The Persian Price (26 page)

‘You're looking very well, Madame,' he said. ‘Our friend has been taking good care of you.'

He walked towards her and she ran to the other side of the bed.

‘Go away from me! When he gets back he'll kill you if you touch me again!'

Madeleine moved closer. She was very pale and there was something in her face that frightened Eileen more than the slow grin on the Frenchman's mouth.

‘He won't
be
back,' Madeleine said. ‘He's dead.'

Eileen stared at each of them. She shook her head.

‘I don't believe you! I don't believe you!'

‘Put your hands on your head,' Madeleine said, ‘otherwise he'll shoot you in the legs. Hurry up!'

‘It isn't true,' Eileen was crying. ‘You're trying to frighten me … He's coming back this afternoon …'

‘He's dead,' Madeleine shouted at her. She strode round to where Eileen stood, cowering by the bed with her back to the wall. She stepped up and hit her hard across the face with the back of her hand.

‘Thanks to you,' she said. ‘You corrupted a good man. You ruined him. Now you're going to pay for it. Resnais and I will see to that! Now put your hands on your head, you bitch, before I smash your stupid face.'

She had been trained in unarmed combat; she was fit and very strong. She caught Eileen and spun her round; she gave her a violent push towards the door. Resnais stood by, pointing the gun at her.

‘Go on,' he said. ‘I wouldn't provoke her, Madame. You took her man away. I don't think she liked that.'

Eileen heard him laugh. She saw the Lebanese girl give him a venomous look. She raised her arms and placed her hands on her head. She walked ahead of them out of the room. She passed Ahmed in the hall as they crossed from the stairs. She gave him a look of appeal but he turned away. They went through into the kitchen and out into a passage, where Resnais opened a door, and down a flight of stairs. She found it difficult to walk down them and she lowered her arms. There was a door at the end. In front of it she stopped. She looked at the Frenchman.

‘I don't care if you kill me,' she said. ‘If he's dead, I don't care what happens to me.'

‘Shut up,' Resnais said.

Madeleine unlocked the door at the foot of the steps.

‘Get inside,' she said.

It was pitch dark; blinded by the contrast to the electric lights outside, Eileen could distinguish nothing as she walked into the room. Her hands lowered in expectation of the shot in the back of the head. She felt no fear. Her sole sensation, was a grinding pain of grief. But there was no shot. The door slammed and she was left alone. She sank down on the ground and sobbed, not for herself but for the man she loved as she had never loved anything or anyone, not even her child. It was a long time before she got up; she was exhausted from crying. There was a dim light in the room coming from an air vent high up in the wall. She could see the outline of racks filled with bottles and knew she was in the wine cellar. She found the door and ran her hands over the walls looking for a switch, but the lights were turned on from outside. There was a cold, musty smell. She went round the wine racks and made a circle of the room. There was only the one door and the one little vent letting in the feeble light. There were no facilities, no bed, not even a bucket. She sank down on the floor again and knew that this signified their intention to kill her. Her feelings were confused.

Shock had deadened fear; agony for Peters overrode the terror implicit in being at the mercy of the Frenchman and the woman. Now that fear mounted. Eileen began to shiver in the cold and darkness. They hadn't killed her; she gave a moan of fear at the idea that they intended to punish her in some way. ‘Thanks to you,' the girl had said before she hit her. They had murdered Peters. They had murdered him because they had discovered that he and she were lovers. And they had brought her down to this cellar – for what purpose? The Frenchman had tortured her and almost raped her; she could imagine what that woman with hate blazing in her eyes would do …

Panic swept up on her and she fought to keep control. Peters would want her to stay calm. She fixed his image in her mind and the threat of hysteria receded. She remembered his kisses that morning, the comfort of being held in his arms. It had been a final leave-taking. She had that to strengthen her and give her courage. The end didn't matter. To face it with dignity was important. To keep him in her mind and to go to meet him. The idea gave her peace. She knelt for a time, her face covered by her hands, and prayed for him and for herself. Then she settled down to wait.

‘Mr Kelly?'

James went stiff at the sound of the voice over the telephone. He was sitting outside the drawing room, smoking and listening to the gentle night-time chorus in the garden. A French diplomat and his wife had dined quietly with him that evening; most of the time was spent discussing Khorvan's murder. He had retreated into the garden for a last cigarette before going to bed. The British Embassy had obtained an audience with the Shah in three days' time. He picked up the phone and heard Homsi's voice.

‘What is it?' James said. ‘Is anything wrong?' Alarm made him abrupt. It was nearly midnight.

‘That's for you to say,' Homsi answered. ‘I've just had a disturbing piece of news, Mr Kelly. I hear that Mr Field has signed an agreement with the Japanese Government!'

‘Oh, Christ!' James groaned, covering the mouthpiece. ‘Where did you hear this? I'm sure it's not correct.'

‘From a private source,' the Syrian said. ‘I am afraid this may have very serious consequences.'

‘Wait a moment,' Kelly almost shouted at him. ‘Listen to me. If it
is
true, I can explain what's happened. When can I see you?'

‘Tomorrow,' Homsi said. ‘I feel this is very urgent, Mr Kelly. Unless you can give me a satisfactory explanation, I am very much afraid of what may happen.'

‘Where and what time?' Kelly said. ‘As early as possible.'

‘I will wait down the road from your house,' the Syrian said. ‘Pick me up in your car at seven-thirty. We can go for a drive and you can go on to your office. I think it is very foolish of Mr Field to go back on his word.'

Before James could deny it, he had rung off. He stood and looked at the phone in his hand; the line was buzzing clear. He put it down and dialled the Hilton hotel. There was a long pause and finally someone on the night switchboard answered. He told them to put him through to Mrs Armstrong. She answered immediately, but he could tell by her voice that she had been asleep. He didn't waste time.

‘I've had a call,' she said. ‘Apparently Logan has signed with the Japanese. Have you heard anything?'

‘Yes,' he heard Janet say. ‘He cabled me this morning. The negotiation has been a complete success. They've agreed to finance the refinery. What do you mean, you've had a call? Did he ring you?'

‘No,' James said. ‘He bloody well didn't. Homsi phoned me. He says this could have serious consequences. They think he's gone back on his word. You realize what this may mean for Eileen?'

‘How did they find out?' She sounded wide awake now. ‘Nobody knew. It was highly confidential.'

‘Listen,' James said. ‘Listen to me. If you don't want her death on your conscience, you cable him to get back here. Send it tonight and tell him to take the next Might available. I'm seeing Homsi tomorrow and I can maybe hold him off till Logan gets here.'

‘All right.' He heard Janet hesitate and he called her a vile name under his breath. ‘I'll send it.'

‘He's made his choice, hasn't he?' James said. ‘And you knew it. You knew when he signed with the Japs that he was going to rat on the terms. He's a murderer, a cold-blooded murderer. You'd better get him back here.' He rang off.

At seven-fifteen the next morning, Saiid Homsi took a car from his Embassy and it left him at the end of the road leading to Kelly's driveway. It was overcast and hot, with a suggestion of a storm in the air. He walked slowly down the road. His own car had driven off. There was nobody about at that hour. Homsi heard the car coming up behind him and he stopped, waiting for it to draw level. Before it came to a halt, the two rear doors were flung open and three men jumped out. Homsi didn't have time to turn round before they reached him. He was knocked unconscious and heaved into the back of the car in less than a minute. It drove off at speed toward the north of the city. At seven-thirty exactly, James Kelly came out of the driveway and pulled into the road. He waited until eight o'clock for the Syrian to appear and in a mood of desperation gave up and went to Imperial Oil's office on Shah Reza Avenue.

A call put through to the Syrian Embassy gave him no information. Homsi had not come into the building. He left a message asking him to contact him urgently and, when the morning passed and there was no call, he phoned the Syrian Embassy again. This time he was cut off abruptly without being told anything. By the middle of the afternoon, the Embassy itself had begun to make inquiries. The Tehran police were unable to assist them. They took details of the missing trade attaché and Syrian security men visited his rooms. The driver of the car that had taken him to Shemiran that morning was questioned but knew nothing which could explain the mystery.

By eight the following morning, Saiid Homsi had told Colonel Ardalan a number of things which enabled him to fit the vital pieces into his puzzle. The Colonel went home for breakfast; he was very tired because it had been a long day and a long night. He had not permitted the prisoner an hour's respite. There was a
SAVAK
doctor in attendance, who listened to the Syrian's heart and checked his blood pressure at intervals during the interrogation. The Colonel didn't want him to collapse and die with any question left unanswered. Homsi proved to be wiry and tough. He sustained pain with fortitude and held out until the unbearable threshold was reached and overtaken. Ardalan watched the transformation into a mindless animal and, in the later stages, put a knob of cotton wool into his ears. When he returned to his family and took breakfast, a habit he had picked up during his course at the Military Academy at Sandhurst, the doctor had advised him that the prisoner would not survive without a respite. He drank coffee and ate hot bread rolls, baked with honey and raisins, and played with his smallest child before it was taken to school. He knew now why Saiid Homsi had contacted Logan Field. He made a report over the scrambled telephone to the Shah's private number at the Saadabad Palace. It was regrettable, but on medical advice he had to defer further questioning until that evening. In the meantime the prisoner was being given protestin injections to raise his blood pressure.

It was the worst day that James Kelly could remember. Contact with Homsi was his only link with the kidnappers. He had presented himself at the Syrian Embassy that evening and asked to see Homsi's superior. He was turned away without an interview and the attitude of the staff was openly hostile. Nobody could tell him anything and nobody would see him. He returned defeated to his house at Shemiran to find Janet Armstrong waiting for him with the telex announcing Logan's arrival from Tokyo the next day. He read it and threw it aside. He didn't ask her to sit down and when he poured himself a whisky, he didn't offer one to her.

‘He needn't bother,' he said. ‘They've cut off all contact with us. Homsi didn't turn up this morning and the Embassy are denying all knowledge of him.' He looked at Janet. She was cool and smart as always but there were dark rings under her eyes and she seemed subdued. He hoped he was conveying his feelings towards her.

‘What does it mean?' she asked.

‘It means,' James said slowly, ‘that they know Logan was double dealing. Promising one thing and doing another. They don't stand for that kind of thing.' He took a swallow of his whisky. ‘My guess is, you don't have a problem any more. I think by now, Eileen is dead.'

He was surprised to see her turn away.

‘Don't say that. It wasn't Logan's fault.'

Kelly didn't answer.

‘They never meant to let her go,' Janet said. ‘Whatever he did, she hadn't a chance.'

‘If you don't mind,' Kelly finished his drink, ‘I won't come out to the car with you.'

‘I suppose you blame me for saying so,' she said.

Kelly shook his head.

‘I don't blame you,' he said. ‘You had your eye on the main chance. She wasn't your responsibility. Common humanity might have counted with some people, but you don't have any. No, I don't blame you. I'm sure you won't blame yourself.'

She started to say something and then suddenly she burst into tears.

‘You bastard!'

She ran out of the room and he heard the door slam. The house was very quiet. It had been better when she was there. He had been able to vent his feelings. The silence was unbearable. He wished he could have gone after her and made her stay. He poured a second whisky and sat down with it. He had to find Homsi. If the Syrian was avoiding him, he still had to find him. To plead, beg, promise – do anything, if there was any chance left.

He put a call through to Colonel Ardalan. It was no good waiting for the Shah and presuming on a relationship which had its origins in political pragmatism. He needed help immediately.

Madeleine had been drinking. Resnais had never seen her drink as much wine as she did that night; they ate a good meal on the terrace and she shouted at Ahmed to bring brandy. She leaned over the table towards Resnais.

‘I wonder if that bitch is feeling hungry by now?'

He shrugged.

‘If she's thirsty she can open a bottle.' They both laughed. ‘You were very good today,' he said.

‘So were you.' Madeleine raised the glass to him. ‘What did Damascus say?'

‘All Arab patriots will mourn.' Resnais imitated the high pitched voice of their radio contact. ‘And so they should,' he added. ‘He was a hero, killed by a mischance. I said that you were lying down in a dark room.' He looked at her and grinned. She was no longer laughing with him.