In the kitchen, Omar was washing dishes, Miriam drying. Omar, Craig was pleased to see, looked very worried. "Effendi," he said, "how long do I have to stay here?"
"A thousand dollars' worth," said Craig. "And maybe a bonus." He sniffed. "Take a bath, Omar, then go to bed."
Omar left them. He still looked worried.
"Aren't you going to lock him in?" the girl asked. Craig shook his head. "You trust him?"
"Nobody trusts Omar," said Craig. "But he's in Cyprus. The toughest part. The Greek part. A Turk out here alone wouldn't have a chance, and Omar knows it. He won't leave us."
The girl slumped forward in her chair. She looked exhausted.
"It's just as well I've got you and your friends to arrange things," she said. He said nothing. "Are you sure you can trust your friend?"
"Yes," said Craig. "I can trust him. He's all alone. No woman to find out his secrets."
She sat up then. "Why do you have to hurt people all the time?" she asked.
"Do I? That wasn't supposed to be hurtful. I just said what I meant to say. Maybe that's what hurts." He hesitated. "I'm not cruel like Royce, you know."
"But you are," Miriam said. "The way you treated Kaplan."
"Cruelty's the key to Kaplan," Craig said. "All I did was use it. I didn't enjoy it."
"The fact that you used it at all-"
"It's what we all use," he said. "Force Three, the KGB, Department K. We use it because it works." He looked at her again, saw how tired she was. "I wanted to hear what Kaplan told you," he said, "but it'll keep till tomorrow. Go to bed."
"Are you coming with me?" she asked, and the question whipped the blood into her face. "Suppose you get pregnant?" "Would you care?"
He didn't answer. She would never believe that she was the only one he would look out for in the whole sorry mess. Better for them both that she wouldn't. He went with her to the bedroom and she came into his arms fierce and demanding, the body's needs drowning the questions her mind feared. But their bodies at least made a dialogue, a question and answer that at last achieved solution. When they had done, she fell asleep at once, and he kissed her as she slept, then fell asleep beside her, as relaxed as a cat, and as wary.
In the morning, as she put on her clothes, she put on her doubts, her fears, her wariness. It was early, but Omar was already in the kitchen, making omelettes. He looked cleaned and rested, and his omelettes were delicious. Craig took the girl onto a verandah that looked straight across the valley to the mountains of Troodos, rich, sweet mountains, green with vine and olive and pine tree, swift tumbling snow streams, houses perched like birds wherever a ridge made it possible.
"It's beautiful here," Miriam said.
"And safe," said Craig. "What did Kaplan tell you?"
"Weren't you happy last night?" she said. "Wasn't your body happy? Because if it was—that was thanks to me, wasn't it?"
"I was happy."
"Then shouldn't you be grateful to me? Be nice to me? Or is it you just don't know how to be nice to people?"
Ask Angelos, Craig thought. He's the expert on my talent for friendship. He waited.
"Oh hell," the girl said at last. "Hell! Hell!"
She sat down opposite Craig, and her voice became cold, impersonal.
"First of all, I'm sure that Kaplan is Kaplan. I ran all the checks Marcus told me about, and he didn't fluff one. He told me about his work in Russia-"
"What about it?"
"How he was a successful scientist. Then he fell out with the Politburo and finished up in Volochanka. Craig, he escaped from there!"
"We know that," said Craig.
"But you don't know how. There were ten of them—all Jews. It was like a miracle."
She told him about the minyan, and the slow evolution of their plan to escape. ("Angelos should hear this too," said Craig. "He'd tell you all about my loyalty to groups as abstract concepts.") She told him of the break-out and how he got separated from the others; the long, agonized trek alone to freedom. How he'd wandered alone until he'd almost died, would have died if some Lapps hadn't found him and smuggled him over the border into Sweden, hundreds of miles away. Sweden was lucky for him. He had money in Stockholm. He'd got to the bank and taken out the money, but the Swedes were too interested in him. They wanted him to ask for political asylum, but he was afraid the publicity would betray him to the KGB. He'd had to get away. The money had bought him forged papers and a passage on a ship for Hamburg. From Hamburg he'd flown to Rome, from Rome to Ankara, and from there he'd drifted south, to settle finally at Kutsk.
"Why choose Turkey?" Craig said.
"Because the Turks hated the Russians," she told him. "They'd give him asylum if ever he needed it. And it was remote. The kind of place nobody ever went to. When he bought the flock of sheep he'd learned something else too. He was happy there, a hermit, alone. He hadn't been happy for as long as he could remember.
"Isn't it wonderful?" said Miriam.
"Fantastic," he said. "What else is there?"
"He's afraid," she said, "of you and others like you."
"Did you tell him about going to America?"
"You told me not to."
"Did he say anything about our knowing his real name?"
"Yes," she said. "I don't understand that. He said Kaplan was supposed to be dead and buried. He said your people promised. I guess he meant the Russians."
"I'm sure he did."
Craig got up then and walked round the garden that encircled Angelos's house. He'd done it before, when they arrived the preceding night, but it was better to do it by daylight. The house was set in a fold in the hills, encircled by pine trees. A stream supplied its water, a turbine generator its power. A mud track was the only approach to it, and the nearest neighbor was seven miles away. He went back into the house and called Omar and Miriam, led them into the living room, where a big picture window looked out on the track that led to the house. For the last four hundred feet there was no cover at all.
"I want you to watch this place," said Craig. "If anybody comes up that road, call me at once."
"You want both of us to watch?" Omar asked.
"Both of you. All the time, Omar." The Turk looked up at him. "It's possible the lady may want to leave this room. See that she doesn't."
"Too right," said Omar.
"What are you going to do?" the girl asked.
"Find out the truth," said Craig. "I'm sick of fairy stories."
He left them, and she sat watching the path. After a few minutes she heard Kaplan cry out, and jumped to her feet. At once Omar also rose, standing between her and the door. He was an old man, but he was strong, she knew. She'd be helpless against him. Then Kaplan cried out again, and she ran at Omar, trying to get past him. But he picked her up, held her in his gaunt, work-worn hands, and looked at her with eyes that were curiously gentle, almost compassionate.
"It's no use, miss," he said. "We've got to do what the boss says. Now you sit down and watch the road. It's what we're here for."
But she went on struggling until there was neither fight nor breath left in her, even when Kaplan yelled a third time. After that she sat down as Omar bade her, and there was no more noise.
Craig came back into the room forty minutes later, and Kaplan followed him. There was a bruise over his left eye and he was limping. Miriam got up at once and led him to a chair. Craig fetched water and gave it to Kaplan, who drank it eagerly.
"The shepherd's got a new statement to make," said Craig.
"Looks like a pretty important shepherd," Omar said.
"He is," said Craig. "A man could get killed just knowing what his real name is. Do you want to know it?"
"No, thank you," said Omar. "I think I'd sooner cook lunch."
Craig watched him go, then said, "I roughed him up a bit."