Way of Escape (32 page)

“I understand.” Tahireh sat back, “Now tell me about the baron. Has he found his ladylove?”

Siddhu laughed loudly, “He has. As of right now, as we speak, they are meeting.”

“God, I'd love to be a fly on the wall for that,” smiled the model. “One can only imagine. Which I will do as I take my bath and sleep. You send the baron my sincere apologies that we could not bring Habib with us. Oui?”

“Yes, Tahireh, you go rest. Thank the lord you made it.” Dr. Legesse hung up.

“You only
talk
to Shamsi Granfa,” Siddhu ordered kindly, “then come to Haifa. See you soon.” He too hung up.

Tahireh handed the phone back to Captain Maxwell. “I'll go see if there's any hot water left. Are there clothes in my room?”

“Just about any costume you need, Miss Ibrahim.” The captain walked with her to the office door. “You're doing a great service and anything I can do to help, anything at all that's in my power, you let me know.” She extended a bony hand and Tahireh shook it firmly.

“Thank you, Captain.”

Halima Legesse sat slumped in her chair with her head thrown back and eyes staring at the ceiling. It was a very uncommon pose for her and Siddhu did not know what to do. She had gone totally silent, unresponsive to his queries as to whom to call first. It would not have occurred to him to touch her or comfort her. That was not his place. Finally, at last, he decided the best thing to do was to call Dr. Legesse's best and only friend, Rachel Bar-Fischer.

Russell was eating lunch in the communal dining room when Dr. Bar-Fischer entered the large room. She stopped to speak to a black, matronly woman whose daughters were digging into lunch as if starved. The woman was smiling with pleasure and grabbed Dr. Bar-Fischer's hand like someone saved from drowning. It took a bit of pressure for the Israeli woman to pull away and when she had managed to do so, she did not speak to or respond to any of the other numerous greetings from staff or clients. With direct speed, she threaded her way through the tables and delicately sat down next to the Native American. Leaning close to him, she whispered, “Habib Mansur is dead.”

Russ slowly laid down his fork. After a moment, he asked, “And Tahireh Ibrahim?”

“She and the two women she rescued are alive and safe.”

He looked hard at the handsome Israeli doctor. “What do you want of me? I am sure you wouldn't have told me this news if you didn't want me to do something to help.”

Rachel Bar-Fischer nodded. “Siddhu thinks maybe…perhaps Commander Yusef will send an official notification to the Agency and perhaps to Darughih Sadiq-Fath by computer. He wants to know if that assumption is correct and if so…”

“…can I retrieve it?” Russ finished her question.

She nodded.

“Yes. In addition,” Russ went on, “the chances are very good that Yusef will send photos of the body, maybe even of the autopsy. He likes to do that sort of thing, sort of as proof he actually accomplished what he said.” Russ pushed his tomato, onion, and olive salad away. There was an herb in the dressing that was too mysterious for his palate. He turned to face the doctor. “He'd contact Agent Tidewater at the Agency first, as Siddhu guessed, and then Tidewater will notify Sadiq-Fath. Yusef never contacts Sadiq-Fath directly, or vice versa. Those two guys have never spoken or written each other directly. Ever. Not in the cards. Too risky. They use agents or better, they talk through Tidewater.”

“Can you retrieve anything for us?” Bar-Fischer appealed to him. She had turned away from Russ's eyes and put both her hands palm down on the table.

He gently laid one large hand on top of one of her small ones. “Yes. Get me on a computer right now. We don't want the files to be too deep. That would take me hours to search out. I gotta get on now.”

She nodded. “Come with me.”

A half an hour later, Russ stood in front of a computer. He waved his hands dismissively, “I can't work with this piece of crap.”

Siddhu cringed.

Devi, the receptionist-secretary chortled softly, “Told you, Siddhu. I've told you that for months. This machine is garbage.”

The American Indian looked at the East Indian and said, “Right now, we go to a computer store and we get what I need.”

In the palms up, hands out gesture Siddhu Prakash used to show hopelessness, he responded, “We don't have that kind of money!”

“How expensive will it be?” asked Rachel Bar-Fischer, “I might be able to get it through the drug treatment funds. We'd have to submit a purchase order.”

Russ laughed sharply. “No time for that nonsense. I'll buy it. There's an account I can use that Tidewater won't have traces on.”

Siddhu shuffled his feet.

“Now!” demanded Russ. “Those files will get submarined and we won't get access.”

“Wait here a minute,” Rachel told Siddhu and ducked out the door.

Devi lifted the phone and pushed in the numbers to summon Taqi on his pager. When it went through, she smiled and set the phone down. To Siddhu's horror and Devi's glee, Russ began clearing the table of the old computer system. Devi motioned toward a small table in the corner and Russ smiled. The two quickly pulled that table into a U-shaped configuration with the desk and long table already there and Devi was instantly on her hands and knees pulling plugs and phone wires.

“Is that the only surge protection you have?” Russ asked her as she held up a multiple set plug.

“Yep. It's a wonder we haven't fried everything in the office.” Devi motioned toward the printer, “Can we get a real color printer too?”

Russ grinned, “Yes. But you will want to keep that old clunker to do files and long print jobs. The ink is much less expensive.”

“Gotcha,” Devi acknowledged and patted the big machine.

“You can buy us a good computer outfit?” Dr. Legesse strode into the office, Rachel beside her.

“No problem. I'll have the trust fund investment managers write it off as a donation, which it is.”

“You would do this for us?” Dr. Legesse seemed nonplussed.

“Not a big deal. We have to give away a percentage of that money every year or we don't meet the trust requirements. Quit worrying about it.” Russ zipped up the front of his jacket and waved at Devi to come with him. “Let's do it. No more pussy-footing around.”

The front door opened at that precise moment and Taqi, hair mussed, looked in. “We go somewhere?”

“Yes,” said Bar-Fischer grabbing Halima's hand to silence her. “Yes. Go buy the computer.”

“I will go with you,” insisted Siddhu.

“You don't know a modem from a monkey,” laughed Devi.

“I want to come,” insisted the little man.

“Don't argue,” said Russ and led the way out the door.

Gently, firmly, Rachel pulled Halima into Halima's office and impelled her into a chair at the desk. Rachel sat down beside her, leaned toward her, and put a hand on the telephone. “My friend, it is time to call Carl-Joran.” Halima looked at her with so much pain in her eyes that Rachel began to cry.

***

They were sitting down to lunch when the call came. Gustav, on his creaky old legs, hurried to Carl-Joran's side and in a whisper told him that Dr. Legesse was on the phone. Carl-Joran glanced at the assembled family, Bonnie, Trisha, Sture, and said, “Be right back.”

Trish was sitting across from Sture and they glanced at each other with another of those inquiring dart-like looks that indicated their complete puzzlement over their new status. Bonnie and Carl-Joran had told them last night. Trisha had taken the news with high amusement and, with a loud braying laugh, promptly slapped Sture on the shoulder. He had turned beet-red and croaked, “
Far, hur kann det ga?
”

His father had smiled sadly and responded, “
So war det
.”

Reluctantly, Sture hugged Trisha, released her quickly saying, “
Mina nya syster
.” To his father he said, shaking his head, “I wondered that she acted so much like a Swedish woman.”

“
Ja so
,” his dad agreed sagely and broke out the
konjak
, a particularly good five-star brand from Armenia. The toasts went on until they were all tipsy.

The next morning had been met with good cheer. Sture announced at breakfast that he was finished with being on a forced vacation and would return to the Karolinska Institute that evening. Trisha decreed her intention to go back to California within the week. She had already put too much of a burden on the substitute teacher and besides, there was a very important basketball game coming up the end of the month. Trisha loved all this adventure, true, but her true role in life was to coach. So she announced.

Bonnie and Carl-Joran just grinned with that look satisfied lovers have the morning after and held hands.

That the newly conjoined family had all gathered for lunch was an accident of timing. Astrid had fixed her split pea soup, the thick kind that almost had to be cut with a knife to eat, and Sture had returned from skiing with Katarina early. He told them that the Arab contingent of agents had followed him and he had felt very uncomfortable putting Katarina in harm's way.

Wanting exercise but not wanting to go skiing again, Trisha had found a basketball in the stables. After only a few minutes outside in the bitter cold, she had discovered to her consternation that the basketball froze and cracked and her eyelids and nose hairs were frosted. Krister had come out and shaken his head at her, indicating that she was crazy. He had laughed at the basketball's plight.

Bonnie and Carl-Joran spent the morning talking with Inge Person. No words could describe the look on the advokat's face when she walked into the baron's office to discover him alive. When power of speech finally returned to her, she shook Bonnie Ixey's hand with appreciation saying, “It is good to put a face to the voice.” Signing the accounts into Bonnie's name, with an addendum that the will had not yet been probated, therefore such action was only temporary to release funds, took merely a little over an hour. Inge Person promised to deal with the hated Algbak herself. “It would be a pleasure,” said the advokat, “to straighten out that woman. Of course I will not tell her about your being alive, my dear Baron, but I will be more than happy to install Bonnie as heir apparent…
fur narvarande
…a little while.”

Now, Carl-Joran rose from the lunch table and strode ahead of Gustav leaving the retainer to make his halting way down the long hall. Sitting at his desk in his big office, he gingerly picked up the receiver. Halima told him immediately, without preamble.

Carl-Joran was only able to say, “I want to see any photos Snow is able to retrieve.”

“I will tell him that,” Dr. Legesse agreed, “He can e-mail them, I am sure.”

“That should be no problem,” said Carl-Joran softly. “And Tahireh said Yusef couldn't take the body? They say it's still with the Bedouin?”

“That's what she told us.”

“Okay. Maybe we can find that tribe. Now you tell Miss Tahireh Ibrahim that I insist she come back to Haifa and not go to help Shamsi. She is not to try to rescue that Thai girl. We cannot lose another fine operative.”

“I have told her and I will tell her you have ordered it,” Halima Legesse sighed, “but you know as well as I how headstrong that girl is.”

“Ah, yes, that is why she is one of our best people. Okay. One question more. May I come alive? Enough of this being dead. I will take Bonnie to Switzerland and we will see the bankers. We will meet Freda Englich and the women. I want to hear the mother's story for myself.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone. The doctor had been struck when she was too weak to retaliate with strength against this very powerful man. Slowly she managed to say, “No.”

He swore in Swedish, “
Fy fan!
”

“Don't you swear!” Halima Legesse came to, shaken awake by the words. “Listen to what I say: not yet. We are very close, Carl-Joran, but not yet. We want to have Sadiq-Fath out in the open and if you move too soon, all our work, Habib's sacrifice will have been in vain.”

“That's a low blow,” growled Carl-Joran.

“The truth though, it is the truth.” She was regaining her determination. “Still, if you can go to Switzerland incognito, you and Bonnie, you could meet the princess and her mother. Then you could come here. Can you do that and not be caught? Or recognized?”

“Certainly.” He sounded insulted by her doubt.

The sigh of resignation that came over the phone was almost palpable. “I will agree to your doing that, Baron. Nothing more. Straight to Geneva. Straight here.”

“I promise,” said the big man.

“Until we see each other,” the doctor said and hung up.

Bonnie was standing in the doorway. The look in her eyes told Carl-Joran that she had been there some time. He motioned to her to come to him, which she did. “A very good friend of mine has been murdered,” he whispered, “doing work for Emigrant Women.”

Bonnie threw her arms around his neck. “It wasn't me, was it? It wasn't because I didn't arrive sooner and get money to him?”

“No, no, no.” He pulled her close. “Money would have made no difference. The Arab commander simply shot him down. That is all. He shot down two other holy men who were with Habib, just like that. No compunction.”

“How horrible!” said Bonnie in shock.

“We are leaving for Geneva.”

“We?”

“You and I, tonight. Rather, we will take the four a.m. shuttle from Vasteras to Oslo and the SwissAir from there to Geneva. You must pack.” Carl-Joran stood up. He had also decided that the time had come to clean up the local environment. His son's medical studies were important and his new daughter should not be bothered by those pesky agents following them around. He rang for Krister and started for the door. He paused to hug Bonnie. “Don't take much and don't pack anything you would miss if we cannot retrieve the baggage or if we get picked up. All right?”