Mrs. Pollifax Pursued

by Dorothy Gilman

  From the crowds outside came a roar of laughter and then a cheer, and Kadi turned to them, smiling. "Sammy has told them everything," she said "and they are with him, they understand what nearly happened, and he makes a promise to them of makasi—a new path. You heard, Joseph? Makasi!"

  20

  It was evening in the palace. Sammat had met with the Chiefs of the Shambi and the Soto, and had gravely accepted their plea that he take over the ufumo—the chieftainship—of their sorrowing country and restore its heart, or mtima. Stover and Devereaux had vanished to make a number of phone calls, Devereaux to Paris and Stover to Washington—a laborious and time-consuming process— while Achille Lecler was under guard in a clinic awaiting a doctor to wire his jaw. Following a brilliant sunset, night had fallen like a curtain, but the darkness was filled with the muted sound of beating drums—talking drums, Sammy had told them, spreading news of the events of this day across the fields and the desert—and now I know I really am in Africa, thought Mrs. Pollifax.

  She glowed with contentment: there had been a bath in a real tub—she had missed that at Willie's—and she had been loaned a dashiki while her clothes were being laundered and pressed. She was in Africa, of all places, witnessing the unmasking of a clever and unscrupulous billionaire; during the past several days she and Kadi had inadvertently arrived on the periphery of Carstairs's suspicions about Bidwell and the two of them had supplied him with the dimensions needed to confirm his suspicions. Two paths had converged: Carstairs had found his man and, what was most important to her young friend Kadi, they had brought Sammy safely home.

  Yet only seven days ago, she remembered, she had neither heard of Sammy, nor of Ubangiba, nor of Kadi Hopkirk, who had been hiding for a day and a night in her hall closet. Really, she thought, it has been QUITE an astonishing week!

  Now she presided over a long and candle-lit refectory table in the shadowy dining hall of the palace, Sammy and Kadi on either side of her, and Carstairs seated next to Bidwell, whose left hand was handcuffed to his chair.

  "Well?" she said, addressing Carstairs across the table.

  Carstairs gave her a faint smile and nodded. "Yes," he said, and turning to Bidwell, "You understand that we are your first judge and jury."

  Bidwell licked dry lips and whispered, "But how did you know? How did you ever guess? It was so carefully, so very carefully—"

  "Planned, yes," agreed Carstairs. "For years, I'm sure."

  "But—how? We made no mistakes, I swear."

  Carstairs considered this judiciously. "I'd say that your worst miscalculation was insisting that you not know when or how your abduction was to take place, or by whom, leaving it entirely up to your two confederates, Lecler and Romanovitch, to arrange. Due, no doubt—I can only guess—to your fear of the abduction being witnessed. They were to do the dirty work, and you were to play the part of innocent victim, it had to look absolutely authentic should anyone chance to notice the abduction taking place. And so—not knowing precisely when or how—you left behind your engagement calendar locked in a drawer, a fact known only to your secretary who spoke of it to the FBI."

  "Damn it," whispered Bidwell. "Damn her."

  "And in that engagement calender were those five mysterious flight 1192's," continued Carstairs, ignoring this crude dismissal of a loyal secretary. "There were also, of course, your appointments with Desforges, Lecler, and Romanovitch, but it was the 1192's that piqued my curiosity. You were a man whose life appeared to be an open book and yet you made five mysterious and concealed trips to Ubangiba, and I might add that your Claiborne-Osborne people, when questioned, scarcely knew of the country's existence. Initially I felt those trips might hold the key to your abduction: a terrorist group, perhaps, or a band of Ubangiban nationalists who objected to your presence. I thought you might have been snatched by a group like that."

  "But this scarcely—"

  "Very true," agreed Carstairs. "Actually it was something that Desforges said—oh yes, I spoke with him in Rouen, he was very discreet, very proper, he refused to tell me anything except that you'd bought the mineral rights to the country. He did concede, however, that what had been discovered would be only modestly profitable, and he used a curious word: only with cheap, very cheap labor, he said. Very Leopoldish."

  "Leopold?" repeated Sammat, startled.

  "Yes, a name that I overlooked at the time; I was too disillusioned when our Geology Department reported that coal was the only possibility in Ubangiba, given the terrain. I had expected gold, or natural gas. . . . Perhaps it began when I asked myself why this passionate interest in coal ? From you, a man accustomed to million-dollar deals, a man believed to be a billionaire; I very nearly lost interest."

  "But you didn't," said Mrs. Pollifax, smiling.

  He smiled back at her. "No, because at that point Bishop handed over to me his taped phone interview with you, Mrs. P, where you spoke of being chased through Connecticut and into Massachusetts by a van with 'Chigi Scap Metal' on its panels, and only an hour earlier that same van had been described to us by one of our men named Lazlo—but I won't bore you with that detail just now."

  "Later?" urged Mrs. Pollifax, the name Lazlo being all too familiar to her.

  "Later, yes. Suffice to say, it was at this point that Kadi and Mrs. Pollifax entered the picture. This Kadi," he said, smiling at her, "who grew up in Ubangiba, met a good friend in New Haven named Sammy who was also from Ubangiba, and who appeared to be in trouble. That's when political possibilities entered this puzzle to enhance matters, and of course very soon a most intriguing connection was made."

  He met Bidwell's glance and held it. "Stop me if I'm wrong but I assume—having seen and heard your impassioned plea on video only Saturday—that as soon as the abduction took place you were rushed somewhere to film several dramatic appeals to be issued at suitable intervals, and then—even before a ransom note was sent out—you were on your way to Ubangiba with a new passport. Of course you left Lecler in charge of the two Chigi Scap Metal chaps, and as you must know by now they were killed on Friday by Lecler, about the same time that President Simoko here in Ubangiba was murdered by Romanovitch."

  "Who is still missing," Kadi reminded him.

  "Not for long," said Carstairs. "Joseph has taken a few trusted friends in the police to look for him."

  Sammat interrupted to say, "Joseph has also taken me to the room where President Simoko slept, sir, and has shown me the trunks of gold bullion hidden there .., so much! It will certainly serve to back our currency, the gwar that has lost so much value. But how greedy Simoko was!"

  "Bidwell was greedy, too," said Carstairs looking at him. "Fifty million ransom, Bidwell? That was rather suspicious. . . . My last-minute inquiries uncovered the fact that you'd never kept all your money in the United States— doubtless it was stashed away in Swiss banks—but it wasn't enough, you also wanted everything that remained in the United States, you wanted it very much, and what better way to get it moved out of the country than to be abducted and the ransom collected by Lecler and brought to Ubangiba."

  Mrs. Pollifax, puzzled, said, "But why and for what?"

  "Ah," said Carstairs, "that's where Leopold comes in. Look at Sammat, he knows what I mean."

  Sammat nodded. "King Leopold and the Congo."

  "Your question, Mrs. P, is the same question that I asked of myself: why and for what? A modest vein of coal certainly couldn't explain Bidwell's interest in the country. What then, I wondered, could it be? Having made billions and become sated with money, what did he still lack?"

  They waited expectantly.

  "I realized I was thinking too small. What he wanted was to own a country. His own country."

  "Nobody can own a country," said Kadi flatly.

  "No? King Leopold II did, and I'm sure Bidwell had him in mind. ... But let me tell you about King Leopold the Second of Belgium, who died in 1909. I've read and reread the story these past two days until I believe I can quote from memory." Leaning back in hi
s chair he closed his eyes, and as if the pages had become engraved there he recited, " 'Failing to interest his country in acquiring the Congo during the "great scramble" for Africa during the late eighteen hundreds, the King used his own personal fortune to further his personal ambitions . . .' "

  He opened his eyes to say in a harsh voice, "So he employed Henry Morton Stanley—you could almost substitute Lecler and Romanovitch here—to explore the Congo, to make treaties with the chiefs, and to map its rivers. Eventually Leopold established a trading monopoly in rubber from which he alone—not Belgium—made enormous profits under a system of abusive forced labor and sickening atrocities.

  "And not until 1905," he continued, "did Europe wake up to the fact that a single individual owned an entire country—think of it, an entire country owned by one man— who ruled it as the most absolute of absolute monarchs."

  "Owned a country!" whispered Kadi.

  "Fair and square," nodded Carstairs. "And even when Europe learned of it—Conrad's Heart of Darkness brought it clearly to the world—Europe did nothing, nothing at all, being too occupied with its own small wars and conflicts."

  "Wow," Kadi said, "I didn't know that."

  "I did," Sammat said. "It was a bloody and brutal story in Africa's history."

  "Well, Bidwell, am I right?" Carstairs asked, turning to him. "You intended to become the missing Judge Crater of this continent and rule a country using young Sammat as a decoration and ruling him as well, isn't this true? A new hobby, right? A toy to play with? A little fun for you in your later years?"

  "Stop—stop," groaned Bidwell. "Tell me, I beg of you, what will happen to me now."

  " 'Beg of me?" mocked Carstairs. "Well, there are certain possibilities I can think of. ... I admit, much to my sorrow, that at the moment I can think of no laws you've broken, unless as an accessory to the murder of President Simoko. Definitely, however, the $50 million dollars in ransom that you went to so much trouble to bring here—" He reached down for his attaché case and slid it across the table to Sammat. "I think it only fair and just that it remain in Ubangiba for the development of the country, since it was for that purpose it came here."

  Bidwell made a strangled sound of protest.

  "After all," pointed out Carstairs, "it's Bidwell money, originally a ransom to be paid to return you to the family that you've abandoned. That could be your future. Stover is conferring about that."

  "Returned?" Bidwell said in a shocked voice. "To my family?"

  Carstairs shrugged. "Why not? The ransom has been paid and will never be traced—those unmarked bills—and it's possible our government may think the most creative punishment is that you be found gagged and bound in New York and quietly returned to that family. With the stipulation, of course, that you immediately retire from Claiborne-Osborne International and never leave the United States or be involved in any business again."

  "That fifty million is mine," Bidwell said desperately. "And you can't arrest me, you have no legal rights, we're on foreign soil!"

  "Ah, but we're not arresting you," said Carstairs smoothly, "the FBI is only carrying out its assigned job of rescuing a kidnapped American citizen. We will merely be returning a captured American to the United States, where you may or may not be arrested. However, I would like to remind you that recently the Supreme Court ruled that in the case of 'hot pursuit' the FBI may enter a foreign country to recover a person wanted for criminal activities."

  "I won't go," stormed Bidwell.

  "Or," pointed out Carstairs, "the whole story can be told. The newspapers will love it, your family will be crushed, and I'm sure you can be sent to prison for something, I'm not sure for what, not being an expert on the subtleties of the law. If not as an accessory to murder, then surely Ubangiba can try you for the attempt to overthrow its government."

  Bidwell attempted to rise from his chair but was held back by his handcuffs. "That's blackmail!" he shouted.

  Carstairs laughed in his face.

  They were silent, each of them staring at Bidwell and realizing how very nearly he had succeeded in his scheme. It was only Carstairs, thought Mrs. Pollifax, who had been intuitive enough to weave together dissimilar and fragile threads to make a whole out of a crazy, outrageous pattern, and she marveled at him again.

  The silence ended with a sigh as Carstairs said, "Enough .. . Stover is arranging a special plane for us in the morning—no rest for the weary!—to return Bidwell to the United States. Devereaux is going to stay on for a week, though, Sammat, and help in any way he can. I hope none of you feel we're deserting Sammat?"

  "I'm a little tired," admitted Mrs. Pollifax. "Before I'm overwhelmed by jet lag I think I'd like to go home and see Cyrus."

  "Kadi?"

  Kadi said shyly, "Would it be possible for me to stay until the Thursday flight back to Paris and New York? I'd like to find my parents' graves—Laraba will know where. And visit with old friends."

  "By all means," said Carstairs. "And Sammy? You'll be very busy, I'm thinking."

  "I certainly will," he said earnestly. "We must restore the old legal system, once surviving lawyers can be released from prison. Banks and credit unions have to be opened again, and the Simoko army disbanded and new people trained. I'd like to turn half of this palace into an Agricultural Center, and half into a high school; but first I must bring in two experts whose books I have studied, they are agricultural experts on what can best be grown in Africa, and what experiments have been successful."

  "And the $50 million?" asked Mrs. Pollifax with a smile.

  "Food," he said quickly. "Grain at once to fill the shops for the people to buy, and seeds—but the seeds will be given away. And yes, perhaps some equipment to mine that coal you spoke of, sir, so that it can fuel the digging of new wells—but I must go slowly and not make mistakes, sir."

  "And elections?" asked Carstairs.

  Sammat shook his head. "Not until the people have full bellies and a taste of what it feels like to be free. They would only vote for me now, you see, and that would be very bad."

  Kadi grinned. "Well, if I learn you've made yourself President-for-Life, Sammy, I'll come over with my B-B gun and—"

  "Heya, Kadi," he said, grinning, "you remember the time Duma shot wild by accident and—"

  She giggled. "—and my father took six pellets out of me, and I couldn't sit down for a week."

  Carstairs, watching them, smiled. "There is this, too, young lady. When you tire of art school—and if the CIA still exists," he added dryly, "we could use someone with your gift for sketching faces and remembering them."

  "Well, thank you," she said, and to Mrs. Pollifax, "Another job offer, Emmy Reed!"

  But Mrs. Pollifax was watching Carstairs, who was looking intently at each of their faces around the table. "It's extraordinary," he said. "We have here in this room, however briefly, all the characters who played out this drama. For me it's extraordinary."

  "I don't suppose it happens often for you," conceded Mrs. Pollifax, "but this one you've seen through to the very end."

  "No," said Sammat firmly, "he has seen it through to a beginning"

  EPILOGUE

  This week Willie's Traveling Amusement Shows was encamped not far from the ocean in northernmost Maine, so that on this early June morning the fragrance of salt air mingled companionably with the smell of the fresh sawdust that Jake was shoveling out of the truck being driven slowly around the midway. A morning breeze from the sea played with the seats of the ferris wheel and sent them swinging gently, while two seagulls observed the scene from the ridgepole of the Ten-in-One. The bright sun had not yet extinguished the shadows cast by the stalls but it picked out Shannon as she emerged from her trailer in a not-too-clean robe and made her way to the grab-joint. Down at his Spin the Wheel, Lubo had set up a lap-top computer on the counter and was making calculations. In the trailer compound Gertie was hanging her washing out to dry, while three trailers beyond her the Snake Woman opened her door and sat down in the sun cr
adling a python in her arms.

  It was an otherwise tranquil morning until its silence was suddenly invaded by the sound of the merry-go-round coming to life, its horses slowly rising and falling, its carousel bursting out with the lively rhythms of "Who Stole My Heart Away."

  "Faster, Boozy Tim, or you'll rock us to sleep," called Cyrus, astride a black horse with a scarlet saddle.

  "Yes, faster," called Mrs. Pollifax, and fluttered a hand at Kadi, who laughed up at them, paintbrush in one hand, a bucket of paint in the other, and who watched them as they rode side by side in perfect contentment, round and round, dreamily, and then the rollicking music paused, clicked and changed to "In the Good Old Summertime."

  Kadi thought, I have a family again....

  Willie, striding onto the midway, came to an abrupt halt, startled by the sound of the carousel at such an early hour. He looked at Boozy Tim, and then at Cyrus and Mrs. Pollifax, and he shook his head and grinned. "Not again!" he said, and chuckled as he headed into the cook-house for coffee.