"it is my honor, kalandar," lochart said, and he was thinking, mimmo sera's been in the mountains for years, he'll know what to do. "i've a load of pipe to deliver to rig rosa; we can go at once."
"pipe?" the youth said rudely. "no need for pipe. we go straight. no pipe."
"iranoil says pipe and the pipe goes or you don't," lochart said angrily. "ayatollah khomeini ordered oil production to come back to normal why does the komiteh disobey him?"
sullenly the youth looked at the khan, who said quietly, "as god wills. the ayatollah is the ayatollah, komitehs obey only him. let us go, agha."
lochart took his eyes off the youth. "all right. we will go at once."
"salaam, kalandar," jean-luc said, joining them. "tom, what's the answer?" he asked in english.
"sunset sunday. we have to be out by then and can't fly friday."
jean-luc swallowed a curse. "no negotiation?"
"none. unless you want to argue with this mother."
insolently the youth with the gun stared back at jean-luc. "tell this son of a dog he smells vile."
lochart had caught a faint whiff of the garlic. "he says your cooking smells great, jean-luc. listen, they want to go to see mimmo sera i'll be back as quick as i can, then we'll decide what to do. kalandar, we will go now," he said in farsi and opened the cabin door.
"lookit!" rodrigues said suddenly and pointed northward high into the mountains. smoke was billowing into the sky. "that maria?"
"might be bellissima," jean-luc said.
nitchak khan was squinting into the distance. "that is near where we should go. yes?"
"not far off course, kalandar."
the old man appeared very worried. "perhaps it would be better to take the pipe on your next flight, pilot. for days now we heard that leftists were infiltrating the hills, wanting to sabotage and create trouble. last night one of my shepherds had his throat cut and genitals hacked off i have men out searching for the murderers." grim-faced, he got into the cabin. the green band followed.
"rod," lochart said, "get the 206 out. jean-luc, stand by on the hf i'll radio you."
"out. pas problems." jean-luc looked back at the smoke.
lochart left the load of pipe at the base and hurried northward. it was bellissima and it was on fire. from quite far out he could see flames spouting thirty feet from one of the trailers that, under dry in the moistureless air, was now almost gutted. off to one side near the drilling rig was another fire, near the dynamite shed a body lay in the snow. above the base, the snowcap of the mountain, re-formed by pietro's explosion and the resultant avalanche, was benign. below, the ravine fell seventy-five hundred feet.
as he got closer he noticed half a dozen figures running down the winding path that led at length into the valley all of them armed. without hesitation he banked and went after them, seeing them ahead now, directly ahead, cursing that he wasn't agunship noproblem to blast them all. six men, bearded, in nondescript tribesman clothes. then he saw one man stop and aim and then the familiar sparks from the muzzle of the gun and he peeled away, taking evading action, and when he was around again, higher and safer, the figures had disappeared.
he looked back into the cabin. nitchak khan and the green band were staring down out of the side windows, noses pressed against them. he shouted but could not make himself heard, so he banged the side of the cabin to attract their attention and beckoned nitchak khan. the old man came forward, holding on, ill at ease flying.
"did you see them?" he shouted.
"yes yes," nitchak khan shouted back. "not mountain people they're the terrorists."
lochart went back to flying. "jean-luc, do you read?"
"loud and clear, tom, go ahead."
he told him what he had seen and to stay on the radio, then concentrated on the landing in over the immensity of the ravine as usual, updrafts bad and a stiff wind today. this was the first time he had been to bellissima since he had come back from tehran. with the death of guineppa, bellissima was down to a minimum, one shift only. as he touched down he saw pietro, now senior in guineppa's place, leave the fire near the rig and hurry toward them.
"tom! we need help," he shouted into the pilot's window, almost in tears. "gianni's dead and a couple hurt in the fire..."
"okay. no sweat." lochart began shutdown. "nitchak's in the back with a green band don't worry, okay?" he twisted in his seat again and pointed at the door. the old man nodded. "what the hell happened, pietro?" he asked, his fingers finding the switches.
"don't know... i don't know, amico." pietro put his head close to the cockpit window. "we were having lunch when this stronzo bottle with gasoline and a burning rag came through the stronzo window and we were on fire..." he looked back as flames caught a half-f oil drum and leaped into the sky, choking black smoke billowing. the four men fighting the fire backed off. "s', we were on fire quickly in the dining room and when we rushed out there were these men, tribesmen, banditos... mamma mia, they started shooting so we scattered and took cover. then later gianni saw them starting a fire in the generator room, near where the dynamites are and... and he just ran out to warn them but one of them shot him. mamma mia, no reason to shoot him! bastardi, stronzi bastard)..."
quickly lochart and the others climbed out of the airplane. the only sound was that of the wind and the flames and the single fire pump pietro had cut the generators and pumps and done an emergency closedown of the whole rig. the roof of the trailer collapsed and sparks and embers soared, many falling on nearby roofs, but these were heavy with snow and no danger to them. the fire was still out of control near the rig, fed by waste oil and oil fumes, and highly dangerous. the men sprayed foam, but flames still reached toward the dynamite shed, licking a corrugated iron wall.
"how much is in there, pietro?"
"too much."
"let's get it out."
"mamma mia..." pietro followed lochart, their hands over the faces against the flames, and forced the door open no time to find the key. the dynamite was in neat boxes. a dozen of them. lochart picked up a box and went out, felt the blast of heat, and then he was clear. one of the other men took the box from him and hurried it to safety while lochart returned for another.
near the helicopter nitchak khan and the green band stood in the lee of the wind out of danger. "as god wants."
"as god wants," the green band echoed. "what shall we do now?"
"there are the terrorists to consider. and the dead man."
the young man looked across the snow at the figure lying like a broken doll. "if he hadn't come to our hills he would not be dead. it's his fault he's dead no one else's."
"true." nitchak khan watched the fire and the men fighting it and by the time lochart and pietro had cleared the shed of dynamite, the others had the fire contained.
lochart leaned against a trailer wall to catch his breath. "pietro, we've only got till sunday sunset. then it's get out or else."
pietro's face closed. he glanced at the green band and nitchak khan who was near the helicopter. "five days? that saves me a decision, tom. we evacuate to shiraz via rig rosa or direct." pietro gestured at the fire with his clenched left fist, his other hand on the bicep. "for the moment bellissima is ruined. i'll need almqvist to plug the wells. mamma mia, that's a lot of men to transport. what a waste! i'm glad old guineppa's not here to see the foulness of the day. best i come to see mimmo."
"at once, with those who're hurt. what about gianni?"
pietro glanced at the body. "we'll leave him until last, my poor blood brother," he said sadly. "he won't rot."
at rig rosa: mimmo sera was sitting opposite nitchak khan and the green band in the mess hall, lochart, pietro, and the three senior riggers also at the table. for half an hour mimmo, who spoke good farsi, had tried to persuade the komiteh green band to extend the time, or to allow him to leave skeleton crews while he and lochart went with him to see the chief of iranoil in shiraz.
"in the name of god, enough!" the green band said irritably.
"but excellency, without the helicopters we'll have to shut down the whole field and start evacuating at once. surely, excellency, because the ayatollah, bless him, and your prime minister bazargan want oil production back to normal we should consult iranoil in sh "
"enough! kalandar," the green band added to nitchak khan, "if these mosquito brains disobey, it's on your head, you're finished, yazdek is finished and all your people! if one foreigner or one flying machine remains on the fifth sunset and you haven't fired the base, we will! then we will burn the village, by hand or by air force. you," the green band snarled at lochart, "start up the airplane. we go back. now!" he stormed out.
they all stared after him dismayed. lochart felt sad for all those who had found the oil and developed the field and put so much energy, money, talent, gamble, and risk into it. scandalous, he thought, but we've no option. nothing else to do. we evacuate. i cancel scot leaving and use all airplanes and do the job. we work like hell for five days and forget tehran and sharazad and that today's the day of the protest march she's forbidden.
"kalandar," he said. "without your benevolence, and assistance, we must leave."
nitchak khan saw all the eyes turn to him. "i have to choose between the base and my village," he said gravely. "that is no choice. i will try to find
the terrorists and bring them to justice. meanwhile, best that you take no chances. these hills are full of hiding places."
with great dignity he got up and walked out, quite sure that now he would not have to burn the base, though, if god wanted, he knew he would do it without a moment's hesitation, whether it be full or empty.
he allowed himself the shadow of a smile. his plan had worked impeccably. all the foreigners had accepted hassan the goatherd as a genuine green band whose pretended arrogance and temper were marvelous to see; the foreigners had swallowed his fabrication about "terrorists" murdering a shepherd and he had seen their fear; these same "terrorists" had mutilated the oil rig, the most difficult to reach of all eleven and, in the black hours tonight, these same "terrorists" would fire part of the rig rosa and then would vanish forever back into the village life stream from which they came. and by dawn tomorrow, he thought with satisfaction, terror will be widespread, all foreigners will be falling over themselves to leave, their evacuation is assured, and peace will come to yazdek.
fools to play games where only we know the rules! but there is still the problem of the young pilot. was he a witness, or wasn't he? the elders have advised an "accident" to be safe. yesterday would have been perfect when the young man was hunting alone. so easy to slip and fall on your gun. yes. but my wife advised against an "accident."
"why?"
"because the schoolhouse was a marvelous thing," she had said. "wasn't it the first we have ever had? without the pilots it would never have been. but now we know and can easily build another of our own; because the pilots have been good for us, without them we would not know much that we now know, nor would we have such a rich village; because i think that young man told the truth. i commend that you should let him go, don't forget how that young man made us laugh with his fairy stories about this place called kong in the land called china, where there are a thousand times a thousand times a thousand times a thousand people, where all their hair is black, all eyes black, and they eat with pieces of wood."
he remembered how he had laughed with her. how could there be so many people in one land, all the same? "there is still the danger he lied."
"then test him," she had said. "there's still time."
yes, he thought, there are four days to uncover the truth five including holy day..
tehran: 5:16 p.m. now the women's march was over.
it had begun that morning with the same air of expectancy that had enveloped tehran for two days when incredibly, for the first time in history, women by themselves as a group were about to take to the streets in protest, to show their solidarity against any encroachment of their hard-earned rights by the new rulers, even by the imam himself.
"the proper dress for a woman is the hijab that requires them to cover their hair and arms and legs and zinaat their enticing parts."
"i chose to wear the chador as a protest against the shah, meshang," zarah, his wife, had screeched at him. "i chose it! i did! i'll never wear a veil or chador or scarf against my will, never never never..."
"coeducation introduced by the satan shah a few years ago will cease as in practice it has turned many of our schools into houses of prostitution."
"lies, all lies! ridiculous!" sharazad had told lochart. "the truth must be shouted from the rooftops. it's not the imam saying these things, it's the zealots surrounding him..."