She could see from the door that Sonnenby was being stalked by three men, one of whom held a straightjacket open, ready to embrace him. The buckles dangled and jerked as the man moved the canvas restraint back and forth, following Sonnenby’s movements, as if catching a man in a straightjacket was like scooping up a butterfly.
Sonnenby’s face was red with exertion and his eyes wide with panic as he raised his fists and swung at his attackers. Elsa tried to break free but the grip on her arms tightened painfully. She watched as two more men flanked Sonnenby. As he threw another punch forward, he was tackled from behind. His knees bent and he fell.
Elsa could see no more as five men leaped and disappeared from her vision behind a desk. The shouting and noise increased, however. She heard Sonnenby curse. In a moment all was silent. A lone piece of paper floated to the floor and the cowering office workers slowly stood straight again. The grip on her arm relaxed and then disappeared as the guard strode forward into the room and left her at the doorway.
She took a deep breath and followed in the wake he created as men parted in front of him. Sonnenby lay face down, trussed like a goose in the straightjacket. He knew better than to struggle. She could see the resignation in the way the back of his head tilted. His chin was tucked under him and his brow rested on the shining linoleum. The brass buckles were lined up on his back, some of them tightened to the very last grommet.
“This is not necessary,” she said in a low voice and the men around her chuckled without humor. She glared at them. “He is not dangerous.”
“Tell that to Miller.” All heads turned to a man holding his jaw with one hand while a co-worker pressed a handkerchief to his bleeding nose. Another man knelt and Elsa saw the hypodermic in his hand only moments before the needle sunk into Sonnenby’s neck.
“Oh,” she breathed sadly. “Oh.”
“Who are you?” This question was barked by a tall man in an impressive uniform who appeared suddenly beside her.
She opened her mouth, but Mr. Frank appeared at her elbow and answered for her. “General, she is Elsa Schluss, Lord Sonnenby’s therapist.” When there was no immediate response from the general, he added with emphasis, “From Vienna.”
This distinction obviously made all the difference, for the general raised an eyebrow as if he suddenly understood. He turned to Elsa. “Miss Schluss, I beg to differ. Lord Sonnenby has a history of mental breakdown and has demonstrated his intent to harm. On the other hand,” he looked at the motionless Sonnenby on the floor, “you are correct that he is no longer dangerous.” He turned to Mr. Frank. “Please take Miss Schluss back to the hotel. Her services are no longer required.”
“No!” Elsa shrank from yet another attempt to grab her arm. “Obviously my services are required. Look at him!”
The general walked away. Two men stepped forward and lifted Sonnenby to his feet. Elsa tried to see his face, but Mr. Frank steered her toward the door. She turned her head as far as she could to try to get a glimpse before she was ushered back into the next office. The sounds of furniture being righted and paper being straightened and stacked followed them into the quiet of the room. Mr. Frank had her by one arm and with his other lifted the receiver of the telephone.
“No. Please take me to Lord Sonnenby. He is ill.”
She didn’t hear what Mr. Frank said into the telephone. Her ears were turned to the hallway where she heard a man’s shoes scraping the polished floor as he was lifted and dragged to the stairwell. She twisted her arm and broke Mr. Frank’s grip, then ran into the hall.
Two men were muscling Lord Sonnenby to the end of the corridor while two more were ready to open doors and help get him down the stairs. She caught them up and made them stop. “Henry,” she squeezed through a gap in the arms and legs and planted herself in front of him. His eyes were closed and he was breathing through his mouth. His hair was plastered over his face and he was very pale. He was wrapped like a caterpillar in a cocoon with arms crossed in the sleeves of the jacket. The jacket was too tight, making it hard for him to breathe. People panic when they can’t breathe. She put a hand on his jaw and said his name again, but there was no response. The sedative was working. Then Mr. Frank caught her and pulled her away from him toward the wall.
“The jacket is too tight,” she said. “At least loosen it around his chest.”
The men holding Sonnenby continued down the hall as if she had not spoken. Elsa heard regular thumps as he was dragged down the stairs.
“Where are they taking him?” she asked.
“Don’t know.” Mr. Frank turned her and steered her back to the office. “Government business.” He said it like he was used to that being the final word.
“No,” she tried to plant her feet, but her little shoes were no match for his muscle and she was dragged like Sonnenby in the opposite direction.
“I’m sorry, Miss Schluss, but it looks like the interview is over. I am sorry we did not reach an amiable conclusion that would benefit all parties concerned.” He bent to pick up her briefcase and pressed the leather handle into her palm. “I will hand you over to Mr. Bain, who will escort you to your hotel.”
“Hotel?” Elsa clutched her briefcase.
“Ma’am?” Mr. Bain appeared in the doorway and made a wide gesture with his hands to indicate that she was to precede him down the corridor towards the main entrance. She looked over her shoulder toward the stairwell where Lord Sonnenby had been taken. Mr. Bain stepped into her line of sight and repeated, “Ma’am.” His tone had become flat and no-nonsense. It was as if he had added “government business” to the meaning of the honorific. Calling her “ma’am” did not sound so courteous anymore.
She inhaled sharply and turned away. So be it. This was a government office. British government, not hers. She had accepted a mission and had completed it. Sonnenby had arrived in Damascus on his own two feet and unbound. What happened afterwards was not her concern. She read that message in Bain’s eyes as he took another step into her personal space, forcing her to step backwards before she realized she was being manipulated.
“Very well, Mr. Frank. Mr. Bain?” She tiled her head at him to imply that she was ready to be steered to the car.
Frank disappeared into his office and Elsa made sure her heels clicked on the linoleum in a very practical and professional manner all the way to the end of the corridor, down the stairs and into the drive where a car was waiting in the dusty gravel.
She sat in the back as primly as possible, touched the back of her hair as the driver got behind the wheel. Mr. Marshall will tell her what will become of Lord Sonnenby this evening. He may be released and she will accompany him back to Europe. She set her briefcase on her knees and folded her hands over the top. To the hotel then. Perhaps they serve flan in Damascus.
She frowned as two more men got in with her. One in the front beside the driver and one opened the door opposite and slid in on the bench seat and closed the door. She cleared her throat as if to speak, but the driver said as he cranked the engine, “These men need a ride to the hotel as well.”
“Of course,” she said and was ashamed at how weak her voice sounded. She imagined a confident, authoritative voice and planned to use it the next time one of these government men asked her a question.
The car pulled away from the ministry building and turned to the left instead of to the right. Elsa looked out her window trying to see the tall three story hotel which had towered over the palm trees and low cedars. She thought it had been to the west of the ministry building. To the right. Perhaps the car needed fuel. That would explain a detour.
She sat up a little straighter in her seat. She pretended to be interested in the busy streets outside the window, but instead she was focusing on quelling the feeling of unease that started in the center of her chest and moved out to her limbs, filling them with a shivery weakness. Out of the corner of her eye she watched the three men.
The driver was the most at ease. He seemed to know exactly where he was going
and took the turns with confidence. The passenger up front opened and closed an attaché several times, as though he needed something to do with his hands. Beside her, the man who shared her seat seemed to be fumbling in his jacket. She saw him pull out a handkerchief. When she looked at him he gave her a thin smile and touched his forehead with the white cloth.
The car bumped as it left the main road and turned onto a rougher surface. Elsa tightened her grip on her briefcase. She knew for certain they were not headed to the hotel. In front of her the beautiful wasteland stretched out until it filled all six windows of the sedan. The car wobbled and bounced on the single lane dirt road that was no more than two tire tracks in the sand and gravel. The men sat a little stiffer in their seats and she could no longer hear any of them breathing.
She cleared her throat. “Gentlemen. We seem to be heading in the wrong direction. I believe the hotel is on the west side of Damascus.” She was going to ask politely if there was another stop before the hotel, but then she caught the faint unmistakable odor of ether.
She turned quickly to see her seatmate with his hands together, the handkerchief between them flipping them back and forth. She did not wait to process any more information. She leaned back against her door, took a deep breath and held it, then brought her knees up, turned and kicked. She meant to get the vial out of his hands, but her kick was vigorous enough to bounce the cloth and glass vial off the underside of the roof of the car and drop them both in the front seat between the driver and his passenger.
There was a moment of surprise as the man beside her recovered from the shock of being kicked. He quickly recovered and turned, his big hands raised to grab at her. Her heeled shoes were still in the air over the seat, so she kicked him in the arm and then the crotch. She had no time to think of anything else, for the car swerved and threw both of them against her door.
He caught her with a tight grip on her upper arm and pinned her down. She felt the hard pistol in his coat pocket as she tried to push him off her. When the car bounced violently, she made an attempt to grab for it. She would not use it, of course, but neither would he. Instead he was thrown to the side as the car veered in the other direction, and she missed her chance. Another bounce allowed her to see that there were no longer two heads in the front seat. She exhaled as her eyes burned. The ether must have overcome the driver and the front seat passenger. She grabbed her door handle before she would be forced to take another breath, and as the car swerved and struck a rock, she was able to get the door open and roll out into the gravel and dirt.
The car moved slowly and away from her and then two wheels went up a slight incline, and rolled the sedan to a stop. She must get away and hide. She did not know how much ether had been released from the vial, but they would recover quickly as fresh air replaced the chemical inside the car. The engine sputtered and died.
She looked up the road where they had come. That way was the main road. Behind her the track fell away steeply into a wadi. She got to her feet. She had lost a shoe when she rolled out the car door. She looked around for it, thinking of scorpions and those big ants whose bites felt like the stab of a knife. She scrambled out of the depression that had bounced the car out of its track and reached for the shoe.
The men would see her walking along this road from miles away. She could not just start back. They would run her down and catch her. There was nothing to hide behind. She frowned and looked down into the wadi.
Good enough for now. She slid down the steep sides into the dry wash. The bank was higher than her head, so she would be out of sight, but as soon as one of them walked over and looked down she would be visible. She glanced at the sun. There would be several hours before dark. If she could hide until then, she could make her way out in the moonlight and head up the narrow track back to the main road, provided the men gave up their search for her before then.
Foolish men. Did they think she would not recognize the scent of ether? She was a nurse, for God’s sake. Did they think she would not notice they were not headed back to the hotel? Did they think she was a weak and stupid woman? She nodded to herself and rubbed her eyes. The answer was ‘yes’ to all three.
So be it. She gritted her teeth and smoothed her skirt and tightened the buckles on her shoes. They must not have read Marshall’s report.
She heard a shout above her. Not in English. She shrunk down low and pressed herself into a clay crevasse in the side of the wadi. More shouting in the native language. All men. Men and boys, she corrected. After a few minutes of listening she added donkeys and at least one horse to the mix of sounds she heard above.
She heard the opening and closing of a car door, then angry shouting. She cowered further against the clay and tucked her feet under her as tightly as she could. Above her head the roots of a shrub tangled her hair. She heard footsteps approaching the edge of the wadi and imagined she probably made marks in the dirt that led directly to her hiding place. The footsteps stopped. Two boys were talking above her head. They did not see her directly below them. They were probably looking for a sprawled dead man at the bottom of the wadi, or a man running away from the scene.
Elsa knew people see what they expect to see. She surmised that a blonde European woman curled in a ball against the side of a wadi was not what they were expecting to see when they looked over the edge. They spent mere seconds scanning the expanse of the wadi before running back to the much more interesting accident scene.
She took a deep breath in relief. Above her the voices indicated that many more men had joined the first group. There was some arguments, some questions. She was puzzled that she did not hear the voices of the government men. They should have regained consciousness by now. There was no way she was going to poke her head over the edge to find out what was happening.
She made herself sit tight and not move. Even when she heard more shouting. Even when she heard the sounds of steel and the pounding of stones and banging of metal. Even when she heard the sound of the car being started again and driven back up the road. She waited, listening as the sound of the engine and the tires on the gravel died away to be replaced by the lonely sound of the wind. Long shadows covered her before she felt it was safe to climb up and peek over the edge.
The car was gone. She expected that. The road’s deep ruts looked deeper now in the setting sun. In the last rays of light she could see three bodies in the dirt where the car had been. Elsa ducked back in her crevasse and covered her mouth with her hand. She blinked rapidly to clear the dust that floated around her face then used her scarf to cover her nose and mouth. Sonnenby had said the war was not over in the Levant. He was right.
Another tentative peek over the edge revealed that there was not much time before the sun disappeared. The disc rested on the edge of the horizon, she could almost see the bottom flatten as she looked. In the other direction not a soul moved in the beautiful wasteland. She waited another minute until she remembered the call to prayer in this land would occur at sunset. This would be an excellent time to climb out of the wadi.
Her shoes dug into the clay sides of the crevasse and she used the roots of the shrub to pull herself over the edge. Her skirt was torn up one side, and her white blouse was now the color of the local clays. She brushed it as she kicked the dirt from her shoes and debated whether she wanted to take a closer look at the men, or just moved as quickly as possible up the dirt road to try to get back to the main road that led to Damascus.
She took two steps up the road before turning and running toward the accident scene. They might not be dead. They might be unconscious. Maybe something from the wrecked car might be there. A canteen of water. Elsa’s throat was so dry she entertained thoughts of allowing the locals to capture her to get water. A fantasy of walking up to one of the low plastered houses and asking for a glass of water kept playing over and over in her head.
A meter away and she knew they were dead. Their heads were no longer attached to their bodies. The faces rested peacefully in the rutted road and
the arms and legs lay sprawled where they had been dragged. The dirt and gravel was darker under the bodies. Elsa took a step back. There had been no struggle. The men had been slain while the ether had them unconscious. The bodies had been searched, the pockets of their jackets inside out. They were missing their shoes.
She took another step backwards. No canteen. Nothing. Anything that had been inside the car was gone. Her briefcase with all her notes and Lord Sonnenby’s files. She allowed herself to wonder what might have happened to her had she been inside. She looked around quickly. Anyone looking in this direction or coming down the road would see her standing there silhouetted against the sunset.
She crouched low in the dirt. She would have to go now. Now. No water. Her fingers opened and closed as she thought about her briefcase. She had just what she was wearing. That was all. She had escaped with her life. Why was she complaining?
She turned around and scanned the horizon. The sun would be gone soon. Already the stars were bright in the eastern sky. She made a fist. So be it. She began to march up the incline back to the road. I will worry about that later. All of it. First be gone, then water.
A mile in the twilight brought her closer to a group of four square buildings grouped around a well. She stopped. She had seen no one, only donkeys and some thin horses the size of ponies in a makeshift corral. It was the dinner hour. She looked back up the dirt track. Another mile to the road. She had no idea how many miles to Damascus.
Her feet started walking toward the well and before her mind could make a decision they were running. She leaned over the stones that ringed the deep hole to protect it and keep animals and children from falling in. The sound of her panting breath echoed in the blackness and she could feel the humid air rising from the depths as she smelled the delicious smell of water. But there was no bucket, no rope. This was not like the wells in the countryside in Austria. Her breathing was voiced with a disappointed moan that also echoed up from the well.
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