"jammed for miles."
"the old man's stationed the 125 at al shargaz for a couple of weeks to get all our people out if necessary or bring in fresh crews."
"good. scot gavallan's overdue for leave and also a couple of our mechanics can the 125 get clearance to stop at shiraz?"
"we're trying next week. khomeini and bazargan want full oil production back, so we think they'll cooperate."
"you'll be able to bring in new crews, charlie?" sayada asked, wondering if a british 125 should be allowed to operate so freely. damn british, always conniving!
"that's the plan, sayada." pettikin poured more boiling water into the teapot and did not notice the grimace on jean-luc's face. "we've been more or less ordered by the british embassy to evacuate all nonessential personnel we got out a few redundancies, and genny, and then johnny hogg went to pick up manuela starke at kowiss."
"manuela's at kowiss?" sayada was as surprised as jean-luc.
pettikin told him how she had arrived and mciver had sent her down there. "so much going on it's difficult to keep tabs on everything. whattre you doing here and how're things at zagros? you'll stay for dinner i'm cooking tonight."
jean-luc hid his horror. "sorry, mon vieux, tonight is impossible. as to zagros, at zagros things are perfect, as always; after all it is the french sector. i'm here to fetch schlumberger i return at dawn tomorrow and will have to bring them back in two days how can i resist the extra flying?" he smiled at sayada and she smiled back. "in fact, charlie, i'm long overdue a weekend where's tom lochart, when's he coming back to zagros?"
pettikin's stomach twisted. since they had had the call three days ago from rudi lutz at abadan tower reporting that hbc had been shot down trying to
sneak over the border and that tom lochart was "back off leave," they had had no further information other than one formal call relayed through kowiss that lochart had started back for tehran by road. no official inquiries, yet, about the hijack.
i wish to god tom was back, pettikin thought. if sayada wasn't here i'd tell jean-luc about it, he's a bigger friend of tom's than i am, but i don't know about sayada. after all, she's not family, she works for kuwaitis and this hbc business could be called treason.
absently he poured a cup and handed it to sayada, another to jean-luc, hot, black, with sugar and goat's milk which neither of them liked but accepted out of politeness. "tom's done what he had to do," he said carefully, making it sound light. "he started back from bandar delam day before yesterday by road. god knows how long he'll take but he should've been here last night. easy. let's hope he arrives today."
"that would be perfect," jean-luc said. "then he could take the schlumberger team back to zagros and i'd take a few days' leave."
"you've just had leave. and you're in command."
"well, at the very least he can come back with me, take over the base, and i'll return here sunday." jean-luc beamed at sayada. "voild, it's all fixed." without noticing it, he took a sip of tea and almost choked. "mon. dieu, charlie, i love you like a brother but this is merde."
sayada laughed and pettikin envied him. still, he thought, his heart picking up a beat, paula's alitalia flight's due back any day... what wouldn't i give to have her eyes light up for me like sayada's do for m'sieur seduction himself.
better go easy, charlie pettikin. you could make a damn fool of yourself. she's twenty-nine, you're fifty-six, and you've only chatted her up a couple of times. yes. but she excites me more than i've been excited in years and now i can understand tom lochart going overboard for sharazad.
the warning buzzer went on the high frequency transmitter-receiver on the sideboard. he got up and turned up the volume. "hq tehran, go ahead!"
"this is captain ayre in kowiss for captain mciver. urgent." the voice was mixed with static and low.
"this is captain pettikin, captain mciver's not here at the moment. you're two by five." this was a measure, one to five, of the signal strength. "can i help?"
"standby one."
jean-luc grunted. "what's with freddy and you? captain ayre and captain pettikin?"
"it's just a code," pettikin said absently staring at the set, and sayada's attention increased. "it just sort of developed and means someone's there or
listening in who shouldn't. a hostile. replying with the same formality means you got the message."
"that's very clever," sayada said. "do you have lots of codes, charlie?"
"no, but i'm beginning to wish we had. it's a bugger not knowing what's going on really no face-to-face contact, no mail, phones and the telex ropy with so many trigger-happy putters muscling us all. why don't they turn in their guns and let's all live happily ever after?"
the hf was humming nicely. outside the windows, the day was overcast and dull, the clouds promising more snow, the late afternoon light making all the city roofs drab and even the mountains beyond. they waited impatiently.
"this is captain ayre at kowiss..." again the voice was eroded by static and they had to concentrate to hear clearly. "... first i relay a message received from zagros three a few minutes ago from captain gavallan." jean-luc stiffened. "the message said exactly: 'pan pan pan"' the international aviation distress signal just below mayday "'i've just been told by the local komiteh we are no longer persona grata in zagros and to evacuate the area with all expatriates from all our rigs within forty- eight hours, or else. request immediate advice on procedure.' end of message. did you copy?"
"yes," pettikin said hastily, jotting some notes.
"that's all he said, except he sounded checker."
"i'll inform captain mciver and call you back as soon as possible." jeanluc leaned forward and pettikin let him take the mike.
"this's jean-luc, freddy, please call scot and tell him i'll be back as planned tomorrow before noon. good to talk to you, thanks, here's charlie again." he handed the mike back, all of his bonhomie vanished.
"will do, captain sessonne. nice to talk to you. next: the 125 picked up our outgoings along with mrs. starke, including captain jon tyrer who'd been wounded in an aborted leftist counterattack at bandar delam..."
"what attack?" jean-luc muttered.
"first i've heard of it." pettikin was just as concerned.
"... and, according to plan, will bring back replacement crews in a few days. next: captain starke." they all heard the hesitation and underlying anxiety and the curious stilted delivery as though this information was being read: "captain starke has been taken into kowiss for questioning by a komiteh..." both men gasped. "... to ascertain facts about a mass helicopter escape of pro-shah air force officers from isfahan on the thirteenth, last tuesday, believed to have been piloted by a european. next: air operations continue to improve under close supervision of the new management. mr. esvandiary is now our iranoil area manager and wants us to take over all guerney contracts. to do this would require three more 21 2s and one 206. please advise. we need
spares for hbn, hkj, and hgx and money for overdue wages. that's all for now."
pettikin kept scribbling, his brain hardly working. "i'veer, i've noted everything and will inform captain mciver as soon as he returns. you said, er, you said 'an attack on bandar delam." please give the details."
the airwaves were silent but for static. they waited. then again ayre's voice, not stilted now: "i've no information other than there was an antiayatollah khomeini attack that captains starke and lutz helped put down. afterward captain starke brought the wounded here for treatment. of our personnel only tyrer was creased. that is all."
pettikin felt a bead of sweat on his face and he wiped it off. "what... what happened to tyrer?"
silence. then: "a slight head wound. dr. nutt said he'd be okay."
jean-luc said, "charlie, ask him what was that about isfahan."
as though in dreamtime, pettikin saw his fingers click on the sender switch. "what was that about isfahan?"
they waited in the silence. then: "i have no information other than what i gave you."
"someone's telling him what to say," jean-luc muttered.
pettikin pressed the sending button, changed his mind. so many questions to ask that ayre clearly could not answer. "thank you, captain," he said, glad that his voice sounded firmer. "please ask hotshot to put his request for the extra choppers in writing, with suggested contract time and payment schedule. put it on our 125 when they bring replacements. keep... keep us informed about captain starke. mcivertll get back to you as soon as possible."
"wilco. out."
now only static. pettikin fiddled with the switches. the two men looked at each other, oblivious of sayada who sat quietly on the sofa, missing nothing. "'close supervision'? that sounds bad, jean-luc."
"yes. probably means they have to fly with armed green bands." jean- luc swore, all his thinking on zagros and how young scot gavallan would cope without his leadership. "merde! when i left this morning everything was five by five with shiraz atc as helpful as a swiss hotelier off-season. merde!"
pettikin was suddenly reminded of rakoczy and how close he had come to disaster. for a second he considered telling jean-luc, then decided against it. old news! "maybe we should contact shiraz atc for help?"
"mae might have an idea. mon dieu, doesn't sound too good either for duke these komitehs're breeding like lice. bazargan and khomeini better deal with them quickly before the two of them're bitten to death." jean-luc got up, very concerned, and stretched, then saw sayada curled up on the sofa, her untouched cup of tea on the small table beside her, smiling at him.
at once his bonhomie returned. there's nothing more i can do for young scot at the moment, or for duke, but there is for sayada. "sorry, che'rie," he said with a beam. "you see, without me there are always problems at zagros. charlie, we'll leave now i've got to check the apartment but we'll return before dinner. say 8:00 p.m.; by then mac should be back, eh?"
"yes. won't you have a drink? sorry, we've no wine. whisky?" he offered it halflheartedly as this was their last three quarters of a bottle.
"no thanks, mon vieux." jean-luc got into his coat, noticed in the mirror that he was looking as dashing as ever, and thought of the cases of wine and the tins of cheese he had had the wisdom to tell his wife to stock in their apartment. ``a bientdt, i'll bring you some wine."
"charlie," sayada said, watching both of them carefully as she had done since the hf came to life, "what did scotty mean about the helicopter escape?"
pettikin shrugged. "all sorts of rumors about all sorts of escapes, by land, sea, and air. always 'europeans' supposed to be involved," he said, hoping he sounded convincing. "we're blamed for everything."
and why not, you are responsible, sayada bertolin thought without malice. politically, she was delighted to see them both sweating. personally, she wasn't. she liked both of them and most of the pilots, particularly jean-luc who pleased her immensely and amused her constantly. i'm lucky to be palestinian, she told herself, and coptic christian of ancient lineage. that gives me strengths they don't have, an awareness of a heritage back to biblical times, an understanding of life they could never reach, along with the capacity to dissociate politics from friendship and the bedchamber as long as it is necessary and prudent. haven't we had thirty centuries of survival training? hasn't gaza been settled for three thousand years?
"there's a rumor bakhtiar's slipped out of the country and fled to paris."
"i don't believe that, charlie," sayada said. "but there's another that i do," she added, noticing he had not answered her question about the isfahan helicopter. "it seems your general valik and his family fled to join the other ihc partners in london. between them they're supposed to have salted away millions of dollars."
"partners?" jean-luc said contemptuously. "robbers, all of them, whether here or london, every year worse than before."
"they're not all bad," pettikin said.
jean-luc said, "those cretins steal the sweat of our brow, sayada. i'm astounded old man gavallan lets them get away with it."
"come off it, jean-luc," pettikin said. "he fights them every inch of the way."
"every inch of our way, old friend. we do the flying, he doesn't. as for valik..." jean-luc shrugged with gallic extravagance. "if i was an iranian
of wealth, i would have gone months ago with all i could collect. it's been clear for months that the shah was out of control. now it's the french revolution and the terror all over again but without our style, sense, civilized heritage, or manners." he shook his head disgustedly. "what a waste! when you think of all the centuries of teaching and wealth we french've put in trying to help these people crawl out of the dark ages and what have they learned? not even how to make a decent loaf of bread!"
