Unexpected Mrs. Pollifax Page 7

“I thought at first these mountains might be the Himalayas, but this isn’t China. The mountains aren’t high enough, there aren’t enough of them and the whole topography is wrong.”

  “I shouldn’t care at all for China,” Mrs. Pollifax agreed.

  “One has to think of the few parts of the world where the Red Chinese are welcome. There aren’t many, you know. That town we passed through was definitely not Chinese, it was Balkan in flavor. These mountains must belong to the Albanian Alps, and certainly these men are Europeans.”

  Mrs. Pollifax nodded. “I thought they looked Greek.”

  “If this is Albania then Greece is only a few hundred miles away,” he pointed out. “You saw how primitive the airport was, and you see how primitive the country is. If we’re in Europe there’s no other country but Albania where the Red Chinese can come and go at will.”

  “I didn’t know they could come and go anywhere in Europe,” said Mrs. Pollifax indignantly.

  “It happened about 1960,” he mused, his brow furrowed. “Until then Russia was Albania’s big brother and pretty much in control of the country. Then Stalin was denounced—that was a surprise to the world, you must remember that. It rocked Albania, too—they’re Stalinist here, you see. I don’t recall the details, it happened at one of their Big Party Congresses, but there was rather ugly name-calling, with China and Albania siding against Khrushchev. Russia punished Albania by withdrawing all its aid, all its technicians, all its military, and China very happily moved in to help. The chance of a lifetime, giving Red China a toehold in Europe.”

  “I didn’t know,” faltered Mrs. Pollifax. “The very idea—and to think that I subscribe to Time magazine. I really must stop skipping the Balkan news. But why bring us here? Why go to such a great deal of trouble?”

  Farrell gave her a quick glance and looked away. “Perhaps they feel we’re worth the trouble,” he pointed out gently.

  “Oh,” said Mrs. Pollifax in a small voice and was silent.

  The car had been climbing steeply for the past twenty minutes on a road that appeared to be carved out of the side of the mountain. On the left the car lights picked out weird rock shapes, on the right side nothing, and Mrs. Pollifax had a terrible suspicion that there really was nothing there, and that any nervous turning of the wheel would send them hurtling through space into the valley. Higher and higher they climbed until at last the car came to a stop and their two guards came to life and jumped out. They spoke rapidly to the driver in a strange, oddly nasal language, and gestured to Farrell and Mrs. Pollifax to leave the car. Once outside they found themselves in a vast basin of desolate gray rock, and noting this, Mrs. Pollifax realized the darkness was dissolving and that dawn must be near. Another day, she thought wonderingly, and suddenly, quite absurdly, recalled her son Roger telling her to wire him if she found herself in a jam.

  “This is extremely sticky jam I’m in,” she reflected. “Treacly, oozy black raspberry, I think. And no Western Unions.”

  One of the guards had disappeared behind a rock. Now he reappeared leading four donkeys, and to Mrs. Pollifax’s consternation the man signaled that she mount one of them. “I can’t,” she said in a low voice to Farrell, and to the guard she said in a louder voice, “I can’t.”

  “I believe you’re going to have to,” Farrell pointed out in amusement.

  She eyed the animal with distaste and in turn it eyed her with suspicion. Farrell moved forward to help; it was only with his intercession that a truce was accomplished between the two, and this was mainly because, once upon its back, the donkey could no longer see Mrs. Pollifax. When Farrell and the guards had also mounted donkeys they formed a procession and moved on.

  The wilderness path along which they moved was desolate beyond belief. This was a country where all life had been extinguished, to be supplanted by rocks of every color, shape and formation. The air was thin but only a little cooler than the valley. There was no shade of any kind. Slowly, as they traveled, the sunrise spread a golden light across the valley and Mrs. Pollifax could look down upon green slopes and occasional trees, but the rising of the sun brought warmth as well, followed by heat, and between this and the donkey Mrs. Pollifax was soon extremely uncomfortable. Horseback riding had never been her métier, and sitting sidesaddle on a donkey was taxing; it took a great deal of energy simply to keep from falling off, and the donkey moved with unexpected lurches. They had traveled for perhaps an hour when Farrell said suddenly, “Psst—look.”

  Mrs. Pollifax reluctantly lifted her eyes. They had left behind the bleak gray rocks and cliffs of the first leg of their journey and had come out upon a small plateau literally carpeted with stones. The ground was like a brook bed that had been emptied of silt and water—the stones were scattered everywhere in such profusion that not a blade of grass could grow. The sun beat down mercilessly on the landscape, turning everything into a tawny color of yellow dust. At the edge of the cliff overlooking the valley stood a square, fortresslike building made of stone piled upon stone, with only black slits for windows. It stood at the very edge of the precipice, and after a drop of a hundred or so feet the earth formed a rock-strewn terrace, and below this another, showing tentative signs of green, and then the earth flowed like a green river down to the floor of the valley. As her donkey picked its way over the stones Mrs. Pollifax saw a second, smaller building at some distance from the first, also built of rocks and precisely like the other except in size. If she were a tourist, thought Mrs. Pollifax wistfully, this would be a wild and romantic scene; one could imagine bandit chieftains holing up in these impregnable buildings, completely safe against attack. But unfortunately she was not a tourist, she was an American spy who had been abducted—no, captured, she thought uneasily—and no one on God’s green earth knew where she was except the people who had brought her here. For just the briefest of moments she allowed herself to think of her children, of Jane having a safe and happy vacation in Canada, of Roger, who had told her to wire him if she got into a jam. “If it just didn’t seem so unreal,” thought Mrs. Pollifax unhappily. “I mean—what on earth am I doing here? I’m in Albania—at least Farrell thinks it’s Albania.” And again she felt it was preposterous, her being in Albania. Why, she didn’t even own a passport.

  “Journey’s end,” commented Farrell dryly, with a nod at the smaller building toward which they were heading.

  She said crossly, “I really don’t think you need put it in just that manner.” But as they approached the second of the two buildings she realized that unconsciously she had begun bracing herself for the worst. She drew herself up to her full height—it was a little difficult on a donkey—and said primly, “I have always found that in painful situations it is a sensible idea to take each hour as it comes and not to anticipate beyond. But oh how I wish I could have a bath!”

  Someone must have noted their approach through the slits in the wall because the iron door of the building opened as they drew near. A man stepped out into the blazing sun with a rifle under his arm but Mrs. Pollifax was too busy to pay him any attention; she was involved in separating herself from the animal to which she had become welded during the past hour. No sooner did she stand upright, all her bones protesting, when the guard grasped her arm and led her into the building.

  “Journey’s end,” she thought bleakly, looking around her at more stone—really she was growing very tired of stones. In shape the building was a rectangle about thirty feet long. The door through which they entered was set at one end of the long rectangle, and as they entered they faced a room that occupied the precipice end of the structure. On their left was a dark hall that ran across the front, and looking down it Mrs. Pollifax saw two iron cell doors opening from it. She quickly turned her gaze back to the room, which contained a desk, a chair, a water cooler, a well-stocked gun rack, a small switchboard and a gray-haired man dressed in a uniform. He greeted them curtly in English.

  “I am Major Vassovic.” With this announcement he took a huge iron key from the wall
and led them down the hall to the first door and opened it. “In, please,” he said.

  “I don’t suppose you have any aspirin,” Mrs. Pollifax asked him hopefully. “I’ve had the most ridiculous headache for hours. I don’t often get them, you know, and I don’t mean to complain, but I’ve been doped twice and apparently fed intravenously, and it’s been a rather exhausting plane ride—”

  The major looked at her in astonishment, and then carefully wiped all expression from his face. “I have no orders to give you anything,” he told her stiffly.

  Farrell gently pulled her into the room, the door clanged shut behind them and Mrs. Pollifax said, “I don’t see how one aspirin could …” Her voice died away at sight of their prison. It was quite decent in size, but so dark—lighted only by the two slits in the wall—that it was twilight inside. There was to be no privacy for her or Farrell, she noted; none at all except for the dimness. There was an iron cot at each end of the room, with a night chamber under each; there were two small tables and that was all. No chairs, no screens, no lavatory, no clothespegs, nothing else except the oppressive stone walls and floor.

  “Well,” said Farrell, and sat down on a cot.

  “Well,” said Mrs. Pollifax, and sat down on the other cot. They stared at each other through the gloom, a distance of perhaps twelve feet, and Mrs. Pollifax realized that the silence was becoming long and much too dismal. “Well,” she said again, briskly, and getting up she carried one of the tables to the cot, reached into her purse and began spreading out her deck of playing cards.

  “Not again,” groaned Farrell. “Not here.”

  “Whyever not?” said Mrs. Pollifax and was glad to see him diverted.

  She had played three games when the door was unlocked and opened and a guard gestured that she come with him. Farrell also stood up but the guard shook his head. Farrell said lightly, “Well—I do feel snubbed. Good luck, Duchess.”

  Mrs. Pollifax did not look back. Her knees were trembling, and this unexpected separation from Farrell—on whom she had once looked askance—left her feeling very lonely. She was led out into the blazing sun to stumble over the stones to the other, larger building. The door was opened from inside and Mrs. Pollifax was led into a large cool room of white-washed stone. The room was furnished like Major Vassovic’s office except that everything was larger. There were two men in the room, both in uniform, but Mrs. Pollifax’s glance flew to the man seated at the desk.

  “Why, Senor DeGamez,” she gasped. “How did you get here?”

  His gold tooth flashed in a brief smile. “In the same manner that you did, Mrs. Pollifax. Allow me to present General Hoong, who is in charge of the—uh—buildings here.”

  “How do you do,” Mrs. Pollifax said politely to the Chinese. He bowed, his expression remote, and Mrs. Pollifax immediately forgot him. “Except that of course you’re not the real Senor DeGamez, I know that now,” she went on. “I realized it as soon as I saw the empty parrot cage. It had one feather in it.”

  “Actually I am General Raoul Perdido,” he said, motioning her to take the chair beside his desk. “Do sit down, Mrs. Pollifax, we have a few things to discuss. Pleasantly or unpleasantly, depending upon your attitude.”

  Brainwashing, thought Mrs. Pollifax contemptuously, and suddenly realized that she was not afraid. She had endured other crises without losing her dignity—births, widowhood, illnesses—and she was experienced enough to know now that everything worthwhile took time and loneliness, perhaps even one’s death as well. “I don’t mean to be morbid,” she told herself. “It’s just that I refuse to be frightened by a man whose only weapon over me is the cessation of life. After all, I have nothing to hide. I only wish I did. I’m not even a spy. I almost was, but then this horrid man rushed in to spoil everything.” She sat down and faced him with growing indignation. Aloud she said, “May I ask, General Perdido, just why you had to abduct me like this?”

  He leaned back in his chair, lit a cigar and suddenly impaled her with a sharp glance. “I had hoped for a more intelligent question from you than this, Mrs. Pollifax. I abhor pretended innocence.”

  “And I have a great deal to complain about,” she retorted, “and no consul to whom I can complain. I was having a very pleasant vacation in Mexico, and now I am informed that I am in Albania. Is this true?”

  “I am in charge of the questioning,” said General Perdido.

  “Then you have been very extravagant,” she told him coldly. “You have flown me thousands of miles across the world to ask questions that could have been very easily asked in Mexico. I don’t know what country you work for, General Perdido, but your taxpayers would certainly have every right to be furious if they knew.”

  The general’s face darkened. “I see that you are going to deny you are an American spy.”

  “Spy?” said Mrs. Pollifax scornfully. “Is that what you take me for? This is one more grievance I must hold against you, General.”

  “Fool,” spat the general. “You are not in the United States now, and you are not in Mexico, Mrs. Pollifax, and—”

  “Then I wish that you would tell me where I am,” she reminded him.

  “Never mind,” he shouted. “Wherever it is, you are far from home and no one knows where you are. No one, do you understand? You are removed from all influence and all hope of rescue. I have methods for extracting the truth—very refined or very brutal but all of them painful. I am extremely accomplished in all of them.”

  “I’m sure you are at the very top of your profession,” she said tartly, “but I do not find it a very admirable profession.”

  General Hoong turned from the window and spoke rapidly to General Perdido. There was silence and then General Perdido said reluctantly, “Let us try to be reasonable, Mrs. Pollifax.”

  “Yes, let’s,” she agreed.

  “You visited the Parrot Bookstore a few days ago, did you not?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “To buy a book. Naturally.”

  “At this time you confided in me that you had visited the Parrot Bookstore on a previous day, is this not correct?”

  Mrs. Pollifax nodded.

  “Also at this time you inquired of me where the other Senor DeGamez was. You told me you had talked with him at some length, is this not so, Mrs. Pollifax?”

  “But of course,” said Mrs. Pollifax warmly. “He was most enjoyable, a thoroughly charming man.”

  The general said patiently, “You said he made you the gift of a book?”

  “Yes, he did, it was very kind of him.” In this matter Mrs. Pollifax could be completely frank. “We began talking, you see—about his parrot, and then about grandchildren and traveling alone. That’s when he gave me the book. He told me that solitaire was something I would enjoy very much. Have you tried it, General? He was quite right, I have found it enormously stimulating.”

  The general opened a desk drawer and brought out two books. “Then it is the book on solitaire that he gave you,” he said triumphantly.

  He held up the books and Mrs. Pollifax gasped. “Why—you have both of them! You stole them from my hotel room.”

  “But of course,” replied the general with a flash of gold tooth. “We are very thorough.”

  Mrs. Pollifax said indignantly, “Of course it’s your conscience and you’ll have to live with it, but I would like to point out that those are my books.”

  He nodded. “Yes, but one of them was presented to you by an extremely dangerous man.”

  “Was he really?” said Mrs. Pollifax.

  The general leaned back in his chair and studied her. “I think you are being a little ingenuous, Mrs. Pollifax, I do not know. We have gone through these books with what you Americans call a fine-toothed comb and we have not found anything. For the moment it is sufficiently rewarding to learn that it is this particular book that he gave you. 77 Ways to Play Solitaire,” he read with distaste, and pushed it away from him. “We shall examine it many m
ore times.”

  Mrs. Pollifax said stiffly, “Really, General, don’t you think you can become too devious, too suspicious? That book was given to me out of kindness, I can assure you of that. If you insist that it is full of secret messages written in invisible ink—”

  “Please,” said the general, looking pained.

  “Well, whatever you people use these days,” she pointed out. “At any rate, his gift of a book to me a few weeks ago seems a very feeble reason for my abduction.”

  The general stared at her with dislike. “If you are innocent you chose a most inauspicious morning to visit the Parrot Bookstore, Mrs. Pollifax.”

  “On the contrary, I chose a most auspicious morning,” she said coldly. “The sun was shining and I wanted a book to read.”

  “What is more you behaved very suspiciously when the book was not in the window.”

  “I did not behave suspiciously at all,” replied Mrs. Pollifax. “I was in hopes that you might prove just as charming as the earlier Senor DeGamez. You didn’t,” she reminded him sternly.

  “You did not so much as demur when I suggested I had something to give you.”

  “I was allowing you every opportunity to be as hospitable as the first Senor DeGamez,” she snapped. “After all, he gave me a book.”

  “Why did you accept tea from me?” he demanded. “Just what were you expecting?”

  “A chat,” said Mrs. Pollifax firmly.

  “A what?”

  “A little chat,” she said. “Is that so difficult for you to believe? My government expects each and every one of us to be traveling ambassadors when we go abroad. I was trying,” she added piously, “to know you better.”

  General Perdido exploded in what sounded like an oath. He and General Hoong exchanged glances and General Perdido said bitterly, “You may go back to your cell.”

  Mrs. Pollifax nodded and arose. “There is one other matter,” she said. “Please could I be given one aspirin?”

  CHAPTER 9

  The guard inserted the huge, comic-opera key in the lock and opened the door for Mrs. Pollifax, slamming it shut behind her. At once Farrell sprang to his feet. “Are you all right?”