When Frun and the driver had been sufficiently revived by the night air, Solo said in a sharp tone:
"Now, let's waste no more time." He faced the driver. "Get us to the palace at once."
"Yes, sire." The driver bowed low.
Solo looked at Frun and Piebr. "Guard this young woman. Keep her alive. I'll want to question her. Of course she's working with Napoleon Solo there."
Wanda's mouth sagged open.
Piebr spoke hesitantly. "Sire, our guns. They're gone."
"Of course they are," Solo said, voice rasping. "I wanted to demonstrate to you what can happen to you if you let down your vigil for one moment." He got the guns from the glove compartment, returned them to the three men.
Wanda's gasp was audible now, and when he looked at her, her astonished mouth gaped wide.
"And you, close your mouth, young woman!" he ordered. "Flies are very bad in this country."
ACT III
INCIDENT OF THE CATALYTIC AGENT
THE ROLLS ROYCE droned soothingly upon the slick highway, racing in the desert night. The closer they came to the capital City of Omar, the tighter Napoleon Solo found himself wound. On the front seat between him and the driver, Wanda was fighting increasing hysteria. He felt her leg pressed savagely against his, as if she hoped some of his courage might rub off on her.
In the dune-scalloped distance ahead, they saw the saffron glow of Omar's lights.
Suddenly, in an oasis as lush as a rainforest, the tall spires and minarets of the sheik's palace loomed against the star-laced heavens.
The driver dimmed his lights twice, and the wrought-iron gates, fifteen feet tall in a thick block-stone wall, swung back. The driver raced through without slowing. As they sped along the curving drive to the brilliantly illuminated chateau, Solo saw lines of green-garbed soldiers on guard, bayonets fixed.
Getting in was easy, he thought. The trick was in getting out.
Before the driver braked the Rolls before the wide, curving, forty marble steps leading upward to the columned portico at the palace entrance, a battalion of bowing servants had raced out. They spread themselves, fanlike down the steps, awaiting any commands of the illustrious arrivals.
Solo had to remind himself that all this display of humility was in his honor—as Kiell, head of Zabir's security, protector of Zud.
A servant raced forward, opening Solo's door first and prostrating himself on the marble as Solo stepped from the car.
Solo gave the servant no more than a glance; without even looking back, strode up the steps.
He wasn't sure where he was going, but he knew that asking questions now would be fatal.
He saw a head-servant, standing illumined in jewel-like lights from the opened doors at the head of the steps. The man stood ramrod straight until Solo came off the top step. Then the servant sank to his knees and kissed the ground at his feet.
From his prone position the servant intoned in portentous voice, "Sheik Zud requests that you meet with him and his ministers in the council room, Master."
Solo nodded, hearing Wanda and the others coming up the marble steps behind, him.
He turned and glanced at them. Frun and the driver supported the handcuffed Ordwell between them. Piebr followed, his hand on Wanda's elbow.
Wanda looked ready to crumple. Solo waited until his subordinates and prisoners were grouped behind him. Then he said, "We will all go to the council room, where we will deliver these infidel traitors to our great Zud."
He spoke to the servant: "Lead us to the council room."
Solo strode through the jewel-decked doors in the wake of the head-servant. He walked alone through the high portals of silver into a spacious, incredible lobby, twice again as large as the gleaming concourse in the elegant new air terminal at Kurbot. He could almost hear the soft echoing of his own bated breathing in this high-domed hall.
Solo managed to walk with his head straight, restraining his wish to stare in amazement at silk tapestries, deep damasks, and precious stone inlays. The floor glittered in its golden pattern of bright mosaics. Each inch of the place shone with polish, reflecting the myriad of lights, although no light fixtures were visible; everything was done indirectly or by reflection.
The servant preceded Solo up a staircase whose balustrade glittered with opulent jewelry
At the head of these stairs, five wide corridors led outward into the wings of the palace. The servant chose his course and Solo followed him.
The long corridor was covered by a domed ceiling and its open places boasted silver-barred banisters.
The laughter of children swept up to Solo. He glanced across the banister into a suite where innumerable children played, laughing.
He decided even the head of the secret police would be permitted a look. He walked to the balustrade and stared down at King Zud's offspring. He had never seen happier children. They were completely unaware of the strife outside the palace walls.
He turned, waving his hand. The head-servant moved out again. They walked for some moments, passed closed doors, before they came out again to an opening. A quick glance told him this was the court of the wives. He did not pause, because he reckoned instinctively that not even Zud's protector would be permitted to look down on Zud's wives taking their ease.
The chatter of the women followed him. He recalled that Zouida had insisted that Zud's wives—all them his former slaves—were happy and contented and worshiped their shared husband.
The servant led them through smother corridor, which ended finally at a thick cedar door with iron trim. The servant touched a bell and instantly servants inside the council room swung the door open for them.
Napoleon Solo strode in. He was less bold than he appeared.
He slowed involuntarily, seeing a conference room fifty feet across and eighty feet long. A gleaming table surrounded by high-backed leather chairs dominated the place. Except for the jewel-crusted throne at the head of the conference table, the chamber might have been the inner sanctum of some industrial complex.
He sighed, seeing that the throne was empty. At least Zud was not yet here. Along each side of the table were twelve dark men, the sheik's ministers. Solo saw an empty chair at the right of the throne; instinctively he knew this was the seat of the recently slain Zouida Berikeen.
Directly across from the empty chair was another waiting place and Solo went around to it without hesitation. The ministers bowed to him, and he saw he'd passed another test.
He spoke to Piebr. "The driver will go with the servants. You, Piebr and Frun, will guard my prisoners. Put them on their knees against the wall there for our king's inspection. On their knees. And don't let them speak while Sheik Zud is in this room. They must not speak, no matter what happens."
Piebr nodded, proud to be associated with the protector of Zud. "As you order, Master."
Solo dropped into his chair, as if he owned at least an interest in the corporation. He did not even bother to glance to see how his orders were being executed.
He did, after he was seated, glance once toward Wanda. She watched him, mouth parted, half in awe, half in terror for them both. Her look expressed precisely his own inner panic, he thought wryly.