A Palm for Mrs. Pollifax

by Dorothy Gilman

  "Apparently you couldn't buy King Jarroud," pointed out Mrs. Pollifax.

  "Ah, but I have undermined him," he said with the flash of a smile, "and that has been far more enjoyable. General Parviz will be no trouble to me, the road to the throne is wide open." His smile became radiant. "One of the five pillars of the Moslem faith is the people's willingness to participate in jihad. Do you know what jihad is, madame?"

  "A holy war," said Robin in a bleak voice.

  "Quite so, yes," said the sheik. "The redress of wrongs is an act of religious obedience in Islam. I have had a vision—Muhammed came to me in a dream one night—telling me that the time has come, and that I am sayyid."

  Mrs. Pollifax put down her cup and stared at him, caught by the play of emotion, a look almost of ecstasy on his face, she confessed herself moved by the passion in his voice and the almost hypnotic quality of his words.

  "The Moslems have waited a long time," he went on, the fire illuminating the fierce profile and flashing eyes. "Nasser promised hope at first but it was Allah's will that he be struck down. Now Moslems quarrel among themselves, there is Quadaffi and there is Sadat and Hussein and Jarroud and we are all divided but I shall unite us in jihad—with one stroke—and when we are truly united we will be soldiers together, and when we have won back what is ours we shall impose peace on the whole world."

  "Impose?" There was silence until Mrs. Pollifax, already guessing the answer, said softly, "How?"

  "By the means given me to impose it." His smile deepened. "That, dear lady, is too great a secret to divulge but I have the means, never fear, the means to the glorious end promised me by the Prophet Himself. I can assure you the world will pay attention, allah Akhbar!"

  From Fouad came a resounding, "Allah Akhbar!"

  "Your plans include much more than Zabya, then."

  He laughed. "Of course. I'm surprised that you didn't see that at once. Zabya?" He shrugged. "A small desert country with a tiresome, idealistic little king. Who could possibly settle for Zabya? For me it shall be the beginning, a base in the center of an oil-rich continent, a foothold, a foundation on which to build an empire. Mohammed himself began with only the town of Medina, yet before he died he had changed millions of people's lives and had given us Mecca, after his death his followers carried Islam as far as France."

  "And so you will be the new Alexander," said Mrs. Pollifax quietly.

  He leaned forward, his eyes intense. "You must confess —if you consider it honestly and realistically—that what the world needs now—before it destroys itself—is one ruler. One law. One government It is the only way to survive."

  "Good God," put in Robin deflatingly, "you mean one damned bureaucracy to botch things instead of dozens? The red tape staggers the imagination."

  The sheik ignored him. "The key to it all—the key to the master stroke—lies in that suitcase," he said abruptly. "You see it standing on the table? You broke open the locks but you couldn't possibly understand what you saw. I have already tested myself—myself and my cunning—by making fools of high men all over the world. It has pleased me a great deal. It was my first adventure, my beginning."

  This had the effect of cheering Mrs. Pollifax's flagging spirits because she was the only one in the room who knew that he was addressing two cans of peaches instead of a suitcase bearing several kilograms of plutonium.

  "You can't possibly succeed, it's too outrageous," Robin said.

  The sheik smiled at him benevolently. "A thief is a king until he is caught." He rinsed his fingers in a bowl of water and dried them on a towel that Munir held out to him. Rising he said, "Join me, Munir, it's time." To Fouad he added, "Remain attentive. Keep your distance and shoot if they move."

  He and Munir disappeared into another room and she exchanged glances with Robin across the Persian rug. Over by the door, some fifteen feet away. Fouad rose to his feet and leaned against the door, his eyes bored as he watched them, there was silence except for the crackling of the fire until Robin said, "I'm beginning to take him seriously."

  "Yes," said Mrs. Pollifax.

  "All this business about peace—it doesn't sound very peaceful to me."

  "It's the latest style of peace," she said dryly. "It's called waging peace with limited-duration reinforced protective reaction strikes, low kill-ratio and no incursions."

  "I see. But not war," said Robin gravely.

  "Oh, no, not war. Good heavens no."

  From the next room the sheik intoned in a powerful voice: "La ilaha ilia Hah, Muhammed rasul allah."

  "He's praying," Robin pointed out. "I daresay we should be praying, too. I mean, it does begin to look a bit final, the three of them against the two of us, and when Sabry gets back with a helicopter there'll be four of them. Look, there's something I wanted to mention, not important, I daresay, but something funny about the boot of the car we came in—or trunk, as you Americans call it"

  "And something I have to ask you," she told him.

  Each stopped, waiting for the other, and in the silence a low voice from the couch between them said, "Not two against four. Three."

  Mrs. Pollifax turned to look at Madame Parviz lying there, her eyes closed.

  Robin said, "Did she—?"

  "Yes," said Mrs. Pollifax.

  Lips barely moving and eyes still shut Madame Parviz said, "There is a poker on the hearth."

  "We'd better not look at her," Mrs. Pollifax advised Robin.

  "A bit of luck having her conscious at last," he pointed out in a low voice. "I'm not sure I can reach the poker without Fouad seeing me. Have you noticed how carefully they keep their distance from us? It's like a planned choreography—downright obvious."

  "They're aware that I know some karate," explained Mrs. Pollifax.

  "So that's it!" said Robin, brightening. "I must say that until meeting you I seem to have led the most commonplace Ufe. You might have told me you knew karate. If that's the case Madame Parviz can be armed with the poker and all we need are some brass knuckles for me. Stay with us, Madame Parviz!"

  "But there has to be some way to get near them," pointed out Mrs. Pollifax.

  "It's what we've got to wait for," Robin said. "Just one mistake, just one slip and we might be able to jump them. Damn it, I refuse to give up without protest." He was stretching out one leg so that his foot extended across the Persian rug to the hearth. Very carefully he prodded the tip of the poker, and when his foot only pushed it farther away he swore under his breath.

  "It's a break not having our hands tied," Mrs. Pollifax pointed out. "How long do you suppose we have?"

  "You heard the man, until Sabry brings back the helicopter. It's not hopeless, you know. If we can stall, somehow catch them off balance—"

  Stall, mused Mrs. Pollifax, and it occurred to her there might be a way to confuse the sheik and his men, even to persuade them to postpone their escape. If she could say enough but not too much—Aloud she said, "There's one thing I could do that might give us a chance to get nearer them."

  "What?"

  "I don't think it's wise to tell the sheik we know about the plutonium, do you?"

  "Good God, no," said Robin. "Keeping it secret seems to feed his superiority, he'd probably kill us on the spot."

  "That's what I felt. But I can tell the sheik I replaced the two cans in the suitcase with two cans of peaches from the Clinic."

  The glance Robin gave her was withering. "That's a singularly uninspired idea and not at all up to your usual standards. Do you take him for a fool?"

  "But that's exactly—" She stopped as the sheik returned, rubbing his hands together with satisfaction, as he looked from one face to the other they all heard it: the sound of a helicopter's blades beating the air at some distance away. Fouad opened the door. "Sayyid," he said eagerly.

  "Allah be praised, he's early. Munir—" He gestured toward the rug. "Pack up our things, we'll be leaving in a few minutes, there's no point in your killing them, Sabry will do it."

  The sound
of the helicopter filled the room; a gust of air blew in through the open door, lifting ashes from the fireplace and scattering them, the noise abruptly stilled, and e minute later Mrs. Pollifax heard the crunch of shoes on the pebbles outside, her heart began to hammer sickeningly against her ribs, as Sabry entered the room she stood up and said in a clear loud voice, "I have something to say to you."

  Twenty

  The sheik glanced at his watch. "Very well—say it, but be quick."

  She lifted her head and said steadily, "There are only cans of peaches in your suitcase."

  "I beg your pardon!" he said in astonishment.

  "For God's sake," groaned Robin.

  Her head went higher. "I think you should know that just before you brought me here I removed the two original cans and substituted two cans of fruit for them, the real ones are back at the Clinic."

  He looked amused. "Which means that really we should not kill you yet, is this correct? Instead we should all drive back to the Clinic and play hide-and-seek again?"

  "Whatever you feel necessary," she said calmly. "But I wanted to stress that if you kill us now you'll be sorry later for very practical reasons, if not moral ones. You won't know how to find the original two cans."

  "That's very true, of course," he said politely, watching her face. "Munir," he added briskly, "bring us a can opener."

  "Now you've done it," murmured Robin.

  Mrs. Pollifax waited. Munir went into the kitchen and returned bearing a small metal can opener. "Give it to her," ordered the sheik.

  "Sayyid," said Sabry in protest.

  The sheik waved his protest aside. "No, no, this amuses me, Ibrahim, let us see what she dares."

  Munir handed Mrs. Pollifax the can opener and she moved to the table in the center of the room. Opening the suitcase she slowly removed the plastic bags of filler and then the layers of shredded newspaper, she had at least gained the middle of the room, and she hoped that Robin would realize this. Detaching one of the cans from its cage she set it on the table, gripped the handle of the can opener and bent over it.

  Abruptly a hand was placed over hers and she looked up into the cold dark eyes of the sheik. "That will be enough," he said curtly. "You are a very good actress and it's a clever trick on your part but do you really believe I would allow you to injure the contents of this can?"

  "But it's only a can of peaches," she protested. "How can I persuade you unless I open it?"

  "Shoot her, Ibrahim," he said in a bored voice and turned away. "Kill her, she grows tiresome."

  "You bloody coward," cried Robin, stepping forward.

  "Back!" snarled Ibrahim Sabry, lifting his gun. His sharp command was echoed by a shouted command from outside the chalet and Mrs. Pollifax saw Robin stop in midstride. Everyone stopped, it was like a game of Statues, Robin with one foot off the floor, the sheik with arm lifted, Fouad by the door with his mouth open, Sabry four feet away from her with his gun leveled at her head, and when the scene unfroze, she thought, Robin would place his left foot on the floor, the sheik would lower his hand, Sabry's finger would squeeze the trigger and she would die, the moment felt endless, she wanted to scream, "Get it over with!" and then she realized that what had turned them into stone was that all of the sheik's men were inside this room but the voice had come from outside.

  "Ici la police.------- Sortez, les mains en l'air!" called the voice.

  No one moved, the moment stretched out interminably, she stood dazed, not understanding the words and wondering why the voice sounded so familiar, wondering why a picture flashed into her mind of a sunny morning in a garden and an old man leaning on a cane, and then she understood that it was the voice of General d' Estaing that she heard, she thought incredulously, the general here?

  And then a second voice called, "Come out with your hands high—the jig is up!"

  Robin's voice. Robin's voice on a tape recorder.

  "Hafez," she whispered, he was alive.

  "What the devil!" cried the sheik, and at once the spell was broken. Mrs. Pollifax threw herself at Sabry and knocked the gun out of his hand, as the gun clattered to the floor she slashed at him with her other hand and he staggered to the floor. Turning she saw that Robin had hurled himself upon Fouad and was struggling for his gun, as she stepped back Munir ran across the room to pluck Sabry's gun from the floor, he dropped it, bent to pick it up again and she kicked him, he grasped her leg and brought her down to the rug with him and they rolled over, the gun went off and sent a searing hot flame up her left arm. Just as Munir reached for her throat with both hands a figure in a long white robe rushed across the room and hit him over the head with a poker.

  Mrs. Pollifax sat up, her head spinning dizzily and she felt a little sick. Madame Parviz was standing over Fouad and Robin was sitting on the floor brushing dust from his trousers, the sheik was nowhere to be seen, nor was the suitcase. Mrs. Pollifax stumbled to her feet, swayed a little, and made her way to the door.

  The sheik was climbing into the helicopter that sat like a bloated dragonfly among the rocks outside, she saw the blades begin to rotate, churn, and then blur, and as she limped to the top step the helicopter lifted from the ground and she and the sheik exchanged a long glance through the Plexiglas window, the helicopter turned, lifted, and soared away over the hill, and as its noise diminished she heard the tape recorder call over and over the jig is up the jig is up the jig...

  She sat down weakly on the top step and said "Hafez?"

  The droning mechanical words seemed to come from the solitary tree on the hillside. "Hafez?" she called again, louder.

  Hafez emerged from behind the tree, he hesitated until he saw her and then came bounding over the rocks toward her, a small intense figure radiating joy. "Madame!" he cried. "Oh madame, it worked.'"

  "Hafez," she said with feeling, "you've just saved our lives. However did you find us!"

  "Find you? But madame, I never left you," he cried happily. "I hid in the trunk of the limousine. Don't you remember you said we must all be resourceful?"

  "Resourceful," repeated Mrs. Pollifax, and frowned over a word that sounded familiar to her but held no meaning at all. "Resourceful," she said again, and looked up at the sun which had suddenly begun to skid across the sky.

  Hafez gasped. "Madame—there is blood dripping on the stair!" His glance lifted to her arm and his eyes widened in horror, she heard him shout, "Grandmama! Robin! She has been shot!" and then, "Monsieur, she is fainting!"

  Someone leaned over her, words were spoken, she was lifted and carried to the car while over and over the tape recorder called out the jig is up the jig is up the jig is up the jig ... In the darkness that followed she heard a strange variety of voices—Bishop's first of all, but that was impossible because Bishop belonged in America— and then she thought she heard General d'Estaing speaking, and Court's reply, and then Dr. Lichtenstein commanded them to be quiet and there was silence, a long black silence.

  Twenty One

  Mrs. Pollifax opened her eyes to find that she was lying in bed in her room at Montbrison, she stared at the ceiling, puzzled, and then her glance moved slowly down the wall, which an evening sun had striped with gold, and when her eyes focused on the face of the man seated beside her she said, "Whatever are you doing here!"

  Bishop looked up from a magazine and grinned. "Is that any way to welcome me? Good God, when I arrived -this morning I thought I'd arrived in time for your funeral. Carstairs sent me, he had a strong hunch things were going wrong."

  She said dreamily, "They went wrong for me in the right way. Or right for me in the wrong way." She frowned. "Why do I feel so peculiar, Bishop?"

  "You've just had a bullet removed from your arm," he explained. "You were bleeding like hell so Dr. Lichtenstein gave you a whiff of something and removed it in his office, they don't have an operating room here."

  "Oh," she said, and tried ta make sense of his explanation, which seemed very odd to her until she peered at her arm and discovered it swathed
in gauze and bound to a splint.

  "It's still Monday—only seven o'clock in the evening," he assured her. "Interpol has been here all day putting the pieces together and worrying like hell about you, they found a woman tied to a chair in room ISO, and Marcel's body in the closet of room 153.’ take it you've had a rather busy weekend?"

  "Yes," she said, looking back on it from a vast distance and then the distance abruptly telescoped and she struggled to sit up. "The sheik?"

  Bishop shook his head. "He got away. His private plane took off from Geneva airport at twelve noon."

  "But the coup d'etat—?"

  "Firmly squashed—we think—but here's Schoenbeck," Bishop said, rising. "He's the man who can tell you about it. Mrs. Pollifax, it's high time you meet Henri Schoenbeck of Interpol."

  Monsieur Schoenbeck advanced into the room looking a little shy, a little prim, his lips pursed but his eyes warm as they encountered hers. "And I, madame, am in your debt," he said, giving her a long and searching glance as he grasped her right hand, he returned it gently to her bed. "It is my loss that we meet only now, madame."

  "Are you the person to whom I signaled?" she asked.

  "No, no, that was Gervard." His lips curved faintly into a smile. "It may amuse you, madame, to learn that after allowing you to become settled at Montbrison over the weekend we had planned to pay a call upon you today and set up a more suitable contact, we had wanted," he explained, "to give you the weekend to become oriented, a plan, I might add, that has nearly cost you your Ufe."

  "Well," said Mrs. Pollifax politely, "it all appears to be over now, so there scarcely seems any point in postmortems."

  "Then allow me to tell you that I have just returned from the chalet on the Wildehorn. Burke-Jones and Hafez accompanied me, and on the way they told me a great deal of what happened. It may console you to learn that at this moment the sheik's three men are entering a nearby prison."