“Andy,” Scragger said, “I’ll come along with you if it’s okay.” “Good idea, Scrag. Charlie, no need for you to be on Rudi’s team as we’re ahead of schedule. Why don’t you come over to the office later?”
Pettikin smiled at him. “Thanks.” Paula was not due to leave her hotel until 10:00 A.M. Now he would have plenty of time to see her. To say what? he asked himself, waving them good-bye.
Gavallan drove out of the gates. The airport was still partially in shadow. Already a few jets with their navigation lights on, engines winding up. The Iran evacuation was still priority. He glanced at Scragger, saw the grimace. “You all right?”
“Sure, Andy. Just a touch of gippy tummy. Had it bad in New Guinea - so I’ve always been careful. If I could get some of old Dr. Collis Brown’s Elixir I’d be raring to go!” This was a marvelous and highly effective tincture invented by Dr. Collis Brown, an English army surgeon, to combat the dysentery that tens of thousands of soldiers were dying of during the Crimean War. “Six drops of the old magic and Bob’s your unbloody uncle!” “You’re right, Scrag,” Gavallan said absently, wondering if Pan Am Freighting had had any cancellations. “I never travel without Collis… wait a minute!” He suddenly beamed. “My survival kit! There’s some there. Liz always sticks it into my briefcase. Collis Brown’s, Tiger Balm, aspirins, a golden sovereign, and a can of sardines.”
“Eh? Sardines?”
“In case I get hungry.” Gavallan was glad to talk to take his mind off the looming disaster. “Liz and I have a mutual friend we met years ago in Hong Kong, fellow called Marlowe, a writer. He always carried a can with him, iron rations in case of famine - and Liz and I, we always laughed about it. It became kind of a symbol to remind ourselves how lucky we really are.” “Peter Marlowe? The one who wrote Changi - about the POW camp in Singapore?” “Yes. Do you know him?”
“No. But I read that book, not the others, but I read that one.” Scragger was suddenly reminded about his own war against the Japanese and then about Kasigi and Iran-Toda. Last night he had called other hotels to track Kasigi down and eventually had found him registered at the International and had left a message but as yet had not heard back. Probably he’s chocker I let him down, he told himself, because we can’t help him at Iran-Toda. Stone the crows! Bandar Delam and Iran-Toda seem a couple of years ago instead of just a couple of days. Even so, if it weren’t for him, I’d still be handcuffed to that bleeding bed.
“Pity we don’t all have our can of sardines, Andy,” he said. “We really do forget our luck, don’t we? Look how lucky we were to get out of Lengeh in one piece. Wot about old Duke? Soon he’ll be fit as a fiddle. A fraction of an inch and he’d be dead but he isn’t. Scot the same. Wot about Whirlwind! All the lads’re out and so’re our birds. Erikki’s safe. Mac‘11 be all right, you wait and see! Dubois and Fowler? It’s got to happen sometime, but it hasn’t yet, so far as we know, so we can still hope. Tom? Well, he chose that and he’ll get out.”
* NEAR THE IRAN-TURKISH BORDER: 7:59 P.M. Some seven hundred miles northward, Azadeh shielded her eyes against the rising sun. She had seen something glint in the valley below. Was that light reflected off a gun, or harness? She readied the M16, picked up the binoculars. Behind her Erikki lay sprawled on some blankets in the 212’s open cabin, heavily asleep. His face was pale and he had lost a lot of blood, but she thought he was all right. Through the lenses she saw nothing move. Down there the countryside was snow-locked and sparsely treed. Desolate. No villages and no smoke. The day was good but very cold. No clouds and the wind had dropped in the night. Slowly she searched the valley. A few miles away was a village she had not noticed before.
The 212 was parked in rough mountainous country on a rocky plateau. Last night after the escape from the palace, because a bullet had smashed some instrumentation, Erikki had lost his way. Afraid to exhaust all his fuel, and unable to fly and at the same time stanch the flow of blood from his arm, he had decided to risk landing and waiting for dawn. Once on the ground, he had pulled the carpet out of the cockpit and unrolled it. Azadeh was still sleeping peacefully. He had tied up his wound as best he could, then rewrapped her in the carpet for warmth, brought out some of the guns, and leaned against the skid on guard. But much as he tried he could not keep his eyes open.
He had awakened suddenly. False dawn was touching the sky. Azadeh was still huddled down in the carpet but now she was watching him. “So. You’ve kidnapped me!” Then her pretended coldness vanished and she scrambled into his arms, kissing him and thanking him for solving the dilemma for all three of them with such wisdom, saying the speech she had rehearsed: “I know a wife can do little against a husband, Erikki, hardly anything at all. Even in Iran where we’re civilized, even here, a wife’s almost a chattel and the Imam is very clear on wifely duties, and in the Koran,” she added, “in the Koran and Sharia her duties are oh so clear. Also I know I’m married to a non-Believer, and I openly swear I will try to escape at least once a day to try to go back to fulfill my oath, and though I’ll be petrified and know you’ll catch me every time and will keep me without money or beat me and I have to obey whatever you order, I will do it.” Her eyes were brimming with happy tears. “Thank you, my darling, I was so afraid…”
“Would you have done that? Given up your God?”
“Erikki, oh, how I prayed God would guide you.”
“Would you?”
“There’s no need now even to think the unthinkable, is there, my love?” “Ah,” he said, understanding. “Then you knew, didn’t you? You knew that this was what I had to do!”
“I only know I’m your wife, I love you, I must obey you, you took me away without my help and against my will. We need never discuss it again. Please?”
Blearily he peered at her, disoriented, and could not understand how she could seem to be strong and have come out of the drugged sleep so easily. Sleep! “Azadeh, I’ve got to have an hour of proper sleep. Sorry, I can’t go on. Without an hour or so, I can’t. We should be safe enough here. You guard, we should be safe enough.”
“Where are we?”
“Still in Iran, somewhere near the border.” He gave her a loaded M16, knowing she could use it accurately. “One of the bullets smashed my compass.” She saw him stagger as he went for the cabin, grope for some blankets, and lie down. Instantly he was asleep. While she waited for the daylight she thought about their future and about the past. Still Johnny to settle. Nothing else. How strange life is. I thought I would scream a thousand times closed up in that vile carpet, pretending to be drugged. As if I would be so stupid as to drug myself in case I would have to help defend us! So easy to dupe Mina and my darling Erikki and even Hakim, no longer my darling: “… her everlasting spirit’s more important than her temporary body!” He would have killed me. Me! His beloved sister! But I tricked him.
She was very pleased with herself and with Aysha who had whispered about the secret listening places so that when she had stormed out of the room in pretended rage and left Hakim and Erikki alone, she had scurried to overhear what they were saying. Oh, Erikki, I was petrified you and Hakim weren’t going to believe that I’d really break my oath - and frantic in case the clues I’d placed before you all evening wouldn’t add up to your perfect stratagem. But you went one better than me - you even arranged the helicopter. Oh, how clever you were, I was, we were together. I even made sure you brought my handbag and jewel bag with Najoud’s loot that I wheedled out of Hakim so now we’re rich as well as safe, if only we can get out of this God-lost country.