I suggested arrogantly. “Out of respect to the Sheikh,” I added.
“Well, all right.” The commander agreed reluctantly. It was obvious that he had doubts about my story, but he wasn’t about to take the chance of offending Ali Khat. “You can bathe and put on some clean clothes while I radio to higher authority,” he decided.
Never had a shower been so welcome! Never had clean clothes felt so good. Just as I was finishing dressing, a messenger came, and the Arab guarding me was instructed to bring me back to the commander. Naomi was already there, looking clean and fresh and feminine, when I arrived.
“Your story has been checked out,” the commander told me. “I’ve been instructed to arrange for the two of you to be delivered to Sheikh Ali Khat by helicopter in the morning. I don’t understand any of this,” he added.
“War is hell,” I told him sympathetically.
He was still shaking his head, however, when he saw us off the following morning. When the copter was in the air, Naomi turned to me and confessed that she was just as confused as the Arab commander had been. “But I’m grateful,” she added. “It’s good to be free.”
“You’re not quite free,” I told her. “You’re going to have to join the harem of Sheikh Ali Khat. Otherwise, he’ll simply return you into Arab custody.”
“Never!” Naomi was indignant. “Do you think I’ll consent to be an Arab’s concubine? I’d sooner die!”
“And I thought you were a patriot,” I told her.
“I am! What do you mean?”
“Didn’t you tell me yourself that the Israelis are unable to get decent intelligence reports on Ali Khat and his involvement with the Arabs fighting against you?”
“That’s right. So what?”
“Well, here’s your chance. What better place to get such information than inside the Sheikh’s private harem?”
“Oh! You mean I should be a spy!”
“Why not?”
“But won’t I have to make love with him?”
“We all have to make sacrifices for our country.”
“All right. But I won’t enjoy it.”
“You don’t have to. As long as he does.”
“I’ll do it,” Naomi decided. “But it’s one hell of a fate for a sabra!”
I sympathized. But all the same I was feeling smug about it. Four down and one to go. I wondered how the competition was doing. Four down and one to go.
Who would that one be?
CHAPTER TEN
"Excuse me, Miss, are you a virgin?”
Walk up to an American girl on the street, ask the question, and she’ll deny the accusation vehement1y—-even if she is one. Try it on an English girl and she’ll slap your face—-even if she isn’t! A French girl will wink and leave you guessing. And a Scandinavian girl? A Scandinavian girl will just shrug the question off as irrelevant.
That was my problem. Most Scandinavian girls just won’t be bothered keeping track of such things. It’s not that they’re more promiscuous than other girls; it’s just that they’re less hypocritical. The whole attitude is different.
To come to grips with that attitude, I had traveled to Copenhagen, Denmark. I arrived there a few days before Christmas. I was carrying around the details of my last assignment in my head.
“A Danish redhead, unmarried, over twenty-one, a virgin."
A virgin!
“That won’t be too easy.” Leila, having swapped me the final assignment for Naomi ben Shik-Zah, took the time to be sympathetic. “And time is running short for you,” she added. “Don’t forget, all entries must be submitted no later than midnight, December thirty-first.”
“Yeah. I know,” I sighed. “But at least the competition has the same problem ”
“Not exactly. Four of them have already completed all, the assignments. Hauksho just came in this morning.”
“How the hell did he manage that?” I wondered. “He was only a step ahead of me in Israel.”
“He delivered the sabra and the Danish virgin together,” Leila told me. “It seems he met her in Jordan. She’s the daughter of a UN observer.”
“The lucky so-and-so. So who’s left? Me and the Russians?”
“No. The Russians are also finished.”
“Too bad. I figured maybe they never got out of the jungle. But if it’s not them, who is it?”
“Senhor Di Arrea, the Brazilian. His agent, Nina Procura, is tied with you for last place. You both have until New Year’s Eve to finish the last assignment.”
So, with Leila’s words ringing in my ears, I’d hopped a plane to Copenhagen. Now here I was, two days later, going through the yellow pages of the Copenhagen telephone directory and calling gynecologists. I simply didn’t have any better ideas!
“Hello, Dr. Kuntkvetzch, my name is Steve Victor. I’m an American and I’m doing a survey for the Organization for the Rational Guidance for Youth, and I wonder if I could impose on you for your professional cooperation? . . . Thank you, Doctor. It’s really very simple. I’d just like the answers to some questions which may strike you as odd, but which are intrinsic to the study on which I’m working. . . . First, do you have any unmarried female patients between the ages of twenty-one and-—oh, say twenty-nine? . . . You do? Good. Now, in this group, are there any with red hair? . . . Fine. Fine. Now, and this is crucial, are any of these redheads virgins? . . . Yes, Doctor, I know this is Copenhagen, but— No, it’s not some kind of American joke, it’s— If I’m looking for a virgin in Copenhagen I should check pediatricians instead of gynecologists? Thanks a whole bunch!”
I hung up, dialed again, introduced myself, and then asked the crucial question. “Now tell me, Dr. Qvimzdredj, do you have any redheaded virgins among your patients? . . . What’s so damn funny, Doctor? . . . Doctor, will you please stop laughing? . . . No, I don’t want to hear the one about the traveling salesman and the reindeer’s daughter!”
I slammed down the phone, called the next gynecologist, went through my intro again, and then got down to cases. “I’m looking for a young redheaded virgin. . . . No, not that young! Over twenty-one. . . . No, I haven’t tried the Home for Hopeless Female Paraplegics! I want a healthy virgin! . . . Damn it, no! I haven’t discussed this hang-up with my analyst! And it’s not a hang-up! There’s nothing personal in this! . . . What? I should try a convent! What kind of a--? . . . Oh. I see. On Christmas Eve? Yes, I know that’s tonight. Well, thanks very much, Doctor. That may turn out to be very helpful indeed.”
I put down the telephone slowly, thoughtfully. What had at first seemed like sarcasm on the part of the doctor now appeared to be the first bit of hopeful advice I’d received. A convent girl! And on Christmas Eve, he’d told me, the young ladies of the Ohlpühr Convent School, one of the strictest such establishments in the vicinity of Copenhagen, were brought to Frederikskirke, the famous domed marble church, to take part in the worship service.
So I went to church on Christmas Eve to look for a virgin. No sacrilege intended, but what better place?
The service was beautiful. However, I couldn’t really enjoy it. I was too busy trying to pick out a redhead among the girls of the Ohlpühr Convent School.
I’d seated myself at the very back of the huge church. The girls were all seated in a group about halfway to the pulpit. Wouldn’t you know it! Their heads were all covered by the cowls of the school capes they were wearing.
After the service they gathered in small groups on the wide steps in front of the Frederikskirke and stood chattering. I passed among them and eavesdropped. I learned that they were just about to start their once-a-year vacation. Most of them were waiting to be picked up by parents.
I spotted one girl standing alone. There was an undecided air about her. I moved closer to her. Her cowl had slipped back. She was a redhead!