Way of Escape (30 page)

She motioned them back into the Cruiser and they headed north by northwest, toward the Saudi-Kuwaiti border, toward the American air base, toward freedom for Jani and Zhara.

***

As athletic as Trisha was, still she was completely exhausted by the two-hour stint of cross-country skiing. Bonnie, lying on the long divan reading a book in front of the fireplace in the small living room, waved at her as she trudged past in the hall.

“Going to go take a nap, Mom,” Trish called out and, pulling off her sweater, headed up the stairs.

Bonnie had been invigorated by her walk to the hot springs. She'd come very close to some small moose, had seen a huge flock of geese at the hot springs, and two small foxes ran briefly down the trail ahead of her as she hiked back. The bitter cold had taken its toll, however, and on arriving at the castle, she'd wanted nothing more than to curl up in a warm place with her book and a cup of hot chocolate. The last of the jet lag also took effect and the urge to nap washed over her. Her conscience nagged her to seek out Sture and move him along toward the promised meeting with Ms. Person, but drowsiness won. By the time Trisha had reached the top of the huge staircase, Bonnie's eyes closed.

She had a strange dream. Carl Mink was an old man and he and she were in a jet flying somewhere, which was totally ridiculous because Carl was dead and the dream came to an abrupt halt when Sture's voice gently called to her. “Mrs. Ixey? Mrs. Ixey? Bonnie?”

Her book fell from her hands with a thump onto the floor and she grabbed it up hoping not to lose her place. “Yes, Sture,” she answered. It must be dinnertime. She glanced at the beautiful antique clock on the mantel. Yes, five-fifteen. She sat up.

The gangly young man was shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another, his large hands fluttering nervously. “Will you come with me, please? You are to see someone.”

“I'm going to see Ms. Person now?” was the only thing Bonnie could think to say.

Sture shook his head, “No. Not her.”

Stiffly, Bonnie got to her feet. The wonderful smells of salmon, dill, potatoes, and cheese floated across the room. “Is dinner served?”

“In about an hour,” said the young man and turned on his heel, expecting her to follow. Completely puzzled, Bonnie tagged along behind him, hurrying to keep up with his long strides down the hall to the back stairs, up the cold stairs to the lower end of the hall and past Sture's room. At the beautiful cherry wood door to the grand master bedroom suite, Sture stopped, knocked firmly and a muffled male voice responded from inside, “
Komm in
.”

Sture turned the lion head brass doorknob, pushed the door open, and stood back, motioning for Bonnie to go in. Hesitating, she laid one hand on the door. The cherry wood was warm and smooth. The expression on Sture's face added to the puzzle. He had a cat with canary feathers in its mouth grin. Sture pushed the door open a little further and Bonnie stepped in.

The deep male voice insisted, “
Komm nu
.”

The door closed behind her and she was standing, seemingly alone, in a massive room one-half of which was filled with beautiful antiques: delicately inlaid bureaus and dressers and nightstands and wardrobes and a massive four-poster bed, all matching. By the fireplace filled with a roaring fire, were, in stark contrast, a modern couch and rollback chair, a panel television, sound equipment, and a large desk topped with computers. The draperies and hangings were dark red and thick. Four giant Persian carpets covered old cherry wood floors. From the tall, narrow windows could be seen the lights along the front drive and, in the distance, the iron gate with the Hermelin shield.

But there was no one except her in the room. Where had the voice come from, she wondered?

Abruptly, a man emerged from the adjoining bathroom suite. A very tall man, in fact, the very tall black-haired, black bearded man who had been at the airport, stepped into the bedroom, only he no longer had a black beard. He was wiping the last of the shaving cream from his face and toweling dry white-blond hair. He had on comfortable sweat pants and a white T-shirt, his feet were bare. He saw her. He stopped moving. She saw him breathe deeply and a wide smile came to his face. An oh! so familiar smile. In almost a whisper, he said, “Bonnie.”

All she could do was shake her head in confusion.

“Yes, it is okay. I am alive,” he assured her.

“Carl?” she queried, knowing full well that it was he. Her knees shook, her hands trembled. “How can this be?”

Before her knees collapsed completely, he had gently put arms around her and helped her into a seat at a small table where a tea service had been laid out and covered with a cloth. “You will be all right in a moment,” he said, “when your mind accepts what is true.” He sat in a chair next to her, pulled the cloth off the tea set to reveal not only teapot and cups, but tiny sandwiches and cakes as well. “Tea? Yes, that will help?” He poured her a cup. “Or something stronger?” He reached for a nearby bottle of fine brandy.

“No! No!” she insisted and put her tiny hand on his arm. “Tell me what is happening!”

“I did not really die,” he said, grinning.

“You.you were at the airport. That was you? You are here!” Tears began to run down her cheeks. “You're not dead!” This was said with anger, anger and frustration. “You were dead and now you are not dead! You tricked me! You…” She began to cry in earnest.

Carl-Joran took her hands in his. “I am so sorry.”

“Sorry does not even start to make up for all these years,” she exclaimed, “not knowing, thinking maybe you had died in some god-awful crusade in some hideous war, dreading to find out, not wanting to know…”

“I was never sure,” whispered Carl-Joran.

Jumping to her feet, Bonnie grasped his hands, “Sure? Sure of what? What did you need to be sure of?”

He pulled her hands to his face, “Sure you loved me enough for me to contact you. I was terrified that I had compromised your safety. I wanted only to hide away and become invisible so no one would trace me to you. Those were dangerous times and there was much work left to do. When I finally returned to Sweden after my father died, we…you and I, just seemed so far away. Then I was too embarrassed to contact you. You were married. You'd had a baby, in fact two children. You seemed happy with the old man.”

Bonnie's face flushed with realization. “You kept track of me all these years.”

He nodded. “If, at any time, you had been in danger, you would have had help immediately.”

“Some consolation,” she whimpered.

“You were not happy in your life?” he asked.

She stood looking down into the face exasperatingly familiar yet strange, strange because it had aged, as hers had. “I was happy, what can I say? Yes. I've had a good life.”

“Then you did not need a wild, crazy man like me interfering.” He nodded again, confident of being correct.

Slowly her hands let go of his and balled into small fists. “How can you say that? How could you leave me? I was so afraid, so alone.”

“You had your parents,” he tried to say.

“Fool!” she yelled at him and pounded his shoulders with her fists. He took her wrists in his hands and pulled her close. She was sobbing. Gently, he drew her into his lap and hugged her close.

“I do not understand,” he whispered. “I stayed away because I loved you.”

“I was pregnant with your child,” she said into his chest.

He held her face up, “What do you say?”

“Trisha is your daughter.”

“
Min Gud!
” he exclaimed, hugging her close again. “I did not know. This I did not even guess.” The full impact of it made him ache all the way through his body. Carl-Joran put one big hand on Bonnie's soft white hair and laid his head on hers. There were no more words, not for some time. They sat huddled together, souls returning to the bond that had been ripped asunder so many years before. It was as if time had stood still and space had warped. The tea grew cold.

Tidewater leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smile on his face. He was ready to finish up his day and go home. He glanced at his secretary and noticed she was animatedly talking to someone on the phone. She pushed an extension button, put down the receiver and looked around toward him.

“Commander Gurgin Yusef for you,” Lily said, motioning.

“Ahhh,” said Tidewater jerking up the phone. “Yes, Commander, how's it going? Must be important ‘cause it's about three in the morning there.”

“It is two-thirty,” responded Yusef, “and yes, it is important. I am having my computer person send you photos. You will be pleased. I have taken care of Habib Mansur. He is no longer alive.”

“That is wonderful news,” exclaimed Marion Tidewater, “and the photos are of…”

“The body. We could not take it away. But you can see for yourself it is the haji.” Yusef was very proud.

Tidewater leaned out of his office and waved at Lily to get Norm, the new computer geek. “What about the women? Did you get them? Return them?” When Norm stuck his head into Tidewater's office, Tidewater covered the mouthpiece and whispered, “Check the e-mail files for photos coming in from Commander Yusef.” Norm nodded and hurried back to his cubby.

Yusef, a tired note in his voice, explained, “I am afraid not. They leave the caravan before we find it, before it reached the Grand Wadi. I am certain though that they were picked up not far from the i-Shibl residence. I am also certain that Tahireh Ibrahim is the one who disguised the women and got them out of the compound. She is probably still with them.”

“Where would they head for?”

“My guess is Kuwait,” replied Yusef. “Perhaps you have contacts in Kuwait? Better than I have?”

“You betcha. I can get right on it.” Tidewater heard the printer humming and turned as the computer expert handed him three photos. “Yep, that's Habib Mansur,” Marion Tidewater said. “Looks like you really shot the hell out of him.”

There was a shrug from the other end of the phone. “We used the helicopter machine guns. It was very good luck that the man was right out in the open. So you will take care of finding the women for Sheikh i-Shibl?”

“Right on it, old buddy. I'll have messages sent out before I leave work tonight.” The grin on Tidewater's face was ear to ear. “I owe you one.”

“Just find the women,” Yusef insisted, “and send Ibrahim to me. Is that a deal?”

“That's a deal. Good night, Gurgin.” Tidewater hung up. He stood and did a little two-step dance around the office. “Yessir, yessir!” He finished up the dance near the computer room door, “Norm, write up an e-mail to Darughih Sadiq-Fath's office. His assistant Ali Muhit will read it first thing in the morning, which will be about six hours from now. Send the photo files you just downloaded and tell the darughih he and I got to talk. I want his agents on the job in Kuwait within the hour he picks up this message. Got that?” Norm nodded, Marion Tidewater went on, “Say this exactly: You'll find Tahireh Ibrahim and the two women she stole, Princess Zhara i-Shibl and her mother, Jani Felice i-Shibl, in Kuwait. Then say if he needs any more information, call me at eight a.m. my time tomorrow morning. Got that?”

Norm nodded and was already setting up the e-mail. “No problem, Boss.”

As Marion Tidewater passed Lily's desk, he gave her a little hug and she blushed. “Not tonight, but how about tomorrow, darling?”

“Oh, Marion, you're sure?” she cooed.

“You can count on it, I want to party, as my teenagers say.” Tidewater laughed.

“I guess we can, okay, after work?”

“After work.” His footsteps were light as he left the room.

Five hours later, Ali Muhit wrote back that his boss, Darughih Sadiq-Fath had set in motion a plan to trap Tahireh Ibrahim in Kuwait. He, Sadiq-Fath, had made sure the little Thai girl, Milind would not be freed, that her trial would go smoothly and her execution swiftly. No more women would be taken by the EW's agents, he promised and went on with: “Quddus Sadiq-Fath sends his personal congratulations to Commander Yusef via Tidewater on the elimination of their hated enemy, Haji Mansur.” Muhit finished up the e-mail letter, writing, “When my agents pick up the sheikh's women, either in Kuwait or in Europe, where should they be delivered? This is assuming they've not died on the desert.”

Tahireh had to drive. Neither Jani nor Zhara had ever learned to handle a 4X4 vehicle. The guiding stars turned in their vast celestial wheel until yellow-pink tendrils of dawn peeked over the flat rocky terrain in front of them. There was no wadi or cliff or rock shelter to hide them and Tahireh hesitated to stop out here in the open. Finally, as dawn evolved to bright, cold morning, tall date palm trees signaled an oasis on the horizon. A few ramshackle buildings and about a dozen tents huddled under the massive date palms. Further in the distance, lorries and petrol tankers could be seen speeding along a narrow highway. The women had crossed the desert all the way to the corner of northeast Saudi. Right where she had wanted them to arrive. With a sigh of relief, Tahireh pulled up behind the decrepit buildings and gratefully parked in the shadow of a broad, red and blue striped awning where tables and chairs awaited lunch customers.

“Wake up,” she hollered at her two companions. “Breakfast! Who wants breakfast?”

Zhara held up her hand as she groggily opened her eyes. “Where are we?” She shook her mother who moaned and turned over in the back seat. “Come alive, Mom. Open your eyes.”

Stretching, Jani sat up. “Oh,” she said, looking out the window, “civilization!”

“Now we must face some problems,” Tahireh began, “we have not had baths and Zhara and I look and smell like donkey boys.”

“I don't,” said Jani, grinning.

“You do smell,” retorted her daughter holding her nose, “you stink like a camel.”