“What is it?” Kasigi asked.
“We’ve never had to get clearance to start engines before. The bastards are really getting touchy.” Scragger was thinking about Friday and his two 212s to start up and Kish too nosy and too efficient. “Crummy lot!” “Yes. Will you be able to head up our chopper requirements?” “There’re lots of better guys than me.”
“Ah, so sorry, but it would be important to me. I would know that the operation would be in good hands.”
Again Scragger hesitated. “Thanks, if I could, I would, sure, sure I would.” “Then it’s settled. I’ll formally apply to your Mr. Gavallan.” Kasigi glanced at Scragger. Something’s changed, he thought. What? Now that I think of it, the pilot didn’t react with the amount of enthusiasm I would have forecast when I announced the deal - he certainly would understand the value of the contract he’s being offered. What’s he hiding? “Could you contact Bandar Delam through your base at Kowiss to ask them about supplying us with at least one 212 tomorrow?” he asked, beginning to probe. “Yes, yes, of course … soon as we arrive.”
Ah, Kasigi thought, having watched and listened very carefully, I was right, something’s very definitely different now. The friendliness is gone. Why? I’ve certainly not said anything to offend him. It can’t be the deal - that’s too good for any chopper company. His health? “Are you feeling all right?”
“Oh, fine, old sport, I’m fine.”
Ah, the smile was real that time and the voice as usual. Then it has to be something to do with the choppers. “If I don’t have your help, it will make things very difficult for me.”
“Yes, I know. Me, I’d like to help you all I can.”
Ah, the smile vanished and the voice became serious again. Why? And why the “me, I’d like to help” as though he would help but is forbidden to help by someone else. Gavallan? Could it be he knows that Gavallan, because of Struan’s, wouldn’t help us?
For a long time Kasigi considered all manner of permutations but could not come up with a satisfactory answer. Then he fell back on the one, almost infallible, ploy to use with a foreigner such as this one. “My friend,” he said, using his most sincere voice, “I know something’s the matter, please tell me what it is?” Seeing Scragger’s face become even more solemn, he added the coup de grace. “You can tell me, you can trust me, I really am your friend.”
“Yes … yes, I know that, mate.”
Kasigi watched Scragger’s face and waited, watched the fish wriggling on the hook that was held by a line so thin and so strong that stretched back to a broken rotor blade, a handshake, shared danger aboard the Rikumaru, shared war service, and common reverence for dead comrades. So many of us dead, so young. Yes, he thought with a sudden anger, but if we’d had a tenth of their airplanes, their armaments and their ships and a twentieth part of their oil and raw materials we would have been invincible and the emperor would never have had to terminate the war as he did. We’d have been invincible - but for the bomb, the two bombs. All gods torment for all eternity those who invented the bomb that broke his will that took preference over ours. “What is it?”
“I, er, can’t tell you, just yet - sorry.”
Danger signals went through Kasigi. “Why, my friend? I assure you, you can trust me,” he said soothingly.
“Yes … yes, but it’s not just up to me. In Al Shargaz, tomorrow, bear with me, will you?”
“If it’s that important, I should know now, shouldn’t I?” Again Kasigi waited. He knew the value of waiting and of silence at a time like this. No need to remind the other man of the “I owe you two.” Yet. Scragger was remembering. At Bandar Delam, Kasigi saved my bloody neck and no doubt about that. Aboard his ship at Siri he proved he’s got balls and today he’s proved a good friend, he needn’t’ve gone to all that trouble so fast, tomorrow or the next day wouldn’t have mattered to him. His eyes were scanning the instruments and the outside and he saw no dangers within or without, Kish coining up soon to starboard and he glanced across at Kasigi. Kasigi was staring ahead, his strong, good-looking face set, frowning slightly. Shit, old sport, if you don’t perform, Zataki’s likely to go berserk! But you can’t perform. You can’t, old sport, and it’s so hard to see you just sitting there, not reminding me wot I owe you. “Kish, this is HST. Abeam Kish, steady at one thousand.”
“Kish. Maintain one thousand. You have traffic due east at ten thousand.” “I have them in sight.” They were two fighters. He pointed for Kasigi who had not seem them. “They’re FMs, probably out of Bandar Abbas,” he said. Kasigi did not reply, just nodded, and this made Scragger feel worse. The minutes passed. Droning onward. Then Scragger decided, hating having to do it. “Sorry,” he said gruffly, “but you’ll have to wait until Al Shargaz. Andy Gavallan can help, I can’t.” “He can help? In what way? What’s the trouble?”
After a pause Scragger said, “If anyone can help, he can. Let’s leave it at that, cobber.”
Kasigi heard the finality but dismissed it and let the matter rest for a moment, his mind abuzz with fresh danger signals. That Scragger had not fallen into his trap and told him the secret made him respect the man more. But that doesn’t forgive him, he thought, his fury building. He’s told me enough to forewarn me, now it’s up to me to find out the rest. So Gavallan’s the key? To what?
Kasigi felt his head about to burst. Haven’t I promised that madman Zataki we would be in business at once? How dare these men jeopardize our whole project - our National Project. Without choppers we can’t start! It’s tantamount to treason against Japan! What is it they’re planning? With a great effort he kept his face bland. “I’ll certainly see Gavallan as soon as possible, and let’s hope you’ll head up our new operation, eh?” “Whatever Andy Gavallan says, it’s up to him.”
Don’t be too sure, Kasigi was thinking, because whatever happens I will have choppers, at once - yours, Guerney’s, I don’t care whose. But by my samurai ancestors, the Iran-Toda will not be put to further risk! It will not! Nor will I!
Chapter 53
TABRIZ - AT THE KHAN’S PALACE: 10:50 A.M. Azadeh followed Ahmed into the Western-style room and over to the four-poster bed, and now that she was again within the walls she felt her skin crawling with fear. Sitting near the bed was a nurse in a starched white uniform, a book half open in her lap, watching them curiously through her glasses. Musty brocade curtains covered the windows against drafts. Lights were dimmed. And the stench of an old man hung in the air.
The Khan’s eyes were closed, his face pasty and breathing strangled, his arm connected to a saline drip that stood beside the bed. Half asleep in a chair nearby was Aysha, curled up and tiny, her hair disheveled and her face tear-stained. Azadeh smiled at her tentatively, sorry for her, then said to the nurse in a voice not her own, “How is His Highness, please?” “Fair. But he mustn’t have any excitement, or be disturbed,” the nurse said softly in hesitant Turkish. Azadeh looked at her and saw that she was European, in her fifties, dyed brown hair, a red cross on her sleeve. “Oh, you’re English, or French?”
“Scots,” the woman replied in English with obvious relief, her accent slight. She kept her voice down, watching the Khan. “I’m Sister Bain from the Tabriz Hospital and the patient is doing as well as can be expected - considering he will no’ do as he’s told. And who might you be, please?” “I’m his daughter, Azadeh. I’ve just arrived from Tehran - he sent for me. We’ve… we’ve traveled all night.”