“Oh, but that would be very impolite. I will relay that message. He said he would return before noon prayer and particularly asked for an appointment with you. He has a very private message from Minister Kia.” “Well, I’m going to the embassy.” McIver debated a moment. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Irritably he picked up the briefcase and hurried down the stairs, cursing Ali Kia and then adding a curse for Ali Baba too. Ali Baba - so named because he reminded McIver of the Forty Thieves - was the wheedling half of their live-in couple who had been with them for two years but had vanished at the beginning of the troubles. Yesterday at dawn Ali Baba came back, beaming and acting as though he had just been away for the weekend instead of almost five months, happily insisting he take their old room back: “Oh, most definitely, Agha, the home has to be most clean and prepared for the return of Her Highness; next week my wife will be here to do that but meanwhile I bring you tea-toast in a most instant as you ever liked. May I be sacrificed for you but I bargained mightily today for fresh bread and milk from the market at the oh so reasonable best price for me only, but the robbers charge five times last year’s, so sad, but please give me the money now, and as most soon as the bank is opened you can pay me my mucroscupic back salary…”
Bloody Ali Baba, the revolution hasn’t changed him a bit. “Microscopic”? It’s still one loaf for us and five for him, but never mind, it was fine to have tea and toast in bed - but not the day before we sneak out. How the hell are Charlie and I going to get our baggage out without him smelling the proverbial rat?
In the garage he unlocked his car. “Lulu, old girl,” he said, “sorry, there’s bugger all I can do about it, it’s time for the Big Parting. Don’t quite know how I’m going to do it, but I’m not leaving you as a burnt offering or for some bloody Iranian to rape.”
Talbot was waiting for him in a spacious, elegant office. “My dear Mr. McIver, you’re bright and early, I heard all the adventures of young Ross - my word we were all very lucky, don’t you think?”
“Yes, yes, we were, how is he?”
“Getting over it. Good man, did a hell of a good job. I’m seeing him for lunch and we’re getting him out on today’s BA flight - just in case he’s been spotted, can’t be too careful. Any news of Erikki? We’ve had some inquiries from the Finnish embassy asking for help.”
McIver told him about Azadeh’s note. “Bloody ridiculous.” Talbot steepled his fingers. “Ransom doesn’t sound too good. There’s, er, there’s a rumor the Khan’s very sick indeed. Stroke.”
McIver frowned. “Would that help or hurt Azadeh and Erikki?” “I don’t know. If he does pop off, well, it’ll certainly change the balance of power in Azerbaijan for a while, which will certainly encourage our misguided friends north of the border to agitate more than usual, which’ll cause Carter and his powers-that-be to fart more dust.”
“What the devil’s he doing now?”
“Nothing, old boy, sweet Fanny Adams - that’s the trouble. He scattered his peanuts and scarpered.”
“Anything more on us being nationalized - Armstrong said it’s imminent.” “It might well be you’ll lose positive control of your aircraft imminently,” Talbot said with studied care and McIver’s attention zeroed. “It, er, might be more of a personal acquisition by interested parties.” “You mean Ali Kia and the partners?” Talbot shrugged. “Ours not to reason why, eh?” “This is official?”
“My dear chap, good Lord, no!” Talbot was quite shocked. “Just a personal observation, off the record. What can I do for you?”
“Off the record, on Andy Gavallan’s instructions, all right?” “Let’s have it on the record.”
McIver saw the slightly pink humorless face and got up, relieved. “No way, Mr. Talbot. It was Andy’s idea to keep you in the picture, not mine.” Talbot sighed with practiced eloquence. “Very well, off the record.” McIver sat. “We’re, er, we’re transferring our HQ to Al Shargaz today.” “Very wise. So?”
“We’re going today. All remaining expat personnel. On our 125.” “Very wise. So?”
“We’re, er, we’re closing down all operations in Iran. On Friday.” Talbot sighed wearily. “Without personnel I’d say that’s axiomatic. So?” McIver was finding it very hard to say what he wanted to say. “We, er, we’re taking our aircraft out on Friday - this Friday.”
“Bless my soul,” Talbot said in open admiration. “Congratulations! How on earth did you twist that rotter Kia’s arm to get the permits? You must’ve promised him a life membership at the Royal Box at Ascot!” “Er, no, no, we didn’t. We decided not to apply for exit permits, waste of time.” McIver got up. “Well, see you soo - ” Talbot’s face almost fell off his face. “No permits?” “No. You know yourself our birds’re going to be nicked, nationalized, taken over, whatever you want to call it, there’s no way we could get exit permits so we’re just going.” McIver added airily, “Friday we flit the coop.”
“Oh, my word!” Talbot was shaking his head vigorously, his fingers toying with a file on his desk. “Bless my soul, very very unbloody-wise.” “There isn’t any alternative. Well, Mr. Talbot, that’s all, have a nice day. Andy wanted to forewarn you so you could… so you could do whatever you want to do.”
“What the hell is that?” Talbot exploded.
“How the hell do I know?” McIver was equally exasperated. “You’re supposed to protect your nationals.”
“But y - ”
“I’m just not going to be put out of business and that’s the end of it!” Talbot’s fingers drummed nervously. “I think I need a cup of tea.” He clicked on the intercom. “Celia, two cups of the best and I think you better insert a modest amount pf Nelson’s Blood into the brew.”
“Yes, Mr. Talbot,” the adenoidal voice said and sneezed.
“Bless you,” Talbot said automatically. His fingers stopped drumming and he smiled sweetly at McIver. “I’m awfully glad you didn’t tell rne anything about anything, old boy.”
“So’m I.”
“Rest assured, should I ever hear that you’re in pokey doing - what’s the expression? Ah, yes, ‘doing porridge’ - I shall be glad to visit you on behalf of Her Majesty’s Government and attempt to extricate you from the errors of your ways.” Talbot’s eyebrows went off his forehead. “Grand larceny! Bless my soul, but jolly good luck, old boy.”
IN AZADEH’S APARTMENT: 8:10 A.M. The old maidservant carried the heavy silver breakfast tray along the corridor - four boiled eggs, toast and butter and marmalade, two exquisite coffee cups, steaming coffeepot, and the finest Egyptian cotton napkins. She put the tray down and knocked. “Come in.”
“Good morning, Highness. Salaam.”
“Salaam,” Sharazad said dully. She was propped against the many pillows of the carpet bed, her face puffy from tears. The bathroom door was ajar, sound of water running. “You can put it here, on the bed.”
“Yes, Highness.” The old woman obeyed. With a sidelong glance at the bathroom, she left silently.
“Breakfast, Tommy,” Sharazad called out, trying to sound bright. No answer. She half shrugged to herself, sniffed a little, more tears not far away, then looked up as Lochart came back into the bedroom. He was shaved and dressed in winter flying gear - boots, trousers, shirt, and heavy sweater. “Coffee?” she asked with a tentative smile, hating his set face and the air of disapproval that he wore.