he saw ahmed watching him. "i hope petr escapes the trap. yes, it would be good for him to... to have her." tiredness swamped him. "i'll sleep now. send my guard back and after i've eaten tonight, assemble my 'devoted' family here and we will do as you suggest." his smile was cynical. "it's wise to have no illusions."
"yes, highness." ahmed got to his feet. the khan envied him his lithe and powerful body.
"wait, there was something... something else." the khan thought a moment, the process strangely tiring. "ah, yes, where's redhead of the knife?"
"with cimtarga, up near the border, highness. cimtarga said they might be away for a few days. they left tuesday night."
"tuesday? what's today?"
"saturday, highness," ahmed replied, hiding his concern.
"ah, yes, saturday." another wave of tiredness. his face felt strange and he lifted his hand to rub it but found the effort too much. "ahmed, find out where he is. if anything happens... if i have another attack and i'm... well, see that... that i'm taken to tehran, to the international hospital, at once. at once. understand?"
"yes, highness."
"find out where he is and... and for the next few days keep him close by... overrule cimtarga. keep he of the knife close by."
"yes, highness."
when the guard came back into the room, the khan closed his eyes and felt himself sinking into the depths. "there is no other god but god..." he muttered, very afraid.
near the north border, east of julfa: 6:05 p.m. it was near sunset and erikki's 212 was under a crude, hastily constructed lean-to, the roof already a foot deep in snow from the storm last night, and he knew much more exposure in subzero weather would ruin her. "can't you give me blankets or straw or something to keep her warm?" he had asked sheik bayazid the moment they had arrived back from rezaiyeh with the body of the old woman, the
chieftain, two days ago. "the chopper needs warmth."
"we do not have enough for the living."
"if she freezes she won't work," he had said, fretting that the sheik would not allow him to leave at once for tabriz, barely sixty miles away worried sick about azadeh and wondering what had happened to ross and gueng. "if she won't work, how are we going to get out of these mountains?"
grudgingly, the sheik had ordered his people to construct the lean-to and had given him some goat- and sheepskins that he had used where he thought they would do the most good. just after dawn yesterday he had tried to leave. to his total dismay bayazid had told him that he and the 212 were to be ransomed.
"you can be patient, captain, and free to walk our village with a calm guard, to tinker with your airplane," bayazid had said curtly, "or you can be impatient and angry and you will be bound up and tethered as a wild beast. i seek no trouble, captain, want none, or argument. we seek ransom from abdollah khan."
"but i've told you he hates me and won't help me to be rans "
"if he says no, we seek ransom elsewhere. from your company in tehran, or your government perhaps your soviet employers. meanwhile, you stay here as guest, eating as we eat, sleeping as we sleep, sharing equally. or bound and tethered and hungry. either way you stay until ransom is paid."
"but that might take months an "
"insha'allah!"
all day yesterday and half the night erikki had tried to think of a way out of the trap. they had taken his grenade but left him his knife. but his guards were watchful and constant. in these deep snows, it would be almost impossible for him in flying boots and without winter gear to get down to the valley below, and even then he was in hostile country. tabriz was barely thirty minutes away by 212, but by foot?
"more snow tonight, captain."
erikki looked around. bayazid was a pace away and he had not heard him approach. "yes, and a few more days in this weather and my bird, my airplane, won't fly the battery'll be dead and most of the instruments wrecked. i have to start her up to charge the battery and warm her pots, have to. who's going to ransom a wrecked 212 out of these hills?"
bayazid thought a moment. "for how long must engines turn?"
"ten minutes a day absolute minimum."
"all right. just after full dark, each day you may do it, but first you ask me. we help you drag her why is it 'she,' not an 'it' or a 'he'?"
erikki frowned. "i don't know. ships are always 'she' this is a ship of the sky." he shrugged.
"very well. we help you drag her into open and you start her up and while her engines running there will be five guns within five feet, should you be tempted."
erikki laughed. "then i won't be tempted."
"good." bayazid smiled. he was a handsome man though his teeth were bad.
"when do you send word to the khan?"
"it's already gone. in these snows it takes a day to get down to road, even on horseback, but not long to reach tabriz. if the khan replies favorably, at once, perhaps we hear tomorrow, perhaps the day after, depending on the snows."
"perhaps never. how long will you wait?"
"are all people from the far north so impatient?"
erikki's chin jutted. "the ancient gods were very impatient when they were held against their will they passed it on to us. it's bad to be held against your will, very bad."
"we are a poor people, at war. we must take what the one god gives us. to be ransomed is an ancient custom." he smiled thinly. "we learned from saladin to be chivalrous with our captives, unlike many christians. christians are not known for their chivalry. we are treat " his ears were sharper than erikki's and so were his eyes. "there, down in the valley!"
now erikki heard the engine also. it took him a moment to pick out the low-flying camouflaged helicopter approaching from the north. "a kajychokiv 16. close-support soviet army gunship... what's she doing?"
"heading for julfa." the sheik spat on the ground. "those sons of dogs come and go as they please."
"do many sneak in now?"
"not many but one is too many."
near the jules turnoff: 6:15 p.m. the winding side road through the forest was snow heavy and not flowed. a few cart and truck tracks and those made by the old four-wheel-drive chevy that was parked under some pines near the open space, a few yards off the main road. through their binoculars armstrong and hashemi could see two men in warm coats and gloves sitting in the front seat, the windows open, listening intently.
"he hasn't much time," armstrong muttered.
"perhaps he's not coming after all." they had been watching for half an hour from a slight rise among the trees overlooking the landing area. their car and the rest of hashemi's men were parked discreetly on the main road below
and behind them. it was very quiet, little wind. some birds went overhead, cawing plaintively.
"hallelujah!" armstrong whispered, his excitement picking up. one man had opened the side door and got out. now he was looking into the northern sky. the driver started the engine. then, over it, they heard the incoming chopper, saw her slip over the rise and fall into the valley, hugging the treetops, her piston engine throttled back nicely. she made a perfect landing in a billowing cloud of snow. they could see the pilot and another man beside him. the passenger, a small man, got out and went to meet the other. armstrong cursed.
"you recognize him, robert?"
"no. that's not suslev petr oleg mzytryk. i'm certain." armstrong was bitterly disappointed.
"facial surgery?"
"no, nothing like that. he was a big bugger, heavyset, tall as i am." they watched as he met the other, then handed over something.
"was that a letter? what did he give him, robert?"
"looked like a package, could be a letter." armstrong muttered another curse, concentrating on their lips.
"what're they saying?" hashemi knew armstrong could lip-read.
"i don't know it's not farsi, or english."
hashemi swore and refocused his already perfectly focused binoculars. "it looked like a letter to me." the man spoke a few more words then went back to the chopper. at once the pilot put on power and swirled away. the other man then trudged back to the chevy.
"now what?" hashemi said exasperated.
armstrong watched the man walking toward the car. "two options: intercept the car as planned and find out what 'it' is, providing we could neutralize those two bastards before they destroyed 'it' but that'd blow that we know the arrival point for mister big or just tail them, presuming it's a message for the khan giving a new date." he was over his disappointment that mzytryk had avoided the trap. you must have the luck in our game, he reminded himself. never mind, next time we'll get him and he'll lead us to our traitor, to the fourth and fifth and sixth man and i'll piss on their graves and suslev's or whatever petr oleg mzytryk calls himself if the luck's with me. "we needn't even tail them he'll go straight to the khan."
"why?"
"because he's a vital pivot in azerbaijan, either for the soviets or against them, so they'd want to find out firsthand just how bad his heart is and who he's chosen as regent till the babe comes of age, or more likely is levitated. doesn't the power go with the title, along with the lands and the wealth?"
"and the secret, numbered swiss bank accounts all the more reason to come at once."
"yes, but don't forget something serious might have happened in tbilisi to make for the delay soviets're just as pissed off and anxious as we are about iran."
they saw the man climb back into the chevy and begin talking volubly. the driver let in the clutch and turned back for the main road. "let's get back to our car."
the way back down the rise was fairly easy going, traffic heavy on the julfa-tabriz road below, a few headlights already on and no way for their prey to escape the ambush if they decided to stage it. "hashemi, another possibility's that mzytryk could have found out in the nick that he's been betrayed by his son, and he's sent a warning to the khan whose cover would also have been blown. don't forget we still haven't found out what happened to rakoczy since your late departed friend general janan let him go."
"that dog'd never do it on his own," hashemi said with a twisted smile, remembering his vast joy when he had touched the transmit button and had seen the resultant car bomb explosion obliterate that enemy, along with his house, his future, and his past. "that would be ordered by abrim pahmudi."
"why?"
hashemi veiled his eyes and glanced at armstrong but read no hidden guile therein. you know too many secrets, robert, know about the rakoczy tapes, and worst of all about my group four and that i assisted janan into hell where the khan will soon join him, as talbot's due to in a couple of days, and you, my old friend, at my leisure. should i tell you pahmudi has ordered talbot punished for his crimes against iran? should i tell you i'm happy to oblige? for years i've wanted talbot removed but've never dared to go against him alone. now pahmudi is to blame, may god burn him, and another irritant will be out of my way. ah, yes, and pahmudi himself this coming week but you, robert, you're the chosen assassin for that, probably to perish. pahmudi's not worth one of my real assassins.
he chortled to himself, trudging down the hill, not feeling the cold, not worried about mzytryk's nonappearance. i've more important worries, he was thinking. at all costs i've got to protect my group four assassins my guarantee for an earthly paradise with power over even khomeini himself.
"pahmudi's the only one who could have ordered rakoczy's release," he said. "soon i'll find out why and where he is. he's either in the soviet embassy, a soviet safe house, or in a savama interrogation dungeon."
"or safely out of the country by now."
"then he's safely dead the kgb don't tolerate traitors." hashemi smiled sardonically. "what's your bet?"
for a moment armstrong did not answer, thrown by the question that was unusual for hashemi who disapproved of gambling, as he did. now. the last time he had bet was in hong kong in '63 with bribe money that had been put into his desk drawer when he was a superintendent, cid. forty thousand hong kong dollars about seven thousand u.s. then. against all his principles, he had taken the heung yau, the fragrant grease as it was called there, out of the drawer and, at the races that afternoon, had bet it all on the nose of a horse called pilot fish, all in one insane attempt to recoup his gambling losses horses and the stock market.
this was the first bribe money he had ever taken in eighteen years in the force though it was always readily available in abundance. that afternoon he had won heavily and had replaced the money before the police sergeant giver had noticed it had been touched with more than enough left over for his debts. even so he had been disgusted with himself and appalled at his stupidity. he had never bet again, nor touched heung yau again though the opportunity was always there. "you're a bloody fool, robert," some of his peers would say, "no harm in a little dolly money for retirement."
