The Music Trilogy (30 page)

“
Mi amor
,” Alejandro said, drying the diamond ring with a napkin. “I hereby tame you.” He put the ring on her finger. “So that we can play for a long time, at least until it’s time for me to move on to another planet.”

The trance that held them was interrupted by quiet applause from nearby diners and waiters who had been watching them.

A thin older man wearing a rumpled black overcoat and a faded beret came over to their table. He held his head high. In his eyes one could detect the stoic gallantry of the old French Legionnaire. His eyes were old and tired, but they still glowed with the chivalry that only the older French generation still possessed. He removed his beret and crumpled it in his hand, and then he took Davina’s hand and kissed it.

“
Mademoiselle
,” he said, “I wish you and your future husband all the health and happiness in the world. And since you know the secret of the fox, I am sure your lives will be filled with joy and many children.” He bowed and kissed her hand again.

Alejandro glowed with pride and happiness.

Davina, tears in her eyes, stood up to hug the old man. ”
Merci, Monsieur
, you are very kind.”

“
Bonne chance
,” the old man said, saluting them. Then he turned and let his own tears wet his battered face. For one so young, she has great finesse, he thought. The beautiful young woman had made his heart sing as he remembered his own glorious and romantic days.

♫

EGYPT

CHAPTER 5

Landing in Cairo is quite unlike landing anywhere else in the world. There is, first, the immensity of desert, and the uninitiated might wonder if the pilot got it right. And then the pyramids, from their millennia of quiescence, look up at you. It is almost alarming. Monique and Jacques, and their guests, Davina and Alejandro, filled the windows in their DC-3. They listened intently to the improvised tour their pilot, Adam Spencer, was giving.

“And that’s the Nile, river of wonders,” Captain Adam Spencer said, enjoying this. He had been a flyer since Vietnam. When he sat in a cockpit, it was like inserting his body into a favorite chair. After retiring from the military, he purchased a DC-3 from a military aircraft graveyard and meticulously refurbished the entire steel bird. He christened it Black Angel, for reasons he almost never explained, and chartered the plane out. Jacques learned about it from Davina’s father William Walters.

Walters raved about the Englishman. “What that man can do with a plane is just short of miraculous.” Adam Spencer was an old friend of his and the American’s praises were all that Jacques needed. Jacques rented it, complete with pilot and co-pilot, for Monique’s tour.

Spencer banked the plane to the left and the giants of Giza, beige to match the desert, rose to greet them. Monique would be performing right there in two nights, at the foot of the pyramids.

But the day before the concert Jacques had chartered a small plane to take them to the Valley of the Kings for some sightseeing in the morning. “We can postpone it if you think it is too much,” Jacques told Monique.

“No, that will be fine. We’ll be back in plenty of time for rehearsals,” Monique said.

The next day started out nicely. They boarded the chartered eight seater. Davina, Alejandro, Jacques and Monique, as well as Adam Spencer and his co-pilot Eric Shannon, aboard as guests this time. The pilot of the small plane introduced himself and his assistant, Ahmed.

As they approached their destination, they spotted two gigantic statues. They had arrived at the Valley of the Kings. The enormous Pharaohs presided over the entrance to the gates.

Suddenly the pilot turned sharply and as he did, his assistant Ahmed pulled out an Uzi machine gun from under his seat and quickly turned around to face the passengers. Monique and Davina were sitting directly behind the hijackers. Alejandro and Jacques behind them, Adam and Eric further back. The carefree happiness on their faces turned to fear.

Ahmed smirked. “Be quiet or I’ll kill you,” he said calmly in slightly accented English. “It makes no difference to me who dies. I know who you are.” He faced Davina. “You are the daughter of the American pig Ambassador. I suggest you be careful or you will be the first one to die.” The man remained calm; it was almost eerie. “You Americans,” he said snorting, “you always think you are so smart. Not this time.”

Alejandro found his voice. “What do you want from us?” he asked.

“All of you shut up!” Ahmed said, raising his voice for the first time. He put the nozzle of the Uzi between Monique’s breasts. Jacques lunged at him and the rifle quickly swung toward him but Davina, who had seen what was coming, instinctively thrust out her arm and it was her shoulder the gun smashed into. She screamed, nearly fainting with the pain. Alejandro held her. The rage coursing through every cell of his body made him tremble. He looked into the eyes of the woman he loved more than anyone else in the world. They communicated this. If they wanted to live, and they did, they would be quiet. Davina squeezed Alejandro’s hand; she stole a look at Monique and wondered if her own eyes showed the same that Monique’s eyes showed: total fear.

The plane gained altitude and flew over the desert for another hour before starting to descend. They could see tents and knew they had arrived at their destination.

‘Ah, shit,’ Adam Spencer thought as he saw where they would land. It was a length of palm fronds on what he knew was sand, hopefully not soft deep sand. Sand was as bad as snow. The only difference was temperature. The landing would be extremely slippery, if at all possible. He caught the look on his co-pilot’s face. “I’ve been in worse,” Adam told him. Eric only swallowed. The passengers knew they were in danger. Their lives were foremost in their minds, but not because of the dangerous landing.

They circled once and the aircraft descended. “Brace yourselves,” Spencer warned. The pilot was perspiring profusely and as the wheels touched down he applied the brakes. They did not respond as he expected; instead they locked. The small plane skidded as if it was mounted on skis sliding on snow. They held on as best they could, and Davina winced from the pain in her shoulder. Finally the brakes unlocked but they were running out of runway. The improvised landing strip wasn’t nearly long enough. “Brace yourselves!” Spencer repeated, only this time he shouted. The pilot swung the rudder hard, and the small craft swerved out of control. One side started to lift off the ground on one wheel like a stunt car and the wing touched the sand, turning them quickly in the opposite direction. Somehow the plane did not tip over; instead it stopped on its wing, which had provided enough friction to stop the craft.

“Asshole!” Ahmed directed his invective in Arabic to the pilot. “You almost blew the whole operation. We need them alive, not dead.”

Outside, men in jellabas mounted on horses and camels were shouting and waiving carbines. They pushed the small plane upright off its wing.

“What the hell is going on?” Alejandro said under his breath. Jacques’ look said it all. ‘I don’t know, I have no idea.’ Nobody had an idea.

“Everybody out!” Ahmed shouted, aiming his gun at them.

The men outside, all armed, had already started concealing the plane with nets and foliage from palm trees. They gathered around the prisoners, pointing their weapons at them. At Ahmed’s signal, the procession moved toward the largest of twelve tents. They were met by a giant of a man with a gold front tooth. He beckoned them inside. The tent was devoid of furniture, and this one reeked with the musty smell of hashish.

No one dared to speak and yet they all felt that they had to say something, someone had to. They had all changed so quickly. Their happiness had melted so immediately.

Davina thought that perhaps she could get some information from the ugly giant with the gold tooth. “These carpets are beautiful,” she said in English. Arabic was not one of the languages she knew.

“Shut up and sit down, you stupid tourists!” The man yelled.

Davina tried to smile. He’s as dumb as he is big, she thought, but she did as he ordered.

Now another man entered. He wore the red-checkered head cloth of the Arab world and his jellaba was gray and faded. His complexion was very dark, almost African, and a thick unkempt beard covered most of his face. “I regret the inconvenience,” the man said. “We have nothing against you. We are holding you for ransom. We need funds for our cause. If you do not do anything foolish, you will live.”

Alejandro, his courage returning, spoke up: “How can we believe that? What is you cause?”

“We are the United People for Freedom,” the man with the head cloth said, and he sat down.

The countries of NATO had formally agreed not to comply with the demands of any terrorist of any country, as Alejandro knew. If it took a few or even several sacrificial deaths for terrorists to get the message, so be it. It was the only way to stop terrorism: no deals, no compromise. He knew they had to escape. They were essentially on their own. “At least let the women go,” he suggested.

“The women are just as important, if not more so,” the man with the red-checkered ghutra said. He stood up. “I warn you. Do not attempt anything you will regret.” He looked at each of them—the four men, Adam Spencer, Eric Shannon, Alejandro and Jacques, and the two young women. “As soon as they have given us what we want, you will be released.”

“You must know that you will not get away with this,” Alejandro said, trying to match the steely evenness of his captor’s voice. “The NATO nations have strict measures against terrorists. They will not comply with your demands.”

The man laughed. “Then you shall die,” he said simply. He briefly spoke to the big man in Arabic who then roughly proceeded to move them out of the tent.

♫

PARIS

CHAPTER 6

William Walters was in his office punctually at eight every morning and today was no different. “Any messages, Margaret?” he asked his secretary.

“I’ve put them on your desk, sir. One letter, just came, special delivery.”

The writing on the envelope read:

FOR THE ATTENTION OF

HIS EXCELLENCY WILLIAM WALTERS

EXTREMELY URGENT

Walters opened it immediately. His face turned white. “Margaret, get me General Dickinson and
Générale
Duvalier on the phone. Immediately!” He reread the note.

We are holding your daughter, Davina; Alejandro del Valle; Monique Ravel; Jacques Laffitte; and their pilots pending compliance with the following requests:

U.S. $50,000,000 to be deposited in account #CY5724 at the Banque Limitée in Geneva. The deposits are to be made daily.

U.S. $10,000,000 per day for the next five days commencing tomorrow.

Should our demands not be met exactly as mentioned above, we will be forced to execute the aforementioned, one by one, until our demands are complied with. We will contact you via radiotelephone this afternoon. You will speak to your daughter so as to assure you of their safety and to proceed with our demands.

(Signed) The United People for Freedom

Generals Dickinson and Duvalier arrived at Walters’ office together three hours later. They had flown in from Belgium after speaking to the American Ambassador. Dickinson was the Commander in Chief of the NATO base. He was a burly man. His uniform was impeccable, and the badges on his chest made him look like a decorated Christmas tree. His appearance was as commanding as his personality. Générale Duvalier was a younger man. He was only in his late thirties and already the second in command on the base. The two were a powerful team.

“Thank you for coming, gentlemen,” Walters greeted them. “It came this morning special delivery,” he said handing the urgent letter to the American general.

“They’re fucking nuts!” Dickinson roared.

“Of course, the NATO alliance prohibits any arrangements with terrorists,” Duvalier pointed out.

“We know, Henri,” the older general snapped. Yes, they all knew, but that was now beside the point.

Duvalier looked up from the letter. “There is only one way,” he said, “and that is to transfer funds from the United States, France and Spain simultaneously. Half the amount from the U.S., $5,000,000, and the other half divided between France and Spain, $2,500,000 each. It can be done through the governments. They can move such large amounts that quickly. It could work.” Duvalier, the
esprit brillant
, was showing his true colors.

“But that doesn’t guarantee their safe return,” Dickinson said. “We don’t even know where they are to send in a rescue operation."

“There is only one solution then, gentlemen,” Walters said. “Ephraim Schmitz.”

“MOSSAD?” Duvalier said.

“Yes, Henri, Israeli secret service. My daughter and her friends are in Egypt because they were there for a concert.”

“Ah, yes, our songbird, Monique Ravel,” Duvalier said, proud of his compatriot. He had known Monique’s parents well.

“But why should the Israelis do it?” Dickinson asked. “It’s not their battle.”

“Several reasons,” Walters replied. “First, Ephraim is an old friend of mine and he’s known my daughter and Monique since they were children. Monique is quite a popular singer and she’s known. A diplomat, as well as a diplomat’s daughter have been kidnapped. And, need I remind you, gentlemen, the Israelis are our allies, and they are bitterly sworn against terrorism. Also…” Walters paused. “I once saved Ephraim’s life. He owes me.”

Duvalier raised an eyebrow. He had not known this.

“Call him.” Dickinson said simply.

Ephraim Schmitz and his assistant arrived four hours later.

“Shalom, old friend, it’s been a long time,” Ephraim said to William Walters.

“Yes, too long I’m afraid, and regrettably we meet under difficult circumstances.”

The two men exchanged hearty handshakes. “This is Leo Aaron,” Ephraim said introducing his assistant.

“Thank you both very much for coming. Let me fill you in with the details of our problem.” Walters proceeded to brief the Israelis as they walked toward the communications room.

The Israelis knew the kidnappers. “They are a new organization of fanatics,” Ephraim said. They are a group of Muslims. They come from Afghanistan, Pakistan, Yemen, and Libya. They are supposedly dedicated to feeding the poor and helping the underprivileged, but they have attached many strings to their benevolent deeds. What started out once as an act of grace now has turned political. They hide behind their original idea, but they are like a Mafia, they will carry out their threats.”

Margaret brought in coffee and lunch. Walters’ entire demeanor had changed. He looked as if he had aged years in the last few hours. Walters thanked his secretary. “Please call my wife and tell her I’ve left on an emergency trip and I probably won’t be back for a few days,” he told her. “Don’t tell her anything else.”

“Yes, Mr. Ambassador.”

“Our first priority is to deposit the first day’s ransom,” said Duvalier as he bit into some Camembert on a slice of baguette.

Walters loosened his tie and unbuttoned his top shirt button. He looked at Ephraim and knew he need not speak. The Israeli understood.

The communications center was filled to capacity with extra radios, tape recorders and other sophisticated pieces of equipment, and the staff to run them.

“Excuse me,” Margaret said, interrupting Walters who was examining a map of the Egyptian desert that now hung on a wall. “The funds are ready to be transferred tomorrow morning at 0900 hours.”

“Excellent,” Ephraim said.

At four o’clock that afternoon, the phone rang. Walters, after first making sure that his team was ready, picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Is this William Walters?” a voice on the other end asked. It was the voice of an Arab with an English accent.

“Yes,” Walters said, a shiver running down his spine.

“This is the United People for Freedom.”

“I want to speak to my daughter.”

“No. You cannot. If you comply with the first day’s demands, you shall speak to her.” The line went dead.

“Goddamnit,” Dickinson muttered.

At 0900 hours the following morning, Margaret, who had been awake most of the night with the rest of them, was on the phone to Geneva. “The monies are in the account,” she announced.

“Good,” Ephraim said. “I think they will be safe a little while longer. The terrorists now believe that we are going along with them.”

At 1100 hours, the phone rang.

“This is William Walters.”

“This is the United People for Freedom,” the same voice said. “You have done well. No one shall be harmed as long as you continue with the negotiations.” The line went dead.

“Don’t worry. They’ll call back,” Duvalier said.

“How do you know?” Walters asked.

“The deposit was made but the money is frozen,” Ephraim said. “Next time they call, tell them that the bank needs your approval to release it. Stall them. Tell them we need more time, tell them you want to speak to your daughter.”

Walters was sweating, trying not to think what everyone already knew, that the terrorists could kill them or at least one of them. “What if…” he began but did not finish.

Ephraim put a hand on his shoulder. “William, they are happy that the funds are there and they want the rest. They would not jeopardize the money at this point. We must take this chance, my friend. We must stall them.”

At 1230 hours, the phone rang again in the communications room.

“William Walters here,” the American diplomat said.

“The funds are frozen. Release them immediately!” The agitated voice said.

“Not until I speak to my daughter,” Walters replied, trying to keep his voice even. “I want to know if everyone is alright. We’re living up to our part of the bargain. You do the same.”

There was no response, only a dial tone.

The prisoners had slept uncomfortably without covers in a tent. They had been given only water and warned repeatedly not to try to escape or they would be shot. Davina’s shoulder turned an ugly purple. She thought many times throughout the night that Monique would pass out. She had that look of sudden horrible loss and panic, the same look Davina saw the night Monique’s parents died. It was as if Jacques was holding a porcelain doll, not a woman, and on her face was frozen that awful mask. Alejandro was too agitated to sit or stand still for long. He said very little. He was trying to work it out. There had to be a way. Adam Spencer knew what Alejandro was thinking. It was what he was thinking of—a way out.

Fayed, the man who wore the red-checkered head shawl, who seemed to be a leader of the kidnappers, entered the prisoners’ tent with a communications radio. Accompanying him was the enormous man with the gold tooth and other armed men who seemed to be enjoying the power they held over the hostages. Fayed approached Davina. “Your father wants to speak with you. You will tell him that you and your friends are fine and nothing else. Our rifles are pointed at them. And you.”

“I understand,” Davina said quietly. She exchanged a look with Alejandro and Adam Spencer. She tried to read their faces but couldn’t. Daddy will know what to do, she thought. Daddy will come through for us.

“I warn you,” Fayed said quietly as he handed the receiver to Davina.

They heard the voice of William Walters. “Walters here. I want to speak with my daughter.”

It was a one-way radio, much like a walkie-talkie, Davina realized. You had to press a lever on the receiver to be heard on the other end. She pressed the lever and held the radio away from her face, pretending to think about what to say. Fayed shook her shoulder, the one with the contusion, and Davina screamed. She doubled over, purposely keeping the lever down. Fayed grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head up. “You do exactly as I told you.” Three guns were aimed at her head.

“I understand, I understand,” she said, trying to get her breath. “Who do you think you are, King Tut?” She brought the receiver, now released, to her ear. “Daddy?”

Again they heard William Walters. “I want to speak to my daughter.”

“How do you use this thing?” she asked, pretending that she didn’t know.

“Press the button and talk,” Fayed snarled.

She did. “Daddy?”

“Davina! Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes, yes. I am alright.”

“The others…?”

“We are all fine. They have been very nice to us. But I miss you, Daddy. I wish I could see you, say like in an hour, that would be nice.” She laughed, an obviously forced laugh.

Fayed grabbed her hair threateningly and Davina winced. He yanked the receiver from her hand. “That’s enough,” he growled. “Walters! Release the money immediately.”

“It shall be done. But how do I know they won’t be harmed?”

“Keep depositing the money,” he said, cutting off their communications. He scowled at Davina and then left the tent, followed by his armed entourage.

The prisoners were alone again. Adam Spencer winked at Davina. “Do you think he heard?” she asked.

“I’m sure he heard,” Alejandro whispered. “My love, that was very smart of you but also very dangerous.”

“I don’t think they noticed,” Adam whispered and he explained to Jacques and Monique what Davina had done or what he thought she had done. By holding down the lever on the receiver, she had allowed Walters and whoever else was listening—and there were sure to be others—to hear her scream. Now at least Walters knew that they were not fine.

“With all the languages we speak among us and we don’t know what they’re saying,” Davina said. “I should’ve learned Arabic.”

“More than Arabic you need, luv,” their British pilot said quietly. “Urdu, I think.”

Alejandro spoke quietly into Adam’s ear. “Have you understood anything?”

“Some. Very little actually. Fayed, the chap with the tablecloth on his head, he said something about killing.”

“Who?” Davina asked impatiently.

“Us, I presume.” Adam whispered. “I don’t speak any of these languages, luv. I just pick up snatches.”

Davina laid her head in Alejandro’s lap. There was nothing to do but to wait for her father to act. She knew he would. She knew he would save them all.

Adam was not quite ready to tell them what else he thought he heard. He would tell Alejandro and Jacques, and of course Eric, when he got the chance. Even if he did not understand exactly, even if he was wrong. He knew he had to tell them. They said they would take the women first.