“I think I would like to take all our weapons now and slip back into the mountains and make our way south, sahib.”
“If this doesn’t work, we’ll have to but it’s a rotten gamble,” Ross had said. “It’s a rotten gamble. We’ll be trapped in the open - those hunters’re still searching and they won’t give up till we’re caught. Don’t forget we only just made it to the safe house. It was only the clothes that saved us.” After the ambush where Vien Rosemont and Tenzing had been killed, he and Gueng had stripped some of their attackers and put tribesmen’s robes over their uniforms. He had considered dumping their uniforms entirely but thought that unwise. “If we’re caught we’re caught and that’s the end of it.”
Gueng had grinned. “Therefore better you become a good Hindu now. Then if we get killed, it’s not an end but a beginning.”
“How do I do that, Gueng? Become a Hindu?” He smiled wryly, remembering the perplexed look on Gueng’s face and the vast shrug. Then they had tidied the bodies of Vien Rosemont and Tenzing and left them together in the snow according to the custom of the High Lands: “This body has no more value to the spirit, and because of the immutability of rebirth, it is bequeathed to the animals and to the birds that are other spirits struggling in their own karma toward Nirvana - the place of Heavenly Peace.”
The next morning they had spotted those who followed relentlessly. When they came down out of the hills into the outskirts of Tabriz, their pursuers were barely half a mile behind. Only their camouflage had saved them, allowing them to be lost in the crowds, many tribesmen as tall as he and with blue eyes, many as well armed. More luck was with them and he had found the back door of the filthy little garage the first time, used Vien Rosemont’s name, and the man there had hidden them. That night Abdollah Khan had come with his guards, very hostile and suspicious. “Who told you to ask for me?”
“Vien Rosemont. He also told us about this place.” “Who is this Rosemont? Where is he now?” Ross had told him what had happened at the ambush and noticed something new behind the man’s eyes now, even though he remained hostile.
“How do I know you’re telling me the truth? Who are you?” “Before Vien died he asked me to give you a message - he was delirious and his dying bad, but he made me repeat it three times to make sure. He said: ‘Tell Abdollah Khan that Peter’s after the Gorgon’s head and Peter’s son is worse than Peter. The son plays with curds and whey and so does the father who’ll try to use a Medusa to catch the Gorgon.’” He saw the other man’s eyes light up at once but not happily. “So it means something to you?” “Yes. It means you know Vien. So Vien’s dead. As God wants, but that’s a pity. Vien was good, very good, and a great patriot. Who are you? What was your mission? What were you doing in our mountains?”
Again he hesitated, remembering that Armstrong had told him at his briefing not to trust this man too far. Yet Rosemont whom he had trusted had said in his dying, “You can trust that old bastard with your life. I have, half a dozen times, and he’s never failed me. Go to him, he’ll get you out….” Abdollah Khan was smiling, his mouth cruel like his eyes. “You can trust me - I think you have to.”
“Yes.” But not very far at all, he added silently, loathing the word, the word that costs millions their lives, more millions their freedom and every adult on earth peace of mind at some time or another. “It was to neutralize Sabalan,” he said and told him what had happened there.
“God be praised! I will pass word to Wesson and Talbot.” “Who?” “Ah, doesn’t matter. I’ll get you south. Come with me, it’s not safe here - the hue and cry’s out, with a reward, for ‘two British saboteurs, two enemies of Islam.’ Who are you?”
“Ross. Captain Ross and this is Sergeant Gueng. Who were the men chasing us? Iranians - or Soviets? Or Soviet-led?”
“Soviets don’t operate openly in my Azerbaijan - not yet.” The Khan’s lips twisted into a strange smile. “I have a station wagon outside. Get into it quickly and lie down in the back. I’ll hide you and when it’s safe, get you both back to Tehran - but you have to obey my orders. Explicitly.” That was two days ago, but then the coming of the Soviet strangers and the arrival of the helicopter had made everything different. He saw the moon go behind a cloud and he tapped Gueng on the shoulder. The small man vanished into the orchard. When the all-clear signal came out of the night, he followed. They leapfrogged each other, moving very well until they were beside the corner of the north wing of the great house. No guards or guard dogs yet though Gueng had seen some Doberman pinschers chained up. It was an easy climb up a balustrade to the first-floor balcony. Gueng led. He hurried down half its length, passed the corridor of shuttered windows to the staircase that climbed to the next balcony. At the top he waited, getting his bearings. Ross came alongside. Gueng pointed at the second set of windows and took out his kookri but Ross shook his head and motioned to a side door that he had noticed, deep in shadow. He tried the handle. The door squeaked loudly. Some night birds skeetered out of the orchard, calling to one another. Both men concentrated on where the birds had come from, expecting to see a patrol. None appeared. Another moment to make sure, then Ross led the way inside, adrenaline heightening his tension. The corridor was long, many doors either side, some windows to the south. Outside the second door he stopped, warily tried the handle. This door opened silently and he went in quickly, Gueng following, his kookri out and grenade ready. The room seemed to be an anteroom - carpets, lounging pillows, old-fashioned Victorian furniture and sofas. Two doors led off it. Praying it was the correct choice, Ross opened the door nearest the comer of the building and went in. The curtains were drawn but a crack of moonlight to one side showed them the bed clearly and the man he sought and a woman asleep there under the thick quilt. It was the right man but he had not expected a woman. Gueng eased the door closed. Without hesitation they went to either side of the bed, Ross taking the man and Gueng the woman. Simultaneously they clapped the bunched handkerchiefs over the mouths of the sleepers, holding them down with just enough pressure under their noses to keep them from crying out.
“We’re friends, pilot, don’t cry out,” Ross whispered, close to Erikki’s ear, not knowing his name or who the woman was, only recognizing him as the pilot. He saw the blank fright of the sudden awakening transformed into blinding rage as sleep vanished and the great hands came up to rip him apart. He avoided their grasp, increasing the pressure just under Erikki’s nose, holding him down easily. “I’m going to release you, don’t cry out, pilot. We’re friends, we’re British. British soldiers. Just nod if you’re awake and you understand.” He waited, then felt more than saw the huge man nod, watching his eyes. The eyes shouted danger. “Keep her gagged, Gueng, until we’re all set this side,” he said softly in Gurkhali, then to Erikki, “Pilot, don’t be afraid, we’re Mends.”