The last items he packed were his flight instruments and half a dozen pairs of sunglasses. All his clothes he had put away in one locked cupboard. Of course I shall be reimbursed by the company and buy new ones. Who needs old clothes?
Now he was finished, everything neat and tidy. He looked at the clock. It had taken him only twenty-two minutes. Perfect. The La Doucette in the freezer was cool, the freezer still working in spite of the electricity cuts. He opened the bottle and tried it. Perfect. Three minutes later the door knocker sounded. Perfect.
“Sayada, chérie, how beautiful you are,” he said warmly and kissed her, but he was thinking, you don’t look good at all, tired and weary. “How are you, chérie?”
“I’ve had a chill, nothing to worry about,” she said. This morning she had seen her worry lines and the dark rings in her mirror and knew JeanLuc would notice. “Nothing serious and I’m over it now. And you, chéri?” “Today fine, tomorrow?” He shrugged, helped her off with her coat, lifted her easily into his arms and sank into the embrace of the sofa. She was very beautiful and he was saddened to leave her. And Iran. Like Algiers, he thought.
“What’re you thinking about, JeanLuc?”
“‘63, being shoved out of Algiers. Just like Iran in a way, we’re being forced out the same.” He felt her stir in his arms. “What is it?” “The world’s so awful sometimes.” Sayada had told him nothing about her real life. “So unfair,” she said sickened, remembering the ‘67 war in Gaza and the death of her parents, then fleeing - her story much like his - remembering more the catastrophe of Teymour’s murder and them. Nausea swept into her as she pictured little Yassar and what they would do to her son if she misbehaved. If only I could find out who they are…
JeanLuc was pouring the wine that he had put on the table in front of them. “Bad to be serious, chérie. We’ve not much time. Santé!”
The wine tasted cool and delicate and of spring. “How much time? Aren’t you staying?”
“I must leave in an hour.”
“For Zagros?”
“No, chérie, for the airport, then Kowiss.”
“When will you be back?”
“I won’t,” he said and felt her stiffen. But he held her firmly and, in a moment, she relaxed again, and he continued - never a reason not to trust her implicitly. “Between us, Kowiss is temporary, very. We’re pulling out of Iran, the whole company - it’s obvious we’re not wanted, we can’t operate freely anymore, the company’s not being paid. We’ve been tossed out of the Zagros … one of our mechanics was killed by terrorists a few days ago and young Soot Gavallan missed getting killed by a millimeter. So we’re pulling out. C’est fini.”
“When?”
“Soon. I don’t know exactly.”
“I’ll… I will miss… will miss you, JeanLuc,” she said and nestled closer.
“And I’ll miss you, chérie,” he said gently, noticing the silent tears now flooding her cheeks. “How long are you staying in Tehran?” “I don’t know.” She kept the misery out of her voice. “I’ll give you an address in Beirut, they’ll know where to find me.”
“You can find me through Aberdeen.”
They sat there on the sofa, she lying in his arms, the clock on the mantelpiece over the fireplace ticking, normally so soft but now so loud, both of them conscious of the time that passed and the ending that had occurred - not of their volition.
“Let’s make love,” she murmured, not wanting to but knowing that bed was expected of her.
“No,” he said gallantly, pretending to be strong for both of them, knowing that bed was expected of him and then they would get dressed and be French and sensible about the ending of their affair. His eyes strayed to the clock. Forty-three minutes left.
“You don’t want me?”
“More than ever.” His hand cupped her breast and his lips brushed her neck, her perfume light and pleasing, ready to begin.
“I’m glad,” she murmured in the same sweet voice, “and so glad that you said no. I want you for hours, my darling, not for a few minutes - not now. It would spoil everything to hurry.”
For a moment he was nonplussed, not expecting that gambit in the game they played. But now that it was said he was glad too.
How brave of her to forgo such pleasure, he thought, loving her deeply. Much better to remember the great times than to thrash around hurriedly. It certainly saves me a great deal of sweat and effort and I didn’t check if there’s any hot water. Now we can sit and chat and enjoy the wine, weep a little and be happy. “Yes, I agree. For me too.” Again his lips brushed her neck. He felt her tremble and for a moment he was tempted to inflame her. But decided not to. Poor baby, why torment her?
“How are you all leaving, my darling?”
“We’ll fly out together. Wine?”
“Yes, yes, please, it’s so good.” She sipped the wine, dried her cheeks, and chatted with him, probing this extraordinary “pullout.” Both they and the Voice will find all this very interesting, perhaps even bring me to discover who they are. Until I know I can’t protect my son. Oh, God, help me to corner them.
“I love you so much, chéri,” she said.
AT TEHRAN AIRPORT: 6:05 P.M. Johnny Hogg, Pettikin, and Nogger stared at McIver blankly. “You’re staying - you’re not leaving with us?” Pettikin stuttered.
“No. I told you,” McIver said briskly. “I’ve got to accompany Kia to Kowiss tomorrow.” They were beside his car in their parking lot, away from alien ears, the 125 on the apron, laborers loading the last few crates, the inevitable group of Green Band guards watching. And a mullah. “The mullah’s one we’ve never seen before,” Nogger said nervously, like all of them trying to hide it.
“Good. Is everyone else ready to board?”
“Yes, Mac, except JeanLuc.” Pettikin was very unsettled. “Don’t you think you’d better chance leaving Kia?”
“That’d really be crazy, Charlie. Nothing to worry about. You can set up everything at Al Shargaz Airport with Andy. I’ll be there tomorrow. I’ll get on the 125 tomorrow at Kowiss with the rest of the lads.” “But for God’s sake they’re all cleared, you’re not,” Nogger said. “For God’s sake, Nogger, none of us’re cleared from here, for God’s sake,” McIver added with a laugh. “How the hell will we be sure of our Kowiss lads until they’re airborne and out of Iran airspace? Nothing to worry about. First things first, we’ve got to get this part of the show in the air.” He glanced at the taxi skidding to a stop. JeanLuc got out, gave the driver the other half of the note, and strolled over carrying a suitcase.
“Alors, mes amis,” he said with a contented smile. “Ça marche?” McIver sighed. “Jolly sporting of you to advertise you’re going on a holiday, JeanLuc.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” McIver liked JeanLuc, for his ability, his cooking, and single-mindedness. When Gavallan had told JeanLuc about Whirlwind, JeanLuc had said at once, “Me, I will certainly fly out one of the Kowiss 212s - providing I can be on the Wednesday flight to Tehran and go into Tehran for a couple of hours.”
“To do what?”
“Mon Dieu, you Anglais! To say adieu to the Imam perhaps?” McIver grinned at the Frenchman. “How was Tehran?”
“Magnifique!” JeanLuc grinned back, and thought, I haven’t seen Mac so young in years. Who’s the lady? “Et toi, mon vieux?”
“Good.” Behind him, McIver saw Jones, the copilot, come down the steps two at a time, heading for them. Now there were no more crates left on the tarmac and their Iranian ground crew were all strolling back to the office. “You all set aboard?”