Sayada saw them smiling at each other, and envied them. “I think I’ll come back later,” she said, getting up. Before Pettikin could say anything, a key turned in the lock and McIver came in. “Oh, hello,” he said, trying to throw off his weariness. “Hi, Paula, hi, Sayada - this is a pleasant surprise.” Then he noticed the table. “What’s this, Christmas?” He took off his heavy coat and gloves.
“Paula brought it - and Sayada the bread. Where’s Tom?” Pettikin asked, immediately sensing something was wrong. “I dropped him off at Bakravan’s, near the bazaar.” “How is she?” Sayada asked. “I haven’t seen her since… since the day of the march, the first march.”
“Don’t know, lassie, I just dropped him off and came on.” McIver accepted a glass of wine, returned Pettikin’s look levelly. “Traffic was rotten. Took me an hour to get here. Health! Paula, you’re a sight for sore eyes. You staying tonight?”
“If that’s all right? I’m off early in the morning, no need for transport, caro, one of the crew dropped me off and will pick me up. Genny said I could use the spare room - she thought it might need a spring clean but it looks fine.” Paula got up and both men, unknowingly, were instantly magnetized by the sensuousness of her movements. Sayada cursed her, envying her, wondering what it was, certainly not the uniform that was quite severe though beautifully tailored, knowing that she herself was far more beautiful, far better dressed - but not in the same race. Cow!
Paula reached into her handbag and found the two letters and gave them to McIver. “One from Genny and one from Andy.” “Thanks, thanks very much,” McIver said. “I was just going, Mac,” Sayada said. “Just wanted to ask when JeanLuc’ll be back.”
“Probably on Wednesday - he’s ferrying a 212 to Al Shargaz. He should be there today and back Wednesday.” McIver glanced at the letters. “No need to go, Sayada… excuse me a second.”
He sat down in the easy chair by the electric fire that was at half power, switched on a nearby lamp. The light took away much of the romance of the room. Gavallan’s letter read: “Hi, Mac, this in a hurry, courtesy of the fairest of them all! I’m waiting for Scot. Then redeyeing it to London tonight, if he’s all right, but I’ll be back in two days, three at the most. Finessed Duke out of Kowiss down to Rudi in case Scrag’s delayed - he should be back Tuesday. Kowiss is very dicey - I had a big run-in with Hotshot - so’s Zagros. Have just talked to Masson from here and that’s fact. So I’m pushing the button for planning. It’s pushed. See you Wednesday. Give Paula a hug for me and Genny says don’t you bloody dare!”
He stared at the letter, then sat back a moment, half listening to a story Paula was telling about their incoming flight to Tehran. So the button’s pushed. Don’t delude yourself, Andy, I knew you’d push it from the first moment - that’s why I said, All right, provided I can abort Whirlwind if I think it’s too risky and my decision’s final. I think you must push the button all the way - you’ve no alternative if you want to survive. The wine tasted very good. He finished the glass, then opened Genny’s letter. It was just news about home and the kids, all of them healthy and in place, but he knew her too well not to read the underlying concern: “Don’t worry, Duncan, and don’t sweat out winds, any winds. And don’t think I plan on a rose-covered cottage in England. It’s us for the Casbah and me for a yashmak and I’m practicing belly dancing so you’d better hurry. Luv, Gen.” McIver smiled to himself, got up, and poured himself some wine, calmer now. “Here’s to women, bless ‘em.” He touched glasses with Pettikin. “Smashing wine, Paula. Andy sends you a hug…” At once she smiled and reached over and touched him and he felt the current rush up his arm. What the hell is it about her? he asked himself, unsettled, and quickly said to Sayada, “He’d send one to you too if he knew you were here.” A candle on the mantelpiece was guttering. “I’ll get it. Any messages?”
“One from Talbot. He’s doing all he can to find Erikki. Duke’s delayed at Bandar Delam by a storm but he should be back at Kowiss tomorrow.” “And Azadeh?”
“She’s better today. Paula and I walked her home. She’s okay, Mac. You better have something to eat, there’s bugger all for dinner.” Sayada said, “How about dining at the French Club? The food’s still passable.”
“I’d love to,” Paula said brightly and Pettikin cursed. “What a wonderful idea, Sayada! Charlie?”
“Wonderful. Mac?”
“Sure, if it’s my treat and you don’t mind an early night.” McIver held his glass up to the light, admiring the color of the wine. “Charlie, I want you to take the 212 to Kowiss bright and early, Nogger’ll take the Alouette - you can help Duke out for a couple of days. I’ll send Shoesmith in a 206 to bring you back Saturday. All right?”
“Sure,” Pettikin said, wondering why the change of plan that had been for McIver, Nogger, and him to get aboard the Wednesday flight, two other pilots to go to Kowiss tomorrow. Why? Must be Andy’s letter. Whirlwind? Is Mac aborting?
IN THE SLUMS OF JALEH: 6:50 P.M. The old car stopped in the alleyway. A man got out of the side door and looked around. The alley was deserted, high walls, a joub to one side that long ago was buried under snow and refuse. Across from where the car had stopped, dimly seen in the reflection from the headlights, was a broken-down square. The man tapped on the roof. The headlights were doused. The driver got out and went to help the other man who had opened the trunk. Together they carried the body, wrapped and bound in a dark blanket, across the square.
“Wait a moment,” the driver said in Russian. He took out his flashlight and switched it on briefly. The circle of light found the opening in the far wall they sought.
“Good,” the other said and they went through it, then once more stopped to get their bearings. Now they were in a cemetery, old, almost derelict. The light went from gravestone to gravestone - some of the writing Russian, some in Roman letters - to find the open grave, newly dug. A shovel stood upright in the mound of earth.
They went and stood on the lip. The taller man, the driver, said, “Ready?” “Yes.” They let the body fall into the hole. The driver shone the light onto it. “Straighten him up.”
“He won’t give a shit,” the other man said and took up the shovel. He was broad-shouldered and strong and he began to fill the grave. The driver lit a cigarette, irritably threw the match into the grave. “Maybe you should say a prayer for him.”
The other laughed. “Marx-Lenin wouldn’t approve - nor old Stalin.” “That mother fornicator - may he rot!”
“Look what he did for Mother Russia! He made us an empire, the biggest in the world, he screwed the British, outsmarted the Americans, built the biggest and best army, navy, air force, and made the KGB all powerful.” “For damn near every rouble we’ve got and twenty million lives. Russian lives.”
“Expendables! Scum, fools, the dregs, plenty more where they came from.” The man was sweating now and he gave the shovel to the other. “What the hell’s the matter with you anyway - you’ve been pissed off all day.” “Tired, I’m just tired. Sorry.”
“Everyone’s tired. You need a few days off. Apply for Al Shargaz - I had a great three days, didn’t want to come back. I’ve applied for a transfer there - we’ve quite an operation now, growing every day, the Israelis have stepped up their ops too - so’ve the CIA. What’s happened since I was away?” “Azerbaijan’s warming up nicely. There’s a rumor old Abdollah Khan’s dying or dead.”