Without noticing it, McIver exhaled heavily. “I’ll have to go on, Gen. Daren’t stay here - doubt if they’d let me. They’re desperate not to rock any boat and want to see the last of us. It’s obvious, isn’t it - who ever heard of being cleared from a beach? We’re a bloody embarrassment and a threat to the state, of course we are. That’s the truth! Do what Charlie says, Gen. We’ll refuel at Jellet - change the registrations there and hope for the best - do you have the stencils, Charlie?”
“Brushes, paint, everything.” Pettikin did not stop filling in the forms. “What about Wazari?”
“He’s crew until someone asks a question. Put him down as radio operator. That’s no lie. If they don’t challenge him at Bahrain, they certain will at Al Shargaz. Perhaps Andy can work something out for him.” “All right. He’s crew. That’s it, then.”
“Good. Gen, Jellet’s easy from here, Bahrain too, and Al Shargaz. Weather’s good, moon’ll be out, so a night jaunt’ll be fine. Do what Charlie says. You’ll be there in good time to meet us.”
“If you leave at once, you’ll need food and some bottled water,” she said. “We can get some here. I’ll get them, Charlie. Come along, Duncan, you need a drink.”
“Pour it for me at Al Shargaz, Gen.”
“I will. But I’ll pour you one now. You’re not flying, you need it, and so do I.” She went over to the Immigration officer and got permission to buy sandwiches and make a phone call.
“Back in a second, Charlie.” McIver followed her into the hotel lobby and went straight for the toilet. There he was very sick. It took him some tune to recover. When he came out she was getting off the phone. “Sandwiches any second, your drink’s poured, and I’ve booked you a call to Andy.” She led the way out to a table on the sumptuous bar terrace. Three ice-cold Perriers with sliced lemon, and a double tot of whisky straight, no ice, just the way he liked it. He downed the first Perrier without stopping. “My God, I needed that…” He eyed the whisky but did not touch it. Thoughtfully he sipped the second glass of Perrier, and watched her. When it was half gone he said, “Gen, I think I’d like you to come along.” She was startled. Then she said, “Thank you, Duncan. I’d like that. Yes, yes, I would.”
The lines in his face crinkled. “You’d’ve come anyway. Wouldn’t you?” She gave a little shrug. Her eyes dropped to the whisky. “You’re not flying, Duncan. The whisky would be good for you. It would settle the turn.” “You noticed, eh?”
“Only that you’re very tired. More tired than I’ve ever seen you, but you’ve done wonderfully, you’ve done a smashing job, and you should rest. You’ve… you’ve been taking your pills and all that rubbish?”
“Oh, yes, though I’ll need a refill soon. No problem, but I felt pretty bloody a couple of times.” At her sudden anxiety, “I’m fine now, Gen. Fine.” She knew better than to probe. Now that she was invited she could relax a little. Since he had landed she had been watching him very carefully, her concern growing. With the sandwiches she had ordered some aspirins, she had codeine-laced Veganin in her bag and the secret survival kit Dr. Nutt had given her. “What was it like flying again? Really?”
“From Tehran down to Kowiss was grand, the rest not so good. This last leg wasn’t good at all.” The thought of being hunted by the fighters and so near to disaster so many times made him feel bilious again. Don’t think about that, he ordered himself, that’s over. Whirlwind’s almost over, Erikki and Azadeh’re safe, but what about Dubois and Fowler, what the hell’s happened to them? And Tom? I could bloody strangle Tom, poor bugger. “You all right, Duncan?”
“Oh, yes, I’m fine. Just tired - it’s been quite a couple of weeks.” “What about Tom? What’ll you tell Andy?”
“I was just thinking about him. I’ll have to tell Andy.”
“That’s one hell of a spanner in Whirlwind, isn’t it?”
“He’s… he’s on his own, Gen. Maybe he can get Sharazad and sneak out again. If he’s caught… we’ll have to wait and see and hope,” he said. But he was thinking when he’s caught. McIver reached over and touched her, glad to be with her, not wanting to worry her more than she was now. Tough on her, all this. I think I’m going to die.
“Please excuse me, sahib, memsahib, your order’s been taken out to the helicopter,” the waiter said.
McIver handed him a credit card and the waiter left. “Which reminds me, what about your hotel bill, and Charlie’s? We’ll have to take care of them before we leave.”
“Oh, I phoned Mr. Hughes while you were in the loo,” she said, “and asked him if he’d take care of our bills and ship our bags and everything if I didn’t call back in an hour. I’ve my handbag, passport, and… what’re you smiling about?”
“Nothing… nothing, Gen.”
“It was just in case you asked me. I thought…” She watched the bubbles in her glass. Again the tiny shrug and she looked up and smiled so happily. “I’m ever so glad you asked me, Duncan. Thank you.”
AL SHARGAZ - ON THE OUTSKIRTS OF THE CITY: 6:01 P.M. Gavallan got out of his car and walked briskly up the steps toward the front door of the Moroccan-style villa that was enclosed by high walls.
“Mr. Gavallan!”
“Oh, hello, Mrs. Newbury!” He changed direction to join the woman who was half hidden, kneeling down, planting some seedlings near the driveway. “Your garden looks wonderful.”
“Thank you. It’s such fun and keeps me fit,” she said. Angela Newbury was tall and in her thirties, her accent patrician.
“Roger’s in the gazebo and expecting you.” With the back of her gloved hand she wiped the perspiration off her forehead and left a smudge in its wake. “How’s it going?”
“Great,” he told her, omitting the news about Lochart. “Nine out of ten so far.”
“Oh, super, oh, that is a relief. Congratulations, we’ve all been so concerned. Wonderful, but for God’s sake don’t tell Roger I asked, he’d have a fit. Nobody’s supposed to know!”
He returned her smile and walked around the side of the house through the lovely gardens. The gazebo was in a clump of trees and flowerbeds, with chairs, side tables, portable bar and phone. His joy faded, seeing the look on Roger Newbury’s face. “What’s up?”
“You’re what’s up. Whirlwind’s what’s up. I made it perfectly clear that it was ill advised. How’s it going?”
“I’ve just heard our Kowiss two are safe in Kuwait and cleared on to Bahrain with no trouble, so that makes nine out of ten, if we include Erikki’s one in Tabriz, Dubois and Fowler’re still not accounted for but we’re hoping. Now what’s the problem, Roger?”
“There’s hell to pay all over the Gulf with Tehran screaming bloody murder and all our offices on alert. My Fearless Leader and yours truly, Roger Newbury Esquire, are cordially invited at seven-thirty to explain to the Illustrious Foreign Minister why there’s a sudden influx of helicopters here, albeit British registered, and how long they intend to stay.” Newbury, a short lean man with sandy hair and blue eyes and prominent nose, was clearly very irritated. “Glad about the nine out of ten, would you like a drink?”
“Thanks. A light Scotch and soda.”
Newbury went to fix it. “My Fearless Leader and I would be delighted to know what you suggest we say.”