“Snooping, has to be, and if he plans to ‘work’ on Holy Day … that’s pretty suspicious, isn’t it?”
“Mac said he would clean the safe out of important stuff and throw his key and the spare into the joub. Bet those buggers have duplicates,” Gavallan said testily. “I’ll have to wait until tomorrow for the pleasure of talking with him. Scot, is there any way we can jam him listening to our calls?” “No, not if we use our company frequencies which’s all we’ve got.” His father nodded. “When Johnny comes in, remind him I may want him airborne tomorrow at a moment’s notice.” It was part of the Whirlwind plan to use the 125 as a high-altitude VHF receiver/transmitter to cover those choppers only equipped with VHF. “From seven o’clock onward.”
“Then it’s a go for tomorrow.”
“Not yet.” Gavallan picked up the phone and dialed. “Good evening, Mr. Newbury, please, Mr. Gavallan returning his call.” Roger Newbury was one of the officials at the British consulate who had been very helpful, easing permits for them. “Hello, Roger, you wanted me? Sorry, you’re not at dinner, are you?”
“No, glad you called. Couple of things: first, bit of bad news, we’ve just heard George Talbot’s been killed.”
“Good God, what happened?”
“‘Fraid it’s all rather rotten. He was in a restaurant where there were some rather high-level ayatollahs. A terrorist car bomb blew the place to bits and him with it, yesterday lunchtime.”
“How bloody awful!”
“Yes. There was a Captain Ross with him, he was hurt too. I believe you knew him?”
“Yes, yes, I’d met him. He helped the wife of one of our pilots get out of a mess at Tabriz. A nice young man. How badly was he hurt?” “We don’t know, it’s all a bit sketchy, but our embassy in Tehran got him to the Kuwait International Hospital yesterday; I’ll get a proper report tomorrow and will let you know. Now, you asked if we could find out the whereabouts of your Captain Erikki Yokkonen.” A pause and the rustle of papers and Gavallan held on to his hope. “We had a telex this evening from Tabriz, just before I left the office: ‘Please be advised in answer to your query about Captain Erikki Yokkonen, he is believed to have escaped from his kidnappers and is now believed to be with his wife at the palace of Hakim Khan. A further report will be forthcoming tomorrow as soon as this can be checked.’”
“You mean Abdollah Khan, Roger.” Excitedly Gavallan covered the mouthpiece and whispered to Scot, “Erikki’s safe!”
“Fantastic,” Scot said, wondering what the bad news had been. “The telex definitely says Hakim Khan,” Newbury was saying. “Never mind, thank God he’s safe.” And thank God another major hurdle against Whirlwind is removed. “Could you get a message to him for me?” “I could try. Come in tomorrow. Can’t guarantee it’ll reach him, the situation in Azerbaijan is quite fluid. We could certainly try.” “I can’t thank you enough, Roger. Very thoughtful of you to let me know. Terribly sorry about Talbot and young Ross. If there’s anything I can do to help Ross, please let me know.”
“Yes, yes, I will. By the way, the word’s out.” It was said flat. “Sorry?”
“Let’s say, ‘Turbulences,’” Newbury said delicately.
For a moment Gavallan was silent, then he recovered. “Oh?” “Oh. It seems a certain Mr. Kasigi wanted you to service Iran-Toda from yesterday and you told him you wouldn’t be able to give him an answer for thirty days. So, er, we added two to two and with all the rumors got a bull’s-eye, the word’s out.”
Gavallan was trying to get cool. “Not being able to service Iran-Toda’s a business decision, Roger, nothing more. Operating anywhere in Iran’s bloody now, you know that. I couldn’t handle Kasigi’s extra business.” “Really?” Newbury’s voice was withering. Then, sharply, “Well, if what we hear is true we’d strongly, very strongly advise against it.” Gavallan said stubbornly, “You surely don’t advise me to support Iran-Toda when all Iran’s falling apart, do you?”
Another pause. A sigh. Then, “Well, mustn’t keep you, Andy. Perhaps we could have lunch. On Saturday.”
“Yes, thank you. I’d, I’d like that.” Gavallan hung up.
“What was the bad?” Scot asked.
Gavallan told him about Talbot and Ross and then about “turbulences.” “That’s too close to Whirlwind to be funny.”
“What’s this about Kasigi?”
“He wanted two 212s from Bandar Delam at once to service Iran-Toda - I had to stall.” Their meeting had been brief and blunt: “Sorry, Mr. Kasigi, it’s not possible to service you this week, or the next. I couldn’t, er, consider it for thirty days.”
“My chairman would greatly appreciate it. I understand you know him?” “Yes, I did, and if I could help I certainly would. Sorry, it’s just not possible.”
“But… then can you suggest an alternative? I must get helicopter support.” “What about a Japanese company?”
“There isn’t one. Is there… is there someone else to hold me over?” “Not to my knowledge. Guerney’ll never go back but they might know of someone.” He had given him their phone number and the distraught Japanese had rushed off.
He looked at his son. “Damned shame but nothing I could do to help him.” Scot said, “If the word’s out…” He eased the sling more comfortably. “If the word’s out then it’s out. All the more reason to press the titty.” “Or to cancel. Think I’ll drop by and see Duke. Track me down if anyone calls. Nogger’s taking over from you?”
“Yes. Midnight. JeanLuc’s still booked on the dawn flight to Bahrain, Pettikin to Kuwait. I’ve confirmed their seats.” Scot watched him. Gavallan did not answer the unsaid question. “Leave it like that for the moment.” He saw his son smile and nod and his heart was suddenly overflowing with love and concern and pride and fear for him, intermixed with his own hopes for a future that depended on his being able to extract all of them from the Iranian morass. He was surprised to hear himself say, “Would you consider giving up flying, laddie?”
“Eh?”
Gavallan smiled at his son’s astonishment. But now that he had said it, he decided to continue. “It’s part of a long-term plan. For you and the family. In fact I’ve two - just between ourselves. Of course both depend on whether we stay in business or not. The first is you give up flying and go out to Hong Kong for a couple of years to learn that end of Struan’s, back to Aberdeen for perhaps another year, then back to Hong Kong again where you’d base. The second’s that you go for a conversion course on the X63s, spend six months or so in the States, perhaps a year learning that end of the business, then to the North Sea for a season. Then out to Hong Kong.” “Always back to Hong Kong?”
“Yes. China will open up sometime for oil exploration and Ian and I want Struan’s to be ready with a complete operation, support choppers, rigs, the whole kit and caboodle.” He smiled strangely. “Oil for the lamps of China” was code for Ian Dunross’s secret plan, most of which Linbar Struan was not party to. “Air Struan‘11 be the new company and its area of responsibility and operation’d be China, the China Seas, and the whole China basin. Our end plan is that you’d head it.”
“Not much potential there,” Scot said with pretended diffidence. “Do you think Air Struan would have a future?” Then he let his smile out. “Again this is all just between us - Linbar’s not been given all the facts yet.”
Scot frowned. “Will he approve me going out there, joining Struan’s and doing this?”
“He hates me, Scot, not you. He hasn’t opposed you seeing his niece, has he?”
“Not yet. No, he hasn’t, not yet.”
“The timing’s right and we have to have a future plan - for the family. You’re the right age, I think you could do it.” Gavallan’s eyes picked up light. “You’re half-Dunross, you’re a direct descendant of Dirk Struan, and so you’ve responsibilities above and beyond yourself. You and your sister inherited your mother’s shares, you’d qualify for the Inner Office if you’re good enough. That burk Linbar’ll have to retire one day - even he can’t destroy the Noble House totally. What do you say to my plan?” “I’d like to think it over, Dad.”