Close up, the wrinkles showed. The door of the coffee shop was beginning to shed its blistered green paint and the letters of the menu just inside were faded by sunlight. Within, the bench-lined room was cool and dim. The awning and thick green window glass cut off most of the sun, so my eyes took a few seconds to adjust.
“You wanta ha-lunch, sir-ha?” A waiter, thin and ancient, stood at the door and addressed me in his idea of English — he must have seen me coming over from the American embassy.
I nodded. “Coffee. Lots of it. And do you have pastry or sweet cakes?” My blood sugar badly needed a boost.
“Ha-past-ery. Sa-weatcakes? Yes.” The forehead wrinkled in perplexity and he scurried away through a door in the back. What would come back was anybody’s guess.
I would have guessed wrong. What came back was a small, barrel-shaped woman with a cheerful, wrinkled face and a generous Jewish nose. She took two steps into the room, put her hands on her hips and glared at me.
“Sweet cakes, eh? I ought to ’ave known it. Leo, you are very bad man. When you die you go to ’ell for sure. Why you playin’ games with me an’ poor old Fazil?”
**Narjes** The name came as another random impulse in my mind, accompanied by a feeling of warmth and affection.
She came close, wrapped her arms about me, and hugged hard enough to make my tender ribs creak. Over her shoulder she shouted a brusque order to the waiter, who hurried in and placed sweetened coffee in front of me, together with a big plate of powdered sugar biscuits. Then she scowled at me as I took a life-restoring gulp of hot coffee and crammed two of the biscuits into my mouth.
“You come ’ere an’ eat like pig, eh? An’ you think Rabiyah still like you, mebbe? What you think she bin doin’ while you gone, sit ’ere an’ wait? She ’as other men want ’er, all time. You think she want to stay an’ ’ang aroun’ upstairs for you?”
My left eye suddenly winked at her as I was cramming two more biscuits into my mouth. She reached out a tobacco-stained finger and thumb and pinched a fold of my cheek affectionately.
“Leo, you are bad bastard. I tell ’er, don’ think about ’im, he cocking leg over woman someplace else, like ’orny bastard. I warn Rabiyah, but she stupid. Me, I know what you are like.”
When I sat and stared at her, my mouth still full, she shook her head. “Where you been this time? You look ’orrible. An’ why you sit there like an old goat? Why you not talkin’ to me?”
**Rabiyah. Pale skin, untouched by the sun; luscious body, the breasts and hips too heavy for western tastes. Notice how the lecherous eyes follow her at Embassy parties. Watch her laugh, a pink, meaty tongue quivering between even white teeth.**
I cleared my throat and spoke in a hoarse voice. “I’m feeling horrible, Narjes — even worse than I look. But I need to see Rabiyah quickly. Where is she?”
“Where you think she is? It still afternoon, right? She sleepin’, like other girls. Don’ you try an’ see ’er — she need rest. She’s working woman. She got work to do tonight.” Narjes shook a finger at me. “You ’orrible man, Leo, I tol’ Rabiyah that whole lots of time. You want to see ’er now? O.K. You pay like rest of men pay.”
**The package. She has it. Rabiyah has the package.**
I reached into my jacket, pulled out my wallet, and dropped a fat bundle of riyals next to the tray of sweets. Narjes looked at them and her brown face twisted with rage.
“What the ’ell that? Leo, you try to make me real angry, eh? You doin’ it. You better learn now, you never try offer money again. Or I call an’ we get Tughril come in ’ere an’ throw you out on your skinny ass, an’ I tell Rabiyah how bad you insult me, an’ you never get see ’er anymore. You hear?” She jerked her head at me imperiously. “Come on. You follow me, an’ keep your big mouth shut. We got girls sleep up here.”
She led the way through the back door of the shop and turned left up a broad staircase. On the upper landing the building changed character completely. The old, fly-specked look of the lower floor was replaced by wall-hung carpets, brass lanterns hung from the pink and gold ceiling, and thick curtains that cut off all outside light from the windows. We walked over the thick pile of a gorgeous Baluchi rug, quietly past a row of closed doors. Narjes stopped at the fourth one along.
“In here. If she got brain at all she tell you bugger off an’ don’ come back. An’ whatever you do, don’ make no noise. We got people try to sleep — me too ’til you give Fazil hard time down there.”
She opened the door without knocking and pushed me inside. The room was completely dark. I had a sudden moment of terror and total disorientation.
**Arriving in the middle of the night. Afraid. Mansouri and Scouse on my trail, afraid to wait until dawn to go across to the Embassy. Sanctuary, the safety of this room, this house…**
“Who is that?” The voice from in front of me was a sleep-edged murmur.
I moved forward until I was at the end of the bed.
“Narjes?” There was a sound of creaking bedsprings, then a thick curtain on my left opened a crack. Evening sunlight streamed in. The girl on the broad bed gave a little mutter of complaint and shielded her eyes with one hand. Her skin had the pale fineness that goes only with true burnished-copper hair, and her figure defeated the modest intention of the green nightdress.
She yawned, squinted up at me through half-open blue eyes. A sudden gasp, and she lifted herself from the pile of thick pillows.
“Leo! When did you get here? Narjes didn’t tell me you were in Riyadh .”
“She didn’t know until a few minutes ago.” A true enough statement. I had already made the decision that this was not the time to explain that I was Lionel, not Leo. If somebody realized that for themselves, fair enough. I knew of only one infallible way to prove I was not Leo, and that worked only with someone like Ameera, who knew him inside out, in intimate detail. But as I learned more of my brother’s past, the number of people with access to that mode of identification seemed to be growing rapidly.
“I’m just passing through Riyadh ,” I went on. “But I had to see you. Rabiyah, do you remember I had a package with me last time I was here?”
“Package?” The big blue eyes were still sleepy, but at least they were wide open and looking at me with a puzzled expression.
My spirits sank to a new low. This was my last hope. If Rabiyah didn’t have the Belur Package, I had run out of all ideas on where to look for it. I might as well give up, go back to the hotel and let Zan carve me up into little pieces.
“Some kind of package,” I said desperately. “Don’t you remember? I came here late at night.”
“I remember that.” She stretched and gave me a smile and a long-lashed look. “You’ll come back tonight, and see me when I feel awake? — I’m tired out.”
Instead of waiting for a reply, she stretched backward to the little bedside table and opened the drawer.
“You come in the middle of the night, and ask me to save things, and run away without even a goodbye,” she grumbled. “Why don’t you bring me nice presents? This is all you left last time. But no package.”
It was flat, less than a quarter of an inch thick and smaller than a matchbox. The surface was a dull grey, like slate, and one end was marked with a ribbed pattern. I put my thumbnail in the indentation and pressed. The thin plastic moved stiffly away. Inside were a score of paper-thin wafers, each one resting snugly in its own holder. Tiny beads of silver glinted along the upper edges. Each introsomatic chip weighed only a fraction of an ounce.
**Still safe. Have to get them to Washington . Don’t wait.**
Silver beads flashed and winked as I turned the little box. I could not take my eyes away. All at once I knew what the wafers did, knew why they could not go to Scouse or to Mansouri, knew what forces had driven Leo and me this far. This had to be put into the hands of responsible people. Would the American Embassy open its doors tonight, even though it was officially closed?
I knew the answer to that. They would not open when
Leo arrived here late at night and needed a safe place. Rabiyah had been the only refuge before he had to make his run for Zurich and London .
Thoughts buzzed through my head like drunken bees, staggering and turning in wild collision. The tiny silver beads in my hand went out of focus, then appeared again as a double line. Memory came in surges.
**Follow the drugs to the source, back from Athens to Riyadh to Calcutta to Singapore . Scouse — Mansouri — Radha — Drisco. The hint of something more than Nymphs… follow it west… take the package… to the Embassy… to the Limes… to England.**
A jumbled vision of my other self turning from the girl at the El Al desk in London Airport . Of myself seeing myself… of myself, seeing myself, seeing myself…
Rabiyah saved me from the endless loop down into the depths. Her hand had rubbed affectionately at my knee, then climbed like a knowing animal towards more sensitive areas. I jerked at her touch and the movement dragged me back to the present.
The slanting sunlight winked off the tiny box in my hand. For this, at least four people had died.
“You’ll come back later?” Rabiyah was running her hand gently along my thigh. “I’m tired now — O.K.?”
Her eyes closed. I patted her on the arm, stooped to kiss her lightly on the pale forehead, and caressed a rounded breast.
“Later. As soon as I have this lot in a safe place.” I meant it. No criticism from me of Leo’s tastes.
She smiled drowsily and released the curtain she had been holding, so that the room was once again in total darkness. I closed the lid of the little box and slipped it into the pocket of my jacket. It took both hands and a lot of blind groping to get me back to the door.
Narjes had disappeared. Like the young women, she normally slept through the afternoon. There was no sound from any of the rooms as I slipped back across the thick carpet and down the curving staircase.
The old waiter had deserted the coffee shop, to leave a solitary customer quietly sipping tea and staring out of the bottle-green window. Not much light came in now, even though the sun was shining past the awning. I looked at my watch. Six-thirty. If I could get no response from the American Embassy, the best bet was a direct run to the airport. My luggage could be forfeit, but the avaricious porter watching for Zan would wait in vain for his second hundred pounds.
I stepped towards the door, peering out at the empty street. Twenty yards and a massive pair of doors lay between me and the inside of the American Embassy. So near, so far. Leo must have stood here in this same spot, wondering how much time he had. His trail was well hid, but was it good enough? Had someone already followed him here?
While I watched the Embassy, the man on my left had set down his cup and pushed the loose headdress back from his face. He turned to look at me for the first time. I returned his glance casually. Then we both froze. His arms unfolded from the loose sleeves of his robe. He was holding a gun in his right hand, and the brown eyes were gleaming.
“How about that!” There was a little smile on his lips. “I sit wondering what’s keeping you so long in the Embassy — an’ you’re upstairs here, screwing your brains out. You’re a cool one, I’ll say that for you.”
It was Scouse.
A cool one. He was wrong about that. So near, so far. I was ready to sit down on the tiled floor and weep.
- 17 -
“Outside.”
Scouse jerked his head towards the door, but the gun held its aim at the center of my chest. He moved close behind me as I went into the street, near enough to frustrate any attempt at a sidestep along the wall, too far away for a backward kick or lunge.
“Turn left and head for the main avenue.” The joking tone had disappeared from his voice. “Make any funny move an’ you get it. Treated you too bloody easy, we did, but that’s all finished. Where’s Belur’s bag of tricks?”
“I don’t know.” The flat box in my pocket seemed to bulge outward, shouting to be noticed.
The gun in his hand clicked to automatic setting, the trigger half-depressed by the pressure of his index finger. He grunted. “I don’t believe you. You were too keen to get to Riyadh to play innocent now. Where is it?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t answer. The sudden sunlight set up a tornado of images inside my head. Twisted beaches; a long run down a ski slope steeper and faster than anything I had ever dreamed of; flickering candles on a restaurant table, with unfamiliar Spanish music playing in the background.
The street came into focus, shifted, swam about me. After an indeterminate period of lost control I came back to reality and found we had walked along the little cul-de-sac and were standing now on the corner of the avenue.
“Left here.” Scouse still kept his distance, eight feet behind me. “All right. You’ve been asking for it — Des, an’ Jack, an’ then poor bloody Dixie . I gave you the chance to go easy — even gave you the chance to come in on it with us. Now you’ll go hard, an’ to hell with you. Here comes your friend.”
The sun had gone down behind the wall on our left, and the light in the avenue was fading fast. Towards us through the early dusk came a green Fiat with tinted windows. It crept along in low gear at no more than five miles an hour, and halted ten yards away.
“You should see her with a cigarette lighter,” said Scouse. “An’ she does things with a spoke from a bike wheel that you wouldn’t believe. I can’t stand to watch ’em. But you’ll see it first hand. I mean, for as long as you can see anything.”
The car door opened, and Xantippe got out. She looked more beautiful than ever in a green pantsuit and open-toed sandals. Instead of a handbag she was carrying a flat leather case about ten inches by five. Twenty feet away from me she halted.
“Got him easy as wink,” said Scouse cheerfully. “Now he’s all yours. Where do we start?”
Xantippe moved closer, so that she was only two paces in front of me.
“No closer,” warned Scouse. “We know he’s dangerous.”
She nodded, but her eyes never left mine. A flush of color was creeping into her cheeks, highlighting the exotic bone structure, and the look she gave me was erotic, the unfocused stare of sexual arousal. Her tanned fingers stroked the leather instrument case.
“At Mansouri’s house — it will be quiet there.” Her voice was soft and husky.
Scouse had edged around to my left, keeping close to the wall until he was standing next to Zan. Where she was all unconcealed excitement, he was as cold and analytical as one of Belur’s computer chips. I looked hopelessly up and down the street. A tall figure was slowly approaching us. Pudd’n. No help from that quarter. Even if he didn’t approve of torture, he wouldn’t have the nerve to argue with Scouse. Not when Zan was there to punish disobedience.
“Want to tell us where it is now, an’ deprive Zan of a night’s fun?” asked Scouse.
I shook my head, while Zan frowned at him in outrage. “You promised this,” she said.
“Yeah — but that was before you an’ Dix screwed things up in Cuttack .”
He nodded his head towards the car. “Go on, Salkind, get in there. In the back. Pudd’n can drive us.”
The gun couldn’t be argued with. I took two paces towards the Fiat. Then there was a sudden angry hissing from behind Scouse, and he flinched and spun around as something cold touched the back of his neck.
It was seven o’clock . Accurate to the second under the control of the German engineering staff, Riyadh ’s evening irrigation system had turned itself on. A sprinkler had been set up to water the line of shrubs that grew along the top of the long wall. The first drops of clear water jetted out into the avenue and caught Scouse where he stood.
It took him only a second to realize what was happening. In a fraction of that time I was running to my right, towards the chest-high wall that separated the avenue from the grounds of the Riyadh Zoo.
I didn’t wait to see what lay on the other side. As I went over headfirst, four shots crackled out from behind me. I felt a tug in my
left calf and a hard blow on my left heel. Then I was landing hard on my forearms and right shoulder, and rolling across baked earth and prickly scrub. A patch of gravel stripped the skin from the back of my left hand. I rolled, and rolled again.
Scouse would find the wall too high to lean over and shoot at me — but Pudd’n could do it, if he had a gun. I scrambled to my feet and ran diagonally to the right, towards the shelter of a wooden fence. Something was badly wrong with my left leg, there was a searing, stretching pain with every step. As I reached the fence I heard curses from behind me, and the scrabbling of shoes against the outside wall of the zoo.
It was the irony of ironies. The Riyadh Zoo was one of my favorite places in all the world, a spot where the architecture of the old Nasiriya Palace had been blended with the special needs of the world’s animals, to create a magical Arabian Nights atmosphere. In the past I had always felt rushed for time. A concert or a plane trip was only a few hours away. Now I could look forward to the whole night here — if I was clever or lucky enough to avoid Zan, Scouse and Pudd’n.
How did my chances look? As I headed deeper into the Zoo I made my checklist.
I was unarmed; they had at least one gun, plus other weapons in Zan’s case. There were three of them; I was alone. I was exhausted, brain-damaged, and hallucinating; they were rested from a day’s sleep. I had a bullet wound in my leg — blood was trickling down now into my left shoe, leaving a trail they would find easy to follow; they were fit, and Pudd’n at least was as strong as a bull.
A hopeless situation. I knew it, but I dared not admit it.
And I knew one other thing.
As it grew darker, I plodded on deeper into the Zoo. The layout of the interior was not simple. A series of avenues led out from the central elephant house to each major phylum of the Zoo’s contents. I had to head inward a hundred and fifty yards towards the center, around a circular footpath by the aviaries, then out again along another one of the spokes of the wheel. It took longer than I wanted, though I forced myself to hobble along as fast as I possibly could. By the time I reached the reptile section the last of the sunset was a burnish of brass to the west. I slipped along from one enclosure to the next, looking down at the signs in the last of the cold desert light.
My Brother Page 20
