“You mean murdered?” Erikki said.
“Buried” - again the laugh - “at the whim of the People.” Azadeh came to life and tried to claw his face, cursing him. He caught her easily and held her while she struggled. Erikki watched, gray-faced. There was nothing he could do. For the moment.
“Stop it!” Rakoczy said harshly. “You of all people should want this heretic gone - he’ll stamp out Abdollah Khan and all the Gorgons and you with them if he wins.” He shoved her away. “Behave, or I shall have to hurt you. It’s true, you of all people should want him dead.” He cocked the machine gun. “Turn around, both of you.”
They obeyed, hating the man and the gun. Ahead, the outskirts of Tehran were about ten miles away. They were paralleling the road and railway, the Elburz Mountains to their left, approaching the city from the west. Overhead the sky was overcast, the clouds heavy, and no sun showed through. “Captain, you see the stream where the railway crosses it? The bridge?” “Yes, I can see that,” Pettikin said, trying to make a plan to overcome him, as Erikki was also planning - wondering if he could whirl and grab him but he was on the wrong side.
“Land half a mile south, behind that outcrop. You see it?” Not far from this outcrop was a secondary road that headed for Tehran. A little traffic. “Yes. And then?”
“And then you’re dismissed. For the moment.” Rakoczy laughed and nudged the back of Pettikin’s neck with the barrel of the gun. “With my thanks. But don’t turn around anymore. Stay facing ahead, both of you, and keep your seat belts locked and know that I’m watching you both very closely. When you land, land firmly and cleanly and when I’m clear, take off. But don’t turn around or I may become frightened. Frightened men pull triggers. Understand?”
“Yes.” Pettikin studied the landing site. He adjusted his headset. “It look all right to you, Erikki?”
“Yes. Watch the snow dunes.” Erikki tried to keep the nervousness out of his voice.
“We should have a plan.”
“I think he’s… he’s too clever, Charlie.”
“Maybe he’ll make a mistake.”
“I only need one.”
The landing was clean and simple. Snow, whipped up by the idling blades, billowed alongside the windows. “Don’t turn around!”
Both men’s nerves were jagged. They heard the door open and felt the cold air. Then Azadeh screamed, “Erikkiiii!”
In spite of the order both craned around. Rakoczy was already out, dragging Azadeh after him, kicking and struggling and trying to hang on to the door, but he overpowered her easily. The gun was slung over his shoulder. Instantly Erikki jerked his door open and darted out, slid under the fuselage, and charged. But he was too late. A short burst at his feet stopped him. Ten yards away, clear of the rotors, Rakoczy had the gun leveled at them with one hand, the other firm in the neck of her chador. For a moment she was equally still, then she redoubled her efforts, shouting and screaming, flailing at him, catching him unawares. Erikki charged. Rakoczy grabbed her with both hands, shoved her violently at Erikki, breaking the charge and bringing Erikki down with her. At the same moment he leaped backward, turned, and raced away, whirled again, the gun ready, his finger tightening on the trigger. But there was no need to pull it, the Finn and the woman were still on their knees, half stunned. Beyond them the pilot was still in his seat. Then he saw Erikki come to his senses, and shove her behind him protectively, readying another charge.
“Stop!” he ordered, “or this time I will kill you all. STOP!” He put a warning burst into the snow. “Get back in the plane - both of you!” Now totally alert, Erikki watched him suspiciously. “Go on - you’re free. Go!” Desperately afraid, Azadeh scrambled into the backseat. Erikki retreated slowly, his body shielding her. Rakoczy kept the gun unwavering. He saw the Finn sit on the backseat, the door still open, his feet propped against skid. At once the engines picked up speed. The chopper eased a foot off the ground, slowly swung around to face him, the back door closing. His heart pounded even more. Now, he thought, do you all die or do we live to fight another day? The moment seemed to him to last forever. The chopper backed away, foot by foot, still so tempting a target. His finger tightened slightly. But he did not squeeze the further fraction. A few more yards then she twisted, hurried away through the snow-fields, and went into the sky.
Good, he thought, tiredness almost overcoming him. It would have been better to have been able to keep the woman as a hostage, but never mind. We can grab old Abdollah Khan’s daughter tomorrow, or the day after. She can wait and so can Yokkonen. Meanwhile there’s a country to possess, generals and mullahs and aytatollahs to kill… and other enemies.
Chapter 19
AT TEHRAN AIRPORT: 5:05 P.M. McIver was driving carefully along the road that followed the barbed-wire security fence, heading for the gate that led to the freight area. The road was snow banked, slippery, and unplowed. It was just below freezing, the sky heavy and dull, night not more than an hour away. Again he looked at his watch. Not much time, he thought, still seething over the closure of his office last night by the komiteh. Early this morning he had tried to sneak back into the building, but it was still guarded and all of his entreaties to be allowed to check the telex had proved fruitless.
“Damned people!” Genny had said when he had stomped back into their apartment. “There must be something we can do. What about George Talbot? Could he help?”
“I doubt it, but it’s worth a try - if Valik was…” McIver stopped. “Tom would have refueled by now and be almost there - wherever there is.” “Let’s hope,” she said with a silent prayer, “hope for the best. Did you see any shops open?”
“None, Gen. It’s canned soup for lunch and a bottle of beer.” “Sorry, we’re out of beer.”
He had tried to call Kowiss and the other bases on his HF but could get no answer from them. Neither could he tune into the BBC or AFN. He had listened briefly to the inevitable anti-American tirade from Radio Free Iran in Tbilisi and had turned it off in disgust. The phone was dead. He had tried to read, but he could not, his mind beset with worries about Lochart, Pettikin, Starke, and all the others, hating being cut off from his office and telex and, for the moment, out of control. Never happened before, never. Damn the Shah for leaving and letting everything fall apart. Used to be wonderful. Any problem and out to the airport, get on a shuttle to Isfahan, Tabriz, Abadan, Hormuz, Al Shargaz, or wherever, then chopper the rest of the way, wherever you felt like it. Sometimes Genny coming along for the ride - picnic lunches and ice-cold beer.
“Sod everything!”
Just after lunch the HF had crackled into life. It was Freddy Ayre at Kowiss relaying a message that the 125 jet would be at Tehran Airport around 5:00 P.M. today, coming from Al Shargaz, a tiny independent sheikdom eight hundred miles south of Tehran on the other side of the Gulf where S-G had an office.
“Did he say he had clearance, Freddy?” McIver had asked excitedly. “I don’t know. All our HQ in Al Shargaz said: ‘ETA Tehran 1700, tell McIver - can’t raise him,’ repeated several times.”
“How’re things with you?”
“Five by five,” Ayre had said. “Starke’s still at Bandar Delam and we’ve had no contact with them other than a snafu half an hour ago.” “Rudi sent that?” McIver had tried to keep his voice level. “Yes.”