“Good. How the hell you managed Abadani I don’t know - and I don’t want to know either - but our collective hat’s off to you. Now, er, now hate to bring bad tidings along with the good but we’ve just had a telex from Henley in Tabriz.”
Sleep vanished from Gavallan. “Trouble?”
“Afraid so. It sounds bizarre but this’s what it says.” There was a rustle of paper, then, “Henley says: ‘We hear there was some sort of attack yesterday or last night on Hakim Khan’s life, Captain Yokkonen is supposed to be implicated. Last night he fled for the Turkish border in his helicopter, taking his wife Azadeh with him, against her will. A warrant for attempted murder and kidnapping has been issued in Hakim Khan’s name. A great deal of fighting between rival factions is presently going on in Tabriz which is making accurate reporting somewhat difficult. Further details will be sent immediately they are available.’ That’s all there is. Astonishing, what?” Silence. “Andrew? Are you there?”
“Yes… yes, I am. Just… just, er, trying to collect my wits. There’s no chance there’d be a mistake?”
“I doubt that. I’ve sent an urgent signal for more details; we might get something tomorrow. I suggest you contact the Finnish ambassador in London, alert him. The embassy number is 01-7668888. Sorry about all this.” Gavallan thanked him and, dazed, replaced the phone.
Sunday - March 4
Chapter 72
AT THE TURKISH VILLAGE: 10:20 A.M. Azadeh awoke with a start. For a moment she could not remember where she was, then the room came into focus - small, drab, two windows, the straw mattress of the bed hard, clean but coarse sheets and blankets - and she recalled that this was the village hotel and last night at sunset, in spite of her protests and not wanting to leave Erikki, she had been escorted here by the major and a policeman. The major had brushed aside her excuses and insisted on dining with her in the tiny restaurant that had emptied immediately they had arrived. “Of course you must eat something to keep up your strength. Please sit down. I will order whatever you eat for your husband and have them send it to him. Would you like that?”
“Yes, please,” she said, also in Turkish, and sat down, understanding the implied threat, the hackles on her neck twisting. “I can pay for it.” The barest touch of a smile moved his full lips. “As you wish.” “Thank you, Major Effendi. When can my husband and I leave, please?” “I will discuss that with you tomorrow, not tonight.” He motioned to the policeman to stand guard on the door. “Now we will speak English,” he said, offering her his silver cigarette case.
“No, thank you, I don’t smoke. When can I have my jewelry back, please, Major Effendi?”
He selected a cigarette and began tapping the end on the case, watching her. “As soon as it is safe. My name is Abdul Ikail. I’m stationed at Van and responsible for this whole region, up to the border.” He used his lighter, exhaled smoke, his eyes never leaving her. “Have you been to Van before?” “No, no I haven’t.”
“It’s a sleepy little place. It was,” he corrected himself, “before your revolution, though it’s always been difficult on the border.” Another deep intake of smoke. “Undesirables on both sides wanting to cross or to flee. Smugglers, drug dealers, arms dealers, thieves, all the carrion you can think of.” He said it casually, wisps of smoke punctuating the words. The air was heavy in the little room and smelled of old cooking, humans, and stale tobacco. She was filled with foreboding. Her fingers toyed with the strap of her shoulder bag.
“Have you been to Istanbul?” he asked.
“Yes. Yes, once for a few days when I was a little girl. I went with my father, he had business there and I, I was put on a plane for school in Switzerland.”
“I’ve never been to Switzerland. I went to Rome once on a holiday. And to Bonn on a police course, and another one in London, but never Switzerland.” He smoked a moment, lost in thought, then stubbed out the cigarette in a chipped ashtray and beckoned the hotel owner who stood abjectly by the door, waiting to take his order. The food was primitive but good and served with great, nervous humility that further unsettled her. Clearly the village was not used to such an august presence.
“No need to be afraid, Lady Azadeh, you’re not in danger,” he told her as though reading her mind. “On the contrary. I’m glad to have the opportunity to talk to you, it’s rare a person of your… your quality passes this way.” Throughout dinner, patiently and politely, he questioned her about Azerbaijan and Hakim Khan, volunteering little, refusing to discuss Erikki or what was going to happen. “What will happen will happen. Please tell me your story again.”
“I’ve… I’ve already told it to you, Major Effendi. It’s the truth, it’s not a story. I told you the truth, so did my husband.”
“Of course,” he said, eating hungrily. “Please tell it to me again.” So she had, afraid, reading his eyes and the desire therein, though he was always punctilious and circumspect. “It’s the truth,” she said, hardly touching the food in front of her, her appetite vanished. “We’ve committed no crime, my husband only defended himself and me - before God.” “Unfortunately God cannot testify on your behalf. Of course, in your case, I accept what you say as what you believe. Fortunately here we’re more of this world, we’re not fundamentalist, there’s a separation between Islam and state, no self-appointed men get between us and God, and we’re only fanatic to keep our own way of life as we want it - and other people’s beliefs or laws from being crammed down our throats.” He stopped, listening intently. Walking here in the falling light they had heard distant firing and some heavy mortars. Now, in the silence of the restaurant, they heard more. “Probably Kurds defending their homes in the mountains.” His lips curled disgustedly. “We hear Khomeini is sending your army, and Green Bands, against them.”
“Then it’s another mistake,” she said. “That’s what my brother says.” “I agree. My family is Kurd.” He got up. “A policeman will be outside your door all night. For your protection,” he said with the same curious half smile that greatly perturbed her. “For your protection. Please stay in your room until I… I come for you or send for you. Your compliance assists your husband. Sleep well.”
So she had gone to the room she had been given and then, seeing there was no lock or bolt on the door, had jammed a chair under the knob. The room was cold, the water in the jug icy. She had washed and dried herself, then prayed, adding a special prayer for Erikki, and sat on the bed. With great care she slipped out the six-inch, steel hat pin that was secreted in the binding of her shoulder bag, studied it for a second. The point was needle sharp, the head small but big enough to grip for a thrust. She slid it into the underside of the pillow as Ross had shown her: “Then it’s no danger to you,” he had said with a smile, “a hostile wouldn’t notice it, and you can get it easily. A beautiful young girl like you should always be armed, just in case.”
“Oh, but, Johnny, I’d never be able to… never.”
“You will when - if - the time ever comes, and you should be prepared to. So long as you’re armed, know how to use the weapon whatever it is, and accept that you may have to kill to protect yourself, then you’ll never, ever, need to be afraid.” Over those beautiful months in the High Lands he had shown her how to use it. “Just an inch in the right place is more than enough, it’s deadly enough…” She had carried it ever since, but never once had to use it - not even in the village. The village. Leave the village to the night, not to the day.
Her fingers touched the head of the weapon. Perhaps tonight, she thought. Insha’Allah! What about Erikki? Insha’Allah! Then she was reminded of Erikki saying, “Insha’Allah’s fine, Azadeh, and a great excuse, but God by any name needs a helping earthly hand from time to time.”
Yes. I promise you I’m prepared, Erikki. Tomorrow is tomorrow and I will help, my darling. I’ll get you out of this somehow. Reassured she blew out the candle, curled up under the sheets and covers still dressed in sweater and ski pants. Moonlight came through the windows. Soon she was warm. Warmth and exhaustion and youth led her into sleep that was dreamless. In the night she was suddenly awake. The doorknob was turning softly. Her hand went to the spike and she lay there, watching the door. The handle went to the limit, the door moved a fraction but did not budge, held tightly closed by the chair that now creaked under the strain. In a moment the knob turned quietly back to its resting place. Again silence. No footsteps or breathing. Nor did the knob move again. She smiled to herself. Johnny had also showed her how to place the chair. Ah, my darling, I hope you find the happiness you seek, she thought, and slept again, facing the door. Now she was awake and rested and knew that she was much stronger than yesterday, more ready for the battle that would soon begin. Yes, by God, she told herself, wondering what had brought her out of sleep. Sounds of traffic and street vendors. No, not those. Then again a knock on the door. “Who is it, please?”
“Major Ikail.”
“One moment, please.” She pulled on her boots, straightened her sweater and her hair. Deftly she disengaged the chair. “Good morning, Major Effendi.” He glanced at the chair, amused. “You were wise to jam the door. Don’t do it again - without permission.” Then he scrutinized her. “You seem rested. Good. I’ve ordered coffee
