by Amanda Vink
As she looked around, she noticed the place was not well occupied. The man behind the counter told them that it depended on many factors—the behavior of the Persian Gulf and the time of year being two influences. The man was thin, and he had a short beard cropped close to his face. His eyes were dark and moved to take in the room frequently.
“You’ve been down south?” he asked.
Marjorie didn’t like the question. She couldn’t place her finger on it, but she felt like he was trying to look through her—to see if she had any secrets worth knowing. “No,” she answered.
He was drying off a plate with a clean cloth. Seems a bit too focused on the task, Marjorie thought. “You start to see patterns in people who pass through,” he said. “People have their own reasons for travel, naturally.”
She set the money for their meal down on the counter and quickly gathered herself. “Well, I’m afraid it’s been a rather tiring day. I’ll leave you to it.”
“You’re flying with DuPont tomorrow,” he said, stalling her. It wasn’t a question.
“Yes, that’s right.”
He leaned forward, and the smells of the rice dish and body odor overwhelmed Marjorie. She took a step away from him. “Be careful with that one,” he said.
“Why?” she asked. She leaned in, pushing away her revulsion at the stench.
He was just about to say something when a large hand landed on the counter right next to where she stood. She jumped, startled.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you.” It was DuPont, a large grin plastered on his face. He stretched and dug around in his pockets. Then, he fished out some banknotes. Marjorie saw a flash of words, and she could just make them out—the Imperial Bank of Persia. DuPont spilled the money on the counter and said to the man, “Whatever you’ve cooked today, I’ll take a plate of it. A man’s got to eat, right?”
The whole exchange made Marjorie’s skin crawl. “Enjoy your dinner, Mr. DuPont.” She nodded to him and the man behind the counter, whose eyes she could feel on her even as she walked back to where Frank and Hamid sat.
“I don’t like it,” she said after she told Frank about the exchange.
“I don’t either, but we don’t have much choice. He’s the only one, and if we don’t fly, it will take us weeks. It’s our only option.”
“I know. I still don’t like it.”
“Let’s just keep our heads about us, as usual, hmm?”
She nodded.
***
Hamid couldn’t sleep that night. He was very excited about riding in a plane—and he kept asking Marjorie and Frank every question he could think of.
“How many engines does a plane have?”
“Do birds know that planes are made of metal?”
“What do I do if I have to use the toilet?”
For the last question, Frank answered, “Make sure you go to the loo before we take off. We’ll stop once along the way, but we’re not stopping just for your needs.” Then, to change the subject, Frank asked, “Have either of you ever seen a snake charmer?”
“No!” chimed Hamid.
“Not yet,” said Marjorie.
“But you’ve heard of them?”
“Yes,” Hamid said.
“Snakes don’t have great hearing, so ‘charming’ them has nothing to do with the music and everything to do with the sway of the pungi.”
“That’s the musical instrument,” interjected Marjorie.
“So?” asked Hamid.
“So … now you know something new.” Frank winked.
Hamid stuck out his tongue.
“Snakes smell with their tongues too,” Marjorie added.
Hamid crawled under a blanket and suddenly pretended to be a snake. He writhed beneath the folds of cloth, hissing and spitting. Marjorie put her Agatha Christie book away—and proceeded to try to catch him. He screamed in delight. Marjorie couldn’t help but marvel at the child’s ability to have a good time even under such trying circumstances.
***
The next morning, DuPont was ready for them. The sun was just starting to rise over the mountain top when they met him outside the establishment, in the large field. DuPont checked everything one last time before opening the door. He offered Marjorie his hand. She took it and got in.
DuPont’s plane was a trimotor. The inside may have at one time had a few small seats, but they had been ripped out to make room for storage. It was not a big plane by any means—it was already going to be a tight fit, even though DuPont had taken almost everything out. He crawled in behind Marjorie. “People are a lot heavier than cargo. Usually I’m transporting supplies. Make yourself at home. Miss Hart, you can take the passenger seat. You boys can sit in back. ”
Marjorie sat down in the worn seat, which quite frankly smelled awful. She wrinkled her nose and attempted to get comfortable. Frank and Hamid also climbed inside, taking their seats on the floor. Hamid had trouble remaining still—although there was not that much space to move around in the first place.
DuPont slithered into the cockpit and buckled himself in. He made a show of it for Hamid’s sake, putting aviation goggles on and everything. Then he flicked a switch and the engine roared to life. While they waited for the engines to warm up, Hamid took in the whole scene. He was in his element—with his nose pressed to the glass and a smile on his face.
When they finally took off, he yelled with excitement—loud enough that Marjorie could hear him over the engines. Looking back and seeing his joy, she had to grin. Frank, on the other hand, looked pale as a sheet—like he would very much rather be on the ground. Marjorie, pitying him, tried her best to give him a reassuring smile, but he didn’t look at her. She turned back to the front to peer out the window. I guess it’s a good thing I’m up here and he’s back there.
Marjorie took in the scene above the mountains—its deep ridges and the colors where rock met sky. She sighed with pleasure. What a view.
After a few hours, they landed in a lush green valley between two mountains. There was an abandoned stone structure there and little else.
DuPont flipped a switch back down, and the propellers stalled. Suddenly, all became quiet—quite a shift from the roaring winds and the sound of the engine moments before. When DuPont spoke, he was still yelling. Marjorie flinched at the volume. “I always stop here. It’s out of the way, a place you come when you want to be by yourself,” he explained.
Back on solid ground now, Marjorie drank in the surroundings. The aircraft sat right at the base of the mountain, and before them stretched a long plain. The two mountains sheltered them from the rest of the world. Here, the wind was mild and a slight breeze pushed back her hair. Marjorie reached around and rifled through her rucksack at her hip —she hadn’t let it away from her sight. She dug inside for her camera and took it out. Then she started snapping pictures.
“A photographer, eh?” DuPont stood next to her. He gestured at the camera. “Looks awful fancy.”
She looked away from the view after snapping one more shot. “The mechanism is simple enough. It works similarly to a human eye, capturing light and dark places.”
“Huh,” DuPont mused. But he didn’t really seem interested in Marjorie’s camera. She noticed him looking at her bag. She put her camera away, closing it up. His attention made the hair on the back of her neck rise. She looked around for Frank and Hamid, but they had disappeared around the other side of the ruin to gather some brush to make a fire.
“I’ll make some lunch,” Marjorie said lightly.
“Alright,” DuPont said, straightening. “I’ll go refuel the plane.”
At least he won’t be breathing down my neck. She sighed in relief, grateful to be alone for a few moments, and started unloading some of the provisions. There wasn’t much—a flatbread, a few pieces of fruit, and some smoked meat. Then she put water in a pot. They would at least warm up with coffee, she decided. She busied herself with making a fire from some of the small brush, using a lighter she retrieved from th
e rest of the provisions on the plane. She flipped the top open and used her thumb to flick the metal wheel. A small flame appeared. Handy, she thought as she stuffed it in her bag.
She was unpacking the coffee grounds when she felt the end of a gun at the base of her spine.
“Turn around slowly,” DuPont’s voice hissed in her ear.
Marjorie did as he asked, her heart racing and sweat forming on her brow. Their pilot had a queer grin on his face. Slowly, Marjorie lifted her hands. She wondered what Frank and Hamid were doing—whether or not they would come back in time, whether or not she wanted them to and risk injury. But, she admitted, she could use a bit of help.
“Step away from there,” DuPont instructed.
She did as she was told, but at the same time, her eyes swam around her, looking for anything she could use. Nothing. Uncle Charlie’s gun was in her bag, but there was no way she could reach it without DuPont noticing.
“Where is the box?” he asked.
She didn’t say anything.
He came closer, and he indicated the rucksack draped around her body. With nothing else she could do, Marjorie slowly shrugged it off and opened it for him—and they were both surprised to find that the box was not inside.
DuPont made a quick movement. The last thing Marjorie saw was the butt of the gun coming at her. She dropped to the ground, and the world went black.
***
When she opened her eyes, night was falling. The landscape looked haunted, startled. It took her a moment to realize the fire illuminated everything, sending out flickering waves of light. What happened?
She struggled to rise to her feet, but eventually gave up when she realized how much pain she was in. Her hands were bound behind her, her shoulders twisted in an awkward position. Everything ached, and the flesh against her wrists burned from binding wound around them. She must’ve groaned because she heard DuPont speak. “Good, you’re awake.”
He came into view then, continuing to speak. Yet she couldn’t figure out exactly what he was saying: she was still trying to take in her surroundings and her precarious position. A cloth tied tight around her mouth made her jaw lock. She wished she could close her mouth fully—and she wished for a drink of water. Her mouth felt like cotton.
DuPont still spoke, and she forced herself to listen. “… wasn’t hard to find you after that. Bad luck, losing that roll of film at that dig site. Apparently it was found shortly after you made your escape.”
He held something up, and Marjorie saw that in his hand he held one of her rolls of film. She couldn’t imagine where he’d found it, but then her memories flashed back to when she had pulled her bag free on the ladder outside of Darius’s tomb. Had she dropped it then? DuPont’s words sounded convincing enough. Maybe she had.
“They don’t care if you’re alive or dead as long as they get what’s theirs—that box. It’s a shame to kill a fellow American all the way out here, but it’s a paycheck. Ain’t nothing personal.”
DuPont ventured to the fire and kneeled over it, then used a stick to move the embers around. She saw he cooked something over the flames. The smoke spread around him, wrapping him in a blanket of haze.
She stopped struggling then. The bonds were too tight to break. She just had to hope that Frank and Hamid were safe, and that they were keeping their wits about them.
DuPont still spoke, his voice muffled. “Just gotta wait until your friend comes back. But don’t you worry. DuPont never loses anybody. You’ll see.”
He used a long fork to skewer whatever was cooking over the fire and came away with a piece of meat. It smelled nauseating. Marjorie’s vision swirled, and she closed her eyes to steady herself. Maybe she had a concussion. She tried to take shallow breaths, to quell the rising unease in her stomach. Focus, she told herself. You have to figure some way out of this.
Then she remembered the small knife in her boot. She had felt a little silly putting it there initially, but now she was glad she had. She waited for DuPont to turn his back again. Then slowly she reached her arm toward her leg. Fortunately, that was a movement that was possible in her current situation.
She grasped onto the knife and opened it. She shifted it in her hands, and slowly she found she could rub it back and forth against the rope. Her cutting wasn’t perfect, however. At one point she slipped, and she felt the knife pierce her arm. She winced, trying not to make a noise. Ignoring the pain, she tried again. Slowly the fibers of the rope gave way. One at a time, they pulled apart. Centimeter by centimeter, she was a little bit closer to freedom.
“What are you doing?”
She jumped, her eyes flying to DuPont’s face. He rounded on her, and Marjorie could see he had his gun in his hand again.
But suddenly, the rope snapped and her hands broke free. Her body fell forward, and she raced to right herself before she smacked face first into the mud. And then a shot rang out.
She gasped, expecting to feel the rush of blood pouring down her and the sting of a bullet in her flesh. But she felt no pain. She looked down, checking herself for wounds. There was nothing in her torso or her chest. She checked her arms. Her legs. Nothing.
Somehow, the gunshot had missed her. Her eyes swam, and landed on two forms wrestling before her. Frank had dived into DuPont! The two men struggled with one another—punching and grappling in the dust. Frank must’ve got here just in time.
DuPont had dropped his gun in the fray. Now it lay halfway between Marjorie and the fire—so close. She dived for it.
But DuPont saw her first and grabbed her arm. It was already sore, but his yank on it made it all the more painful. She screamed, clutching at the joint, and watched as DuPont reached for the gun. His fingers wrapped around the barrel to pick it up. It’s over now, Marjorie thought.
Smack! Frank’s fist collided with DuPont’s cheek, and the man went down cold.
“Frank!” she said, again trying to rise, but her shoulders were too sore. He came over to her quickly, his gaze scanning her.
“You’re always rushing,” he said. “I would’ve gotten you out given just a little more time.”
Marjorie forced herself up. Pain shot through her head in protest. “Easy now,” Frank said.
Marjorie panicked, looking around. “Where’s Hamid?” He was nowhere to be seen. In a flash, Marjorie imagined all the dangers that could befall him if left alone.
“Don’t worry, Marjorie!” Hamid’s voice called. He emerged from the shadows behind the ruin. He ran toward her, and she wrapped her arms around him.
“Don’t scare me like that!” she said. It was scolding—but loving.
“What did I do?” he asked.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Marjorie replied, wiping her eyes.
“Let’s tie up this lowlife,” said Frank.
“Ooo!” Hamid crowed. “I’ll get some rope.” Without waiting for a reply, he skipped off in the direction of the plane.
Frank and Marjorie looked after him, stunned by his excitement. They laughed, relieved. Then Marjorie gasped again—she remembered that they were missing something important.
“Wait,” she said. “I don’t have the box!”
“Relax,” Frank soothed. “We got it.” He went to retrieve it. “There you are,” he said, handing it over.
She tucked the box once more into her rucksack and smiled at him. “How did you know to take it?”
“I don’t know. Just a funny feeling.”
Marjorie’s eyes danced. “You saved my life. Thank you.”
“Any time.”
The Kingdom of Iraq
Chapter Twenty-One
In the morning, Marjorie awoke stiff from the cold. Her head and her shoulder still ached, but at least she wasn’t nauseated anymore. She shivered underneath the blankets. It was still hard to believe how cold it could get when there was no cloud cover to keep the heat trapped inside the atmosphere. The cold gripped at her fingers and her toes. But as the sun rose, quickly its warmth began to melt away the frost.
Frank, already awake, busied himself with rekindling the fire. It had burned down to nothing but embers over the course of the night. He let the sun wash over his face, his eyes closed.
As he did this, Marjorie examined him. If he was tired from their constant travel, he didn’t look it. In fact, he seemed rejuvenated. At peace. When he opened his eyes, she looked away quickly.
Frank noticed she was awake and said, “May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face.”
The muscles in Marjorie’s face lifted. It felt good to smile. “I’ve heard that before,” she said.
“My mother used to say it a lot. It’s an Irish prayer.”
“It’s beautiful.”
He lifted his shoulders in a breezy expression and returned to the fire. A flame ignited from the ashes. “Aha!” he cried. “Coffee will be on in no time.” He reached for a small pot, which he had filled with water, then went to dig around in DuPont’s supplies.
DuPont lay in a heap on the ground a good distance away, his hands bound in front of him. He was uncomfortable, grumbling, but alive. Marjorie had even made sure that he was warm enough during the night, but she noted that he didn’t seem particularly grateful. She kneeled in front of him.
He glared at her. “Untie me, will you? My arm’s asleep.”
“Yes, it’s not so nice being tied up.” Marjorie rubbed her wrist, which was bruised from where she had been bound.
DuPont’s expression changed, urgent and pleading. “If you untie me now, I’ll bring you wherever you want to go. If I ever see that Arab, I’ll act like I never met you.”
Seif. Marjorie’s suspicions were confirmed. Marjorie wondered if DuPont had tipped off Seif as to their location. If that were the case, they would be following along shortly. That meant they had to move. At least by air they were making great time.
