"so, excellency," he said, "we meet again. what can i do for you i know your time is, unfortunately, short with us."
"perhaps, highness, it is what i can do for you? per "
"come to the point, colonel," the khan said harshly, now in english, totally
sure of himself. "you and i know each other, we can dispense with flattery and compliments and get to the point. i'm busy. if you'd had the courtesy to come to my car, alone, i would have been more comfortable, we could have spoken in private, leisurely. now come to the point!"
"i want to talk to you about your controller, colonel general petr oleg mzytryk," hashemi said as harshly, but suddenly petrified that he'd been trapped and that abdollah was a secret pahmudi supporter, "and about your long-term kgb connection through mzytryk, code name ali khoy."
"controller? what controller? who's this man?" abdollah khan heard himself say, but his head was shrieking, you can't know that, impossible, not possible. and through the torrent of his own heartbeat he saw the colonel's mouth open and say other things that made everything worse, much worse, and worst of all it tore his plan to shreds. if the colonel spoke such secrets so openly in front of this foreigner and ahmed, the secrets would be recorded elsewhere in a safe place to be read by the revolutionary komiteh and his enemies in case of an "accident."
"your controller," hashemi slammed at him, seeing the change, and pressed home his advantage. "petr oleg, whose dacha is beside lake tzvenghid in the place of hidden valley, east of tbilisi, code name ali khoy, yours is iv "
"wait," abdollah said throatily, his face livid not even ahmed knew that, must not know that. "i i give me some water."
armstrong began to get up but froze as ahmed's gun covered him. "please sit, excellency. i will get it. fasten your belt, both of you."
"there's non "
"do it," ahmed snarled and waved the gun, aghast at the khan's change in face and tactic, and quite prepared to put the other plan into operation himself. "fasten them!"
they obeyed. ahmed was near the water fountain and he filled a plastic cup and gave it to the khan. hashemi and armstrong watched unbalanced. neither had expected such an immediate capitulation from the khan. the man seemed to have shrunk before their eyes, his pallor and breathing bad.
the khan finished the water and looked at hashemi, his small eyes bloodshot behind his glasses. he took them off and polished them absently, trying to regain his strength. everything seemed to be taking more time than normal. "wait for me beside the car, ahmed."
uneasily, ahmed obeyed. armstrong unsnapped his belt and closed the curtain again. for a moment the khan felt better, the chill air that came in momentarily helping to clear his head. "now, what do you want?"
"your code name's ivanovitch. you've been a kgb spy and helper since january 1944. in that time y "
"all lies. what do you want?"
"i want to meet petr oleg mzytryk. i want to question him seriously. in secret."
the khan heard the words and considered them. if this son of a dog knew petr's code name and his own code name and about hidden valley and january '44 when he went secretly to moscow to join the kgb, he would know other more punishable matters. that he himself was playing both sides for the good of his azerbaijan would make little difference to the assassins of the right or of the left. "in return for what?"
"freedom to maneuver in azerbaijan so long as you do what is good for iran and a firm working relationship with me. i will give you information that will put the tudeh, the leftists, and the kurds into your hands and give you evidence how the soviets are thwarting you. for example, you're declared section 16/a."
the khan gaped at him. his ears began roaring. "i don't believe it!"
"immediate. petr oleg mzytryk signed the order," hashemi said.
"pr... proof, i... i want proof," he choked out.
"entice him this side of the border, alive, and i'll give you proof at least he will."
"you're... you're lying."
"haven't you planned to go to tbilisi today or tomorrow, at his invitation? you would never have returned. the story would be that supposedly you had fled iran. you'd be denounced, your possessions confiscated and family disgraced and fed to the mullahs." now that hashemi knew he had abdollah in his grasp, the only thing that worried him was the state of the man's health. his head now had a slight twitch to it, the normally swarthy face was pallid with a strange reddishness around the eyes and temples, the vein in his forehead prominent. "you'd better not go north, and louble your guards. i could barter petr oleg even better i could allow you to rescue him and... well, there are many solutions if i had possession of him."
"what... what do you want with him?''
"information."
"i would... i would be party to it?"
hashemi smiled. "why not? then it's agreed?"
the khan's mouth moved soundlessly. then he said, "i will try."
"no," the colonel said roughly, judging the time for the coup de grace had come. "no. you have four days. i will return saturday. at noon saturday i will be at your palace to take delivery. or if you prefer, you can deliver him secretly to this address." he put the piece of paper on the table between them. "or, third, if you give me the time and place he comes over the border i will take care of everything." he unsnapped his seat belt and stood up. "four days, ivanovitch."
abdollah's rage almost burst his eardrums. he tried to get up but failed. armstrong helped him to stand and hashemi went to the curtain but before he opened it, he took his automatic out of his shoulder holster. "tell ahmed not to trouble us."
weakly the khan stood in the open doorway and did as he was ordered. ahmed was at the foot of the steps, his gun levered. the wind had changed direction, now blowing toward the far end of the runway, and had picked up considerably.
"didn't you hear his highness?" the colonel called down. "everything's all right but he needs help." he kept his voice reassuring. "he should perhaps see his doctor as soon as possible."
ahmed was flustered, not knowing what to do. there was his master, clearly worse than before, but here were the men who caused it who were to be killed.
"help me into the car, ahmed," the khan said with a curse and that settled everything. at once he obeyed. armstrong took his other side and together they went down the stairs. hastily the pilots got out and hurried into the airplane as armstrong helped the sick man into the backseat. abdollah settled himself with difficulty, armstrong feeling more naked than he had ever been, him out in the open alone, hashemi standing up there safely in the cabin door. the jet's engines fired up.
"salaam, highness," he said. "i hope you're all right."
"better you leave our land quickly," the khan said, then to the driver, "go back to the palace."
armstrong watched the car hurrying away, then turned. he saw hashemi's strange smile, the half-concealed automatic in his hand, and for a moment thought the man was going to shoot him.
"hurry up, robert!"
he ran up the steps, his legs chilled. the copilot had already stabbed the steps retract button. 'lithe steps came up, the door closed, and they were moving. in the warmth and closeness he came to life again. "it's cold out there," he said.
hashemi paid no attention to him. "quick as you can, captain, take off," he ordered, standing behind the pilots.
"i'll have to taxi back, sir. i daren't take off this way with this wind up our tails."
hashemi cursed and peered through the cockpit windows. the other end of the runway looked a million miles away, the wind whisking snow off the drifts. to use the proper exit ramp would take them close to the terminal parking area. they would have to cross it and use the opposite ramp to the takeoff point. over toward the terminal the rolls was speeding along. he could see
armed men collecting to meet it. "taxi back along the runway and do a shortfield takeoff."
"that's highly irregular without tower clearance," john hogg said.
"would you prefer a bullet in your head or a savak jail? those men there are hostiles. do it!"
hogg could see the guns. he clicked on his transmit button. "echo tango lima lima requesting permission to backtrack," he said, not expecting any answer after they had cleared tehran airspace there had been none all the way here, and no contact with this tower. he swung the jet back onto the runway, skidding, and opened the throttle some more, keeping to the left side, paralleling their landing tracks. "tower, this is echo tango lima lima, backtracking." gordon jones, the copilot, was checking everything, setting up for their tehran inbound. the wind was tugging at them, their wheels uncertain. over at the terminal he saw the rolls stop and men surround it.
"quick as you can turn around, there's plenty of runway," hashemi said.
"soon as i can, sir," john hogg said politely, but he was thinking, bloody twit, colonel whoever you are, i'm more than a little anxious to be up in the wild blue myself but i've got to get a run at it. he had seen the hostility of the men in the car and, at tehran, mclver's nervousness. but tehran tower had cleared him instantly, given him priority as though he were carrying khomeini himself. bloody hell, what we do for england and a pint of beer! his hands and feet were feeling the snow and the ice and the slipperiness of the surface. he eased off the throttles a little.
"look!" the copilot said. a jet helicopter was crossing the airspace, low down a mile or so ahead. "a 212, isn't she?"
"yes. doesn't look like she's inbound here," hogg said, his eyes sweeping constantly. at the terminal another car had joined the men near the rolls; ahead to the left was a glint of light; now the 212 had gone behind a hill; to the right was a flock of birds; all needles safe in the green; more men near the rolls and someone on the roof of the terminal building; fuel fine; snow not too deep, sheet ice underneath; watch the drift ahead; go right a little; radio's correctly tuned; wind's still up our tail; thunderclouds building up to the north; back a hair on the left engine!
hogg corrected the lurching swing, the airplane overresponsive on the icy surface. "perhaps you'd better go back to your seat, colonel," he said.
"get airborne as fast as possible." hashemi went back. armstrong was peering out of the windows toward the terminal. "whattre they doing there, robert? any problem?" he asked.
"not yet. congratulations you handled abdollah brilliantly."
"if he delivers." now that it was over, hashemi felt a little sick. too close to death that time, he thought. he fastened his seat belt, then undid it, took
the automatic from his side pocket, put the safety on, and slipped it into the shoulder holster. his fingers touched the british passport in his inner pocket. perhaps i won't need it after all, he thought. good. i'd hate having to disgrace myself by using it. he lit a cigarette.
"do you think he'll last till saturday? i thought he was going to have a fit."
"he's been that fat and that foul for years."
armstrong heard the violent undercurrent. hashemi fazir was always dangerous, always on the edge, his fanatic patriotism mixed with his contempt for most iranians. "you handled him wonderfully," he said and looked out of the window again. the rolls and the other car and the men surrounding them were quite far and half-hidden by the snow dunes, but he could see many guns among them and from time to time someone would point in their direction. come on, for god's sake, he thought, let's get aloft.
"colonel" hogg's voice came over the intercom "could you come forward, please?"
hashemi unlocked his belt and went to the cockpit.
"there, sir," hogg said pointing off to the right, past the end of the runway, to a clump of pines in front of the forest. "what do you make of that?" the tiny fleck of light began winking again. "it says sos."
"robert," hashemi called out, "look ahead and to the right."
the four men concentrated. again the light repeated the sos. "no mistaking it, sir," hogg said. "i could signal them back." he pointed to the heavy-duty signal flash that was for emergency use to give a green or a red light in case their radios failed.
hashemi called back into the cabin. "what do you think, robert?"
"it's sos all right!"
the 125 was hurrying down the runway toward the signal. they waited, then saw three tiny figures come out from the trees, two men and a woman in chador. and they saw their guns.
"it's a trap," hashemi said at once, "don't go any closer, turn around!"
"i can't," hogg said, "haven't got enough runway." he eased the throttles a little more open. the jet was taxiing very fast, paralleling their landing tracks. they could see the figures waving their guns.
armstrong called out, "let's get to hell out of here!"