Florence of Arabia (32 page)

Florence was hooded, manac
led leg-and-hand and marched out
. She guessed
that
the chains were for psychological effect, the likelihood of a woman overcoming her captors and breaking free being low. Fl
orence clanked along the stone f
loor barefoot, trying to fall into a semblance of dignified rhythm. She was also trying not to trip
and fall. H
er situation was undignified enough as it was.

She was prodded forward wi
th the end of what fell like a cl
ub into a cooler space. The thought came to her, not entirely unwelcome, that in a second the hood might be pulled off to reveal the executioner with his
seyef.
If y
ou wer
e going to have your throat cut, bet
ter that it be cleanly done and with some semblance of a ceremonial beheading, instead of with a rusty folding knife of the kind used on a
sekeen
sheep.

She
found herself in an air-conditioned room reassuringly devoid of bloodstains or instruments of death or torture, f
acing a plain table at which sat
three men. the center of whom she
recognized right away as Maliq,
emir, sheikh and imam of the Islamic Republic of Matar, blessings be upon him.

It took her several seconds to place the man sitting on Maliq's right, from the distinctive teal and maroon
gut
ra.
she knew him for a Wasabi,
and by the scarlet trim of his otherwise plain
thobe,
for a member of the Hami Babb, the tribe that, since the time of Sheik Abdu
labdullah "The Wise" Walla al-Hamooj,
founder of the Wasabi dynasty, had been entrusted with the duties of royal body
guard. This was Salim bin-Judar,
first deput
y for the Ministry of Public H
ealth. the euphemism that the Wasabi central government had decided upon for its secret police. This man she knew by reputation very well, and despite the honor of being in his presence, it caused her a distinct dryness of mouth.

The identity of the man t
o Maliq's left was all too easily discerned. The black and blue
thobe
proclaimed him
mukfe
llah.
Mis stare of pure hatred was the most intense Florence had ever seen from a human being—anthracite coals of smoldering fury—trained on a shackled American
woman, an infidel who deserved t
o be consign
ed to hell t
o be gnawed for all eternity In Satan's fo
ul jaws and stinking breath. H
ave a nice day.

"Salaam,
Maliq" Florence said.

The
mukfe
llah
leaped from his seat and roared at he
r to show respect to the imam. But Maliq silenced him with
a raised hand.

"Salaam.
Flor-ents." He smiled a
nd pointed to her manacles. "So,
bracelets? The latest in fashion?"

"Yes,
they're all the rage. But fashions change quickly, especially in Paris."

"Enough of the little talk. These men here are very important And they are very angry with you. Yes, I would say, very angry. They want to deal with you directly. Shall I give you to them?"

"You'd belter do what you're told, or your masters will be unhappy."

"I rule in Matar. Be certain of
that,
madame. Your CIA lover. Mr. Theebo. Tibu—"

"Thibodeaux. Surely your French is up to that." "We have
him. You don't believe me?"

"H
ave you ever told me the truth?"

"Then perhaps you would like to see the body. It's very unpleasant, lie died in a most undignified way. Do you know how? Blew himself up with a hand grenade. Such a pity. We would have treated him with justice. Perhaps even given him back to your government, as a goodwill gesture. We are not the third world here, you know."

Though Maliq spoke confidently, Florence couldn't bring herself to believe him. Bobby was a grenade thrower, not a hugger. Still, her stomach knotted.

Maliq said gaily, as if this butterfly thought had spontaneously perched on his forehead. "Maybe you'd like to have the body in your cell? How cozy it would be for you." Switching to Arabic, Maliq said to the
mukfellah,
"When she's taken back to her cell, have the American's body put in with her. Then have the door welded shut. Seal them in. Let them rot together."

The man nodded, and for the first time during the interview, his face lightened into something like a smile. So he had a soft spot after all.

"No translation required, eh, Flor-ent
s? Come, come, what a look! You're a student of our history. In the days of my ancestor Jamir al-Kef, emir some hundred years ago, you recall what was the custom with women who ha
d been very naughty? They were t
ied up, and a small hole was made in the stomach and the intestine pulled out a fool or two, then left in the desert for the dogs. You see what progress we have made
in the new Matar! H
ow liberal we have become!"

CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE

Ju
st after
two
am
.
the
door to Renard's
office,
where he and George were
furiously brainstorming, opened and admitted two unsmiling, burly men who looked remarkably like the sort the U.S. governm
ent dispatches when it desires t
o make an emphatic point. Once these two had secured t
he room with their scowls, they
were joined by a third man whom Rick and George immediately recognized as their long-lost relative Uncle Sam.

"Hello, boys." Uncle Sam motioned to his men to wait outside. "No sense beating around the proverbial bush. We intercepted a call to this office from Bobby Thibodeaux last night."

"Oh,
for the days when gentlemen didn't listen in on each other's telephone calls." George said.

Uncle Sam poured the dr
egs of the coffeepot into a cup,
dusted it with powdered creamer, sipped it and winced. "Lord
save
us! You
might have bought a decent coff
eemaker with some of that two mi
llion dollars. Let me say what I
have to say before this reaches my bloodstream and kills me.

"for starters, what Bobby Thibodeaux t
old you is simply, totally, completely cuckoo. He seems t
o be under the delusion that I dispa
tched a CIA assassination team t
o kill him and Florence. I don't know where he got that one. Well, actually. I do."

George and Renard listened in sullen silence.

"Why am I getting the distinct feeling that you
don
't believe me? Pardon me—but is this the United States of America, land of presumed innocence? All right, hear me out, f
ellows. I tried several t
imes—
several
times, as you are well aware—to pull those two out of there. As you further know. Florence refused to leave without the sheika. Now, I don't know
what
was going on between those two, but never mind. My sole interest was in getting her out before a disaster of this—this—this mind-boggling proportion happened. And here we are.

"As I recall, the mission was to try to empower Arab women and bring about some kind
of
stability in the Middle Fast. There were those who said. 'Are you out of your mind?' Others said, 'We've tried everything else, why not give it a
shot? What harm can it do?' H
a! And how did it all turn out? With a coup d'etat—and how appropriate to use the French term for it—against the only stable country in the region. Not only did it not work, but it brought about the further enslavement of two point five million Arab women, along with the empowerment of a psychopathic race-car driver, to say nothing of a whopping increase in Wasabi oil prices that may well determine the outcome of the next U.S. presidential election. And did I mention France getting
naval bases in the Gulf? Damn fine job. boys. H
ave a cigar. Your government is proud of you.

"Meanwhile,
your erstwhil
e colleague Mr. Thibodeaux, who,
by the way. I never wanted to be part of this missi
on—but never mind, what say do I
have in the mutter?—has baked it into his fevered brain that I'm out to get him. I understand it's hot in Matar, and that heat can do strange things to a man, but goodness gracious, to treat
this
level
of paranoia, you're better off
with
tran
quilizers and a dart gun!"

George said. "Not to interrupt your splendidly
indignant rant, but why don't y
ou just tell us what happened? Or skip that part and tell us where Florence is. And whether she's even alive."

"I was getting to that, George. She's alive. This much we know. I am doing everything i
n my power—that is. what power I
have left after this catastr
ophe— to get her out of there. B
ut it's going to require one heck of a diplomatic balancing act, let me tell you. .And if you two go barging in like a couple of bull elephants on steroids, acting on input from a delusional ex-spook—"

"E
x?"

"Completely ex. CIA fired him. And not for calling in that cruise missile strike on the Indonesian ambassador in Dar. Would you like to know why he was given the boot? For screwing the wife of the U.S. ambassador to Jordan."

"She was a notorious nympho." George said. "The woman was insatiable. She'd have sex with the elevator operator if the ride was more than three floors."

"Nevertheless, the ambassador didn't much appreciate it. And he was the president's chief fund-raiser."

"Enough!" Rick interjected. "Who cares who was screwing who!" "Whom," George said.

"Wha
tever. What are you doing to get
Florence out of there?"

"Look, fellows, the less you know about that, the better."

"Oh, no," George said. "No, no, no, no, no,
What do we look like, two mushrooms that you're going to pile manure on and keep in the dark?"

"George. I'm saying this for your own protection."

"You sound like you're putting on a condom." said Renard. "Never mind all
that
hooey. I want to hear, right now, right here, how you're goin
g to get her out. or I promise y
ou'll find yourself
in such a public relations shit-
storm that you'll be picking it out of your eyes for years."

"All right." Uncle Sam sighed as though about to divulge the formula for Coca-Cola. "We're working on it through the French."

"The French?" Rick and George said simultaneously. Rick added. "The
French?"

"Believe it or not. they're almost as appalled by this new regime as we are." "But they helped install it."

"The last thing Paris wants is
to have its client chopping off
the head of a feminist American hero. That's not going to help them sell Airbuses or Brie in the U.S.A. But you've got to let me handle it. Are we on the same sheet of paper here'.'"

"I still don't understand." George said. "Bobby told us you'd arranged for the water taxi, and suddenly, the CIA shows up shooting. The embassy cables from Amo confirmed there was a shoot-out and a chase and a capture. So— what happened?"

"I
just can't go into that."

"Oh,
do."

Uncl
e Sam gave another heavy sigh. "My call to Bobby and Florence was intercepted
.
We found
that
out after die fact." "Intercepted by?"

"T
he French. They're the one
s who sent the hit team, not me, f
or heaven's sake."

"T
he
French
sent the CIA to kill two Americans'.'' This makes no sense."

"T
he man B
obby was referring to is Anbar Tal. He works f
or the Matar Air Forc
e. And yes, he also works for CIA
. Bobby himself recruited him. It also happens
that
he works for the
Onzieme Bureau.
That
's the part Bobby didn't know. He's a double agent. Triple, technically."

"So you're trying to get
the French to help free Florence, and they're the ones who sent this mult
itasking thug to kill her? It
still makes no sense."

"It's the Middle East. Rick." Uncle Sam shrugged. "I don't really understand it
myself."