McIver tried to keep the shock out of his face and mouthed to the others, “Talbot at the embassy.”
“… Yesterday an American of ExTex Oil and an Iranian oil official were ambushed and killed by ‘unidentified gunmen’ in the southwest, near Ahwaz” - McIver’s heart skipped another beat - “… you’re operating down there still, aren’t you?”
“Near there, at Bandar Delam on the coast,” McIver said, no change in his voice.
“How many British nationals do you have here, excluding dependents?” McIver thought for a moment. “Forty-five, out of our present complement of sixty-seven, that’s twenty-six pilots, thirty-six mechanic/engineers, five admin, which’s pretty basic for us.”
“Who’re the others?”
“Four Americans, three German, two French, and one Finn - all pilots. Two American mechanics. But we’ll treat them all as British if necessary.” “Dependents?”
“Four, all wives, no children. We got the rest out three weeks ago. Genny’s still here, one American at Kowiss and two Iranians.”
“You’d better get both the Iranian wives into their embassies tomorrow - with their marriage certificates. They’re in Tehran?”
“One is, one’s in Tabriz.”
“You’d better get them new passports as fast as possible.” By Iranian law all Iranian nationals coming back into the country had to surrender their passports to Immigration at the point of entry, to be held until they wished to leave again. To leave they had to apply in person to the correct government office for an exit permit for which they needed a valid identity card, a satisfactory reason for wanting to go abroad, and, if by air, a valid prepaid ticket for a specific flight. To get this exit permit might take days or weeks. Normally.
“Thank God we don’t have that problem,” McIver said. “We can thank God we’re British,” Talbot went on. “Fortunately we don’t have any squabbles with the Ayatollah, Bakhtiar, or the generals. Still, any foreigners are liable for a lot of flak so we’re formally advising you to send dependents off, lickety-split, and cut the others down to basic - for the time being. The airport’s going to be a mess from tomorrow on - we estimate there are still about five thousand expats, most of them American - but we’ve asked British Airways to cooperate and increase flights for us and our nationals. The bugger of it is that all civilian air traffic controllers are still totally out on strike. Bakhtiar’s ordered in the military controllers and they’re even more punctilious if that’s possible. We’re sure it’s going to be the exodus over again.”
“Oh, God!”
A few weeks ago, after months of escalating threats against foreigners - mostly against Americans because of Khomeini’s constant attacks on American materialism as “the Great Satan” - a rampaging mob went berserk in the industrial city of Isfahan, with its enormous steel complex, petrochemical refinery, ordnance and helicopter factories, and where a large proportion of the fifty thousand-odd American expats and their dependents worked and lived. The mobs burned banks - the Koran forbade lending money for profit - liquor stores - the Koran forbade the drinking of alcohol - and two movie houses - places of “pornography and Western propaganda,” always particular targets for the fundamentalists - then attacked factory installations, peppered the four-story Grumman Aircraft HQ with Molotov cocktails, and burned it to the ground. That precipitated the “exodus.”
Thousands converged on Tehran Airport, mostly dependents, clogging it as would-be passengers scrambled for the few available seats, turning the airport and its lobbies into a disaster area with men, women, and children camping there, afraid to lose their places, barely enough room to stand, patiently waiting, sleeping, pushing, demanding, whining, shouting, or just stoic. No schedules, no priorities, each airplane overbooked twenty times, no computer ticketing, just slowly handwritten by a few sullen officials - most of whom were openly hostile and non-English-speaking. Quickly the airport became foul and the mood ugly.
In desperation some companies chartered their own airplanes to pull out their own people. United States Air Force transports came to take out the military dependents while all embassies tried to play down the extent of the evacuation, not wanting to further embarrass the Shah, their stalwart ally of twenty years. Adding to the chaos were thousands of Iranians, all hoping to flee while there was still time to flee. The unscrupulous and the wealthy jumped the lines. Many an official became rich and then more greedy and richer still. Then the air traffic controllers struck, shutting down the airport completely.
For two days no flights came in or left. The crowds streamed away or stayed. Then some of the controllers went back to work and it began again. Rumors of incoming flights. Rushing to the airport with the kids and the luggage of years, or with no luggage, for a guaranteed seat that never was, back to Tehran again, half a thousand waiting in the taxi rank ahead of you, most taxis on strike - back to the hotel at length, your hotel room long since sold to another, all banks closed so no money to grease the ever-open hands. 41 At length most foreigners who wanted to leave left. Those who stayed to keep the businesses running, the oil fields serviced, airplanes flying, nuclear plants abuilding, chemical plants working, tankers moving - and to protect their gigantic investments - kept a lower profile, particularly if they were American. Khomeini had said, “If the foreigner wants to leave, let him leave; it is American materialism that is the Great Satan…” McIver held the phone closer to his ear as the volume slipped a fraction, afraid that the connection would vanish. “Yes, George, you were saying?” Talbot continued: “I was just saying, Duncan, we’re quite sure everything’s going to work out eventually. There’s no way in the world the pot will completely blow up. An unofficial source says a deal’s already in place for the Shah to abdicate in favor of his son Reza - the compromise HM Government advocates. The transition to constitutional government may be a bit wobbly but nothing to worry about. Sorry, got to dash - let me know what you decide.”
The phone went dead.
McIver cursed, jiggled the connectors to no avail, and told Genny and Charlie what Talbot had said. Genny smiled sweetly. “Don’t look at me, the answer’s no. I agr - ” “But, Gen, Tal - ”
“I agree the others should go but this one’s staying. Food’s almost ready.” She went back to the kitchen and closed the door, cutting off further argument.
“Well she’s bloody going and that’s it,” McIver said. “My year’s salary says she won’t - until you leave. Why don’t you go for God’s sake? I can look after everything.”
“No. Thanks, but no.” Then McIver beamed in the semidarkness. “Actually it’s like being back in the war, isn’t it? Back in the bloody blackout. Nothing to worry about except get with it and look after the troops and obey orders.” McIver frowned at his glass. “Talbot was right about one thing: we’re bloody lucky to be British. Tough on the Yanks. Not fair.” “Yes, but you’ve covered ours as best you can.” “Hope so.” When the Shah had left and violence everywhere increased, McIver had issued British IDs to all Americans. “They should be all right unless the Green Bands, police, or SAVAK check them against their licenses.” By Iranian law all foreigners had to have a current visa, which had to be canceled before they could leave the country, a current ID card giving their corporate affiliate - and all pilots a current annual Iran pilot’s license. For a further measure of safety McIver had had corporate IDs made and signed by the chief of their Iranian partners in Tehran, General Valik. So far there had been no problems. To the Americans, McIver had said, “Better you have these to show if necessary,” and had issued orders for all personnel to carry photographs of both Khomeini and the Shah. “Make sure you use the right one if you’re stopped!” Pettikin was trying to call Bandar Delam on the HF with no success. “We’ll try later,” McIver said. “All bases’ll be listening out at 0830 - that’ll give us time to decide what to do. Christ, it’s going to be bloody difficult. What do you think? Status quo, except for dependents?” Very concerned, Pettikin got up and took a candle and peered at the operations map pinned to the wall. It showed the status of their bases, crew, ground staff, and aircraft. The bases were scattered over Iran, from air force and army training bases at Tehran and Isfahan, to high-altitude oil-rig support in the Zagros, a logging operation in Tabriz in the northwest, a uranium survey team near the Afghan border, from a pipeline survey on the Caspian, to four oil operations on or near the Gulf, and the last, far to the southeast, another at Lengeh on the Strait of Hormuz. Of these only five were operational now: Lengeh, Kowiss, Bandar Delam, Zagros, and Tabriz. “We’ve fifteen 212s, including two nonoperational on their two-thousand-hour checks, seven 206s, and three Alouettes, all supposed to be working at the moment….”