Seductive Wager (40 page)

Neither man spoke for a while. Concern for the safety and whereabouts of Kate was in both their minds, but in very different degrees. Brett had almost forgotten about trying to find el-Kader, and if he had been told he could only save Kate at the expense of his mission, he would have declared for Kate without a second’s pause. He worked for the Foreign Office because he enjoyed it, but he would have handed all of Africa over to the French before he would have let anyone harm a single hair on Kate’s head. Had it concerned the safety of England, it might have been different, but this was Africa and there was no doubt in his mind.

Wiggins did not share his point of view. He had never met Kate; he didn’t love her and he wasn’t dazzled by her beauty. She was just an Englishwoman who had gotten in the way of his work, and he was anxious to get rid of her so he could go on about his business. The fact that getting rid of her meant rescuing her was not the issue—but rather, her presence in the midst of his work—and any suitable plan that would remove her was acceptable to him. Naturally, he wouldn’t do anything that might harm her, but her safety was not his primary consideration. She should have stayed in England. She had no business out here, and her husband knew it if she didn’t.

Their silent ruminations were interrupted by the entrance of one of the most handsome—and shortest—men Brett had ever met. He was a Turk, but he had abandoned the traditional Turkish garb except for the fez. He was dressed in a blaze of French regimentals, the smartest-looking uniform in Europe, but even they could not conceal the fact that his powerful shoulders and torso were more fitted for a man nearly twice his size. His skin was a very light olive and the characteristic features of the eastern face were muted by a generous infusion of European blood. One look at his soft brown eyes and Brett was tempted to spurn his help before it was even offered. He felt an immediate antipathy for this man; he didn’t trust him, either.

Wiggins walked forward to greet his guest. “I was afraid you had decided not to come,” he announced rather bluntly.

“Why should I not come to dine with the English consul?”

“I imagine you could find a reason if you wanted.”

Ibrahin’s face was flooded by a brilliant smile. “But of course I come. I am told you have a wonderful chef.” Wiggins did not appear to be particularly pleased with the compliment.

“Let me introduce you to my guest,” he said, turning to Brett. “This is Mr. Westbrook, a special envoy from our office in London.”

“Your
confrère,
so to speak?” Ibrahin asked, turning to Brett.

“You might say so,” Brett said, “but actually my work is of neither the importance nor the magnitude of Mr. Wiggins’s responsibilities.”

“In other words, you should not tar him with the same brush you may have already used on me,” Wiggins said, his chilly reserve divesting his words of any possible humorous interpretation. “Shall we go in?” He indicated his guests were to precede him into the dining room.

Conversation was general while the meal was served and eaten, but after the servants had placed liqueurs on the table and withdrawn, Wiggins promptly turned to the situation at hand.

“We find ourselves faced with a rather unusual difficulty and we hoped you might be able to advise us on how to handle it,” he said, ignoring Ibrahin’s broad smile which clearly said,
aha, I knew you wanted something.
“As you undoubtedly already know, Mr. Westbrook’s ship was attacked by Raisuli three days ago as it was coming into Algiers.”

“Yes, I heard. I also heard the ship did not land but sailed on to Tripoli.”

“As usual, your information is better than mine,” Wiggins said with tight smile. “We did not know her destination, but that is of no interest to us, at least not at the moment.”

“You are not interested that it was the captain of your own ship who told the dey you were coming?”

“The captain is dead,” Brett interrupted, unable to endure the polite exchange any longer. “Those cutthroats have my wife.”

Ibrahin turned his bland gaze on Brett. “Your wife? Is she pretty?”

“She’s
beautiful!”
Brett exploded, “and I’m going to find her if I have to tear down every building in this country stick by stick.”

“You English are so fiery. You think because you want something, you will have it. Yet you do not even know where to look or how to begin. So you have come to Ibrahin to find her for you.” He spoke with irritating slowness, his smile a mask which could have concealed half the evil in the world.

“No, by God …” Brett half shouted, rising furiously in his seat.

“We hoped you might be willing to help us,” Wiggins interrupted, in much the same bland, uninflected voice Ibrahin used. “For a consideration, of course.”

“And what might that be?”

“Influence. You have come to Algiers because you want something.”

Brett had to bite his tongue to keep from speaking as the two men stared silently at each other. If this was the kind of diplomacy Wiggins had to conduct, he was glad he was not a diplomat. Ibrahin’s insolent, sneering manner put his teeth on edge and it was only by reminding himself over and over that Kate’s life might depend on this man’s help that he was able to keep from springing to his feet and choking the life out of him. He had never met anyone he had disliked and distrusted more on first glance. If Abd el-Kader was like this, he might as well turn around and go back to London.

“First, I think we must find where she is. Could you give me a description?” he asked Brett.

Brett wondered how anyone could describe with words all the things that were Kate. You needed eyes to see her beauty, a nose to smell the freshness of her hair, a tongue to taste the sweetness of her mouth, hands to feel the texture of her skin, ears to hear the music in her laugh, but most of all you needed a bottomless heart to hold all the love she poured out so unselfishly. A lifetime would not be enough to encompass what she was and he was being asked to do it in a few words.

“She’s of average height, but very slim,” Brett said curtly. “She has blue eyes, long blond hair, and is extremely beautiful. If anyone has seen her, they will not have forgotten.”

“You sound as though you want her back very much,” Ibrahin said, letting a little surprise show. “Is it necessary to go to such trouble for one woman? You can find another.”

“She is my
wife,”
Brett almost shouted.

“I have six wives,” Ibrahin stated nonchalantly. “I will probably have many more.”

“I have only one and I don’t want another.”

“You English are so stubborn.” Ibrahin sighed with another of his irritatingly, superior smiles, “but I think I will help you. The dey is waiting for el-Kader, el-Kader is waiting for the French, and the French are waiting for both of them. Until somebody does something, I have nothing to keep me interested. You should stay here. Do nothing. I will let you know when I have found her.”

“I can’t just sit around waiting. I want to help.”

“I have ears planted all over Africa. I know if a mouse crosses the street. You wait. I will tell you when she is found.”

“I will mount my own investigation,” Brett insisted stubbornly. “There must be more than one way to gather information.”

“You may do as you please, but if you interfere I shall not lift a finger to help. You English always rush about. You talk, you threaten, you are so
noisy.
I, however, know how to wait and listen, to appear uninterested in the very thing I must know. Stay here, or you may never find your wife.”

“If I can’t help find my own wife, am I allowed to do what the Foreign Office sent me out here to do?” Brett asked furiously, seething with inward rage because he knew Ibrahin could serve Kate better at this moment than he could.

“By all means, but do not leave Algiers just now. Who knows when I may have news for you.”

“I couldn’t find any news of Mrs. Westbrook,” Charles told Brett the next afternoon. “I don’t think anybody here knows anything.”

“Did you offer to pay them?”

“Yes, but they had nothing to sell.”

“I didn’t do any better. Whenever I ask, they just look at me like they didn’t know what I was talking about.”

“Do you think they know but are afraid to say?”

“I don’t know. I was sure I would, but I just don’t know.”

“I have found her,” Ibrahin announced proudly as he entered in the middle of dinner the following evening. “Even though you and your man have been stirring the waters with your silly questions and even sillier bribes, I have already found her.”

“Where is she?” Brett demanded, relief, hope, joy, and at least a dozen other emotions making him feel weak, “lake me to her at once.”

“I cannot,” Ibrahin declared. “In fact, if you do not leave Algiers immediately, you may never see her again.”

Chapter 23

“What are you talking about?” Brett demanded, anger instantly overpowering all other emotion. “I mean to see Kate before I do anything else.” Ibrahin turned to Wiggins in mute appeal.

“Sit down, Mr. Westbrook. Ibrahin will tell us what he has to say in his own time.” Wiggins rang for a servant. “Would you join us for dinner, or would you prefer something to drink.”

“I think I will have a little of that delicious liqueur I had last time. What was it again?”

“Drambuie.”

“I must remember. I think my father would like it also.”

“To hell with your liqueur,” Brett exploded. “Tell me what you’re talking about before I choke it out of you. Where is Kate and why can’t I see her?”

“You English, always so impatient. I think I must tell you the whole story quickly.” He settled himself into a chair. “Your pirates could not outrun the French ship, so they came ashore at a little village west of Algiers where they scattered into the hills. The villagers hid them for a price, whether it was money or fear I cannot say, but they could not hide your wife. You spoke truly. Everywhere she goes she is remembered. Before she had been there an hour, rumors of her beauty had spread halfway to Algiers.”

“I don’t want to know where she
was,”
Brett thundered. “Tell me where she
is.”

“The pirates made a mistake in not getting out of Algeria before they stopped running,” Ibrahin continued, ignoring Brett’s interruption. “Some men in the pay of the dey heard of her and became very interested when they learned the story of her capture. It seems your arrival was expected in many circles. Someone has been very indiscreet.” Brett ground his teeth with impatience.

“I am told they tried to talk this pirate into exchanging your wife for a considerable sum of money, but he thought he could get more for her in Damascus, so he headed for Tripoli. Unfortunately, he had waited too late. They found him next day with his throat cut. In the end he didn’t get any money at all.”

“Where is my wife, you chattering fool?” Brett demanded, his patience completely at an end.

“In the dey’s palace, comfortably lodged in the harem.”

Brett sprang to his feet and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Ibrahin asked, his voice never rising above a moderate level.

“The dey’s palace,” Brett called back over his shoulder. “I’ll have her out of there inside an hour.”

“You won’t find her.”

“Then I’ll throttle the dey until he tells me where she is.”

“Touch that man, if you make it that far, and all you will find is her body.”

Brett stopped in his tracks. After a moment’s frozen silence, he turned around.

“The dey thinks he has gotten what he wants from you already,” Ibrahin explained. “You have not convinced el-Kader to abandon him—you have not even attempted to find him—and thus you have lost your only bargaining advantage. Your consul has no Army, no ships, and the dey does not want your country’s goodwill. On the other hand, he has your wife, and I am told that every time he sees her, he becomes more anxious to keep her for himself.”

“So that’s what you meant by leaving town. If I don’t find el-Kader, the dey will have no need to let me see her again.”

“See, you can think when you do not let your emotions overcome your intelligence. That is why it is good to have many wives.”

“I will leave as soon as possible,” Brett said, turning to Wiggins. “Tonight if I can. Do you know where el-Kader is waiting?” he asked Ibrahin.

“Of course. It is no secret that he waits at the palm oasis. With a good camel, you can be there before dawn. I will have one of my men guide you.” Brett stared at Ibrahin expectantly. “You must be careful when you travel at night. Many things can happen then that would not happen in the day.”

“And what do you expect me to do in return for your help?” Brett knew he should be thanking Ibrahin, but the words would not pass his lips.

“Just what you are about to do now. I do not want the French in Algeria any more than your Mr. Wiggins does. I prefer to see the dey and el-Kader snapping at each other like hungry foxes. After el-Kader has been sent back to Mascara to lick his wounds, the dey will need someone to support him in his stand, against the sultan. Who better than my father, who has already defied the sultan and won.