"i'll manage."
"how, please tell me and sharazad, of course, she has the right, the legal right to know. how?"
sharazad muttered, "i've jewelry, tommy, i can sell that."
cruelly meshang left the words hanging in the air over the table, delighted that lochart was at bay, humiliated, stripped naked. filthy infidel! if it wasn't for the locharts in our world, the rapacious foreigners, exploiters of iran, we'd be free of khomeini and his mullahs, my father would still be alive, sharazad married properly. "well?"
"what do you suggest?" lochart said, no way out of the trap.
"what do you suggest?"
"i don't know."
"meanwhile you've no house, very substantial bills, and soon you'll be jobless i doubt if your company will be allowed to operate here very much longer; quite correctly foreign companies are persona non grata." meshang was delighted that he had remembered the latir! phrase, "no longer needed, wanted, or necessary."
"if that happens i'll resign and apply to fly choppers for iranian companies. they'll need pilots immediately. i can speak farsi, i'm an expert pilot and trainer. khomeini... the imam wants oil production brought back to normal immediately, so of course they'll need trained pilots."
meshang laughed to himself. yesterday minister ali kia had come to the bazaar, correctly humble and anxious to please, bringing an exquisite pishkesh wasn't his annual "consulting fee" due for renewal soon7. and had told him of his plans to acquire all partnership airplanes and freeze all bank accounts. "we'll have no problem to get all the mercenaries we need to fly our helicopters, excellency meshang," kia had said. "they'll flock to us at half their normal salaries."
yes, they will, but not you, temporary husband of my sister, not even for a tenth salary. "i suggest you be more practical." meshang examined his beautifully manicured nails that this afternoon had fondled the fourteen-year-old all kia had given him: "the first of many, excellency!" lovely white circassian skin, the temporary marriage for this afternoon that he had gladly extended for the week so easily arranged. "the present rulers of iran are xenophobia, particularly about americans."
"i'm canadian."
"i doubt if that matters. it's logical to presume you won't be permitted to stay." he looked sharply at sharazad, "or to return."
"surmise," lochart said through his teeth, seeing the look on her face.
"captain, my late father's charity can no longer be supported times are hard. i want to know how you intend to support my sister and her forthcoming child, where you intend to live and how."
abruptly lochart got up, startling everyone else. "you've made your point, clearly, excellency meshang. i'll answer you tomorrow."
"i want an answer now."
lochart's face closed. "first i'll talk to my wife and then i'll talk to you tomorrow. come on, sharazad." he stalked out. in tears she stumbled after him and closed the door.
meshang smiled sardonically, picked up another sweet, and began to eat it.
zarah exhaled, enraged. "what in the name of g "
he reached over and smashed her openhanded around the face. "shut up!" he shouted. it was not the first time he had hit her but never before with such violence. "shut up or i'll divorce you! i'll divorce you, you hear? i'm going to take another wife anyway someone young, not dry and an old nagging hag like you. don't you understand sharazad's in danger, we're all in danger because of that man? go beg god's forgiveness for your foul manners! get out!" she fled. he hurled a cup after her.
in the northern suburbs: 9:14 p.m. azadeh drove the small, badly dented car fast along the street that was lined with fine houses and apartment buildings most of them dark, a few vandalised headlights carelessly on bright, dazzling the oncoming traffic, her horn blaring. she braked, skidded as she cut dangerously across the traffic, narrowly avoiding an accident, and headed into the garage of one of the buildings with a screech of rubber.
the garage was dark. in the side pocket was a flashlight. she turned it on, got out, and locked the car. her coat was well cut and warm, skirt and boots and fur mits and hat, her hair flowing. on the other side of the garage was a staircase and a switch for the lights. when she tried it, the nearest bulb sparked and died. she went up the stairs heavily. four apartments on each landing. the apartment that her father had lent her and erikki was on the third landing, facing the street. today was monday. she had been here since saturday. "it's not risky, mac," she had said when she announced she was going and he had tried to persuade her to remain in his apartment, "but if my father wants me back in tabriz, staying here with you won't help me at all. in the apartment i've a phone, i'm only half a mile away and can walk it easily, i've clothes there and a servant. i'll check every day and come into the office and wait, that's all i can do."
she had not said that she preferred to be away from him and charlie pettikin. i like them both dearly, she thought, but they're rather old and pedantic and nothing like erikki. or johnny. ah, johnny, what to do about you, dare i see you again?
the third landing was dark but she had the flashlight and found her key, put
it in the lock, felt eyes on her, and whirled in fright. the swarthy, unshaven lout had his pants open and he waved his stiff penis at her. "i've been waiting for you, princess of all whores, and god curse me if it's not ready for you front or back or sideways..." he came forward mouthing obscenities and she backed against the door in momentary terror, grabbed the key, turned it, and flung the door open.
the doberman guard dog was there. the man froze. an ominous growl, then the dog charged. in panic the man screamed and tried to beat the dog off, then took to his heels down the steps, the dog growling and snarling and ripping at his legs and back, tearing his clothes, and azadeh shouted after him, "now show it to me!"
"oh, highness, i didn't hear you knock, what's going on?" the old manservant called out, rushing from the kitchen area.
angrily she wiped the perspiration off her face and told him. "god curse you, ali, i've told you twenty times to meet me downstairs with the dog. i'm on time, i'm always on time. have you no brains?"
the old man apologised but a rough voice behind her cut him short. "go and get the dog!" she looked around. her stomach twisted.
"good evening, highness." it was ahmed dursak, tall, bearded, chilling, standing in the doorway of the living room. insha'allah, she thought. the waiting is over and now it begins again. "good evening, ahmed."
"highness, please excuse me, i didn't realize about people in tehran or i would have waited downstairs myself. ali, get the dog!"
afraid and still mumbling apologies, the servant scuttled down the stairs. ahmed closed the door and watched azadeh use the heel fork to take off her boots, slip her small feet into curved turkish slippers. she went past him into the comfortable, western-style living room and sat down, her heart thumping. a fire flickered in the grate. priceless carpets, others used as wall hangings. beside her was a small table. on the table was the kookri that ross had left her. "you have news of my father and my husband?"
"his highness the khan is ill, very ill an "
"what illness?" azadeh asked, at once genuinely concerned.
"a heart attack."
"god protect him when did this happen?"
"on thursday last." he read her thought. "that was the day you and... and the saboteur were in the village of abu mard. wasn't it?"
"i suppose so. the last few days have been very confused," she said icily. "how is my father?"
"the attack on thursday was mild, thanks be to god. just before midnight saturday he had another. much worse." he watched her.
"how much worse? please don't play with me! tell me everything at once!"
"ah, so sorry, highness, i did not mean to toy with you." he kept his voice polite and his eyes off her legs, admiring her fire and pride and wanting to toy with her very much. "the doctor called it a stroke and now the left side of his highness is partially paralysed; he can still talk with some difficulty but his mind is as strong as ever. the doctor said he would recover much quicker in tehran but the journey is not possible yet."
"he will recover?" she asked.
"i don't know, highness. as god wants. to me he seems very sick. the doctor, i don't think much of him, all he said was his highness's chances would be better if he was here in tehran."
"then bring him here as soon as possible."
"i will, highness, never fear. meanwhile i have a message for you. the khan, your father, says, 'i wish to see you. at once. i do not know how long i will live but certain arrangements must be made and confirmed. your brother is with me now and "'
"god protect him," azadeh burst out. "is my father reconciled with hakim?"
"his highness has made him his heir. but pi "
"oh, that's wonderful, wonderful, god be praised! but h "
"please be patient and let me finish his message: 'your brother hakim is with me now and i have made him my heir, subject to certain conditions, from you and from him."' ahmed hesitated and azadeh wanted to rush into the gap, her happiness brimming and her caution brimming. her pride stopped her.
"'it is therefore necessary that you return with ahmed at once." that is the end of the message, highness."
the front door opened. ali relocked it and unleashed the dog. at once the dog loped into the living room and put his head in azadeh's lap. "well done, reza," she said petting him, welcoming the moment to collect her wits. "sit. go on, sit! sit!" happily the dog obeyed, then lay at her feet, watching the door and watching ahmed who stood near the other sofa. absently her hand played with the hilt of the kookri, its touch giving her reassurance. obliquely ahmed was conscious of it and its implications. "before god you have told me the truth?"
"yes, highness. before god."
"then we will go at once." she got up. "you came by car?"
"yes, highness. i brought the limousine and chauffeur. but there's a little more news good and bad. a ransom note came to his highness. his excellency your husband is in the hands of bandits, tribesmen..." she tried to maintain her composure, her knees suddenly weak. "... somewhere near the soviet border. both him and his helicopter. it seems that these... these bandits claim to be kurds but the khan doubts it. they surprised the soviet cimtarga and his men and killed them all, capturing his excellency and the helicopter,
early thursday they claimed. then they flew to rezaiyeh where he was seen and appeared unharmed before flying off again."
"praise be to god," was all her pride allowed herself. "is my husband ransomed?"
"the ransom note arrived late on saturday, through intermediaries. as soon as his highness regained consciousness yesterday he gave me the message for you and sent me here to fetch you."
she heard the "fetch" and knew its seriousness but ahmed made nothing of it openly and reached into his pocket. "his highness hakim gave me this for you." he handed her the sealed envelope. she ripped it open, startling the dog. the note was in hakim's handwriting: "my darling, his highness has made me his heir and reinstated both of us, subject to conditions, wonderful conditions, easy to agree. hurry back, he's very ill, and he will not deal with the ransom until he sees you. salaam."
swamped with happiness she hurried out, packed a bag in almost no time, scribbled a note for mclver, telling ali to deliver it tomorrow. as an afterthought she picked up the kookri and walked out, cradling it. ahmed said nothing, just followed her.
february 27
bandar delam: 8:15 a.m. kasigi was hurrying after the grim-faced police officer through the drab crowded corridors of the hospital the radio mechanic, minoru, a few paces behind him. sick and wounded men and women and children were on stretchers or chairs or standing or simply lying on the floor, waiting for someone to help them, the very sick mixed with the lightly sick, a few relieving themselves, a few eating and drinking provisions brought by their visiting relatives who abounded and all who could, complained loudly. harassed nurses and doctors went in and out of rooms, all medical women dressed in chador except a few british, queen alexandra nurses whose severe headdress was almost the equivalent and acceptable.
eventually the policeman found the door he sought and pushed his way into the crowded ward. beds lined both sides with another row in the middle, all occupied by men patients their visiting families chattering or complaining, children playing, and over in one corner, an old woman cooking on a portable stove.
scragger had one wrist and one ankle handcuffed to an old iron bedstead. he was lying on a straw mattress in his clothes and shoes, a bandage around
his head, unshaven and dirty. when he saw kasigi and minoru behind the policeman his eyes lit up. "hello, mates," he said, his voice raw.
