Gavallan thought a moment. “The choppers are out the moment we can get them aboard the freighters.”
“When’s that?” Newbury gave him the drink.
“Thanks. The freighters’re promised by 6:00 P.M. Sunday. We’ll work all night and have them off Monday morning.”
Newbury was shocked. “Can’t you get them out before that?” “The freighters were ordered for tomorrow but I was let down. Why?” “Because, old boy, a few minutes ago we had a friendly, very serious high-level leak that so long as the choppers weren’t here by sunset tomorrow they might not be impounded.”
Now Gavallan was also shocked. “That’s not possible - can’t be done.” “I’m suggesting that you’d be wise to make it possible. Fly (hem out to Oman or Dubai or wherever.”
“If we do that… if we do that we’ll be deeper in the mire.” “I don’t think you can get any deeper, old boy. The way the leak put it was after sunset tomorrow you’ll be in over your eyeballs.” Newbury toyed with his drink, a lemon pressé. Blast all this, he was thinking. While we’re obliged to help our important trading interests salvage what they can from the Iran catastrophe we’ve got to remember the long term as well as the short. We can’t put Her Majesty’s Government at risk. Apart from that, my weekend’s mined, I should be having a nice tall vodka gimlet with Angela and here I am, sipping slop. “You’ll have to move them.”
“Can you get us a forty-eight-hour reprieve, explain that the freighters are chartered but it’s got to be Sunday?”
“Wouldn’t dare suggest it, Andy. That would admit culpability.” “Could you get us a forty-eight-hour transit permit to Oman?” Newbury grimaced. “I’ll ask Himself but we couldn’t feel them out until tomorrow, too late now, and my immediate reaction’s that the request would correctly be turned down. Iran has a considerable goodwill presence there; after all they really did help put down Yemen-backed Communist insurgents. I doubt that they’d agree to offend a very good friend however much the present fundamentalist line might displease them.”
Gavallan felt sick. “I’d better see if I can bring my freighters forward or get alternates - I’d say I’ve one chance in fifty.” He finished his drink and got up. “Sorry about all this.”
Newbury got up too. “Sorry I can’t be more helpful,” he said, genuinely sorry. “Keep me posted and I’ll do the same.”
“Of course. You said you might be able to get a message to Captain Yokkonen in Tabriz?”
“I’ll certainly try. What is it?”
“Just from me that he should, er, should leave as soon as possible, by the shortest route. Please sign it GHPLX Gavallan.”
Without comment Newbury wrote it down. “GHPLX?”
“Yes.” Gavallan felt sure that Erikki would understand this would be his new British registry number. “He’s not aware of, er, of certain developments so if your man could also privately explain the reason for haste I’d be very, very grateful. Thanks for all your help.”
“For your sake, and his, I agree the sooner he leaves the better, with or without his aircraft. There’s nothing we can do to help him. Sorry, but that’s the truth.” Newbury fiddled with his glass. “Now he represents a very great danger to you. Doesn’t he?”
“I don’t think so. He’s under the protection of the new Khan, his brother-in-law. He’s as safe as he could ever be,” Gavallan said. What would Newbury say if he knew about Tom Lochart? “Erikki’ll be okay. He’ll understand. Thanks again.”
Chapter 66
TABRIZ - AT THE INTERNATIONAL HOSPITAL: 6:24 P.M. Hakim Khan walked painfully into the private room, the doctor and a guard following him. He was using crutches now and they made his walking easier, but when he bent or tried to sit, they did not relieve the pain. Only painkillers did that. Azadeh was waiting downstairs, her X ray better than his, her pain less than his.
Ahmed lay in bed, awake, his chest and stomach bandaged. The operation to remove the bullet lodged in his chest had been successful. The one in his stomach had done much damage, he had lost a great deal of blood, and internal bleeding had started again. But the moment he saw Hakim Khan he tried to raise himself.
“Don’t move, Ahmed,” Hakim Khan said, his voice kind. “The doctor says you’re mending well.”
“The doctor’s a liar, Highness.”
The doctor began to speak but stopped as Hakim said, “Liar or not, get well, Ahmed.”
“Yes, Highness. With the Help of God. But you, you are all right?” “If the X ray doesn’t lie, I’ve just torn ligaments.” He shrugged. “With the Help of God.”
“Thank you… thank you for the private room, Highness. Never have I had … such luxury.”
“It’s merely a token of my esteem for such loyalty.” Imperiously he dismissed the doctor and the guard. When the door was shut, he went closer. “You asked to see me, Ahmed?”
“Yes, Highness, please excuse me that I could not…could not come to you.” Ahmed’s voice was phlegmy, and he spoke with difficulty. “The Tbilisi man you want… the Soviet… he sent a message for you. It’s … it’s under the drawer… he taped it under the drawer there.” With an effort he pointed to the small bureau.
Hakim’s excitement picked up. Awkwardly he felt underneath the drawer. The adhesive bandages strapping him made bending difficult. He found the small square of folded paper and it came away easily. “Who brought it and when?” “It was today… sometime today…I’m not sure, I think it was this afternoon. I don’t know. The man wore a doctor’s coat and glasses but he wasn’t a doctor. An Azerbaijani, perhaps a Turk, I’ve never seen him before. He spoke Turkish - all he said was, ‘This is for Hakim Khan, from a friend in Tbilisi. Understand?’ I fold him yes and he left as quickly as he arrived. For a long time I thought he was a dream….”
The message was scrawled in writing Hakim did not recognize: “Many, many congratulations on your inheritance, may you live as long and be as productive as your predecessor. Yes, I would like to meet urgently too. But here, not there. Sorry. Whenever you’re ready I would be honored to receive you, with pomp or in privacy, whatever you want. We should be friends, there’s much to accomplish and we have many interests in common. Please tell Robert Armstrong and Hashemi Fazir that Yazernov is buried in the Russian Cemetery at Jaleh and he looks forward to seeing them when convenient.” There was no signature.
Greatly disappointed, he went back to the bed and offered the paper to Ahmed. “What do you make of that?”
Ahmed did not have the strength to take it. “Sorry, Highness, please hold it so I can read it.” After reading it, he said, “It’s not Mzytryk’s writing, I’d… I’d recognize his writing but it… I believe it genuine. He would have transmitted it to… to underlings to bring here.”
“Who’s Yazernov and what does that mean?” “I don’t know. It’s a code… it’s a code they’d understand.” “It is an invitation to a meeting, or a threat. Which?” “I don’t know, Highness. I would guess a meet - ” A spasm of pain went through him. He cursed in his own language.
“Is Mzytryk aware that both the last times they were in ambush? Aware that Abdollah Khan had betrayed him?”
“I… I don’t know, Highness. I told you he was cunning and the Khan your father very… very careful in his dealings.” The effort of talking and concentrating was taking much of Ahmed’s strength. “That Mzytryk knows they are in contact with you… that both of them are here now, means nothing, his spies abound. You’re Khan and of course… of course you know you’re… you’re spied on by all kinds of men, most of them evil, who report to their superiors - most of them even more evil.” A smile went over his face and Hakim pondered its meaning. “But then, you know all about hiding your true purpose, Highness. Not once… not once did Abdollah Khan suspect how brilliant you are, not once. If… if he’d known one hundredth part of who you really are… really are, he would have never banished you but made you… made you heir and chief counselor.”