Elusive Mrs. Pollifax

by Dorothy Gilman

  “You, sir. Mrs. Pollifax is so much like you.”

  “What?” snapped Carstairs.

  Bishop nodded. “She goes off on tangents. Operates on impulse and trusts her intuition. When she stops upsetting you, sir, it’ll be because she’s turned into a well-behaved, well-trained and completely predictable operator. You’ll sleep nights and stop swearing. And then she’ll be like all your professional agents, and of no use to you at all, will she?”

  Carstairs glared at him. “Are you suggesting I run this department on nothing but impulse and intuition, Bishop?”

  “I have never known you to follow the book, sir,” said Bishop serenely. “That’s why you’re so successful isn’t it? Incidentally, your telephone’s buzzing, sir.”

  Angrily, Carstairs flipped switches and barked into the receiver. He listened and his expression changed. Hanging up he said, “Something’s happening. The Bulgarian Embassy’s going to make an important announcement in ten minutes.”

  15

  Mrs. Pollifax was awakened at nine o’clock the next morning in Tarnovo by an urgent hammering on the door and a message–acted out in pantomine–that she was wanted at once on the telephone in the lobby. Mrs. Pollifax threw her coat over her pajamas and hurried downstairs.

  She had expected it to be Nevena, and braced herself. But it was not Nevena, it was the American Embassy in Sofia, and after being told to wait she at last heard the faint but unmistakable voice of Mr. Eastlake.

  “However did you find me!” she exclaimed.

  Eastlake’s voice sounded tired. “With difficulty. Have you heard from Balkantourist this morning?”

  “No.”

  “You will,” he said dryly. “They told me where you are. They seem rather angry, though. There was some kind of accident?”

  “Among other things,” she said. He couldn’t have called about the accident and she told him so.

  “Quite true,” he said. “I recall your concern about young Trenda, and knowing that you’re still in the country I thought you might enjoy your vacation more if you knew he’s being released this afternoon. At two o’clock, at the Embassy.”

  “Released?” echoed Mrs. Pollifax incredulously.

  “Released. You sound surprised.”

  “Surprised but delighted,” she said hastily. She wondered how she could possibly explain her intense surprise, when Philip’s confinement had brought three attempts on her life, the latest of them last night. “At two o’clock, you said?”

  “Yes. If you have that young Debby’s address you might like to reassure her as well, although she’s bound to be reading it in the major western Europe newspapers.”

  “Yes,” said Mrs. Pollifax, and then, “What made them … that is …”

  “Diplomatic pressure, I imagine,” Eastlake said crisply. “I suspect the Kremlin intervened as well. Because of Bemish’s early dispatches the news has been headlined since Tuesday morning in London, Paris, New York, Oslo.… But all’s well that ends well, eh, Mrs. Pollifax? Happy journeying.”

  “Yes … and thank you so much,” she said, hanging up and hurried upstairs to tell Debby. “Philip’s being released at two this afternoon in Sofia.”

  Debby sat bolt upright. “Great!” she shouted and rolled to her feet in that same beautifully fluid athletic manner that had so dazzled Mrs. Pollifax on the night of the burglary.

  “Breakfast first, and then packing,” said Mrs. Pollifax hurriedly, but even so she was summoned to her second telephone call while still in bare feet.

  This time it was Nevena, a very excited and aggrieved Nevena, who wanted to know what Mrs. Pollifax was doing in Tarnovo when she was supposed to be in Borovets.

  “Well,” said Mrs. Pollifax, drawing a deep breath, “I met some people who told me Tarnovo was too beautiful to be missed. I met them only a block from the hotel when I took a wrong turning–”

  “How could you take a wrong turning?” demanded Nevena. “The directions were plain, very clear. I saw them. They said–”

  “I took this wrong turning,” continued Mrs. Pollifax blandly, “and I met these people.”

  “What people?”

  “English, I think, or Canadian. The man was quite tall and had a scar. On his left cheek,” she added artistically. “And I decided to go to Tarnovo instead.”

  She could almost hear Nevena’s foot stamping. “You Americans,” she said indignantly. “You see what happens now, your car is wrecked. They wake me up to say it will take very long to fix the car and you will need a new car in Tarnovo when all the time you are supposed to be in Borovets. First you come to Sofia and are to stay, and then you meet some people who tell you Sofia is not the real Bulgaria–”

  She has an excellent memory, thought Mrs. Pollifax.

  “And now you meet some other peoples–”

  “I’m truly sorry,” said Mrs. Pollifax, wearying of the joke. “In America, you see, we’re quite free to–”

  She had made her point; Nevena interrupted, but her voice was reproachful now rather than angry. “It is very difficult for me when you change the itinerary. How can I give you the idyllic service when you jump so? There will be another car for you at 1 P.M., leaving Sofia soon to reach you, and the driver will personally return you to the Hotel Rila.”

  “I’d rather leave earlier,” said Mrs. Pollifax. “I could take the train?”

  “There will be the car,” Nevena said flatly, and then as a dutiful afterthought she added, “You are not hurt by the accident, Mrs. Pollifax?”

  “I was not hurt,” said Mrs. Pollifax and hung up. She had just seen Encho enter the lobby, catch sight of her and quietly jerk his head toward the street.

  She and Debby sat primly upright in the rear seat of Encho’s battered and dusty taxi. Encho said in his broken English that Tsanko had news for them, and Mrs. Pollifax had said, “Yes, and I have news for him, too.” But it was necessary for Encho to drive them first through Tarnovo, slowing and pointing at houses of historical distinction to establish the fact that they were tourists in case they were being watched. At last he stopped in front of a small wooden house that clung to the side of a hill. “My house,” he said proudly. “Tsanko waits.” When Debby started to climb out, too, he gestured her back. “Tsanko say you take pictures,” he said and handed her a camera. “To explain the stop.”

  Inside the house Tsanko was pacing up and down the dark, slant-floored living room, and at sight of the expression on his face Mrs. Pollifax was jolted. She had expected this to be a happy meeting, and although it was true that he must have gone without sleep and done a great deal of work since they’d seen him, she was not prepared for such a grim, drawn face. “Something is the matter?” she said breathlessly.

  His voice was harsh. “I have made the inquiries about your young American and it is not good.”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “Not good! But I’ve just heard–whatever do you mean?”

  “They have all gone mad, insane. I cannot foresee how he comes out of this alive.”

  “But he must, he’s going to!” gasped Mrs. Pollifax.

  Tsanko ceased his pacing and turned to her. “I beg your pardon–sit down,” he said. “Please.” But he did not sit down, he resumed his restless pacing instead. “It is like this–please listen carefully. My government was taken completely by surprise with this Trenda’s arrest. Madness!” he said in an aside, both hands to his head. “The government knew nothing! It was confronted with the fait accompli.”

  “Well, then,” said Mrs. Pollifax hopefully.

  He savagely interrupted her. “In Bulgaria such matters lead to blood baths, Amerikanski. You are a government–think a moment–and you discover this situation has brought the world down on your head. It makes grave conditions internationally, this arrest of an American student. Headlines. Protests. And you knew nothing about it. This is embarrassing, you understand?”

  “Very,” she said, nodding.

  “As the government, you cannot afford to say
you know nothing, it loses the face, it implies no power. But you cannot publicly sanction it, either. You are stuck. You must find a way out, eh?”

  “Yes, and—”

  His hand cut the air. “Heads have rolled. The chief of the security police has been taken mysteriously ill and has resigned. He has been replaced by General Ignatov.”

  “General Ignatov!”

  He halted, peering at her from under his thick brows. “You know this name?”

  “I was asked to question you about him if possible. We came to Sofia on the same plane, too–there was an unscheduled stop in Rumania to pick him up.”

  “Well, I can tell you now that he has just become head of our secret security.” He shook his head. “I fear for my country. He is in charge personally of this mess, and he has announced suddenly to the foreign press that at two o’clock this afternoon Philip Trenda will be released and flown out of the country to Belgrade.”

  Mrs. Pollifax nodded happily. “Yes, isn’t that wonderful? Mr. Eastlake phoned me about it, it was so terribly kind of him.”

  Tsanko said grimly, “I do not believe it. Something will intervene–a last minute cancellation, a delay–because the ransom has not yet been paid.”

  “The what?” gasped Mrs. Pollifax.

  Tsanko nodded, his eyes narrowed. “Money. A million dollars in hard currency from the Trenda fortune. Money in American dollars.”

  “A million!” whispered Mrs. Pollifax.

  “Yes. To be paid by Philip Trenda’s father personally into a Swiss bank in Zurich on Monday morning at ten o’clock.”

  “But this is only Thursday, and if Philip is freed today–”

  “Exactly. Why would he pay this great ransom if his son is safe?”

  Mrs. Pollifax stared at him, appalled. “You think this announcement is a fraud? Something made up by General Ignatov to placate the press, to stall until Monday?”

  Tsanko abruptly sat down and looked into her face. “I will be frank with you, Amerikanski. I am deeply disturbed over this General Ignatov’s involvement in the matter. There are details to this situation I do not like. Always it is interesting to me to see who swims to the top at such a time. I find most interesting that it is General Ignatov who offers instant solutions to my government in this crisis.”

  She understood at once. “Does he know Nikki?” she asked.

  “You are very quick,” he acknowledged with a smile. “Yes, it happens that he does. My informant tells me General Ignatov knows quite a number of young members of the secret police. Is this not a surprising coincidence?”

  Mrs. Pollifax said slowly, “Carleton Bemish knew Nikki, and Nikki–”

  “Is a protégé of General Ignatov,” finished Tsanko for her.

  “They were both on the same plane with me–at least from Rumania to Sofia,” said Mrs. Pollifax. “There was no point of contact, though.”

  “Yet this Nikki was allowed a passport to leave Bulgaria and go to Yugoslavia to bring back young Trenda. He could have managed this only with powerful backing,” pointed out Tsanko. “This I have found astonishing from the start. Please note as well that although my government knew nothing of this plot there were bona fide members of the secret police keeping you under surveillance. Someone with influence is behind all this.”

  “You think it’s General Ignatov,” she said, nodding.

  Tsanko said dryly, “I always think. The coincidences begin to grow surprising.”

  “There’s more?”

  He nodded. “The arrests began at once last night. Included among them are some members of secret security. Our friend Nikki, however, was given promotion at once.”

  Mrs. Pollifax’s lips formed an O out of comprehension.

  “Out of hundreds of secret police it is Nikki that is singled out. The arrests are of much interest as well. Each person arrested has been severe critic of General Ignatov, or is out-and-out enemy, and several are men to whom he owes much money. Creditors, in a word.”

  “He’s planning to overthrow the government,” said Mrs. Pollifax flatly.

  Tsanko nodded. “I think so. Not immediately, but soon–and my government is too blind at this moment, too upset to see. All that General Ignatov has needed is to have the secret police in his pocket. And last night he was given this like a gift.”

  “Oh dear,” said Mrs. Pollifax.

  “My informant is among his enemies,” he added sadly. “He, too, is member of the secret police, an old friend. He fears now for his life.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “He’s one of your group?”

  Tsanko shook his head. “No, but he has given us much valued information. It is he who told us the man Shipkov was to be arrested.” He smiled wryly. “He and Shipkov shared an interest in General Ignatov, they nearly met one night watching General Ignatov’s home. Each one occupied–I am told–a different flowerbed.”

  Mrs. Pollifax smiled. “That must have been funny. But Tsanko, why the ransom? If General Ignatov now has what he wanted from the beginning–”

  “Why not?” said Tsanko with a shrug. “Doubtless he will use the ransom as evidence against his enemies. He will say, ‘Look at the plot–all this for Western currency!’ Each dollar will be a nail in their coffins. He can impound the money and present it to his government–that will earn him another medal. And there is nothing like a million in American dollars to make oneself popular.” He shook his head sadly. “Poor Bemish. He wanted only a little money for wine and women and cigarettes, and see how he has been used by these two.”

  “And Philip?” she asked quietly.

  He nodded. “Exactly. That is why I beseech Encho to take you to Sofia at once, in his taxi–you can pay him a little something for it?–so that you can be at the Embassy at two. Myself, I must go back also, but alone.”

  “Balkantourist is sending …” Mrs. Pollifax stopped and shook her head. “We’ll go with Encho,” she said. “I’m very alarmed about this.” Removing her bird’s nest hat, again she gave it to him. “Please–these are the passports I was sent to give you.”

  He nodded. “I will accept them now, although–alas–three of the people these would have rescued were taken to Panchevsky Institute last night. At General Ignatov’s orders.”

  “Taken where?” she asked.

  “That is the name of a mental institute in Sofia, now filled with political prisoners–who may be the sanest of us all,” he added with a sigh.

  She said swiftly, “You doubt your government.”

  “I would protect my government against General Ignatov with my life.” His fierceness startled her.

  Forgetting discretion, she asked bluntly, “Tsanko, who are you? All this information, and you’ve collected it in hours. And Tarnovo,” she persisted. “You’re free to travel here without question?”

  He laughed. “I have a summer home here in the hills, which is why I come to Tarnovo. As to who I am–I’m a good communist, a patriot and also–God help me–a humanist.”

  “But are you against the Russians?”

  His brows shot up. “Please–not at all! They protect us from the wolves, they give us years of peace, some prosperity.” He hesitated and then he said soberly, “But before I die I would like to see my country move, have direction. We go nowhere in Bulgaria, and our young people deserve better. They grow bitter, despondent, strangled by bureaucracy–”

  “You’re a nationalist!” she cried triumphantly.

  He laughed. “Please–such words are very dangerous. It is best we not talk political, Amerikanski. Allow me the pleasure to enjoy my first American, like a good wine, eh?”

  On the ride back to Sofia, Debby said suddenly, “I don’t want to like you, Mrs. Pollifax, and I shall keep trying not to like you, but I do want you to know that I’m grateful to be alive today.”

  “I confess to a certain pleasure in it myself,” said Mrs. Pollifax, startled.

  Debby said, “My parents give me everything.” She said it as though she were reciting som
ething too important to be given significance. “They say they want me to have everything because they had such a hard time when they were young. But when I ask for something I want they tell me I’m spoiled and ungrateful. My mother always wants me to confide in her,” she said. “Girl stuff. The one time I did tell her something important she was shocked and called my father and they punished me. My father spends all his time making money and my mother spends all her time spending it, shopping with her friends or playing bridge. They’re bored and miserable and they want me to grow up to be just like them. And I can’t–I won’t, I won’t, I won’t.”

  A boil is being lanced, thought Mrs. Pollifax, and said without expression, “I see.”

  “Phil’s parents are different. I think it’s why I like him so much. Do you know he had to earn every cent he’s spending on this trip to Europe?” Her voice was awed.

  Mrs. Pollifax glanced at her with interest.

  “Of course you can now start explaining my parents,” Debby pointed out. “Don’t you want to?”

  “Not at all,” said Mrs. Pollifax truthfully.

  “You’re not going to tell me they mean well?”

  “I don’t know whether they mean well or not,” said Mrs. Pollifax tartly. “I’ve never met them.”

  “Don’t you even want to give advice?”

  Mrs. Pollifax laughed. “No, because you’ll work it out for yourself. You strike me as being a very intelligent young person. And also,” she added thoughtfully, “because you came very, very near to losing your life last night.”

  “What’s that have to do with it?” asked Debby indignantly.

  “Everything, I think,” said Mrs. Pollifax musingly. “It’s the greatest revolution of all. But not recommended in large doses,” she added firmly, “and now we must keep it from ever happening again.”

  They were late in reaching Sofia, and there was no time to go first to the hotel and leave their suitcases. It was already five minutes past the hour when Encho deposited them at the Embassy; they had time only to wave good-bye to him as they flew across the pavement. Now it was Debby who was in command as she went to the desk and asked if Philip Trenda was really being released today.