
“We’ll do that after food. You okay?”
“I thought I was dead. They’re going to kill us all, Duke.” “I don’t think so. For some reason we’re VIPs to them. They need us and that’s why Hussain backs off, your Zataki too. They might rough us up to keep us in line but I figure at least for the short haul we’re important in some way.” Again Starke tried to ease the tiredness out of his back and shoulders. “I could use one of Erikki’s saunas.” They both looked off at a burst of exuberant gunfire into the air from some Green Bands. “Crazy sonsofbitches. From what I overheard this operation’s part of a general uprising to confront the armed forces - guns against guns. How’s your radio reception? BBC or Voice of America?”
“Bad to very bad and jammed most days and nights. Of course Radio Free Iran’s loud and clear as always.” This was the Soviet station based just over the border at Baku on the Caspian Sea. “And Radio Moscow’s like it was in your back garden, as always.”
Chapter 7
NEAR TABRIZ: 6:05 P.M. In the snow-covered mountains far to the north, not far from the Soviet border, Pettikin’s 206 came over the rise fast, continuing to climb up the pass, skimming the trees, following the road. “Tabriz One, HFC from Tehran. Do you read?” he called again. Still no answer. Light was closing in, the late afternoon sun hidden by deep cloud cover that was only a few hundred feet above him, gray and heavy with snow. Again he tried to raise the base, very tired now, his face badly bruised and still hurting from the beating he had taken. His gloves and the broken skin over his knuckles made it awkward for him to press the transmit button. “Tabriz One. HFC from Tehran. Do you read?”
Again there was no answer but this did not worry him. Communication in the mountains was always bad, he was not expected, and there was no reason for Erikki Yokkonen or the base manager to have arranged a radio watch. As the road climbed, the cloud cover came down but he saw, thankfully, that the crest ahead was still clear, and once over it, the road fell away and there, half a mile farther on, was the base.
This morning it had taken him much longer than expected to drive to the small military air base at Galeg Morghi, not far from Tehran’s international airport, and though he had left the apartment before dawn, he did not arrive there until a bleak sun was well into the polluted, smoke-filled sky. He had had to divert many times. Street battles were still going on with many roads blocked - some deliberately with barricades but more with burned-out wrecks of cars or buses. Many bodies sprawled on the snow-covered sidewalks and roadways, many wounded, and twice, angry police turned him back. But he persevered and took an even more circuitous route. When he arrived, to his surprise the gate to their section of the base where they operated a training school was open and unguarded. Normally air force sentries would be there. He drove in and parked his car in the safety of the S-G hangar but found
