He turned and looked west. The sun, hazed by the vast pollution, was setting toward the land horizon that was dull arid flat and boring. Wish I was at Al Shargaz with the guys.
AL SHARGAZ - INTERNATIONAL HOSPITAL: 6:01 P.M.
Starke sat on the second-floor veranda, also watching the lowering sun, but here it was beautiful over a calm sea below a cloudless sky, the great bar of reflected light making him squint even though he was using dark glasses. He wore pajama bottoms and his chest was strapped up and healing well and though he was still weak, he was trying to think and plan. So much to think about - if we get our birds out, or if we don’t.
In the room behind him he could hear Manuela chattering away in a patois of Spanish and Texan to her father and mother in faraway Lubbock. He had already talked to them - and talked to his own folks and the children, Billyjoe, Little Conroe, and Sarita: “Gee, Daddy, when ya coming home? I got me a new horse and school’s great and today’s hotter’n a bowl of Chiquita’s double chili peppers!”
Starke half smiled but could not pull himself out of his ocean of apprehension. Such a long way from there to here, everything alien, even in Britain. Next Aberdeen and the North Sea? I don’t mind just a month or two but that’s not for me, or the kids, or Manuela. It’s clear the kids want Texas, want home, so does Manuela now. Too much’s happened to frighten her, too much too quick too soon. And she’s right but hell, I don’t know where I want to go or what I want to do. Have to keep flying, that’s all I’m trained for, want to keep flying. Where? Not the North Sea or Nigeria which’re Andy’s key areas now. Maybe one of his small ops in South America, Indonesia, Malaya or Borneo? I’d like to stay with him if I could but what about the kids and school and Manuela?
Maybe forget overseas and go Stateside? No. Too long abroad, too long here. His eyes were reaching beyond the old city into the far distance of the desert. He was remembering the times he had gone out past the threshold of the desert by night, sometimes with Manuela, sometimes alone, going there just to listen. To listen to what? To the silence, to the night, or to the stars calling one to another? To nothing? “You listen to God,” the mullah Hussain had said. “How can an Infidel do that? You listen to God.” “Those are your words, mullah, not mine.”
Strange man, saving my life, me saving his, almost dead because of him then saved again, then all of us at Kowiss freed - hell, he knew we were leaving Kowiss for good, I’m sure of it. Why did he let us go, us the Great Satan? And why did he keep on telling me to go and see Khomeini? Imam’s not right, not right at all.
What is it about all this that’s got to me?
It’s the out there, the something of the desert that exists for me. Utter peace. The absolute. It’s just for me - not for the kids or Manuela or my folks or anyone else - just me… I can’t explain it to anyone, Manuela most of all, anymore’n I could explain what happened in the mosque at Kowiss, or at the questioning.
I’d better get the hell out or I’m lost. The simplicity of Islam seems to make everything so simple and clear and better and yet… I’m Conroe Starke, Texan, chopper pilot with a great wife and great kids and that should be enough, by God, shouldn’t it?
Troubled, he looked back at the old city, its minarets and walls already reddening from the setting sun. Beyond the city was the desert and beyond that Mecca. He knew that was the way to Mecca because he had seen hospital staff, doctors and nurses and others, kneeling at prayers in that direction. Manuela came out onto the veranda again, distracting his thought pattern, sat down beside him, and brought him partially back to reality. “They send their love and ask when we’re coming home. It’d be good to visit, don’t you think, Conroe?” She saw him nod, absently, not with her, then looked where he was looking, seeing nothing special. Just the sun going down. Goddamn! She hid her concern. He was mending perfectly, but he wasn’t the same. “Not to worry, Manuela,” Doc Nutt had said, “it’s probably the shock of being hit with a bullet, the first time’s always a bit traumatic. It’s that, and Dubois, Tom, Erikki, and all the waiting and worrying and the not knowing - we’re all poised, you, me, everyone, but we still don’t quite know for what - it’s got to all of us in different ways.” Her worry was sinking her. To hide it she leaned on the railing, looking at the sea and the boats. “While you were sleeping, I found Doc Nutt. He says you can leave in a few days, tomorrow if it was real important, but you’ve got to take it easy for a month or two. At breakfast, Nogger told me the rumor is we’ll all get at least a month’s vacation, with pay, isn’t that great? With that and the sick leave we got lots of time to go home, huh?” “Sure. Good idea.”
She hesitated, then turned and looked at him. “What’s troubling you, Conroe?”
“I’m not sure, honey. I feel fine. Not my chest. I don’t know.” “Doc Nutt said it’s bound to be real strange for a bitty, darlin’, and Andy said there’s a good chance there’ll be no inspection and the freighters are definite for noon tomorrow, nothing we can do, nothing more you can do…” The phone in the room rang and she went to answer it, still talking, “… nothing any of us can do more’n we’re doing. If we can get out, us and our choppers, I know Andy‘11 get Kasigi’s choppers and the crews then… Hello? Oh, hi, darlin’…”
Starke heard the sudden gasp and silence, his heart tweaked, then her explosion of excitement and she was calling out to him, “It’s Andy, Conroe, it’s Andy, he’s got a call from Marc Dubois and he’s in Iraq on some ship, he and Fowler, they force-landed with no sweat on some tanker an’ they’re in Iraq and safe…. Oh, Andy, that’s great! What? Oh, sure, he’s fine and I’ll… but what about Kasigi?… Wait a mo - … Yes, but… Sure.” She replaced the phone and hurried back. “Nothing from Kasigi yet. Andy said he was in a rush and he’d call back. Oh, Conroe…” Now she was on her knees beside him, her arms around his neck, hugging him but very carefully, her happiness spilling tears. “I’ve been so worried about Marc ‘nd old Fowler, I was so afraid they were lost.”
“Me too… me too.” He could feel her heart pounding and his was too and some of the weight on his spirit lifted - his good arm holding her tightly. “Goddamn,” he muttered, also hardly able to talk. “Come on, Kasigi… come on, Kasigi…”
* AT AL SHARGAZ HQ: 6:18 P.M. Gavallan was at the office window watching Newbury’s official car with the small Union Jack fluttering swing through the gate. The car hurried along the perimeter road toward the front of his building - uniformed chauffeur, two figures in the back. He half nodded to himself. From the tap on the hand basin he splashed a little cold water into his face and dried it.
The door opened. Scot came in, beside him Charlie Pettikin. Both were pale. “Not to worry,” Gavallan said, “come on in.” He strolled back to the window, trying to appear calm and stood there, drying his hands. The sun was near the horizon. “No need to wait here, we’ll go to meet them.” Firmly he led the way out into the corridor. “Great about Marc and Fowler, isn’t it?” “Wonderful,” Scot said, his voice flat in spite of his resolve. “Ten birds out of ten, Dad. Can’t do better than that. Ten out of ten.” Along the corridor and out into the foyer. “How’s Paula, Charlie?” “Oh, she… she’s fine, Andy.” Pettikin was astounded by Gavallan’s sangfroid and not a little envious. “She… she took off for Tehran an hour ago, doesn’t think she’ll be back until Monday, though maybe tomorrow.” God curse Whirlwind, he thought in misery, it’s ruined everything. I know a faint heart never won a fair lady, but what the hell can I do? If they grab our choppers, S-G’s down the sink, there’s no job, I’ve almost no savings. I’m so much older than she is and… sod everything! In a sick, stupid way I’m glad - now I can’t screw up her life and anyway she’d be crazy to say yes. “Paula’s fine, Andy.”