Chapter 105: 104, Pahlavi Dynasty In Iran, Guest At The Imperial Palace
The airplane circled in the air.
Fang Wen’s heart was heavy.
If they couldn’t quickly find a landing spot in the Bam area, they would have to return to base soon.
He calculated the fuel amount; they could hold out for now, but if they still couldn’t find it, they would have to return to Karachi and come back tomorrow.
The reason for this problem was that Bam had no formal airport; instead, under local guidance, they had to go to a hard dirt road surface suitable for landing.
Where were the people coming to meet him?
Where was that runway suitable for landing?
Fang Wen had already piloted the airplane circling several times, but still hadn’t spotted it.
The only thing drawing attention was the huge soil structure building area below, a city of soil.
People in the city looked up at the Shrike aircraft, many waving their arms and shouting.
Those weren’t the contacts; Fang Wen clearly remembered the telegram said it would be someone riding a horse, waving a red scarf.
Another circle; Fang Wen was somewhat disappointed. It seemed the contact wouldn’t come.
At that moment, in mechanical perception state, at the edge of his vision, a galloping horse appeared.
Outside the soil city, a white robe knight spurred his horse forward, raising his right hand high and waving a red scarf.
Yes, that was him.
Fang Wen was delighted, controlled the airplane to descend, and flew over his head.
The other pulled the reins to stop the horse, turned around, and galloped in the direction he had come, waving the scarf.
This was guiding the direction.
Fang Wen continued circling in the air, watching closely.
The other ran to a flat area away from the soil city.
The ground there was white, seemingly the remains of some ancient ruin from long ago.
It seemed they would land here.
Fang Wen assessed from the air.
400 meters long, over 100 meters wide, the ground looked hard and without obstacles; it should be safe to land.
After deciding, he piloted the Shrike to lower altitude, adjusted the landing direction, and touched down on the white ground.
The Shrike’s hydraulically supported tires compressed on landing, then recovered, gradually coming to a steady stop under braking deceleration.
Finally landed successfully.
Fang Wen stood up in the cockpit and turned to look at him.
The white robe knight spurred his horse over.
They communicated in English under the airplane.
“Mr. Fang, I’m Tai’an. You can rest here; the fuel will take a while to arrive.”
“How long?” Fang Wen asked.
“About an hour.”
Since it was only 1 hour, Fang Wen didn’t plan to get off the airplane; he talked with him.
“Tai’an, are you a local?”
“No, I worked at the British Petroleum company, but I was recently laid off, so I took this job.”
An Iranian who worked at British Petroleum but was laid off.
This seemed like a good topic.
Fang Wen asked, “Why?”
“You don’t know?” Tai’an then realized, “Right, you’re from the East. It’s no secret; I can tell you.”
He spoke of a major event in Iran this year.
This year, the current king of the Pahlavi dynasty announced the cancellation of the British Petroleum company’s operating rights.
Not only that, he also imposed import quotas on European countries’ governments, set prices, and required investment in domestic oil infrastructure.
This behavior caused oil prices to rise, and countries were extremely dissatisfied; international opinion criticized the Pahlavi dynasty’s shortsightedness.
But domestically in the Pahlavi dynasty, they believed these measures would greatly increase national surpluses, boost purchasing power, and the people welcomed it.
But one country was particularly unhappy about it.
The United Kingdom.
These days, the Pahlavi dynasty in Iran was a major source of oil for British Petroleum, and Abadan in Iran was one of the world’s largest refining centers.
Being treated this way by the Pahlavi dynasty caused huge losses to the British, who couldn’t escape dependence on Iranian oil and could only grit their teeth and continue investing.
Hearing Tai’an say this, Fang Wen gained another layer of understanding of the world’s situation.
He felt that Iran, supplying large amounts of oil to Europe, would hold a very important position in World War II.
Perhaps in Tehran, there would be many intelligence officers from various powers lurking, all to secure interests for their countries.
But this had little relation to the East; from the current view, Pahlavi dynasty matters were unrelated to China.
Therefore, Fang Wen didn’t feel much about Tai’an’s words and spoke very directly.
“If everyone wants your oil, the future is destined to tilt toward one side. Ultimately, you’ll have to choose one as a long-term strategic partner.”
“What you say makes sense, but it’s not for me to consider.” Tai’an looked behind him. “The fuel’s here.”
An ox cart dragged over large oil barrels, refueling the airplane in the most primitive way.
After refueling, Fang Wen waved goodbye to Tai’an and took off again.
The remaining 1000 km journey saw the terrain gradually rise, entering the Iranian Plateau.
Most of Iran was this kind of mountainous plateau terrain.
As altitude increased, the air began to thin.
Fang Wen lowered flight altitude, took out scuba gear and put it on.
This time, just in case, he opened the compressed air tank; as air filled from low-altitude areas entered his airways, his spirits lifted.
He flew like this for 3 hours, and a tall peak appeared ahead.
That was Iran’s highest mountain, Mount Damavand.
Not far below the mountain was Tehran city.
Finally arrived at the destination, completing the day’s 3000 km long-haul flight path.
Fang Wen couldn’t help relaxing a bit; he would overnight here and reach Europe tomorrow.
After finding Tehran Airport, he immediately called on the radio.
“Shrike calling Tehran Airport, requesting landing.”
After three times, the ground responded.
“Shrike noted, cleared to land.”
The airplane circling in the air landed smoothly at the airport.
The people who came to meet him this time.
Fang Wen’s first instinct was that they were Americans.
The other wore a black suit and wide-brimmed hat.
He looked very formal, yet gave a very casual feeling.
This was different from the British; British suits in formal occasions were always ironed crisp and straight.
Neil was like this, Americans in Shanghai were like this, and this welcomer was too.
Fang Wen got off the airplane and tentatively asked, “American?”
The other was surprised and nodded involuntarily.
“How did you tell?”
“Normally I couldn’t tell, but if choosing between British and American, I’d definitely say you’re American,” Fang Wen replied.
“You guessed right, smart Chinese.” The other extended his hand, introducing himself while shaking hands: “Welcome to Tehran, Mr. Fang. I’m Indiana Deco, affiliated with the Office of Strategic Services, currently military attaché at the Tehran embassy.”
The other so casually revealed his identity, surprising Fang Wen.
The Office of Strategic Services was the predecessor of the CIA, plus the diplomatic military attaché role, clearly an overseas intelligence institution managerial personnel.
Perhaps these days intelligence wasn’t as secretive as in the future; Indiana Deco didn’t care at all about his identity.
Fang Wen was surprised inwardly but acted nonchalant on the surface.
He asked, “Will there be an airplane introduction tonight?”
“Yes, but not at the airport; you have to come with me to the royal palace.”
Fang Wen hadn’t expected to go to such a place as the royal palace just for one night in Tehran.
“Go to the royal palace to introduce the airplane?” he asked.
“Yes, and tell them some war bombing stories, like sinking that cruiser in Shanghai.” Indiana Deco explained.
Fang Wen understood; this high-end gathering needed topics, and his arrival gave them a new one, so performing a bit in front of Pahlavi royals and foreign guests would complete the mission.
He had no objection; recounting his own experiences wasn’t new, and he had gradually gotten used to this kind of report-style performance.
But before going to the royal palace, he needed to handle the airplane and luggage, and take time to bathe and change into clean clothes, so as not to lose face for Chinese people.
These requests were all handled.
Indiana Deco guaranteed that the closer to Europe, the more civilized and safe; there wouldn’t be theft here.
That bag of food, Indiana Deco suggested not bringing to the royal palace, since much of it contained lard and wasn’t suitable.
As for bathing and changing, that was certainly needed; Indiana Deco arranged a place to stay at the airport for Fang Wen, with clean hot water for bathing.
Fang Wen, who hadn’t bathed in three days, eagerly entered the room and took a comfortable hot bath.
He also shaved and combed his hair, then opened the canvas bag.
His wife had considered Fang Wen’s social attire in Europe.
As a Chinese person, there was no need for full Western clothing; that wouldn’t represent Chinese culture.
Therefore, she prepared two outfits for him.
One was the currently popular Zhongshan suit.
One was a traditional long gown.
Fang Wen chose the long gown.
This outfit wasn’t simple to wear.
First, put on white cotton undershirt and underwear. Pants were traditional cotton-linen, shoes were old Beijing thousand-layer soles.
Paired with the long gown, it had an Eastern natural, comfortable, literary style.
Dressed in this, Fang Wen went out.
Indiana Deco looked surprised. “This is the East? Very distinctive.”
“Let’s go.” Fang Wen took out a scarf and wrapped it around his neck, just right to ward off Tehran’s cold.
The car drove into Tehran city center, and a magnificent royal palace appeared before them.
Kakh-e Marmar, also known as the Rose Palace.
Under the night, the royal palace was brilliantly lit, guests in formal attire descending from cars.
Ladies arm-in-arm with men, chatting as they entered the royal palace.
Just Fang Wen and Indiana, two single men.
Drawing surprised looks from the guests.
More so for Fang Wen’s distinctive attire.
Amid the attention, Fang Wen and Indiana entered the royal palace.
Inside the royal palace it was even livelier; in the resplendent lobby, people formed social circles, chatting on various topics.
Indiana brought Fang Wen a glass of wine.
“This isn’t suitable for you or me; let’s go over there.”
Under his lead, Fang Wen left the lobby to the back of the royal palace.
There was food there.
Persian rice in huge ceramic platters.
Made of rice, butter, tomato sauce, and fruit.
Load up a plate, then get roasted meat, meat pies, mutton stew, stewed chicken from the side to eat together.
Fang Wen, who hadn’t eaten hot food in 3 days, looked at these delicacies with no more caution, following others to load a big plate.
Indiana was similar, loading even more roasted meat.
“I like this kind of banquet; they discuss while we eat delicacies.”
Fang Wen was a bit puzzled: “Indiana, don’t you need to work here? I mean, collect some information useful to your country.”
“Of course, but it doesn’t conflict with eating; I’ll go over after they finish socializing.” Indiana’s words showed he was very familiar with this place.
At that moment, a group passed in front of Fang Wen, each standing straight, arrogant, full of vigor.
Fang Wen couldn’t help asking, “Who are they?”
“From the Weimar Republic; they’ve been promoting the nobility of Aryan bloodline here, and saying the Pahlavi dynasty is a branch of the Aryan bloodline.”
Fang Wen instantly lost his appetite, quickly ate two pieces of mutton, wiped his hands with the tablecloth, and hurried after them.
He wanted to see what the Nazis were doing.
But when he reached the main hall, he found he couldn’t understand their words.
Fang Wen only knew English and Chinese; here, people were all strong in communication, proficient in multiple languages, each small circle using different languages.
German, French, Persian, etc.
English was used by the minority.
Fang Wen turned to Indiana who followed, and suddenly understood.
“You can’t understand either.”
“Yeah, so I said wait a bit; they’ll use English in formal settings,” Indiana replied.
This formal setting came soon.
The royal palace host appeared, and everyone immediately dispersed their small circles.
Listening to him speak.
“Today, we discuss the oil problem. Considering the massive funds invested by British Petroleum enterprises in our country and involving tens of thousands of jobs, we have agreed on a new cooperation agreement. The oil company will contribute more profits as tax revenue and invest in new infrastructure.”
While he spoke up there, Indiana whispered indifferently.
His whisper was to Fang Wen, not necessarily for him, just venting to someone.
“The British took most of the profits; now with economic downturn, oil company profits have plunged, the king’s income dropped, so he wants to take it back himself. Germans and Russians see profit in this and want in. Germans promised massive funds for infrastructure and to meddle here. That’s when the British got nervous and proactively changed the dividend terms.”
These were games between great powers.
Armies don’t move without supplies first; World War II needed massive oil strategic resources, making the Pahlavi dynasty a target everyone vied for.
This game would continue until the Pahlavi dynasty tilted to one side or was occupied.
Fang Wen watched these events as an observer, without feeling involved, since he cared only about China.
But this observer state soon ended.
The royal palace host spoke out: “The Pahlavi dynasty is the continuation of Persia; long ago, we maintained long-term trade with the Eastern power China, recorded in various historical documents. And now, a pilot from the East has crossed 8000 km to come here; he is also a soldier who once piloted a French Potez 25 fighter jet to sink a cruiser. This experience will be the most wonderful story; now let us hear him recount that episode.”
