Unexpected Mrs. Pollifax (21 page)

The colonel winced. “Please, Mrs. Pollifax …”

“And it was you who told us General Perdido was coming on Thursday night, we’d never have known, otherwise.”

“Duchess,” said Farrell firmly, “don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. He has told us he is
not
helping us.”

“And a Russian agent shouldn’t be helping us,” she added indignantly. “Why?”

“Yes, why?” asked Farrell. “Considering all we know about you already—”

The colonel sighed. “Far too much, I agree. Very well, I will say this much.” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “You were brought to Albania because you are suspected of knowing the whereabouts of a missing report—well-documented—of Communist activities in Latin America.”

“Oh?” said Mrs. Pollifax with interest.

“Red China is extremely interested in seizing that report. Red China will do anything to prevent the United States from learning how heavily involved it has become in Latin America. Red China has still another interest in that report: she would like to learn what Russia is up to in Latin America.”

“Ah,” said Farrell.

“Russia in turn would enjoy knowing what Red China is secretly doing in Latin America.”

“Mmmm,” murmured Farrell.

“But if there is a choice between Red China reading that report, or the United States reading that report, Russia would infinitely prefer the United States to have it.”

Startled, Mrs. Pollifax said, “But you are both Communist countries!”

Colonel Nexdhet’s voice was dry. “You bring up a subject that is—uh—very tender, Mrs. Pollifax, and one that I could wish we not explore. Let us simply say that between Red China and Russia there are certain conflicts. On the part of Russia, a certain amount of alarm, certain suspicions—”

“Russia is more afraid of Red China than of America!” gasped Mrs. Pollifax.

“In some areas, yes. There is something called the balance of power that must be preserved at all costs.”

Farrell nodded. “This I understand, yes. But what guarantee have we that Russians aren’t waiting somewhere to recapture us and throw us into a Russian prison?”

Nexdhet shrugged. “There are no guarantees at all, Mr. Farrell.”

Farrell considered for a long moment. “I’m afraid we’ll have to trust him,” he told Mrs. Pollifax.

She smiled. “Should we trust you, Colonel? You have repeatedly advised me to trust no one here.”

His answering smile was grave. “Nor should you even now, Mrs. Pollifax, for you must remember that I will be in the party that hunts you down after your escape.”

Mrs. Pollifax thought about this and nodded. “Then could you do one more thing for us—shoot to kill?”

He said simply, “If you are caught I could not afford to let you survive.”

“Thank you, that is all we can hope for.”

Nexdhet stood up. “I help you no further. In return I ask only that when you hit me with your rock you do not hit me here.” He pointed to the back of his skull. “I have already a small steel plate here from an old wound.”

“Better than that we will only gag you,” promised Farrell, taking out the knife and beginning to slash branches from the tree.

“With the male handkerchief?”

Farrell grinned. “No secrets at all. You have your own microphone in here?”

“Hidden in my cot, yes. You need not worry, however, I destroyed the tapes this afternoon.”

But Mrs. Pollifax’s mind was still fixed upon Colonel Nexdhet and she suddenly burst out again. “There’s the missile site, too!” She turned to Farrell. “I didn’t tell you about that because you still had a fever and might have babbled in your sleep, but the colonel took me for a walk a few days ago, a walk that just happened to include a missile site.” To the colonel she said, “You
wanted
me to see it!”

“See
what
?” exploded Farrell.

She nodded. “The Red Chinese are building a missile site only a mile away from here.”

“Good God,” gasped Farrell.

Nexdhet looked apologetic. “A small detail, but a vital one lest your country underestimate Red China.” He smiled wryly. “Russia no longer underestimates Red China.”

“You’ve known our plans that long then?” asked Farrell.

Nexdhet smiled. “I had no interest in your possibilities at all when I first met you. A badly wounded man, a woman no longer young—I thought your escape plans hopelessly naïve, as they still are. It was after observing Mrs. Pollifax remove the bullet from your arm that I decided to do what I could for you. You were worth the risk.” Turning to Mrs. Pollifax he said with a smile, “Wherever there is violence there is absurdity, also. And now is there anything else you would like to mention as reminder to me of how dangerous you both are becoming? Certainly it will be to my benefit to see that neither of you is ever questioned by Perdido.”

Mrs. Pollifax shook her head. “I can’t think of anything else, except …” She frowned. “I am wondering if it is quite ethical to let you help us. It feels terribly unpatriotic.”

Farrell grinned. “World politics make strange bedfellows, Duchess. Do try to manage a small sense of expediency, will you?”

“If you think it’s proper,” she said doubtfully. Her eyes fell on the window slit and she jumped to her feet. “It’s already twilight,” she told Farrell in a shocked voice, and was suddenly struck by the meagerness of their preparations. “Is the crutch finished?”

“I’m just padding it,” he told her, and stood up and tested it. “Not bad.”

Mrs. Pollifax opened her purse and brought out the rocks and the gag. She collected the Beretta gun cartridges, the map and the compass from their various hiding places and added the cheese from tonight’s dinner. She was contemplating them with a frown when Farrell said quietly, “Psst, they’re coming for the empty trays, I think.”

The trays.… She wondered what time it was, and at what hour the candle would be brought. To conceal the rocks she sat down on top of them just as Major Vassovic walked in rattling his keys. “Evening,” he said.

Nexdhet grunted; he had brought out a newspaper in which to bury his head. Farrell nodded; he had hidden his crutch under the bed but the tree’s absence was conspicuous, and Mrs. Pollifax decided she must divert the major’s attention. “How is your back?” she asked, and then saw the candle he was carrying and her eyes widened. “But you’re not—not going to light our cell so early?” she faltered.

“Busy tonight,” said Major Vassovic, and stuck the candle in its round metal ring. “No time for it later.”

Farrell looked up, appalled, while Nexdhet put down his paper and regarded Mrs. Pollifax with a sardonic, challenging amusement. Mrs. Pollifax realized with a sinking heart that she was sitting on the rocks that were to knock their guard unconscious; the moment had come and neither of them was prepared. A fretful anger rose in her over changed plans, broken routines, unpredictable guards. It wasn’t dark yet. The candle had never before been brought in so early. It could not be more than eight o’clock but the cell door would not be opened again unless to admit General Perdido, and she was sitting here like a brood hen on the rocks that Farrell ought to have if he was to hit Major Vassovic over the head.

“Farrell has to do it,” she reminded herself. “He’s the only one who knows how.” But Farrell was across the room and without the rocks.

“I can’t,” she told herself fiercely—what on earth would the Garden Club think of her, or the pastor of her church?

Major Vassovic was bringing a match from his shirt pocket, his back turned to the room. In a moment he would strike that match against the wall, light the candle and then turn around. “I can’t,” she repeated to herself stubbornly.

He struck the match against the wall and Mrs. Pollifax watched it flame into life. “I’ve never hit anybody in my life,” she remembered. “Never,” she repeated. “Never never
never
.”

Quietly, rock in hand, Mrs. Pollifax rose from her cot, walked up to Major Vassovic and hit him on the head. To her utter astonishment he collapsed at once, falling to the ground to lie there like a suit of old clothes. “For heaven’s sake,” she said, staring down at him in fascinated horror.

“Good girl,” said Farrell, and reaching under the cot for his crutch he hobbled over to look at the major. “Out like a light.”

“I do hope I didn’t hurt his back again,” said Mrs. Pollifax anxiously. “It was coming along so well.”

Nexdhet said politely, “Not at all, I’m sure. What next?”

Farrell plucked Vassovic’s huge, comic-opera keys from the floor and dropped them into Mrs. Pollifax’s purse. “What next?” he repeated. “We call the other one in—Stefan—and to spare the Duchess I’ll try
my
skill with the rock.”

“Oh?” said Mrs. Pollifax wistfully. “Actually it was rather interesting.”

“Then you’ll jolly well have to sublimate, I’ll be damned if
I’m going to encourage you to hit men over the head. Here, help me arrange Major Vassovic in a more sprawling position. We’ll say he’s fainted. I do beg your pardon, Nexdhet,” he added with a smile. “Damn funny doing all this in front of you.”

“But he’s isn’t helping, he’s just overlooking,” Mrs. Pollifax reminded them both. “Now?” Farrell had taken a position behind the cell door, a rock in his good hand. When he nodded, Mrs. Pollifax gave a squeal, held her breath and followed this with a penetrating scream. “Guard! Guard!” She ran to the door and pounded on it.

Footsteps hurried down the hall and the unlocked cell door was pushed open. Stefan walked in and Farrell stepped forward and hit him. Stefan also sank into a heap. “You’re quite right, it
is
fun,” Farrell said.

“I’ll go out and look for rope to tie them with,” said Mrs. Pollifax, and hurried up the hall to the guardroom. It was not until she arrived there that she realized it might not have been empty; she made a mental note to develop more cunning, and at once locked the outside door so that no new guards could surprise them. Rummaging through the desk drawers she found a few lengths of rope and carried them back to Farrell.

Nexdhet said, “I really think you had better tie me up now, too, before I am tempted to change my mind or before General Perdido walks in. It surprises me, how alarmed I am beginning to feel.”

“Frankly, I’m a little alarmed myself,” said Farrell with a grin. “It’s the Duchess who gives this such an amateur quality. Delightful but alarming. Lie down, chum.”

Nexdhet gratefully lay down and Farrell began linking him by rope to Major Vassovic and Stefan. “I’ll gag you but not hit you. You’ll have to play dead,” explained Farrell. “Are you a good actor?”

“No, but I’m known as a very good Sigurimi man.”

Farrell gave a bleat of a laugh. “Let’s hope it protects you then. And Nexdhet—thanks.”

The colonel smiled faintly. “Just spare me the trouble of shooting you, that’s all.”

The gag went into his mouth and Farrell knotted it securely. Over his shoulder he asked of Mrs. Pollifax, “Where are you off to now?”

“To look for a Beretta. And it’s nearly dark!” With this Mrs. Pollifax left again, this time with her purse, to return to the
guardroom and strip it. With the major’s keys she found a Beretta pistol and a second Nambu, and she double-checked both to be perfectly sure that her stolen gun clips fitted. Then she decided to load up on cartridges for them and reached down to the drawer beneath. This time it did not budge to her fingers. The drawer that for a week had held a key in its lock was now firmly closed and not a one of the major’s keys fitted. “What a pity,” she murmured, and turned back to the hall.

But first she had something else to do, something that had occupied her thoughts quite tantalizingly from time to time. This was her curiosity about their next-door neighbor who had rapped upon the wall. Mrs. Pollifax tiptoed past her own cell and down the hall, not at all sure that Farrell would approve of this side excursion. She inserted keys into the lock and opened the door upon a dark closet of a room. She stood there uncertainly, peering inside.

From the farthest corner there came a rustling sound, and Mrs. Pollifax’s instincts told her that something was moving. Suddenly the darkness expelled a form, a wraith, a gray genie of a man in flowing gray robes who began a repeated bowing of his head as he chattered to her eagerly in a melodic, singsong voice.

Mrs. Pollifax interrupted him. “Not now, please. We are going to try to escape. Escape,” she told him. “Would you like to come along with us?”

He stopped speaking and regarded her with great interest. His face was surprisingly long and Gothic for an Oriental; the mouth was thin and turned up at the corners into a fixed, sweet smile; his eyes were large and bright and childlike, with only a faint suggestion of an Oriental pouch above the lids. Between the pursed lips and the twinkling eyes he looked—well, not quite responsible, thought Mrs. Pollifax; rather like a happy child in the guise of a man, all twinkles, smiles and curiosity.

“Come,” she said, as if to a child, and pulled him by the sleeve. He followed without protest, his eyes lively and curious. When they reached the cell Mrs. Pollifax said in a voice whose confidence was spurious, “Look what I found.”

“Good heavens,” said Farrell, staring at the little man beside her. “Who on earth is this birdlike creature?”

“The man next door. Colonel Nexdhet can tell us who he is, I’m sure.” They both glanced at the colonel and saw that he
was straining at his gag and ropes. Farrell bent over and slipped the gag from his mouth.

“No,” said Nexdhet harshly. “No, I will not tell you who he is. No, you must not take him, absolutely not.”

“Take him!” Comprehension was dawning upon Farrell, leaving him inarticulate. “You can’t possibly—you’re not thinking—?”

“Why not?” asked Mrs. Pollifax.

“But who is he? You don’t know a damn thing about him. For heaven’s sake, Duchess, he may be a Commie worse than General Perdido.”

“Then why would he be in jail?”

“Who knows? He may have seduced somebody’s mistress or tried to organize a
coup d’état
. He’s Chinese, isn’t he? He had to
be
somebody to get here.”

“I refuse to listen to you,” Mrs. Pollifax said indignantly.