Authors: Graham Marks
“I see...” A look of consternation passed quickly across George Stanhope-Leigh’s face, and then he returned Baba Duan’s smile. “Is this matter then common knowledge
in the markets and bazaars, Mr. Hendek?”
Baba Duan shook his head and pursed his lips as he tutted. “No, no, no, Mr. Trade Secretary, it is not. It is my deduction, which I have kept only to myself, until this moment.”
“I do hope that is true.” George Stanhope-Leigh pulled open the drawer in front of him and drew out a heavy, blue-black six-shot pistol, which he put on the desk. Its barrel was
pointing in Baba Duan’s general direction.
“To be sure...” Baba Duan stared at his host, aware that this was the second day running he had had a very large pistol pulled on him and briefly wondered if it was going to become a
regular occurrence in his life. “It is
very
true.”
“Good.” George Stanhope-Leigh stood up and straightened his shoulders. “And now I think we have some work to do...”
“
We
?”
“Yes, Mr. Hendek, you are coming with me.”
“I know where Trey’s father is...”
“
You
know where Trey’s pater is?” Arthur stared, open-mouthed, at his dainty, butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth sister. “I mean to say, how?”
The look of utter disbelief on her brother’s face would, ordinarily, have tickled Christina pink, but today it didn’t. Today all she felt was guilty. At first she hadn’t told
Arthur what she’d heard because he’d been so perfectly dreadful to her, and then, after she’d realized she
ought
to say something, the fact that she
hadn’t
earlier had made it all so very difficult. She really did hate admitting she was wrong. And then everything got so very complicated, the way things can do if you don’t do what you know you
should.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Well...
because
. And I am sorry, Arthur...”
“But...!”
“Let me finish, Arthur!” Christina played nervously with one of her curls. “You see, I was up rather earlier than you this morning...”
“But...!”
“Excuse?” Evren waved his hand as he tried to attract the attention of either of the siblings as Neyla watched, bemused; at this point in an argument, in her house, there would by
now definitely be some vigorous pushing and shoving.
“What?” Arthur looked like he’d forgotten anyone else was there.
“
Where
is Trey father?”
“
As
I was just
saying
...” Christina, her arms folded, turned her attention to Evren. “I was up early and I heard voices downstairs, in Papa’s study, and as
I went past I couldn’t
help
but overhear...”
“Overhear what?” demanded Arthur.
“Papa talking to someone he called Mr. MacIntyre, that’s what.”
“Why on
earth
didn’t you say something before!” Arthur appeared to be about to explode.
Christina looked away and shrugged. “Because you’d been beastly.”
Arthur appeared to have completely lost the power of speech.
“Where is Mr. Macktire now?” Evren butted in, before he could regain it. “It is important, Christina.”
“He’s in the annexe; I heard Papa ask him if he was comfortable, and Mr. MacIntyre said that he was.” Christina looked at the expectant faces watching and waiting. “Which
is how I know where he is; but before that I heard Mr. MacIntyre asking a lot of questions about Trey.”
“Questions?” Arthur frowned.
“From what I could work out, Papa had Mr. MacIntyre picked up from the hotel to keep him safe from something, I don’t know what; Trey was supposed to be there, too...”
“...but was late getting back.” Arthur shook his head. “He said his pa was a bit of a stickler for timing.”
“Well, the fact is
they
think that Trey’s
missing
– which, I suppose, he is, in a manner of speaking – but they don’t know he’s been captured by
Russians. Mr. MacIntyre wanted to know what exactly was being done to find him; he sounded quite angry and Papa tried to calm him down. I couldn’t make out
every
thing they were saying,
and then I heard one of the servants coming and I had to go.”
“You
spied
on Pater?” Arthur’s jaw dropped.
“So did you.”
“But...”
“Where is this place, this ‘annexe’, please?” said Evren, trying not to lose his temper because of the seemingly interminable squabbling.
“Just over there.” Christina pointed to a small building behind some trees, not twenty yards away, which Evren hadn’t noticed before.
“You think he could be there, still?”
“Oh I think so, I did hear Papa say that Mr. MacIntyre really must stay out of sight until things were cleared up.”
Arthur looked at his sister in complete disbelief. “
How
long were you listening outside Pater’s study without getting caught?”
“Oh, I don’t know, about five minutes, I suppose.”
“It
really
isn’t fair,” huffed Arthur, who always seemed to get collared by someone or other whenever
he
tried to eavesdrop.
“We should see Mr. Macktire soon, I think maybe now, yes?”
“But...” Arthur stopped mid-sentence, frowned at Evren and then nodded to himself. “No, you’re right old chap, spot on. We
must
tell Trey’s pater everything
straight away, he’ll know what to do next. Come on!”
Leading the way as if he was astride a charger in the vanguard of the Light Brigade, Arthur galloped across the lawn towards the single storey building, swiftly followed by Evren and Neyla, with
Christina very genteelly bringing up the rear. Skidding to a halt in front of the door he began hammering on it with his fist, almost as if he was trying to break it down.
“Mr. MacIntyre, are you there?” he yelled.
“
Shhh
, Arthur!” hissed Christina. “They’ll hear you up at the house –
and we’re not supposed to know anyone’s here!
”
At which point the door opened to reveal a man dressed in a crisp white shirt, a blood-red tie with dark blue pattern and a grey three-piece suit. A man whom everyone recognized from the photos
they’d seen in the file Arthur had brought to Ahmet’s taxi the night before. Evren, who was the only person to have actually seen the “other” man, was shocked by how much
Trey’s father looked like him. The resemblance was extraordinary.
“You must be Arthur, and ah, Christina, I believe it is?” said the man, with the exact same accent as Trey had; he looked slightly quizzically at Evren and Neyla, who clearly
weren’t either Arthur
or
Christina.
“These are our friends, and they’re friends of Trey’s as well, Mr. MacIntyre,” Arthur explained.
“Ah, right, very nice to meet all of you.” Mr. MacIntyre’s smile was very tight as he slowly ran his fingers through his hair. “But I’m sorry to say that Trey is
not here right at the moment, so...”
“We know, Mr. Macktire.” Evren stepped forward, as if to accept whatever punishment was to come his way, as he did feel responsible for Trey
not
being there. “He has
been kidnap.”
“He has
what
?”
“It’s true, Evren and Neyla saw it happen, Mr. MacIntyre,” Arthur said. “And we suspect that a Russian who had been following you kidnapped him. And we
think
we
know where he is...”
T
rey felt happier, even though he was still making achingly slow progress, now that he’d left the main road. However he wouldn’t say he
was delirious, as The Enemy was still out there and no doubt still looking for him. But, because the horse was going so slowly, this lulled him into daydreaming about restaurants and food and the
astonishing
meal (with
all
the trimmings) that he’d order and eat just as soon as he could. And, because of his lack of attention, he failed to notice that the lane he’d
taken was, in fact, gently looping its way back to join the main road again.
He was so bound up in devising his perfect menu that it was more than a few minutes after rejoining the road that he woke up to where he was. And while he could blame the horse for a lot of
things, this wasn’t one of them. Trey pulled back on the reins and the horse obligingly stopped and began clipping some nearby vegetation, making him wish it was
that
easy to satisfy
his own hunger pangs. He was just about to get the map out again when he heard the faint roar of an engine being double-declutched and around a bend a couple of hundred yards down the road came a
car, its tyres squealing as they sought to keep the machine actually on the crude strip of tarmacadam.
It was The Enemy.
It had to be.
It couldn’t be anybody else.
Trey’s mind went into overdrive: the car was going so fast that there was ab-so-lutely
no
chance that he’d be able to pull off hiding behind the horse again. And, equally, not
a hope in Hades, as Trent would say, that he’d be able to outrun it, even
if
the animal knew what the word “gallop” meant. Which he seriously doubted.
But, as he was not about to be captured without a fight, the only alternative was to get ready for battle. Swinging the briefcase round he fumbled the clasps open and took out the pistol. The
pistol which, as he hastily checked, he was more than relieved to see was loaded.
He had fired guns before, target practice out on Gramps’s ranch, shooting at empty bean cans and such, but this would be the first time he’d pulled a trigger in anger. And he was
angry. Scared, too. This felt like such a
final
course of action, like the last thing you were ever going to do...
The gun felt awkward, almost too big and heavy for him to hold. But he
had
to do this, show these people, whoever they were, that they couldn’t simply drag T. Drummond MacIntyre III
off the street and expect to get away with it scot-free! Not to mention that no gumshoe worthy of the name would ever be taken without a fight. Trey raised the gun up, using both hands. The barrel
wavered. He took a deep breath, steadied himself on the horse, aimed at the radiator grille of the car accelerating towards him and pulled the trigger.
Nothing...
nothing!
It wasn’t loaded?
No, no, it was the safety catch.
He’d forgotten the safety catch!
Trey pushed it forward with his thumb, repeated steps one, two and three and got knocked backwards by the force of the kick. Not to mention deafened by the bang. But with his ears still ringing,
Trey had no time to think, let alone look to see where the bullet had gone, as everything started to happen at once.
The sudden loud explosion (not to mention the lump of lead whistling just inches above its head) had obviously put some much-needed vim into the nag, which reared up, nearly throwing Trey, and
took off. At a speed, he had to admit, very much like a gallop. Just managing to grab a handful of mane, Trey hunched down and hung on like grim death as the horse thundered down the narrow road.
In the direction of The Enemy, coming the other way. Exactly what a crash involving a large carthorse and an automobile would look like Trey couldn’t even begin to imagine, except that it
would not be a pretty sight.
But it never happened.
Its massive hooves ringing a dull tattoo on the uneven road, the horse sped on, right past the car, which had veered off to the left. Trey had no way of knowing whether this was because his shot
had hit it, or that the driver (the bearded man he’d caught a glimpse of as he’d been stuffed in the trunk of the car) didn’t want to hit a couple of tons of careening horse
meat.
Risking a swift glance over his shoulder Trey saw the car being backed out onto the road again, which answered
that
question; then he saw the blond-haired passenger turning round in his
seat and waving what looked like a stick at him. A puff of smoke erupted from the end of the stick, followed a second later by the crack of a pistol shot; the bullet missed, whining by like an
angry hornet. Only now aware that somehow he’d managed to hold onto his own pistol, Trey fleetingly wondered if he could, like the Indian braves in the movies, fire back at them over his
shoulder.
Figuring that he was going to have enough trouble just keeping from falling off, Trey flicked the safety back on and decided to concentrate on what was up ahead and save the shooting for when
there wasn’t an alternative. He knew he’d no chance of being able to outrun the car on the road – no matter
how
fast the horse went – and if he didn’t find a
way to go that the car couldn’t, and soon, they were going to catch him up.
What he found, as the horse continued round the bend on its fear-driven, unstoppable, pell-mell journey, was salvation in the form of a flock of sheep about to come out of their field and onto
the road. Trey galloped past, but unfortunately for
Herr Oberst
Gessler and
Leutnant
Becht, by the time they rounded the bend the animals were completely blocking the road and going
at a pace dictated by the old shepherd and his even older assistant. This was meanderingly slow, and, as it turned out, something no amount of cursing, ordering, horn blaring and offers of money
made any difference to.
It was quite a few minutes before Trey grasped that, while he wasn’t home free yet, he’d at least been given a reprieve...
The driver pulled up outside George Stanhope-Leigh’s house; he put on the handbrake, but left the engine idling. Stanhope-Leigh looked Baba Duan, sitting next to him in
the back of the car, straight in the eye. “I shall only be a moment, Mr. Hendek.” Opening the door he got out, then ducked back down and poked his head inside the car. “Once
again, I apologize for any inconvenience, but I cannot have you loose in Constantinople, not with what you know.”
“But I do assure you
most
profoundly that I would not breathe the merest syllable.” Baba Duan looked at the men with extremely short haircuts and granite jawlines sitting in
the two front seats. “Not one, on my departed mother’s life.”
“Be that as it may, Mr. Hendek, you will remain my guest for the moment.”