“The clearance shouldn’t exist,” he said, very tired now. He got up. “I’ll try. Yes, I’ll try. What happened to Tom?”
Behind McIver the telex began to chatter. Both jumped. McIver put his attention back on Karim. “When you see him ask him, that’s the right thing to do. Isn’t it? You ask Tom.”
“Salaam.”
They shook hands and he left and McIver relocked the door. The telex was from Genny in Al Shargaz: “Hello number one child. Talked at length with Chinaboy who arrives tomorrow night, Monday, and will be on the 125 to Tehran, Tuesday. He says imperative you meet him for conference at airport. All arrangements made here for repairs on the 212s and fast turnaround. Acknowledge. Talked to kids in England and all’s well. I’m having a wonderful time here, whooping it up and on the town, glad you’re not here, why aren’t you? MacAllister.”
MacAllister was her maiden name and she used it only when she was very pissed off with him. “Good old Gen,” he said aloud, the thought of her making him feel better. Glad she’s safe and out of this mess. Glad she called the kids, that’ll make her happy. Good old Gen. He reread the telex. What the hell’s imperative with Andy? I’ll know soon enough. At least we’re in touch through Al Shargaz. He sat at the secretary chair and began to type out the acknowledgment.
At dusk he had got a telex from HQ in Aberdeen, but it had arrived garbled. Only the signature was legible: Gavallan. At once he had telexed for a repeat and had been waiting ever since. Tonight radio reception was also bad. There were rumors of big snowstorms in the mountains and the BBC World Service, fading badly and worse than usual, told of huge storms across all of Europe and the East Coast of America, terrible floods in Brazil. News had been generally rotten: strikes continuing in Britain, heavy fighting inside Vietnam between Chinese and Vietnamese armies, a Rhodesian airliner coming in to land shot down by guerrillas, Carter expected to order gasoline rationing, Soviets testing a fifteen-hundred-mile cruise missile, and in Iran, “Chairman Yasir Arafat met Ayatollah Khomeini in a tumultuous welcome, the two leaders embraced publicly, and the PLO took over Israeli Mission Headquarters in Tehran. Four more generals were reported shot. Heavy fighting continues in Azerbaijan between pro-and anti-Khomeini forces, Prime Minister Bazargan ordered the U.S. to close two radar listening posts on the Iran-Soviet border, and arranged a meeting with the Soviet ambassador and Ayatollah Khomeini in the next few days to discuss outstanding differences …”
Depressed, McIver had turned the set off, the strain of trying to sift the news from the static had given him a worse headache. He had had one all day. It had started after his meeting this morning with Minister Ali Kia. Kia had accepted the notes on a Swiss bank, “license fees” for the three 212 departures, and also for six landings and takeoffs for the 125 and had promised to find out about the Zagros expulsions: “Tell the Zagros komiteh meanwhile their order is overruled by this department pending investigation.”
Fat lot of good that’ll do when you’re looking down the barrel of a gun! he thought. Wonder how Erikki and Nogger are doing now? This afternoon a telex relayed by Tabriz ATC from Iran-Timber had come in: “Captains Yokkonen and Lane are required here for emergency work for three days. Usual terms for the charter. Thanks.” It was signed as usual by the area manager and a normal request. Better for Nogger than sitting on his butt, McIver had thought. Wonder what Azadeh’s father wanted her for?
Promptly at 7:30 P.M. Kowiss had come through but transmission was barely two by five, just enough to be partially audible, and heterodyning badly. Freddy Ayre reported that Starke had returned unharmed.
“Thank God for that!”
“Say ag… I’m read… g you one by five, Cap… … ver.” “I say again,” he said slowly and carefully. “Tell Starke I’m very glad he’s back. He’s okay?”
“……. tain Starke… swered ques…… iteh…… orily.” “Say again, Kowiss.”
“I say again, Capt….. arke answ…. . uestions of the …. iteh sa…” “You’re one by five. Try again at 9:00 A.M.; even better I’ll be here late and I’ll try around eleven.”
“Understand yo… … . ry later .. ound .. leven tonight?” “Yes. Around eleven tonight.”
“Capt… … hart and JeanLuc arriv … Zagro…. ree safely…”
The rest of the transmission was incomprehensible. Then he had settled back to wait. While he waited he slept a little and read a little and now, sitting at the telex machine, again he glanced at his watch: 10:30 P.M. “Soon as this’s done, I’ll call Kowiss,” he said out loud. Carefully he finished the telex to his wife adding for Manuela’s sake that everything was fine at Kowiss - it is, he thought, so long as Starke’s back and he’s okay, and the lads okay.
He fed the hole-punched tape into the cogged sender, typed the number for Al Shargaz, waited interminably for the answer back, then pressed the transmit button. The tape chattered through the cogs. Another long wait but the Al Shargaz accept code came up.
“Good.” He got up and stretched. In the desk drawer were his pills and he took the second of the day. “God-cursed blood pressure,” he muttered. His pressure was 160 over 115 at his last medical. The pills brought it down to a comfortable 135 over 85: “But listen, Mac, that doesn’t mean you can swill the whisky, wine, eggs, and cream - your cholesterol’s up too…” “What bloody whisky and cream, for Christ’s sake, Doc? This’s Iran…” He remembered how foul-tempered he had been and when Genny said, “How was it?” “Great,” he had said, “better than last time and don’t bloody nag!” The hell with it! Nothing I can do that I’m not doing but I certainly could use a large whisky and soda and ice and then another one. Normally there would be a bottle in the safe and ice and soda in the little refrigerator. Now there was none. Supplies zero. He made a cup of tea. What about Karim and HBC? I’ll think about that later: 11:00 P.M.
“Kowiss, this is Tehran, do you read?” Patiently he called and recalled and then stopped. In a quarter of an hour he tried again. No contact. “Got to be the storm,” he said, out of patience now. “To hell with it, I’ll try from home.”
He put on his heavy coat and went up the spiral staircase to the roof to check the level of generator fuel. The night was very black and quiet, hardly any gunfire and what there was was deadened by the snow. No lights anywhere that he could see. Snow still fell gently, almost five inches since dawn. He brushed it off his face and shone the flashlight on the gauge. The level of fuel was all right but somehow they’d have to get another supply in the next few days. Bloody nuisance. What about HBC? If Karim could get the book and the book could be destroyed, there’d be no evidence, would there? Yes, but what about Isfahan, refueling at Isfahan?
Lost in thought, he went back, locked up, and, using the flash to light his way, started down the five flights of stairs. He did not hear the telex chatter into life behind him.
In the garage he went to his car and unlocked it. His heart leaped as he saw a tall figure approaching. SAVAK and HBC jumped into his head; he almost dropped the flash but the man was Armstrong, dark raincoat and hat. “Sorry, Captain McIver, I didn’t mean to startle you.”