Bloodstorm by Keith Douglass

Author:Keith Douglass [Douglass, Keith]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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18

Airport

Tehran, Iran

Guns Franklin had started to sweat when the Iranian Special Security Police prowled the plane as soon as it landed and before anyone left.

“Routine inspection,” they had called it in Farsi. Franklin knew Farsi. The police at last let those get off who were stopping there. Through passengers were told to remain in their seats, that it would be a quick stop.

The police then checked on the ten passengers left. Those still on the plane were merely passing through the airport, not even touching Iranian ground. Franklin wondered what the police could want from these people.

The policeman looked down at Tran Khai and asked him in Farsi who he was and where he was going. Khai ducked his head and looked away as they had rehearsed.

“Sir, this is my cousin,” Franklin said in Farsi. “He isn’t exactly right in the head. He’s never been out of Saudi Arabia before, so I am giving him a trip.”

“You go to Afghanistan?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why doesn’t he speak?”

“His mother has asked that question for twenty years. He just doesn’t. Something happened in his head when he fell and hit it.”

The policeman scowled, and kicked Khai’s foot back under his seat. One of his feet had strayed into the aisle.

“Good riddance to get him out of Iran. We have no room here for the softheaded. If they can’t work, we shoot them.”

Franklin looked away.

“That bother you, Saudi Arabian man?”

“Sir, it’s your country. I wouldn’t comment on how you run it.”

For a moment the policeman frowned. His hand moved toward the pistol on his hip. Then he grinned and laughed.

“Yes, Saudi, you will do well. You have the right outlook.”

An old man lugging a suitcase stepped into the plane from the loading ramp, and the policeman barked something at him. The old man stopped. The cop hurried up the aisle and out the door before a sudden flood of oncoming passengers trapped him.

“Gone?” Khai whispered.

“Yeah, but keep quiet, mute boy. He could be back.”

He didn’t come back, and Franklin breathed easier once they lifted off the Iranian runway and headed cross-country for Kabul. Franklin tried to remember everything he had crammed into his skull about the area and about Afghanistan. It was a little smaller in size than Pakistan, had twenty-five million people and the lowest per-capita income of any nation in the area at the equivalent of $800 a year. To contrast it with Pakistan, the more southern nation had 142 million people and the per-capita income was $2,300.

It was almost exactly a thousand miles between Tehran and Kabul, as Franklin had found out by talking to one of the flight attendants. That meant a flight of just over two hours. Franklin had no idea what time it was. He asked the attendant again, and she set his watch for him. They would arrive slightly before 1500. Maybe they could find the address they needed before dark.

“Might be a better idea to go there after dark,” Khai said. “We don’t want to compromise the agent.

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