“That bugger’s a lunatic - no need to kill anyone, I told him to fire over their heads.” Pettikin dropped his voice slightly, uneasy at talking so openly even though there was no way Rakoczy could hear. “The bastard damn near killed me a couple of times. How do you know him, Erikki? Were you or Azadeh mixed up with the Kurds?”
Erikki stared at him. “Kurds? You mean the matyeryebyets back there?” “Yes, him of course - Ali bin Hassan Karakose. He comes from Mount Ararat. He’s a Kurd Freedom Fighter.”
“He’s not a Kurd but a turd, Soviet and KGB!”
“Christ Almighty! You’re sure?” Pettikin was openly shocked. “Oh, yes. He claims he’s Muslim but I bet that’s a lie too. ‘Rakoczy’ he called himself to me, another lie. They’re all liars - at least why should they tell us, the enemy, anything?”
“But he swore it was the truth and I gave him my word.” Angrily Pettikin told him about the fight and the bargain he had made.
“You’re the fool, Charlie, not him - haven’t you read Lenin? Stalin? Marx? He’s only doing what all KGB and committed Communists do: use anything and everything to forward the ‘sacred’ Cause - absolute world power for the USSR Communist party - and get us to hang ourselves to save them the trouble. My God, I could use a vodka!”
“A double brandy’d be better.”
“Both together would be even better.” Erikki studied the ground below. They were cruising easily, the engines sounding good and plenty of fuel. His eyes searched the horizon for Tehran. “Not long now. Has he said where to land yet?”
“No.”
“Perhaps we’ll get a chance then.”
“Yes.” Pettikin’s apprehension increased. “You mentioned a roadblock. What happened there?”
Erikki’s face hardened. “We got stopped. Leftists. Had to make a run for it. We’ve no papers left, Azadeh and I. Nothing. A fat bastard at the roadblock kept everything and there wasn’t time to get them back.” A tremor went through him. “I’ve never been so scared, Charlie. Never. I was helpless in that mob and almost shitting with fear because I couldn’t protect her. That stinking fat bastard took everything, passport, ID, flying licenses, everything.”
“Mac‘11 get you more, your embassy’ll give you passports.” “I’m not worried about me. What about Azadeh?”
“She’ll get a Finnish passport too. Like Sharazad‘11 get a Canadian one - no need to worry.”
“She’s still in Tehran, isn’t she?”
“Sure. Tom should be there too. He was due in from Zagros yesterday with mails from home…” Strange, Pettikin thought in passing. I still call England home even with Claire gone, everything gone. “He’s just back off leave.”
“That’s what I’d like to do, go on leave. I’m overdue. Perhaps Mac can send a replacement.” Erikki punched Pettikin lightly. “Tomorrow can take care of tomorrow, eh? Hey, Charlie, that was a great piece of flying. When I first saw you, I thought I was dreaming or already dead. You saw my Finnish flag?” “No, that was Ali - what did you call him? Rekowsky?”
“Rakoczy.”
“Rakoczy recognized it. If he hadn’t I wouldn’t have been any the wiser. Sorry.” Pettikin glanced across. “What’s he want with you?” “I don’t know but whatever it is, it’s for Soviet purposes.” Erikki cursed for a moment. “So we owe our lives to him too?”
After a moment Pettikin said, “Yes. Yes, I couldn’t have done it alone.” He glanced around. Rakoczy was totally alert, Azadeh dozing, shadows over her lovely face. He nodded briefly, then turned back. “Azadeh seems okay.” “No, Charlie, no, she’s not,” Erikki said, an ache inside him. “Today was terrible for her. She said she’d never been that close to villagers ever… I mean surrounded, bottled in. Today they got under her guard. Now she’s seen the real face of Iran, the reality of her people - that and the forcing of the chador.” Again a shiver went through him. “That was a rape - they raped her soul. Now I think everything will be different for her, for us. I think she’ll have to choose: family or me, Iran or exile. They don’t want us here. It’s time for us to leave, Charlie. All of us.”
“No, you’re wrong. Perhaps for you and Azadeh it’s different but they’ll still need oil so they’ll still need choppers. We’re good for a few more years, good years. With the Guerney contracts and all th - ” Pettikin stopped, feeling a tap on his shoulder, and he glanced around. Azadeh was awake now. He could not hear what Rakoczy said so he slipped one earphone off. “What?”
“Don’t use the radio, Captain, and be prepared to land on the outskirts where I’ll tell you.”
“I… I’ll have to get clearance.”
“Don’t be a fool! Clearance from whom? Everyone’s too busy down there. Tehran Airport’s under siege - so is Doshan Tappeh and so’s Galeg Morghi. Take my advice and make your landfall the small airport of Rudrama after you’ve dropped me.”
“I have to report in. The military insist.”
Rakoczy laughed sardonically. “Military? And what would you report? That you landed illegally near Qazvin, helped murder five or six civilians, and picked up two foreigners fleeing - fleeing from whom? From the People!” Grimly Pettikin turned back to make the call but Rakoczy leaned forward and shook him roughly. “Wake up! The military doesn’t exist anymore. The generals have conceded victory to Khomeini! The military doesn’t exist anymore - they’ve given in!”
They all stared at him blankly. The chopper lurched. Hastily Pettikin corrected. “What’re you talking about?”
“Late last night the generals ordered all troops back to their barracks. All services - all men. They’ve left the field to Khomeini and his revolution. Now there’s no army, no police, no gendarmes between Khomeini and total power - the People have conquered!”
“That’s not possible,” Pettikin said.
“No,” Azadeh said, frightened. “My father would have known.” “Ah, Abdollah the Great?” Rakoczy said with a sneer. “He’ll know by now - if he’s still alive.”
“It’s not true!”
“It’s… it’s possible, Azadeh,” Erikki said, shocked. “That’d explain why we saw no police or troops - why the mob was so hostile!” “The generals’d never do that,” she said shakily, then turned on Rakoczy. “It would be suicide, for them and thousands. Tell the truth, by Allah!” Rakoczy’s face mirrored his glee, delighted to twist words and sow dissension to unsettle them. “Now Iran’s in the hands of Khomeini, his mullahs, and his Revolutionary Guards.”
“It’s a lie.”
Pettikin said, “If that’s true Bakhtiar’s finished. He’ll nev - ” “That weak fool never even began!” Rakoczy started laughing. “Ayatollah Khomeini has frightened the balls off the generals and now he’ll cut their throats for good measure!”
“Then the war’s over.”
“Ah, the war,” Rakoczy said darkly. “It is. For some.”
“Yes,” Erikki said, baiting him. “And if what you say is true, it’s all over for you too - all the Tudeh and all Marxists. Khomeini will slaughter you all.”
“Oh, no, Captain. The Ayatollah was the sword to destroy the Shah, but the People wielded the sword.”
“He and his mullahs and the People will destroy you - he’s as anti-Communist as he is anti-American.”
“Better you wait and see and not further delude yourselves, eh? Khomeini’s a practical man and exults in power, whatever he says now.” Pettikin saw Azadeh whiten and he felt an equal chill. “And the Kurds?” he asked roughly, “What about them?”
Rakoczy leaned forward, his smile strange. “I am a Kurd whatever the Finn told you about Soviet and KGB. Can he prove what he says? Of course not. As to the Kurds, Khomeini will try to stamp us out - if he’s allowed to - with all tribal or religious minorities, and foreigners and the bourgeoisie, landowners, moneylenders, Shah supporters, and,” he added with a sneer, “and any and all people who will not accept his interpretation of the Koran - and he’ll spill rivers of blood in the Name of his Allah, his, not the real One God - if the bastard’s allowed to.” He glanced out of the window below, checking his bearings, then added even more sardonically, “This heretic Sword of God has served his purpose and now he’s going to be turned into a plowshare-and buried!”