that if their positions had been reversed he would not have hesitated to open the door. “I’m ready,” he said, cocking the gun, appalled at Pettikin’s stupidity. The British are so stupid the mother-eating bastards deserve to lose. “Wh - ”
“Here we go!” Pettikin spun the chopper into a diving turn at maximum speed. Some armed men were still near the truck, guns pointing at them. “I’ll soften them up and when I say ‘fire’ put a burst over their heads!” The Range Rover rushed up at them, hesitated, then swirled away drunkenly - no trees nearby - hesitated again and came at them as the chopper danced around it. Pettikin flared to a sudden stop twenty yards away, ten feet off the ground. “Fire,” he ordered.
At once Rakoczy let off a burst through the open window, aiming not over heads but at a group of men and women ducked down behind the back end of Erikki’s truck, out of Pettikin’s line of sight, killing or wounding some of them. Everyone nearby fled panic-stricken - screams of the wounded mingling with the howl of the jets. Drivers and passengers jumped out of cars and trucks scrambling away in the snowdrifts as best they could. Another burst and more panic, now everyone rushing in retreat, all traffic snarled. On the road some youths came from behind a truck with rifles. Rakoczy sprayed them and those nearby. “Make a 360!” he shouted.
Immediately the helicopter pirouetted but no one was near. Pettikin saw four bodies in the snow. “I said over their heads, for God’s sake,” he began, but at that moment the door of the Range Rover swung open and Erikki jumped out, his knife in one hand. For a moment he was alone, then a chador-clad woman was beside him. At once Pettikin set the chopper down on the snow but kept her almost airborne. “Come on,” he shouted, beckoning them. They began to run, Erikki half carrying Azadeh whom Pettikin did not yet recognize. Beside him Rakoczy unlocked his side door and leaped out, opened the back door, and whirled on guard. Another short burst toward the traffic. Erikki stopped, appalled to see Rakoczy. “Hurry!” Pettikin shouted, not understanding the reason for Erikki’s hesitation. “Erikki, come on!” Then he recognized Azadah. “My God …” he muttered, then shouted, “Come on, Erikki!”
“Quick, I’ve not much ammunition left!” Rakoczy shouted in Russian. Erikki whirled Azadeh up into his arms and ran forward. A few bullets hummed past. At the side of the helicopter Rakoczy helped bundle Azadeh into the back, suddenly shoved Erikki aside with the barrel of the gun. “Drop your knife and get in the front seat!” he ordered in Russian. “At once.” Half paralyzed with shock, Pettikin watched Erikki hesitate, his face mottled with rage.
Rakoczy said harshly, “By God, there’s more than enough ammunition for her, you, and this motherfucking pilot. Get in!”
Somewhere in the traffic a machine gun started to fire. Erikki dropped his knife in the snow, eased his great height into the front seat, Rakoczy slid beside Azadeh, and Pettikin took off and sped away, weaving over the ground like a panicked grouse, then climbed into the sky.
When he could talk he said, “What the hell’s going on?”
Erikki did not answer. He craned around to make sure Azadeh was all right: She had her eyes closed and was slumped against the side, panting, trying to get her breath. He saw that Rakoczy had locked her seat belt, but when Erikki reached back to touch her the Soviet motioned him to stop with the gun.
“She will be all right, I promise you.” He continued speaking in Russian, “providing you behave as your friend has been taught to behave.” He kept his eyes on him as he reached into his small bag and brought out a fresh magazine. “Just so you know. Now face forward, please.”
Trying to contain his fury, Erikki did as he was told. He put on the headset. There was no way they could be overheard by Rakoczy - there was no intercom in the back - and it felt strange for both of them to be so free and yet so imprisoned. “How did you find us, Charlie, who sent you?” he said into the mouth mike, his voice heavy.
“No one did,” Pettikin said. “What the hell’s with that bastard? I went to Tabriz to pick up you and Azadeh, got kidnapped by the sonofabitch in the back, and then he hijacked me to Tehran. It was just luck for Christ’s sake - what the hell happened to you?”
“We ran out of fuel.” Erikki told him briefly what had happened. “When the engine stopped, I knew I was finished. Everyone seems to have gone mad. One moment it was all right, then we were surrounded again, just like at the roadblock. I locked all the doors but it was only a matter of time…” Again he craned around. Azadeh had her eyes open and had pulled the chador off her face. She smiled at him wearily, reached forward to touch him but Rakoczy stopped her. “Please excuse me, Highness,” he said in Farsi, “but wait till we land. You will be all right.” He repeated it in Russian, adding to Erikki, “I have some water with me. Would you like me to give it to your wife?”
Erikki nodded. “Yes. Please.” He watched while she sipped gratefully. “Thank you.”
“Do you want some?”
“No, thank you,” he said politely even though he was parched, not wishing any favors for himself. He smiled at her encouragingly. “Azadeh, like manna from heaven, eh? Charlie like an angel!”
“Yes… yes. It was the Will of God. I’m fine, fine now, Erikki, praise be to God. Thank Charlie for me…”
He hid his concern. The second mob had petrified her. And him, and he had sworn that if he ever got out of this mess alive, never again would he travel without a gun and, preferably, hand grenades. He saw Rakoczy watching him. He nodded and turned back again. “Matyeryebyets,” he muttered, automatically checking the instruments.
“That bugger’s a lunatic - no need to kill anyone, I told him to fire over their heads.” Pettikin dropped his voice slightly, uneasy at talking so openly even though there was no way Rakoczy could hear. “The bastard damn near killed me a couple of times. How do you know him, Erikki? Were you or Azadeh mixed up with the Kurds?”
Erikki stared at him. “Kurds? You mean the matyeryebyets back there?” “Yes, him of course - Ali bin Hassan Karakose. He comes from Mount Ararat. He’s a Kurd Freedom Fighter.”
“He’s not a Kurd but a turd, Soviet and KGB!”
“Christ Almighty! You’re sure?” Pettikin was openly shocked. “Oh, yes. He claims he’s Muslim but I bet that’s a lie too. ‘Rakoczy’ he called himself to me, another lie. They’re all liars - at least why should they tell us, the enemy, anything?”
“But he swore it was the truth and I gave him my word.” Angrily Pettikin told him about the fight and the bargain he had made.
“You’re the fool, Charlie, not him - haven’t you read Lenin? Stalin? Marx? He’s only doing what all KGB and committed Communists do: use anything and everything to forward the ‘sacred’ Cause - absolute world power for the USSR Communist party - and get us to hang ourselves to save them the trouble. My God, I could use a vodka!”
“A double brandy’d be better.”
“Both together would be even better.” Erikki studied the ground below. They were cruising easily, the engines sounding good and plenty of fuel. His eyes searched the horizon for Tehran. “Not long now. Has he said where to land yet?”
“No.”
“Perhaps we’ll get a chance then.”
“Yes.” Pettikin’s apprehension increased. “You mentioned a roadblock. What happened there?”
Erikki’s face hardened. “We got stopped. Leftists. Had to make a run for it. We’ve no papers left, Azadeh and I. Nothing. A fat bastard at the roadblock kept everything and there wasn’t time to get them back.” A tremor went through him. “I’ve never been so scared, Charlie. Never. I was helpless in that mob and almost shitting with fear because I couldn’t protect her. That stinking fat bastard took everything, passport, ID, flying licenses, everything.”
“Mac‘11 get you more, your embassy’ll give you passports.” “I’m not worried about me. What about Azadeh?”
“She’ll get a Finnish passport too. Like Sharazad‘11 get a Canadian one - no need to worry.”
“She’s still in Tehran, isn’t she?”
“Sure. Tom should be there too. He was due in from Zagros yesterday with mails from home…” Strange, Pettikin thought in passing. I still call England home even with Claire gone, everything gone. “He’s just back off leave.”
“That’s what I’d like to do, go on leave. I’m overdue. Perhaps Mac can send a replacement.” Erikki punched Pettikin lightly. “Tomorrow can take care of tomorrow, eh? Hey, Charlie, that was a great piece of flying. When I first saw you, I thought I was dreaming or already dead. You saw my Finnish flag?” “No, that was Ali - what did you call him? Rekowsky?”
