At once he went faster and lower, his pain forgotten, his excitement overriding all the sudden questions of how and why this Freedom Fighter knew Erikki. Now they could see the crowd turning toward them and people scattering. His pass was very fast and very low but he did not see Erikki. “You see him?”
“No. I couldn’t see inside the cab.”
“Nor could I,” Pettikin said anxiously, “but a few of those buggers are armed and they were smashing the windows. You see them?”
“Yes. They must be fedayeen. One of them fired at us. If you…” Rakoczy stopped, hanging on tightly as the chopper skidded into a 180-degree turn, twenty feet off the ground, and hurtled back again. This time the crowd of men and the few women fled, falling over one another. Traffic in both directions tried to speed away or shuddered to a halt, one overloaded truck skidding into another. Several cars and trucks turned off the road and one almost overturned in the joub.
Just abreast of the Range Rover, Pettikin swung into a sliding 90-degree turn to face it - snow boiling into a cloud - for just enough time to recognize Erikki, then into another 90 degrees to barrel away into the sky. “It’s him all right. Did you see the bullet holes in the windscreen?” he asked, shocked. “Reach in the back
for the machine gun. I’ll steady her and then we’ll go and get him. Hurry, I want to keep them off balance.”
At once Rakoczy unbuckled his seat belt, reached back through the small intercommunicating window but could not get the gun that lay on the floor. With great difficulty he twisted out of his seat and clambered headfirst, half through the window, groping for it, and Pettikin knew the man was at his mercy. So easy to open the door now and shove him out. So easy. But impossible.
“Come on!” he shouted and helped pull him back into the seat. “Put your belt on!”
Rakoczy obeyed, trying to catch his breath, blessing his luck that Pettikin was a friend of the Finn, knowing that if their positions had been reversed he would not have hesitated to open the door. “I’m ready,” he said, cocking the gun, appalled at Pettikin’s stupidity. The British are so stupid the mother-eating bastards deserve to lose. “Wh - ”
“Here we go!” Pettikin spun the chopper into a diving turn at maximum speed. Some armed men were still near the truck, guns pointing at them. “I’ll soften them up and when I say ‘fire’ put a burst over their heads!” The Range Rover rushed up at them, hesitated, then swirled away drunkenly - no trees nearby - hesitated again and came at them as the chopper danced around it. Pettikin flared to a sudden stop twenty yards away, ten feet off the ground. “Fire,” he ordered.
At once Rakoczy let off a burst through the open window, aiming not over heads but at a group of men and women ducked down behind the back end of Erikki’s truck, out of Pettikin’s line of sight, killing or wounding some of them. Everyone nearby fled panic-stricken - screams of the wounded mingling with the howl of the jets. Drivers and passengers jumped out of cars and trucks scrambling away in the snowdrifts as best they could. Another burst and more panic, now everyone rushing in retreat, all traffic snarled. On the road some youths came from behind a truck with rifles. Rakoczy sprayed them and those nearby. “Make a 360!” he shouted.
Immediately the helicopter pirouetted but no one was near. Pettikin saw four bodies in the snow. “I said over their heads, for God’s sake,” he began, but at that moment the door of the Range Rover swung open and Erikki jumped out, his knife in one hand. For a moment he was alone, then a chador-clad woman was beside him. At once Pettikin set the chopper down on the snow but kept her almost airborne. “Come on,” he shouted, beckoning them. They began to run, Erikki half carrying Azadeh whom Pettikin did not yet recognize. Beside him Rakoczy unlocked his side door and leaped out, opened the back door, and whirled on guard. Another short burst toward the traffic. Erikki stopped, appalled to see Rakoczy. “Hurry!” Pettikin shouted, not understanding the reason for Erikki’s hesitation. “Erikki, come on!” Then he recognized Azadah. “My God …” he muttered, then shouted, “Come on, Erikki!”
“Quick, I’ve not much ammunition left!” Rakoczy shouted in Russian. Erikki whirled Azadeh up into his arms and ran forward. A few bullets hummed past. At the side of the helicopter Rakoczy helped bundle Azadeh into the back, suddenly shoved Erikki aside with the barrel of the gun. “Drop your knife and get in the front seat!” he ordered in Russian. “At once.” Half paralyzed with shock, Pettikin watched Erikki hesitate, his face mottled with rage.
Rakoczy said harshly, “By God, there’s more than enough ammunition for her, you, and this motherfucking pilot. Get in!”
Somewhere in the traffic a machine gun started to fire. Erikki dropped his knife in the snow, eased his great height into the front seat, Rakoczy slid beside Azadeh, and Pettikin took off and sped away, weaving over the ground like a panicked grouse, then climbed into the sky.
When he could talk he said, “What the hell’s going on?”
Erikki did not answer. He craned around to make sure Azadeh was all right: She had her eyes closed and was slumped against the side, panting, trying to get her breath. He saw that Rakoczy had locked her seat belt, but when Erikki reached back to touch her the Soviet motioned him to stop with the gun.
“She will be all right, I promise you.” He continued speaking in Russian, “providing you behave as your friend has been taught to behave.” He kept his eyes on him as he reached into his small bag and brought out a fresh magazine. “Just so you know. Now face forward, please.”
Trying to contain his fury, Erikki did as he was told. He put on the headset. There was no way they could be overheard by Rakoczy - there was no intercom in the back - and it felt strange for both of them to be so free and yet so imprisoned. “How did you find us, Charlie, who sent you?” he said into the mouth mike, his voice heavy.
“No one did,” Pettikin said. “What the hell’s with that bastard? I went to Tabriz to pick up you and Azadeh, got kidnapped by the sonofabitch in the back, and then he hijacked me to Tehran. It was just luck for Christ’s sake - what the hell happened to you?”
“We ran out of fuel.” Erikki told him briefly what had happened. “When the engine stopped, I knew I was finished. Everyone seems to have gone mad. One moment it was all right, then we were surrounded again, just like at the roadblock. I locked all the doors but it was only a matter of time…” Again he craned around. Azadeh had her eyes open and had pulled the chador off her face. She smiled at him wearily, reached forward to touch him but Rakoczy stopped her. “Please excuse me, Highness,” he said in Farsi, “but wait till we land. You will be all right.” He repeated it in Russian, adding to Erikki, “I have some water with me. Would you like me to give it to your wife?”
Erikki nodded. “Yes. Please.” He watched while she sipped gratefully. “Thank you.”
“Do you want some?”
“No, thank you,” he said politely even though he was parched, not wishing any favors for himself. He smiled at her encouragingly. “Azadeh, like manna from heaven, eh? Charlie like an angel!”
“Yes… yes. It was the Will of God. I’m fine, fine now, Erikki, praise be to God. Thank Charlie for me…”
He hid his concern. The second mob had petrified her. And him, and he had sworn that if he ever got out of this mess alive, never again would he travel without a gun and, preferably, hand grenades. He saw Rakoczy watching him. He nodded and turned back again. “Matyeryebyets,” he muttered, automatically checking the instruments.