Bagley, Desmond - The Spoilers Page 15

  The Land-Rover roared up to the top of the mountain pass, and Bryan slowed as they reached the crest. Warren, looking through the dusty windscreen, suddenly tensed. 'Reverse, Ben,' he said sharply. 'Quickly, now -- get off the skyline.'

  Bryan crashed the gears, infected by the excitement transmitted by Warren, and the Land- Rover lurched backwards in a series of jerks and came to a halt. 'Run back down the road,' said Warren. 'Run as far as you can and flag Andy to stop. Ask him to join me on foot. And don't slam that door when you get out.'

  He opened the door and jumped to the ground, and as he ran up to the rest of the pass he veered to one side and headed for a clump of rocks which would give cover. When he arrived at the top he was panting, but more with excitement than exertion. He crouched behind the rocks and then slowly raised his head to get a view of the valley below.

  Against a background of the usual arid hills on the other side of the valley there was a smear of green, cultivated land, chequer-boarded into fields, and in the middle was a cluster of buildings, low and flat-topped -- either a small village or a biggish farm. This was the settlement of Sheikh Fahrwaz, the man who had ordered vast quantities of nonagricultural chemicals, and it was where Warren hoped to find Speering.

  He heard a stone clatter behind him and turned his head to see Tozier approaching with Follet close behind. He waved them down and they came up more cautiously and joined him in looking down upon the valley. 'So this is it,' said Tozier after a while. 'What now?'

  Follet said suddenly, 'Those people have been in big trouble.'

  Warren looked down. 'How do you make that out?'

  'Haven't you got eyes?' asked Follet. 'Look at those bomb craters. There's a line of them right across the valley -- one bomb just missed that big building. Someone's had a crack at these boys from the air.'

  It appeared that Follet was right. The line of craters stretched across the valley, starting from just below them and arrowing straight towards the settlement and beyond. Tozier reached behind for his binoculars. 'Who would want to bomb them unless it was the Iranian Air Force?' He juggled with the focusing. 'It was a poor attempt, though. That building hasn't been touched; there's no sign of repair work on the wall near the crater.'

  'Are you sure they're bomb craters?' asked Warren. Something niggled at the back of his mind.

  'I've seen plenty of them in Korea,' said Follet.

  'Yes, they're bomb craters,' confirmed Tozier. 'Not very big bombs.'

  This was a new element in the situation and something else for Warren to worry about. He put it on one side, and said, 'So what do we do?'

  Bryan joined them. 'We just go down there,' he said, and jerked his head back at the vehicles. 'Our cover's good enough to carry it off. Even these people will have heard of motion pictures.'

  Tozier nodded. 'Half of us go down,' he corrected. 'One vehicle. The other stays up here out of sight and keeps a listening watch on the radio.'

  'What's the general procedure?' asked Warren. He had no illusions about himself, and he knew that Tozier, the professional, knew more than he about an operation of this sort. He was quite prepared to take orders.

  Tozier squinted at the valley. 'I've searched many an innocent-looking village in my time, looking for arms caches mostly. But then we went in as an open operation -- bristling with guns. We can't do that here. If the people down there are innocent, they'll be hospitable; if they're guilty, they'll seem to be hospitable. We've got to get a look into every building, and every one we're barred from is a black mark against them. After that we play it as it comes. Let's go.'

  'So it'll be you and me,' said Warren. 'While Ben and Johnny stay up here.'

  The road wound down to the fertile oasis of the valley where the green vegetation looked incredibly refreshing. Some of the fields were bare and had the shallow lines of primitive ploughing, but most of them were under crops. Tozier, who was driving, said, 'Would you recognize an opium poppy if you saw one? You might find them here.'

  'There's none that I can see,' said Warren. 'Wait a minute -- can you go across there?' He pointed.

  'I don't see why not.' Tozier twisted the wheel and the Land-Rover left the road and bumped across open country. It did not make any appreciable difference to the bounce and jolt -- the road was purely symbolic. 'Where are we going?'

  'I want to have a look at those craters,' said Warren. 'The idea of bombing worries me -- it doesn't make sense.'

  Tozier drove to the nearest crater and left the engine idling. They got out and looked acr oss the valley floor towards the settlement. The line of craters stretched out towards the buildings, equally spaced at fifty-yard intervals. Tozier looked at the nearest and said, 'If that's not a bomb crater then I'm a duck-billed platypus. You can see how the earth has been thrown up around the edge.'

  'Let's have a closer look,' said Warren, and started walking. He climbed over the soft earth at the crater's edge, looked inside and started laughing. 'You're a duck-billed platypus, Andy. Look here.'

  'Well, I'm damned!' said Tozier. 'It's just a hole.' He stepped inside the crater, took a pebble and dropped it into the hole. There was a long pause and then a very faint splash. He straightened up and looked along the line of craters -- of holes -- with a puzzled expression. 'This is even crazier. Who'd want to dig a hell of a lot of deep wells at fifty- yard intervals and in a dead straight line?'

  Warren snapped his fingers. 'I've got it! I nearly had it when Follet pointed them out, but I couldn't pin it down. This is a qanat.'

  'A who-what?'

  'A qanat -- an underground canal.' He turned and looked back at the hills. 'It taps an aquifer in the slopes over there, and leads water to the village. I was studying Iran before we came out here and I read about them. Iran is pretty well honeycombed with the things -- there's a total of nearly two hundred thousand miles of qanats in the country.'

  Tozier scratched his head. 'Why can't they build their canals on the surface like other people?'

  'It's for water supply,' said Warren. 'They lose less by evaporation if the channel is underground. It's a very old system -- the Persians have been building these things for the last three thousand years.' He grinned with relief. These aren't bomb craters -- they're ventilation shafts; they have to have them so the workmen aren't asphyxiated when they're doing repairs.'

  'Problem solved,' said Tozier. 'Let's go.'

  They set off again and drove back to the road and then towards the settlement. The buildings were of the common sort they had seen elsewhere -- walls made of rammed earth, flat roofs, and all of them single storey which would conveniently make a search easier. As they got nearer they saw goats grazing under the watchful eye of a small boy who waved as they passed, and there were scrawny chickens which scattered as they approached the courtyard of the largest building.

  Tozier drew up inside. 'If you want to tell me anything let it wait until we're alone. These people might have more English than they'll admit to. But I must say everything looks peaceful.'

  It did not seem so to Warren because a crowd of small boys rushed forward towards the unexpected visitors and were capering about in the dust, their shrill voices raised high. The women who had been about were vanishing like wraiths, drawing their shawls about their faces and hurrying out of sight through a dozen doors. He said, There are a hell of a lot of rooms to look into; and if Fahrwaz has a harem that will make things difficult.'

  They descended to the ground and the small boys engulfed them. Tozier raised his voice. 'Better lock up or we'll be missing a lot of gear.'

  Another voice was raised in harsh command and the boys scattered, running across the courtyard as though the devil were at their heels. A tall man stepped forward, richly dressed and straight-backed, though elderly. The haft of the curved knife in his sash glinted with jewels, a stone shone in his turban and others from the rings on his fingers. His face was thin and austere, and his beard was grey.

  He turned and spoke in a low voice to his companion, who said
-- astonishingly in English -- 'Sheikh Fahrwaz welcomes you. His house is yours.' He paused, then added sardonically, 'I wouldn't take that too literally -- it's just a figure of speech.'

  Warren recovered enough to say, Thank you. My name is Nicholas Warren and this is Andrew Tozier. We're looking for locations to make a film.' He indicated the inscription on the side of the Land-Rover. 'We work for Regent Films of London.'

  'You're off the beaten track. I'm Ahmed -- this is my father.' He spoke to the old man and the Sheikh nodded his head gravely and muttered a reply. Ahmed said, 'You're still welcome, although my father cannot really approve. He is a good Moslem and the making of images is against the Law.' He smiled slightly. 'For myself, I couldn't give a damn. You need not lock your truck -- nothing will be stolen.'

  Warren smiled. 'It's ... er ... unexpected to find English spoken in this remote place.'

  Ahmed smiled a little mockingly. 'Do you think I should have a big sign put up there on the Djebel Ramadi -- 'English Spoken Here'?' He gestured. 'My father wishes you to enter his house.'

  'Thank you,' said Warren. 'Thank you very much.' He glanced at Tozier. 'Come on, Andy.'

  The room into which they were led was large. Sheepskin rugs were scattered on the floor and the walls were hidden behind tapestries. Several low settees surrounded a central open space which was covered by a fine Persian carpet, and coffee was already being brought in on brass trays.

  'Be seated,' said Ahmed, and sank gracefully on to one of the settees. Warren tactfully waited until Sheikh Fahrwaz had settled himself and then sat down, doing his best to imitate the apparently awkward posture of Ahmed, which Ahmed did not seem to find awkward at all. Tozier followed suit and Warren could hear his joints crack.

  'We have had European visits before,' said Ahmed. 'My father is one of the old school, and I usually instruct visitors in our customs. It pleases my father when they do what is right in his eyes, and does no harm to anyone.' He smiled engagingly. 'Afterwards we will go to my quarters and drink a lot of whisky.'

  'That's very kind of you,' said Warren. 'Isn't it, Andy?'

  'I could do with a stiff drink,' admitted Tozier.

  Ahmed spoke to his father, then said, 'We will now have coffee. It is a little ceremonious, but it will not take long. My father wishes to know how long you have been in Kurdistan.'

  'Not very long,' said Warren. 'We came in from Gilan two days ago.'

  Ahmed translated this to his father, then said, 'You take the brass coffee cup in your right hand. The coffee is very hot and already sweetened -- perhaps too sweet for your palate. Is this your first time in Kurdistan?'

  Warren thought it better to tell the truth; unnecessary lies could be dangerous. He picked up the cup and cradled it in the palm of his hand. 'We were here a few weeks ago,' he said. 'We didn't find just what we wanted so we went back to Tehran to rest for a while.'

  'No,' said Ahmed. 'Kurdistan is not a restful place.' He turned to Sheikh Fahrwaz and ripped off a couple of sentences very fast, then he said, 'You drink the coffee all at once, then you put the cup on the tray -- upturned. It will make a sticky mess, but that doesn't matter. What is this film you are going to make, Mr Warren?'

  'I'm not going to make the film,' said Warren. 'I'm just an advance man scouting locations as called for by the script.' He drank the coffee; it was hot and sickly sweet, and the cup was half full of grounds which he pushed back with his tongue, He brought the cup down and turned it over on the tray. Old Sheikh Fahrwaz smiled benevolently.

  'I see,' said Ahmed. 'Just the other two- cups and then we are finished. You make my father very happy when you understand our Kurdish hospitality.' He drank his coffee apparently with enjoyment. 'Are you the ... er ... the man in charge, Mr Warren?'

  'Yes.' Warren followed Ahmed's example and picked up the second cup. 'Andy -- Mr Tozier, here -- is more of a technician. He concerns himself with camera angles and things like that.' Warren did not know how a unit like this was supposed to operate, and he hoped he was not dropping too many clangers.

  'And there are just the two of you?'

  'Oh, no,' said Warren blandly. 'Four of us in two vehicles. The others had a puncture and stopped to change the wheel.'

  'Ah, 'then we must extend our hospitality to your friends. Night is falling.'

  Warren shook his head. 'It is not necessary. They are fully equipped for camping.'

  'As you say,' said Ahmed, and turned to his father.

  They got through the third and last cup of the coffee ceremony and Sheikh Fahrwaz arose and uttered a sonorous and lengthy speech. Ahmed said briefly, 'My father extends to you the use of his house for the night.'

  Warren gave Tozier a sideways glance and Tozier nodded almost imperceptibly. 'We'll be delighted. I'd just like to get some things from the Land-Rover -- shaving kit and so forth.'

  'Ill get it,' said Tozier promptly.

  'Why, Mr Tozier,' said Ahmed chidingly, 'I was beginning to think the cat had got your tongue.' He brought out the English idiom triumphantly.

  Tozier grinned. 'I leave the talking to the boss.'

  'Of course you may leave,' said Ahmed. 'But after my father -- that is the custom.'

  Sheikh Fahrwaz bowed and disappeared through a doorway at the back of the room, and Tozier went out into the courtyard. He reached into the cab, unhooked the microphone and tossed it carelessly into the back. Luckily it had a long lead. He climbed into the back and, as he was unstrapping his case, he pressed the switch, and said in a low voice, 'Calling Regent Two; calling Regent Two. Come in -- come in. Over.'

  Follet's voice from the speaker in front was a bit too loud for comfort. 'Johnny here. Are you okay? Over.'

  'We'll be all right if you speak more softly. We're staying the night. Keep listening in case anything happens. Over.'

  'I can't keep the set alive all night without moving,' said Follet more quietly. 'It'll run the ba tteries flat. Over.'

  'Then keep a listening watch every hour on the hour for ten minutes. Got that? Over.'

  'Got it. Good luck. Out.'

  Tozier unpacked everything he and Warren would need and then stowed the microphone away out of sight. When he went back into the house he found Warren and Ahmed chatting. 'Ahmed has just been telling me how he came by his English,' said Warren. 'He lived in England for seventeen years.'

  'Oh,' said 'Tozier. That's interesting. How come?'

  Ahmed waved gracefully. 'Let us talk about it over a drink. Come, my friends.' He led them from the room, across the courtyard and into what were unmistakably his own quarters, which were furnished completely in European style. He opened a cabinet. 'Whisky?'

  Thank you,' said Warren civilly. 'It's very kind of you.'

  Ahmed poured the drinks and Warren noted he drank Chivas Regal. 'My father does not approve, but I do as I wish in my own rooms.' He handed a glass to Warren. The Prophet is against alcohol, but would God allow us to make it if we weren't to use it?' He held up the bottle and said jocularly, 'And if I sin, at least my sins are of the finest quality. Mr Tozier, your drink.'

  'Thank you.'

  Ahmed poured himself a healthy slug. 'Besides, the very word alcohol is Arabic. I must say I acquired a taste for Scotch whisky in England. But sit down, gentlemen; I think you will find those seats more comfortable than those of my father.'

  'How did you get to England?' asked Warren curiously.

  'Ah, what a long story,' said Ahmed. 'Do you know much of our Kurdish politics?'

  'Nothing at all. What about you, Andy?'

  'I've heard of the Kurdish problem, but I've never known what it is,' said Tozier.

  Ahmed laughed. 'We Kurds prefer to call it the Iranian problem, or the Iraqi problem, or the Turkish problem; we don't look upon ourselves as a problem, but that is quite natural.' He sipped his whisky. 'During the war Iran was occupied, as you know, by you British in the south and by the Russians in the north. When the occupying forces left the Russians played one of their favourite tricks by leaving a
Fifth Column behind. For this purpose they tried to use the Kurds. The Mehabad Kurdish Republic was set up, backed by the Russians, but it was short-lived and collapsed as soon as the new Iranian government moved an army to the north.'

  He waved his glass. 'That was in 1946 when I was five years old. My father was involved, and with Mullah Mustapha Barzani, he took refuge in Russia.' He tapped his chest. 'But me he sent to England where I lived until 1963. My father is a wise man; he did not want all his family in Russia. You English have a saying about too many eggs in one basket -so I was sent to England, and my elder brother to France. That explains it, does it not?'

  This Mullah what's-his-name -- who is he?' asked Tozier.

  'Mullah Mustapha Barzani? He is one of our Kurdish leaders. He is still alive.' Ahmed chuckled gleefully. 'He is in Iraq with an army of twenty thousand men. He causes the Iraqis a lot of trouble. Me, I am also a Barzani; that is, a member of the Barzani tribe of which the Mullah is the leader. And so, of course, is my father.'

  'How did your father get back into Iran?' asked Warren.

  'Oh, there was a sort of amnesty,' said Ahmed, 'and he was allowed to return. Of course he is watched; but all Kurds are watched, more or less. My father is now old and no longer inclined to politics. As for me -- I never was. Life in England conditions one to be ... gentle!'

  Warren looked at the knife in Ahmed's sash and wondered if it was entirely ceremonial. Tozier said, 'Where do the Iraqis and Turks come into all this?'

  'Ah, the Kurdish problem. That is best explained with a map -- I think I have one somewhere.' Ahmed went to a bookcase and pulled out what was obviously an old school atlas. He flicked the pages, and said, 'Here we are -- the Middle East. In the north -Turkey; in the east -- Iran; to the west -- Iraq.' His finger swept in a line from the mountains of eastern Turkey south along the Iraqi-Iranian border.

  'This is the homeland of the Kurds. We are a divided people spread over three countries, and in each country we are a minority -- an oppressed minority, if you like. We are divided and ruled by the Persians, the Iraqis and the Turks. You must admit this could lead to trouble.'