"I would think so," Harry said. He lowered his voice and leaned closer to the younger man. "'Ere, Archie. I notice there ain't no birds around 'ere. When's the last time you got yourself a bit o' tail, 'ey?"
Sikes grinned and shrugged. "I had one of them temporary marriages when I was with the Pashtuns. A thirteen-year-old. But she was mature for her age, Harry. It ain't like I was having it on with a little kid."
"Sure," Harry said. "Them Pashtun girls grow up fast." He winked at Sikes. "I know a place up near Tehran called Khoshi. It's a special place for foreigners. Lots o' liquor and women. We could go up there, you and me, and 'ave us a bit o' fun. Know what I mean?"
"Oh, yeah!" Sikes said. "I feel bluddy deprived, I do. But ain't that risky what with Islamic law and all that?"
Harry shook his head. "The government knows about the place. Them Muslims ain't all stupid. They know they need a place where special guests from the West can get away and ease up a bit."
"I bet a lot them Iranians go there too, hey?"
"They'd be in deep shit," Harry said seriously. "There's times when them mad followers of Islam are 'arder on their own kind than on us infidels."
"I switched to Islam," Sikes reminded him.
"Nobody over there is gonna know about it," Harry said. "You'll just be another soul damned by Allah as far as they'll know."
"The invasion is set for the twentieth," Sikes said.
"That's a week away," Harry said. "We could go up there tomorrow morning and be back in a couple o' days. There's plenty o' time."
"Yeah!" Sikes said. "I'll turn the comp'ny over to Hashiri." He raised the beer bottle. "Let's do it, Harry!"
"Alright, lad," Harry Turpin said. "I'll take care o' everything."
.
SIKES' QUARTERS
14 SEPTEMBER 0200 HOURS
UNDER normal circumstances, Sikes would have been fast asleep after an evening in which he had consumed a dozen bottles of beer. But he was so excited about getting away to that fleshpot for sex, serious drinking, and celebrating, that the effects of the brew had evaporated.
He was also sobered by thoughts about his parents. He hadn't realized the amount of trouble he had caused them. When he deserted, he figured they would be embarrassed, but that that would blow over after a while. The idea of his father enduring a night of police interrogation pained him deeply. His mother's anguish also bit deep into his spirits of well-being. She was fully devoted to his father, and any suffering he went through would be felt doubly by her.
He lay on his bunk, looking up at the darkness of the canvas above him, turning his thoughts to what he could do to help his parents. He smiled as his mind ran through a scenario in which a telegram arrives at his old home. It comes in the early evening, and his mother answers the door. She takes it into his father, who is watching the telly from his usual easy chair. He opens the telegram, then leaps to his feet. He shouts, "It's a wire for fifty thousand pounds . . . it's from Archie . . . there's more money to come . . . lots more . . . and Archie is a general in the Iranian Army!"
Sikes smiled sleepily to himself, then eased into a deep slumber.
CHAPTER 22
KHOSHI, IRAN
14 SEPTEMBER
IT had been one hell of a day for Archie Sikes, the wandering lad from Manchester, England.
He and his mate, Harry Turpin, had arrived at the airstrip outside the small but modern and chic town of Khoshi at 0830 hours after a short hop from the city of Sabzevar aboard a Cessna Citation S-11. Harry, always insisting on traveling in style, had chartered the aircraft from a private company in Tehran. The trip from the Special Forces camp to the airport hadn't been particularly luxurious, however. They had to hitch a ride in an army supply transport truck, sitting in the front with the driver while their luggage bounced around in the back.
But the dusty ride was forgotten when the Citation landed at Khoshi and the two revelers disembarked from the aircraft. The pilot would be waiting for them for some twenty-four hours, and the international arms dealer had gotten him a room in the same hotel where he and Sikes would be settling in.
Almost immediately after checking in at the Ritz-Kraus, a German-run hostelry, the two Brits left the place to begin exploring the delights offered in the desert sin city. In comparison to Las Vegas, U. S. A., it was a minor-league resort, but to Sikes, who had spent long months in the hinterlands of the Iran-Afghanistan border as well as an isolated military camp, it was like arriving on the French Riviera. Paved streets! Sidewalks! Restaurants! Theaters! Bars!
And, best of all, women!
Harry knew the place well and served as an expert and considerate guide. The first place they went was to Khoshi's finest bordello, called Le Baron. Although it was early in the morning, the place was in full operation. When they walked in, Sikes noted that the "parlor" was actually a bar furnished like a living room, with sofas, love seats, and easy chairs. It was plush and heavily decorated with heavy drapes, a deep Persian rug, and scantily clad females. The clientele, all foreigners stationed in Iran, were having the times of their lives, and a couple of them appeared as if they might have been in the brothel two or three days. These were all Europeans and were doing their best to have some fun during a short respite from their places of employment in the midst of Islamic law.
Harry was well known in the place, and a huge African bouncer greeted him like an old friend. The proprietress, a middle-aged, fleshy Algerian woman named Lola, rushed to the Brit, giving him a tight hug around the middle while planting a wet kiss on his cheek. Lola had once worked in a regimental brothel of the French Foreign Legion, and although Harry hadn't known her during his own legion days, he had visited his own unit's mobile military whorehouse countless times between operations against the Algerian rebels.
After enduring the emotional salutation from Lola, Harry laid his hand on Sikes' shoulder. "'Ere now, Lola, this is a mate o' mine from England. 'Is name is Archie."
Lola gave Sikes a big grin, speaking in a French accent. "Welcome to Le Baron, Archie!" She gestured at the scantily clad females sitting on sofas along the wall. "Our ladies are waiting to pleasure you. We can promise delights of which you have never dreamed. C'est la verite!"
Archie eyed the prostitutes with the longing of a starving man gazing at a T-bone steak. Harry laughed and pointed. "Well, now, Archie. Wot in 'ell are you waiting for, then? Take care o' that itch. Then we can start a day of doing nothing but enjoying ourselves."
Thus began an entire day of sex and alcohol for Archie, with Harry as his host and mentor. When the younger man showed a bit too much inebriation, the older steered him to a restaurant for a good feed and thick, hot Iranian ghahveba-khame , a sweet coffee drink with enough of a caffeine kick to cancel out the effects of Scotch whisky. When Archie was back in reasonably good condition, they would head back for Le Baron to allow him to renew his sexual assaults.
The temporary Islamic marriage that Archie had enjoyed with the Pashtun girl Banafsha had taught him the pleasures of having a single female playmate who would learn what he wanted and liked during sex, then see that he got it. By mid-afternoon he had settled on a dark beauty by the name of Javahere, and Harry forked over enough Euros to Lola in exchange for a guarantee that Javahere would be available for Archie any time he wanted her.
While Archie went slightly mad in his controlled orgy, the old man Harry Turpin slowly imbibed gin tonics while visiting with Lola in her office. In bygone days he would have run through the roster of whores like a lion through a herd of gazelles, but his libido just wasn't up to the task anymore. Lola, a good friend, understood, and made him welcome as they talked about what the Foreign Legion had been like in the days of the Algerian War.