opened the briefcase. “Eh? 12 million rials - between you.” McIver looked at the money blankly. 12 million was about $150,000 - over 100,000 pounds sterling. Numbly, he shook his head.
At once Valik said, “All right, 12 million each - and expenses - half now and half when we’re safe at Kuwait Airport, eh?”
McIver was in shock, not only because of the money but because Valik had openly said “Kuwait” which McIver had suspected but had not wished to think about. This was a complete 180-degree turn from everything that Valik had been saying for months: for months he had been bullish about the Shah crushing the opposition, then Khomeini. And even after the Shah’s unbelievable departure and Khomeini’s astonishing return to Tehran - my God, was that only ten days ago? - Valik had said a dozen times that there was nothing to worry about, for Bakhtiar and the generals of the Imperial Staff held the complete balance of power and would never permit “this Khomeini - covert Communist revolution to succeed.” Nor would the United States permit it. Never. At the right time the services would seize power and take over. Only yesterday Valik had confidently repeated it and said he’d heard that any hour the army was going to move in force and that the Immortals at Doshan Tappeh, putting down the small air force mutiny, was the first sign. McIver tore his gaze off the money and looked at the eyes of the man opposite. “What do you know that we don’t know?”
“What’re you talking about?” Valik began to bluster. “I don’t know an - ” “Something’s happened, what is it?”
“I’ve got to get out, with my family,” Valik said, on the edge of desperation now. “Rumors are terrible - coup or civil war, Khomeini or not, I’m, we’re, we’re marked. Do you understand? It’s my family, Mac, I’ve got to get out, until things quiet down. 12 million each, eh?” “What rumors?”
“Rumors!” Valik almost spat at him. “Get the clearance any way you can. I pay in advance.”
“However much money you offer I won’t do it. It has to be straight.” “You stupid hypocrite! Straight? How have you been operating all these years in Iran? Pishkesh! How much have you yourself paid under the counter - or to customs men? Pishkesh! How do you think we get contracts, eh? The Guerney contracts? Pishkesh! By putting cash, quietly, into the right hands. Are you so stupid you still don’t know Iranian ways?”
McIver said as grimly, “I know pishkesh, I’m not stupid, and I know Iran has its own ways. Oh, yes, Iran has its own ways. The answer’s no.” “Then the blood of my children and my wife are on your head. And mine.” “What’re you talking about?”
“Are you afraid of the truth?”
McIver stared at him. Valik’s wife and two children were favorites of Genny’s and his. “What makes you so sure?”
“I’ve… I’ve a cousin in the police. He saw a… a secret SAVAK list. I am to be arrested the day after tomorrow along with many other prominent persons as a sop to the… the opposition. And my family. And you know how they treat… how they can treat women and children in front of the…” Valik’s words trailed off.
McIver’s defenses crumbled. They had all heard horrendous stories of wives and children being tortured in front of the arrested man to force his compliance with whatever they wanted, or just for devilment. “All right,” he said helplessly, feeling rotten, knowing he was trapped. “I’ll try, but don’t expect to get a clearance, and you shouldn’t go south to Abadan. Your best bet would be Turkey. Perhaps we could chopper you to Tabriz, then you could buy your way over the border in a truck. You must have friends there. And you can’t make the pickup Galeg Morghi - there’s no way you could sneak aboard with Annoush and the children or even get into that military field without being stopped. You’d… you’d have to be picked up outside of Tehran. Somewhere off the roads and out of sight of radar.”
“All right, but it has to be Abadan.”
“Why? You lessen your chances by half.”
“Has to be. My family … my father and mother got there by road. Of course you’re right about Galeg Morghi. We could be picked up outside Tehran at…” Valik thought for a moment, then rushed on: “at the junction of the pipeline south and the river Zehsan… it’s away from the road and safe. We’ll be there in the morning at eleven o’clock. God will thank you, Mac. If… if you apply for a clearance for spares, I… I will arrange that it’s approved. Please, I beg you.”
“But what about refueling? When you land for refueling, the landing officer’s bound to spot you and you’ll be arrested in seconds.” “Request refueling at the air force base at Isfahan. I… I will arrange Isfahan.” Valik wiped the sweat off his face.
“And if anything goes wrong?”
“Insha’Allah! You’ll apply for clearance for spares - no names on the clearance or I’m dead or worse and so are Annoush, Jalal, and Setarem. Please?”
McIver knew it was madness. “I’ll apply for clearance: spares only for Bandar Delam. I should know by midnight if it’s approved - I’ll send someone to wait for it and bring it to me at the apartment. Phones are out so you’ll have to come to me for confirmation. That’ll give me time to think this out and decide yes or no.”
“But y - ”
“Midnight.”
“Yes, very well, I shall be there.”
“What about the other partners?”
“They - they know nothing of this. Emir Paknouri or one of the others will act for me.”
“What about weekly monies?”
“They will provide it.” Again Valik wiped his forehead. “The Blessings of God on you.” He put on his overcoat and walked for the door! The briefcase stayed on the desk.
“Take that with you.”
Valik turned back. “Ah, you want me to pay in Kuwait? Or Switzerland? In what currency?”
“There’s no payment. You can authorize a charter. Maybe we can get you to Bandar Delam - then you’re on your own.”
Valik stared at him with disbelief. “But… but even so, you’ll need expense money to pay for the, er, pilot or whatever.”
“No, but you can give me an advance of 5 million rials against the money the partnership owes which we desperately need.” McIver scrawled out a receipt and handed it to him. “If you’re not here, the Emir or the others may not be so generous.”
“The banks will open next week, we’re sure of it. Oh, yes, quite sure.” “Well, let’s hope so and we can be paid what’s owing.” He saw Valik’s expression, saw him count out the money, knowing that Valik thought him mad not to have accepted the pishkesh, knowing also that inevitably the man would try to bribe the pilot, whoever the pilot was, to take them the last stretch if the chopper ever got out of Tehran airspace - and that would be a disaster.
And now, in his office, staring blankly out of the window at the night, not hearing the gunfire or seeing the occasional flare light the darkened city, he thought, My God, SAVAK? I have to try to help him, have to. Those poor bloody kids and poor woman. I have to! And when Valik offers the pilot a bribe, even though I’ll warn the pilot in advance, will he resist? If Valik offered twelve million now, at Abadan it would be doubled. Tom could use that money, Nogger Lane, so could I, anyone. Just for a short trip across the Gulf - short but one way and no return. Where the hell did Valik get all that cash anyway? Of course from a bank.
For weeks there had been rumors that for a fee certain well-connected people could get monies out of Tehran even though the banks - formally - were closed. Or for an even larger fee get monies transferred to a numbered account in Switzerland, and that now Swiss banks were groaning under the weight of money fleeing the country. Billions. A few million in the right palm and anything’s possible. Isn’t that the same over the whole of Asia? Be honest, why just Asia? Isn’t it true over the whole world? “Tom,” he said wearily, “try military air traffic control and see if the 212’s cleared, will you?” As far as Lochart was concerned, this was just a routine delivery - McIver had told him only that he had seen Valik today and that the general had given him some cash, but nothing else. He still had to decide the pilot he would send, wishing he could do it himself and so put no one else at risk. God cursed medical! God cursed rules!
Lochart went to the HF. At that moment there was a scuffle in the outer office, and the door swung open. Standing there was a youth with an automatic rifle over his shoulder and a green band on his arm. Half a dozen other youths were with him. The Iranian staff waited, paralyzed. The young man stared at McIver and Lochart then consulted a list. “Salaam, Agha. Capta’n McIver?” he asked Lochart, his English hesitant and heavily accented.
