“I… I accept it before God as payment in full, for the pilot and the… and the airplane.” Bayazid tore his eyes off the gem. “For the pilot and the airplane. But for you, you and the woman…” The sweat was trickling down his face. So much wealth there, his mind was shouting, so much, so easy to take, so easy but there is honor in this, oh, yes, very much. “For you and the woman there should be a fair ransom too.”
Outside a car gunned its engine. Men rushed to the broken window. The car was racing for the main gate and as they watched, it hurtled through, heading for the city below.
“Quick,” Bayazid said to Hakim, “make up your mind.”
“The woman is worthless,” Hakim said, afraid of the lie, aware that he had to bargain or they were still lost. His fingers chose a ruby bracelet and offered it. “Agreed?”
“To you the woman may be worthless - not to the pilot. The bracelet and the necklace, that one, together with the bracelet with the green stones.” “Before God that’s too much,” Hakim exploded, “this bracelet’s more than enough - that’s more than the value of the pilot and the airplane!” “Son of a burnt father! This one, the necklace and that other bracelet, the one with the green stones.”
They haggled back and forth, angrier and angrier, everyone listening intently except Erikki who was still locked in his own private hell, only concerned with Azadeh and where was the doctor and how he could help her and help Hakim. His hand was stroking her hair, his nerves pushed near the breaking point by the enraged voices of the two men as they reached the crescendo, the insults ever more violent. Then Hakim judged the moment right and let out a wail that was also part of the game of bargaining, “You’re too good a negotiator for me, by God! You’ll beggar me! Here, my final offer!” He put the diamond bracelet and the smaller of the emerald necklaces and the heavy gold bracelet onto the carpet. “Do we agree?”
It was a fair price now, not as much as Bayazid wanted but far more than he had expected. “Yes,” he said and scooped up his prize and contentment rilled the room. “You swear by God not to pursue us? Not to attack us?” “Yes, yes, before God.”
“Good. Pilot, I need you to take us home…” Bayazid said in English now and saw the rage soar into Hakim’s face and added hastily, “I ask, not order, Agha. Here,” he offered Erikki the gold bracelet, “I wish to hire your services, this’s paym - ” He stopped and looked off as one of his men guarding the patio, called out urgently, “There’s a car coming up from the city!”
Bayazid was sweating more now. “Pilot, I swear by God I’ll not harm you.” “I can’t take you,” Erikki said. “There’s not enough gasoline.” “Then not all the way, halfway, just halfw - ”
“There’s not enough gasoline.”
“Then take us and drop us in the mountains - just a little way. I ask you - ask not order,” Bayazid said, then added curiously, “By the Prophet I treated you fairly and him fairly and… have not molested her. I ask you.” They had all heard the thread under the voice, perhaps a threat, perhaps not, but Erikki knew beyond any doubt that the fragile bubble of “honor” or “before God” would vanish with the first bullet, that it was up to him now to try to correct the disaster that the attack had become, chasing a Khan already dead, the ransom already half paid, and now Azadeh lying there, hurt as only God knows, and Hakim almost killed. Set-faced he touched her a last time, glanced at the Khan, nodded, half to himself, then got up, abruptly jerked the Sten gun out of the nearest tribesman’s hands. “I’ll accept your word before God and I’ll kill you if you cheat. I’ll drop you north of the city, in the mountains. Everyone in the chopper. Tell them!” Bayazid hated the idea of the gun in the hands of this brooding, revenge-seeking monster. Neither of us has forgotten I threw the grenade that perhaps has killed a houri, he thought. “Insha’Allah!” Quickly he ordered the retreat. Taking the body of their dead comrade with them, they obeyed. “Pilot, we will leave together. Thank you, Agha Hakim Khan, God be with you,” he said and backed to the door, weapon held loosely, but ready. “Come on!”
Erikki raised his hand in farewell to Hakim, consumed with anguish at what he had precipitated. “Sorry…”
“God be with you, Erikki, and come back safely,” Hakim called out and Erikki felt better for that. “Ahmed, go with him, he can’t fly and use a gun at the same time. See that he gets back safely.” Yes, he thought icily, I’ve still a score to settle with him for the attack on my palace!
“Yes, Highness. Thank you, pilot.” Ahmed took the gun from Erikki, checked the action and magazine, then smiled crookedly at Bayazid. “By God and the Prophet, on whose Name be praised, let no man cheat.” Politely he motioned Erikki to leave, then followed him. Bayazid went last.
AT THE FOOTHILLS TO THE PALACE: 11:05 A.M. The police car was racing up the winding road toward the gates, other cars and an army truck filled with troops following. Hashemi Fazir and Armstrong were in the back of the lead car which skidded through the gate into the forecourt where an ambulance was already parked. They got out and followed the guard into the Great Room. Hakim Khan was waiting for them in his place of honor, pale and drawn but regal, guards around him, this part of the palace undamaged.
“Highness, God be praised you were not hurt - we’ve just heard about the attack. May I introduce myself? I’m Colonel Hashemi Fazir of Inner Intelligence and this is Superintendent Armstrong who has assisted us for years and is an expert in certain areas that could concern you - he speaks Farsi by the way. Would you please tell us what happened?” The two men listened intently as Hakim Khan related his version of the attack - they had already heard the rumored details - both of them impressed with his bearing. Hashemi had come prepared. Before leaving Tehran yesterday evening he had meticulously gone through Hakim’s files. For years both he and SAVAK had had him under surveillance in Khoi: “I know how much he owes and to whom, Robert, what favors and to whom, what he likes to eat and read, how good he is with gun, piano, or a knife, every woman he’s ever bedded and every boy.” Armstrong had laughed. “What about his politics?”
“He has none. Unbelievable - but true. He’s Iranian, Azerbaijani, and yet he hasn’t joined any group, taken any sides, none, not said anything even a little seditious - even against Abdollah Khan - and Khoi’s always been a festering bed of nettles.”
“Religion?”
“Shi’ite, but calm, conscientious, orthodox, neither right nor left. Ever since he was banished, no, that’s not quite true, since he was seven when his mother died and he and his sister went to live in the palace, he’s been a feather wafted by his father’s merest breath, waiting in fear for inevitable disaster. As God wants, but it’s a miracle he’s Khan, a miracle that that vile son of a dog died before doing him and his sister harm. Strange! One moment his head’s on the block, and now he controls untold riches, untold power, and I’ve got to deal with him.”
“That should be easy - if what you say’s true.”
“You’re suspicious, always suspicious - is that the strength of the English?”
“Just the lesson an old cop’s learned over the years.”
Hashemi had smiled to himself and now he did it again, concentrating on the young man, Khan of all the Gorgons, in front of him, watching him closely, studying him for clues. What’re your secrets - you’ve got to have secrets! “Highness, how long ago did the pilot leave?” Armstrong was asking. Hakim glanced at his watch. “About two and a half hours ago.” “Did he say how much fuel he had with him?”
“No, only that he would take them a little way and drop them.” Hashemi and Robert Armstrong were standing in front of the raised platform with its rich carpets and cushions, Hakim Khan dressed formally in warm brocades, a string of pearls around his neck with a diamond pendant four times the size of the one he had bartered their lives for. “Perhaps,” Hashemi said delicately, “perhaps Highness, the pilot was really in league with the Kurdish tribesmen, and won’t come back.”