“Ah, sorry, I forgot.” Hashemi read it out in English. Both men saw Armstrong’s disappointment. “Next time, Robert, we’ll get him. Insha’Allah.” Not to worry, Armstrong thought. It was a long shot anyway. I’ll get Mzytryk another time. I’ll get him, and I’ll get you, old friend Hashemi, rotten of you to murder Talbot. Why did you do that? Revenge because he knew many of your secrets? He’d done you no harm, on the contrary he put lots of bones of your way and smoothed lots of errors for you. Rotten! You didn’t give him a chance, why should you have one? Soon as my passage out’s arranged, you’ve had it. No reason to delay anymore now that Mzytryk knows I’m on to him and he’s jeering from safety. Perhaps the Brass‘11 send Special Branch or a Special Air Services team into Tbilisi now we know where he is - someone’ll get the bastard. Even if I don’t…
He was distracted by Hakim Khan saying, “Colonel, what’s this about Yazernov and Jaleh Cemetery?” and Hashemi answered smoothly, “It’s an invitation, Highness. Yazernov’s an intermediary Mzytryk uses from time to time, acceptable to both sides, when something of importance to both sides has to be discussed.” Armstrong almost laughed, for Hashemi knew as well as he that it was a promise of a personal vendetta and of course an immediate Section 16/a. Clever of Mzytryk to use the name Yazernov and not Rakoczy. “‘As soon as convenient’ to meet Yazernov!” Hashemi said. “I think, Highness, we’d better return to Tehran tomorrow.”
“Yes,” Hakim said. Coming back in the car from the hospital with Azadeh, he had decided the only way to deal with Mzytryk’s message and these two men was head-on. “When will you come back to Tabriz?”
“If it pleases you, next week. Then we could discuss how to tempt Mzytryk here. With your help there’s much to do in Azerbaijan. We’ve just had a report that the Kurds are in open rebellion nearer to Rezaiyeh, now heavily provisioned with money and guns by the Iraqis - may God consume them. Khomeini has ordered the army to put them down, once and for all time.”
“The Kurds?” Hakim smiled. “Even he, God keep him safe, even he won’t do that - not once and for all.”
“This time he might, Highness. He has fanatics to send against fanatics.” “Green Bands can obey orders and die but they do not inhabit those mountains, they do not have Kurdish stamina nor their lust for earthly freedom en route to Paradise.”
“With your permission I will pass on your advice, Highness.” Hakim said sharply, “Will it be given any more credence than my father’s - or my grandfather’s - whose advice was the same?”
“I would hope so, Highness. I would hope…” His words were drowned as the 212 fired up, coughed, held for a moment, then died again. Out of the window they saw Erikki unclip one of the engine covers and stare at the complexity inside with a flashlight. Hashemi turned back to the Khan who sat on a chair, stiffly upright. The silence became complicated, three men’s minds racing, each as strong as the other, each bent on violence of some kind. Hakim Khan said carefully, “He cannot be arrested in my house or my domain. Even though he knows nothing of the telex, he knows he cannot stay in Tabriz, even Iran, nor may my sister go with him, even leave Iran for two years. He knows he must leave at once. His machine cannot fly. I hope he avoids arrest.”
“My hands are tied, Highness.” Hashemi’s voice was apologetic and patently sincere. “It is my duty to obey the law of the land.” Absently he noticed a piece of fluff on his sleeve and brushed it away. Armstrong got the signal at once. Brushing a left sleeve meant, “I need to talk to this man privately, he won’t talk in front of you. Make an excuse and wait for me outside.” Hashemi repeated with the perfect amount of sadness, “It’s our duty to obey the law.”
“I’m certain, quite certain, he was not part of any conspiracy, knows nothing about the flight of the others, and I would like him left alone to leave in peace.”
“I would be glad to inform SAVAMA of your wishes.” “I would be glad if you would do what I suggest.” Armstrong said, “Highness, if you’ll excuse me, the matter of the captain is not my affair, nor would I wish to rock any ship of state.”
“Yes, you may go, superintendent, when do I have your report on new security possibilities?”
“It will be in your hands when the colonel returns.”
“Peace be with you.”
“And with you, Highness.” Armstrong walked out, then strolled along the corridors to the steps. Hashemi will roast the poor sod, he thought. The evening was pleasant, nice nip in the air, a reddish tinge to the west. Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight, red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning. “Evening, Captain. Between you, me, and the gatepost, if your bus was working I’d suggest a quick trip to a border.”
Erikki’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
Armstrong took out a cigarette. “Climate’s not very healthy around here, is it?” He cupped his hands around his lighter and flicked it. “If you light a cigarette with all this gasoline around here, your climate and mine’ll be not very healthy permanently.” Erikki pressed the switch. The engine began winding up perfectly for twenty seconds, and again spluttered into silence. Erikki cursed.
Armstrong nodded politely and went back to the car. The driver opened the door for him. He settled back, lit the cigarette, and inhaled deeply, not sure if Erikki had got the message. Hope so. Can’t give away the phony telex, or about Whirlwind, that’d put me against the nearest wall for treachery to Hashemi and the Khan for sticking my nose where it’s clearly not invited - I was warned. Fair enough. It is internal politics. Christ! I’m checker with all this. I need a holiday. A long holiday. Where? I could go back to Hong Kong for a week or two, look up my old chums, the few who’re left, or perhaps go up into the Pays d’Enhaut, the High Country, skiing. Haven’t been skiing for years and I could use some good Swiss cooking, roesti and wurst and good coffee with thick cream and lots of wine. Lots! That’s what I’ll do. First Tehran, then Hashemi concluded, and off into the Wild Blue. Perhaps I’ll meet someone nice…
But the likes of us don’t come in from the cold, nor change. What the hell am I going to do for future money now that my Iranian pension’s up the spout and my Hong Kong police pension’s worth less and less every day? “Hello, Hashemi, how’d it go?’
“Fine, Robert. Driver, go back to HQ.” The driver accelerated through the main gate and sped down the road toward the city.
“Erikki‘11 sneak off in the early hours, just before dawn. We follow him until it pleases us and then we take him, outside Tabriz.” “With Hakim’s blessing?”
“Private blessing, public outrage. Thanks.” Hashemi accepted the cigarette, clearly pleased with himself. “By that time, the poor fellow will probably be no more.”
Armstrong wondered what deal had been struck. “At Hakim’s suggestion?” “Of course.”
“Interesting.” That’s not Hakim’s idea. What’s Hashemi up to now? Armstrong asked himself.
“Yes, interesting. After we’ve burned the mujhadins tonight and made sure that maniac Finn is netted, one way or another, we’ll go back to Tehran.” “Perfect.”
TEHRAN - AT THE BAKRAVAN HOUSE: 8:06 P.M. Sharazad put the grenade and pistol into the shoulder bag and hid it under some clothes in the drawer of her bureau. The clothes she would wear under her chador later, ski jacket and heavy sweater and ski pants, were already chosen. Now she wore a pale green silk dress from Paris that enhanced her figure and long legs perfectly. Her makeup too was perfect. A last check of the room and then she went downstairs to join the reception for Daranoush Farazan, her husband-to- be.