Unexpected Mrs. Pollifax Page 15

  Stefan backed out, leaving the trays. Farrell whispered, “He doesn’t know it’s missing?”

  “No, not yet. And now that he’s out of here he can’t blame it on us.”

  “Hooray for our side.” Farrell stood up, wobbled dangerously but waved her away. “Let me show you what I did last night while you were sleeping.” He half crawled, half limped to the tree that leaned so idiotically against the wall. Grasping it at the top he neatly removed the last twelve inches like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat.

  “Why, for heaven’s sake,” Mrs. Pollifax said in pleased surprise.

  “I hollowed one end and sharpened the other so the two pieces fit into each other. It’s a beginning, anyway, and just the right height now to fit under my arm. Later we’ll rip and cut the branches off. Think you can collect some padding?”

  Mrs. Pollifax nodded. “There’s a very nice hole in my mattress. Not nice for sleeping but nice for taking out what’s inside. Did you know we’ve been sleeping on horsehair? It may be why I itch.” She was already extracting it from the mattress and making a bundle to fit the top of his crutch-stick.

  “What will you wrap it in?”

  “My petticoat—and therein lies a tale.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Pins,” said Mrs. Pollifax. “I never was good at sewing and both straps are pinned together.”

  “I bless your sloppiness,” said Farrell reverently.

  “If you’re going to call me sloppy I refuse to lend them to you,” she told him indignantly.

  “All right then, your charming lack of housewifery.”

  “Much better. Now if you’ll turn your head I’ll remove my petticoat.”

  “My head is turned. Better give me the stuff to work with, though, you may be summoned for your walk at any time.”

  “You can turn around now,” said Mrs. Pollifax, and she presented him with slip, pins and horsehair, whereupon they both sat down to eat their breakfast, the bread and cheese disappearing automatically into Mrs. Pollifax’s handbag, leaving them only a thin porridge with which to begin their day. What was most nourishing, however—to Mrs. Pollifax at least—was the realization that this was the day they were going to do something about their fate. They were going to act. Her fears had evaporated now. She had faced them, made her obeisance to them and now she could dismiss them. Anything was preferable to submission, and now she began to feel almost reckless at the thought of their attempt at freedom. She cleared her throat. “You still feel we should wait for dark?”

  “From what I remember of the terrain it struck me that anything else would be suicidal.”

  Mrs. Pollifax put down her spoon and nodded. “Quite true. But in which direction should we head? Right away, I mean. They’ll expect us to leave the way we came, won’t they?”

  “Yes, but can you think of anything better?” asked Farrell, and there was irony in his voice.

  Mrs. Pollifax concentrated firmly on prospects she had entertained only lightly before, and she began to understand his irony. It would be very clever of them to head east, away from the sea, and throw General Perdido off the scent for a while, but eventually they would have to double back, either this way or through the valley, and in the end they would only have added extra miles to their journey. Farrell could never endure this. In fact it was doubtful whether he had the stamina to go anywhere at all, but the thought of leaving him behind was untenable; they had to try together or not at all. Then there was the mountain behind them, and the forest in which they could hide, but here, too, Farrell’s condition prevented them from going far and General Perdido would be very aware of this.

  She said sadly, “No, I can’t think of anything better.”

  “So all we need is darkness and a great deal of luck.” He smiled at her. “It’s not too late to change your mind, you know—about including me in this wild venture, I mean. I would feel a great deal of relief if you left me behind.”

  “Absolutely not,” said Mrs. Pollifax flatly. “If I made it alone, which I doubt, I would only be extremely unhappy when I got there, which would defeat the whole purpose.” She rose to her feet as the door swung open and Lulash walked in. “Good morning, Lulash, I may go outside now?”

  “Yes, Zoje Pollifax. It was a good party last night, was it not?”

  “Every minute of it,” she told him with more cheerfulness than she possessed. “And you’re looking very well in spite of so much raki.”

  “You make all of us feel like human beings again, Mrs. Pollifax.”

  From his cot Farrell said, “Beware, Lulash, that is a very bad way to feel in a place like this.”

  There was no one to guard her this morning, and it occurred to Mrs. Pollifax that she might try to find the missile site again and observe more closely how it fitted into the cliff. In some ways it made her uneasy to be given such freedom; it was pleasant to be considered harmless, but it also proved how secure her captors felt. She wondered whether she or her captors were the more naïve, but unfortunately this would not be discovered until the escape had been committed. Life had never looked better than when death was imminent, and Mrs. Pollifax found herself looking long and ardently at earth, sky and clouds.

  She cut across the seam in the rocks and climbed doggedly toward the slanting pines in the wood. Once she had reached the trees she stopped to recapture both her breath and her sense of direction; she and the colonel had entered the woods at this point, and gradually made their way downhill to meet the cliff again a half mile beyond; she would therefore follow the course that Colonel Nexdhet had set. Patting her moist temples with her handkerchief Mrs. Pollifax resumed her walk. She had moved only a few hundred yards deeper into the trees when she began hearing a very peculiar noise ahead. It was a familiar sound, but not customarily heard in a forest, so that she could not for the life of her identify its source. The feverish crackling sound came from between two large boulders that leaned toward each other up ahead.

  Deeply curious, Mrs. Pollifax hesitated and then tiptoed across the fallen pine needles to the rocks. At once a voice broke the stillness of the woods but the crackling sounds continued without interruption.

  “Static!” thought Mrs. Pollifax, brightening. Of course, it was static and someone had carried a radio here into the woods.

  The canned voice stopped speaking, and to Mrs. Pollifax’s amazement a live voice began talking from behind the rock. Mrs. Pollifax poked her head between the two rocks and stared through the gloom at the man seated on the ground facing her in the small cavity there. “Why, Colonel Nexdhet!” she faltered. He was speaking into a telephone—no, a walkie-talkie, she recalled—and at the sound of her voice he dropped the mechanism as if it were a live coal.

  “Mrs. Pollifax!” There was no doubt but that she was interrupting something clandestine; his eyes were blazing. He picked up the fallen walkie-talkie, spoke a stream of foreign words into it, and then placed the instrument in a hole of the rock.

  “What are you doing here? Why are you allowed in the woods this morning?” he barked, crawling from the hole and standing beside her.

  She said scornfully, “So this is how you report to General Perdido! And if you come out here to do it secretly then you must inform not only on Mr. Farrell and myself but on General Hoong as well. You’re nothing but a paid informer, Colonel Nexdhet! Shame.”

  He glanced back once among the rocks and then firmly grasped Mrs. Pollifax by the arm. “I will take you back to your cell,” he said firmly.

  “I trust you told General Perdido that Mr. Farrell is in glowing health, and can scarcely wait to see the general again? And that a party took place last night, with subversive songs being sung under the influence of raki? You quite disillusion me, Colonel Nexdhet!”

  He remained silent, his mouth in a grim line. They reached the edge of the wood and emerged into the blinding sunshine. He helped her over the stones toward the two buildings, his hand tight on her arm. Both Lulash and Major Vassovic were in the gu
ardroom but he did not so much as look at them. He marched Mrs. Pollifax straight to her cell, closed the door behind her and turned the key in the lock. She heard him issuing curt orders in the guardroom.

  “He sounds peeved about something,” said Farrell pleasantly.

  Mrs. Pollifax said indignantly, “Colonel Nexdhet is nothing more than a paid informer. A spy on his own men. An informer on everyone.”

  Farrell said mildly, “What on earth makes you say that?”

  “Never mind, just beware of him. He’s not to be trusted.” She added in a kinder voice, “I’ll tell you about it when we get out of here—if ever we do. Just remember he’s not to be trusted.”

  “But I never did trust him,” pointed out Farrell logically. “He’s a colonel in their secret police, isn’t he?”

  “Yes,” said Mrs. Pollifax forlornly. She sat down on her cot and stared into the long, desolate and nerve-racking day that lay ahead of them and she wanted to cry. Instead she brought out her deck of playing cards and shuffled them.

  At noon it was not Lulash who brought lunch to them but the guard who did not speak English, and when he left he carefully locked the door behind him. Nor did anyone else come. The afternoon wore on, hour by hour. Mrs. Pollifax played every game of solitaire that she had learned, and then played each one again, and then chose her favorites and played them until she was tired to death of cards. She reflected that Senor DeGamez could certainly not have foreseen the conditions under which she would play his cherished game, and remembering his kindness she thought of him for a moment. He had been a spy too; perhaps he had played his games of solitaire under precisely such conditions. She did hope he was in good health because obviously Mr. Carstairs’ friends proved very poor insurance risks.

  The dinner trays arrived, and with them Colonel Nexdhet. “Good evening,” he said in a pleasant voice, as if nothing unusual had happened. “We are getting ready for General Perdido’s return, he arrives by plane about half-past eight and should be with us by nine or half past.”

  “That’s interesting,” said Mrs. Pollifax politely. It would be quite dark by then—good! “What time is it now, Colonel Nexdhet?”

  “Half-past six.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “I always thought we ate at five although I never really knew. Is it really so late?”

  He said primly, “Usually the trays are brought to you by five, yes. We are late tonight because we are understaffed. General Hoong and Lulash have gone to meet General Perdido, leaving only myself, Major Vassovic and Stefan here, and two guards in the other building.”

  Mrs. Pollifax met Farrell’s glance; the colonel was a veritable mine of information.

  Nexdhet added casually, “And when you have completed the crutch you are making—and I advise you to finish it at once—I would appreciate your returning my knife to me. I am very fond of it and would prefer that you not take it with you.”

  They stared at him incredulously—it was a full minute before his words were absorbed. Mrs. Pollifax gasped, “I beg your pardon?”

  “You know?” said Farrell in a stunned voice.

  “Of course.”

  “But how?”

  Colonel Nexdhet shrugged. “It is my business to know.”

  Mrs. Pollifax was staring at him in astonishment. “You know and yet you’re not going to give us away?”

  “Give you away?” He frowned. “Like a bride?”

  Farrell was studying the man intently. “She means you’re not going to inform on us, you’re not going to prevent us from this absolutely wild escape idea?”

  “But how can I?” he inquired blandly. “I know nothing of such plans. And if I did I am quite weaponless, as you see, whereas you have my knife as well as a loaded Nambu pistol.”

  “You know that, too?” gasped Farrell.

  Mrs. Pollifax’s eyes narrowed. She took a deep breath. “Colonel Nexdhet,” she said, “just what were you doing in the woods this morning?”

  “I am extremely sorry you saw that, Mrs. Pollifax, it would have been much safer for all of us if you had not.”

  Farrell said, “What did you see in the woods this morning, Duchess?”

  “I don’t know,” she faltered, watching the colonel. “That is, I must have leaped to the wrong conclusion. I thought—he was in the woods listening to a voice on the radio, and then he talked back into the radio. He was very upset when I saw him, he escorted me back here and locked the cell.”

  “He was in the woods—secretly?”

  She nodded. “Hidden under two rocks.”

  Farrell drew in his breath sharply. “Over these mountains lies Yugoslavia, and to the east is Bulgaria; they’re both within reach of radio.” Farrell stared at Nexdhet and suddenly began laughing. “My God,” he gasped, “you’re a Russian agent!”

  “He’s a what?” echoed Mrs. Pollifax in a shocked voice.

  “Of course! They left him behind to report on the Red Chinese!”

  Colonel Nexdhet walked to the door, placed his ear against it and listened. “No one is there,” he said, coming back, “but would you do me the kindness to speak in a lower voice?”

  “My apologies,” said Farrell, his eyes still brimming with laughter. “Don’t you see, Duchess? He’s the only one here who goes for walks. Bird-watching, you said. He has radio contact with someone across the mountains.” To Nexdhet he said, “But why help us?”

  Nexdhet sighed. “I strongly dislike the word help. I am not helping you.”

  “All right, you’re not helping us.”

  Mrs. Pollifax suddenly blurted out, “But you have been helping, Colonel Nexdhet! That knife—you deliberately wore that knife in here last night, you’ve never worn one before. And you showed up wearing it just after we’d been talking about how badly we needed one!”

  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.