"islam forbids usury and the paying of interest," the mullah said with a total finality that rocked gavallan and mciver. "banks may not charge interest. none. it is usury."
gavallan glanced at mciver, then uneasily turned his full attention to the mullah. "if banks cannot charge interest, how will business operate internally and externally?"
"according to islamic law. only islamic law. the koran forbids usury." the mullah added distastefully, "what foreign banks do is evil it's because of them iran had many troubles. banks are evil institutions and will not be tolerated. as to iran helicopter company, the islamic revolutionary komiteh has ordered all joint ventures suspended, pending review." the mullah waved the papers. "all these aircraft are iranian, iranian registry, iranian!" again he peered at the paper. "here in tehran you have three 212s, four 206s, and one 47g4 here at the airport, haven't you?"
"they're spread around," mciver told him carefully, "here, doshan tappeh and galeg morghi."
"but they're all here, in tehran?"
mciver had been gauging him while gavallan had been talking, also trying to read upside down what the papers contained. the one in the mullah's hand listed all their airplanes with their registration numbers and was a copy of the
manifest that was kept permanently in the tower, that s-g was obliged to keep permanently up to date. his stomach twisted nastily when he glimpsed ephbc ringed in red lochart's 212 also ep-hfc, pettikin's 206.
"we've one 212 on loan to bandar delam," he said, deciding to play it safe, inwardly cursing valik and hoping that tom lochart was either at bandar delam or safely on the way home. "the resttre here."
"on loan that would be ep ep-hbc?" the mullah said, very pleased with himself. "now, wh " the traffic controller's voice interrupted him: "echotangolimalima, request refused. call isfahan on 118.3 good day."
"quite right good." the mullah nodded, satisfied.
gavallan and mciver cursed inwardly even more, and sabolir, who had been silently watching and listening to the byplay, understanding very clearly how the two men were trying to manipulate the mullah, chortled to himself, carefully avoiding anyone's eyes, staring at the floor for safety. once, a moment ago, when the mullah's attention was elsewhere, he had deftly caught mciver's eye and half smiled at him, encouragingly, pretending friendship, petrified mciver would misconstrue all those previous favors which were only repayment for his smoothing the way of inbound spares and outbound crews. on the radio this morning, a spokesman for the
"islamic revolutionary komiteh" had urged all loyal citizens to denounce anyone who had committed crimes "against islam." during today three of his colleagues had been arrested which had sent a shudder of horror through the whole airport. islamic guards gave no specific reasons, just dragged the men away and put them into evin jail the loathed savak prison where, it was rumored, half a hundred "enemies of islam" had been shot today after summary trials. one of those arrested was one of his own men who had accepted the 10,000 rials and the three 5-gallon cans of gasoline from mciver's storeroom yesterday the man had kept one, and the other two he himself had correctly taken home last night as was his due. oh, god, let them not search my house.
over the hf was johnny hogg, his voice still breezy: "echotangolimalima, thank you. up the revolution and good day." then on their own channel, tersely: "hq confirm."
mciver reached over and switched to their channel. "standby one!" he ordered, deeply conscious of the mullah. "do you thi "
"ah. you talk direct with the aircraft a private channel?"
"company channel, excellency. it's normal practice."
"normal. yes. so ep-hbc is at bandar delam?" the mullah said and read from the paper: "'delivering spares.' is that right?"
"yes," mciver said, praying.
"when is this aircraft due to return?"
mciver could feel the weight of the mullah's attention on him. "i don't know.
i haven't been able to raise bandar delam. as soon as i can, i'll tell you. now, excellency, about clearances for our various flights, do you th "
"ep-hfc. ep-hfc is in tabriz?"
"she's at the small forsha airstrip," mciver said, not feeling very good at all, praying that the madness at the qazvin roadblock had gone unreported and would be forgotten. again he wondered where erikki was he was supposed to have met them at the apartment at three o'clock to come out to the airport but had never appeared.
"forsha airstrip?"
he saw the mullah staring at him and concentrated with an effort. "ep- hfc went to tabriz on saturday to deliver spares and pick up a crew change. she returned last night. she'll be on the new manifest tomorrow."
the mullah was suddenly grim. "but any incoming or outgoing aircraft must be instantly reported. we have no record of any inward clearance yesterday."
"captain pettikin couldn't raise tehran atc yesterday. the military were in charge, i believe. he tried calling all the way inbound." mciver added quickly, "if we're to resume operations, who will authorize our iranoil flights? mr. darius as usual?"
"er, yes, i would think so. but why wasn't its arrival reported today?"
gavallan said with a forced brightness, "i'm very impressed with your efficiency, excellency. it's a pity the military air traffic controllers on duty yesterday don't share it. i can see the new islamic republic will far surpass any western operation. it will be a pleasure to serve our new employers. up the new! may we know your name?"
"i, i'm mohammed tehrani," the man said, diverted again.
"then excellency tehrani, may i ask that you give us the benefit of your authority? if my echo tango lima lima could have your permission to land tomorrow, we could immeasurably improve our efficiency to parallel your own. i can then make sure our company gives the ayatollah khomeini and his personal assistants like yourself the service he and they have a right to expect. the spares etll will carry will put back two more 212s into operation and i can return to london to increase our support for the great revolution. of course, you agree?"
"it's not possible. the komiteh w "
"i'm sure the komiteh would take your advice. oh, i noticed you've had the misfortune to break your glasses. terrible. i can hardly see without mine. perhaps i could have the 125 bring a new pair for your tomorrow from al shargaz?"
the mullah was unsettled. his eyes were very bad. the wish for new glasses, good glasses, almost overpowered him. oh, it would be an unbelievable treasure, a gift from god. surely god has put this thought into the foreigner's
head. "i don't think... i don't know. the komiteh couldn't do what you ask so quickly."
"i know it's difficult, but if you'd intercede for us with your komiteh, surely they'd listen. it would help us immeasurably and we'd be in your debt," gavallan added, using the time-honored phrase that in any language meant, what do you want in exchange? he saw mclver switch to the tower frequency, offer the mike. "you press the button to talk, excellency, if you would honor us with your assistance..."
the mullah tehrani hesitated, not knowing what to do. as he looked at the mike, mciver glanced at sabolir, pointedly.
sabolir understood at once, his reflexes perfect. "of course whatever you decide, excellency tehrani, your komiteh will agree," he said, his voice unctuous. "but tomorrow, tomorrow i understand you are ordered to visit the other airfields, to make sure where and how many civilian helicopters are in your area which is all tehran? yes?"
"those are orders, yes," the mullah agreed. "i and some members of my komiteh have to visit the other airfields tomorrow."
sabolir sighed heavily, pretending disappointment, and mciver had difficulty not laughing so overplayed was the performance. "unfortunately it would not be possible for you to visit them all by car or foot and still be back to supervise, personally, the arrival and immediate turnaround of this single aircraft that has, through no fault of its own, been turned away because of arrogant traffic controllers in kish and isfahan who dared not to consult you first."
"true, true," the mullah agreed. "they were at fault!"
"would 7:00 a.m. suit you, excellency tehrani?" mciver said at once. "we'd be glad to help our airport komiteh. i'll give you my best pilot and you'll be back in plenty of time toer, to supervise the turnaround. how many men would come with you?"
"six..." the mullah said absently, overwhelmed with the idea of being able to complete his orders god's work so conveniently and luxuriously, like a veritable ayatollah. "this... this could be done?"
"of course!" mciver said. "at 7:00 a.m. here. captain, er, chief captain nathaniel lane will have a 212 ready. seven including yourself, and up to seven wives. you of course would fly in the cockpit with the pilot. consider it arranged."
the mullah had only flown twice in his life to england and university and home again, packed into a special, student-charter iran air flight. he beamed and reached for the mike: "at 7:00 a.m."
mciver and gavallan did not betray their relief at their victory. nor did sabolir.
sabolir was content that the mullah was entrapped. as god wants! now if
i'm falsely accused, now i have an ally, he told himself. this fool, this son of a dog false mullah, hasn't he accepted a bribe clearly not pishkesh two in fact, some new glasses and wasteful, unauthorised air travel? hasn't he deliberately allowed himself to become the dupe of these glib and ever-devious english who still think they can seduce us with trinkets and steal our heritage for a few rials? listen to the fool, giving the foreigners what they want!
he glanced at mclver. pointedly. and caught his eye. then once more looked back at the floor. now you arrogant western son of a dog, he thought, what valuable favor should you do for me in return for my assistance?
at the french club: 7:10 p.m. gavallan accepted the glass of red wine from the uniformed french waiter, mclver, the white.
both touched glasses and drank gratefully, tired after their journey from the airport. they were sitting in the lounge with other guests, mostly europeans, men and women, overlooking the snow-covered gardens and tennis courts, the chairs comfortable and modern, the bar extensive many other rooms for banquets, dancing, dining, cards, sauna in other parts of this fine building that was in the best part of tehran. the french club was the only expat club still functioning the american services club, with its huge complex of entertainment facilities, sports field, and baseball pitch, as well as the british, parsamerican, german clubs, and most others had been closed, their bars and stocks of liquor smashed.
"my god, that's good," mclver said, the ice-cold, cleansing wine taking away the dross. "don't tell gen we stopped by."
"no need to, mac. she'll know."
mclver nodded. "you're right, never mind. i managed to book here tonight for dinner costs an arm and a leg but worth it. used to be standing room only at this time of night..." he looked around at a burst of laughter from some frenchmen in a far corner. "for a moment it sounded like jean-luc, seems years since we had his pre-christmas party here wonder if we'll ever have another."
"sure you will," gavallan said to encourage him, concerned that the fire seemed to be out of his old friend. "don't let that mullah get to you."
"he gave me the creeps so did armstrong come to think of it. and talbot. but you're right, andy, i shouldn't let it get me down. we're in better shape than we were two days ago..." more laughter distracted him and he began thinking of all the great times he had had here with genny and pettikin and lochart won't think about him now and all the other pilots and their many friends, british, american, iranian. all gone, most gone. it used to be: "gee, let's go over to the french club, the tennis finals are this afternoon..." or:
"valik's cocktail party's on from 8:00 pm. at the iranian officers club..." or: "there's a polo match, baseball match, swimming party, skiing party..." or: "sorry, can't this weekend we're going to the ambassador's do on the caspian..." or: "i'd love to, genny can't, she's shopping for carpets in isfahan..."
"it used to be we had so much to do here, andy, the social life was the best ever, no doubt about that," he said. "now it's hard just trying to keep in touch with our ops."
gavallan nodded. "mac," he said kindly, "straight answer to a straight question: do you want to quit iran and let someone else take over?"
mclver stared at him blankly. "good god, whatever gave you that idea? no, absolutely no! you mean you think because i was a bit down that... good god, no," he said, but his mind was suddenly jerked into asking the same question, unthinkable a few days ago: are you losing it, your will, your grip, your need to continue is it time to quit? i don't know, he thought, achingly chilled by the truth, but his face smiled. "everything's fine, andy. nothing we can't deal with."
"good. sorry, i hope you didn't mind me asking. i think i was encouraged by the mullah except when he was talking about 'our iranian aircraft.'"
