The Pirate (27 page)

She heard him break another capsule but this time it was not for her but for him. Then she felt the hardness of him tear into her and the fierce slamming thrust of his body against her buttocks.

She screamed once with the pain and the violence of her orgasm as he began to thrust into her. Then, like the mare, she went down under the impact.

Afterward she lay very still on her side of the bed, the pain and trembling slowly leaving her body. He, too, was silent. He made no gesture. There was no communication between them.

After a moment, he spoke. “Now, woman, do you understand your position?”

She felt the tears come to her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered in a low voice.

***

And that was how it had been ever since. It was no longer an act of love, not even an act of cruelty. Purely and simply, it was an assertion of his power over her.

It was later that summer that she took her first lover. After that it was easy. But with very few of them did she achieve satisfaction. Still there was something she did get. Whether it was true or not, whether they felt it or not, whether she paid them or not, they all made love to her.

And that was something Baydr never did.

CHAPTER 14

The buzzing of the electric razor woke her. Jordana rolled over in the bed. Through the open door leading to the bathroom she could see him standing in front of the mirror, a towel wrapped around his flat waist. The look of concentration on his face was familiar. Shaving seemed to absorb him completely.

She sat up in the bed and reached for a cigarette. It had been a strange weekend. Strange, because there had been moments when they had seemed to be approaching the closeness they once had. But each time it happened, one or the other would draw away or do something to destroy the feeling.

Twice that weekend they had made love. The first time she had ruined it by her request for pain. “Hurt me,” she had said and, as she said it, felt him turn off.

The second time had been the night before, after they had smoked Jabir’s cigarette. This time she was ready. The hashish had relaxed her and she felt slow and easy. She wanted only to make love beautifully and simply. She wanted him to be as he had been when they first met.

But it wasn’t like that at all. He had taken her roughly, thrusting himself into her. Three times, he went in and out of her; the fourth time he emptied himself. Taken by surprise at his quickness, she had stared up into his face. It was impassive, as if nothing were happening to him. She could see neither joy nor pleasure.

A moment later he left her and was on his side of the bed, asleep. She had lain for a long time without sleeping and had thought about that first time when he had taken her without love and made her feel as if she were nothing but a receptacle for his own use and convenience. He had made it clear then that it was the way it would be and it had been like that—until this weekend.

After the first failure, she had hoped that there would be another, better time together. But it was not to be. Whatever he had sought from her at the beginning of that weekend was over. And she wondered if she would ever get another chance.

He came out of the bathroom, wet from the shower, and looked down at her. “We’re leaving for Los Angeles this morning,” he said in a casual voice. “What are your plans after that?”

He was acting as if they were strangers. “So nice to see you,” she said. “Look forward to seeing you again.”

A puzzled look crossed his face. “What did you say?”

“Nothing. I haven’t made any plans.”

“Are you going back to France?”

“What about you?” she asked. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea if you saw the children. You’ve been gone all summer and they miss you.”

“I can’t,” he said flatly. “There’s just too much to do right now. Besides, I plan to spend some time with them in Beirut this fall. I will be there at least six weeks.”

“A few days would mean a lot to them.”

His voice grew edgy. “I said I can’t spare the time.” He crossed to the dresser and took out a shirt. “I may have to leave for Japan immediately.”

“I’ve never been to Japan. I hear it’s fascinating.”

He was buttoning his shirt. “Tokyo’s a madhouse,” he said noncommittally. “Traffic is awful and everything is so crowded that you can’t breathe.”

She gave up. He didn’t want her with him. He had no use for her there. “I think I may stay in LA a few days. I’ll see some friends and then maybe go up to San Francisco to visit my family.”

He slipped into his trousers. “That’s not a bad idea. But arrange to be back in France by the beginning of next week. I don’t want the boys to be left alone too long.”

“I’ll arrange that,” she said. With four servants, two bodyguards, and the nanny, the children weren’t exactly alone.

The telephone rang and he picked it up. He listened for a moment, then nodded, pleased. “Good, Dick,” he said. “Call the plane and tell them we’ll leave as soon as I get to the LA airport.”

He put down the telephone. “I’m leaving for Tokyo right away,” he said. “You can use my bungalow at the hotel if you like.”

“That would be nice.”

“Youssef is there in the hotel meeting with Vincent. If there’s anything you need, you can call on him.”

“Thank you.”

He slipped into his shoes and walked to the door. “How long do you think it will take you to get ready to leave here?”

“Not long.”

He nodded and left the room. For a moment, she sat without moving. Then she ground out the cigarette and got out of bed. She stood in front of the mirror, let her gown drop to the floor and looked at her naked body.

Physically, she was still the same. Perhaps her breasts had become slightly fuller since the birth of the children but they were firm and her body had the muscle tone of her youth. She should have been pleased. But she wasn’t. The abundance of wealth and the comforts it brought were just not enough. There had to be more to life than standing by and waiting to be used.

***

The telephone in Youssef’s bedroom began to ring. He didn’t move, hoping it would stop. He was exhausted. The young American man he had met in After Dark last night had worn him out. He had been insatiable. Finally, when he could scarcely move, Youssef had given him fifty dollars and sent him away.

The man had looked at the fifty-dollar bill, then back at him. “Do you want me to call you?”

“I won’t be here. I’m leaving in the morning.”

“I’d like to see you again.”

Youssef knew exactly what he wanted to see. Another fifty-dollar bill. “I’ll let you know when I get back to town.”

“I don’t have a telephone, but you can leave a message for me with the bartender.”

“Okay,” Youssef said.

The man left and Youssef sank into the sleep of the dead. Now the damned telephone would not stop ringing. If Baydr were still in town, he would have leapt for the phone, but Baydr had left for Japan last night.

The phone in the bedroom stopped ringing, but started up in the living room. Youssef pulled one of the pillows over his head and tried to get back to sleep, but a moment later the bedroom phone began again.

Cursing, Youssef reached for it. “Hello,” he growled hoarsely.

The words were spoken in French but with a heavy Arabic accent. “Monsieur Ziad?”

Automatically Youssef answered in Arabic. “Yes.”

The voice switched to their native language. “We have not met in person but we have spoken over the telephone. And we were at the same party aboard the Al Fay yacht, the night of Madame Al Fay’s birthday. My name is Ali Yasfir.”

“Ahlan wa Sahlan,” Youssef said, now wide awake. He knew of Ali Yasfir.

“Ahlan fik,” Yasfir replied formally.

“How may I serve you?” Youssef asked politely.

“If you can arrange the time, I would like to meet with you on matters of important mutual interest.”

“Where are you?”

“Here in Los Angeles. Perhaps we might take lunch together?”

“It can be arranged. Where would you like to meet?”

“Anywhere. At your convenience.”

“One o’clock. In the Polo Lounge, here in the hotel.”

He put down the telephone. He knew the results of Baydr’s last meeting with Yasfir. He was also sure that Yasfir knew that he knew. Still, something big had to be under way for Yasfir to contact him. Yasfir usually went right to the top.

He reached for the telephone again. “Good morning, Mr. Ziad,” the operator said cheerfully.

“Would you ring Mr. Vincent’s room for me.” There was no way he could have two lunches at the same time. Vincent would have to be put off.

***

In accordance with Arab custom, Ali Yasfir did not come to the point of the meeting until their coffee had been placed before them. “I understand your importing company is beginning to bring many things from abroad into the United States.”

Youssef nodded. “That is true. It is amazing to discover how many things we can have manufactured in the Middle East that Americans will buy.”

“I also understand that it is your responsibility to discover the small factories in the Middle East whose products you think can be marketed in America.”

Youssef nodded.

“I, too, represent certain manufacturers who are desirous of expediting shipment of their products to the United States. At the moment we deal with the European exporters and we are having many problems with them.”

Youssef was silent. He knew of the problems. Too many shipments had been intercepted by the Federal Bureau of Narcotics. There were rumors in the Middle East that certain important people were very disappointed in Yasfir’s performance. “I had understood that you were moving a great portion of your operation to South America,” he said.

“That is true”—Yasfir nodded—“but that is part of our expansion program. The demand for our other products is as great as ever.”

“I wish I could be of service to you,” Youssef said smoothly. “But Mr. Al Fay has already formed our policy and I doubt whether he would change his mind on my advice.”

“I’m sure that Mr. Al Fay does not concern himself with the details of each item that you import. I’m sure that is left in your more than capable hands.”

That was true. Baydr did not have to know. Thousands of dollars’ worth of small items were shipped, and without his knowing what they were.

“A most lucrative arrangement would be made for you if we find a way to work together.” Ali Yasfir smiled. “You know the prices our merchandise brings. Sometimes as much as a million dollars for a shipment that takes no more space than a crate of dolls from Egypt. You could enjoy a bonus of ten percent merely for your good offices. There would be no risk involved.”

Youssef looked at him. It was a lot of money. Reluctantly, he shook his head. He hated to let it pass. But despite what Yasfir said, it was too risky. Sooner or later, there would be a leak. And then, it would all be over. “I’m sorry,” he said. “At this time we do not have the facilities. Our operation is just beginning. Perhaps, later, when we are bigger and better equipped.”

Ali Yasfir nodded. He was satisfied. Sooner or later, Youssef would agree. It was simply a question of raising the stakes until it reached the point where he couldn’t resist. “You think about it. We will talk again when you return to Paris.”

“Yes,” Youssef said. “Perhaps by then the situation will change.”

Ali Yasfir raised his coffee cup. “Mr. Al Fay is on his way to Japan?”

Youssef nodded. He had never realized that they kept such a close watch on Baydr’s movement.

“His negotiation with the Japanese is very enterprising,” Ali Yasfir said.

“I know very little about it,” Youssef said quickly.

Yasfir smiled. “Even more important than the little business we discussed would be an association with him. He is very highly regarded by us.”

“By everyone,” Youssef added.

“Still, we feel that he could be more influential in our cause,” Yasfir said. “If he were to become more assertive, perhaps it would have a greater influence on those who, like him, hold more conservative views.”

Youssef didn’t speak. Yasfir was right. This was a great deal more important than the transshipment of narcotics.

“If you could find a way to influence him to support our cause,” Yasfir said, “you would spend the rest of your days in luxury and Allah would shower His blessings on you for the help given to His oppressed people.”

“Mr. Al Fay is not a man who is easily influenced.”

“He is human,” Yasfir answered. “A way will be found. Sooner or later.”

Youssef signaled for the check and signed it. On their way out of the Polo Lounge, they ran into Jordana.

“I thought Mr. Vincent was joining you for lunch,” she said, “and I just was going to stop by and tell him that I would be happy to attend the party tonight.”

“I will tell him,” Youssef said. “Perhaps we can go together.”

She noticed Ali Yasfir standing nearby. He bowed. “Madame Al Fay,” he said. “So nice to see you again.”

Youssef saw the puzzled look on her face. “You remember Mr. Yasfir,” he said quickly. “He was at your birthday party on the boat.”

“Of course,” she said. “How are you, Mr. Yasfir?”

He bowed again. “I am fine, and you are even more beautiful than I remembered. But I must apologize. I am already late for an appointment.”

She watched him hurry down the lobby then turned back to Youssef. “I hope Baydr does not have any business with that man,” she said.

Youssef was surprised. It was the first time he had ever heard her say anything about Baydr’s business associates. “I don’t think so,” he answered. Then his curiosity overcame him. “What makes you say that?”

A veil seemed to drop over her eyes. “I don’t know,” she answered. “Maybe it’s woman’s intuition. But I sense something dangerous in him.”

CHAPTER 15

Jordana glanced around the large darkened living room and reached for her glass of wine. The other guests sat on couches and chairs around the room, staring in absorption at the big motion picture screen at the far end. It was not the fun kind of Hollywood party she had expected. It had all been rather solemn and dull.

She looked toward the back of the room where the host sat by himself at the bar, his back to the screen. It seemed that the moment the picture had begun he had lost all interest in his guests. Maybe that was what was called the star’s privilege.