willi looked at the raft, then at the sea. "you go, scrag. me i wait for the wood dinghy with someone up front with a machine gun."
"there's no problem, for god's sake. c'me on."
"scrag," willi said sweetly, "i love you like a brother but i'm not moving. that beetch frightened me to death." he sat down in the center of the raft and put his arms around his knees. "that motherless beetch's lurking somewhere, bottoming. you want to go, okay, but me, i know the book says when in doubt, duck. order up the other boat on the walkie-talkie."
"i'll bring her myself." the dinghy squelched as scragger stepped carefully into it, nearly capsized, and he scrambled back on the raft cursing, quicker than he wanted to. "wot the hell're you laughing about?"
"you got out of there like you got jellyfish on your bum." willi was still laughing. "scrag, why don't you swim home?"
"get stuffed." scragger looked at the shore, heart pounding. today it seemed far away when most days it was so close.
"you swim and you're crazy," willi said, seriously now. "don't do it."
scragger paid no attention to him. you know something? he was thinking. you're scared fartless. that bugger was a small one and you hooked him and he got away and now he's miles out in the gulf. yes, but where?
he put a tentative toe in the water. something below caught his eye. he knelt on the side of the raft and pulled up the cage. it was empty. the whole side was torn off. "stone the crows!"
"i'll call up the boat," willi said, reaching for the walkie-talkie. "with a machine gun."
"no need for that, willi," scragger said with a show of bravado. "race you to the shore."
"not on your nelly! scrag, for god's sake don't..." willi was appalled as scragger dived over the side. he saw him surface and strike out strongly, then all at once turn back and scramble back onto the raft, spluttering and choking with laughter.
"fooled you, huh? you're right, me son, anyone who swims ashore's crazy! call up the boat, i'm fishing for more dinner."
* * *
when the boat came, one of the mechanics was on the tiller with two excited green bands in the bow, others watching from the beach. they were halfway back to shore when the shark appeared out of nowhere and began circling. the green bands started firing and, in their excitement, one fell overboard. scragger managed to grab his gun and opened up on the shark that raced for the petrified man now standing in the shallow water. the bullets went into the shark's head and into the eyes and though the shark was dead it did not believe it, just rolled over thrashing, its jaws working and tail working, then went driving ahead for its prey. but without the guidance of scent or eyesight it missed the man and went on up the sloping bottom until it beached itself and thrashed around, half in and half out of the water.
"scrag," willi said, when he could talk, "you've the luck of the devil. if you'd swum in he'd've got you. you've the luck of the devil."
it iraq ? qazvln *tehran ~ baghdad: ~ i r a n ~ ~
z dam ado isfahan tt
bandar deeam 1~
at rig rosa zagros: 3:05 p.m. tom lochart got out of the 206 stiffly and shook hands with mimmo sera, the "company man" who greeted him warmly. with lochart was the schlumberger expert, jesper almqvist, a tall young swede in his late twenties. he carried his special case with the necessary down-hole tools all his other equipment already here, on site. "buan giorno, jesper, good to see you. she's waiting for you."
"okay, mr. sera, i'll go to work." the young man walked off toward the rig. he had logged most of the wells in the field.
"come inside for a moment, tom." sera led the way through the snow to the of rice trailer. inside it was warm and a pot of coffee was on the big-bellied, iron, wood-burning furnace near the far wall. "coffee?"
"thanks, i'm bushed, the trip from tehran was boring."
sera handed him a cup. "what the hell's going on?"
"thanks. i don't know exactly i just dropped off jean-luc at the base, had a brief word with scot, then thought it best to bring jesper at once and come see you myself. haven't seen nitchak khan yet; i'll do that soon as i
get back but scot was quite clear: nitchak khan told him the komiteh had given us forty-eight hours to leave. mel "
"but why? mamma mia, if you leave we'll have to close down the whole field completely."
"i know. my god, the coffee's good! nitchak's always been reasonable in the past you heard this komiteh shot nasiri and burned the schoolhouse?"
"yes, terrible. he was a fine fellow, though pro-shah."
"so were we all when the shah was in power," lochart said, thinking of sharazad and jared bakravan and emir paknouri and hbc always back to hbc, and sharazad. at dawn he had left her, hating to leave her. she was still deep in sleep. he had thought about waking her but there was little to say. zagros was his responsibility and she looked so exhausted, the bruise on her face vivid. his note said: "back in a couple of days. any problem see mac or charlie. all my love." he looked back at sera. "mciver's got an appointment this morning with a top official in the government, so with any luck he can straighten everything out. he said he'd get a message to us soon as he got back. your radio's working?"
sera shrugged. "as usual: from time to time."
"if i hear anything i'll get word to you, either tonight or first thing. i hope it's all a storm in a bucket of shit. but if we have to clear out, mciver told me temporarily to base out of kowiss. there's no way in hell we can service you from there. what do you think?"
"if you're forced out, we'll have to evacuate. you'll have to ferry us to shiraz. we've company hq there; they can put us up or fly us out until we're allowed back. madonna, there would be eleven bases to close, double shifts."
"we could use both 212s, no sweat."
"plenty of sweat, tom." sera was very worried. "there's no way to close down and get the men out in forty-eight hours. no way at all."
"maybe it won't be necessary. let's hope, huh?" lochart got up.
"if we have to evacuate, most of the crew'll cheer we haven't had a replacement in weeks and they're all overdue leave." sera got up and glanced out of the window. they could just see the afternoon sun glinting off the crest over rig bellissima. "you heard what a fine job scot did, with pietro?"
"yes. the lads call him bomber pietro now. sorry about mario guineppa."
"she sara, sara! doctorstre all stronzi he had a medical last month or so. it was perfect. stronzo!" the italian looked at him keenly. "what's up, tom?"
"nothing."
"how was tehran?"
"not good."
"did scot tell you anything i don't know?"
"a reason for the komiteh's order? no. no, he didn't. maybe i can get
something out of nitchak khan." lochart shook hands and went off. once he was airborne, he thought of the story scot had told him, jean- luc, and jesper about what happened in the village after the komiteh had sentenced nitchak khan to death:
"the moment they marched nitchak khan out of the schoolhouse and i was alone, i slipped out the back window and sneaked into the forest as quietly as i could. a couple of minutes later i heard a lot of firing and rushed back to base as fast as possible must admit i was scared artless. it took me quite a time, bloody snow's in ten-foot drifts in places. not long after i got back old nitchak khan and the mullah and some of the villagers came up here my god, i was so relieved! i thought for certain nitchak and the mullah'd been shot and i guess they were just as relieved because they stared at me pop-eyed, thinking me dead too."
"why?" tom had asked.
"nitchak said that just before the komiteh left they fired the schoolhouse, supposedly with me still in it. he said they had ordered all foreigners out of the zagros. everyone particularly us with our choppers, out by tomorrow night."
lochart was watching the land below, the base not far off, the village nearby. the afternoon sun was sliding off it, going behind the mountains. there was plenty of daylight left but no longer the sun to warm them. just before he had left with jesper for rig rosa and no one was near, scot had told him really what happened. "i saw it all, tom. i didn't run off when i said i did. i haven't dared tell anyone but i was watching out of the schoolhouse window, frightened to bloody death, and saw it all. everything happened so fast. my god, you should've seen old nitchak's wife with the rifle, talk about a tigress. and tough! she shot a green band in the belly, then left him to scream a bit and... banggg! stopped it. i'll bet she was the one who shot the first bastard, the leader, whoever the hell he was. never seen such a woman, never'd believe she could be like that."
"what about nasiri?"
"nasiri never had a chance. he just ran off and they shot him. i'm sure they shot him just because he was a witness and not a villager. that got my wits working, and my legs, and i sneaked out of the window like i said, and when nitchak came up here i pretended to believe his story. but i swear to god, tom, all those komiteh bastards were dead before i left the village, so nitchak must've ordered the schoolhouse burned."
"nitchak khan wouldn't do that, not with you in it. someone must've seen you sneak out."
"i hope to christ you're wrong because then i'm a living threat to the village the only witness."
lochart landed and walked down to the village. he went alone. nitchak khan and the mullah were waiting for him in the coffeehouse as arranged. and many villagers, no women. the coffeehouse was the meeting house, a oneroom hut made from logs and mud wattle with a sloping roof and crude chimney, the rafters black from years of the wood fire's smoke. rough carpets to sit on.
"salaam, kalandar, peace be upon you," lochart said, using the honorific title to imply that nitchak khan was also leader of the base.
"peace be upon you, kalandar of the flying men," the old man said politely. lochart heard the slap and saw there was none of the friendliness of olden times within the eyes. "please sit here in comfort. your journey was beneficent?"
"as god wants. i missed my home here in the zagros, and my friends of the zagros. you are blessed by god, kalandar." lochart sat on the uncomfortable carpet and exchanged the interminable pleasantries, waiting for nitchak khan to allow him to come to the point. the room was claustrophobic and smelled rancid, the air heavy with body odors and goat smells and sheep smells. the other men watched silently.
"what brings your excellency to our village?" nitchak khan said and a current of expectancy went through the closeness.
"i was shocked to hear that strangers came to our village and had the impertinence to lay evil hands on you."
"as god wants." nitchak's eyes narrowed slightly. "strangers came to our village but they went away leaving our village as it has always been. your camp, unfortunately, is not to be the same."
"but why, kalandar? we have been good for the village and employ many of your peo "
"it is not for me to question our government or these komitehs of our government or our commander of the people, the ayatollah himself. the young flier saw and heard, so there is nothing more to be said."
lochart perceived the trap. "the young flier heard and saw only what happened in the schoolhouse, kalandar. i ask that we, as old but known guests..." he chose the word carefully, "that we be allowed time to seek a change in a ruling that appears to go against the interests of the zagros."
"the zagros extends a thousand miles and crosses kash'kai lands into b.akhtiari and the lands of a hundred other tribes. yazdek is yazdek," nitchak rasped, then quoted from the rubaiyat, "'resign your body to fate and put up with pain,/because what the pen has written for you,/it will not unwrite.'"
"true, but did not omar khayyam also write: 'the good and evil that are in man's heart,/the joy and sorrow that are our fortune and destiny,/do not impugn them to the wheel of heaven because, in the light of reason,/the wheel is a thousand times more helpless than you.'"
a rustle went through the villagers. the old mullah nodded, pleased, and said nothing. nitchak khan's eyes smiled though his mouth did not and lochart knew the meeting would be better now. he blessed sharazad who had opened his ears and eyes and senses to the rubaiyat that, in farsi, was beyond elegance.
everyone waited. nitchak khan scratched his beard, reached into his pocket, and found a pack of cigarettes. lochart casually brought out the pishkesh, a gold-plated dunhill lighter he had bought from effer jordon for just this purpose: "effer, i'll goddamn kill you if it doesn't work first time!" he caressed the flint. the wick ignited and he breathed again. his hand was very steady as he leaned forward and held the light for the old man.
nitchak khan hesitated, then puffed and took a deep drag of smoke. "thank you." his eyes narrowed as lochart put the lighter on the carpet in front of him.