Night Train to Memphis vbm-5
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He didn’t give me a chance to reply. He started walking.
I followed, close enough to keep him in sight, but no closer. What he had suggested was only a sensible precaution; his father might be under surveillance and unable to shake it.
Crossing Cairo streets is a death-defying procedure. The street on the west side of Ezbekiya Gardens is a wide, very busy thoroughfare, and I lost sight of Feisal for a few seconds while I tried to avoid being run down by taxis, buses, and trucks. Reaching the other side breathless but intact, I caught sight of him standing by a little kiosk. The gardens were large; they must have arranged to meet at that precise spot. Hanging back, per instructions, I saw a tall grey-haired man approach Feisal. He was wearing Western clothes, and even at that distance I noted the resemblance. They stood talking for a while; then the older man threw his arms around Feisal.
Any father might embrace a returning prodigal son, and Middle Eastern males have no hang-ups about expressing affection physically. Not until I saw the crowds disperse, like hens when a fox enters the chicken yard, did I realize what was happening. Feisal saw the foxes too. They were hard to miss – four of them, carrying automatic weapons. He twisted away from the arms that tried to hold him, and gave his father a shove that sent him staggering back.
‘Run,’ he yelled. ‘Run, Vicky!’
He wasn’t trying to escape. He was just trying to warn me. He was standing perfectly still when they cut him down. I heard the rattle of weapons, and I heard him cry out, and saw him fall. Another, shriller, cry echoed his. It came, I thought, from Feisal’s father.
People were screaming and running and I ran with them, blindly. My throat ached with rage and horror and grief. What sort of man would turn in his own son? I hoped it had been the old man who had cried out. I hoped he was suffering. Maybe he hadn’t expected they would fire without so much as a preliminary warning. But he ought to have known, he ought to have trusted his son, given him a chance to explain . . .
I threw myself in front of a taxi, pried myself off the front fender and wrenched the door open. ‘The American Embassy,’ I gasped. ‘Shari Latin America.’
I’m as patriotic as the next guy, but the sight of the flag had never affected me as it had that day. The farther you are from home the better that star-spangled banner looks. I marched up to the door with my chin held high and demanded entry.
It’s nice to be famous. As soon as I mentioned my name I was passed from flunky to flunky till I ended up in an office few tourists see. There was a flag there too, and behind the big mahogany desk hung a picture of the President. I had voted for him and I had always thought he had a nice friendly smile. It had never looked friendlier.
‘Dr Bliss? Dr Victoria Bliss! Thank God! You have no idea how relieved I am to see you.’ The man who hurried to meet me didn’t resemble my idea of an ambassador. He was too young and his hair wasn’t grey. He sure was glad to see me, though. He invited me to call him Tom, and took both my hands and shook them, and went on to tell me exactly how relieved he was.
‘The ambassador’s in the States, which left me holding the bag, as you might say. A hostage situation is a diplomat’s worst nightmare.’
‘Gee whiz, I’m really sorry to have upset you,’ I said.
He flushed, and I gave myself a mental kick. I was getting to be as bad as John, making smart-ass remarks when I should be trying to gain his support and attention. It was imperative that I remain calm. If I lost my temper or broke down he’d think I was just another hysterical female, and I’d never convince him in time that my wild, improbable story was true.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, with a smile so charming it must have been one of the qualifications for the job. ‘Our primary concern, of course, was for your safety. Sit down. No, I insist, I won’t ask you any more questions until you’ve had a chance to catch your breath.’ He went to the desk and started punching buttons. ‘Joanie, will you come in here, please? Joanie’s my assistant, she’ll take care of you.’
‘But I want you to ask me questions! There’s been a mistake. I was never – ’
Joanie must have been waiting for the summons. By that time everybody had heard of my arrival, and they were all wild with curiosity. She was older than her boss. Being female she would of course rise more slowly up the diplomatic ladder.
‘You have to listen to me!’
Joanie put her arms around me. ‘Sure we will, honey. Don’t worry about a thing. Come along with me, I’ll bet you’d like to freshen up some.’
If she hadn’t had grey hair and a lined, motherly face I might have resisted. There was shock on that pleasant face as well as sympathy. It gave me some idea of how awful I must look. I suddenly realized, as well, that I had to go to the bathroom. (I know, that’s not ‘romantic’ But it’s true.)
‘All right,’ I said. ‘Five minutes. I’ll be right back, Tom. Don’t go away.’
Joanie was very kind. She even offered me some of her makeup, and after I’d seen the wild face glaring back at me from the mirror, I accepted. I wouldn’t have listened to anything that came out of a face like that.
She only asked me one question. ‘Did he hurt you, honey? He didn’t . . .’
It was the wrong question. I thought of Feisal, making jokes and worrying about his mother and falling, falling and screammg, trying to warn me with what might have been his last breath. I turned on her like a madwoman.
‘Hurt me! He was . . .’ It was the wrong tense, too. I threw her lipstick wildly at her. ‘Damn it, why I am I standing here doing stupid things to my stupid face? Maybe he’s not dead. Maybe he’s . . . just dying and being tortured and – ’
‘Take it easy, honey.’
‘And don’t call me honey!’
I thought I had behaved quite rationally and reasonably until Joanie escorted me to a small room that was obviously an infirmary or clinic. Another motherly grey-haired woman, wearing a sweater over her white uniform, rose to greet us.
‘So this is the young lady. Welcome home, my dear. We’re all so relieved to see you.’
I felt as if I were being smothered in cotton candy. They closed in on me, one on each side, and Tom entered, barring my way to the door.
‘How is she, Frances?’ he inquired, rubbing his hands and smiling. He thought the worst was over. He was in for a shock.
‘I haven’t had a chance to look at her. If you’ll just sit down, Miss Bliss – ’
I started to argue. Then, belatedly, I realized what I had done. Defending Feisal had been a bad mistake. Hostages sometimes end up identifying with their captors, and when the captor is young and handsome and the hostage is female . . . I made a last desperate effort to control myself, but in retrospect I admit I didn’t succeed very well.
‘What are you going to do?’ I demanded, backing away from the nurse. ‘I won’t have any shots. I hate shots.’
‘Just your blood pressure and pulse,’ the nurse said, as she would have spoken to a child. ‘No nasty shots, I promise.’
‘All right.’ I let her push me into a chair and fixed Tom with what I intended to be a firm, unhysterical look. It must have been more like a wild-eyed glare. ‘You stand there and listen to me.’
‘Believe me, Dr Bliss, there are a number of people who want nothing better than to listen to you. But,’ he added, with the first touch of kindly consideration he had displayed, ‘I’m damned if I’m going to let them at you until I’m sure you’re okay. I called your – uh – your friend. He’s on his way.’
‘My friend?’ A wild hope dawned. Had Schmidt and John made it? If they had caught the 10 a.m. train . . .
‘Yes.’ Tom smiled. ‘He’s been calling every hour on the hour.’
‘Normal,’ the nurse announced, unwinding the blood pressure cuff. She sounded disappointed.
‘I told you so. Now – ’
‘Open wide.’
She propped my mouth open with a stick and peered in.
I don’t suppose it would have made any differ
ence. The whole business only took a few minutes. But if I had had a chance to ask one question . . .
I had forgotten that I wasn’t the only important American in Egypt. I had forgotten it takes only sixty minutes to fly from Luxor to Cairo. They brought him directly to the clinic. Well, wouldn’t you escort a distraught millionaire into the presence of the fiancée he has lost and just recovered?
When I saw him I jumped up, spilling the glass of water the nurse had offered and the little white pills she was trying to persuade me to take. There was no place to go. The room had only one door. When he caught me in his arms I tried to fight free.
‘Darling, it’s all right!’ he exclaimed, holding me tight. ‘Oh, Vicky, I’ve been so worried. Don’t talk, sweetheart, just let me hold you.’
Calm, reasoned behaviour might have saved me, though that is questionable. It was also impossible. I couldn’t stand having him touch me. Instead of expensive aftershave and fresh linen I smelled sweat and blood; instead of his smooth well-groomed face I saw the gaping hole that had been Jean-Louis’s face, and Feisal falling, and John slashed to bloody ribbons by the people this man had hired. I struggled and screamed and tried to bite. I can’t blame them for thinking the emotional collapse they expected had finally occurred. It took two of them to hold my arm rigid so the needle could go in. The last thing I heard was Larry’s voice. ‘My poor darling. God bless you, all of you; I’ll take care of her now.’
Chapter Fourteen
I
RIGHT BACK WHERE I’d started.
So I thought, when I woke up to find myself in a large room furnished with antiques. I felt quite calm and relaxed. That’s one thing to be said for tranquillizers. They leave the recipient very tranquil.
Deep down under the layers of fuzzy pharmaceutical comfort a small section of my brain was trying frantically to get my attention. Think, it was screaming. Do something! Don’t just lie there, get me out of this!
There had been time for him to take me back to Luxor. Night had fallen; the windows of the room were dark. But this wasn’t one of the rooms in Larry’s Luxor house. The furniture was old but it was not as well-cared-for as Larry’s antiques; the gilt was chipped and the mattress of the bed on which I lay smelled slightly musty. Either Larry had a pied-à-terre in Cairo, or he was staying with a friend. (He had so many of them.) This wasn’t a hotel room. There was no television set, no room service menu – and no telephone.
And no bolt and chain on the inside of the door. The door was locked from the outside. Was I surprised? No. But I was sorry that frantic little voice had shaken me out of my stupor.
The windows were not lockcd. They led onto a small balcony, and I stood there for a few minutes, letting the night breeze cool my face. A few lights showed through the branches of the trees that were, I was sorry to see, on the same level as the balcony and too far from it to offer a means of egress. The ground was a long way down. There was no familiar landmark in sight – no towers, no high-rise hotels, not even a pyramid. The house must be in one of the suburbs.
The adjoining bath had once been palatial. Now the tile was chipped and the marble discoloured. The water ran rusty.
After it had cleared a little I splashed water on my face and hands. Then I went back and sat down. There weren’t that many alternatives.
By that time the fuzz was gone, and I was in a state of abject, disgusting panic. The past hours hadn’t been comfortable; I had been scared most of the time, scared to death and out of my wits some of the time, but this was worse – like having a chair pulled out from under you just when you think you can finally sit down and relax. To do myself justice it wasn’t the thought of Mary’s plans for me that made my mouth go dry and my hands shake. John and Schmidt could be tucked away in neighbouring rooms, with Mary busy at work on one or both. Feisal could be dead.
It wasn’t courage that got me to my feet, it was desperation. I had to find out. The truth might be less painful than the things I was imagining. It couldn’t be worse.
I banged on the door. After a moment I heard the sound of a key in the lock, and the door opened. He didn’t point a gun at me. He didn’t have to. The guard was Hans, my old acquaintance, the one with the face like a giant sheep and the physique of a giant, period. Hans even had muscles on his ears, and he was almost seven feet tall.
The Egyptian sun had been hard on his fair complexion. His cheeks were red and peeling. ‘Guten Abend, Fräulein Doktor,’ he said politely. ‘Also, Sie sind aufgewacht. I will tell them.’
Ten interminable, dragging minutes passed before there was a response. My aching muscles relaxed when I saw Larry. I didn’t like him a lot, but I definitely preferred his company to that of the lady. Ed followed him, carrying a tray. He didn’t make a very convincing waiter.
‘Shorthanded?’ I inquired, as Ed put the tray on the table and retreated to the door, where he stood with his arms folded, looking bored. This sort of thing was all in a day’s work for him, I supposed.
‘You have disrupted my plans rather badly,’ Larry admitted. ‘But only temporarily. Would you care for something to drink?’
The bottle of mineral water hadn’t been opened; the seal was intact. Larry watched with unconcealed amusement while I inspected it.
‘You really haven’t much choice,’ he pointed out pleasantly. ‘You might go on a hunger strike, but you can’t do without water long in this climate.’
Courteous as ever, he forbore to add that there were other, less comfortable means of controlling me. ‘So what are your plans?’ I inquired.
Larry settled back in his chair and studied me with an approving smile. ‘You are quite a remarkable woman, Vicky. Would it surprise you to learn that when I informed the Embassy we were engaged to be married, I found the idea not entirely displeasing?’
‘Let’s just be friends,’ I suggested.
Larry laughed. ‘Your heart belongs to another? Think about it Vicky. It would be one way out of our present difliculty.’
‘Where is he?’
He didn’t ask whom I meant. ‘You don’t know?’
‘We separated this morning.’ There was no harm in telling him that much; he must know Feisal and I had travelled together. It was a reasonable assumption that John and Schmidt would have done the same.
‘I thought you might have. You had, of course, arranged a meeting place in Cairo? Never mind, we don’t need that information. We’ve taken the necessary steps to inform him that you are my guest. He should be arriving anytime.’
They hadn’t caught him. My face must have registered relief. Larry shook his head. ‘Don’t get your hopes up, Vicky. There’s a guard under your balcony and every door is being watched.’
So it was to be an exchange – or an offer of one. They couldn’t afford to let me go. John must know that.
‘How did you get in touch with him?’
‘My dear, your lovely face has been on every television programme in the country this evening. I gave out the press release myself. I’m sure he’s seen it, he’ll have been following the news closely. You are suffering from shock and physical and nervous exhaustion at the villa of the chairman of the Egypto-American Trading Company. He spends most of his time in the States, but he was happy to offer a refuge to you and your solicitous fiancé.’
And when I fell off the balcony or slashed my wrists my solicitous fiancé would say I’d committed suicide in a fit of clinical depression. They’d add that to Feisal’s account too.
‘What about Feisal?’ I had to force myself to ask; I dreaded the answer.
Larry dismissed the minor question of a man’s life with a wave of his hand. ‘Forget about him, he’s no longer a factor. Schmidt and Tregarth are the ones who concern me, and they ought to concern you as well; you’re in no danger unless they refuse to cooperate. No, don’t interrupt, let me finish. Why should I want to harm you? Once I’m out of the country there’s no way you can prove anything, and without that pectoral you haven’t a leg to stand on.’
I knew the arguments. They have been used by every looter, archaeologist, or thief, from the beginning of time, and unfortunately they have some merit. There wouldn’t be much left of the Elgin marbles if they had stayed in the Parthenon. I don’t buy those arguments, but I didn’t feel like arguing with Larry.
I had seen eyes like his once before – in the face of a shabby, shy little man who had tried to smash a statue of Diana in our museum. The guards had got to him before he did much damage, and I had had a chance to talk to him later, when he was in police custody. He had been very polite and soft-spoken when he explained that God had told him to destroy the heathen images. He couldn’t understand why we couldn’t see his point of view.
The little man and Larry had opposite aims, but they had the same mind-set. A kind of mental constipation, if you will excuse the homely metaphor – a block of solid conviction through which no counter argument can pass.
Larry turned with a frown when the door opened. We’d been getting on so well; he felt sure I had been about to agree with him.
Her hair was tied back with a soft scarf that matched her pale blue dress. It was like a child’s pinafore, with wide shoulder straps and big pockets in the gathered skirt, and she looked about sixteen. The Greek earrings shone bright against the masses of her dark hair.
‘Has she got it?’ Mary’s voice was crisp and not at all childish.