In the tower he saw Hussain staring at the equipment. “Can you work the radios, Colonel?” the mullah asked, his robes old but clean, turban white and freshly washed, but old too.
“No, Excellency, that’s why I sent for Borgali.” Corporal Borgali came up the stairs two at a time and stood to attention. “VHF and HF,” the colonel ordered.
“Yessir.” Borgali switched on. Nothing. A quick check and he found the mutilated crystal and that the VHF circuit breaker was missing. “Sorry, sir, this equipment’s nonfunctioning.”
“You mean sabotaged,” Hussain said softly and looked at Changiz. Changiz was numb. God burn all foreigners, he was thinking in despair. If it’s deliberate sabotage… then this is proof they’ve fled and taken our choppers with them. That dog McIver must have known they were going to do it this morning when I was asking about the 125.
Prickles of ice needles went through him. No 125 now, no private escape route, no chance of taking Lochart or one of the other pilots hostage on a trumped-up charge, then secretly bartering the man’s “escape from jail” for a seat for himself - if necessary. His entrails heaved. What if the komiteh finds out my wife and family are already in Baghdad, not as supposed at Abadan where my poor mother is “dying”? The nightmare devils were always jeering, shouting the truth: “What mother? Your mother’s been dead for seven or eight years! You’ve planned to flee, you’re guilty of crimes against God and the Imam and the revolution…”
“Colonel,” Hussain said in the same chilling voice, “if the radios are sabotaged does it not follow that Captain Lochart is not searching for the other helicopters, he’s not searching but has fled like the other one, and that McIver lied about ordering the other 212s here?”
“Yes… yes, Excellency, yes it does an - ”
“And then it also follows that they have fled illegally and taken two helicopters from here illegally, apart from the four from Bandar Delam?” “Yes… yes, that would be true too.” “As God wants, but you are responsible.” “But, Excellency, surely you must realize that it’s not possible to have foreseen a secret, illegal operation like…” He saw the eyes and read them and his words faded away. “So you’ve been duped?” “Foreigners are sons of dogs who lie and cheat all the time…” Changiz stopped as a thought filled his mind. He grabbed the phone, cursed finding it inoperative. In a different voice he said quickly, “Excellency, a 212 can’t fly across the Gulf without refueling, it’s not possible, and McIver’s got to refuel too to get to Tehran with Kia - he’ll have to refuel too so we can catch them.” To Borgali he said, “On the double, go back to our tower and find out where the 206 cleared for Tehran with McIver and Minister Kia is scheduled to refuel. Tell the duty officer to alert the base and arrest the pilot, detain the helicopter, an send Minister Kia on to Tehran… by road.” He looked at Hussain. “You agree, Excellency?” Hussain nodded. “Good. Off you go!” The corporal rushed down the stairs.
It was cold in the tower, the wind blustering. A small rain squall pelted the windows for a moment then passed by. Hussain’ did not notice it, his eyes on Changiz.
“We’ll catch that dog, Excellency. Minister Kia will thank us.” Hussain did not smile. He had already arranged a reception komiteh for Kia at Tehran Airport, and if Kia could not explain all manner of curiosities in his behavior, soon the government would be less one corrupt minister. “Perhaps Kia is part of the plot and he’s fleeing Iran with McIver, have you thought of that, Colonel?” The colonel gaped. “Minister Kia? Do you think so?” “Do you?”
“By God, it’s… it’s certainly possible, if you think so,” Changiz replied cautiously, trying as never before to be alert. “I’ve never met the man in my life. You’d know better than me, Excellency, about Kia, you questioned him in front of the komiteh.” And exonerated him, he thought with malicious delight. “When we catch McIver we can use him as a hostage to bring back the rest, we’ll catch him, Excellency…”
Hussain saw the fear on the colonel’s face and he wondered what the man was guilty of, was the colonel also part of the escape plan that had been obvious to him since he had questioned Starke yesterday and McIver this morning?
“And if it was obvious,” he had imagined a religious superior asking, “why did you keep it secret and why didn’t you prevent it?”
“Because of Starke, Eminence. Because I truly believe that somehow that man, though Infidel, is an Instrument of God and God-protected. Three times he prevented forces of evil giving me the blessed peace of Paradise. Because of him my eyes have been opened to the truth of God’s wish that I must no longer seek martyrdom but must remain on an earthly path to become a relentless scourge for God and the Imam, against enemies of Islam and his enemies.”
“But the others? Why allow them to escape?”
“Islam needs neither foreigners nor their helicopters. Should Iran need helicopters, in Isfahan there are a thousand others.”
Hussain was completely sure he was right, as right as this pro-Shah, American-supporting turncoat colonel was wrong. “So, Colonel, what about the two 212s, will you catch them too? How?”
Changiz went to the wall map quite sure that though both of them had been duped he was commandant and responsible if the mullah wanted to make him responsible. But don’t forget this is the mullah who made a deal with Colonel Peshadi the night of the first attack on the base, this is the same one who befriended the American Starke and the odious maniac Zataki from Abadan. And am I not a supporter of the Imam and the revolution? Didn’t I correctly give over the base to the soldiers of God?
Insha’Allah. Concentrate on the foreigners. If you can catch them, even one of them, you’ll be safe from this mullah and his Green Band thugs. Several standard flight paths were drawn on the map from Kowiss to various oil sites and to rigs out into the Gulf. “That dog clerk said spares to Abu Sal,” he muttered. “Now if I were them, where would I refuel?” His finger stabbed the rigs. “One of these, Excellency,” he said excitedly. “That’s where they’d refuel.”
“The rigs carry spare fuel?”
“Oh, yes, in case of an emergency.”
“And how are you going to catch them?”
“Fighters.”
ON SHORE AT THE RENDEZVOUS: 2:07 P.M. The two 212s were parked on the desolate, undulating beach in light rain. Dejectedly Freddy Ayre and Lochart sat in the open door of one of the cabins, their two mechanics and Wasari in the other, all of them tired from handling the big, cumbersome forty-gallon drums of fuel and taking turns pumping the gasoline into the tanks. Never had two 212s been refueled faster, nor full spares heaved aboard into each and secured faster, in case of an emergency. Freddy Ayre had arrived here about eleven-thirty, Lochart just after twelve, half an hour to refuel, and they had been waiting ever since.
“We’ll give him another half an hour,” Lochart said.
“Christ, you’re acting as if we have all the time in the world.” “It’s stupid for both of us to wait, safer for you to go separately - how many times do I have to say it? Take everyone and I’ll wait.” “When Mac arrives we can all g - ”
“Goddamnit, take the mechanics and Wazari and I’ll wait. That’s what Mac’d say if he was here and you were waiting for me. For crissake, stop trying to play hero and push off.”