Way of Escape (36 page)

Carl-Joran thought for a while then he kissed Bonnie on top of her head. “Are you okay with my being royalty?”

Bonnie laughed. “When I knew you so long ago, you were not much of a prince, my dearest Carl. In fact, you were just a big clumsy frog and no one expected much of a change in you.”

“No one?”

“Well, I was so much an optimist back in those days, I believed kissing a frog would produce a prince.”

“Should I hop about?” he laughed. “My dear, have I not changed at all?”

“Not really. You have grown into the man I expected you to become—sweet, caring, concerned. It was always there. I sincerely hope I could claim some tiny bit of credit for helping you become who you are today.”

“Bonnie, you were the crossroads of my life, and I took the path that led me here because of you. I saw you as my lover, my older woman, so mature, so sure of yourself. I adored you.”

“In such a short time together, I gave you that much?”

“Yes, without question.” He leaned forward and told the taxi driver to stop at the Lufthansa arrival area. As they gathered up their luggage, he said to Bonnie, “We have eternity now.”

“As long as that lasts, yes, yes.”

“Baron?” A dumpy little woman, who could best be described as square in shape, wearing a severe wool, long-skirted suit and high-top practical shoes, interrupted them. “Good to see you. Is this your new wife?”

“Freda!” Carl-Joran smiled and hugged her, making her very uncomfortable. “Bonnie, meet Professor Freda Englich, our Swiss representative.” The two women, of the same height, shook hands, sizing each other up as they did so. Two alpha women, Carl-Joran noted and as such, the behaviors were completely predictable. He smiled. “Shall we put our luggage in your car?” he asked the professor.

“I brought the bus,” said Freda and pointed out into the vast parking lot. “Why don't you take the bags,” she handed the baron the keys, “and Bonnie and I will pick up the princess and her mother.”

Carl-Joran recognized that this was not a suggestion, but an order and saw it as a good sign. Freda was taking Bonnie on as a comrade, not a challenger. He picked up the keys and the bags. “I'll recognize this bus?”

“It has Weisburg Hochschule written on it and an image of our mascot. Right? You will find it near the rental cars. Come,” the professor linked arms with Bonnie and tugged her along. Bonnie waved as she was dragged into the terminal. Freda chattered on, “I really like that the baron has a wife again. He is such a fine man.” Bonnie nodded at appropriate moments as they plowed through the crowd. “Here we are,” the professor stated with a flourish that loosed Bonnie from her grasp. They had reached the immigration exits. An announcement, repeated in four languages, said that the Lufthansa flight from Frankfurt had landed. In the same wide movement, Freda slipped two photos from her handbag and held them up.

Bonnie shook her head, “How will we recognize them?”

Freda shrugged. “Maybe they will find us. Their cover names are Myrna and Zoë Feldenstein.”

Passengers began exiting the immigration area. They were about half German business people and half American tourists with a few Swiss and French citizens thrown in. Freda wasn't at all ready for the Hollywood pair among the tourists.

It was Bonnie who instantly fathomed the disguises. “Those are our people,” she said.

Jerking her head back in amazement, Freda struggled for words. Bonnie waved her hands in true California audacity and shouted, “Myrna! You can't be serious! How could you wear that outfit in Geneva!”

Without a blink, Jani threw her hands in the air also, waving them, and she and Bonnie kissed each other on the cheeks like best shopping buddies on a thousand-dollar spree. “What else did I have to wear?” She reached a hand to Zhara and pulled her next to them, “Remember my daughter-in-law, Zoë? Would you believe I've a son old enough to make me a grandmother?”

Bonnie grabbed Zoë's hand and pulled both women along to Freda's side. “Myrna, you gotta meet a friend, Professor Freda Englich.”

Whispering, Zhara leaned over Bonnie and asked, “If she's Dr. Englich, who are you?”

“Bonnie Ixey. Well…Hermelin now,” Bonnie whispered back.

“We better move along,” insisted Freda. “I wouldn't be surprised if your husband doesn't have private investigators already working to find you, as well as Saudi security.”

“How would they know we were in Switzerland?” asked Jani as they hustled after the little professor.

“Wealthy men have resources we can only dream of,” said Freda. “You don't have bags, right?”

“No. Just these packs,” replied Zoë.

“Good. I wouldn't want to hang around waiting.” Freda hustled along. Immediately outside, at the curb, was a small bus, its engine running. On its side was Weisburg Hochschule in Germanic letters and a funny drawing of a Yeti snowman. The four women climbed in and the baron started along the road before they'd even gotten into their seats.

His eyes busy with traffic, he commented, “I thought I saw some Arab-looking fellows near the rental cars. Could have been tourists or businessmen, but they seemed to have some interest in me. Just as well we do some backtracking and zigzags before heading for the school.”

“Good thought,” agreed Freda in the passenger seat next to him. She definitely had one foot on an invisible brake and the other planted firmly on the bus floor displaying her discomfort at not being in the driver's seat.

Two hours later, they were winding down the side of a sheer valley as the sun set in the V at the far end. Glaciers all around took on an orange popsicle cast. Icy brooks tumbled from cliff sides and met up with a fast flowing river at the bottom. Bonnie was in awe. Such beauty was difficult to grasp in one glance. She shook Jani awake and pointed to the small farms, the remains of a castle, the impressive buildings of what must be the school. Jani nudged her daughter and in silence, they drank in the postcard scene.

Finally Zhara leaned forward and asked Dr. Englich, “That's the school? That's where we'll be living?”

“Yes. And working. You will be a student. It is a university prep school. Your mother has a position as a teacher's assistant. You will like the school.” With a wide grin, Freda Englich said, “There is a surprise waiting for you.”

“Oh, tell me!” exclaimed Zhara.

“No. Wait. You will see.”

To get to the school, the bus had to go through several narrow lanes and a big gate with a guard. There was a high fence around the property.

“Why the security?” asked Bonnie.

“We have many students of famous families here,” explained Freda, “and truthfully, the security is to keep the paparazzi out. Most of the families are careful not to tell their children's location, but,” she sighed, “sometimes famous people are famous because they like the spotlight. So, we must take charge and make sure the spotlight does not land on their children.”

“I can understand that,” said the baron, parking the bus near the front entrance.

Just as they climbed from the bus, a shaggy yellow dog raced from the building followed by a gangly young man in school uniform. “Charlotte!” he shouted in French, “Come back here!”

Zhara screamed in delight and embraced the squirming, barking dog. “It has been so long. Oh, I missed you so much!”

“How about me?” laughed the youth.

Releasing the dog to romp about them joyfully in the snow, Zhara threw her arms around the youth. “Emil.” A bit embarrassed, she turned around and introduced him, “Mom, Bonnie, this is my boyfriend, Emil Falleur.”

The baron held out his hand and they shook. “You've taken good care of the dog.”

“It was not always easy,” said Emil. “Several times agents of the Saudi security almost killed her.”

“And you!” said Freda. “This is one brave young man. Come along everyone. We'll get you to your quarters.”

As soon as they went inside, a matronly woman not unlike Freda came bustling up and told Carl-Joran that a message awaited him in the main office. He hurried off after her while older students, appointed as helpers, took the Hermelins' suitcases and guided Bonnie down one hall, while other students took Zhara and Jani to their new residence along with Emil and the very happy, bouncing and now snow-covered Charlotte. They exited the school at the back and went along a path in the snow to a small cottage.

“This is for us?” asked Jani, astounded.

“Yes,” said Emil, “for you really. Zhara will eventually be staying in the dorm most of the time. That's where I live too. You don't mind, do you, Zhara? Charlotte will be here with your mom.”

“How could I not be happy?” laughed Zhara. “I am free, I am alive, my mother is alive.”

Her mother said softly, “Daughter, we are home.”

In the main office Carl-Joran was led to a computer. After a few moments, he pulled up the message waiting for him. It had attached files to download. His first reaction was satisfaction that Russ Snow was now sending messages and had obviously done something about the computer situation. His next reaction was on reading the message all the way through. In hesitant disbelief, he opened the downloaded files and examined the photos. It was true. This was not his beloved friend the Haji Mansur. Carl-Joran also instantly asked the question, silently, to himself, “If this is not Habib, then, is he alive?”

He quickly answered the e-mail message with encouragement for Russ to keep looking through Bedouin websites and an added instruction for Siddhu to start calling contacts in the Bedouin community. Surely, if Habib was alive, the tribe would want to get him back to them, or so the baron hoped. He read a second message from Carin Smoland about the situation with the Thai girls that Tahireh rescued. He breathed a deep sigh of relief knowing his most favorite stubborn French model was safe. But, what could be done about Dim and Milind? They couldn't stay too long in Granfa's building. Carin was correct. She had her hands full with Fumilao and her daughters. This quandary he must solve immediately. He smiled. He had Bonnie to discuss it with. That's what he would do. He would encourage Bonnie to step in and devise a solution.

He sent Carin a short note to hold tight and wait and to tell Tahireh to do the same. Just a few hours more. He'd get back to Carin as soon as possible. As the messages went off into cyberspace, he looked around to find the professor hovering near. In a few words, he told her.

“We will celebrate at dinner,” she said. “Now, you go rest along with that lovely wife of yours. Go! I will have a student guide you to your rooms.” She turned toward the hallway and a waiting student and hollered, “
Kommen sie heir, Dagmar.
”

At dinner, Jani heard the news. She felt the hope rise in her and forced herself to put it on hold. She had known the man a mere two days. He had seen her as a spoiled rich man's wife. Hadn't he? A nuisance to be dealt with. His kindness was a part of his personality, something he lived and practiced. A rescuer. What right did she have to hope that his survival would mean more than his continued ability to rescue more women, like her?

Morning found Tidewater standing near Norm's cubby, reading over the young man's shoulder. Slowly Tidewater turned and went back to his own office. He picked up the phone as it buzzed. He'd been waiting for this call. It was Darughih Sadiq-Fath.

For fifteen long minutes the two men talked. Upon hanging up, Marion Tidewater asked Lily to get hold of an intelligence agent from the Kuwaiti embassy here in Washington, DC, and he ordered Norm to find all the information possible on Shamsi Granfa. Next, in the quiet fury that had begun last night on receiving the news from Interpol about his agents being in a drunk lockup in Sweden, Tidewater punched the extension for the special area of the Agency which only he, in this office, had access to.

He had absolutely no qualms about ordering the disposal of Barbara Monday. In fact, his specific instructions were, “If she can't be McCarthyed, then Silkwood her.”

Carin's ancient black Volvo chugged up to the imposing gate of the Hermelin castle. She didn't have to get out, for which she was very thankful as the frigid fog was sticking to everything. Krister had raced to open the gates and as soon as she'd entered, he closed them, jumped into her passenger seat and they drove to the front parking area. Krister offered to take the old Volvo to the barn and plug it into a heater but Carin told him to leave it there in front.

“It's tough,” she said, patting the rusty fender.

Gustav opened the front door and, after she'd shed her boots and heavy wool coat, she followed him to the nicely warmed television room. An extraordinarily tall, red-haired woman stood and held out her hand.

“Hi, I'm Trisha Ixey. Bonnie's daughter. The baron said you spoke pretty good English. Right?”

“Yes, it is okay.” Carin pulled her knitted stocking cap off her frizzy brown hair. She was one of the dark Swedes. Her mother had explained to her as a child that the women of the family were descended from Lapps. Be proud, her mother had adjured, we are of the wolves and the reindeer. Still it hadn't helped to have curly brown hair and gray-ashen eyes in classrooms of tall blonde kids. Carin had learned early about prejudice. Of course, that was before the surge of dark-skinned immigrants. Now brown, even black-haired children were not so unusual.

“I told Astrid to get us some lunch. I know it's early, but you gotta be hungry after that drive from Stockholm.” Trisha motioned Carin into a comfy chair.

“Actually, I am famished. Coffee too would be wonderful.”

“Yep, she'll make coffee.” Trisha sat back down on the divan. “Mom says you need me to help with a rescue?”

Carin loved the directness of the Americans. Had Trisha been British, they'd have been conversing politely for a half-hour before getting to the heart of the meeting. “Yes. You see, we, here in Sweden, have accepted our limit of…how shall I say? Hidden women? Women with no legal passports? For this month. I cannot arrange for any more.”