Night Train to Memphis (48 page)

‘Oh, so you’re going to take the credit for discovering the plot, are you?’ I inquired.

‘But I did discover it,’ said Schmidt.

‘Oh yeah?’ I caught John’s eye and smiled self-consciously. ‘I never did get around to asking you how much you knew, Schmidt. I assumed – ’

‘You assumed I was a stupid old man,’ said Schmidt calmly. ‘And you did not ask because you were crazy with fear for the man you – ’

‘I think that point has been made, Schmidt,’ I said. ‘So tell me now, okay?’

‘It was ratiocination of the most brilliant,’ Schmidt explained, twirling his moustache. ‘Though I will confess that the truth did not dawn until John told me that Herr
Blenkiron was a criminal and that I must leave the house. Mind you, he told me no more than that. It was while I was eating my lunch at the hotel that I put the pieces together. The crime, I
deduced, must be theft; for what other reason would Herr Blenkiron have in his employment a person like – er – like Herr Max? And what was it that a rich man could not buy, that he must
steal it? The death of M. Mazarin was the ultimate clue. He was killed, not by the explosion but by a bullet. A confidence, that the only one to die was the man who had directed the reconstruction
of the tomb? I did not, think so. And when I remembered the way in which the reconstruction was carried out, and the sudden ending to the tour, and all the other suspicious circumstances . . .
Voilà Eureka! So you see it spells Fröhliche Weihnachten; we are heroes, and everyone will live happily ever after.’

Exhausted by this creative effort, he paused to eat a croissant.

‘Very well done, Schmidt,’ John said, ‘but you’ve overlooked one little detail. Vicky has already dutifully informed her mysterious superiors – and thereby, I feel
certain, Interpol and every police department in Europe – that I am the dashing Robin Hood of crime they have sought so long in vain.’

Schmidt choked, emitting a fine spray of crumbs. ‘Vicky! Did you do that? How could you?’

John gave me a kindly smile. ‘I don’t hold it against you, darling. You will wait for me, won’t you? Seven to ten years should do it, unless they make the sentences
consecutive, in which case you may have to hire a wheelchair when you meet me at the prison gates.’

‘No, I’ll hire Max and Hans to break you out. I’ve always wanted to be a moll.’

‘A what?’ Schmidt demanded.

‘Gun moll,’ I said abstractedly. ‘Like Bonnie and Clyde.’

‘It is not amusing,’ Schmidt grumbled. ‘How can you joke about such a disaster, such a tragedy – ’

‘Shut up, Schmidt. Just let me think. I told . . . That’s right, I told Sweet and Bright. They knew anyway, they’re part of the gang, nobody is going to believe . . . And Larry
Blenkiron.’

‘And?’ John had stiffened.

‘That’s all. Oh, damn. The tapes. They’ve got the tapes. But you didn’t say anything – ’

‘They don’t have the tapes. Feisal picked them up and handed them over to Larry. I was there when he destroyed them. You’re sure you didn’t mention me to anyone
else?’

‘I didn’t tell Alice. She was the only person who identified herself to me. I don’t know to this day who the other agent on board was, if there was one. Am I a great spy or
what?’

‘I can’t believe this,’ John muttered. ‘It’s too easy. There must be something we’ve overlooked.’

‘Very good,’ Schmidt said. He gave me a forgiving smile. ‘I should have known that in the struggle between love and duty your heart would triumph over your – ’

‘Shut up, Schmidt,’ I said.

‘So then, how does it stand?’ Schmidt bit into a pastry and chewed ruminating. ‘I see only one remaining difficulty. Are you prepared, John, to play the grieving husband? For
if her part in this comes out it will be the knot that unravels the tangled skein of the truth.’

‘Very literary, Schmidt,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what the hell it means but it sounds good.’

‘It is obvious, what it means,’ Schmidt said indignantly. ‘The forced marriage, his knowledge of the plot, his earlier connection with her brothers – all these things
will become known, together with your acquaintance with John, and your reputation, my dear Vicky, will be in ruins.’

‘Do you think I care about my reputation?’

‘I care,’ John said shortly. ‘Honestly, Vicky, I’m beginning to worry about you. Anyhow, Schmidt is right; the whole implausible story hangs on her innocence. Unless . .
. How about claiming I was unaware of her criminal connections when I married her? They aren’t exactly public knowledge.’

‘But how could you have remained unaware of them?’ Schmidt didn’t like this version; he saw where it was leading, and he wanted the credit for unearthing the plot.

John grinned at him. ‘That’s the point, isn’t it? I’ll leave the medals to you, Schmidt. I don’t doubt that Max and his employers will appreciate our keeping her
name out of it. That’s another consideration. So when I marched in there last night I was hoping to rescue her as well as Vicky?’

‘Yes, yes, that is it,’ Schmidt said eagerly. ‘The villains foully murdered her. Both of you saw it.’

‘No,’ John said. ‘She was dead when I arrived. Vicky saw nothing.’

‘That is easier, yes,’ Schmidt agreed. ‘The less one admits to knowing, the fewer lies there are to remember. Do you find any other holes in the plan?’

‘Not at the moment,’ I said. I couldn’t believe it either.

‘Good. Then we will go shopping.’ Schmidt scraped crumbs off his moustache and bounced up. ‘You cannot come, Vicky, not wrapped in a bedsheet, so I will select for you a
suitable wardrobe.’

‘Oh, God. See here, Schmidt – ’

‘I’ll go along,’ John said. ‘And try to control Schmidt. I believe I can claim to have a reasonably good idea of your size.’

He was smiling as if he didn’t have a care in the world. But he hadn’t eaten much and he had never spoken her name.

I

T
HE FOLLOWING DAYS
are something of a blur. We spent most of the time trying to elude the press and the rest of it
talking with various officials. Occasionally I’d catch a glimpse of a mosque or a suq and once I actually saw the gates of the Cairo Museum as the limo passed it.

While John and Schmidt were shopping I called Mother and Dad and told them the reports of my nervous breakdown had been greatly exaggerated, but not as exaggerated as the story of my abduction
and the news of my engagement. Despite her all-around relief, Mom was a little disappointed to find out that I wasn’t engaged to marry a millionaire. She was tactful enough not to say so,
however. I managed to talk Dad out of flying to Cairo. My call had caught him just as he was about to leave for the airport.

It was a nerve-racking interlude, and not just because I kept wanting to punch out the ghouls who followed us with cameras and microphones shouting questions. The worst were the questions that
focued on John’s supposed bereavement. They would have been cruel and contemptible if he had really cared about her. Under the circumstances they verged on emotional assault and battery, and
I don’t know how he kept his temper. Mine came close to cracking more than once.

Even more nerve-racking were the interrogation sessions. Everybody from the CIA to Interpol to the SSI to the Salvation Army seemed intent on questioning us. It was tantamount to walking, not a
tightrope, but a spiderweb strung over a pond full of piranhas. My head ached trying to keep track of the lies we’d invented.

One encounter stands out in my mind.

Following Schmidt’s advice, I had refused to be questioned except at the Embassy and in his company. John was there that day too. Everyone understood why we stuck together – or at
least they thought they understood. Clichés, good old clichés – we had suffered together and survived together, and so on ad nauseam.

I had been expecting this particular meeting and had braced myself for it, so when Burckhardt rose to greet me I didn’t slug him or spit in his face or even throw anything at him.

‘You son of a bitch,’ I said, slapping his outstretched hand aside. ‘How you have the gall to face me after screwing up the way you did – ’

John and Schmidt descended on me murmuring soothing comments, and forced me into a chair. ‘No, I will not be quiet,’ I shouted. ‘I’m just getting started. God damn you,
Burckhardt, if that’s your name, which I doubt, you and your security measures and your smug superiority and your total indifference to ordinary human decency almost got me killed. And
furthermore . . .’

I hadn’t planned it that way, but my explosion turned out to be the smartest move I could have made. By the time I finished telling him what I thought of him he was too nervous to think
straight.

‘We know now,’ he said, when I gave him a chance to talk, ‘that the individual referred to in the message was the man you had encountered in Sweden.’

‘Max,’ I snapped. ‘That was the name I knew him by. And no, I didn’t recognize him. He kept out of my way and he didn’t look at all the way I remembered him. The
others – Hans and Rudi – weren’t on the boat.’

Burckhardt fumbled through his notes. ‘Dakin and Gurk – ’

‘Who? Speak up, Burckhardt, I’m bloody sick and tired of stupid questions.’

‘Uh. You knew them as Sweet and Bright.’

‘Oh, right. I’d never seen them before. I thought they were two of your people.’ I added, in case he’d missed the point, ‘You and your goddamm obsession with
security! It’s no wonder the poor effed-up world is in the state it’s in, with people like you behind the scenes manipulating policy.’

‘Now, Vicky,’ Schmidt began.

‘Shut up, Schmidt. And you too, Burckhardt. I’ve answered the same questions fifty times and I’m not going to answer any more. And you can tell Karl Feder that when I get my
hands on him – ’

‘Yes, yes,’ Burckhardt said quickly. ‘Would you like – uh – perhaps a glass of water?’

‘I am not hysterical,’ I shouted. ‘I am . . . I am leaving! Yes, leaving! Now.’

‘I think no more questions?’ said Tom the diplomat, trying to sound firm and professional.

I rounded on him. ‘Yes, and what about you? You’re supposed to be looking out for my rights.’

‘I am, I am,’ Tom said quickly. ‘Herr – uh – Burckhardt, I don’t believe it would be a good idea to continue. Not at the present time.’

‘Not at any time!’ I informed him. I was beginning to enjoy myself. ‘I am leaving. But before I do, I want to ask Burckhardt a question for a change. Just out of idle
curiosity, who was the incompetent jerk who was supposed to be protecting me?’

‘It was not her fault,’ Burckhardt muttered. ‘She obeyed orders. She was told not to – ’

‘She?’

‘Would you like to speak with her? She asked for a chance to express her congratulations and apologies personally, but I did not think that advisable.’

‘You wouldn’t.’ I wanted to get the hell out of there, but curiosity got the better of me. ‘Where is she?’

In the next room, of course. That’s where these people live, in the next room – peeking through keyholes and eavesdropping on private conversations.

I didn’t recognize her at first. I didn’t recognize her the second time I looked either. Close-cropped sandy hair, a tailored suit . . . Not until she flashed that wide toothy grin
did enlightenment dawn.

‘Suzi?’

She didn’t come any closer. ‘I wanted to express my regrets personally, Dr Bliss. I failed you, and I feel very bad about that. None of us had the slightest suspicion of Mr
Blenkiron; I assumed that when you were with him you were okay.’

Her voice was quicker and harder than Suzi’s, with a flat Midwestern twang instead of a Southern drawl.

‘Criminy!’ Surprise had numbed my brain. Then I remembered something. ‘You were at the hotel that night – with Perry.’

She nodded, no longer smiling. ‘Trying to find you and Herr Schmidt. Foggington-Smythe knew nothing about my real purpose; I took him along as camouflage. You saw me?’

‘I saw you. Since I didn’t know whose side you were on I ran. All the way down the goddamn Nile!’ Renewed rage choked me. ‘That awful trip – scared out of my mind
– worried about – thirst and exhaustion – fever – Feisal lying in that damned hospital with his legs full of bullet holes – get out of my way! I’m going to kill
him!’

Burckhardt retreated behind the desk and John caught me by the arm. ‘You’ll excuse us, gentlemen and madam. She’s been through a lot lately.’

He and Schmidt towed me out. Suzi moved quickly to open the door for us. Her back was to Burckhardt and when she caught my eye she rolled hers and made an expressive face.

Then . . . Then her eyes moved, slowly and deliberately, from me to John. He had drawn my arm through his and his hand covered mine. He shouldn’t have done it, I shouldn’t have let
him do it, but things like that happened occasionally; it was so hard to be on guard every moment.

Involuntarily I started to pull my hand away. His fingers tightened, holding mine fast, warning me not to react; but she’d observed both movements, and she tilted her head and widened her
eyes, and there was Suzi again, and I knew as clearly as if she had spoken aloud that she was remembering a conversation between me and Larry the day at Sakkara. ‘He’s not so
young,’ I had said, without thinking, and Larry had asked if I had known him before.