What’s there to think over, laddie, he thought. “Night, Scot, I may drop back later.” He gave him a careful pat on his good shoulder and walked out. Scot won’t fail me, he told himself proudly.
In the spacious Customs and Immigration hall, passengers were trickling in from Immigration, others waiting for their baggage. The arrival board announced that the Gulf Air Flight 52 from Muscat, Oman’s capital, had arrived on time and was due to leave in fifteen minutes for Abu Dhabi, Bahrain, and Kuwait. The newstand was still open so he wandered over to see what papers were in. He was reaching for the London Times when he saw the headline, PRIME MINISTER CALLAGHAN CITES LABOUR’S SUCCESSES, and changed his mind. What do I need that for? he thought. Then he saw Genny McIver. She was sitting alone, near the boarding gate with a small suitcase beside her. “Hello, Genny, what are you doing here?”
She smiled sweetly. “I’m going to Kuwait.”
He smiled sweetly back. “What the hell for?”
“Because I need a holiday.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. The button’s not even pushed yet and anyway, there’s nothing you can do there, nothing. You’d be in the way. You’re much better off waiting here. Genny, for God’s sake be reasonable.”
The set smile had not even flickered. “Are you finished?” “Yes.”
“I am reasonable, I’m the most reasonable person you know. Duncan McIver isn’t. He’s the most misguided, misbegotten twit I’ve ever come across in all my born days and to Kuwait I am going.” It was all said with an Olympian calm.
Wisely he changed tactics. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going instead of sneaking off like this? I’d’ve been worried to death if you’d been missing.” “If I’d asked you you’d’ve shanghaied me. I asked Manuela to tell you later, flight time, hotel, and phone number. But I’m glad you’re here, Andy. You can see me off. I’d like someone to see me off, hate seeing myself off - oh, you know what I mean!”
It was then he saw how frail she seemed. “You all right, Genny?” “Oh, yes. It’s just… well, I just must be there, have to be, I can’t sit here, and anyway part of this was my idea, I’m responsible too, and I don’t want anything - anything - to go wrong.”
“It won’t,” he said and both of them touched the wooden seat. Then he slipped his arm through hers. “It’s going to be all right. Listen, one good piece of news.” He told her about Erikki.
“Oh, that’s wonderful. Hakim Khan?” Genny searched her memory. “Wasn’t Azadeh’s brother, the one who was living in … blast, I’ve forgotten, someplace near Turkey, wasn’t his name Hakim?”
“Perhaps the telex was right then and it is Hakim ‘Khan.’ That should be great for them.”
“Yes. Her father sounded like an awful old man.” She looked up at him. “Have you decided yet? If it’s tomorrow?”
“No, not yet, not finally.”
“What about the weather?”
He told her. “Not much of a decider, either way,” she said. “Wish Mac was here. He’d be wise in a situation like this.” “No wiser than you, Andy.” They looked across at the departure board as the announcer called for passengers on Flight 52. They got up. “For what it’s worth, Andy, all other things being equal, Mac’s decided it’s tomorrow.” “Eh? How do you know that?”
“I know Duncan. ‘Bye, darling Andy.” She kissed him hurriedly and did not look back.
He waited until she had vanished. Deep in thought he went outside, not noticing Wesson near the newsstand, putting his fountain pen away.
BOOK FOUR
Chapter 60
AL SHARGAZ - THE OASIS HOTEL: 5:37 A.M. Gavallan stood at his window, already dressed, night still heavy except to the east, dawn due soon now. Threads of mist came in from the coast, half a mile away, to vanish quickly in the desert reaches. Sky eerily cloudless to the east, gradually building to thick cover overall. From where he was he could see most of the airfield. Runway lights were on, a small jet already taxiing out, and the smell of kerosene was on the wind that had veered more southerly. A knock on the door. “Come in! Ah, morning, JeanLuc, morning, Charlie.” “Morning, Andy. If we’re to catch our flight it’s time to leave,” Pettikin said, his nervousness running the words together. He was due to go to Kuwait, JeanLuc to Bahrain.
“Where’s Rodrigues?”
“He’s waiting downstairs.”
“Good, then you’d best be on your way.” Gavallan was pleased that his voice sounded calm. Pettikin beamed, JeanLuc muttered merde. “With your approval, Charlie, I propose pushing the button at 7:00 A.M. as planned - provided none of the bases pull the plug beforehand. If they do we’ll try again tomorrow. Agreed?”
“Agreed. No calls yet?”
“Not yet.”
Pettikin could hardly contain his excitement. “Well, off we go into the wild blue yonder! Come on, JeanLuc!”
JeanLuc’s eyebrows soared. “Mon Dieu, it’s Boy Scouts time!” Then he went for the door. “Great news about Erikki, Andy, but how’s he going to get out?”
“I don’t know. I’m seeing Newbury at the Consulate first thing to try to get a message to him - to get out via Turkey. Both of you call me the second you land. I’ll be in the office from six. See you later.”
He closed the door after them. Now it was done. Unless one of the bases aborted.
AT LENGEH: 5:49 A.M. False dawn’s light was barely perceptible through the overcast. Scragger wore a raincoat and trudged through the drizzle and puddles toward the cookhouse that had the only light on in the base. The wind pulled at his peaked flying cap, driving the soft rain into his face. To his surprise Willi was already in the cookhouse, sitting near the wood stove drinking coffee. “Morning, Scrag, coffee? I’ve just made it.” He motioned with his head into a corner. Curled up on the floor, fast asleep and near to the warmth, was one of the camp Green Bands. Scragger nodded and took off his raincoat. “Tea for me, me son. You’re up early, where’s the cook?” Willi shrugged and put the kettle back on the stove. “Late. I thought I’d have an early breakfast. I’m going to have some scrambled. How about if I cook for you too?”
Scragger was suddenly famished. “You’re on! Four eggs for me and two pieces of toast and I’ll go easy at lunch. We have any bread, sport?” He watched Willi open the refrigerator. Three loaves, plenty of eggs and butter. “Good oh! Can’t eat eggs without buttered toast. They don’t taste right.” He glanced at his watch.
“Wind’s veered almost south and up to thirty knots.” “My nose says she’ll lessen.” “My arse says she’ll lessen too but still she’s shitty.” Scragger laughed. “Have confidence, mate.” “I’ll be much more confident with my passport.” “Too right, so will I - but the plan still stays.” When he had got back last night from the sergeant, Vossi and Willi had been waiting for him. Well away from prying ears he had told them what had happened. Willi had said at once, and Vossi agreed, “We better alert Andy we may have to abort.”
“No,” Scragger said. “I figure it this way, sport: if Andy doesn’t call for Whirlwind in the morning I’ve all day to get our passports. If he calls for Whirlwind, it’ll be exactly at seven. That gives me plenty of time to get to the station at seven-thirty and back by eight. While I’m away you start the plan rolling.” “Jesus, Scrag, we been thr - ”