He dropped me off and I waved bye-bye to him as the taxi headed back along the corniche. The arrangements had taken longer than I would have liked. The sun was sinking towards the cliffs of the west bank and the river reflected the glow of gathering sunset. It might have been more sensible to wait until after dark before I made the attempt. In fact, there was no question about it; it would have been more sensible.
Carrying my shopping bag, I shuffled along the broken sidewalk in my backless leather slippers. For once I was grateful I had feet as big as a man’s. The women’s slippers were gaudy affairs with turned-up toes and gilt trim. By the time I’d gone a few hundred yards my footwear was dusty and scuffed, like the shoes of the other pedestrians.
What I saw at the entrance to the institute made me duck into the first street leading away from the corniche. I had expected guards. I had not expected they would be wearing black uniforms. It was depressing confirmation of the doubts Schmidt and I had had earlier. Larry must have convinced the police he needed protection. If they were stationed all around the perimeter, I was in deep trouble.
By the time I had worked my way around to the back of the estate, blue shadows were gathering and my nerves were ready to snap. I had been warned away from the wall by one guy carrying a rifle and wearing a uniform, and there were apartment buildings facing it across a narrow street. Finally I reached a place where the buildings were replaced by a vacant lot, filled with weeds and tumbled masonry. The base of the wall was in deepening shadow and the mud plaster had flaked, leaving crevices between the underlying bricks. Nobody was around. It was now or never, and by that time I was about ready to whip out my gun and shoot anybody who tried to stop me. If, that is, there were any bullets in the gun. I couldn’t remember how many shots I’d fired. Several.
I’ve never climbed anything as fast as I did that wall. At any second I expected to hear a shout or a shot. Hanging on by my toenails and one hand, I reached into the shopping bag slung onto my back and pulled out the pillow I had taken from Schmidt’s bed. It helped some, but the barbed wire ripped a gash in my long skirts as I swung my leg over. It didn’t do my shin any good either. I didn’t try climbing down, I just let go.
The ten-foot drop knocked the breath. out of me and the shrub through which I fell had lots of thorns. It was a nice thick shrub, though. I blessed Larry’s landscaper for wanting to hide that ugly wall.
I had left my Nefertiti bag with Schmidt and was wearing my own clothes under the galabiya. After gathering up the odds and ends that had fallen out of my pockets I peered through the branches and tried to figure out where I was. The swimming pool – or, to be more precise, the surrounding fence – oriented me. I pinned my turban back on and headed for the house, skulking along in the shrubbery when I could, dashing across the open spaces when I couldn’t. It would be dark before long, but if the movers had quit for the day . . . Apparently the gardeners were about to do so. I spotted a couple of them heading for a shed, rakes and spades over their shoulders. Some of the others – the ones I particularly didn’t want to meet – must be away from the house, not heading for another hideout as Max had tried to make me believe, but searching for poor little me. They needed me. Not for my sweet self, but in order to persuade John to carry out his part of the deal.
And I needed John. Not only for his sweet self, but because he knew the answers to certain vital questions. How far had the corruption spread? How many people were in on the scheme? One reason why I was reluctant to appeal to the police, or the SSI, was that I felt certain some of them must be involved. The man I had met in Larry’s office, who had insisted on the conveniently anonymous appellation of Achmet, had to be in Larry’s pay. The purpose of that interview was clear to me now; it had been intended to get me off the case and convince me there was no need to contact anyone else.
Until I spotted Max I hadn’t been certain Larry was involved. They could have done the job without his knowledge, though it would have been difficult. But Larry had lied about how long his secretary had been with him. A year ago Max had been in a Swedish prison. Larry had pulled the necessary strings and gotten him out when he was needed. It’s terrifying, the amount of power money can wield. All the complex aspects of the plot had been made easier by Larry’s influence and wealth. He probably owned the Queen of the Nile – and the crew and the captain, and the engineer who had dutifully demolished the refrigeration machinery. And Jean-Louis and Feisal. It wasn’t fair. Everybody was on Larry’s side. Except John, who was, as usual, on his own side. Not entirely, though; not any longer. I didn’t dare think about his reasons for defying the others, or the price he would probably have to pay. I didn’t dare think about a lot of things. If I did, the defences I had built up over the years would crumble and fall, and I couldn’t afford that kind of weakness now.
As I approached the side entrance I heard voices. The movers were working late, but one look told me this clever idea wasn’t going to work a second time. The man who stood by the open door watching them pass in and out was wearing European clothes. Though darkness was not yet complete, the floodlights illumining the entrance had been turned on, enabling him to see their faces clearly. They also enabled me to see his features clearly. I had known him as Bright. I had a hunch that wasn’t his real name.
The floodlights served me as well, half-blinding him to anything that was going on outside their glare. I sidled through the landscaping until I reached the terrace. As I crawled on hands and knees in the dubious shelter of the low walls, one of my sandals fell off. Instead of replacing it I kicked the other one off. Once I was inside the house, bare feet would be quieter and quicker than those clumsy sandals.
I had come prepared to break the glass if I had to; one of the useful objects Schmidt had pressed upon me was a roll of tape. However, the French doors weren’t locked. The parlour was lighted but empty. After I had closed the door behind me I relaxed a little, though I knew the feeling of greater safety was mostly wishful thinking. There were places to hide, behind draperies and furniture, but several of the pieces I had seen before were gone – into one of the moving vans, I supposed.
I wished I were more familiar with the plan of the house. Somewhere, I felt certain, there were rooms not open to the general public, and I wasn’t thinking of the kitchen and service areas. But if they were as secret as they had to be – underground, protected by every possible security device – access wouldn’t be easy. I had decided I would investigate the bedrooms first.
My turban had come unhitched and my hands were too unsteady to deal with the damned thing. I tied it around my neck in a neat Girl Scout knot and padded towards the hall and the front stairs.
If the man who came down the stairs had been barefoot I would have walked right into him. He was wearing boots and his step was firm and confident; I heard him coming and ducked back into the parlour, praying that room wasn’t his destination. He went the other way, heading for Larry’s study. The door opened and I heard voices before it closed again.
Evidently a business meeting was in progress. There had been several voices, including a woman’s soprano, considerably louder and shriller than her usual soft tones. I hadn’t dared look to see who the latest arrival had been – Max? Larry? – but at least four of them were now in the office.
Lifting my skirts, I ran up the stairs. All the doors along the corridor were closed; lights in antique bronze sconces shone brightly.