sayada laughed and, on tiptoe, kissed him. "ah, jean-luc, i love you and your confidence. now, mon views, we should go, you've lots to accomplish!"
after they had left, pettikin went to the window and stared out at the rooftops. there was the inevitable sporadic gunfire and some smoke near laleh. not a big fire but enough. a stiff breeze scattered the smoke. clouds reached down the mountains. the cold from the windows was strong, ice and snow on the sills. in the street below were many green bands. walking or in trucks. then from minarets everywhere muezzins began calling to afternoon prayer. their calls seemed to surround him.
suddenly he was filled with dread.
at the ministry of aviation: 5:04 p.m. duncan mciver was sitting wearily on a wooden chair in a corner of the crowded antechamber of the deputy minister. he was cold and hungry and very irritable. his watch told him he had been waiting almost three hours.
scattered around the room were a dozen other men, iranians, some french, american, british, and one kuwaiti wearing a galabia a long- flowing arabian robe and headband. a few moments ago the europeans had politely stopped chatting as, in response to the muezzins' calls that still came through the tall windows, the muslims had knelt, faced mecca, and prayed the afternoon prayer. it was short and quickly over and once more the desultory conversation picked up never wise to discuss anything important in a government office, particularly now. the room was crafty, the air chilly. they all still wore their overcoats, were equally weary, a few stoic, most seething, for all, like mciver, had long overdue appointments.
"insha'allah," he muttered but that didn't help him.
with any luck gens already at al shargaz, he thought. i'm damned glad she's safely out, and damned glad she came up with the reason herself: "i'm the one who can talk to andy. you can't put anything into writing."
"that's true," he had said, in spite of his misgivings, reluctantly adding, "maybe andy can make a plan that we could carry out might carry out. hope to god we don't have to. too bloody dangerous. too many lads and too
many planes spread out. too bloody dangerous. gen, you forget we're not at war though we're in the middle of one."
"yes, duncan, but we've nothing to lose."
"we've people to lose, as well as birds."
"we're only going to see if it's feasible, aren't we, duncan?"
old gen's certainly the best go-between we could have if we really needed one. she's right, much too dangerous to put in a letter: "andy, the only way we can safely extract ourselves from this mess is to see if we can come up with a plan to pull out all our planes and spares thattre presently under iranian registry and technically owned by an iranian company called ihc..."
christ! isn't that a conspiracy to defraud!
leaving is not the answer. we've got to stay and work and get our money when the banks open. somehow i've got to get the partners to help or maybe this minister can give us a hand. if he'll help, whatever it costs, we could wait out the storm here. any government's got to have help to get their oil up, they've got to have choppers and we'll get our money...
he looked up as the inner door opened and a bureaucrat beckoned one of the others into the inner room. by name. there never seemed to be a logic to the manner of being called. even in the shah's time it was never first come, first served. then it was only influence. or money.
talbot of the british embassy had arranged the appointment for him with the deputy prime minister and had given him a letter of introduction. "sorry, old boy, even i can't get into the pm, but his deputy antazam's a good sort, speaks good english not one of these rev twits. he'll fix you up."
mciver had got back from the airport just before lunch and had parked as near as he could to the government offices. when he had presented the letter, in english and farsi, to the guard on the main door in plenty of time, the man had sent him with another guard down the street to another building and more inquiries and then, from there, down another street to this building and from office to office until he arrived here, an hour late and fuming.
"ah, don't worry, agha, you're in plenty of time," the friendly reception clerk said, to his relief, in good english, and handed back the envelope containing the introduction. "this is the right office. please go through that door and take a seat in the anteroom. minister kia will see you as soon as possible."
"i don't want to see him," he had almost exploded. "my appointment's with deputy prime minister antazam!"
"ah, deputy minister antazam, yes, agha, but he's no longer in prime minister bazargan's government. insha'allah," the young man said pleasantly. "minister kia deals with everything to do wither, foreigners, finances, and airplanes."
"but i must insist th " mciver stopped as the name registered and he
remembered what talbot had said about kia and how remaining ihc partners had implanted this man on the board with an enormous retainer and no guarantees of assistance. "minister ali kia?"
"yes, agha. minister ali kia will see you as soon as possible." the receptionist was a pleasant, well-dressed young man in a suit and white shirt and blue tie, just like in the old days. mclver had had the foresight to enclose a pishkesh of 5,000 rials in the envelope with the introduction, just like in the old days. the money had vanished.
perhaps things are really getting back to normal, mclver thought, went into the other room, and took a chair in the corner and began to wait. in his pocket was another wad of rials and he wondered if he should refill the envelope with the appropriate amount. why not, he thought, we're in iran, minor officials need minor money, high officials, high money sorry, pishkesh. making sure no one observed him, he put some high denomination notes into the envelope, then added a few more for safety. maybe this bugger can really help us the partners used to have the court buttoned up, perhaps they've done the same to bazargan.
from time to time harassed bureaucrats hurried importantly through the anteroom into the inner room, papers in their hands, and came out again. occasionally, one of the men waiting would be politely ushered in. without exception they were inside for just a few minutes and emerged taut-faced or red-faced, furious, and obviously empty-handed. those who still waited felt more and more frustrated. time passed very slowly.
"agha mclver!" the inner door was open now, a bureaucrat beckoning him.
ali kia was seated behind a very large desk with no papers on it. he wore a smile, but his eyes were hard and small and mclver instinctively disliked him.
"ah, minister, how kind of you to see me," mclver said, forcing bonhomie, offering his hand. ali kia smiled politely and shook hands limply.
"please sit down, mr. mciver. thank you for coming to see me. you have an introduction i believe?" his english was good, oxford- accented, where he had gone to university just before world war 11 on a shah grant, staying for the duration. he waved a tired hand at the bureaucrat beside the door. the man left.
"yes, it, er, it was to deputy minister antazam, but i understand it should have been directed to you." mclver handed him the envelope. kia took out the introduction, noticed the amount of the notes exactly, tossed the envelope carelessly onto the desk to indicate more should be forthcoming, read the handwritten note with care, then put it down in front of him.
"mr. talbot is an honored friend of iran though a representative of a hostile
government," kia said, his voice smooth. "what particular help can i give the friend of such an honored person?"
"there're three things, minister. but perhaps i may be allowed to say how happy we are at s-g that you've considered giving us the benefit of your valuable experience by joining our board."
"my cousin was most insistent. i doubt i can help, but, as god wants."
"as god wants." mciver had been watching him carefully, trying to read him, and could not explain the immediate dislike he took great pains to hide. "first, there's a rumor that all joint ventures are suspended, pending a decision of the revolutionary komiteh."
"pending a decision of the government," kia corrected him curtly. "so?"
"how will that affect our joint company, ihc?"
"i doubt if it will affect it at all, mr. mciver. iran needs helicopter service for oil production. guerney aviation has fled. it would seem the future looks better than ever for our company."
mciver said carefully, "but we haven't been paid for work done in iran for many months. we've been carrying all lease payments for the aircraft from aberdeen and we're heavily over committed here in aircraft for the amount of work we have on the books."
"tomorrow the banks... the central bank is due to open. by order of the pm and the ayatollah, of course. a proportion of the money owed will, i'm sure, be forthcoming."
"would you conjecture how much we can expect, minister?" mciver's hope quickened.
"more than enough to... to keep our operation going. i've already arranged for you to take out crews once their replacements are here." ali kia took a thin file from a drawer and gave him a paper. it was an order directed'to immigration at tehran, abadan, and shiraz airports to allow out accredited ihc pilots and engineering crews, one for one, against incoming crew. the order was badly typed but legible, in farsi and english, and signed on behalf of the komiteh responsible for iranoil and dated yesterday. mciver had never heard of him.
"thank you. may i also have your approval for the 125 to make at least three trips a week for the next few weeks of course only until your international airports are back to normal to bring in crews, spares, and equipment, replacement parts, and so on, and," he added matter-of- factly, "to take out redundancies."
"it might be possible to approve that," kia said.
mciver handed him the set of papers. "i took the liberty of putting it into writing to save you the bother, minister with copies addressed to air traffic control at kish, kowiss, shiraz, abadan, and tehran."
kia read the top copy carefully. it was in farsi and english, simple, direct, and with the correct formality. his fingers trembled. to sign them would far exceed his authority but now that the deputy prime minister was in disgrace, as well as his own superior both supposedly dismissed by this still mysterious revolutionary komiteh and with mounting chaos in the government, he knew he had to take the risk. the absolute need for him, his family, and his friends to have ready access to a private airplane, particularly a jet, made the risk worthwhile.
i can always say my superior told me to sign it, he thought, keeping his nervousness away from his face and eyes. the 125 is a gift from god just in case lies are spread about me. damn fared bakravan! my friendship with that bazaar) dog almost embroiled me in his treason against the state; i've never lent money in my life, nor engaged in plots with foreigners, nor supported the shah.
to keep mciver off balance he tossed the papers beside the introduction almost angrily. "it might be possible for this to be approved. there would be a landing fee of $500 per landing. was that everything, mr. mciver?" he asked, knowing it was not. devious british dog! do you think you can fool me?
"just one thing, excellency." mciver handed him the last paper. "we've three aircraft that're in desperate need of servicing and repair. i need the exit permit signed so i can send them to al shargaz." he held his breath.
"no need to send valuable airplanes out, mr. mciver; repair them here."
"oh, i would if i could, excellency, but there's no way i can do that. we don't have the spares or the engineers and every day that one of our choppers're not working costs the partners a fortune. a fortune," he repeated.
"of course you can repair them here, mr. mciver, just bring the spares and the engineers from al shargaz."
"apart from the cost of the aircraft there're the crews to support and pay for. it's all very expensive; perhaps i should mention that's the iranian partners' cost that's part of their agreement... to supply all the necessary exit permits." mciver continued to wheedle. "we need to get every available piece of equipment ready to service all the new guerney contracts if the ay if, er, the government's decree to get oil production back to normal is to be obeyed. without equipment..." he left the word hanging and again held his breath, praying he'd chosen the right bait.
kia frowned. anything that cost the iranian partnership money came partially out of his own pocket now. "how soon could they be repaired and brought back?"
"if i can get them out within a couple of days, two weeks, maybe more, maybe less."
again kia hesitated. the guerney contracts, added to existing ihc contracts,
helicopters, equipment, fixtures, and fittings were worth millions of which he now had a sixth share for no investment, he chortled deep inside. particularly if everything was provided, without cost, by these foreigners! exit permits for three helicopters? he glanced at his watch. it was cartier and bejeweled a pishkesh from a banker who, two weeks ago, had needed a private half an hour access to a working telex. in a few minutes he had an appointment with the chairman of air traffic control and could easily embroil him in this de
