“So much for our new low profile lifestyle,” said Elizabeth as their unmarked aircraft rolled to a stop.
“Harry is Harry,” said Kessler.
She saw Kate Whistler standing by the gold Humvee. No airport officials, no customs officials were anywhere in sight. She assumed that Harry had a standing arrangement that certain arrivals with certain guests would remain officially unnoticed.
Elizabeth unbuckled. She went to rouse the four girls. They had slept through much of the crossing. Rasha and her kitten were easily wakened, as were Shahla and Niki. All three yawned and stretched and, realizing where they were, excitedly pressed their foreheads to their windows. Aisha seemed almost unwilling to wake up. She’d been dreaming, no doubt, of her mother again, telling her, perhaps that she had been right. It had been a birthday to remember.
She told the girls, “All six of us are staying aboard until Harry’s helicopters are ready to go. We’ll wait until those damned lights go off. “
Shahla asked her, “Aren’t we staying in Geneva?”
“No, we’re going to France. The French Alps.”
Harry himself had passed some of the flight in the co-pilot’s seat, on the radio with Clew or watching video replays on one of two cameras that the twins brought aboard. These were not the cameras of Mulazim and Haskell. They were the cameras of commuters who had come off the bus and who had taped the chaos, the smoke and confusion that followed the explosion at Mangiamo. The twins, upon establishing that Harry was safe and that no serious harm had come to the girls, set about relieving those commuters of their cameras. Harry didn’t ask by what means they had done so. He assumed that the owners of the cameras had been left looking much like all the others in need of first aid.
Disconcerting for them, but they’ll get over it, thought Harry. He was glad to have their cameras because they had in fact recorded Elizabeth’s dismantling of Haskell. They’d also recorded Haskell’s nearly successful strangulation of Roger Clew. Poor Roger. Not much of a fighter, but he tried. Harry would erase his awkward flailing. He would also erase the footage that showed the late Charles Haskell being stuffed into the trunk of a limo bearing State Department plates.
One of the twins had also recovered his hat. It was in need of professional care, but it had suffered no permanent damage. That alone would be worth a nice bonus.
Sadik had spent nearly all of the flight quietly working with Mossad’s Hester Lazarus on the two laptop computers. The Humvee was for them. Kate Whistler would be driving. One twin would go with her. She would take them to the family villa in Geneva where, by week’s end, they intended to complete the transfer of several billions more.
The lights were turned off, the Two Bell Rangers were ready. The other twin escorted the girls into one. She and Kessler and Harry would fly in the other. They took off into the night.
After a flight of less than two hours, they approached the lights of the helipad of what Harry referred to as his ski shack. It overlooked the Chamonix valley from the western slope of Mont Blanc. In architectural style, it was a chalet that could have passed as a four star hotel. Three stories high, twenty bedrooms and suites, surrounded by eight hundred acres, all forested, except for a half dozen ski trails, all private. Kessler and Elizabeth knew the place well. Elizabeth had once convalesced there.
She’d said to Whistler as they passed over Chamonix, “Tell me you haven’t painted it red.”
“I’m only that Harry Whistler when I want to be, Elizabeth. No, it’s the same. It’s all wood and stone. A retreat is a retreat, not a showcase.”
“You’re full of it, Harry. I bet Kate put her foot down. Have I told you that you don’t deserve her?”
He said to Kessler, “I see she’s lost none of her charm.” He said to Elizabeth, “Love your hair, by the way.” He said, “No red Humvees either. The lodge comes equipped with two Saab SUVs. One is dark brown and the other dark green, the better to blend into trees. Both are highly powered; you’ll need a light foot. Both are bullet resistant. In addition there are some new electronics since you last favored me with a visit. No unexpected guest can get near you undetected. It’s even safer than the house in Belle Haven.”
“What good are the cars? We can’t go to town, can we?”
He said, “Not you with Martin, never together, even though Chamonix is always crawling with tourists. But singly, or with one, even two of the girls, by all means, go to movies, go shopping. I don’t need to tell you not to use credit cards. How much cash do you have between you?”
“Not much,” said Kessler. “A few hundred, American.”
“Dollars won’t attract notice, but Euros are better. My head housekeeper is French. Her name is Danielle. She keeps about fifty thousand on hand. It’s there for guests who run short; use whatever you need; replenish it when you’re able to transfer your own funds. Two armed guards with dogs are on patrol around the clock. Have you brought weapons of your own?”
“Only her knife,” Kessler answered.
Harry asked Elizabeth, “No Ingram Mac-10? When have you ever been without it?”
“It burned with my car. But it’s going to be found.”
“And assumed to be yours. So what if it is? You’re Elizabeth Stride. It would be laughable to charge you with possession.”
He said, “Danielle will show you where our weapons are kept, ranging from handguns on up. You’re not likely to need them. No guest ever has. On the other hand, it hasn’t been often that I’ve entertained a Muslim messiah.”
Elizabeth hissed, “Harry, Aisha is not…”
“You’re not here because she is. You’re here because there are people who might think she is. Don’t worry. This will pass in due course.”
It might, thought Elizabeth. It should. It had better. Unless Aisha, who’s already been wondering about it, begins to believe it herself.
It was the next morning, a bright and beautiful Friday, before the girls got their first real look at the splendid scenery around them. Although it was July, the mountains were snow-capped. Aisha and Rasha were thrilled by the views. Neither had ever seen snow. The Darvi girls had. Tehran has cold winters. There were ski trails about an hour’s drive north. Men and women had to use separate slopes, but the snow is pure and white, not like that of the city. In the city it would be covered with a layer of soot almost before it stopped falling. They had never really played in the snow.
Harry told them at breakfast, “Then you’re all overdue. This morning we drive up Mont Blanc.”
He was able to scrounge enough winter clothing and jump suits that had been left by other guests. Some fit Aisha and Shahla, both of whom were full grown, and some fit Niki Darvi who was nearly so. Rasha swam inside hers, but at least she’d be warm.
Elizabeth had put some fresh salve on Aisha’s burns before she began to suit up. Happily, the burns didn’t look bad at all. There was some minimal blistering, nothing likely to scar or discolor. In addition to the clothing, Harry brought from his ski room a pair of aluminum disks made for coasting and one well-waxed wooden luge. Rasha asked for first dibs on the luge.
Kessler went with them in one of Harry’s SUV’s, two pairs of skis on its rack. It had been too long since Kessler was on skis. Harry Whistler was counting on him being stale and that his ski legs would take a while to come back. He had never beaten Kessler down a run before this. He’d bet a bottle of Cristal that he would.
A trip up above the tree line, more than anything else, just might be the best medicine for Aisha. A breath of fresh air, so to speak. By and large, she seemed her old self again. Certainly there were periods of reflective melancholy over the uprooting that had been forced upon them for the second time in three months. Forced on Elizabeth as well.
That much, however, was true of all four. But in Aisha’s case there was also an awareness that she was very much at the center of all this. Not to blame for it. Not at all. But somehow responsible. So much, good and bad, had been done in her name. Well… not in her nam
e, but we get the idea. And so much more was likely to be done. All we can do is try to help her to focus on the good, all those new doctors, for example. And on the courage that so many Muslim women have found. And on the many good men who are listening.
Elizabeth had chosen to stay at the chalet. The girls didn’t need her. They could do with some fun. So could poor Martin and for that she blamed herself. She’d not been very pleasant since that email from Netanya. And even less so since people died at a party that she had insisted on going ahead with. She’d even groused at him for not giving her some time with that little insect from the Hasheem who he’d left in the men’s room. The one who’d murdered Bernice. Totally unfair to him. He’d had no idea. And he’d been so very kind to her since. Sitting in that pool with her. Listening. Understanding. Taking her to their bedroom. Helping her to undress and dry off. Helping her into a warm nightgown. And holding her, just holding her, until morning.
Well, being such a bitch ends today, she decided. She’ll make it up to him when he gets back. He’ll want to take a shower and she’ll climb in with him. There’s nothing like a shower stall to shut out the world and to strip oneself of all other baggage. Left to her, she’d soap him up and screw his brains out. But Martin doesn’t do that. He slows everything down. Lots of holding and whispering and feather-light touching. Where did he learn that? It wasn’t from her. But because of it, he’s got her for as long as he lives. And he’d better live for more than five years.
He will. He’s strong. He gets stronger by the week. Doctors get it wrong all the time.
The girls had all urged her to come out and play with them, even offering to stay and really meaning it. Martin, too. She told them, “Tomorrow. We’ll all go tomorrow. I’ll find some red paint and some used Brillo pads. We’ll make a snowman that looks like Harry Whistler.”
See that? We’re not shits, but she was being a shit. She still hadn’t thanked Harry for all that he’s doing. And speaking of the Brillo that they’d used for Harry’s beard, that’s exactly what her own hair now looked like. “Love your hair,” the big ox said, flying down here on his Ranger. For that crack, he’s got it coming. Well, she might let him off. But the fact remains, two thirds of it’s gone. She’d better see what she can do with it.
For now, she’d enjoy the first solitude that she’d known since her walks on the Hilton Head beaches. Maybe she’d take a little nap. Maybe she’d have pleasant dreams. Maybe if she willed it hard enough, she’d get Aisha’s mother to drop in. There were a few things she’d like to say to her. She’d say leave the kid alone. No more coming in her dreams. But if you do, if you must, don’t be so damned Delphic. Say it flat out. It’s not her.
Say, “Sorry to scare you, but it’s true; you’re not her. I know because I just had a chat with her.”
This would perk Aisha up. She’d say “Really?”
“Yup. And it turns out you’ve got lots of time. She who’s coming won’t be coming for a while yet.”
Aisha would ask, “But she’s still coming?”
“Can’t say for certain. She might be rethinking. I mean, why bother making the trip if half the world thinks she’s down there already?”
“But what if some of them still think it’s me?”
“Yeah, you’d better sit tight until this thing blows over.”
“And if it isn’t me, or if she’s not coming through me, what was that about ‘beyond my wildest dreams?’”
“What, that wasn’t a hell of a party? People coming from all over? All those fireworks afterward?”
“Mom…”
“And tell Elizabeth that I thought you looked really good. Can’t say the same for her. She looked like hell when she walked out with you. Hey, you know who she looked like?”
“The angel Qaila?”
“I was going to say more like a butch biker chick. If I were her, before I’d put any moves on Kessler, I’d think about getting a paper bag and putting it over my…”
Yeah, right, thought Elizabeth. If only.
She did work on her hair. Waste of time. It was hopeless. But Harry had a well-equipped exercise room that included a Jacuzzi and a sauna. She worked the Stairmaster, the bike and some weights before treating herself to a soak in the Jacuzzi. She’d put on some music. It was Bach. Chamber music. With the tub gently bubbling in time with the music, she was asleep in five minutes.
She’d slept well past noon. Danielle came in to wake her. She said, “I’ve fixed you some lunch.” Danielle carried a tray containing soup and a sandwich and three folded sheets of copy paper. She set the tray down and reached for a towel. She said, “These are emails just in. First from Dr. Sadik. It is addressed to either you or Mr. Kessler. I review all correspondence. It’s for everyone’s protection. This one is good news for Rasha.”
Elizabeth’s eyes brightened. She sat up and reached for them, ignoring the towel that Danielle was holding for her. She opened the fold, dropping two of the sheets. She said, excitedly, “Sorry. Wet hands.” She stepped out of the tub while reading the first. “We have robes here,” said Danielle, “should you feel the need.” Elizabeth gave no sign that she’d heard.
Sadik’s email read:
“Rasha’s mother, an hour ago, arrived in Toulon. Tell Harry that my arms dealer came through in return for the incentives we discussed. She’s at the same Nasreen safe house where Rasha first stayed. For security reasons, she has not been told that you are at Harry’s private retreat, only that Rasha is in excellent hands. I’ve emailed Harry separately with the Toulon number. Let Harry decide how best to make contact and how to reunite her with Rasha.”
Elizabeth was thrilled. She couldn’t wait to tell Rasha. No, better yet, let it be a surprise. Let her watch as one of Harry’s Bell Rangers approaches. Let her see who climbs out of this one.
Danielle stood holding the two pages that she’d dropped. She said to Elizabeth, “Still mostly good. But not if these cause you to die of pneumonia. First the robe, then I give you the next one.”
Elizabeth yielded to Danielle’s sense of modesty before starting on the second of the pages. This one was from Roger Clew.
It read:
“Tell Harry that Bigfoot doesn’t waste any time. It seems he visited some of Haskell’s executives. One of them, while he was still able to talk, told him where Gilhooley might be found. There’s a company called Scorpion Systems that Haskell’s friend, Bentley controls. It has only one office and that’s in Kuwait. Gilhooley’s either there now or he’s on his way. I told Sam to sit tight and let me look into it but I’m less than confidant that he will. I spoke to Netanya. He has people in Kuwait and he has his own interests. He says they’re aware of Scorpion Systems as an oil field security firm that is thought to do Haskell’s dirty work on the side. He says they’ll watch for Gilhooley themselves and will advise when he’s no longer an issue.”
Hmmph, thought Elizabeth. Netanya has “interests?’ Of course he has interests. He’ll take Gilhooley not so much to save Sam the trouble as to keep Sam from queering an operation of his own. They’ve probably long since infiltrated that company. Either way, he’s committed. Gilhooley will be found. Perhaps Netanya will send Harry one of his ears with that big hearing aid still hanging out of it.
Danielle said to her, “This last one might not be so welcome. Mr. Clew says that you might want to shop for a wig.”
Elizabeth had to sit down as she read it. It was all about the upcoming editions of Time and Newsweek Magazines. The second coming of Aisha on both of their covers. One of them headlined with the question, “Is She Coming?” The other using that same illustration with “Riding The Internet Lightning” in a banner underneath. The treatment inside is similar for both. Reactions from all over the Muslim world including American Muslims. Interviews with clerics, most of them skeptical, but not willing to brush it off entirely. Pro and con lifts from Internet blogs which are running about ten to one pro. Photos of women holding vigils in Tehran and of other demonstrations througho
ut the Gulf states. This is under the sub-head, ‘Millions Flocking To Her Banner.’ There are also a few reports of claimed sightings including a possible in… Belle Haven.
Clew wrote:
“It’s a shot of you and Aisha leaving Mangiamo. It appeared in Thursday morning’s Alexandria Gazette. Very small in that paper. Part of a montage. But both magazines picked up on it. No names, but it’s you, smoke coming from what’s left of your hair, you and Aisha all hijabbed in those white tablecloths. Both magazine’s noted that it’s eerily similar to the drawing their using on the cover. All that’s missing is a sword and the camel. And at least you’ve lost that helmet look that Newsweek says is catching on big time. Tatiana got both magazines to send galleys. I’ll fax them as soon as I’ve read them. Both magazines to hit the stands in one week. International editions as well.”
Danielle said, “International includes Chamonix. In French and in German and also in English. You cannot be seen with her in town.”
No, thought Elizabeth. Not even in the week before they hit. And certainly not looking like this. “Wigs,” she said. “Does the town have a wig store?”
“Quite a good one,” said Danielle. “Every style, every color, from classic to funky. Also clothing stores for every taste, every age. All of you will need to buy new clothing.”
Yes, they would, thought Elizabeth. Especially the girls. They came with only what they could carry. Harry can arrange to have the rest shipped, including their Korans and their prayer rugs. But whatever they’d worn in Hilton Head or Belle Haven ought not to be worn in Chamonix.
Danielle said, “This evening I’ll write down all your sizes. Tomorrow, Saturday, I will shop for the women. What you don’t like, I will return. I will bring Mr. Kessler because he’s European. Between us we’ll know what you’d like to wear, but also the things that you ought to wear.”
Elizabeth made a face. “I suppose.”
The Aisha Prophecy Page 46