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Subject: {Kellis} "Hidden Journal: Estri's Escape" (MFg) [1/4]
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Hidden Journal: Estri's Escape [1 of 4]
NOTICE: The following file is one of an ongoing series, transcriptions
of files decrypted from the hidden journal of Harrison Everett Stone.
For a summary of their provenance see the initial file, D910412.ZEN,
included in the release, "Hidden Journal: First Files."
--Kellis. Copyright 1999
File D9104173.ZEN
<Friday, September 29, 1972 (Continued)>
<[Editor's Note: Events of September 28, 1972, Continued. See File
D9104172.ZEN, "Hidden Journal: Meshir Rescue"]>
No one was waiting in the high cave. When I had parked the jeep under
the overhang, Estri departed in a flash, the huge greatcoat flapping
behind her ludicrously, crying, "Find Constansse!"
I took personal inventory: a few flecks of Ork's blood on my face
revealed by the rear-view mirror, removed by spit and finger, plus spots
of his tissue on my field jacket that would have to wait. The scratches
on my wrists were of no importance, already scabbing. I still had pins
and needles in my hands, but they were easing and the thumbs were again
willing to oppose. I got out of the jeep to wait for the women, noticing
without surprise that pants and boots were filthy.
An hour ago I had been trussed to the rocks like supper's piglet with
essentially no feeling left below the elbows, expecting torture at least,
followed by a forced vacation in the workers' paradise to the north. Here
I was, free, all the Air Force's property and my own recovered intact
except one fragment of tooth filling. I verified that even the pistol
still rested in its holster behind the front seat. All I'd really lost
was four hours of time and five or six hardly noticeable additional miles
on the odometer. How infinitely better off I was than my three captors!
And poor Melki.
Fortunately I was spared further stewing about that. Constance came
hurrying into the light in her gray robe. She dashed into my arms, kissed
me three or four times about the mouth and squeezed me hard. She stood
back and stared into my eyes.
"When did you last eat?"
"I ... had bacon and eggs about, ah, seven o'clock."
"As I thought. Come."
"And half a candy bar ten minutes ago." I reached into the jeep.
"The rest is for your girls."
She grinned. "Don't you think old women like candy as well?"
"Whoever."
She took the box of Butterfingers in one hand, my hand in the other,
and led me away. I followed her at a quick pace, winding deeper into the
mountain through pitch darkness, trusting her absolutely.
"Did Estri tell you about Melki?" I asked, hating it but knowing I
must.
"Yes, Harry. She relayed the main facts: you safe, four dead. Who
were the men?"
"A KGB officer and two Iranian hirelings."
"KGB, was he? While you eat you must tell me all of it."
"I will, but I also want to know something from you. Why did you send
those children to save me?"
"I didn't, Harry! It has ever been Meshir policy to leave men to
their violence. Who in her right mind would think those two had the
slightest chance?"
"If you didn't, who did?"
She laughed humorlessly. "Estri!"
I retorted sarcastically, "Didn't know she was in charge."
"A wife has a certain authority in her husband's affairs. Her command
initiative demonstrates that Estri understands this implicitly. What
happened was this: we heard gunfire, two series of shots whose echoes
told us the source. The child dispatched down that drain hole happened by
chance to be one of those who attended you on your first morning with us.
She recognized you bound in the rocks and reported strange men meaning to
kill you. Estri overheard the report to Moreti. By the time it reached
me, Estri had already commandeered Melki's assistance and both of them
were on the way to that cave. You do understand it, don't you?"
"I ..."
"Their behavior is very Meshir. The whole cavern will be proud of
them. They would save their husband or die trying."
"God!"
"Why does that disturb you, Harry?"
Just as well it was pitch dark. I couldn't have seen anything anyway.
"But I wasn't ... wasn't really ..."
"Are you trying to say you weren't their husband? They thought you
were. I assure you that Estri still thinks so."
"What do <you> think, Constance?"
"Harry, I know by Western rules you are not. But today you're in
Meshir."
She continued to lead me. Rounding a curve, we came upon an oval
cavern lit by two oil lamps perched on waist-high pillars. Carpets were
spread on the floor, bearing platters of food and cups of liquid. Two
girls in the gray robes stood at parade rest behind the carpets.
Constance turned in front of me and grasped a lapel. "Harry, give
your clothing to these girls. They'll clean it while you eat."
The girls returned my gaze stolidly. I didn't recognize them. I
assumed from the robes that they were teenagers, at least. So far as I've
seen, all prepubescent girls here go naked. Shrugging, deciding not to
ask <how> they'd clean it, I emptied my pockets and gave them field
jacket, pants and boots. As they trotted away, Constance cast off her
robe and helped me shed the rest. She had a robe to fold around me.
I sat cross-legged at her urging. She put the first morsel in my
mouth herself: some spicy lamb preparation, I think. I paid little
attention to the food, though I was indeed hungry. I asked, "Why are you
treating me so tenderly?"
Her eyes sparkled. "I could say that I'm substituting for Melki. In
fact, Harry, you are valuable to all of us. We're happy that you're safe.
It has been a very long time since a man brought us gifts."
"I am ... very sorry about Melki."
"I'm sure you are, Harry."
"I want you to believe that if I could do it, I'd have me still tied
in the cave and Melki here alive."
She studied me. "Surely you don't mean her death was pointless!"
"In a way. The KGB wanted me alive for what I know. I'd've had an
unpleasant time, maybe years of it, but doubt they'd've killed me, whereas
Melki is ..."
"Tell me about it, Harry."
So I told her the whole story. She listened quietly, waiting
patiently as I blubbered through the hard parts, her hand stroking my
shoulder.
When I finished she tossed her head. "They might have killed you,
Harry, at any time. Or unmanned you at the least. You say the commander
told you as much. And hours without blood circulation might well have
cost your hands.
"No, Harry. You must face the fact. You owe your freedom, probably
your health and perhaps even your life to Melki's sacrifice and Estri's
pluck."
I took a shaky breath and dropped my eyes. "You may be right. I
think you are. But, Constance, it's not a price I would've paid
voluntarily."
"Then I'm glad they left you no choice!"
After a moment I asked, "What will become of her body?"
She sighed. "That depends on what <you> do!"
"Me?"
"What do you intend to tell the authorities at Fellavi?"
My god, I hadn't even thought of that! I told her so.
"Well, my generous Harry, now is the time to think of it."
So I did. "The KGB officer's notebook -- my name was in it. They
know we're here improving the stations. They almost certainly have other
teams waiting to kidnap us. I really ought to warn Captain Smith or even
the colonel."
"Think about what you'll tell him."
I had learned her face well enough to detect the worry in her eyes.
"I won't tell him of the Meshir."
"Then how will you explain your escape?"
"Huh! I just realized -- If I tell him anything, it'll mean the end
of my visits here."
"Oh, Harry! ... But if you don't ..."
"My visits here may become the end of me."
"Which means they must cease."
"I'll risk it."
"No, dear." She touched my check. "You really must tell them."
But I had another problem. I took a deep breath. "Constance, how
goes your search for a conduit?"
She smiled slightly. "Interesting that you should ask, Harry. I have
been wondering how to tell you of it."
"What's the problem?"
"There was already a man ... who saw me often. He is the son of
Moreti's older sister. Not two days after you put the idea in my head,
this man asked me again to marry him, which led to a discussion of what I
need, what Meshir needs. He has an establishment in Kehren behind the
mountain, an import-export business, as you recommended. I believe he
would serve admirably."
"If you marry him."
"Yes."
"Then Meshir would lose your services. Hell! <I> would lose you!"
She leaned against me, kissing my cheek. "I'm much older than you,
Harry. There was never a chance for us to be close in the long term. We
must lose each other regardless of what we do. I know that and so do you.
As to the Meshir, yes, I must go with my husband. But he won't prevent my
frequent return."
"He wants you for your knowledge of the world, of English."
"That is certainly true, Harry. But those are not his only reasons."
"He loves you, then?"
"Do you know something about that feeling, Harry?"
"I think so." My arm went around her, pulling us tightly together.
"I am learning fast these days -- about myself and about life. You,
Melki, Estri ... The Meshir women are so marvelous! I think I'm falling --"
Her fingers gently pressed my lips. "Don't say it, Harry. I shall
marry Elsik and bear his children while still I can."
"But, Constance --"
"It is well that this be your last visit here."
"God!" I glanced at my wristwatch. "And I can't stay much longer.
They're probably already missing me in Fellavi."
"Then make love to me one last time."
"Not yet. I want to talk to you about Estri."
Her eyes narrowed. "What about her?"
"What is my legal status in regard to her?"
She grunted. "None."
"I phrased that poorly. How do the Meshir regard my relationship with
her?"
She thought about it. "Estri has announced her rank as wife, but it
is of course meaningless unless you acknowledge it."
"What about my daughter?"
Her eyebrows rose. "You have a daughter?"
"No. I mean, would the Meshir release her to me as my daughter?"
"No, Harry. This is not a Western orphanage."
"Then I want to acknowledge her as my wife."
"Do you!"
"And I want to take her out of here."
She smiled slightly. "I like a man who feels strong gratitude."
"It's more than that."
"Is it?"
"I love her."
She studied me. "You hardly know her."
"I know she's beautiful and will get more so. She's very bright and
eager to learn. I'm confident she loves me."
"And you <don't> know her carnally, despite several opportunities. It
seems that you do think of her as a daughter."
I took a breath. "I want to protect her, Constance. My job here will
be over in two weeks. I want to take her back with me to America."
"Can you do that, Harry?"
"I think so. It'll be a little tricky. I'll have to sneak her into
Fellavi just before I leave --"
"Requiring you to come here first?"
"Well, yes, but --"
"No, Harry. That you mustn't do."
"But, Constance --"
She held up a hand, staring pensively into the distance. I wondered
at first if she had heard a sound. But she turned a speculative look upon
me. "Suppose I have Elsik deliver her to Tehran at a time of your
choosing?"
"Elsik: your ... fiance?"
She chuckled wryly. "The precise word. In a week my husband."
"You don't seem too pleased."
She shrugged. "It accomplishes my ends. <He> is pleased, which is
the important part, and I intend that he continue so."
"He'll deliver her?"
"I think so, if I ask."
"Okay, if <you> come along on the delivery!"
"I? Harry, that would be a mistake. Elsik knows nothing of you.
Neither you nor I wish to make an enemy of him."
I had to sigh. "Then wait in the car. But I want you to accompany
Estri."
"You don't trust Elsik."
"Of course not. That's a long drive. He'll send her by some flunky,
but he won't if you come, too. Is the trip safe?"
"It's a combination of highroad and railway." She shrugged. "I've
not done it in ten years. I imagine it's still safe, but you're quite
right: if I attend Elsik will make it so."
"Then you must come. You can teach her English on the way."
"How presumptuous!" she exclaimed sarcastically, grinning at me, but
added thoughtfully, "Elsik would also like such lessons, I believe."
"Where is Estri now?"
"She wants to be a good wife. I suspect she's helping to clean your
clothing. She'll be along shortly." Her hand fell to my dick. "In the
meantime ..."
My hand cupped her breast beside the glittering necklace. "In the
meantime let's make one last sweet memory."
Her loving body momentarily supplanted the scenes of horror that
lingered in the back of my mind. Estri and the two serving girls arrived
while we were engaged. I was aware of the child's arms around my
shoulders and her wet tongue on my ear, but this last dalliance in Meshir
was the least stimulating of all. My heart wasn't in it -- probably a
first for me. I didn't climax until Constance fetched me with her own.
Afterwards I lay between woman and child, each with a head on my
shoulder, and thought of practical implications. "I have to return here
once more," I announced.
"Why?"
"To take a picture of Estri."
"Why do you -- ah, a passport!"
"Right, and it's a problem. The colonel won't let me out of Fellavi
unaccompanied when he hears what happened. But I have to tell him, and I
could never explain waiting a day or more to do it."
"Couldn't you make your photograph in Tehran?"
"Hmm. Yes, of course! Thank you very much. I'll just delay our
flight to the states by a day or two. But ... damn! I meant to take a
few shots of this place and the pretty faces in it."
"'Shots,' Harry?"
"Sorry. I mean pictures. That's out, now." I heaved a sigh. "I've
said what I mean to do, so answer my question. What will happen to
Melki's body?"
"You need it, Harry."
"What do you mean?"
"You can tell most of the truth: that your abductors quarreled over a
woman. We'll have a child deliver typical clothing via the drain hole."
"That's not a sight for a child."
"Indeed not! But the one we send will have already seen it."
"You mean to risk Estri again?" I asked in rising disbelief.
"Not if you think there's any risk."
I thought about it. "Maybe not. The commander said he was waiting
for dark to move. But for god's sake make her be careful!"
"I shall. You need to have your authorities there before dark."
"You're right, and that means I'd better get moving. But first ...
will you help me tell Estri?"
"Yes." She raised up on an elbow and called the serving girls close,
presumably as witnesses. I pulled Estri's head and shoulders up on my
chest. She looked wonderingly from me to the woman, who asked, "What do
you want to tell her?"
"That I love her, that I say she is my wife. That you will bring her
to me in two weeks and that she and I will fly away to my homeland. Oh,
god, Constance, there's so <much> to tell her!"
She smiled. "Those are certainly the main points."
She spoke in Meshir. I've seen my niece's little face on Christmas
morning; Estri's expression was more blissful. "Oh, Hah-ree!" she
breathed and began kissing me all over cheeks, lips, nose.
* * * *
Constance apologized that the girls hadn't removed all the stains from
my clothing -- and a good thing, too! With a spotless jacket you could
hardly tell the story that I laid before Col. Parin. The clean boots were
bad enough, but I was ready to explain they'd been so dirtied I just had
to wipe them off. He wasn't inclined toward doubt, however, not when he
saw my calling card: a loaded AK-47.
His eyes widened soon as I walked into his office. "Put the safety on
that thing!" he ordered. I had taken it off just before entering.
Clearly he'd handled the Soviet weapon before, rather surprising of an Air
Force officer, especially a bird colonel.
Then, "Where'n hell did you get it?"
"Took it off a dead Russian."
He was on the phone to the Iranian commander of Base Security before
my story even arrived at reaching the cave of imprisonment. Before I had
advanced it to Melki's appearance we were interrupted by a clatter in
front of the command Quonset and an Iranian officer stomped in, rank
equivalent to our major.
"Russians, here at Fellavi?" he demanded, eyes sparkling with
excitement above his handlebar moustache. His English was excellent --
not surprising. I found out later he'd graduated from Princeton.
"Closer to Advance Camp Two," I interjected. Nice to be a civilian
outside the military protocol limits! It probably gives them the willies.
"Who's this?" he demanded.
The colonel introduced us. I am an "invaluable civilian expert." I
agree on the first two parts -- invaluable to me, at least. From recent
events the third is not so evident.
He asked, "Can you find the place again?"
"I think so, though I got lost getting out." That last was to account
for the discrepancy in time between my reporting and the deaths in the
cavern, in case they should bring in a forensics expert. Then I realized
I had forgotten about the damned odometer! It probably wouldn't show more
than two or three miles extra.
Two half-tracks stood in the road, heavy machine guns mounted, one
full of troops, the other half full. I rode in the front between the
driver and the Iranian major. The colonel boarded the second with a
couple of American APs, after commenting with a glare at me that I could
continue my report when we got there. Message received. And away we
went. <These> things certainly leave a dust trail!
I thought of "getting lost" a bit, but what the hell, I'm an expert.
It's not good for an expert to appear stupid. So I led them directly.
Both tracks stopped side-by-side before the cave. First rounds were
jacked into the machine guns and the major ordered half his troops
forward. They went strung out and crouched down, slipping one-by-one
under the hillside overhang. Colonel, major, APs and I waited between the
half-tracks, surrounded by the remainder of the Iranian squad.
"By the way," I announced, "they'll also find a woman's body."
"A woman?" the colonel demanded. "A Russian?"
"No, sir. Well, I don't think so. If they hadn't quarreled over her
I probably wouldn't be here. I mean, <you> probably wouldn't be here!"
He was glaring again. "Tell us what happened, Stone."
In my slightly improved version the Iranian mercenaries had brought in
the woman, were fucking both ends of her when the Russian objected and
blew her brains out. Not much departure from the truth. I kept a
light-hearted tone to the best of my ability. But, god, that was Melki!
"He shot the <woman> first?" asked the colonel incredulously.
"Whatever for? Was she armed?"
"No." I shrugged.
The major suggested, "He ordered them to cease, didn't he?"
"He shouted something. I don't speak Farsi."
The major spread his hands. "It's obvious. The men were valuable to
him, the woman was not. Typical Soviet reasoning."
I wanted to add, "And Iranian," but didn't.
He mused, "Odd that they could stuff her without his knowledge."
I contributed, "He said he was going to use the radio for an hour.
Must've come back for something."
"Radio in that jeep?"
"Yes. You'll find it still running if the battery isn't dead."
Estri had come and gone. When they let us in, I noted a neatly folded
white blouse stacked on a black skirt and shawl, placed to one side out of
the blood. My god, I thought, why didn't they tell her to strew it?
But the colonel touched the folded clothing with the toe of his boot.
"Neat woman," he observed. "Too bad for her."
Oh, yes, too bad! I wanted to get away from them before they noticed
my eyes, but they distracted me successfully. "You were tied up here,
were you, Stone?" asked the colonel, pointing to the pillar. "How'd you
get free?"
Here was the weak part of my story. There lay Estri's dagger, so the
foot part was all right. If they ever saw the slashes on my wrists, I'd
be in trouble. For the first time I was glad my military field jacket was
a bit too large. I told them I'd worked my hands free from the binding,
which let me reach a dropped dagger to cut loose the boots. I claimed it
took a long time, of course. I breathed a symbolic sigh of relief.
Didn't need to worry about the odometer.
The major held up several strands of cord from behind the pillar.
"These were on your wrists? They've been cut."
"Yes," I agreed. "The cord was wrapped several times on one wrist. I
had to cut it off that one."
"Amateurs!" he spat contemptuously, overlooking the oddity of the cord
having fallen behind the pillar when I had presumably cut it in front
after releasing the hands from each other.
Their attention turned to the body of the KGB officer. The major
rifled the pockets, wiping partly dried blood off the extracted contents.
He went through the note book carefully, after a bit showing something to
the colonel, who said to me, "You're right, Stone. Your name and
Shelton's are here. There's been a leak."
"Worse than that, Colonel." I had given this whole affair some
thought.
"What do you mean?"
"The road to Advance Camp Two isn't used much but it does have some
traffic. They wouldn't've put out their roadblock until they knew I or
Shelton was in the jeep."
"You're saying the leak's in AC2?"
"Right. And it's not the APs on the front gate. I left by the back
gate."
"Why'd you do that, by the way?"
I shrugged. "Curiosity. Didn't know it was prohibited."
"Well, it wasn't, but it is now. You better watch that curiosity,
Stone."
"Colonel, my curiosity quotient just went to zero. The next time I
leave Fellavi, it'll be for the ZI."
"Good! Major, you got anybody who can examine that jeep radio?"
"Yes, sir, but I respectfully point out that you have better people."
"That's true. Leave a substantial guard here and let's get back."
"I'll have to report this to Tehran, you know."
"Of course, and I'll have to buck it to the Pentagon, but we can't do
it with the track radio."
"Yes, sir." He switched to Farsi and began shouting orders.
* * * *
Ate dinner with the colonel tonight. He wanted to make me out
something of a hero, seemed mystified and hurt when I refused absolutely
to play the part. After all, as I pointed out, my captors had obligingly
killed <themselves>!
Oh, my dear Melki! I'll always be sorry for her, for leading her into
sacrifice.
Normally I wouldn't mind a bit of recognition. A little acclaim here
would look good in my NSI file, probably seal me in tight on future
military contracts. But a semi-famous man can hardly execute the
skullduggery I'm planning for my short tour of Tehran.
He finally agreed. "You may be right. If we go public it would cause
an international incident. They found proof that guy was a field agent of
the KGB. We'll give his body back quietly with an 'Oops! Look what we
found!'"
"What about the woman's body?"
He shrugged. "It's been turned over to the locals."
Who may realize what she is. God! This is likely to be the longest
two weeks I've lived yet.
<Monday, October 2, 1972>
The colonel sent me to Tehran today to report in person to his boss in
the American embassy. He offered to call in a jet but I preferred the
supply flight. The dedicated jet would involve a special car to the
embassy and escorts all the way -- with no chance for our hero to execute
some necessary business of his own. So I was on the runaway again as the
Boxcar's engines began to cough their start-up.
Finished up with the general about eleven and taxied over to the
Horton, our little piece of America in downtown Tehran [Editor's note:
the hotel name has been altered slightly, although it is reasonable to
suppose that no American-owned hotel exists in Tehran today]. They will
be happy to provide two beds and a cot for me, my niece and my
brother-in-law, as long as we care to stay. I paid a night in advance and
went on to the airport PX.
Looked up the accommodating pharmacist and treated him to lunch.
Affable fellow, an Iranian educated in Boston and a fountain of
information. Oh, yes, he could recommend a paper merchant. A very good
one, keep it under your hat, a sometimes counterfeiter. Had done a better
likeness of the shah than you could find on real money: Mr. Vardish, a
prince of a man, married to the pharmacist's sister, in fact.
Three hours to flight time after lunch. I needn't have worried: the
taxi driver found the address in the bazaar in fifteen minutes. Mr.
Vardish ran a watch repair shop, about the size of a hole in the wall. He
was mustachioed, short and fat, one eye huge whenever his loupe fell down,
which was often. When I mentioned the pharmacist, he ushered me into a
back room after lowering a curtain in his doorway.
His English was good enough to understand that I'd left his
brother-in-law in good health. When the conversation faltered, I asked,
"Can you make an American passport?"
His eyes narrowed. "Depends."
"On what?"
"Who you want fool."
"Customs agents."
"American custom agents?"
"Maybe. Why not?"
"Number is problem."
"What number?"
"Show you passport."
I passed him mine. He opened it and pointed to the multidigit
identification number formed of tiny holes driven through all the pages
along the top of the document. "Number is code. Must match bearer."
"Do you know the code?"
"No. American government secret. Can use you number, change one
digit, hope pass. But change wrong digit, screw up. Is for man same
you?"
"No. Is for -- <It's> for a young girl."
His loupe fell across an eye. "No way! Sure catch."
I thought a moment. "Suppose I get the number from another girl's
passport?"
He nodded, pushing the glass back up. "Work better."
"The rest of it -- you can make it look just like that?"
"Can do. Need ten day."
"Ten days!"
"Need photo."
"Let's see, today is Monday ... I'll want it in eleven days. Can't
you mount the photo last?"
"Can do." He thought a moment. "Punch number take two day. When you
get number?"
"In a few days. Are you here every day?"
"Except Thursday. Closed on Thursday."
"All right. I'll have it Wednesday or Friday."
"One thousand dollar."
"Ouch!"
"Pay now."
I shook my head. "As you say, no way. Two hundred now, eight on
delivery."
His loupe fell again. He pushed it up, studying me. "Can do."
Back to the pharmacist's office. He eyed the twenty I laid on his
desk, mumbling that he wasn't supposed to let customers use the telephone,
except for calls to the American bases. Another twenty caused him to
remember an obscure case where, yes, a call to the US had been permitted,
so long as it didn't last more than a few minutes. And was I aware that
it was now almost six A.M. in New York?
"Good!" I retorted. "They'll be at home."
The Iranian telephone operator didn't understand me. The pharmacist
had to place the call, but he did have the grace to leave me alone in his
office while I talked. Actually I suppose it was a form of
self-protection.
"Hello," she moaned, obviously just awakened.
"Sis, it's me, Harry."
"No, it isn't. Harry's in Iran."
"I tell you it's me. Oh, did I wake you up?"
"You <bastard>! It's not even five o'clock. Just where are you
anyway?"
"Still in Iran. Can you do me a quick favor, then go back to sleep?"
She made a flatulent sound. "Is a raspberry quick enough?"
"Too quick. All I want is for you to find Heather's passport and read
me the number that's punched in it."
"Her passport? Whatever for, Harry?"
"I'll tell you all about it when I get home."
"What are you up to?"
"I said I'll tell you when I get home."
"Hold the phone."
I heard an unintelligible exchange between her and a man, surely her
husband. In fifteen seconds she was back on the phone. She is probably
the world's best organizer. I doubt anything in her house, even in her
husband's workshop, escapes her accountant's memory.
"Are you ready to copy?"
"Ready," I answered, pen and notebook handy.
She read it off: the same number of digits as my identification but
wildly different. The telephone connection was crisp; I didn't need to
repeat it back. Her suspicion came through clearly. "Will you get
Heather into trouble?"
"Absolutely not. How old is she, about eleven?"
"She was twelve in June. Harry ..."
"Okay. Sis, this has helped me a lot. Thanks very much. I'll see
you in about three weeks. I'm confident you'll approve when I tell you
about it."
"So tell me now."
"Are you kidding? D'you know what this call is costing me?"
Sis has grown up close-fisted as a miser. That argument would appeal
to her, I knew. She let me off after a couple of "love yas."
An hour to flight time. Too tight. So out to the flight line, after
thanking the pharmacist.
When he saw me, the load master craned his neck right and left.
"Where's the jeep?"
I grinned negligently. "Traveling light today."
Hard as it is to admit, Constance is proving right all along the line,
especially right to end my Meshir visits. If it hadn't been for the KGB,
I would've probably bought another jeep load of junk for the Meshir today.
And that would've attracted altogether too much attention.
Guess I'll return to Tehran on Wednesday. Too bad I didn't get Mr.
Vardish's telephone number. If he has one.
Heather, my real niece, is a dark brunette with brown eyes but "New
England" skin: so fair as to be almost translucent. Estri has black
hair, brown eyes and olive skin. If those characteristics are part of the
passport code, as they would be if I had designed it, then Heather's ID
number may trap us.
What's that I said about the man who never takes risks?
On the other hand, could I maybe sneak her in across the Canadian
border?
--
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