Way of Escape (40 page)

He couldn't tell if it was day or night when they came for him, the woman in charge called doctor and a tall black woman who dominated the entire small room where they took him. To his total and complete mortification, she was also called doctor. The women tried several languages: English, French, Arabic, and he pretended ignorance. A quick whispered conference and in came a well-dressed man with the clean, sharp features that obviously identified him as descended from the ancient Persians. He spoke eloquent Farsi.

Muhit was about to answer when he noticed the ring on the man's finger containing a large flat ruby with the inscription Allah u abha Baha'u'llah. Muhit's lips scrinched shut in a tight line. First women in power, then the only speaker of Farsi was a Baha'i. Naturally, the Baha'i man would take orders from a woman. Baha'is believed women were equal with men. Heresy. Ali Muhit could not respond to any of this. It was not in his remit. It did not fit the order of his life. He hung his head in absolute shame.

“That's all right,” said the Baha'i man, “we're negotiating with your commander, Darughih Sadiq-Fath. The terms will be easy for even him to swallow. Hear what I say even if you cannot find it in yourself to respond.”

Ali Muhit swung his chair away to face the wall.

The Baha'i man went on, “In return for absolving the fatwa on Baron Hermelin and his entire family, you will be kept here and kept alive. As long as the fatwa remains gone, you will live. Is that not a good deal?”

To the wall, in a very muted voice, Ali asked, “And my family? Will they be safe? Will I ever see my grandchildren again?”

“That is not in our hands,” said the black giantess in Arabic, “it is in the decision of your superior.”

“Then I am doomed,” murmured Ali, “to loneliness, for the rest of my life. He will never let my family out of Iran.”

“We can discuss that down the road a way,” said Dr. Legesse and the Baha'i man translated it into Farsi as she and Dr. Bar-Fischer stood up. Ali Muhit peered around, wondering what they meant.

As Rachel closed the door to the interview room, she said to Halima, “Think we could get those cataracts of his taken care of? It's such an elementary procedure.”

“When can you schedule it?”

“Early next week?”

Halima nodded. “Anything to make life easier for the old man. Go ahead. Bill it to us and the contact lenses too, if he needs them.”

Siddhu reluctantly held out a sticky note with the code on it. Russ had almost had to pry the code from Siddhu's brain with a can opener, or so it had seemed. First had come Singh Siddhu's long lecture in florid British English about keeping secrets and how important it was not to interfere in Tahireh Ibrahim's life once she had returned to Paris and became the famous model Gillé.

“We cannot have her as an agent if she cannot become this other personality when she is home. She is famous, a bloody famous model, who stands in great spotlights!” Siddhu, with waving arms and fluttering hands, insisted as Russ tried valiantly to nod in agreement at all the correct junctures. Siddhu ended with, “You do not disturb her. You understand?”

Russ nodded again. “I do not disturb her, ever.” He gently plucked the note from Siddhu's finger. “I promise on my mother's ancient name, Snow-from-Night-Sky, which is an honorable name, I promise!”

“Bloody right,” sighed Siddhu and backed out of Russ's alcove. He conferred briefly with Devi and then took off for a briefing with Dr. Bar-Fischer and Halima over the cataract operation for their prisoner.

As Russ plugged in the code for transmission to the Hospital de la Croix St. Simons where the Torture Treatment Centre was housed, Devi came up behind him.

“My mom sent me some fresh lamb from the kibbutz. Want to come to dinner tonight? My apartment? I know the kitchen in your little house really sucks.”

“Well, a stove that doesn't work and a sink that's all plugged up doesn't help.” Russ had found a small, abandoned dwelling on the outskirts of Haifa and had great plans to rebuild it. At the moment, it was more like camping out with the biggest problem being the neighbor's goats who had considered it shelter for years and were cranky at being evicted. They'd twice eaten their way through the scrap wood he'd put over the holes in the walls. Russ carefully composed the message to the model Gillé, who so graciously volunteered her time at St. Simons, saying Habib Mansur was doing well and would be back on his feet in about a week. As the message was sent, Devi leaned against the doorway.

“She doesn't date,” said Devi.

“I'm not sure I follow you,” Russ looked up the Israeli girl who sported a new hairstyle and a pretty blouse. She seemed slightly uncomfortable in both.

“Tahireh doesn't…” Devi blushed and suddenly Russ caught on and helped her with the explanation. “You mean she keeps her life simple.”

Devi said, “Yes. I mean, she's not gay. She's famous. It's difficult for her.”

“I understand,” Russ insisted, “I really do.”

“So, do you like lamb? I make a super curry, hot enough to clear all your sinuses in one go.”

“Sure,” Russ grinned. “What time?”

Jet lag didn't seem to affect Bonnie at all. She was up with the birds and out with Misimoto surveying the ginger crop and a new pond for catfish that had been dug in the upper pasture. Groundwater was slowly seeping in and would reach the correct level in a couple days. Misimoto was worried that the catfish would arrive before the water had clarified, but Bonnie pointed out that catfish were not too particular about water clarity and, in fact, liked mud. Gryphon enjoyed the muddy pond immensely. For a brief while, he forgot his constant surveillance of ground squirrel activity.

Carl-Joran slept late and spent his waking time practicing his martial arts or hiking. Bonnie went back to work with her library research. Trisha taught health classes and her basketball team won two and lost one. The Thai girls flourished, their English improving by leaps each day. Misimoto's stock of catfish adjusted to their pond without any problems, just as Bonnie had predicted.

Fourteen days passed before the phone call came. It was Barbara Monday and she talked with the baron. There was a woman in Montana. That wasn't far from California, right? The wife of a wealthy cult leader, she'd managed to escape to a shelter in Helena, but the entire shelter could be in danger if she stayed much longer. These cultists were end of the world freaks and carried big, ugly guns.

And where would this poor woman go if they could get her out of Montana, Bonnie had inquired of Barbara and the baron.

Barbara explained that Halima Legesse had already arranged for Crystal, the woman's new name, to go to India. Before her cult entrapment, she'd been a third grade teacher. Lama Kazi Padma-Lakshi could use a teacher in his village. How soon could Carl-Joran and Bonnie have her safely on a flight out of San Francisco?

Carl-Joran looked at Bonnie who promptly said, “Within the week.”

END