“Not quite. The official in charge of the community calls himself Doc Holliday.”
Part Four
The O.K. Corral
Tehran: Thursday, May 11; eight P.M.
Chapter 20
“I’d better leave you here,” Kourosh told Evira, and she felt reluctant at this point to go on without him, having become so dependent on the boy these past few days.
She pulled at the wretched clothes draped over the royal palace’s maid’s uniform. “I’m ready.”
“No, you’re not,” the urchin insisted dramatically. “How can you kill the animal Hassani without a weapon? I told you you should have let me try to get one for you.”
“I’ll be searched before being allowed into the palace. If they find a weapon, everything we’ve accomplished will go for naught.”
“But you will kill him.”
“I’ll kill him.”
“I’ll be waiting for you when you come out.”
Kourosh reached out to touch her briefly before he bounded off, looking back once before turning the first corner. Evira was left with only the tiniest hope she could make good on her promise. To start with, her wounds, though somewhat healed, still pained her and would undoubtedly slow down her motions. Beyond that, there was the reality of the style of mission she was about to undertake in the fortress before her. This kind of work had never been her specialty as it had been McCracken’s. Killing was something she loathed. Through the entire course of her exploits, she had killed only in self-defense. She tried to tell herself that tonight was no different, but the convincing came with difficulty.
Evira stripped off her rags to reveal the uniform beneath and emerged from the shadows of the square in front of the royal palace. Her heart thudded with the awareness that the next few moments were the most crucial of all. If her plan failed to provide access to the grounds, nothing else mattered. She slid between a pair of sedans arriving with guests and bypassed the main gate in favor of the private side street that led to the servant’s entrance near the school. She stayed close enough to the huge wall to avoid detection, and if approached would have to go into her charade earlier than she planned.
Any route of entry she chose would face her with Revolutionary Guardsmen who were not about to let her pass through without proper identification unless she appeared as though she belonged. This illusion would be created with the help of her servant’s uniform.
Taking a heavy breath, she veered from the shadow of the security wall toward the Revolutionary Guardsmen who stood at attention before the blocked-off side street delivery vehicles had been using throughout the afternoon.
“That van you just let pass through,” she called to them from several yards away, quickening her step and fixing a look of anxiety on her face, “was it the baker? Tell me if you’ve seen the baker.”
The lead guard swung toward her with a start. “Who are you to ask?”
“I am the server in charge of the dessert table and there will be hell to pay if he does not arrive with the rest of his wares soon.”
“Where is your badge?” he demanded, noticing her empty lapel.
“I took it off so it wouldn’t fall into the punch. Be most embarrassing, wouldn’t you say? Now what of the baker?”
“He wasn’t in the van.”
“Damn! There will be hell to pay for this, hell I say!” She came closer to the guard. “You will summon me as soon as his goods arrive. You will call the kitchen and ask for Manijeh. Yes?”
The guard stiffened. “I will send him through as I have sent the others through. I am nobody’s messenger.”
“As you wish. But if anyone asks me …”
She began to ease by him and past the wary guards who eyed her still, though more amused by the tirade than suspicious.
“Be gone with you!” the lead guard shouted. “Be gone and let me do my job!”
At that instant another delivery vehicle caught his attention long enough to keep her safe from further scrutiny while she moved along the wall. She made her way straight to an entrance two hundred yards down, near a building she recognized from Kourosh’s drawings as the school. The guards here accepted her ruse even more easily, with one insisting on escorting her back to the kitchen in keeping with procedure.
He guided her to the servants’ entrance, which led directly into the kitchen. She recalled the dining room sat between this and the majestic, two-story ballroom.
Passing into the kitchen, the last thing she wanted to do was attract attention, so she simply fell into the long chain of servants picking up trays of glasses and hors d’oeuvres. The door they took out of the kitchen bypassed the dining room altogether and led down through a vestibule into the ballroom. At this point she had no conception of what the next stage of her plan would be and willed herself to stay calm so her thoughts might flow freely.
Just like McCracken would do.
Evira held tight to her tray of hors d’oeuvres and entered the ballroom. She couldn’t help but be impressed once she entered. Even Kourosh’s exaggerated drawings had not done it justice. It was huge and sprawling, nearly sixty yards square, with a hand-sewn Kerman pattern rug covering much of that. The serving tables were placed upon the rug. A number of crystal chandeliers of various sizes dangled from the two-story-high ceiling, which, given the perfect weather conditions, might be opened later to let the stars shine in. Enormous bouquets of flowers and countless potted plants added to the beauty of the room. Furthermore, the ballroom had been constructed in such a way that the mezzanine balcony swept down along one wall so that a truly grand entrance could be made down the spiraling staircase.
Fortunately, though, as far as she could tell General Hassani had yet to make his entrance. Of course. The meal for such an affair would be served late to allow him to make the most fashionable appearance possible and to allow his powerful guests ample time to mingle among themselves prior to this. After all, once he arrived all attention would be centered on him.
Evira’s mind began to work.
She placed the tray of hot hors d’oeuvres on a table and picked up a tray of empty champagne glasses. Iran might have angrily denounced all ties with the West, but the serving procedures here were entirely western. A throwback to the days of the Shah and a testament to Hassani’s all-out efforts to win the support of the wealthy and powerful.
Returning to the kitchen area, Evira was given a fresh tray of filled glasses in return for her tray of empty ones. She was careful to balance the tray on one hand as the other servants were doing, so as to have a hand free to serve with. She had trouble with the process at the outset, and a vision of her tray’s contents tumbling to the rug and drawing the attention of everyone in the room made her even more nervous. But her champagne was much in demand and her load was quickly lightened, allowing her to roam easily about. Her thoughts again turned to the next phase of her strategy.
Since he had yet to make his appearance, Hassani must still be upstairs, either relaxing or dressing. He would be under guard, yes, but would hardly be expecting an attack now and was probably the most accessible to her he would be all evening.
If she could find him.
If she could find a weapon. I should have listened to Kourosh, she thought. As it turned out, I wasn’t searched at all. …
Her eyes turned to focus on the women. They were to a person elegantly dressed in lavish, western-style gowns. She watched them eagerly, not sure yet what she expected to see that might help her.
The answer came to Evira as she was straightening the arrangements of fruit on a table filled with a seemingly endless variety. A number of women disappeared into an alcove off the wall farthest from the kitchen only to return quickly to the ballroom. Evira suspected that what she would find there was the ladies’ room, and with that observation began at last to formulate the plan that would get her to Hassani.