Amazing Mrs. Pollifax (18 page)

Mrs. Pollifax looked at him in amazement. “Colin,” she said, “you’re an extraordinary young man.”

He returned her glance, looked startled, and then a slow smile spread across his face. “Yes,” he said with an air of discovery. “I believe I am.”

Their precipitous flight from Yozgat was interrupted by Sebastien, who somewhat desperately reminded them that he had a horse, a dog, a wagon and a dancing bear to be retrieved. Colin crawled up front to the window and held a three-way conversation, the translations supplied by his uncle, but he crawled back to report that Sebastien was adamant: he could not go any further without his menage. They stopped briefly beside the road at the place where the gypsy had made camp; Sebastien looked for several moments at Uncle Hu’s map, then marked a cross on the road, halfway between Yozgat and Kayseri.

Uncle Hu said, “He tells me the gypsies will be somewhere near the cross he’s marked, and camping within sight of the road because they expect him to follow.”

“And will he follow?”

“He’ll hope to catch up with us by dawn.”

They thanked Sebastien profusely for his help, Mrs. Pollifax gave him money from the wad pinned inside her baggy pants, and they resumed their breakneck trip south. Watching Mrs. Pollifax return the bills to their hiding place Sandor said with a weak grin, “The Bank of Pollifax, eh?”

“Hold still,” Colin told him sharply, trying to wrap gauze around Sandor’s bleeding wrists. “Uncle Hu always drives like this,” he explained resignedly, “although I rather imagine he’s trying to cover as much ground as possible before
dark. You’ve no idea how black it gets out here on the plateau.”

“No street lights,” said Mrs. Pollifax brightly. “What time is it now?”

“Nearly eight. One hour until dark. There,” he said, tying the last knot on Sandor’s bandage and turning to Mrs. Pollifax. “Hold out your wrists. I do hope you’ve had tetanus shots recently, they’re a pulpy mess.”

“Shouldn’t you do Magda’s first?”

He laughed shortly. “Why? She has an advantage over you, she’s unconscious. But her wrists aren’t in such bad shape, they must have been untied when they drugged her.” He looked soberly at Mrs. Pollifax and said, “By the way, I think it’s time I ask how much Dr. Belleaux found out while he held you three captive.”

Mrs. Pollifax sighed. “Nearly everything.”

“Good God!”

She nodded. “This time they gave Magda a different sort of drug. They tried first to make her talk without it, but she wouldn’t.” To Sandor she said frankly, “You know who she is now, too.”

He dropped his eyes.
“Evet.”

“But does Dr. Belleaux know about the
gypsies
?” Colin asked. When Mrs. Pollifax nodded he shook his head. “What a foul piece of luck! That means he knows precisely where we’re heading, or soon will. Everyone in Yozgat can tell him the gypsies have gone south.”

Mrs. Pollifax felt it unnecessary to reply. The fresh air that had revived her was beginning to stupefy her now, and the wonder of being rescued was being replaced by fresh worries. She felt very weak, and a little nauseous—a reasonable reaction to what she had gone through but still inconvenient. If choice were given her she would without hesitation choose a hospital—even a nursing home would do, she thought wistfully—where she could bleed quietly between clean sheets, rouse only to sip nourishing liquids and to observe new ice packs being placed on bruises and swellings before drifting off into an exhausted sleep. Instead she was rocketing off across the bumpy Anatolian plain again, in a rather dirty van, while she sat on an extremely dirty floor holding on for dear life and adjusting to the realization that
they were still in danger, and probably greater danger now because Dr. Belleaux knew everything about them.

Aloud she said, “Dr. Belleaux is going to be feeling very nasty, I think—he’s just lost that elegant Istanbul life of his that he planned to get back to tomorrow, after burying us in some ruins.”

“He almost did bury us,” growled Sandor.

Mrs. Pollifax considered this and nodded. Yes, there was a great deal to be said for such an attitude: without Colin they would be dead now, in which case there would be no choice left them at all.
I’ll feel sorry for myself later
, decided Mrs. Pollifax, and firmly put aside thoughts of rest to take charge again. “What weapons do we have, Colin?”

He looked amused. “You’ve gone professional again—I’m relieved. I still have Stefan’s pistol, with three shots fired.”

“They did not search me,” Sandor said, bringing out the gun he had periodically waved at them. “But wotthehell, it’s empty,” he added sadly.

“Uncle Hu may have something,” Colin said. “Of course he may no longer carry a gun because he’s never been attacked on these trips by anything more than a goat. If he ever slows down I’ll ask him.”

But his uncle Hu gave no sign of slowing down, in fact as the road grew more atrocious his speed seemed to increase, as if he regarded the stones and gullies and potholes as an affront to an unblemished record. Magda had been rolled into a rug and braced against one wall; she was almost to be envied. If this was Wednesday, thought Mrs. Pollifax nostalgically—and she thought it was—she would be wheeling the hospital’s bookcart at home, and tomorrow she would normally be having her karate lessons with Lorvale.

Except what was normalcy, she wondered; in Mr. Carstairs’ world she was not even overdue yet, and certainly he had no idea that in cabling Dr. Belleaux her identity and description he had signed her death warrant for so long as she was in this country and at the mercy of Dr. Belleaux’s considerable resources. She was neatly trapped indeed. Each new detail that Dr. Belleaux learned only inflamed his desperation as well as his ambitions:
he must
find them. They could escape him for the moment by going to the Turkish police and appealing
for help, but this would at once cancel all hope of Magda fleeing the country; she would again become public property to be schemed over, fought over, questioned, requestioned and exploited. But even worse. Mrs. Pollifax suspected that by surrendering to the police they would become sitting targets for Dr. Belleaux instead of moving ones. It would take time and patience for their shocking charges against Dr. Belleaux to be investigated and proven, and while facts were checked they would be confined to some small area accessible only to the police, many of whom had already been charmed by that genius of criminology Dr. Belleaux. What would the headlines be then, she wondered: Mysterious Explosion Wipes Out Political Prisoners? or Fire Sweeps Wing of Prison, Five Dead? It was too risky to contemplate.

In any case, without passport and wanted for Henry’s murder, Mrs. Pollifax could certainly not leave the country herself now. Her hopes had to be concentrated exclusively on Magda. If Magda could somehow be spirited beyond the border then she at least would be free—and she could communicate with Carstairs.…

She said, “How far are we from the nearest border, Colin?”

“Which one?”

“Any—except Russian,” she amended.

Sandor answered. “From Greece about two hundred and fifty kilometers. From Syria maybe three hundred.”

Mrs. Pollifax shook her head. “Too far. Where is the nearest airport then?”

Colin looked at her in dismay. “I believe there’s one at Kayseri, about fifty miles south of us. But surely—”

“Do you think they’d dream of our risking an airport?”

Colin said, “No. Yes. Oh I don’t know!”

She pointed out gently, “Every day that goes by will give Dr. Belleaux a better chance to find us. It’s Time that’s our worst enemy, but if we move boldly—”

Sandor turned and looked at her with interest.

“But that’s such a reckless
gamble
,” protested Colin. “What if it shouldn’t work?”

Sandor grinned. “She’s okay—she’s got the crazy spirit. Except wotthehell I never expect it from such a person.” He looked at Mrs. Pollifax appreciatively and his grin deepened.

Abruptly the van began a wild braking, jumped and came to a grinding halt. Uncle Hu slid open the window that in this van separated the cab from the rear. “Radiator,” he said, gesturing ahead.

Thick clouds of vapor curled up from the hood of the van, obscuring the road. “She’s boiled dry,” he added unnecessarily.

“Oh dear,” said Mrs. Pollifax, and she too crawled to the door of the van to follow Colin and Sandor outside.

“It will take time, maybe half an hour,” Ramsey said, meeting them there. “Can’t put cold water into a hot radiator or she’ll crack, you know.” He disappeared into the van and handed out sterno, pans and water jug. “Set it up, Colin,” he said. Nodding pleasantly at Mrs. Pollifax he held out his hand. “How do you do. Hugh Ramsey’s the name.”

“Emily Pollifax,” she said briskly, shaking his hand.

“That woman in there who was drugged—she hurt, too?”

“Bruised mainly. Still unconscious.”

“Might as well leave her inside then. Turkish?”

“Uh—” Mrs. Pollifax opened her mouth and then closed it. “European,” she said weakly.

Ramsey nodded and began pouring water carefully into two pans. “Damn nuisance, this,” he said in his mild voice.

Colin drew out his gun. “I’ll take a look at the road behind us,” he said, and moved off toward a cluster of rocks and disappeared, soon to appear on top of the largest one. “No one on the road for miles,” he called. “Where are we, Uncle Hu?”

His uncle shouted back, “We passed through Osmanpasa and crossed Kizil Irmak. Must be about forty miles out of Yozgat, sixty from Kayseri.”

Mrs. Pollifax was looking at the sun that hung suspended over the range in the south, possibly the same mountain range she had seen from Ankara the evening before. A curious lavender and gold light bathed the wild land around them, the beginnings of a dusk that would suddenly terminate in darkness. They could ill afford this stop, she thought, and hoped the gypsies were not far ahead. “Do you see any signs of a gypsy camp?” she called to Colin.

He turned and looked in the other direction. “No.”

The first two pans of water were boiling. Ramsey and
Sandor carried them carefully to the front of the van, opened the hood and the radiator, and poured the hot water inside. Ramsey put his ear to the radiator. “So far so good,” he said, returning to pour more water. “Drink some while we have it,” he told Mrs. Pollifax, handing her a cup.

“Do
you
know about an airport at Kayseri?” she asked him hopefully.

“Oh yes, there’s an aerodrome there. They’ve limited service, but in summer there are several flights a week to Ankara and Istanbul.”

Colin had climbed down for a drink of water and he joined them now, explaining, “Mrs. Pollifax is determined to get our passenger”—he jerked his head toward the van,—“moving toward England.”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Pollifax firmly, and asked, “Is it true—absolutely true—that if we succeeded in getting her to Kayseri she would show her passport there, but
only
there, no matter how many changes she made en route out of the country?”

Both Colin and his uncle nodded. “Quite right,” Ramsey said. “She’d go through Passport Control and Customs at Kayseri, but at Istanbul she’d be considered
In Transit
and would be issued an In Transit card during her wait in the air terminal. This she’d give up as she boarded her plane for London or Paris or whatever.”

Mrs. Pollifax’s interest increased. This was it, of course—if it could be done. If they could get Magda to Kayseri. If she could walk through Customs without being challenged and stopped. There would be that one terrifying moment of inspection, but if she passed …

Watching her Colin said indignantly, “Mrs. Pollifax, you don’t even know the plane schedules!”

His uncle Hu startled them both by saying, “I’ve got one in the van. I try to keep very up-to-date on plane, train and boat schedules, especially in summer when everything opens up in this part of the country. The water’s hot—pour it in, will you? I’ll go and look.”

A fresh batch of water was on the fire when he returned carrying a shoebox stuffed with folders. “I’ve got it,” he said, waving one. “It’s the Van-Istanbul flight, Turkish airlines. Three days a week, Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays
departing Kayseri eight o’clock in the morning and arriving in Istanbul at eleven, with an asterisk denoting that this plane makes connections with the noon flights to Paris and London.”

“Well!” said Mrs. Pollifax, delighted. “I believe I’ll go inside and see if Magda’s stirring yet.”

“Take her some water,” Colin suggested.

“You’ll need a flashlight inside,” contributed Ramsey, and crawled in ahead of her. Colin and Sandor followed and they all surrounded Magda, who remained inert.

Mrs. Pollifax felt her pulse. “She seems all right,” she said doubtfully. “She just doesn’t wake up.”

Colin said peevishly, “How you can even think of her taking a
plane
in a day or two!”

Uncle Hu said firmly, “If she can swallow water we must give her some before she becomes dehydrated. I’ll hold her up. Give me the cup of water, and Colin shine the flashlight on her face.”