“Standby One, Lengeh.” Scot glanced across at Gavallan, waiting. “Call Kowiss,” Gavallan said and everyone relaxed a little. “We’ll check with them first.”
“Kowiss, this’s Sierra One, do you read?” Silence. “Kowiss, this’s Sierra One, do you read?”
“This’s Kowiss, go ahead.” McIver’s voice sounded strained and was intermittent.
“Did you copy?”
“Yes. Prefer firm forecast as planned.”
“That decides it.” Gavallan took the mike. “Sierra One, all bases, our weather’s changeable. We will have your firm forecast at 0700.” “We copy,” Scragger said.
“We copy.” Rudi’s voice was brittle.
“We copy.” McIver sounded relieved.
Again the airwaves were silent. Gavallan said to no one in particular, “Better to stick to the plan. Don’t want to alert APC unnecessarily, or get that bugger Siamaki more difficult than usual. Rudi could have aborted if it was urgent, he still can.” He got up and stretched, then sat down again. Static. They were also listening on the emergency channel, 121.5. The Pan Am jumbo took off rattling the windows.
Manuela shifted in her seat, feeling she was encroaching even though Gavallan had said, “Manuela, you listen with us too, you’re the only Farsi speaker among us.” The time did not weigh so heavily for her. Her man was safe, a little damaged but safe, and her heart was singing with joy for the blessed luck that brought him out of the maelstrom. “Because that’s what it is, honey,” she had told him last night at the hospital.
“Maybe, but without Hussain’s help I’d still be in Kowiss.” If it wasn’t for that mullah you would never’ve been hit, she had thought but did not say it, not wanting to agitate him. “Can I get you anything, darlin’?” “A new head!” “They’re bringing a pill in a minute. Doctor said you’ll be flying in six weeks, that you’ve the constitution of a roan buffalo.”
“I feel like a bent chicken.” She had laughed.
Now she let herself drift comfortably, not having to sweat out the waiting like the others, particularly Genny. Two minutes to go. Static. Gavallan’s fingers drumming. A private jet took off and she could see another airplane on final, a jumbo with Alitalia colors. Wonder if that’ll be Paula’s flight back from Tehran?
The minute hand on the clock touched twelve. At 7:00 A.M. Gavallan took the mike. “Sierra One to all bases: Our forecast’s settled and we expect improving weather but watch out for small whirlwinds. Do you copy?” “Sierra One, this’s Lengeh.” Scragger was breezy. “We copy and will watch for whirlwinds. Out.”
“Sierra One, this’s Bandar Delam, we copy, and will watch for whirlwinds. Out.”
Silence. The seconds ticked by. Unconsciously Gavallan bit his lower lip. Waiting, then he clicked the transmit button. “Kowiss, do you read?”
AT KOWISS: 7:04 A.M. McIver and Lochart were staring at the HF. Almost together they checked their watches. Lochart muttered, “It’s an abort for today,” wet with relief. Another day’s reprieve, he thought. Maybe today the phones’ll come back in, maybe today I can talk to her… “They’d still call, that’s part of the plan, they call either way.” McIver clicked the switch on and off. The lights all checked out. So did the dials. “To hell with it,” he said and clicked on the sender. “Sierra One, this’s Kowiss, do you read?” Silence. Again, even more anxiously, “Sierra One, this’s Kowiss, do you read?” Silence.
“What the hell’s with them?” Lochart said through his teeth. “Lengeh, this’s Kowiss, do you read?” No answer. Abruptly McIver remembered and jumped to his feet and ran to the window. The main cable to the transmitter-receiver aerial was hanging loose, flapping in the wind. Cursing, McIver tore the door to the roof open and went out into the cold. His fingers were strong but the nuts were too rusted to move and he saw that the soldered wire ring was eaten away by rust and had fractured. “Bloody hell…” “Here.” Lochart was beside him and gave him the pliers. “Thanks.” McIver began to scrape the rust away. The rain had almost stopped but neither noticed it. A nimble of thunder. Sheet lightning flickered in the Zagros, most of the mountains clouded. As he worked hurriedly, he told Lochart how Wazari had spent so much time on the roof yesterday fixing the cable. “When I came on this morning I made a routine call so I knew she was working and we were loud and clear at 6:30 and again at 6:40. The wind must’ve pulled the wire between then and now…” The pliers slipped and he ripped a finger and cursed more. “Let me do it?”
“No, it’s fine. Couple of seconds.”
Lochart went back into the tower cabin: 7:07. The base still quiet. Over at the air base some trucks were moving around but no airplanes. Down by the hangar their two mechanics still fiddled with the 212s, according to plan, Freddy Ayre with them. Then he saw Wazari cycling along the inside perimeter road. His heart nipped. “Mac, there’s Wazari, coming from the base.” “Stop him, tell him anything but stop him.” Lochart rushed off down the stairs. McIver’s heart was thundering. “Come on, for God’s sake,” he said and cursed himself again for not checking. Check check and recheck, safety is no accident it has to be planned!
Again the pliers slipped. Again he applied them and now the nuts were moving down the bolt. Now one side was tight. For a second he was tempted to risk it, but his caution overcame his anxiety and he tightened the other side. A tentative pull on the cable. Tight. He hurried back, sweat pouring off him: 7:16.
For a moment he could not catch his breath. “Come on, McIver, for the love of God!” He took a deep breath and that helped. “Sierra One, this is Kowiss, do you read?”
Scot’s anxious voice came back at once. “Kowiss, Sierra One, go ahead.” “Do you have any information on any weather for us?”
At once Gavallan’s voice, even more anxious: “Kowiss, we sent out the following at exactly 0700: our forecast’s settled and we expect improving weather but watch out for small whirlwinds. Do you copy?” McIver exhaled. “We copy, and will watch for small whirlwinds. Did, did the others copy?”
“Affirmative…”
AT AL SHARGAZ HQ: “… I say again, affirmative.” Gavallan repeated into the mike. “What happened?”
“No problem,” McIver’s voice came back, his signal weak. “See you soon, out.” Now the airwaves were silent. A sudden cheer erupted in the room, Scot embraced his father and gasped as pain ripped up from his shoulder but no one noticed in the pandemonium. Manuela was hugging Gavallan, and she said, “I’m going to phone the hospital, Andy, I’ll be back in a second,” and ran off. Nogger was jumping up and down with glee and Gavallan said happily, “I think all nonpilots deserve a large bottle of beer!”
AT KOWISS: McIver switched off the set and slumped back in the chair, collecting himself, feeling strange - light-headed and heavy-handed. “Never mind that, it’s a go!” he said. It was quiet in the tower except for the wind that creaked the door he had left open in his haste. He closed it and saw the rain had stopped, the clouds still gloomy. Then he noticed his finger was still bleeding. Beside the HF was a paper towel and he tore a piece off and wrapped it crudely around the wound. His hands were trembling. On a sudden impulse, he went outside and knelt beside the connecting wire. It took all his strength to pull it loose. Then he double checked the tower, wiped the sweat off his brow, and went down the stairs.
Lochart and Wazari were in Esvandiary’s office, Wazari unshaven and grubby, a curious electricity in the air. No time to worry about that, McIver thought, Scrag and Rudi’re already airborne. “Morning, Sergeant,” McIver said curtly, aware of Lochart’s scrutiny. “I thought I gave you the day off - we’ve no traffic of any importance.”