Devil May Care

into the little place where he and his friends were hiding out. When the big day came to put the Shah back on the throne Roosevelt discovered that it was the Muslim weekend, a Friday. Then, of course, it was the Christian weekend. So they all had another drink and waited for Monday. When they’d finally got the tanks out and the thick-necks from the bazaar had been paid to get the demonstrators on to the street, they found the Shah hadn’t signed the firmans, which were the binding documents dismissing Mossadegh and empowering himself. So the Shahanshah, the King of Kings, was lurking on the Caspian coast, the tanks and the mob were on the street and the paperwork was in an office in Tehran!’ Darius gave his huge, throaty laugh. ‘We got there in the end.’
    He leaned forward and gave a brief order in Farsi to Farshad, who swerved with a tearing-tyre screech into a side road and accelerated.
    ‘Apologies, James. I have talked too much. I have so much to tell you about this wonderful country. I think it’s important that you know as much as possible before you confront this Gorner and his people. Forewarned, as the English proverb has it, is forearmed.’
    ‘There’s no need to apologize. But why the Grand Prix tactics?’
    ‘In my verbosity I’d failed to notice a black American car – an Oldsmobile, I believe – that was behind us. Just as I was telling you about the Shah I realized we were being followed. I asked Farshad to lose him.’
    ‘And he was certainly happy to oblige.’
    ‘Happy by name, happy by nature. He loves a chase. We’re off the map now, James. Foreigners don’t come this far south. Over there is what they call the New Town. It’s full of brothels, bars and gambling dens. That way, down there, is a shanty town, the really poor arrivals from the country. Arabs and refugees from Afghanistan. They live in squalor.’
    ‘You don’t think much of the Arabs, do you?’ said Bond.
    ‘One doesn’t disparage foreigners in one’s own country, even refugees,’ said Darius. ‘The Persians, as you know, are an Aryan people, not Semitic like the Arabs. As for the Arabs themselves, well … They lack culture, James. All they have in their countries – the Iraqis, the Saudis, the Arabs of the Gulf – are a few things they stole or copied from us. But that’s enough. Here we are.’
    Darius insisted that Bond precede him through the doorway of what looked like a carpet shop with a red bulb over the lintel. Just inside, an old man was sitting on a low bench, smoking a water-pipe.
    Bond hesitated, but Persian etiquette apparently obliged him to go ahead of his host.
    ‘Trust me, James,’ said Darius, putting his hand on Bond’s shoulder.
    Just as Bond ducked to go beneath the low lintel, he noticed from the corner of his eye that a black Oldsmobile had pulled up opposite and immediately doused its lights.

8. Welcome to the Paradise Club
    Bond found himself in a large underground room lit by candles held in iron sconces. They were shown to a table on which were already set out bowls of pistachios, mulberries and walnuts, a bottle of Chivas Regal and two jugs of iced water. There were no menus. A group of four musicians was quietly playing stringed instruments on a low, carpeted platform and the other dozen or so tables were all occupied.
    Darius let out a sigh of contentment as he poured the whisky. A waitress arrived with a tray full of small dishes that included various flatbreads, yoghurts, salads and fresh herbs. Next, a steaming tureen was placed between Bond and Darius.
    ‘Lamb’s head and feet soup.’ Darius translated the words spoken by the waitress as she ladled some into Bond’s bowl.
    It had a surprisingly clean and delicate flavour.
    ‘James, you must put in some torshi,’ said Darius, handing him a small bowl of pickles. ‘That’s right. Good, isn’t it?’
    ‘Extremely,’ said Bond, trying not to sound surprised.
    ‘And the waitress. Isn’t she lovely?’
    ‘She’s ravishing,’ said Bond, appreciatively. It was no exaggeration.
    ‘Some visitors still expect Persian women to be veiled from head to foot. Thank God Reza Shah put an end to all that. He wanted a modern country run on Western lines, and you couldn’t have half the population creeping aroundlike nuns in mourning. You’d be amazed, but some of the women in the most traditional families were reluctant to give up the symbol of their slavery. Policemen were told to rip the veils off them in the