Mrs Pollifax Unveiled Part 10

"No, gold, pure gold .., it just needs cleaning. In Damascus it'll be dated, but Dr. Robinson is sure that it's over a thousand years old. And here's a necklace of bone and ivory, and this might interest you," she added, presenting Mrs. Pollifax with a small pouch of amber-colored powder. "It's raw frankincense, and still fragrant. Smell it."

"Ummmm," murmured Mrs. Pollifax, sniffing, but what moved her even more was a small box that Amy handed her, in which lay a faded bouquet. "Flowers from the frankincense tree," said Amy, and leaning over it Mrs. Pollifax marveled at its being preserved in the earth almost intact: its yellow petals had faded somewhat, but each bore a heart of red in its center, and a very faint scent lingered. "And what story have you given this?"

"That's the romance of it all," Amy admitted, her weather-beaten face softening. "We like to think the bouquet was given to him by someone he loved very much. As a token, a talisman, to take with him."

"But he never returned," said Mrs. Pollifax sadly. Like Joe's Babylonian prayer, here was another ghost from the past, leaving them to wonder who and what and if, never to be answered.

"Apparently not," said Amy, placing the box tenderly back in the crate and locking it, and then, "What in heaven's name is that noise outside?"

Listening, Mrs. Pollifax smiled. "It sounds like sheep," and she left Amy to hurry outside.

What she saw was Joe leading a herd of sheep that stretched back almost a quarter of a mile behind him; he had kept them at a distance, on the outskirts of the camp, but they were protesting noisily as they pa.s.sed: sheep of all colors - black, brown, white, cream-prodded in the rear by Joe's Bedouin companions keeping them on the move with their sticks.

Amy, joining her, said with a frown, "I wondered what had happened to Joe today." She shook her head. "Has he gone out of his mind? Such a conscientious young man, but how childish of him to play at being a shepherd!"

"There's a child in all of us," murmured Mrs. Pollifax, and was delighted to see Farrell emerge from his tent, wire cutters in hand, to relieve Joe and drive the sheep the rest of the way. Once it was dark he would begin cutting the fence, she knew, and she glanced at her watch: half-past four, a trifle late, but they should reach the sniper camp by eight o'clock , when the sun would have set. There must, she thought, be at least seventy sheep, but in any case there were far too many to count.

Joe strode toward them, grinning. "What do you think of that, Aunt Emily?" he said breezily, and to Amy, "You're looking grim, what's up?"

"You did no work today."

"I know, but since we're nearly finished here I've cleared it with Dr. Robinson that I leave early to show my aunt around the country a bit. She's not seen Aleppo; or Maamoula, where they still speak the ancient Aramic language and their blue houses march up the mountain; or Safiti -hot and humid, but I love that place-and she's only in Syria for eight more days. Right, Aunt Em?" he said with a wicked grin.

Really, thought Mrs. Pollifax crossly, for an Umayyad scholar this young man is shedding inhibitions by the hour, and enjoying it all far too much, totally unaware that we may all end up arrested and in prison and - Oh, dear, I mustn't think of that, she told herself firmly, must not.

"Got to see Barney," Joe said, and went off to find his friend, no doubt to confirm that Barney had secured the Land Rover for a hamster hunt once it was dark.

'inner was falafel again. Argub's camels brayed; after-dinner conversation blossomed and then flagged; the sun set in a blaze of color; the lanterns were lighted, and one by one the inhabitants of Camp Five repaired to their tents. Mrs. Pollifax slipped her pa.s.sport and money into the pockets of the coa.r.s.e brown abaya she'd soon be wearing, gathered up djellabas, headscarves, sandals and Farrell's kaffiyeh, and waited.

Presently the silence was interrupted by the sound of the Land Rover. It stopped outside of Joe's tent and from his tent Mrs. Pollifax emerged, a mere shadow in the darkness. She tossed her bundle into the rear seat, climbed in beside it, and with Barney driving and Joe beside him they headed east.

12.

As they sped along in the night a cloud had perversely blotted out the waning moon, and the stars shed little light. It was rough ground but Mrs. Pollifax managed to struggle into the new clothes, pulling on black baggy pants, the brown abaya, the white headscarf, and to exchange her walking shoes for old sandals.

"Stop here," Joe said, reaching the dropoff point. "Straight ahead two miles is the sniper camp, I clocked it."

"Right," said Barney, and handed him his flashlight. "Once the sheep are inside the camp I'll pull ahead without lights. And for G.o.d's sake -mine, too," he added lightly, "be careful."

"Barney, I love you," Joe told him flippantly. "All set, Aunt Pollifax?"

"All set," she a.s.sured him, and they began their cold walk in the dark, so dark that when suddenly Farrell rose up in front of them they were startled.

"But where are the sheep?" whispered Mrs. Pollifax.

"Behind a small rise in the ground over there." He pointed. "Hisham and Rachid are keeping them there; they were tired enough to be quiet, mercifully. And," he added proudly, "I managed to cut a really decent hole in the fence, at least five feet wide. The last lights have gone out at the camp, they should be asleep by now."

"We hope," murmured Mrs. Pollifax. "Remember, the tent I saw Amanda enter is the second one from the end. On the right."

Farrell nodded. "Yes, and you head for it just as the sheep come in. Lead them," he emphasized. "If you find Amanda your being a woman will be less threatening to her, but I'll be close behind, backing you up."

"And I'll follow," said Joe, "ready to hit anybody who interferes, and I've got a mean right."

Having announced this, he and Farrell withdrew to begin moving the sheep, while Mrs. Pollifax sat down at the base of the hill in the darkness to wait, hoping no scorpions were keeping her company. To quiet her nerves she tried to think of Cyrus, but she found this difficult since he was living in a world of bright lights, hot water, automobiles and books, completely foreign to her at this moment when she had become a pseudo-Bedouin crouched in one corner of a sniper's camp. What she was feeling now was akin to stage fright, a familiar mix of exhilaration, dread and suspense. It's going to be all right, it's going to be a u right, she repeated to herself like a mantra, over and over, and was relieved when the sound of complaining sheep cut short the suspense: they were being driven toward her, and it was obvious from their protests that they did not like it at all.

She stood up, ready to escort them through the opened fence into the compound, and a moment later found half a dozen bleating sheep surrounding and nudging her. Climbing quickly to the top of the hill she slipped through the fence to receive them. Driven from behind, and having nowhere else to go they followed, trampling each other as they were pushed up and through the hole, and seeing the herd ma.s.sing behind them she was stricken with remorse: it was like inserting them through the eye of a needle but there was no time for remorse. The camp was still dark and silent, and with a sizable number of sheep inside the camp Joe and Farrell were suddenly beside her, prodding the sheep forward with their crooks, and with the herd moving faster Mrs. Pollifax moved with them toward the tents.

Behind her she heard Farrell say, "Faster, faster!" which seemed quite unnecessary, she thought, since the sheep in the rear were being pushed hard against the sheep in the front - and suddenly there was panic, so abrupt that Mrs. Pollifax was almost knocked to the ground, and-"They do stampede!" she said in a gasp as they surged frantically past her. Barely managing to remain upright she struggled through and over them to one side, the right side, shouting, "Amanda? Amanda Pym!" and when she reached the tent next to the end she shouted her name again.

The flap of the second tent on the right had been raised and a dim figure stood there, motionless. A woman's voice from inside shouted angrily at her in Arabic, and Mrs. Pollifax, pressing closer, looked into the face of Amanda Pym. "Come!" she shouted, seizing her by the arm.

From somewhere a man's voice shouted, "Trouble! Jib ed- dar! Bring the lights! And a bundukiyeh -my gun, fool!"

The girl seemed unaware, her eyes fastened on the sheep milling around in a panic at finding no exit. Farrell reached her side, picked up Amanda and slung her over his shoulder and, "Let's go.1" he shouted over the noise of fifty or more outraged and bleating sheep, and Mrs. Pollifax followed, zigzagging around and over the herd and back toward the privy and the fence. From behind them a shot was fired . ., they reached the gap in the fence .., a push and a shove . . , behind them were shouts now in Arabic, and glancing back she saw flashlights blossoming like fireflies in the compound, and then she slid down the hill behind Farrell.

Barney had backed the Land Rover to the base of the hill; Farrell shoved Amanda Pym into the backseat, Mrs. Pollifax joined her, and Farrell squeezed in beside her as Joe leaped into the front seat. Both Hisham and Rachid made a flying exit from the camp to cling to the sides of the jeep, and they took off at a high speed without lights, racing across the unfilled rocky ground at sixty or seventy miles an hour. But after all, thought Mrs. Pollifax, what could they possibly run into?

After several miles of rough travel Barney stopped the Land Rover. Joe spoke in Arabic to Hisham and Rachid, and they jumped off to return to their own people, with Joe calling after them, "Allah yisellimak!" To the others he said, "I told them that when they start rounding up the sheep tomorrow they'd jolly well better not go near the camp, because there is no way to explain that hole in the fence."

"No way," agreed Farrell.

Barney turned on the headlights, and in the sudden dim illumination he turned his head to see who occupied the rear. He said, "You've certainly got an interesting pa.s.senger, is that a boy or a girl? And in a camouflage suit, no less."

In the dim light they all looked at Amanda, Farrell and Joe for the first time. It was no wonder that Barney had mistaken her s.e.x because she'd been given a boy's haircut. The shorn hair accentuated her wide gray eyes, the line of her cheekbones, and her boyish, sunburned face. She looked, thought Mrs. Pollifax, like an urchin, and an urchin who had made herself very small in the corner, eyes wide with terror. She whispered, "Does it begin now? So soon?"

"No," said Mrs. Pollifax sharply, and to Barney, "Do drive on, this is no time to talk. Where are we?"

"Sorry. We're not far from the Deir-ez-Zor highway that runs through As Sikhneh and then to Tadmor. I'll stop before we get to As Sikhneh, since I a.s.sume this pile of djellabas I'm sitting on has some purpose."

"You bet," Joe said. "You're also sitting on my good tweed jacket, d.a.m.n it, and don't wrinkle it."

Presently Amanda's head dropped against Mrs. Pollifax's shoulder and she slept. The highway was asphalt, and straight and smooth -a welcome relief-but not without traffic. A truck pa.s.sed loaded with bales of cotton. "Cotton!" exclaimed Mrs. Pollifax.

"Oh yes," Joe told her. "They raise a lot of it up here." A truck piled high with melons pa.s.sed, a military jeep, and an oil truck, and presently a yellow cloud of light brightened the sky ahead, and Barney drew off the road and stopped. "That's As Sikhneh up ahead. If you have things to do," he said, "this is the time."

Mrs. Pollifax turned to Amanda. "Wake up now, Amanda," she said, but there was no response. "She doesn't wake up," she told them.

Barney knelt in the front seat and turned the flashlight on her face. "She could be drugged. I'm not asking why but she may have been into sleeping pills."

"Or given them," said Joe.

Farrell leaned across Mrs. Pollifax and slapped the girl, first on the left cheek, then on the right cheek, and she opened her eyes, startled. "We're getting out of the car," he told her.

Obediently Amanda climbed out, but as Mrs. Pollifax began unzipping her camouflage suit she asked despairingly, "But oh where are you taking me now?"

Joe, staring at her, looked visibly shocked. "We're Americans, Amanda, we're taking you back to America -lnshallah," he added under his breath.

"You know me?" she faltered.

"You're Amanda Pym, and we're going to change you into an Arab now, wrap your head in a scarf and put sandals on your feet, and a u of our lives depend on your being a very proper young Arab woman, very very quiet, so we can get you out of this country."

"Americans," she repeated dazedly.

"In spite of two of us looking Bedouin we're all Americans," Mrs. Pollifax told her crisply, "and we're going to have to take a bus soon to Damascus . I'm to be your mother, and Farrell here will be your father. This is Joe, by the way, but he will not speak to us after we get to the bus, do you understand?"

Amanda's eyes were fixed on Joe's very American tweed jacket and this, thought Mrs. Pollifax, somewhat rea.s.sured the girl. Gently leading her away from the others she unzipped her camouflage suit, peeled it away and off, and held out the dark aboya. Dear G.o.d, how thin she is, she thought. "Trust us, Amanda," she told her. "Put this on." When she had finished robing her and winding a black scarf around her head and exchanging her boots -good ones, she noted-for cheap native sandals, she rearranged her own headscarf. Signaling to Joe he joined them, and in the glow of the flashlight he darkened Mrs. Pollifax's eyebrows and thickened them, and then, "Hold still," he told Amanda, and carefully outlined her eyes in kohl. Moving to Farrell he, too, became almost unrecognizable with his stubble of beard and thickened brows. During this redesigning of them Mrs. Pollifax noticed that Barney kept at a distance, his back turned to them. He had told Joe he wanted no knowledge of what he was up to and she found this amusing, considering the enormous help that he'd given them; by now he must have a very good idea, and still he asked no questions. Joe, she thought, had a very good friend.

Amanda was led back to the Land Rover, and they climbed in beside her and drove the last few miles to As Sikhneh without comment. It looked to Mrs. Pollifax like a sleepy truck stop in the Midwest at this hour, with a few neon lights, a blue and yellow gas station with signs exclusively in Arabic, and the town behind it in shadow. Barney slowed the Land Rover; there were already mysterious shapes of people beyond the lights, huddled together and apparently sharing food while they waited for the bus. The lights also illuminated a scattering of broken plastic jugs and empty soda cans across the ground, and an orange wall plastered with advertis.e.m.e.nts for Mandarin soda, Lucky Strike cigarettes, and one primitive drawing of a smiling Hafiz al- a.s.sad.

Barney reached into the back and gave to Mrs. Pollifax a small burlap bag of -"What?" she asked.

"Grapes, and a few dates for protein," he told her. "And here are your tickets, I made reservations for you yesterday on the bus." He hesitated, and before she could thank him he said with a mocking smile, "Delighted to have met you, Joe's aunt." With a smile, a salute and "Cheers!" he turned the Land Rover around and left them .., left them in the semi-darkness in what felt to Mrs. Pollifax the middle of nowhere.

"We sit," she said in a low voice.

Joe nodded. "But don't speak again," he whispered, and to Amanda, "Talk later, you're an Arab now, you understand?"

She stared at him without expression but nodded. She appeared a shade more alert now and gave Mrs. Pollifax a curious, sidelong glance, as if seeing her for the first time; Mrs. Pollifax thought she even saw an attempt at a smile that quickly vanished. They had come a long way for this young woman; there were so many questions she wanted to ask of her that it was frustrating to realize they must travel like mutes.

Pointing to the orange brick wall Mrs. Pollifax led Amanda to it and they sat down on the ground, their backs against it, and after a minute Farrell joined them. In the dim light he looked alarmingly tired -haggard, really-and while this added an interesting dimension to his disguise it worried her. She, too, was tired, and the cut on her forehead, quiescent all day, had begun to ache again-but she had not been tied up and beaten, or walked for miles. She thought of how Farrell must have reached deep inside of himself for the strength to carry on so cheerfully-as he so often had done in the past-and she reached for his hand. Leaning close she said in a low voice, "Sleep, Farrell, you need it-I'll wake you."

He gave her a wry smile and nodded. She released his hand and he closed his eyes, but whether he slept or not she couldn't know, but it had become her turn now to remain alert and on guard. To keep her eyes from closing she occupied herself by remembering the bizarre circ.u.mstances under which she and Farrell had met: as two strangers tied up back-to-back in a remote airport in Mexico , later followed by a torturous escape out of Albania .... How many incredible people -a whole collage of them-she'd met on her trips for Carstairs, she thought, and her memory went back in time to a man who had been very dear to her, and whose real name she would never know, a man who had said, "If only you had been born Bulgarian, Amerikanski, we could have changed the world!"-as perhaps, in a very small way, each of them had. And remembering Tsanko she felt a rush of grat.i.tude for the strange detour her life had taken that had so enriched and changed her ...

... And had brought her now to this moment of waiting in a desert town of Syria, where she could only count the people who must be looking for them: the two mysterious men searching for Farrell, and surely by now a few outraged members of Amanda's sniper camp, and she wondered for how long the three of them must remain exposed and vulnerable here until the bus came to take them . . , but where? The rug man in the Damascus souk was their only hope. If they could find him again.

13.

Barney had deposited them at As Sikhneh at close to midnight ; it was three o'clock in the morning before a gaily painted bus came into sight, and by that time they had been joined by four more people, all men, and Mrs. Pollifax made a point of observing them closely. Three arrived together and, without any interest in Mrs. Pollifax, Farrell, and Amanda, continued a lively conversation with much laughter; she gained the impression they were workmen on their way to a job. The fourth man walked out of the darkness alone, not far from them, and gave each one of them an interested glance as he pa.s.sed to take his place in the shadows. Because of that glance, casual but thorough, Mrs. Pollifax felt a small sense of alarm and took note of his appearance, so briefly seen: a long face and nose, thin mustache, dark skin and piercing eyes, a man wearing a simple gray djellaba, a checkered kaffiyeh, and brown sandals. She decided it would be wise to watch him.

As the bus came to a stop Joe, rising from his perch on an oil drum, yawned, stretched, stood up and murmured, as if to himself, "The Damascus bus at last -hooray!" and they lined up to enter. Farrell, awake and alert now, secured the long seat in the back for them, and although Mrs. Pollifax was able to observe each pa.s.senger as they climbed into the bus she did not see the man with the piercing eyes; he was not among them. Surprising, she thought; he had simply vanished.

The bus drew away with the three of them huddled side by side in the rear, a shabby peasant family with Mrs. Pollifax clutching the small sack of food on her lap, and if Amanda looked frightened it was hoped that it would be mistaken for the shyness of a young unmarried Arab girl. Farrell immediately fell asleep, or feigned it, and as the bus began its drive to Tadmor Mrs. Pollifax, deprived of reading material and conversation, stared out of the window and watched the sun rise, and with it the sudden appearance of houses and fields and people that had been wrapped in darkness earlier: they pa.s.sed a girl astride a donkey with metal water containers hung on either side of her saddle, like panniers; there was a glimpse of low black Bedouin tents in a distant field, and of sheep scattered over the hillsides. Pickup trucks loaded with cargo pa.s.sed them, as well as oil trucks and small Mazda and Sukuki pa.s.senger cars.

She wanted to say, "Oh look!" She wanted to question this young stranger sitting beside her, wanted to ask her so many questions: what she'd been training to do in that sniper camp; why her life had been spared; what she'd endured; who the people were with whom she'd spent almost two months -but she mustn't. She wanted to talk to Farrell, not to ask, "What next?" but simply to talk: to communicate. She had worn disguises before, but she couldn't think of a situation in which speaking one word of English would betray them. She heartily envied Joe, who sat up front near the driver and chatted companionably with him from time to time in Arabic; obviously they had met before, but she could only look ahead and number the hours the three of them had to remain silent; she felt deprived and frustrated.

When the bus pulled into the station at Tadmor, Mrs. Pollifax drew her headscarf closer and turned her face away from the window. This was the bus station that she and Farrell had hoped to reach -it felt a century ago-and not far away there would be the alley down which they'd plunged into disaster. She prayed no soldiers or police would enter the bus to check the pa.s.sengers, but as the bus emptied it was mostly tourists who climbed in, a noisy group of Germans, free to talk and laugh, and Mrs. Pollifax hated them for that freedom.

How surly I'm growing, she thought, but how lovely to be a carefree tourist.

However, with Damascus only three hours away now she closed her eyes and tried to picture the shops in the Damascus souk they had pa.s.sed, and that she had tried to memorize, as they left Omar's carpet stall. ... Copper pots she could remember, and two large photos of President a.s.sad, one smiling and one serious, each suspended overhead, but there had been other details, and what were they? In the labyrinth of alleys there had been so many shops selling rugs, which left only the smiling and serious Hafiz al- a.s.sad photos to find.

Needle in a haystack, she thought, and then .. . Sheepskins, yes: vests and rugs. And with this she had to be content.

Before reaching Damascus she distributed the dates and grapes that Barney had presented to her at the last minute, and Farrell brought out the bread that Joe had contributed, and the food had a soothing effect -it had been a long time since they'd eaten-and when they reached the Station d'au- tobus in Damascus they had consumed every crumb of bread and every grape. Joe was the first off the bus and lingered nearby, frequently glancing at his watch as if meeting someone. After Mrs. Pollifax, Amanda, and Fan-ell had made their exit he began strolling out of the square and into the street, with them following him at a discreet distance. Several blocks later he turned to the right, and with relief Mrs. Pollifax, gripping Amanda's arm, recognized Martyrs' Square; they were on familiar ground now and close to the Old City .

It was precisely 9:10 by Mrs. Pollifax's watch when they walked through the entrance to this main covered market, the Souk Al Hamadye, and into the same crowds and lively music as before, the same shouts of the merchants and enlivening atmosphere of a Middle East marketplace. Now it was Joe who fell behind them, giving only a faint smile of acknowledgment as he retreated to allow them to lead the way. Amanda was obviously enchanted by this maze of streets; her face glowed as her eyes moved from displays of daggers, frilly children's clothes, fruit stalls and djellabas; this was certainly not Roseville , Pennsylvania , thought Mrs. Pollifax, giving her a smile.

It was half-past the hour when, as they pa.s.sed still another alleyway, a barbershop caught Mrs. Pollifax's eye and she abruptly stopped. Of course -the barbershop, she remembered, the one detail she'd forgotten, and nudging Farrell she glanced behind her to be sure that Joe was close behind them before she led them into the dim and narrow street.

She counted the shops .. , barber, sheepskin rugs, copper pots, with Omar's stall the fourth, and - "Oh no." She gasped aloud, for the fourth shop was closed, shuttered by a locked steel gate.

Amanda looked at her questioningly. Joe, forgoing caution, said, "What's wrong? Are you sure this was the place?"

"This has to be it," whispered Mrs. Pollifax, and then, "Look, there's the same narrow stone-walled pa.s.sage next to it -and there's that carved wooden door halfway down the alley, see? This has to be the place." If only he is there, she thought, and said grimly, "We have to try." And hope, she added silently.

With as much casualness as they could summon they strolled down the pa.s.sageway to the door and knocked. There was no response and Mrs. Pollifax knocked again, and then a third time, until it suddenly opened.

It was the boy Abdul who stood there, and his eyes widened in astonishment. "You?" he faltered, recognizing Joe, and he glanced quickly up and down the alley before he looked at Joe's three companions. "But -min?"

"He asks who you are," translated Joe.

"Americans, all of us," Mrs. Pollifax told Abdul. "You know us, we met at the Citadel on Monday, at noon , and you gave us tea, and -"

A voice behind the boy said, "Let them in -quickly, Abdul," and with relief they entered, the door closing behind them.

The man who had called himself Omar sat at his desk, his profile briefly illuminated by a desk lamp until he reached out and switched it off. Rising, he said curtly, "You wish me stabbed in the back, too? How did you find me? Were you followed? And who are these other people?"

Without invitation Mrs. Pollifax sank into one of his chairs, saying, "We have no idea why the man in Palmyra was attacked. He really is dead?"

He nodded grimly.

"As for these two people, this young man -"

Joe broke in to say, "Abdul can vouch for me, sir, he and I meet twice a month -on Wednesdays-at the Al-Arabi restaurant. I'm Joe Fleming from Tell Khamseh."

Omar's eyes narrowed as he coolly observed Joe, and then his glance moved to Amanda. "And she -this girl-is she worth the death of a valued scholar such as Fareeq Wazagani?"

"Death?" gasped Amanda. "Oh, not another death? Who - what's happened? Who are you all?"

To Amanda Mrs. Pollifax said, "Later," and to Omar, sternly, "This is Amanda Pym, the young woman we were sent here to find. Two months ago she saved the lives of two hundred and three people," she emphasized, "on the plane that was hijacked to Damascus . She was kidnapped at the airport."

He bowed his head to Amanda. "Then I beg your pardon. The pleasure of forgiving is sweeter than the pleasure of revenge, but I say frankly I would have been happy to kill you until I learned it was not the police who murdered my friend Fareeq. I mourn him. It is apparent you must have some unknown value -to them, whoever they are-and I trust it equals the loss of Fareeq."

"But who is Fareeq?" stammered Amanda.

"She knows nothing, nor do we," Mrs. Pollifax told him. "We've not been able to talk to her at all yet. When we first found her she was drugged and confused, and after that, traveling as Bedouins, none of us dared speak to each other in English without giving ourselves away as Americans."