“If it’s the Will of God!” The mullah stared back, dark eyes and dark beard and just as resolved, despising the major and the loose regime the man and uniform represented to him. War now or later was all the same to him, he was in God’s hands and doing God’s work and the Word of the Imam would sweep them to victory - over all borders. But now was not the time for war, too much to do in Khoi, leftists to overcome, revolts to put down, the Imam’s enemies to destroy, and for that, in these mountains, every helicopter was priceless.
“I… I ask for possession of our property,” he said, more reasonably. He pointed at the markings. “There are our registrations, that’s proof that it is our property. It was stolen from Iran - you must know there was no permission to leave Iran, legally it is still our property. The warrant,” he pointed to the papers in the major’s hand, “the warrant is legal, the pilot kidnapped the woman, so we will take possession of them too. Please.” The major was in an untenable situation. He could not possibly hand over the Finn and his wife to illegals because of an illegal piece of paper - that would be a gross dereliction of duty and would, correctly, cost him his head. If the mullah forced the issue he would have to resist and defend the police station, but obviously he had insufficient men to do so, obviously he would fail in the confrontation. Equally he was convinced that the mullah and Green Bands were prepared to die this very minute as he himself was not. He decided to gamble. “The kidnapper and the Lady Azadeh were sent to Van this morning. To extradite them you have to apply to Army HQ, not to me. The… the importance of the Khan’s sister meant that the army took possession of both of them.”
The mullah’s face froze. One of the Green Bands said sullenly, “How do we know that’s not a lie?” The major whirled on him, the youth jumped back a foot, Green Bands behind the truck aimed, the unarmed airmen dropped to the ground aghast, the major’s hand went for his revolver.
“Stop!” the mullah said. He was obeyed, even by the major who was furious with himself for allowing pride and reflexes to overcome his self-discipline. The mullah thought a moment, considering possibilities. Then he said, “We will apply to Van. Yes, we will do that. But not today. Today we will take our property and we will leave.” He stood there, legs slightly apart, assault rifle over his shoulder, supremely confident. The major fought to hide his relief. The helicopter had no value to him or his superiors and was an extreme embarrassment. “I agree they’re your markings,” he said shortly. “As to ownership, I don’t know. If you sign a receipt leaving ownership open, you may take it and leave.” “I will sign a receipt for our helicopter.” On the back of the warrant the major scrawled what would satisfy him and perhaps satisfy the mullah. The mullah turned and scowled at the airmen who hurriedly began reeling in the fuel hoses, and the pilot stood beside the cockpit once more, brushing the snow off. “Are you ready now, pilot?” “Any moment, Excellency.” “Here,” the major said to the mullah, handing him the paper. With barely concealed derision the mullah signed it without reading it. “Are you ready now, pilot?” he said.
“Yes, Excellency, yes.” The young captain looked at the major and the major saw - or thought he saw - the misery in his eyes and the unspoken plea for asylum that was impossible to grant. “Can I start up?”
“Start up,” the mullah said imperiously, “of course start up.” In seconds the engines began winding up sweetly, rotors picking up speed. “Ali and Abrim, you go with the truck back to the base.”
Obediently the two young men got in with the air force driver. The mullah motioned them to leave and the others to board the helicopter. The rotors were thrashing the air and he waited until everyone was in the cabin, then unslung his gun, sat beside the pilot, and pulled the door closed. Engines building, an awkward liftoff, the 212 started trundling away. Angrily the sergeant aimed his submachine gun. “I can blow the motherless turds out of the sky, Major.”
“Yes, yes, we could.” The major took out his cigarette case. “But we’ll leave that to God. Perhaps God will do that for us.” He used the lighter shakily, inhaled, and watched the truck and the helicopter grinding away. “Those dogs will have to be taught manners and a lesson.” He walked over to the car and got in. “Drop me at the hotel.”
AT THE HOTEL: Azadeh was leaning out of the window, searching the sky. She had heard the 212 start up and take off and was filled with the impossible hope that Erikki had somehow escaped. “Oh, God, let it be true…” Villagers were also looking up at the sky and now she too saw the chopper well on its way back to the border. Her insides turned over. Has he bartered his freedom for mine? Oh, Erikki…
Then she saw the police car come into the square, stop outside the hotel, and the major get out, straighten his uniform. Her face drained. Resolutely she closed the window and sat on the chair facing the door, near the pillow. Waiting. Waiting. Now footsteps. The door opened. “Follow me,” he said. “Please.”
For a moment she did not understand. “What?”
“Follow me. Please.”
“Why?” she asked suspiciously, expecting a trap and not wanting to leave the safety of the hidden spike. “What’s going on? Is my husband flying the helicopter? It’s going back. Have you sent him back?” She felt her courage leaving her fast, her anxiety that Erikki had given himself up in return for her safety making her frantic. “Is he flying it?”
“No, your husband’s in the police station. Iranians came for the helicopter, for him and you.” Now that the crisis was over, the major felt very good. “The airplane was Iran-registered, had no clearance to leave Iran, so therefore they still had a right to it. Now, follow me.”
“Where to, please?”
“I thought you might like to see your husband.” The major enjoyed looking at her, enjoyed the danger, wondering where her secreted weapon was. These women always have a weapon or venom of some kind, death of some kind lurking for the unwary rapist. Easy to overcome if you’re ready, if you watch their hands and don’t sleep. “Well?”
“There are… there are Iranians at the police station?”
“No. This is Turkey, not Iran, no alien is waiting for you. Come along, you’ve nothing to fear.”
“I’ll… I’ll be right down. At once.”
“Yes, you will - at once,” he said. “You don’t need a bag, just your jacket. Be quick before I change my mind.” He saw the flash of fury and it further amused him. But this time she obeyed, seething, put on her jacket and went down the stairs, hating her helplessness. Across the square beside him, eyes watching them. Into the station and the room, the same one as before. “Please wait here.” Then he closed the door and went into the office. The sergeant held out the phone for him. “I have Captain Tanazak, Border Station duty officer, for you, sir.”
“Captain? Major Ikail. The border’s closed to all mullahs and Green Bands until further orders. Arrest the sergeant who let some through a couple of hours ago and send him to Van in great discomfort. An Iranian truck’s coming back. Order it harassed for twenty hours, and the men in it. As for you, you’re subject to court-martial for failing to ensure standing instructions about armed-men!” He put the phone down, glanced at his watch. “Is the car ready, Sergeant?” “Yes, Effendi.”
“Good.” The major went through the door, down the corridor to the cage, the sergeant following him. Erikki did not get up. Only his eyes moved. “Now, Mr. Pilot, if you’re prepared to be calm, controlled, and no longer stupid, I’m going to bring your wife to see you.”