sir.”
He was the perfect marine, thought Frank. Tall, fair, solidly built, square shouldered, and square jawed. He might have marched right out of a recruiting poster. Well trained, absurdly young, but aware of his responsibility and capable of exercising authority. Or at least trying to.
“You mean all those folks want to get away to the country of the Great Satan?” said Gus.
“Sir, it wouldn’t surprise me if some of the same crew who were out at the front fuckin’ gates a few minutes ago shouting ‘Kill the Americans’ bop-assed around the block and are waiting out here now, begging for a U.S. visa, sir.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” echoed Gus.
“But I would appreciate it, sir, if you would sequester behind that shed where your car is until you’re ready to leave. Out of sight, out of mind, if you know what I mean, sir, and we don’t want these I-ranians getting any ideas about you comin’ out that gate.”
“I think we better get the car.” Frank realized the marine was getting nervous, and polite young men with guns worried him when they got nervous. The corporal escorted them to the car.
“Give me three minutes, sir. Get your engine nice and warm. Then drive around the shed nice and easy, and we’ll swing the gates open for you. After that, you’re on your own.”
Frank made a mistake. While the engine warmed, he lowered his window. And forgot it.
The gates swung open. Frank drove through in second gear, turning to his right as he exited. A bony but strong hand thrust suddenly through the window and grabbed his left wrist.
“Please, sir, take me with you to American.” Frank braked, and a circle of Iranians began to close around the car. “I am very America. My English is excellent. I can work well very hard.”
Frank tried to pull his arm away, but the Iranian, short and slightly built, held him with intense, pleading dark eyes and bony fingers in a viselike grip. He worked his head and shoulders into the car, breathing hard in Frank’s face.
“I’m not going to America,” said Frank.
“Where are you going, sir? What is your destination now? Where do you stay in Tehran?”
Frank tried again to pull away. “Our assignment has been changed,” he yelled into the ear of the man who held his wrist. “We’re going to Ethiopia. A very poor country in Africa where many people are dying of leprosy.” He saw the intense eyes falter, and the grip on his arm eased. “But I’m used to lepers. I’ve worked with lepers in Africa before.” He pulled his arm free, and the Iranian drew back, mouth agape, staring at Frank.
Frank began to ease the small Fiat through the crowd. Young men in dark trousers and heavy sweaters and jackets still pressed close, flanked by women in long black coats and chadors on one side of the street and middle-aged men with black mustaches in parkas or somber coats on the other. The crowd backed off, encouraged by a few young men who stretched out their arms, gently moving people away to make a path for the car. Frank studied the face of one college-age man who helped to part the crowd. He expected to see anger and hate but instead sensed sadness and something deeper that he couldn’t name. It lay in the eyes, dark, quizzical, bewildered.
“We betrayed them,” said Gus. “And I don’t want to be here when they really get mad.”
* * *
“So far,” said Frank, “I got a hand grenade through the window, a message from the palace that freaked out Rocky, and an Iranian wannabe-American who nearly pulled my arm off.”
“Sounds like a pretty good day,” said Troy, rocking back in his chair, laughing.
“Despite all that,” said Gus, “we would like to file some cables.”
Troy swiveled toward Gus. “Do you really have to?”
Gus glanced at Frank, and Frank answered for both of them. “Yeah. Yeah, we do. We need traces on our Jayface friends, especially the little army major with buddies at the palace, and to see if there’s any
He was the perfect marine, thought Frank. Tall, fair, solidly built, square shouldered, and square jawed. He might have marched right out of a recruiting poster. Well trained, absurdly young, but aware of his responsibility and capable of exercising authority. Or at least trying to.
“You mean all those folks want to get away to the country of the Great Satan?” said Gus.
“Sir, it wouldn’t surprise me if some of the same crew who were out at the front fuckin’ gates a few minutes ago shouting ‘Kill the Americans’ bop-assed around the block and are waiting out here now, begging for a U.S. visa, sir.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” echoed Gus.
“But I would appreciate it, sir, if you would sequester behind that shed where your car is until you’re ready to leave. Out of sight, out of mind, if you know what I mean, sir, and we don’t want these I-ranians getting any ideas about you comin’ out that gate.”
“I think we better get the car.” Frank realized the marine was getting nervous, and polite young men with guns worried him when they got nervous. The corporal escorted them to the car.
“Give me three minutes, sir. Get your engine nice and warm. Then drive around the shed nice and easy, and we’ll swing the gates open for you. After that, you’re on your own.”
Frank made a mistake. While the engine warmed, he lowered his window. And forgot it.
The gates swung open. Frank drove through in second gear, turning to his right as he exited. A bony but strong hand thrust suddenly through the window and grabbed his left wrist.
“Please, sir, take me with you to American.” Frank braked, and a circle of Iranians began to close around the car. “I am very America. My English is excellent. I can work well very hard.”
Frank tried to pull his arm away, but the Iranian, short and slightly built, held him with intense, pleading dark eyes and bony fingers in a viselike grip. He worked his head and shoulders into the car, breathing hard in Frank’s face.
“I’m not going to America,” said Frank.
“Where are you going, sir? What is your destination now? Where do you stay in Tehran?”
Frank tried again to pull away. “Our assignment has been changed,” he yelled into the ear of the man who held his wrist. “We’re going to Ethiopia. A very poor country in Africa where many people are dying of leprosy.” He saw the intense eyes falter, and the grip on his arm eased. “But I’m used to lepers. I’ve worked with lepers in Africa before.” He pulled his arm free, and the Iranian drew back, mouth agape, staring at Frank.
Frank began to ease the small Fiat through the crowd. Young men in dark trousers and heavy sweaters and jackets still pressed close, flanked by women in long black coats and chadors on one side of the street and middle-aged men with black mustaches in parkas or somber coats on the other. The crowd backed off, encouraged by a few young men who stretched out their arms, gently moving people away to make a path for the car. Frank studied the face of one college-age man who helped to part the crowd. He expected to see anger and hate but instead sensed sadness and something deeper that he couldn’t name. It lay in the eyes, dark, quizzical, bewildered.
“We betrayed them,” said Gus. “And I don’t want to be here when they really get mad.”
* * *
“So far,” said Frank, “I got a hand grenade through the window, a message from the palace that freaked out Rocky, and an Iranian wannabe-American who nearly pulled my arm off.”
“Sounds like a pretty good day,” said Troy, rocking back in his chair, laughing.
“Despite all that,” said Gus, “we would like to file some cables.”
Troy swiveled toward Gus. “Do you really have to?”
Gus glanced at Frank, and Frank answered for both of them. “Yeah. Yeah, we do. We need traces on our Jayface friends, especially the little army major with buddies at the palace, and to see if there’s any
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