Silent Partner

by Leigh Brackett

  “Some of Saad's boys. Who else?”

  “I can see why he'd want to kill me,” said Tony. “I know he did, and Ellen, too. But why would he want to kill Karim? They were working together.”

  “Not exactly. They were using each other. Now Saad's job is to protect the network. It's taken years and a lot of painstaking effort to build it, and they don't want it blown. It’s vastly more important than Karim to them, whereas Karim couldn’t care less. If he’s caught, he can use that knowledge as a bargaining point, and they know he wouldn't hesitate to do it. So instead of an asset, he is now a dangerous liability. I don't know about Yadollah and him.” He prodded the conservation man’s body gently with his foot. “Chances are they just got in the way . . . and clean sweeps are generally best." He looked from the body to the truck. “The bastard. No wonder you got past the roadblocks.”

  Tony started to say something, and Zacharian said, “Save it for Maktabi.” The men were beginning to come out of the buildings now. They had not found Karim, dead or alive. Zacharian conferred with them while Tony stood impatiently, glaring at the walls as though he would pierce them with X-ray vision and see where Karim had gone to. The pigeons flew about in dismay, their wings flashing in the sun.

  “Come on,” Zacharian said. “There’s nothing more we can do here, and Maktabi wants to talk to you.”

  Tony hesitated, reluctant to leave.

  “They know their business, Tony. You can’t help them." Tony shrugged and went with him.

  “You still haven’t told me what you're doing here, Jake. You personally, I mean.”

  “I’d run out of things to do at the other end. I left about the same time you did. Maktabi thought I might be useful here.”

  Tony walked beside him in silence. Then he said, 'Tm not proud of that night, Jake.”

  “You might have stayed sober. Other than that, it was our job.”

  “I’m sorry about George.”

  “Not as sorry as I am. Were you able to learn anything from Karim’s records?”

  “I got two possibles.”

  “Tell me.”

  He did, and Zacharian whistled. “The Marlowe Foundation. That's very interesting.”

  “I guess there's no doubt about Bronson anymore. Or Byron and Cornellis.”

  “Our British friends are working on them now. I’d say your time hasn’t been entirely wasted.”

  They emerged into the open sunlight of the maidan. Zacharian guided Tony toward a car, one of many parked along the curb.

  “By the way,” he said, “I'm glad to see you alive. None of us ever thought we would.”

  “That was Karim's doing.”

  “Why?”

  “He's too proud to kill for spite. That would have put him on Saad's level. And he said he owed us a life.”

  “Ah,” said Zacharian. “A touch of scruple. Does it make a difference?”

  “No,” said Tony. “Not one damn bit.”

  Zacharian gave him a peculiar look. Then he fitted the car deftly into the swirl of traffic around the maidan. Tony watched the entrance to the bazaar as long as he could see it. Its tunnel mouths were alien, cryptic, full of shadows. The bazaar had been gathering secrets for hundreds of years; it could hold one more. Tony had the feeling it was going to.

  He spent four hours in a large room in a large official building with Hanookh Maktabi. Ellen Lofting was already there. Zacharian and some other men sat in, and when they were through, they had everything out of Ellen and Tony but their last drop of blood and all the official wires were humming.

  Saad was one important topic of conversation.

  "We have not been able to identify him,” Maktabi said. “He has not been connected with any of our subversives. We think it probable that he is a Lur, educated in Baghdad, where he would have been able easily to join the party. Later, you see, he could have returned to Iran with no black mark on his record. The chances are that he will try now to get back across the Iraqi border.” Maktabi indicated a section of a wall map that looked to Tony like nothing but a tangle of mountains. "Wild and lonely country, and if he is a Lur, he will have the help of his tribesmen. Still, we shall do our best.”

  Zacharian interrupted. "May I say something?”

  "Of course, Yakoub.”

  "If I were Saad, I’d make all the motions of going for the border so that everyone would be looking for me there, and then I’d go the other way. Remember, there’s still Karim. The job got messed up this morning. He has to answer for that to his superiors, and they’re not very patient with people who make mistakes. Saad might have to forgo Ellen and Tony, but I can’t see him forgoing Karim with the knowledge of the whole Western network in his head. If I were he, I’d stay around and be sure the job was properly done. Remember, he probably knows where to look.”

  "Mm,” said Maktabi. “Yes. That is possible. We will keep it in our minds. Now. We must identify that village. When we know who the owner is, we may be a step nearer.” A tired man, the lines drawn deep around his mouth, he looked from Ellen to Tony. He reminded Tony of someone. Corbett. The tough men, the unquitters. “You are sure that you can remember nothing more that may have been said about the Lion? Anything that might suggest when this rebellion will start or how?”

  Ellen shook her head. “He was very careful when he talked to me. Never dropped a clue. He wouldn't even discuss his motives.”

  Maktabi lighted another of the cigarettes he had been chain smoking. His hands were so steady that Tony realized how much effort it was taking to hold them that way.

  “He told Mr. Wales that they had everything in hand. That would indicate that they were ready to strike.'

  The men agreed.

  “Then why is it,” demanded Maktabi, “that our agents among the tribes have seen not the slightest sign of unrest or preparation, no unusual movements, nothing? The military are very impatient, gentlemen. They must have some hint in order to strike effectively themselves, if it comes to that.” He added grimly, “I would prefer that it does not come to that."

  One of the men said, “There may be signs now that the leaders are known and being hunted. They must move quickly or not at all.”

  “You sound,” said Tony, “as though you're all sure Karim got away.”

  “Obviously he had a strong cell here. That is why he could plan Martin's death so easily. Probably some part of the arms shipments came down through the village to the bazaar here and then were dispersed southward. Karim must have had all arrangements made for his own journey, and he may have been able to slip through immediately after the shooting, while you two were still running from Saad's men. We are combing the bazaar and watching all that moves out of the city. But—” Maktabi shrugged.

  “He may be dead,” Tony said. “He was hit—”

  “It is possible, but we can hardly count on it.”

  “What about his father?”

  “Gone. We are questioning all friends and known contacts. So far, nothing. We most urgently wish to have both Hassanis in custody, but until we do, we must continue to follow every possibility. Mr. Wales—”

  Tony sighed. "Okay,” he said. "What do you want me to do?”

  "We would be most grateful if you would help us locate the village. You would recognize it again? Yes. We shall do the search by helicopter, as well as by car. If you would accompany—”

  Ellen said, "With me, you could cover twice as much ground.”

  "But,” said Maktabi, "you have already been through so much.”

  Ellen stood up, looking tall and British. Tony’s heart turned over with a peculiar qualm.

  "Then I ought not to mind going through a bit more.” She smiled. "Besides, I want to buy that carpet.”

  Maktabi bowed. "Then I accept most gratefully. Mr. Wales?”

  "When do we start?”

  "In the morning. I would recommend you both to go now to the hotel, where all will be provided. Ah . . . Miss Lofting, one thing I regret. I cannot allow you to talk to your
parents—”

  "I was afraid of that,” Ellen said.

  "Please understand. So many ears listen, and one chance word could be disastrous. We wish to have no panic here at home and no headlines in the international press. I think you can imagine what effect this news would have on holdings and investments.”

  "I understand. But they must be out of their minds with worry. Isn’t there some way—"

  “Yes. I will have them notified that you are safe and well. This can be done through our own channels. For the rest, they must wait.”

  "Well,” said Ellen, "that at least is an act of mercy. Thank you. Now about that hotel—” She looked down at herself, brushing at the grime and tatters. "Do you think they’ll let me in?”

  Zacharian laughed. "Tony’s a worse mess than you are.” A police surgeon had patched up the flesh wound neatly enough, but there had been no help for the trousers. “Come on, we’ll do some shopping.”

  They said good-bye and went out. Tony noticed that when they drove away from the building, a second car followed them, with two men in it.

  “What’s that for?”

  “Personal escort. You do understand the risk you’re taking, working with us?”

  “Of course,” said Ellen.

  Zacharian glanced at Tony, waiting for him to say something.

  “I was just thinking,” Tony said, “that when you do get shot at, it’s nice to know that the guns, silencers, and ammo are all courtesy of your own firm. How did he do it, Jake? Or do you know? You were talking Persian a lot of the time.” “The assumption is that some of those major appliances were dummies, with innards that were never designed to make ice cubes or roast meat. They may have been passed on intact to dealers and then to individuals—Maktabi’s boys are checking on that—or they may have been broken up in Karim’s warehouse and sent down the line by other means. Probably a combination of the two methods, depending on the ultimate destination. This may have been one of the things Karim was afraid of Harvey’s finding out if he began checking inventories.”

  “Fine,” said Tony. “What came inside the radios? Bombs?”

  Zacharian said, “You really are mad, aren’t you?”

  “He really is,” Ellen said. “At the moment. I’m waiting to see if it’s permanent.”

  Tony smiled with the hard edges of his teeth. “You know what you both can do?”

  Zacharian swung into the Chahar Bagh, leaning hard on the horn. A shoal of bicycles swerved like minnows.

  “I can guess,” he said. “If you're still with us at the end of this, I might even do it.”

  21

  Sometime later, bathed, shaved, and freshly dressed, Tony sat on the balcony of his room at the Shah Abbas and drank a vodka and tonic, watching the dusk fill the quadrangle while the lamps came on and the stars took fire overhead and the everlasting crows went finally to rest. This too had been a caravanserai, and the transformation into a luxury hotel had been achieved with no sacrifice of the original architecture. the whole effect was stunningly beautiful, except that the immemorial pattern of arched alcoves and deep gates was too reminiscent of that other ruinous serai in the bazaar.

  There were further items to remind him. A man was posted in the lobby and another in the corridor, a third on the roof where he could overlook the quadrangle. Tony wondered how the hotel management felt about the possibility of having some of its six-million-pound investment shot up.

  He drank his vodka and tonic. The sky darkened; the stars grew brighter. He felt restless and excited, curiously happy; he felt as if he had been popping pills, but of course he hadn't. He went inside and picked up the phone and asked for Ellen’s room.

  She answered on the first ring. “Yes? Oh, hello, Tony."

  “Can I come see you?"

  “Please do.”

  He went out into the corridor, and the guard immediately sprang alert, watching him, hawk-eyed, while he knocked on Ellen's door. She let him in, grinning.

  “Do you have the feeling you’re being watched?”

  “Maybe we ought to leave the door open. Or call for a chaperon.”

  “I don't think they’re worried about that.”

  “Are you?"

  “At this late date?”

  She shut the door. She was wearing a rose-colored sort of shift that set off the long, slim lines of her body and stopped well short of the knees. Tony whistled.

  “Don’t tell me the Persian gals are going in for these things.”

  “You'd be surprised what some of them wear under their chadors. Latest import from Rome.” She smelled beautifully of cleanliness and shampoo. Her hair was still damp. “Do come in,” she said.

  He did. The original large rectangle of the room had had one rear corner partitioned off for a modem bath, with closets opposite. The remainder of the room contained a double bed, a couch, coffee table, desk, and chair. At the front a glass door looked out onto the balcony and the gardens below. The glass door was new, backing up the original one, a latticework of carved wood like the one Karim had crashed through this morning.

  “I thought we might have a drink together.”

  “Lovely.”

  “And perhaps dinner?”

  “Why so formal? Haven't we shared our yogurt stew?”

  He laughed. “All right then. Do you feel like facing the dining room?"

  “Not especially. Do you?”

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  She handed him the menu from the desk, and they sat down on the couch to study it.

  “Good God,” Tony said. “Cheeseburgers with onions and french fries. That's chips to you. In Isfahan?”

  “You people are corrupting the entire world.”

  “All this and Coca-Cola, too. The hell with that. Caviar?”

  “Why not? It's the best in the world.”

  “And champagne? I think we’re entitled to a celebration.”

  “Yes,” said Ellen. “Rather. We are alive.”

  Tony rang room service. While they waited, they talked rather stiffly as though they were holding back from something pending interruption. Tony explained that he was wearing one of Zacharian's suits, not one of the three-hundred-dollar mohair jobs but a less expensive model suitable for spy work, and that it did not fit him as well as it did Zacharian. They chatted about the hotel and the long, fascinating, and exceedingly bloody history of the city; Karim had provided her with books, and Ellen had become something of an expert on Persia. Tony listened to her rattle on about Tamerlane and Shah Abbas and the Afghans, not really absorbing much of it but fascinated by her.

  "You could sit and read that stuff, not knowing whether you were going to live long enough to finish the book?"

  "Of course I did. For the same reason I began chopping that silly hole in the roof. What would you have done?"

  "That's a good question, and I'm glad I don't have to answer it." He let the waiter in.

  Things went much more smoothly after that. They sat together on the couch, touching lightly at shoulder and hip and knee. The caviar was delicious, but they seemed not to be very hungry. The champagne was cold going down, warm and exhilarating inside. Tony thought, How corny can you get? This is the kind of seduction scene you see on the late late show and laugh at. But he was not laughing, and he did not feel like a seducer. There was a new element here, something he had never dreamed he could feel for a woman. It was comradeship. He was absolutely astounded. He turned and stared at her, and she smiled.

  "What is it, Tony?"

  "I like you," he said.

  "You sound astonished."

  "I am. I mean . . . I like you just as a person."

  "Thank you."

  He thought she was mocking him, but he did not care. "Apart from being a woman. I mean—Oh, hell. Ellen—"

  She sat watching him, close to him, so close that he could see the texture of her lips, parted just a little, and he leaned toward them, and then he stopped.

  “What's the matter, Tony?
Afraid?"

  “I don’t know. I suddenly had the feeling that I ought to ask permission or something. The girls I'm used to—you feed ’em; you jump on ’em; you say good-bye. I know where I am. But you . . . Maybe I am afraid." He shook his head. “Besides, there's Harvey. I guess he’d always be between us.”

  She finished her champagne and got up, pulled the draw-cord on the heavy curtains and put the chain on the door. The shift came off easily, and there was little underneath. She had a beautiful body, slender and long-thighed, small-breasted, firm, the skin like white silk. She watched him, poised and grave-eyed, smiling, while he struggled out of his borrowed suit, and she was still smiling when he caught the smooth warmth of her to him and held her, stroking her back with his fingertips to make it arch and quiver. They kissed as they had done before, hungrily, deeply; only this time there were no tears. He bore her down to the bed.

  This seemed to be his season for learning, and he discovered two things. One of them was no surprise; she was strong as an otter, with muscles he hadn’t known existed in the female. The second was a revelation; there really was more to it than just bouncing up and down. That one added dimension made all the difference.

  All the difference in the world.

  Holding her in his arms, holding all that would have been Harvey's, he felt the full extent of his guilt.

  And as though she knew exactly what he was thinking, Ellen said, “I’ve had a lot of time to brood, and I faced up to something that I didn’t care much for. Because Harvey loved me so much, I made myself believe that I loved him more than I really did, and of course, that’s why—I mean, if I had really loved him, I wouldn’t have hesitated a moment about coming with him. So there’s my handful of guilt to match yours.”

  “It isn't a whole lot, is it?”

  “Tony, we have to close the book and go on. It's no use to keep thinking if only— Karim betrayed you both, and he's the one to settle with, not the past.”

  “Settle I will,” said Tony, “but not you. I want you to go home. Tomorrow."

  “Whatever for?’

  “Because it anything happened to you—” He broke off, choking with indignation. “God damn it," he said, “I must be in love with you.”