thank god for that, lochart thought again, the pumping tiring him. at the rendezvous on the coast, he had lashed two empty forty-gallon drums on the backseat against the possibility that d'arcy 1908 would be open, and rigged a temporary pump. there was still enough fuel left at the shore to top up on the way out of iran, and sharazad could work the pump in flight. "now we've a chance," he said out loud, knowing where to land, how to park safely, and how to sneak into tehran.
he was confident again, making plans and counterplans, what to say to meshang, what to avoid, what to tell sharazad and how they would escape. there's got to be a way for her to get her rightful inheritance, enough to give her the security she needs..
gasoline overflowed from the brimful tanks and he swore at his carelessness, capped them carefully, wiped the excess away. now he was finished, the drums in the backseat already filled and the pump in place.
in one of the huts he had found some cans of corned beef and wolfed one of them impossible to eat and fly, unless with his left hand, and he had been too long in iran to do that then picked up the bottle of beer he had set in the snow to chill, and sipped it sparingly. there was water in a barrel. he broke the ice and splashed water on his face to refresh himself but did not dare to drink it. he dried his face. the stubble of his beard rasped and again he swore, wanting to look his best for her. then he remembered his flight bag and the razors there. one was battery-operated. he found it. "you can shave at tehran," he said to his reflection in the cockpit window, anxious to go on.
a last look around. snow and rocks and not much else. in the far distance was the qom-tehran road. sky overcast but the ceiling high. some birds circled far overhead. scavengers. vultures of some sort, he thought, buckling his seat belt.
tehran at the bakravan house: 5:15 r. m. the door in the outer wall opened and two heavily chadored and veiled women came out, sharazad and jari unrecognisable. jari closed the door, hastily waddled after sharazad, who walked away quickly through the crowds. "princess, wait... there's no hurry..."
but sharazad did not decrease her pace until she had turned the corner. then she stopped and waited impatiently. "jar), i'm leaving you now," she said giving her no time to interrupt; "don't go home but meet me at the coffee shop, you know the one, at six-thirty, wait for me if i'm late."
"but, princess..." jari could hardly talk, "but his excellency meshang...
you told him we're going to the doctor's and there's n "
"at the coffee shop about six-thirty, six-thirty to seven, lard!" sharazad hurried off down the street, cut dangerously into the traffic and across the road to avoid her maid who started to come after her, went into an alley, down another, and soon she was free. "i'm not going to marry that awful man, i'm not i'm not i'm not!" she muttered out loud.
the derision had already begun this afternoon, though it was only at lunch that meshang had announced the great evil. her best girlfriend had arrived an hour ago to ask if the rumors were true that sharazad was going to marry into the farazan family: "it's all over the bazaar, dearest sharazad, i came at once to congratulate you."
"my brother has many plans, now that i am to be divorced," she had said carelessly. "i have many suitors."
"of course, of course, but the rumor is that the farazan dowry has already been agreed."
"oh? first i've heard of it, what liars people are!"
"i agree, awful. other vile rumormongers claim that the marriage is to take place next week and your... and the prospective husband is chortling that he outsmarted meshang on the dowry."
"someone outsmart meshang? it has to be a lie!"
"i knew the rumors were false! i knew it! how could you marry old diarrhea daranoush, shah of the night soil? how could you?" her friend had laughed uproariously. "poor darling, which way would you turn?"
"what does it matter?" meshang had screeched at her. "they're only jealous! the marriage will take place, and tonight we will entertain him at dinner."
perhaps i will, perhaps i won't, she thought seething. perhaps the entertainment will not be what they expect.
again she checked her directions, knees weak. she was going to his friend's apartment, not far away now. there she would find the secret key in the niche downstairs and go in and look under the carpet in the bedroom and take up the board as she had seen him do. then she would take out the pistol and the grenade god be thanked for the chador to cover them and keep me hidden then carefully replace the board and the carpet and come home again. her excitement was almost choking her now. ibrahim will be so proud of me, going into battle for god, to be martyred for god. didn't he go south to be martyred doing battle with evil in just the same way? of course god will forgive his leftist silliness.
how clever of him to show me how to take off the safety catch and to arm the gun and to hold the grenade, to pull the pin, then throw it at the enemies of islam, shouting
"god is great, god is great..." then charging them, shooting them, being lifted into paradise, this evening if i can, tomorrow at
the latest, the whole city rife with rumors that leftists at the university have begun their expected insurrection. we will stamp them out, my son and i, we will, soldiers of god and the prophet on whose name be praised, we will!
"god is great. god is great..." just pull the pin and count to four and throw it, i remember everything he said exactly.
kuwait at the messali beach hotel helipad: 5:35 p.m.
mciver and pettikin watched the two immigration and customs men, the first peering impassively at the airplane papers, the other poking about in the cabin of the 212. so far their inspections had been perfunctory though timeconsuming. they had collected all passports and airplane papers, but had just glanced at them and asked mciver his opinion of the current situation in iran. they had not yet asked directly where the helicopters had come from. any moment now, mciver and pettikin thought, waiting queasily.
mciver had considered leaving wazari in hiding, but had decided against the risk. "sorry, sergeant, you'll have to take your chances."
"who's he?" the immigration man had asked at once, wazari's complexion giving him away, and his fear.
"a radio-radar operator," mciver said noncommittally.
the official had turned away and left wazari standing there, sweating in the heavy, seaproofed plastic coverall, mae west half done up.
"so, captain, you think there'll be a coup in tehran, a military coup?"
"i don't know," mciver had told him. "rumors abound like locusts. the english papers say it's possible, very possible, and also that iran's caught up in a kind of madness like the terror of the french or russian revolutions, the aftermath. may i get our mechanics to check everything while we wait?"
"of course." the man waited while mciver gave the orders, then he said, "let's hope the madness doesn't spread across the gulf, eh? no one wants any trouble this side of the islamic gulf." he used the word with great deliberation, all the gulf states loathing the term persian gulf. "it is the islamic gulf, isn't it?"
"yes, yes, it is."
"all maps will have to be changed. the gulf is the gulf, islam is islam and not just for the shita sect."
mciver said nothing, his caution increasing, adding to his disquiet. there were many shi'as in kuwait and most of the gulf states. many. usually they were the poor. rulers, the sheiks, were usually sunni.
"captain!" the customs officer in the doorway of the 212 cabin parked on the helipad was beckoning to him. ayre and wazari had been told to wait away
from the helicopters in the shade until inspections were finished. mechanics were busy ground-checking. "are you carrying arms of any kind?"
"no, sir apart from the regulation very light pistol."
"contraband of any kind?"
"no, sir. just spares." all the usual questions, interminably, that would be repeated as soon as they were released to the airport. at length the man thanked him and motioned him away. the immigration officer had gone back to his car with their passports. the radio transmitter had been left on and mciver could hear ground control clearly. he saw the man scratch his beard thoughtfully, then pick up the mike and talk into it in arabic. this increased his concern. gennywas sitting in the shade nearby and he went over to her.
"stiff upper lip," she whispered. "how's it going?"
"wish to god they'd let us get on with it," mciver said irritably. "we'll have to endure another hour at the airport and damned if i know what to do."
"has charlie sa "
"captain!" the immigration officer was beckoning him and pettikin over to the car. "so you're in transit, is that it?"
"yes. to al shargaz. with your permission, we'll leave at once," mciver said. "we'll go to the airport, file our flight plan, and take off as quickly as we can. is that all right?"
"where did you say you are in transit to?"
"al shargaz, via bahrain for fuel." mciver was getting sicker by the minute. any airport official would know they would have to refuel before bahrain even without this wind, and all airports between here and there were saudi, so he would have to file a flight plan for a saudi landing. bahrain, abu dhabi, al shargaz had all received the same telex. kuwait too, and even if it had been intercepted here privately by a well- wisher, for whatever reason, the same would not be true of saudi airports. rightly, mciver thought, and saw the man look at the iran registration letters under the cockpit windows. they had arrived under iran registration, he would have to file the flight plan and leave under the same letters.
to their astonishment, the man reached into the pocket of his car and brought out a pad of forms. "i am inst i will accept your flight plan here and clear you to bahrain direct and you can leave at once. you can pay me the regulation landing fees and i'll stamp your passports too. there'll be no need to go to the airport."
"what?"
"i will accept your flight plan now and you can leave direct from here. please make it out." he handed the pad to mciver. it was the correct form. "as soon as you've done it, sign it and bring it back." some flies circling in
the car were bothering him and he waved them away. then he picked up the radio mike, pointedly waited until mclver and pettikin walked off, and talked quietly into it.
hardly able to believe what had happened, they went to lean against their truck. "jesus, mac, do you think they know and are just letting us go?"
"i don't know what to think. don't waste time, charlie." mclver shoved the pad into his hands and said more irritably than he meant to, "just make out the flight plan before he changes his mind: al shargaz if we happen to have an emergency on jellet, that's our problem. for god's sake do it and let's get airborne as quick as we can."
"sure. right away."
genny said, "you're not flying, are you, duncan?"
"no, charlie's going to do that."
pettikin thought a moment, then took out a key and his money. "this's my room key, genny. would you get my stuff for me, nothing there of any importance, pay the bill, and catch the next plane. hughes he's the imperial air rep he'll get you a priority."
"what about your passport and license?" she asked.
"always carry them, frightened to death of losing them, and a $100 note never know when you'll need some baksheesh."
"consider it done." she pushed her dark glasses back onto the bridge of her nose, smiled at her husband. "what'll you do, duncan?"
without noticing it, mclver exhaled heavily. "i'll have to go on, gen. daren't stay here doubt if they'd let me. they're desperate not to rock any boat and want to see the last of us. it's obvious, isn't it who ever heard of being cleared from a beach? we're a bloody embarrassment and a threat to the state, of course we are. that's the truth! do what charlie says, gen. we'll refuel at jellet change the registrations there and hope for the best do you have the stencils, charlie?"
"brushes, paint, everything." pettikin did not stop filling in the forms. "what about wazari?"
"he's crew until someone asks a question. put him down as radio operator. that's no lie. if they don't challenge him at bahrain, they certain will at al shargaz. perhaps andy can work something out for him."
"all right. he's crew. that's it, then."
"good. gen, jellet's easy from here, bahrain too, and al shargaz. weather's good, moon'll be out, so a night jaunt'll be fine. do what charlie says. you'll be there in good time to meet us."
"if you leave at once, you'll need food and some bottled water," she said. "we can get some here. i'll get them, charlie. come along, duncan, you need a drink."
"pour it for me at al shargaz, gen."
"i will. but i'll pour you one now. you're not flying, you need it, and so do i." she went over to the immigration officer and got permission to buy sandwiches and make a phone call.
