Now she was aglow, quite sure she could convince him. Tomorrow they would leave. Tomorrow morning I’ll collect my jewels, we’ll pretend to Meshang we’ll meet him in the bazaar at lunchtime, but by then we will be flying south in Tommy’s plane. He can fly in the Gulf states or Canada or anywhere, you can be Muslim and Canadian without harm, they told me when I went to the embassy. And soon, in a month or so we’ll come home to Iran and live here forever…
Contentedly she went even closer to him, hidden in the crowd and by the darkness, not afraid anymore, certain their future would be grand. Now that he’s a Believer he will go to Paradise, God is Great, God is Great, and so will I, and together, with the Help of God, we will leave sons and daughters behind us. And then, when we are old, if he dies first, on the fortieth day I will make sure his spirit is remembered perfectly, and then, afterward, I will curse his younger wife or wives and their children, then put my affairs in order and peacefully wait to join him - in God’s time. “Oh, I do love you, Tommy, I’m so sorry that you’ve had so much trouble… trouble over me …”
Now they were breaking out of the alley into a street. The crowds were even heavier, swarming all over the roadway and in the traffic. But there was a lightness on them all, men, women, mullahs, Green Bands, young and old, the night well spent doing God’s work. “Allah-u Akbar!” someone shouted, the words echoed and reechoed by a thousand throats. Ahead an impatient car lurched, bumped into some pedestrians who bumped into others who brought down others amid curses and laughter. Sharazad and Lochart among them, no one hurt. He had caught her safely and, laughing together, they rested on the ground a moment, the grenade still tight in his hand. They did not hear its warning hiss - without knowing it, in falling he had slackened the lever an instant, but just enough. For an infinity of time he smiled at her and she at him. “God is Great,” she said and he echoed her just as confidently. And, the same instant, they died.
Saturday - March 3
Chapter 70
AL SHARGAZ: 6:34 P.M. The tip of the sun crested the horizon and turned black desert into a crimson sea, staining the old port city and dhows in the Gulf beyond. From the minaret loudspeakers muezzins began but the music in their voices did not please Gavallan or any of the other S-G personnel on the veranda of the Oasis Hotel, finishing a hurried breakfast. “It gets to you, Scrag, doesn’t it?” Gavallan said.
“Right you are, sport,” Scragger said. He, Rudi Lutz, and Pettikin shared Gavallan’s table, all of them tired and dispirited. Whirlwind’s almost complete success was turning into a disaster. Dubois and Fowler still missing - in Bahrain, McIver not yet out of danger. Tom Lochart back in Tehran, God knows where. No news of Erikki and Azadeh. No sleep for most of them last night. And sunset today still their deadline.
From the moment yesterday when the 212s had started landing, they had all helped to strip them, removing rotors and tail booms for storing on the jumbo freighters when they arrived, if they arrived. Last night Roger Newbury had returned from the Al Shargaz palace meeting with the foreign minister in a foul humor: “Not a bloody thing I can do, Andy. The minister said he and the Sheik had been asked to make a personal inspection of the airport by the new Iranian representative or ambassador who had seen eight or nine strange 212s at the airport, claiming them to be their ‘hijacked’ Iran registereds. The minister said that of course His Highness, the Sheik, had agreed - how could he refuse? The inspection’s at sunset with the ambassador, I’m ‘cordially invited’ as the British rep for a thorough check of IDs, and if any’re found to be suspect, old boy, tough titty!” Gavallan had been up all night trying to bring the arrival of the freighters forward, or to get substitutions from every international source he could conjure up. None were available. The best his present charterers could do was “perhaps” to bring forward the ETA to noon tomorrow, Sunday. “Bloody people,” he muttered and poured some more coffee. “When you’ve got to have a couple of 747s there’re none - and usually with a single phone call you can get fifty.”
Pettikin was equally worried, also about McIver in Bahrain hospital. No news was expected until noon today about the seriousness of McIver’s heart attack. “Pas problčme,” JeanLuc had said last night. “They’ve let Genny stay in the next room at the hospital, the doctor’s the best in Bahrain, and I’m here. I’ve canceled my early flight home and I’ll wait, but send me some money tomorrow to pay the bills.”
Pettikin toyed with his coffee cup, his breakfast untouched. All yesterday and last night helping to get the helicopters ready so no chance to see Paula and she was off again to Tehran this morning, still evacuating Italian nationals, and would not be back for at least two days. Gavallan had ordered an immediate retreat of all Whirlwind participants out of the Gulf area, pending review. “We can’t be too careful,” he had told them all. “Everyone’s got to go for the time being.”
Later Pettikin had said, “You’re right, Andy, but what about Tom and Erikki? We should leave someone here - I’d be glad to volun - ”
“For Christ’s sake, Charlie, give over,” Gavallan had flared. “You think I’m not worried sick about them? And Fowler and Dubois? We have to do it one step at a time. Everyone who’s not necessary is out before sunset and you’re one of them!” That had been about 1:00 A.M. this morning in the office when Pettikin had come to relieve Scot who was still Wearily manning the HF. The rest of the night he had sat there. No calls. At 5:00 A.M. Nogger Lane had relieved him and he had come here for breakfast, Gavallan, Rudi, and Scragger already seated. “Any luck with the freighters, Andy?” “No, Charlie, it’s still tomorrow noon at the earliest,” Gavallan had said. “Sit down, have some coffee.” Then had come the dawn and the muezzins. Now their singsong ceased. Some of the violence left the veranda. Scragger poured himself another cup of tea, his stomach still upset. Another sudden chill zapped up from his bowels and he hurried to the bathroom. The spasm passed quickly with very little to show for it, but there was no blood therein, and Doc Nutt had said he didn’t think it was dysentery: “Just take it easy for a few days, Scrag. I’ll have the result of all the tests tomorrow.” He had told Doc Nutt about the blood in his urine and the pain in his stomach over the last few days. To hide it would have been an unforgivable added danger, both to his passengers and to his chopper. “Scrag, best you stay here in hospital for a few days,” Doc Nun had said.
“Get stuffed, old cock! There’s things to do and mountains to conquer.” Going back to the table he saw the brooding gloom upon everyone and hated it, but had no solution. Nothing to do except wait. No way to transit out because they would have to go through Saudi, Emirate, or Oman airspace and no possibility of a clearance for a few days. He had suggested, jokingly, they reassemble the helicopters, find out when the next British supertanker was outbound through Hormuz and then take off and land on her: “… and we just sail off into the Wild Blue and get off in Mombasa, or sail on around Africa to Nigeria.”
“Hey, Scrag,” Vossi had said in admiration, “that’s wild-assed. I could use a cruise. How about it, Andy?”
“We’d be arrested and in the brig before the rotors had begun.” Scragger sat down and waved a fly away. The sun’s birth color was less red now and all of them were wearing dark glasses against the glare.
Gavallan finished his coffee. “Well, I’m off to the office in case I can do something. If you want me I’m there. How soon’ll you be finished, Rudi?” Rudi was in charge of getting the choppers ready for transshipment. “Your target was noon today. It’ll be noon.” He swallowed the last of his coffee and got up. “Time to leave, meine Kinder!” Groans and catcalls from the others but mostly good-natured through their fatigue. A general exodus to transport waiting outside.