by Kahn, Denise
He laid her gently on the bed and quickly took off his shirt and pants. Davina stared at his perfection. His chest looked broader without his shirt.
His long muscular legs were well sculptured, giving the ensemble an aura of strength and masculinity. Her desire to touch his body was overwhelming.
“You are exquisite, amor,” he said as he gently removed the rest of her clothes. As he caressed her, he saw that she was quivering. He could feel her arousal as intense as his. He cradled her in his arms and gently his hand moved slowly over her body. Her fingertips explored his back and shoulders and gradually found his waist.
Nothing could stop them now. Their passion was in command. Alejandro thought he would never be able to control himself, but he swore that he would make their first time magnificent. He knew already that this was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. God how he wanted her. Her eyes were resplendent in their love, in their yearning for him. They searched his face, questioning, loving, on fire with a passion she still did not fully comprehend. Gently, he thought. Slowly. Carefully. His passion rose with her sensuality.
When the possessor had become the possessed, they lay together in silence. Davina held him, her man, yes, he was hers. He had taken her into a new world.
They spent the next two weeks together in Paris. Davina loved Paris. She had spent many of her formative years in the City of Light. They walked up the Champs Elysées in the evenings, taking in a movie or a show. One day they drove out to visit some of the châteaux of the Loire Valley, one of the most beautiful areas in all of France. On the last day of their holiday, Alejandro took her to a bistro in his neighborhood. They sat at a small table by the fireplace. A waiter lit the candles on their table. Alejandro ordered champagne.
“Are we celebrating?” Davina asked.
“You will see.”
“Alejandro, tell me!”
“Patience, my love.”
“Never!” she laughed.
“There will be plenty of time for that.”
The waiter returned with the champagne. “Miss Davina Walters?” he asked.
“Yes?”
“You have a telephone call.”
“For me?” She could not imagine who would be calling. No one else knew where she was.
Alejandro winked at the waiter, who was in collusion with him.
“Anything important?” Alejandro asked casually when she returned.
“No, as a matter of fact, there wasn’t anyone on the line.”
“How odd. Anyway,” he cleared his throat, “now I can make my toast.”
“Yes, please do. I can hardly wait.”
“To us, more than friends,” he said raising his glass.
“To us,” she said and lifted the glass to her lips but she immediately put it down. She looked more closely into the glass. “There’s something…”
“I haven’t finished my toast,” Alejandro interrupted her. “Miss Davina Walters, would you honor me by wearing this ring?”
A heart-shaped ruby ring surrounded by diamonds rested at the bottom of her glass of fizzing champagne.
“Davina, will you marry me?”
“Alejandro, yes, my love, I will marry you, with all my heart.” Davina looked at the ring. “That’s my mother’s engagement ring, the one her grandmother gave her!”
“Yes, it is filled with great history. Your mother lovingly gave it to me.”
“Ah, so you were in cahoots!”
“Absolutely. Your mother is quite the master, and a divine lady.”
“And how much champagne do I have to drink to get this ring?”
“May I?” he asked, dipping a finger into her champagne.
“You have a habit of dipping your finger into fine drinks.”
Alejandro leaned over and kissed her.
“The phone call, that was you of course. You sly fox.” Davina turned serious. “Are you my fox, Alejandro? You know, the one who befriended the Little Prince.”
He had read the story by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry but long ago. “Remind me.”
“The fox tells le Petit Prince that he cannot play with him because he’s not tamed. The Little Prince has to tame him first. And the fox warns him, he says: But if you tame me, then we shall need each other.”
Alejandro was transfixed. He looked deeply into her eyes, into the depths of her soul, he thought. “Do they play, the fox and the prince?”
“Yes. The Little Prince tames the fox, but the Prince has to go back to his own planet, so they are sad. Before he goes, the fox gives him a present, a secret.”
“What’s the present?”
“The gift was the secret.”
“And what is the secret?”
“This is the secret. It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”
“Mi amor,” Alejandro said, drying the diamond ring with a napkin. “I hereby tame you.” He put the ring on her finger. “So that we can play for a long time, at least until it’s time for me to move on to another planet.”
The trance that held them was interrupted by quiet applause from nearby diners and waiters who had been watching them.
A thin older man wearing a rumpled black overcoat and a faded beret came over to their table. He held his head high. In his eyes one could detect the stoic gallantry of the old French Legionnaire. His eyes were old and tired, but they still glowed with the chivalry that only the older French generation still possessed. He removed his beret and crumpled it in his hand, and then he took Davina’s hand and kissed it.
“Mademoiselle,” he said, “I wish you and your future husband all the health and happiness in the world. And since you know the secret of the fox, I am sure your lives will be filled with joy and many children.” He bowed and kissed her hand again.
Alejandro glowed with pride and happiness.
Davina, tears in her eyes, stood up to hug the old man. ”Merci, Monsieur, you are very kind.”
“Bonne chance,” the old man said, saluting them. Then he turned and let his own tears wet his battered face. For one so young, she has great finesse, he thought. The beautiful young woman had made his heart sing as he remembered his own glorious and romantic days.
♫
EGYPT
CHAPTER 5
Landing in Cairo is quite unlike landing anywhere else in the world. There is, first, the immensity of desert, and the uninitiated might wonder if the pilot got it right. And then the pyramids, from their millennia of quiescence, look up at you. It is almost alarming. Monique and Jacques, and their guests, Davina and Alejandro, filled the windows in their DC-3. They listened intently to the improvised tour their pilot, Adam Spencer, was giving.
“And that’s the Nile, river of wonders,” Captain Adam Spencer said, enjoying this. He had been a flyer since Vietnam. When he sat in a cockpit, it was like inserting his body into a favorite chair. After retiring from the military, he purchased a DC-3 from a military aircraft graveyard and meticulously refurbished the entire steel bird. He christened it Black Angel, for reasons he almost never explained, and chartered the plane out. Jacques learned about it from Davina’s father William Walters.
Walters raved about the Englishman. “What that man can do with a plane is just short of miraculous.” Adam Spencer was an old friend of his and the American’s praises were all that Jacques needed. Jacques rented it, complete with pilot and co-pilot, for Monique’s tour.
Spencer banked the plane to the left and the giants of Giza, beige to match the desert, rose to greet them. Monique would be performing right there in two nights, at the foot of the pyramids.
But the day before the concert Jacques had chartered a small plane to take them to the Valley of the Kings for some sightseeing in the morning. “We can postpone it if you think it is too much,” Jacques told Monique.
“No, that will be fine. We’ll be back in plenty of time for rehearsals,” Monique said.
The next day started out nicely. Th
ey boarded the chartered eight seater. Davina, Alejandro, Jacques and Monique, as well as Adam Spencer and his co-pilot Eric Shannon, aboard as guests this time. The pilot of the small plane introduced himself and his assistant, Ahmed.
As they approached their destination, they spotted two gigantic statues. They had arrived at the Valley of the Kings. The enormous Pharaohs presided over the entrance to the gates.
Suddenly the pilot turned sharply and as he did, his assistant Ahmed pulled out an Uzi machine gun from under his seat and quickly turned around to face the passengers. Monique and Davina were sitting directly behind the hijackers. Alejandro and Jacques behind them, Adam and Eric further back. The carefree happiness on their faces turned to fear.
Ahmed smirked. “Be quiet or I’ll kill you,” he said calmly in slightly accented English. “It makes no difference to me who dies. I know who you are.” He faced Davina. “You are the daughter of the American pig Ambassador. I suggest you be careful or you will be the first one to die.” The man remained calm; it was almost eerie. “You Americans,” he said snorting, “you always think you are so smart. Not this time.”
Alejandro found his voice. “What do you want from us?” he asked.
“All of you shut up!” Ahmed said, raising his voice for the first time. He put the nozzle of the Uzi between Monique’s breasts. Jacques lunged at him and the rifle quickly swung toward him but Davina, who had seen what was coming, instinctively thrust out her arm and it was her shoulder the gun smashed into. She screamed, nearly fainting with the pain. Alejandro held her. The rage coursing through every cell of his body made him tremble. He looked into the eyes of the woman he loved more than anyone else in the world. They communicated this. If they wanted to live, and they did, they would be quiet. Davina squeezed Alejandro’s hand; she stole a look at Monique and wondered if her own eyes showed the same that Monique’s eyes showed: total fear.
The plane gained altitude and flew over the desert for another hour before starting to descend. They could see tents and knew they had arrived at their destination.
‘Ah, shit,’ Adam Spencer thought as he saw where they would land. It was a length of palm fronds on what he knew was sand, hopefully not soft deep sand. Sand was as bad as snow. The only difference was temperature. The landing would be extremely slippery, if at all possible. He caught the look on his co-pilot’s face. “I’ve been in worse,” Adam told him. Eric only swallowed. The passengers knew they were in danger. Their lives were foremost in their minds, but not because of the dangerous landing.
They circled once and the aircraft descended. “Brace yourselves,” Spencer warned. The pilot was perspiring profusely and as the wheels touched down he applied the brakes. They did not respond as he expected; instead they locked. The small plane skidded as if it was mounted on skis sliding on snow. They held on as best they could, and Davina winced from the pain in her shoulder. Finally the brakes unlocked but they were running out of runway. The improvised landing strip wasn’t nearly long enough. “Brace yourselves!” Spencer repeated, only this time he shouted. The pilot swung the rudder hard, and the small craft swerved out of control. One side started to lift off the ground on one wheel like a stunt car and the wing touched the sand, turning them quickly in the opposite direction. Somehow the plane did not tip over; instead it stopped on its wing, which had provided enough friction to stop the craft.
“Asshole!” Ahmed directed his invective in Arabic to the pilot. “You almost blew the whole operation. We need them alive, not dead.”
Outside, men in jellabas mounted on horses and camels were shouting and waiving carbines. They pushed the small plane upright off its wing.
“What the hell is going on?” Alejandro said under his breath. Jacques’ look said it all. ‘I don’t know, I have no idea.’ Nobody had an idea.
“Everybody out!” Ahmed shouted, aiming his gun at them.
The men outside, all armed, had already started concealing the plane with nets and foliage from palm trees. They gathered around the prisoners, pointing their weapons at them. At Ahmed’s signal, the procession moved toward the largest of twelve tents. They were met by a giant of a man with a gold front tooth. He beckoned them inside. The tent was devoid of furniture, and this one reeked with the musty smell of hashish.
No one dared to speak and yet they all felt that they had to say something, someone had to. They had all changed so quickly. Their happiness had melted so immediately.
Davina thought that perhaps she could get some information from the ugly giant with the gold tooth. “These carpets are beautiful,” she said in English. Arabic was not one of the languages she knew.
“Shut up and sit down, you stupid tourists!” The man yelled.
Davina tried to smile. He’s as dumb as he is big, she thought, but she did as he ordered.
Now another man entered. He wore the red-checkered head cloth of the Arab world and his jellaba was gray and faded. His complexion was very dark, almost African, and a thick unkempt beard covered most of his face. “I regret the inconvenience,” the man said. “We have nothing against you. We are holding you for ransom. We need funds for our cause. If you do not do anything foolish, you will live.”
Alejandro, his courage returning, spoke up: “How can we believe that? What is you cause?”
“We are the United People for Freedom,” the man with the head cloth said, and he sat down.
The countries of NATO had formally agreed not to comply with the demands of any terrorist of any country, as Alejandro knew. If it took a few or even several sacrificial deaths for terrorists to get the message, so be it. It was the only way to stop terrorism: no deals, no compromise. He knew they had to escape. They were essentially on their own. “At least let the women go,” he suggested.
“The women are just as important, if not more so,” the man with the red-checkered ghutra said. He stood up. “I warn you. Do not attempt anything you will regret.” He looked at each of them—the four men, Adam Spencer, Eric Shannon, Alejandro and Jacques, and the two young women. “As soon as they have given us what we want, you will be released.”
“You must know that you will not get away with this,” Alejandro said, trying to match the steely evenness of his captor’s voice. “The NATO nations have strict measures against terrorists. They will not comply with your demands.”
The man laughed. “Then you shall die,” he said simply. He briefly spoke to the big man in Arabic who then roughly proceeded to move them out of the tent.
♫
PARIS
CHAPTER 6
William Walters was in his office punctually at eight every morning and today was no different. “Any messages, Margaret?” he asked his secretary.
“I’ve put them on your desk, sir. One letter, just came, special delivery.”
The writing on the envelope read:
FOR THE ATTENTION OF
HIS EXCELLENCY WILLIAM WALTERS
EXTREMELY URGENT
Walters opened it immediately. His face turned white. “Margaret, get me General Dickinson and Générale Duvalier on the phone. Immediately!” He reread the note.
We are holding your daughter, Davina; Alejandro del Valle; Monique Ravel; Jacques Laffitte; and their pilots pending compliance with the following requests:
U.S. $50,000,000 to be deposited in account #CY5724 at the Banque Limitée in Geneva. The deposits are to be made daily.
U.S. $10,000,000 per day for the next five days commencing tomorrow.
Should our demands not be met exactly as mentioned above, we will be forced to execute the aforementioned, one by one, until our demands are complied with. We will contact you via radiotelephone this afternoon. You will speak to your daughter so as to assure you of their safety and to proceed with our demands.
(Signed) The United People for Freedom
Generals Dickinson and Duvalier arrived at Walters’ office together three hours later. They had flown in from Belgium after speaking to the American Ambassador. Dickinson was the Com
mander in Chief of the NATO base. He was a burly man. His uniform was impeccable, and the badges on his chest made him look like a decorated Christmas tree. His appearance was as commanding as his personality. Générale Duvalier was a younger man. He was only in his late thirties and already the second in command on the base. The two were a powerful team.
“Thank you for coming, gentlemen,” Walters greeted them. “It came this morning special delivery,” he said handing the urgent letter to the American general.
“They’re fucking nuts!” Dickinson roared.
“Of course, the NATO alliance prohibits any arrangements with terrorists,” Duvalier pointed out.
“We know, Henri,” the older general snapped. Yes, they all knew, but that was now beside the point.
Duvalier looked up from the letter. “There is only one way,” he said, “and that is to transfer funds from the United States, France and Spain simultaneously. Half the amount from the U.S., $5,000,000, and the other half divided between France and Spain, $2,500,000 each. It can be done through the governments. They can move such large amounts that quickly. It could work.” Duvalier, the esprit brillant, was showing his true colors.
“But that doesn’t guarantee their safe return,” Dickinson said. “We don’t even know where they are to send in a rescue operation."
“There is only one solution then, gentlemen,” Walters said. “Ephraim Schmitz.”
“MOSSAD?” Duvalier said.
“Yes, Henri, Israeli secret service. My daughter and her friends are in Egypt because they were there for a concert.”
“Ah, yes, our songbird, Monique Ravel,” Duvalier said, proud of his compatriot. He had known Monique’s parents well.
