“Anything, Scrag?”
“No, no, not yet, sport. Kasigi called. I told him he’s in business, gave him the chopper registrations, names of pilots and mecs. He said he’s booked on our flight to Kuwait tonight, then he’ll catch a ride to Abadan, then to Iran-Toda.” Scragger was as perturbed as the others about the way Gavallan looked. “Andy, you’ve covered every possibility.”
“Have I? I doubt it, Scrag. I haven’t got Erikki and Azadeh out.” During the night, till very late London time, Gavallan had contacted everyone of importance he could think of. The Finnish ambassador had been shocked: “But it’s impossible! One of our nationals couldn’t possibly be involved in such an affair. Impossible! Where will you be this time tomorrow?” Gavallan had told him and had watched the night turn into dawn. No way to contact Hakim Khan other than through Newbury and Newbury was handling that possibility. “It’s a bitch, Scrag, but there you are.” Numbly he picked up the phone, put it down again. “Are you all checked out?”
“Yes. Kasigi‘11 meet us at the gate. I’ve sent all our bags to the terminal and had them checked in. We can stay here till the last moment and go straight over.”
Gavallan stared at the airport. Busy, normal, gentle day. “I don’t know what to do, Scrag. I just don’t know what to do anymore.”
AT THE POLICE STATION IN THE TURKISH VILLAGE: 5:18 P.M. “.. .just as you say, Effendi. You will make the necessary arrangements?” the major said deferentially into the phone. He was sitting at the only desk in the small, scruffy office, the sergeant standing nearby, the kookri and Erikki’s knife on the desktop. “… Good. Yes… yes, I agree. Salaam.” He replaced the phone, lit a cigarette, and got up. “I’ll be at the hotel.” “Yes, Effendi.” The sergeant’s eyes glinted with amusement but, carefully, he kept it off his face. He watched the major straighten his jacket and hair and put on his fez, envying him his rank and power. The phone rang. “Police, yes?… oh, hello, Sergeant.” He listened with growing astonishment. “But… yes… yes, very well.” Blankly he put the phone back on its hook. “It… it was Sergeant Urbil at the border, Major Effendi. There’s an Iran Air Force truck with Green Bands and a mullah coming to take the helicopter and the prisoner and her back to Ir - ”
The major exploded. “In the Name of God who allowed hostiles over our border without authority? There’re standing orders about mullahs and revolutionaries!”
“I don’t know, Effendi,” the sergeant said, frightened by the sudden rage. “Urbil just said they were waving official papers and insisted - everyone knows about the Iranian helicopter so he just let them through.” “Are they armed?”
“He didn’t say, Effendi.”
“Get your men, all of them, with submachine guns.”
“But… but what about the prisoner?”
“Forget him!” the major said and stormed out cursing.
* ON THE OUTSKIRTS OF THE VILLAGE: 5:32 P.M. The Iran Air Force truck was a four-wheel drive, part tanker and part truck, and it turned off the side road that was little more than a track onto the snow, changed gears, and headed for the 212. Nearby, the police sentry went to meet it. Half a dozen armed youths wearing green armbands jumped down, then three unarmed, uniformed Iran Air Force personnel, and a mullah. The mullah slung his Kalashnikov. “Salaam. We’re here to take possession of our property in the name of the Imam and the people,” the mullah said importantly. “Where is the kidnapper and the woman?”
“I… I don’t know anything about that.” The policeman was flustered. His orders were clear: Stand guard and keep everyone away until you’re told otherwise. “You’d better go to the police station first and ask there.” He saw one of the air force personnel open the cockpit door and lean into the cockpit; the other two were reeling out refueling hoses. “Hey, you three, you’re not allowed near the helicopter without permission!” The mullah stood in his path. “Here is our authority!” He waved papers in the policeman’s face and that rattled him even more, for he could not read. “You better go to the station first…” he stammered, then with vast relief saw the station police car hurtling along the little road toward them from the direction of the village. It swerved off into the snow, trundled a few yards and stopped. The major, sergeant, and two policemen got out, riot guns in their hands. Surrounded by his Green Bands, the mullah went toward them, unafraid. “Who’re you?” the major said harshly.
“Mullah Ali Miandiry of the Khoi komiteh. We have come to take possession of our property, the kidnapper, and the woman, in the name of the Imam and the people.”
“Woman? You mean Her Highness, the sister of Hakim Khan?” “Yes. Her.” ” ‘Imam’? Imam who?” “Imam Khomeini, peace be on him.” “Ah, Ayatollah Khomeini,” the major said, affronted by the title. “What ‘people’?”
Just as toughly the mullah shoved some papers toward him. “The people of Iran. Here is our authority.”
The major took the papers, scanned them rapidly. There were two of them, hastily scrawled in Farsi. The sergeant and his two men had spread out, surrounding the truck, submachine guns in their hands. The mullah and Green Bands watched them contemptuously.
“Why isn’t it on the correct legal form?” the major said. “Where’s the police seal and the signature of the Khoi police chief?”
“We don’t need one. It’s signed by the komiteh.”
“What komiteh? I know nothing about komitehs.”
“The Revolutionary Komiteh of Khoi has authority over this area and the police.”
“This area? This area’s Turkey!”
“I meant authority over the area up to the border.”
“By whose authority? Where is your authority? Show it to me.” A current went through the youths. “The mullah’s shown it to you,” one of them said truculently. “The komiteh signed the paper.”
“Who signed it? You?”
“I did,” the mullah said. “It’s legal. Perfectly legal. The komiteh is the authority.” He saw the air force personnel staring at him. “What are you waiting for? Get the helicopter refueled!”
Before the major could say anything, one of them said deferentially, “Excuse me, Excellency, the panel’s in a mess, some of the instruments are broken. We can’t fly her until she’s checked out. It’d be safer to g - ” “The Infidel flew it all the way from Tabriz safely by night and by day, landed it safely, why can’t you fly it during the day?”
“It’s just that it’d be safer to check before flying, Excellency.” “Safer? Why safer?” one of the Green Bands said roughly, walking over to him. “We’re in God’s hands doing God’s work. Do you want to delay God’s work and leave the helicopter here?”
“Of course not, of co - ”
“Then obey our mullah and refuel it! Now!”
“Yes, yes, of course,” the pilot said lamely. “As you wish.” Hastily the three of them hurried to comply - the major shocked to see that the pilot, a captain, allowed himself to be overridden so easily by the young thug who now stared back at him with flat, challenging eyes.
“The komiteh has jurisdiction over the police, Agha,” the mullah was saying. “Police served the Satan Shah and are suspect. Where is the kidnapper and the … the sister of the Khan?”
“Where’s your authority to come over the border and ask for anything?” The major was coldly furious.
“In the Name of God, Imam Khomeini, this is authority enough!” The mullah stabbed his finger at the papers. One of the youths cocked his gun. “Don’t,” the major warned him. “If you pull a single trigger on our soil, our forces will come over your border and bum everything between here and Tabriz!”
“If it’s the Will of God!” The mullah stared back, dark eyes and dark beard and just as resolved, despising the major and the loose regime the man and uniform represented to him. War now or later was all the same to him, he was in God’s hands and doing God’s work and the Word of the Imam would sweep them to victory - over all borders. But now was not the time for war, too much to do in Khoi, leftists to overcome, revolts to put down, the Imam’s enemies to destroy, and for that, in these mountains, every helicopter was priceless.
“I… I ask for possession of our property,” he said, more reasonably. He pointed at the markings. “There are our registrations, that’s proof that it is our property. It was stolen from Iran - you must know there was no permission to leave Iran, legally it is still our property. The warrant,” he pointed to the papers in the major’s hand, “the warrant is legal, the pilot kidnapped the woman, so we will take possession of them too. Please.” The major was in an untenable situation. He could not possibly hand over the Finn and his wife to illegals because of an illegal piece of paper - that would be a gross dereliction of duty and would, correctly, cost him his head. If the mullah forced the issue he would have to resist and defend the police station, but obviously he had insufficient men to do so, obviously he would fail in the confrontation. Equally he was convinced that the mullah and Green Bands were prepared to die this very minute as he himself was not. He decided to gamble. “The kidnapper and the Lady Azadeh
