“And all leased on binding legal contracts, none of which have been rescinded, but none of which we’re being paid for,” McIver said testily. “There’s no way we can base them all at Kowiss - we can’t even legally remove any one of them without the approval of the contractor, or our dear partners’ approval - not unless we could declare force majeure.” “There isn’t any yet. It has to be status quo, as long as we can. Talbot sounded confident. Status quo.”
“I wish it was status quo, Charlie. My God, this time last year we had almost forty 212s working and all the rest.” McIver poured himself another whisky.
“You’d better go easy,” Pettikin said quietly. “Genny‘11 give you hell. You know your blood pressure’s up and you’re not to drink.”
“It’s medicinal, for Christ’s sweet sake.” A candle guttered and went out. McIver got up and lit another and went back to staring at the map. “I think we’d better get Azadeh and the Flying Finn back. His 212’s on its fifteen-hundred-hour so he could be spared for a couple of days.” This was Captain Erikki Yokkonen and his Iranian wife, Azadeh, and their base was near Tabriz in East Azerbaijan Province, to the far northwest, near the Soviet border. “Why not take a 206 and fetch them? That’d save him three hundred and fifty miles of lousy driving and we’ve got to take him some spares.” Pettikin was beaming. “Thanks, I could do an outing. I’ll file a flight plan by HF tonight and leave at dawn, refuel at Bandar-e Pahlavi, and buy us some caviar.”
“Dreamer. But Gen’d like that. You know what I think of the stuff.” McIver turned away from the map. “We’re very exposed, Charlie, if things got dicey.” “Only if it’s in the cards.”
McIver nodded. Absently his eyes fell on the telephone. He picked it up. Now there was a dial tone. Excitedly he began to diaclass="underline" 00, international; 44, British Isles; 224, Aberdeen in Scotland, 765-8080. He waited and waited, then his face lit up. “Christ, I’m through!”
“S-G Helicopters, hold the line, please,” the operator said before he could interrupt and put him on hold. He waited, fuming. “S-G Helico - ” “This’s McIver in Tehran, give me the Old Man, please.” “He’s on the phone, Mr. McIver.” The girl sniffed. “I’ll give you his secretary.” “Hello, Mac!” Liz Chen said almost at once. “Hang on a tick, I’ll get Himself. You all right? We’ve been trying to get you for days; hang on.” “All right, Liz.”
A moment, then Gavallan said happily, “Mac? Christ, how did you get through? Wonderful to hear from you - I’ve got a laddie permanently dialing you, your office, your apartment, ten hours a day. How’s Genny? How did you get through?”
“Just luck, Andy. I’m at home. I’d better be fast in case we’re cut off.” McIver told him most of what Talbot had said. He had to be circumspect because rumor had it that SAVAK, the Iranian secret police, often tapped telephones, particularly of foreigners. It was standing company procedure for the last two years to presume someone was listening - SAVAK, CIA, MI5, KGB, someone.
There was a moment’s silence. “First, obey the embassy and get all our dependents out at once. Alert the Finnish embassy for Azadeh’s passport. Tell Tom Lochart to expedite Sharazad’s - I got him to apply two weeks ago, just in case. He’s, er, got some mail for you, by the way.” McIver’s heart picked up a beat. “Good, he’ll be in tomorrow.” “I’ll get on to BA and see if I can get them guaranteed seating. As backup, I’ll send our company 125. She’s scheduled for Tehran tomorrow. If you’ve any problem with BA, send all dependents and spare bods out by her, starting tomorrow. Tehran’s still open, isn’t it?”
“It was today,” McIver said carefully.
He heard Gavallan say equally carefully, “The authorities, thank God, have everything under control.”
“Yes.”
“Mac, what do you recommend about our Iranian ops?”
McIver took a deep breath. “Status quo.”
“Good. All indications here, up to the highest levels, say it should be business as usual soon. We’ve got lots of face in Iran. And future. Listen, Mac, that rumor about Guerney was correct.”
McIver brightened perceptibly. “You’re sure?”
“Yes. A few minutes ago I got a telex from IranOil confirming we’ll get all Guerney contracts at Kharg, Kowiss, Zagros, and Lengeh to begin with. Apparently the order to squeeze came from on high, and I did have to make a generous pishkesh contribution to our partners’ slush fund.” A pishkesh was an ancient Iranian custom, a gift given in advance for a favor that might be granted. It was also ancient custom for any official legitimately to keep pishkesh given him in the course of his work. How else could he live? “But never mind that, we’ll quadruple our Iranian profits, laddie.” “That’s wonderful, Andy.”
“And that’s not alclass="underline" Mac, I’ve just ordered another twenty 212s and today I confirmed the order for six X63s - she’s a smasher!”
“Christ, Andy, that’s fantastic - but you’re pushing it, aren’t you?” “Iran may be, er, in temporary difficulties, but the rest of the world’s scared fartless about alternate sources of oil. The Yanks have their knickers in a twist, laddie.” The voice picked up another beat. “I’ve just confirmed another huge deal with ExTex for new contracts in Nigeria, Saudi, and Borneo, another with All-Gulf Oil in the Emirates. In the North Sea it’s just us, Guerney, and Imperial Helicopters.” Imperial Helicopters was a subsidiary of Imperial Air, the second semi-government airline in opposition to British Airways. “It’s paramount you keep everything stable in Iran - our contracts, aircraft, and spares’re part of our collateral for the new aircraft. For God’s sake keep our dear partners on the straight and narrow. How are the dear sweet people?”
“Just the usual.”
Gavallan knew this meant rotten as usual. “I’ve just had a session with General Javadah in London myself.” Javadah had left Iran with all his family a year ago, just before the troubles became overt. For the past three months two of their other Iranian partners, and families, had been visiting London “for medical reasons,” four others were in America also with their families. Three remained in Tehran. “He’s bullish - though expensive.” McIver put him away for more important problems. “Andy, I’ve got to have some money. Cash.”