Mrs. Pollifax Pursued

by Dorothy Gilman

  "That's good news. It's tear-down night after you close, isn't it?"

  "Yep—sorry you're missing it. By the way, you were suspicious about Lubo. The police made him talk. Insisted." Willie chuckled. "Seems he's a math whiz who started a computer company in the '80s—very big with Wall Street— and then Japanese competition drove him into bankruptcy and closed him up. The crazy guy decided to make a clean break and have some fun for a change."

  "How very creative!" said Mrs. Pollifax.

  "No, crazy." He laughed. "But I promised to tell you something, didn't I. About Anyeta Inglescu?"

  "Yes—you do know of her?"

  "Know of her? She's my grandmother. Ja develesa, Emmy," he said, and hung up.

  On the flight to New Haven Mrs. Pollifax found herself once again yawning, and once again seated next to this engaging child whom she'd discovered in her closet, and she could not help but experience a slight sense of déjà vu. It seemed very strange to be traveling with Carstairs; he had not been exactly forthcoming, and she had no idea what had triggered this whole-hearted commitment to helping Kadi and her friend, not to mention his interest in Ubangiba; Bishop had said something about his being obsessed with the country for the past few days, but she had no idea why. Certainly something must be happening there, or else Carstairs had gone berserk but she was confident that Carstairs never went berserk.

  At the police station Carstairs insisted upon a room in the rear of the building, well out of sight, and they were given one lined with lockers and with cartons piled high in one corner. Chairs were carried in, and Mrs. Pollifax and Kadi sat in a silence permeated by tension while Carstairs was summoned to the telephone a number of times, to return looking pleased.

  He was with them again when there came sounds in the corridor of a voice protesting, other voices muffling the protest, the door was opened, and two policemen ushered in Sammat Yusufu. As the officers released him, Sammy's mouth dropped open at the sight of the three people waiting for him, and as Kadi rose from her chair he gasped, "Kadi?"

  "Hi, Sammy," she said, beaming at him. "I think I've brought help."

  Mrs. Pollifax decided that the snapshot she had seen of Sammy had not done him justice: he was full grown and mature now, the rich dark color of his skin set off by a white shirt open at the throat; his eyes were thoughtful under a slash of black brows, his features strong and well-cut . . , the face of a poet or a prince, thought Mrs. Pollifax, or, from the look of his broad shoulders, a boxer. But if her first impression was of a wary young man this had changed when he saw Kadi: his face lit up with pleasure, even joy, and he exuded warmth.

  "But what can this mean?" he asked, his eyes moving from Kadi to Carstairs to Mrs. Pollifax.

  Carstairs said, "It means, from what Kadi has told us, that we've needed a serious talk with you alone, and definitely without your roommate."

  Sammat's face relaxed. "Without Clarence ... I see. But this is very clever of you, those two policemen will tell you sisted ne come with me, it was necessary for them to physically push him away. Which was astonishing," he added frankly.

  "Exactly, and we mustn't keep you long from him."

  "Kadi did all this?" Sammat asked, turning to her.

  "Well, you see, after seeing you on Monday I was followed," she explained, "and this is Mrs. Pollifax in whose house I hid for two days—to get away from them—and this is Mr. Carstairs, who is—"

  Carstairs interrupted her curtly. "Who is a friend. Sammy, we'd like to know who sent you to the United States four years ago, and with Clarence Mulimo as a guard. Do sit!"

  "I will stand, sir, because Clarence, he is under very strict orders and—"

  "From whom?" snapped Carstairs.

  "This I don't know, sir, and there has been no way to find out. I felt at first that when they assassinated my father they would have killed me, too, if I didn't have some value for them in the future. I think they sent me here to get me out of the way, but lately this has changed. From what I've learned, eavesdropping on Clarence's phone calls—the phone is in the hall but near our room—I think something is going to happen soon in my country, a coup perhaps, I don't know, but I do think that soon I will be taken back to Ubangiba, possibly to be killed, or if there is a coup then to become—what is the word, sir, a puppet?"

  "That will do," nodded Carstairs.

  "Yes, puppet. To be shown to the people as their leader, because they respect the royal line, but with someone behind me pulling the strings."

  "You don't know who that would be?"

  He shook his head. "No, sir, but Clarence has had his suitcase packed for a week, and there have been phone calls to him every night, like never before. I thought he might have been told to—but this is the United States, he could not as easily kill me here. Sir, I really must return to my dorm or Clarence will become suspicious."

  Carstairs said in a hard voice, "I can tell you why Clarence has had his bags packed for a week. The news has come over the wire services tonight that President Simoko is dead."

  "Dead?" cried Kadi.

  "Heya," gasped Sammat, and then, "But he has been in good health, surely this means—"

  Carstairs nodded. "Yes, of course. His death has to have been planned."

  "Poison or a bullet?" asked Mrs. Pollifax with interest.

  Carstairs gave her an amused glance. "We don't know yet, but since arriving in this room my assistant Bishop has telephoned to report that Sammat and Clarence Mulimo, and a Mr. Achille Lecler, are booked to fly to Paris tomorrow morning, and presumably from there to Ubangiba on the Monday morning flight 1192."

  Sammat felt for a chair and sat down.

  "Would you be a good leader?" asked Carstairs softly. "Would the people accept you?"

  Kadi made a move to speak but Mrs. Pollifax shook her head.

  "I have studied hard to be one—always hoping," Sammat said gravely, and suddenly looked much older. "I have majored in economics, I have studied the many agricultural experiments taking place in Africa, I have studied democratic systems, and banking. I believe the people would accept me, which would be most unfortunate if I cannot speak truth to them or make the changes needed to bring prosperity to my country."

  "But you feel sure the people would accept you?" repeated Carstairs.

  It was a question asked again but in a different voice, and Mrs. Pollifax gave him a quick, curious glance. Definitely there were undercurrents here of which she could only guess.

  Kadi said, "Even if uncertain of who he is at first they would accept him because of—"

  "You have it?" asked Sammat. When she nodded he smiled, and to Carstairs he said, "When my grandfather was dying, sir, he summoned the royal diviners—those he trusted to speak truth—and they threw the cowrie shells and told him they saw only evil for ten harvests, and that he must have his son—my father—bury the sacred royal gold ring and let no one see it for ten years, and no one know of this but my father. When my father became President, just before he was killed—as if he knew it would happen—he showed me where it was hidden."

  Mrs. Pollifax looked at Kadi and smiled. "So that's what Sammy gave you in the coffee house. Under the table."

  Kadi flushed.

  Startled, Carstairs murmured, "I have read something of that sacred gold ring, yes. You mean you have it? Is it known that you have it?"

  Sammat said gravely, "It is not known, sir, no. I have kept it carefully concealed."

  Carstairs glanced at his watch and made a face. "You must be delivered back to your dormitory. The police will have found it a case of mistaken identity and will apologize formally in front of Clarence for bringing you here at such an hour. It also looks obvious that you will be flying to Paris tomorrow and then to Ubangiba."

  Sammat stood and waited, his face expressionless. "It seems unbelievable, sir, but I don't see how—"

  "You will not be alone," Carstairs told him. "In Paris when you board flight 1192 you will see me—my name is Carstairs—traveling with a Mrs. Reed and
her daughter, who will be Kadi, as well as with two other gentlemen who will join us in Paris. Since Kadi is known to Clarence you will find her somewhat disguised but in any case you will give no sign of recognition or take any notice of us, you understand? Not until we arrive in Ubangiba."

  Puzzled, Sammat said, "I recognize you then, sir? But how could this be explained?"

  "We need a connection." Carstairs turned to Kadi, "I understand that your father was a missionary in the country?"

  She nodded warily.

  "We'll use that," he said. "I will have visited her father some years ago—Kadi can fill me in on details. You were introduced to me then, and having suddenly recognized me you will introduce yourself and invite us all to go with you."

  Sammat said dryly, "Even to prison if that is what they plan for me? I have, after all, been something of a prisoner already these past few years."

  Carstairs smiled. "I would think it more likely the President's palace, but let's just say that I want to be certain no one disposes of you as they did the late President Simoko."

  It was very warm in the room but Mrs. Pollifax shivered at this.

  "So—off you go," Carstairs said abruptly, and opened the door to the hall. To the two men outside he said, "You can return him now."

  Kadi said, "The ring's in my knapsack, Sammy, would you like it now?"

  "No, Kadi," he said, smiling. "Keep it for me—until we reach home."

  Sammy walked out, joined at once by the pair of men who had brought him there, and Carstairs glanced again at his watch. "You were right, Kadi, your young friend's in considerable danger. Back to headquarters now, to wrap things up and get a few hours' sleep—Bishop will have booked rooms for you—and then—"

  "And then?" asked Mrs. Pollifax.

  "At eight tomorrow morning we fly to Paris—on another airline, of course—to await Monday morning's flight to Ubangiba."

  18

  It was in Paris that Mrs. Pollifax at last reached Cyrus in Connecticut. "You're home!" she exclaimed. "I was afraid I'd miss you."

  "I'm home but the house is damn empty," he growled. "What the devil are you doing in Paris?"

  "I'm quite safe, I'm with Carstairs."

  "Carstairs! Thought he never left his desk."

  "He said it was high time he did."

  "How long have you been in Paris? When did he call you in?"

  "He didn't, this time I called him. Or Bishop," she amended. "On Wednesday night. Possibly you haven't been home long enough to notice the empty sardine tins and crumbs in the closet, and the car missing?"

  "So that's it," Cyrus said. "Car's not missing. Struck me as damn odd, though. Just paid off the taxi on arrival when a man drives our car up the driveway here, hands me the keys and goes off in the taxi I came in. Didn't look like a mechanic."

  "I doubt that he was," Mrs. Pollifax told him frankly, "since I had to abandon the car in Worcester, Massachusetts."

  "Worcester! Emily, what in the world—"

  "Cyrus, I'll explain later, it's nearly time for the plane. I expect truly to be home in two or three days and—I must run—see you soon!"

  She hung up quickly before he could ask what plane she was about to board. This was a pity, she thought, because Cyrus was probably the one person in fifty who would have heard of Ubangiba and who would know precisely where it was located on the continent of Africa. Replacing the phone in its cradle she glanced toward Gate 12, where a line was already gathering for the twice-weekly departure for Languka, Ubangiba. Seeing Kadi she smiled; poor Kadi, she thought, masquerading in a blonde wig with corkscrew curls like Shannon's and inhabiting a noisy yellow dress, her eyes concealed behind huge purple-rimmed dark glasses. Carstairs stood behind her with the stranger who had joined them at the hotel after breakfast, and who had been introduced as John Stover.

  This is Carstairs's ballgame now, she thought, and admitted that at first she had minded very much his being so secretive about his intentions. She found that it no longer mattered now what he was up to, he was giving her the opportunity to observe a real professional at work, a man who had been OSS-trained in World War II and had operated in the Paris underground and later in Libya. She had admired his original bent of mind ever since she'd met him, and now she intended to watch and learn. Watch closely, she resolved, and as she observed Carstairs from this distance she already noticed something strange take placé: Carstairs had brought with him on the flight to Paris a brown leather attaché case; now she saw a man at the rear of the line move up to Carstairs, stand beside him for a moment, and without looking at him place a black alligator-hide attaché case on the floor next to Carstairs, and carry away Carstairs's brown one.

  So now Carstairs had a black attaché case, and a very elegant one, too, which must be important. Beautifully done, she thought admiringly, but certainly mysterious.

  Moving her gaze to the head of the line she caught a glimpse of Sammat, now wearing a bright dashiki, and she wondered which of the men near him was the Mr. Lecler with whom he was to travel, and whether he was really named Lecler at all, and if he was as French as his name sounded. An extremely interesting trip, she mused, and leaving the bank of phones she walked over to join Carstairs, Kadi, and Mr. Stover.

  Once on the plane she sat next to Kadi, with Carstairs in a seat behind them; when she turned to speak to him she saw that his seat companion was the man who had traded attaché cases with him. They were introducing themselves now, as if they were strangers to each other, the man explaining that his name was Devereaux, he was a Parisien, and then he and Carstairs began speaking in French and she could no longer eavesdrop—which of course was why they were speaking French, she reminded herself. Definitely, she thought, the attaché case needed keeping an eye on, in case any more conjuring tricks took place in Languka.

  The plane was only half-filled: Sammat's party had vanished into first class; Kadi explained that the groups of businessmen on the plane would probably stay just the night and one day in Languka, because on the following day a local plane from Agadez would land in Languka on its way to Dakar. Kadi thought the two stewardesses were Hausa and Fulani, and the steward Ethiopian but she couldn't speak to them because she was traveling incognito. This she mentioned regretfully before she drew out a book from her knap-sack: Camus's The Plague. Mrs. Pollifax, who had left home on Wednesday with only a purse, was reduced to magazines bought in Paris.

  Four hours later they began their descent over Ubangiba and Mrs. Pollifax looked down at a desert that was dotted with small moving objects that she guessed to be goats or cattle; soon the desert changed into green fields, and then brown fields threaded by a single dirt road, with occasional villages of conical huts. These were followed by clusters of shanties, then a suburb of square white concrete houses, and then a broad tree-lined boulevard marking Languka itself, which was a dusty-looking, crowded city of flat low buildings, except for two colonial-style white buildings with sloping roofs. "Palaces," said Kadi scornfully, looking over Mrs. Pollifax's shoulder as the plane swept low over the city and continued beyond it to the airport. "President Daniel Simoko Airport," announced the pilot, and they landed bumpily.

  And so, thought Mrs. Pollifax, we are here, and 1 have no idea why, unless it's to be sure that Sammat isn't murdered or sent to prison, but I can't believe the CIA to be THAT altruistic. She rose and followed Kadi down the aisle, with Carstairs and Devereaux behind her. A platform was wheeled up to the door of the plane and they descended into an almost suffocating heat and sun to walk toward a gleaming white terminal building with a photograph of the President over the entrance. Mr. Devereaux hurried past her and she saw that it was he who now carried the black attaché case that he had presented to Carstairs in Paris. He passed Sammat and Clarence and the man at their side who had to be Mr. Achille Lecler.

  In one quick glance of appraisal Mrs. Pollifax received the impression that Mr. Lecler was a man of great efficiency, this from the manner in which he herded his two charges along, his lips thin
ned with impatience, but a man who also enjoyed his luxuries and was somewhat vain, as witness the strip of mustache punctuating his pale face, the cream-colored silk suit that he wore, and the black-and-white shoes with pointed toes. Except for the air of arrogance that he'd cultivated, she thought he looked simply a nondescript middle-aged white man struggling against a growing paunch from too rich a diet, and given to inappropriate clothes. Certainly he looked out of place in Ubangiba.

  Mr. Devereaux, leading the crowd to Passport Control, moved through it quickly with a nod to the cluster of uniformed policemen, slowed, and then reached Customs only a little ahead of Sammat's group. Both his carry-on bag and his attaché case were opened and Mrs. Pollifax observed their contents: pajamas, shirts, toilet articles, and books. Mr. Lecler was next in line, and it appeared that he too carried a black attaché case fashioned out of the hide of an alligator, a fact that she'd not noticed as he disembarked. His case, however, was not opened. Instead he was greeted with a polite nod by the Customs officer and his attaché case was merely placed on the conveyor belt to be carried through the metal detector.

  They know him here, realized Mrs. Pollifax, and having promised herself that she would keep an eye on all such attachés she was now rewarded, although it remained difficult to believe what she saw: for just one second Mr. Devereaux's and Mr. Lecler's matching cases lay on the Customs counter, and having diligently kept Mr. Devereaux's—or Carstairs's—in view, she was stunned to note—could her eyes be deceiving her?—that Mr. Devereaux walked away with Mr. Lecler's black attaché case. More sleight of hand! She hastily dropped her gaze, and with both men gone she deposited her purse on the counter.

  "This is all?" said the man.

  "It's a large purse," she pointed out as he drew from it the pajamas she'd had to buy in Paris, followed by brush, comb, lipstick, toothbrush, and wallet.

  He gave her a disapproving glance and allowed her to move toward the exit.

  It was now that she heard Sammat say, "But—excuse me, sir, are you not the Mr. Carstairs who once visited Mr. Hopkirk, the mission doctor here?"