That night was blue-black, stars enormous, tents fine and carpets soft, and even greater silence, greater space, so much space inconceivable. “I hate it, Andy,” Maureen had whispered. “It frightens me to death.” “Me too. Don’t know why but it does.” Around the palm trees of the oasis, the desert went to every horizon, taunting and unearthly. “The immensity seems to suck the life out of you. Imagine what it’s like in summer!” She trembled. “It makes me feel less than a grain of sand. It’s crushing me - somehow it’s taken my balance away. Och, ay, laddie, once is enough for me. It’s me for Scotland - London at a pinch - and never again.” And she had never come back. Like Scrag’s Nell, he thought. Don’t blame them. It’s tough enough in the Gulf for men, but for women… He glanced around. Genny was coming out of the French windows, fanning herself, looking much younger than in Tehran. “Hello, Andy. You’re the wise one, it’s so stuffy in there, and the smoke, ugh!”
“Never was much of a dancer.”
“The only time I get to dance is when Duncan’s not with me. He’s such a stickin-the-mud.” She hesitated. “On tomorrow’s flight, do you think I co - ”
“No,” he said kindly. “Not yet. In a week or so - let the dust settle.” She nodded, not hiding her disappointment. “What did Scrag say?” “Yes - if the others are in and it’s feasible. We had a good talk and we’re having breakfast.” Gavallan put his arm around her and gave her a hug. “Don’t worry about Mac, I’ll make sure he’s all right.”
“I’ve another bottle of whisky for him, you don’t mind, do you?” “I’ll put it in my briefcase - we’re on notice by IATC not to have any booze as aircraft stores - no problem, I’ll hand carry it.”
“Then perhaps you’d better not, not this time.” She found his gravity unsettling, so unusual in him. Poor Andy, anyone can see he’s beside himself with worry. “Andy, can I make a suggestion?”
“Of course, Genny.”
“Use this colonel and Roberts, no, Armstrong, the VIPs you’ve got to ferry to Tabriz. Why not ask them to route you back through Kowiss, say you need to pick up some engines for repair, eh? Then you can talk to Duke directly.” “Very good idea - go to the top of the class.”
She reached up and gave him a sisterly kiss. “You’re not bad yourself. Well, it’s me back to the fray - haven’t been so popular since the war.” She laughed and so did he. “Night, Andy.”
Gavallan went back to his hotel that was just down the road. He did not notice the men tailing him, nor that his room had been searched, his papers read, nor that now the room was bugged and the phone tapped.
Saturday - February 24
Chapter 46
AT TEHRAN INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT: 11:58 A.M. The cabin door of the 125 closed behind Robert Armstrong and Colonel Hashemi Fazir. From the cockpit, John Hogg gave Gavallan and McIver, who stood on the tarmac beside his car, a thumbs-up and taxied away, outward bound for Tabriz. Gavallan had just arrived from Al Shargaz and this was the first moment he and McIver had been alone.
“What’s up, Mac?” he said, the chill wind tugging at their winter clothes and billowing the snow around them.
“Trouble, Andy.”
“I know that. Tell it to me quickly.”
McIver leaned closer. “I’ve just heard we’ve barely a week, before we’re grounded pending nationalization.”
“What?” Gavallan was suddenly numb. “Talbot told you?”
“No, Armstrong, a few minutes ago when the colonel was in the loo and we were alone.” McIver’s face twisted. “The bastard told me with his smooth, put-on politeness, ‘I wouldn’t bet on more than ten days if I were you - a week’d be safe - and don’t forget, Mr. McIver, a closed mouth catches no flies.’”
“My God, does he know we are planning something?” A gust speckled them with powdered snow.
“I don’t know. I just don’t know, Andy.”
“What about HBC? Did he mention her?”
“No. When I asked about the papers, all he said was, “They’re safe.’” “Did he say when we’re to meet today?”
McIver shook his head. ” ‘If I’m back in time I’ll be in touch.’ Bastard.” He jerked his car door open.
In turmoil Gavallan brushed off the excess snow and slid into the warmth. The windows were fogged up. McIver switched the defrost and fan to maximum, heat already at maximum, then pushed the music cassette home, jacked the sound up, turned it down again, cursing.
“What else’s up, Mac?”
“Just about everything,” McIver blurted out. “Erikki’s been kidnapped by Soviets or the KGB and he’s somewhere up near the Turkish border with his 212, doing Christ knows what - Nogger thinks he’s being forced to help them clean out secret U.S. radar sites. Nogger, Azadeh, two of our mechanics and a British captain barely escaped from Tabriz with their lives, they got back yesterday and they’re at my place at the moment - at least they were when I left this morning. My God, Andy, you should have seen the state they were in when they arrived. The captain was the same one who saved Charlie at Doshan Tappeh and whom Charlie dropped off at Bandar-e Pahlavi…” “He what?”
“It was a secret op. He’s a captain in the Gurkhas… name’s Ross, John Ross, he and Azadeh were both pretty incoherent, Nogger too was pretty excited, and, at least they’re safe now but…” McIver’s voice became brittle. “Sony to tell you we’ve lost a mechanic at Zagros, Effer Jordon, he was shot an - ”
“Jesus Christ! Old Effer dead?”
“Yes… yes, I’m afraid so and your son was nicked… not badly,” McIver added hastily as Gavallan blanched. “Scot’s all right, he’s okay an - ” “How badly?”
“Bullet through the fleshy part of the right shoulder. No bones touched, just a flesh wound - JeanLuc said they’ve penicillin, a medic, the wound’s clean. Scot won’t be able to ferry the 212 out tomorrow to Al Shargaz so I asked JeanLuc to do it and take Scot with him, then come back to Tehran on the next 125 flight and we’ll get him back to Kowiss.”
“What the hell happened?”
“I don’t know exactly. I got a relayed message from Starke this morning who’d just picked it up from JeanLuc. It seems that terrorists are operating in the Zagros, I suppose the same bunch that attacked Bellissima and Rosa, they must’ve been hiding in ambush in the forests around our base. Effer Jordon and Scot were loading spares into the 212 just after dawn this morning and got sprayed. Poor old Effer got most of the bullets and Scot just one…” Again McIver added hurriedly, seeing Gavallan’s face, “JeanLuc assured me Scot’s all right, Andy, honest to God!”
“I wasn’t thinking just about Scot,” Gavallan said heavily. “Effer’s been with us damn nearly since we started - hasn’t he got three kids?” “Yes, yes, he has. Terrible.” McIver let in the clutch and eased the car through the snow back toward their office. “They’re all still at school, I think.”
“I’ll do something about them soon as I get back. Go on about Zagros.” “Nothing much more. Tom Lochart wasn’t there - he had to stay overnight at Kowiss Friday. JeanLuc said they didn’t see any of the attackers, no one did, the shots just came out of the forest - the base’s in chaos anyway what with our birds working overtime, bringing men from all the outlying rigs and ferrying them in batches to Shiraz, everyone pitching in to clear out before the deadline tomorrow at sunset.”
“Will they make it?”
“More or less. We’ll get out all our oilers and our chaps, most of our valuable spares and all choppers to Kowiss. The rig support equipment’ll have to be left but that’s not our responsibility. God knows what’ll happen to the base and rigs without servicing.”
“It’ll all go back to wilderness.”