“Unless he’s involved, in which case it would have been simple,” said the lawyer.
“Then he’s directed us to his accomplices, which doesn’t make sense,” said the Arab. “I believe him. I think his wife has been taken. Just like Tewfik.”
“I would have expected a cash demand,” said the lawyer, sipping from his glass.
Azziz nodded. “It’s definitely a complication.”
“A clever one,” said Grearson, fingering his spectacles. “If we default on the shipment, the word will get around very quickly. We exist by reputation. And reliability.”
“I know.” said the Arab. His head was forward on his chest, a familiar attitude of concentration. It was a long time before he spoke. “We can’t afford to lose that reputation,” he said. There was another pause. “Or Tewfik.” His head came up. “I don’t want an army,” he said positively. “I want a small, compact group. But they’ve got to be the best. I don’t want a bunch of has-beens, fat on beer and boasting about the black women they raped in the Congo.”
“Green Beret or British SAS?”
“Just the best.”
“Williams was a Green Beret,” reminded Grearson.
“He was a mistake,” said the Arab. “I don’t want any more.”
“There won’t be,” promised Grearson, whose life until now had been a comparatively easy one of creating contracts with people who were always the willing buyers and who enjoyed the comforts with which Azziz surrounded himself. He didn’t want anything to change.
“We’ll use this man Deaken,” said Azziz. “And if necessary his wife-they’re our advantage; they’re expendable.”
One deck above where Azziz sat, but farther to the stern, Deaken stared around a suite only slightly smaller than the apartment he occupied in Geneva, reaching out to touch first the smooth wood of the bulkhead and then letting his hand drop to the silk covering of the bed. He supposed the word was bunk, but it wasn’t appropriate: this was a bed, big enough for two. The thought hit him like a blow.
“Oh, my darling,” he said aloud. “Poor darling. I’ll get you back. I promise I’ll get you back.”
Tewfik Azziz waited a long time, twice almost drifting off to sleep, only to jerk awake, irritated at himself for the weakness it showed. He was extremely careful, crouching for a long time near the door, tensed for sounds, waiting for the conversation and then the footsteps to cease, for the house to sleep. Even then he waited for the stir of guards placed outside. There was no movement to indicate the precaution.
He had rehearsed the walk, like everything else, so he crossed silently to the window, the wom five franc piece hot where he had held it for so long in his hand. He purposely kept the light off, so it was difficult locating by touch alone the screws which bolted the bars in place. The round edge of the coin fitted only in the centre and there was little leverage on the small disc. Azziz thrust hard down upon it to get the maximum purchase, hands quivering with the effort of making the turn. The coin twisted free, twice, sharp enough to have cut him if he hadn’t had the forethought to protect his hands with a handkerchief; his captors might have become curious about such finger cuts. Azziz bit back the groan at the effort, feeling the blood pump through his head. When the screw gave, it was an abrupt, jerking movement which threw the coin wide again. He groped out, feeling for the screw, rubbing his thumb across the head to ensure he hadn’t milled the cross-cut sufficiently for them to detect it if they made a check while he wasn’t in the room. Then he fitted the coin in yet again, having to put a thumb and forefinger either side to keep the coin in place, and slowly succeeded in unscrewing it completely. Azziz stopped, panting, his clothes glued to him with sweat. For several moments he hunched in the darkness, with the screw held tightly in the palm of his hand like the prize it was. Then, carefully, he reinserted it and tightened it, so it would be undetectable. By the time he became aware of the greyness of dawn edging in through the shutters, Azziz had succeeded in releasing six of the eight screws holding the inner bar into position across one of the windows. When he lay down, he realized his fingers were so numb he could hardly feel them.
7
Karen slept badly, several times waking abruptly, knowing immediately where she was, and tensed for the sound or presence that had startled her. On each occasion there was nothing. She got up finally, before it was properly light, taking a long time to wash and dress. She had been careful to wind her watch, wanting always to be aware of the time. It was seven when she heard movement about the house. It was far away, downstairs in the kitchen or the big room, she supposed. She wished they would come for her. Karen moved impatiently but aimlessly around the bedroom, consciously avoiding that part where the portable lavatory stood. It embarrassed her, so much so that she didn’t look at it, which was a stupid reaction but one she couldn’t stop.
At the window she reached out, pulling at the bars without any purpose. It wasn’t with any purpose, she realized, shocked. Until now, this very moment, the idea of escape hadn’t occurred to her. She had been too frightened, too confused, to think of it after being tricked from the apartment. And really terrified, during the ride into France, when she realized what had happened and believed that the big man who kept pressing himself against her really would harm her if she didn’t do everything she was told. But then she had accepted it. Everything had taken on an air of unreality, like some grown-up game she had been tricked into joining and didn’t want to admit she was afraid of playing. She didn’t want to play: she wanted to get back to Richard. Back to sanity. Back to worrying about money and why she wasn’t pregnant at thirty. She pulled at the bar, harder this time; it didn’t move. She would have to think of something, make a plan. Not sink into apathetic acceptance and wait until someone else did something for her. Wasn’t that the attitude that irritated her so much about Richard, the change from the fervent, ever moving, change-the-world man into an acquiescent halfoptimist. She felt suddenly ashamed. That had been a secret thought, until now, hidden always in a corner of her mind, consciously unformed because to form it would make it into a criticism of the man she loved. And she did love him, as much as she ever had. She knew how he felt, because they had talked it through. Richard hadn’t sacrificed any ideals. He had just stopped being manipulated, just as the movements themselves were so often manipulated by the very people or authorities they sought to correct or improve. He was right then. Honest. Why did she argue so much with a man who had done the right and honest thing?
Karen heard them coming and hurried from the window, not wanting them to find her there. It was Levy who came into the room.
“You’re ready?” The man seemed surprised.
“I didn’t sleep much.”
“I’m sorry.”
There was even an unrealitv to the conversation. Karen thought. “I made a list,” she said. It had occupied an hour the previous night, before she had attempted to sleep.
Levy took it without reading it, putting it immediately into his pocket. “Shall we go down?”
Tewfik Azziz was already in the large downstairs room when Karen entered. He stood politely, and she smiled. The Arab waited until she was seated before sitting himself. He passed her a wicker basket of croissants and bread. Richard got them yesterday, she thought; she’d behaved like a stupid child, reducing them to crumbs in her petulance. She shook her head, helping herself instead to coffee.
“What happens now?” Azziz demanded.
“We should hear something today,” said Levy.
“And we’ll be freed?” asked Karen.
“That depends,” said Levy.
“Don’t you know?” said Azziz sarcastically.
“We’ll know soon enough,” said Levy.
Karen looked around the room. Two men, who only spoke to Levy in what she presumed to be Hebrew, lounged casually at the door leading out into the garden, and she could see three more moving around in the kitchen. They were making no effort to conceal their identities.