The Pirate (39 page)

She nodded and leaned back against the headrest. She closed her eyes. Another half-hour was not too long to wait after all the time she had spent preparing for it.

***

It seemed to Jordana as if she had just closed her eyes when in her sleep she heard a child crying. She stirred restlessly, hoping the sound would stop. But it didn’t and gradually it penetrated that it was one of her children crying. She sat up in the bed abruptly, listening.

It was Samir. But it was not his usual cry or whimper. There was a peculiar note in it. A note of fear.

Quickly she rose from the bed and straightened her dress. Then she opened the door and went out into the cabin and down the narrow corridor to the forward lounge. At the entrance, she stopped, suddenly transfixed. Her mind could not take in what she saw. It has to be a nightmare, she thought wildly. It has to be.

Huddled in the area just behind the galley in the small space that Carriage used as an office when he was on board were the children, their nanny, her maid and the cabin crew, Raoul and Margaret. Raoul had one hand on the bulkhead to support himself and blood was streaming down his face from a cut on his cheekbone. In front of them stood Leila and her two friends.

But it was a Leila she had never seen before. In her hand she held a heavy automatic, from the belt of her blue jeans hung two hand grenades. The two men were even more heavily armed. In addition to the grenades hanging from their belts, each carried an automatic rapid-fire rifle.

Samir was the first to see her. “Mommy! Mommy!” he cried, breaking loose from his nanny’s grasp and running toward her.

Leila made a grab for him but he was too quick. Jordana bent forward and the child leaped into her arms. The tears were running down his cheeks. “They hit Raoul and he’s bleeding!” he cried.

“It’s all right, it’s all right,” she said soothingly, holding him tightly.

Leila gestured with her gun. “Get up there with the others.”

Jordana stared at her. “Have you gone mad?” she said angrily.

“You heard me,” Leila said. “Get up there with the others!”

Instead Jordana turned on her heel and started back down the corridor to the cabin. Leila moved so swiftly that Jordana did not know she was behind her until the sudden thrust of the gun against her back sent her sprawling in the narrow corridor, knocking the child from her arms.

Immediately, the child began to cry again. He sprang at his sister, flailing his little fists. “Don’t you hit my mommy, you bad girl, you!”

Indifferently, Leila sent him sprawling with a slap across the cheeks. The child fell in a huddle against his mother and she put her arm around him.

At the far end of the cabin, Muhammad began to cry. He pulled loose from the nanny and ran to her, kneeling on the floor beside her. Jordana put her other arm around him.

“These children are your brothers,” she said, ignoring the screaming pain in the small of her back as she tried to sit up. She looked up at Leila. “You will answer to God for your sins.”

“Slut!” Leila’s lips drew back in a snarl. “They are not my brothers. They are the children of an American whore!”

“It is written in the Koran that brothers and sisters are united by the father,” Jordana said.

“Don’t quote the Holy Book to me, bitch!” Leila snapped. “True brothers and sisters are united, not those you managed to convince my father were his own. I’ve heard all about that from my mother.”

“You are still committing a crime against your father,” Jordana said.

Leila laughed. “My father has betrayed any allegiance I may have felt for him. He has betrayed his own people and become an accomplice and tool of the Jews and the imperialists.”

Oddly enough, Jordana thought, she felt no fear for herself, only for the children. “It will be all right,” she whispered to them. “Don’t cry anymore.”

“On your feet!” Leila snapped.

Wincing with pain, Jordana struggled upright. Leila gestured with her gun for them to go forward. Painfully, holding Samir in one arm and leading Muhammad by the hand, she moved through the cabin.

“Give the children to their nurse,” Leila commanded.

Jordana looked at her.

“Do what I say! Quickly! Or they will be the next to be hurt!”

Silently, Jordana gave the boys over to the nanny. They looked up at her with frightened eyes. She patted them reassuringly. “Don’t be frightened. It will be okay.”

She almost screamed with pain as she felt the prod of a gun in the small of her back. When she turned, she saw the strange look of pleasure in Leila’s eyes. She tightened her lips. She would not give her the pleasure of hearing her moan.

“You go forward to the flight deck with Ramadan,” Leila said.

The young man made her walk in front of him. As she opened the door to the cockpit, he shoved her violently. She stumbled forward to her knees and he sprang into the narrow space behind her.

Captain Hyatt, the copilot, Bob, and the flight engineer, George, turned around in surprise. George reached overhead for a wrench.

Moving with unexpected speed, Ramadan hit him in the side of the face with the butt of the rifle, knocking him back into his seat. Blood began spurting from his broken nose. “Don’t any of you try anything foolish,” he said in his clipped British accent, “or you’ll kill everyone on this plane.”

Andy Hyatt looked up at him, then over at his flight engineer. “Are you okay, George?”

George nodded, holding a handkerchief to his nose. Jordana got to her feet. “Where’s the first aid kit?”

“In the cabinet over George’s seat,” Bob answered.

She took down the metal box and opened it. Quickly she stripped the wrapping from several packages of gauze bandages and gave them to George. She looked down at the captain. “Raoul has a bad cut on his cheek.” She started back into the cabin.

“Wait a minute!” Ramadan blocked her path. “You’re not through here yet.” He turned to the captain. “There are three of us aboard and we’re all armed with automatic weapons and grenades. That puts us in charge of this plane, do you understand?”

Hyatt’s voice was puzzled. “Three of you?”

“Leila is one of them,” Jordana said.

“Leila?” Hyatt let out a long slow whistle. “Well, I’ll be damned. This has got to beat it all. To be hijacked by your boss’s own daughter.”

“Now that you understand, you will follow my orders exactly as I give them to you,” Ramadan said.

Hyatt glanced at Jordana. She nodded. He looked up at the young man. “Yes,” he answered.

“First, you will inform Beirut that there has been a change of flight plan; you will request clearance from Lebanon to Damascus.”

Hyatt made some notes on the scratch pad beside him. “Got it.”

“When we get into Syria, tell them there’s been another change of plans and get clearance over Iraq to Teheran.”

Hyatt looked at him. “I didn’t take on enough fuel to get us to Teheran.”

“Don’t worry,” Ramadan said confidently. “We’re not going there.”

“Where are we going then?” the captain asked.

Ramadan took a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. He handed it down to the pilot. “That’s where we’re going.”

The captain glanced at it then back at him. “You’re crazy,” he said. “There’s no place to put a plane this size down there. It’s nothing but mountains.”

“There is a place,” Ramadan said. “I’ll show it to you when we get there.”

“Is there equipment for an instrument landing?” Hyatt asked.

“No,” Ramadan answered. He gave a short nervous laugh. “But you have the reputation for being one of the best pilots around. Surely, Al Fay would have nothing but the best. You shouldn’t have any trouble making a visual approach and landing.”

“I hope you’re right,” Hyatt muttered. He reached for the radio switch. “I’d better get on to Beirut.”

“Just a minute!” Ramadan pulled the extra set of earphones from the flight engineer’s desk and held one of them to his ear while keeping a finger on the trigger of the rifle in the crook of his other arm. “Now you can call. And, remember, no word of a hijacking or I’ll kill you right in your seat. We don’t want anyone to know about this. Just yet.”

Hyatt looked at him grimly and nodded.

“Now can I go back to help Raoul?” Jordana asked.

“Of course.” Ramadan seemed more relaxed. “And while you’re about it, you can tell them that I have everything under control up here.”

CHAPTER 11

Baydr came into Dick’s office about four o’clock in the afternoon. He had been at the bank for lunch and gone to several meetings later. He glanced around the office. “Where’s Leila?”

Dick looked up at him in surprise. “She went to Beirut this morning.”

“Beirut?”

Dick saw the blank expression on his face. “I thought you knew. She left with Jordana and the children. She told me it was okay with you if she and two friends made the trip. She wanted to go home for the weekend.”

“I must be getting old. Strange, but I don’t remember a thing about it.”

He went into his office, closing the door behind him. Dick stared after him, a vague apprehension beginning to build inside him. It wasn’t like Baydr to forget anything. The telephone rang; he picked it up. He listened for a moment then pressed down the hold button and went into Baydr’s office.

Baydr looked up from behind his desk. “Yes?”

Dick kept his voice level. “I have our man at the Beirut airport on the line. He’s been there since one o’clock and the plane hasn’t arrived yet.”

Baydr picked up the phone, then covered the mouthpiece with one hand. “What time was it due there?”

“About one thirty.”

Baydr’s face paled slightly. He removed his hand from the mouthpiece. “This is Al Fay,” he said. “Call the air controller and find out if they have any word on the plane. I’ll hold on.”

He looked up at Dick, covering the mouthpiece again. “I hope nothing’s happened.”

“Don’t worry,” Dick said reassuringly. “Andy’s too good a pilot to let anything go wrong.”

A voice came back on the line. Baydr listened for a moment then seemed to relax slightly. “Okay, thank you very much.”

He put down the phone. There was a puzzled look on his face. “I don’t understand it. Air control in Beirut said the pilot requested clearance for Damascus.”

Dick didn’t say anything.

“Get on the phone to Damascus and find out if they’re on the ground there.”

“Right away, chief.” Dick went back into his office and picked up the telephone. It took him twenty minutes to connect with air traffic control in Damascus. He listened for a moment then nodded, placed another call and went back into Baydr’s office.

“Are they down there?” Baydr asked.

Dick shook his head. “No. They told me they cleared the plane for Teheran via Baghdad.”

Baydr exploded. “Hyatt’s gone out of his mind! He’ll hear from me about this.” Then he calmed down. “Put calls in to those airports and see what you can find out.”

“I’ve already done that,” Dick said.

“Good. Let me know as soon as you get word.” He leaned back in his chair and watched the door close behind Dick. There was only one possible reason for the change in flight plans. Jordana. She was trying to get the children away from him. He felt anger at his own stupidity. He never should have been so confident that she would do his bidding. Not after what had happened.

A half-hour later Carriage returned. His face was grim. “They didn’t land at Teheran and Baghdad reports that there was no radar track of their crossing Iraqi territory. I checked back with Damascus and they report no signs of trouble or any word from the plane since it flew over them at about two o’clock this afternoon.”

“The plane couldn’t have vanished just like that without leaving a trace.” Baydr was silent for a moment. “I think we’d better call for a search.”

“Before we do that I have a man outside I think you should talk to,” Dick said.

“Tell him to come back,” Baydr snapped. “I have more important things on my mind right now than business!”

“I think what he has to say could have a bearing on where the plane might be.”

Baydr stared at him. “Show him in.”

Dick opened the door. “Would you please come in, Mr. Dupree?” A medium-size man in a nondescript gray suit came through the door. Dick walked with him to the desk. “Mr. Dupree, Mr. Al Fay.”

Dupree bowed. “Honored, monsieur.”

Baydr nodded but did not speak. He looked questioningly at Dick. “What has he got to do with the plane?”

“Maybe nothing,” Dick said quickly. “But first perhaps I’d better explain.”

Baydr nodded.

Dick cleared his throat. It was evident that he was uncomfortable. “Mr. Dupree is a private investigator. We have used him several times before on confidential matters and he has proved himself to be completely trustworthy. Early this week because of certain remarks that Leila made I took it on myself to have him place her under surveillance.”

Baydr’s voice was cold. “Why?”

Dick met his gaze. “Because the day after we stopped the Arabdoll shipments she asked me to let them continue. When I refused because it was against your orders, she said that the Riad and Mafrad families were old friends and that her grandfather would be very embarrassed by it. She also said that I could have the shipments continued and that you would never have to know about them.” He took a deep breath. “When I found out from you that they were not friends I decided to learn what I could about her.”

Baydr turned to the private detective. “What have you found out?”

Mr. Dupree took some papers from his inside jacket pocket and unfolded them. He placed one copy on the desk before Baydr, gave one to Dick and held the other in his own hand. “Typewritten on that sheet of paper are the names of every person your daughter came into contact with this week, together with the times and places of their meetings.”

Baydr looked down at the paper. One name stood out above all the others: Ali Yasfir. Leila had met with him five times this week, twice yesterday. Several other names were repeated but they were not familiar to him. He looked up at the private detective.

“I’m afraid your daughter has been keeping dangerous company, monsieur,” the detective said. “Almost all the names on that list are known Arab terrorists or partisans and, as such, are kept under close surveillance by the Swiss police. They are young and a man called Yasfir appears to be their greatest financial supporter.