course, paralleling the border that was far to their right. The whole flight would take barely two hours, depending on the winds, and the winds were favorable.
Those in the cabin near the windows happily watched the land rushing past, the two children given the best positions, the major holding Jalal, Valik, his daughter beside Annoush. Everyone was content, a few praying silently. Sunset was not far off and would be good, red-tinged clouds - “red sky at night, shepherds’ delight,” Annoush crooned to Setarem in English - and, up front, the engines sounded good with all needles in the Green. Ali was glad to be flying, glad that he had not killed Lochart who had stood there in front of him, saying nothing, not begging for his life or saying prayers, just standing there with his hands up, waiting. I’m sure he’s safe under the pilings, thanks be to God…
He took a quick glance at the map, refreshing his memory. But he did not really need to, he had spent many good years here, flying the passes. Soon he would come down out of the mountains into the marsh plains of the Tigris and Euphrates, staying at ground level, skirting Dezful, then Ahwaz and Khorramshahr, then stab across the Shatt-al-Arab Estuary and the border, into Kuwait and freedom.
Ahead was the ridge with the dominating peak that he had been expecting and he swung upward out of the valley to swoop down into the next, the joy of flying possessing him. Then “HBC, climb to a thousand feet and reduce speed!” filled his headphones and brain. He had been airborne barely six minutes.
The order had been in Farsi arid it was repeated in English and then in Farsi and again in English, and all the while he kept her low, desperately trying to get his head working.
“Chopper HBC, you’re illegal, climb out of the valley and reduce speed.” Ali Abbasi peered upward, searching the sky, but he saw no airplane. The valley floor was tearing past. Ahead was another rim and then there’d be a succession of rims and valleys that led down to the plains. Westward the Iraqi border was forty-odd miles away - twenty minutes. “Chopper HBC, for the last time, you’re illegal, climb out of the valley and reduce speed!”
His brain shouted, You’ve three choices: obey and die, try to escape, or put down and wait the night and try at first light - if you survive their rockets or bullets.
Ahead of him to the left he saw trees and the land falling away, the sides of the valley steepening into a ravine, so he cast himself into it, committing them to escape. Now his mind was working well. He pulled off his headset, put himself into the hands of God, and felt the better for it. He slowed as he came nearer the end of the ravine, skirted some trees and ducked into another small valley, reduced speed even more, following the streambed cautiously. More trees and outcrops and he sneaked around them. Stay low and slow and save gas and ease your way south, he thought with growing confidence. Go nearer the border when you can take your time. They’ll never catch you if you use your wits. It’ll be dark soon - you can lose them in the dark and you know enough about instrument flying to get to Kuwait. But how did they spot us? It was almost as though they were waiting. Could they have had us on radar going into Dez Dam - Watch itttttt! The trees were heavier here and he slewed around a scattering of them on the mountainside, went closer to the rocks, and climbed for the ridge and the next valley. Over it safely and down into the protection of the rocks, eyes searching ahead and above and always for a good spot to put down if an engine failed. He was concentrating and confident and doing his job well. All the instruments were in the safety range. Minutes passed and though he searched the sky diligently he saw nothing. At the head of the next valley he put the chopper into a 360 and carefully scanned the sky. Nothing overhead.
Safe! Lost him! Insha’Allah! He took a deep breath and, very satisfied, turned southward again. Over the next ridge. And the next and there ahead were the plains. The two fighters were waiting. They were FMs.
Chapter 26
AT TEHRAN AIRPORT - S-G’S OFFICE: 5:48 P.M. “… you are not permitted to land!” came over the HF, heavily mixed with static - Gavallan, McIver, and Robert Armstrong grouped around it, listening intently, the vista through the windows dull and brooding, night near.
The breezy voice of John Hogg from the incoming 125 came back again: “Tehran Control, this is Echo Tango Lima Lima, as per yesterday, we have clearance from Kish to land an - ”
“ETLL, you are not permitted to land!” The traffic controller’s voice was raw and frightened and McIver cursed under his breath. “I say again: negative, all civilian air traffic is grounded and all incoming flights canceled until further orders of the Imam…” Behind his voice they could hear other voices chattering in Farsi, a number of mikes open on this frequency. “Return to your point of departure!”
“I say again, we have clearance to land from Kish radar who passed us to Isfahan air traffic controller who confirmed our clearance. Long live Ayatollah Khomeini and the victory of Islam - I am forty miles south of checkpoint Varamin, expecting runway 29 left. Please confirm your ILS is functioning. Do you have other traffic in your system?”
For a moment Farsi voices dominated the tower, then, “Negative traffic, ETLL, negative ILS but you are not per - ” The American English stopped abruptly and an angry, heavily accented voice took over: “Not landings! Komiteh give orders Tehran! Kish not Tehran - Isfahan not Tehran - we give orders Tehran. If landings you arrested.”
John Hogg’s happy voice replied at once. “EchoTangoLimaLima. Understand you don’t want us to land, Tehran Tower, and wish to reject our clearances which I believe is an error according to air traffic regulations - Standby One please.” Then at once on their private S-G frequency, mixed with static, came his terse voice, “HQ advise!”
Immediately McIver switched channels and said into the mike, “Three sixty, Standby One,” meaning circle and wait for a reply. He glanced up at Gavallan who was grim-faced. Robert Armstrong was whistling tonelessly. “We better wave him off - if he lands they could throw the book at him and impound her,” McIver said.
“With official clearances?” Gavallan said. “You told the tower we’ve the British ambassador’s letter approved by Bazargan’s office - ” “But not by Bazargan himself, sir,” Robert Armstrong said, “and even then for all practical purposes those buggers in the tower are the law in the tower for the moment. I’d suggest th - ” He stopped and pointed, his face even grimmer. “Look there!” Two trucks and a radio control car, with its tall aerial waving, were racing along the boundary road. As they watched, the trucks drove directly onto runway 29 left, parked in the middle of it. Armed Green Bands jumped out taking up defensive positions. The control car continued to head their way.
“Shit!” McIver muttered.
“Mac, do you think they’ll be monitoring our frequency?”
“Safer to assume so, Andy.”
Gavallan took the mike. “Abort. B repeat B.”
“EchoTangoLimaLima!” Then, on the tower frequency, kind and friendly: “Tehran Tower: we agree your request to cancel our clearance and formally apply for clearance to land at tomorrow noon to deliver urgent repeat urgent spares required by IranOil, outgoing crew for overdue leave, with immediate turnaround.”
McIver grunted. “Johnny always was fast on his feet.” Then to Armstrong, “We’ll put y - ”
“Standby One, EchoTangoLimaLima,” from the tower overrode him. “We’ll put you on her passenger list when we can, Mr. Armstrong. Sorry, no joy today. What about your papers?”
Armstrong took his eyes off the approaching car. “I, er, I’d prefer to be a specialist consultant for S-G, going on leave, if you don’t mind. Unpaid, of course.” He stared back at Gavallan. “What’s ‘B repeat B’?” “Try again tomorrow, same time.”
“And if they grant ETLL’s request?”
“Then it’s tomorrow - you’ll be a specialist consultant.” “Thanks. Let’s hope it’s tomorrow.” Armstrong looked at the approaching car, and added quickly, “Will you be in about ten tonight, Mr. Gavallan? Perhaps I could drop by - just to chat, nothing important.”
“Certainly. I’ll expect you. We’ve met before, haven’t we?” “Yes. If I’m not there by ten-fifteen I’ve been delayed and can’t come - you know how it is - and I’ll check in the morning.” Armstrong began to leave. “Thanks.”
“All right. Where did we meet?”
“Hong Kong.” Robert Armstrong nodded politely and walked out, tall and gaunt. They saw him go through the office and take the door that led to the hangar and the back door to the S-G parking lot where he had left his nondescript car - McIver’s car was parked in front.
“Almost as though he’s been here before,” McIver said thoughtfully. “Hong Kong? Don’t remember him at all. Do you?”
“No.” McIver frowned. “I’ll ask Gen, she has a good memory for names.” “I’m not sure I like or trust Robert
