Azadeh shuddered.
“What?” Erikki said.
“He means me,” she said, her voice small.
Ross said, “I don’t follow.”
Erikki hesitated, the tightness in his head greater than before. She had told him about being summoned for lunch by her father, and about Petr Mzytryk inviting her to Tbilisi - “and your husband, of course, if he’s free; I would love to show you our countryside. …” and how attentive the Soviet had been. “It’s… it’s personal. Not important,” he said. “It seems you’ve done me a big favor. How can I help?” He smiled tiredly and stuck out his hand. “My name’s Yokkonen, Erikki Yokkonen and this is my wife, Az - ” “Sahib!” Gueng hissed warningly.
Ross jerked to a stop. Now he saw Erikki’s other hand was under the pillow. “Don’t move a muscle,” he said, kookri suddenly out of its scabbard. Erikki recognized the tone and obeyed. Cautiously Ross moved the pillow aside but the hand was not near the knife. He picked the knife up. The blade glinted in the shaft of moonlight. He thought a moment, then handed it back to Erikki, haft first. “Sorry, but it’s better to be safe.” He shook the outstretched hand that had never wavered and felt the enormous strength. He smiled at him and turned slightly, the light now on his face for the first time. “My name’s Ross, Captain John Ross, and this’s Gueng…”
Azadeh gasped and jerked upright. They all looked at her and now Ross saw her clearly for the first time. It was Azadeh, his Azadeh of ten years ago, Azadeh Gorden as he had known her then, Azadeh Gorden of the High Country staring up at him, more beautiful than ever, eyes bigger than ever, still heaven-sent. “My God, Azadeh, I didn’t see your face…” “Nor I yours, Johnny.”
“Azadeh… good God,” Ross stammered. He was beaming and so was she, and then he heard Erikki and looked down and saw him staring up at him, the great knife in his fist, and a shaft of fear rushed through him and through her.
“You’re ‘Johnny Brighteyes’?” Erikki said it flat. “Yes, yes, I’m… I had the privilege of knowing your wife years ago, many years ago… Good Lord, Azadeh, how wonderful to see you!”
“And you …” Her hand had not left Erikki’s shoulder. Erikki could feel her hand and it was burning him but he did not move, mesmerized by the man in front of him. She had told him about John Ross and about their summer and the result of the summer, that the man had not known about the almost child, nor had she ever tried to find him to tell him, nor did she want him ever to know. “The fault was mine, Erikki, not his,” she had told him simply. “I was in love, I was just a few days seventeen and he nineteen - Johnny Brighteyes I called him; I had never seen a man with such blue eyes before. We were deeply in love but it was only a summer love, not like ours which is forever, mine is, and yes, I will marry you if Father will allow it, oh, yes, please God, but only if you can live happily with knowing that once upon a time, long long ago, I was growing up. You must promise me, swear to me you can be happy as a man and a husband for perhaps one day we will meet him - I will be happy to meet him and I will smile at him but my soul will be yours, my body yours, my life yours, and all that I have…” He had sworn as she had wished, truly and with all his soul, happily brushing aside her concern. He was modern and understanding and Finnish - wasn’t Finland always progressive, hadn’t Finland been the second country on earth after New Zealand to give women the vote? There was no worry in him. None. He was only sad for her that she had not been careful, for she had told him of her father’s anger - an anger he could understand. And now here was the man, fine and strong and young, far nearer her size than he, far nearer her age than he. Jealousy ripped him apart. Ross was trying to collect his wits, her presence possessing him. He pulled his eyes off her and the memory of her and looked back at Erikki. He read his eyes clearly. “A long time ago I knew your wife, in Switzerland at… I was at school there for a short time.”
“Yes, I know,” Erikki said. “Azadeh told me about you. I’m … I’m… it’s a… it’s a sudden meeting for all of us.” He got out of bed, towering over Ross, the knife still in his hand, all of them aware of the knife. He saw that Gueng, on the other side of the bed, still had his kookri out. “So. Again, Captain, again thanks for the warning.”
“You said you’re being forced to fly the Soviets?” “Azadeh’s hostage for my good behavior,” Erikki said simply. Thoughtfully Ross nodded. “Not much you can do about that if the Khan’s hostile. Christ, that’s a mess! My thought was that as you were threatened too, you’d want to escape too and that you’d give us a ride in the chopper.”
“If I could I would, yes… yes, of course. But I’ve twenty guards on me all the time I’m flying and Azadeh… my wife and I are watched very closely when we’re here. There’s another Soviet called Cimtarga who’s like my shadow, and Abdollah Khan’s … very careful.” He had not yet decided what to do about this man Ross. He glanced at Azadeh and saw that her smile was true, her touch on his shoulder true, and that clearly this man meant nothing more than an old friend to her now. But this did not take away his almost blinding urge to run amok. He made himself smile at her. “We must be careful, Azadeh.”
“Very.” She had felt the surge under her hand when he had said “Johnny Brighteyes” and knew that, of the three of them, only she could control this added danger. At the same time, Erikki’s jealousy that he sought so hard to hide excited her, as did the open admiration of her long-lost love. Oh, yes, she thought, Johnny Brighteyes, you are more wonderful than ever, slimmer than ever, stronger man ever - more exciting, with your curved knife and unshaven face and filthy clothes and man smell - how could I not have recognized you? “A moment ago when I corrected this man’s Patar’ to ‘Petr’ it meant something to you, Johnny. What?”
“It was a code message I had to give the Khan,” Ross said, achingly aware she still bewitched him. “Tell Abdollah Khan that Peter’ - that could be Gueng’s Patar or Petr, the Soviet - ‘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.’” Azadeh said, “That’s easy. Erikki?” “Yes,” Erikki said, distracted. “But why ‘curds and whey’?” “Perhaps this,” she said, her excitement rising. “Tell Abdollah Khan that Petr Mzytryk, KGB, is after his head, that Mzytryk’s son - let’s presume also KGB - is worse than his father. The son plays at curds and whey - perhaps that means the son is involved with the Kurds and their rebellion that threatens Abdollah Khan’s power base in Azerbaijan, that the KGB, the father, and the son are also involved - and that Petr Mzytryk will use a Medusa to catch the Gorgon.” She thought a moment. “Could that be another pun and mean ‘use a woman,’ perhaps even an evil woman to catch my father?” Ross was shocked. “The Khan’s … My God, the Khan’s your father?” “Yes, I’m afraid so. Gorgon’s my family name,” Azadeh said, “not Gorden. But the principal of the school at Chateau d’Or told me the first day I could hardly have a name like Gorgon - I would get teased to death - so I was to be just Azadeh Gorden. It was fun for me, and the principal thought it better for me that I was just plain Azadeh Gorden and not the daughter of a Khan.”
Erikki broke a silence. “If the message’s correct, the Khan won’t trust that matyeryebyets at all.”
“Yes, Erikki. But my father trusts no one. No one at all. If Father’s playing both sides as Johnny thinks - there’s no telling what he’ll do. Johnny, who gave you the message to give to him?”