Raga Six (A Doctor Orient Occult Novel) (22 page)

"Oh, he’s all uptight and crazy." Presto stretched out. "Told me I was disturbing his patient and endangering her health. He’s a creep."
 

Orient didn’t answer.
 

"He even told me to stay away from her. He’s just her doctor. I mean, he doesn’t own her or anything." He turned and squinted at Orient. "Isn’t that right, Owen?"
 

"That’s right," Orient said quietly.
 

"I think what Pia really needs is to get away from Doctor Six," Presto murmured. It occurred to Orient that perhaps Presto had put the names in the wrong order. Later, just before he fell asleep, Orient heard Presto get up and slip out the door.
 

The next day Orient was the only sunbather on the upper deck. The Trabik was coming close to land and the passengers were absorbed with last-minute preparations. Orient was in no hurry to get ready. The warm sun on his face and the motion of the boat moving through the calm water lulled him into a state of complete relaxation. He found himself easing back into a casual meditation, swimming toward a distant sun in the center of his chemistry. He began the breathing pattern, intensifying the flow of the current, and floated rapidly past the billions of tiny connections in his spine toward the light. The first connection. The gene that held the code of his past and the combination of his future. The first cell.
 

As his speed increased, however, he became aware of an alien fume of stagnancy hovering close to the river of his concentration. The bitter smell of some formless vibration lapping at the positive charge of liquid, sucking at the edges of his mind.
 

He pulled back.
 

When he opened his eyes, he realized he had a dull headache.
 

He put on his shirt and sandals and walked over to the rail. Every instinct in him screamed that there was some hostile presence on board the ship. Intelligent and predatory. He had felt it during the meditation, he had sensed it when he examined Janice, and he had tasted it when Pia called.
 

Orient watched a gull swoop down to the water and then flap furiously after the ship, straining in the wind to catch up.
 

Doctor Six was on his way to Naples. Perhaps it would be an idea to get in touch with Sordi and ask him to keep an eye on the man. Orient shook his head. He had very little to go on except his extrasensory impressions, but he was certain that what he had felt was the deadly energy of some inhuman force. If that was true, then Pia’s sensitivity put her in grave danger. He decided to do everything possible to keep a close watch on Six’s activitics.
 

He was reluctant to intrude in Pia’s life, but he did want to make sure she wasn’t harmed. He looked out over the restless blue water. Maybe he was exaggerating the situation. He should probably make plans to straighten out his own life instead of interfering where he wasn’t wanted. Joker had always extolled the value of a spotless nose. Orient continued to stare at the horizon beyond the rear deck.
     

Joker.
 

He wondered how much the cowboy knew about Doctor Six. That night the ship’s engines stopped and the Trabik dropped anchor in the bay of Tangier. After dinner Lew Wallet came to each cabin and invited the passengers into the lounge for a champagne toast.
 

Everyone was in an expansive, festive mood. Cards and addresses were exchanged as well as solemn pacts to maintain contact. Orient found it difficult to be as enthusiastic as the Wallets and the Crowes, but he did his best to enter into the spirit of the party. He took Lew Wallet’s business card and promised Jack and Alice Crowe that he would visit their boutique when he returned to New York. Pia also came to the bar to say goodbye, but her farewells to Orient were perfunctory and curt. It seemed to him that she was preoccupied about something. She hung at the edge of the chatty group instead of dominating its center as she usually did. Her smile was vivid but a few times she missed what was being said, as if she were in deep thought about something else.
 

A short time later Orient noticed that both Presto and Pia were missing from the gathering in the lounge. When Doctor Six became aware that Pia was gone, he hurriedly left the lounge, leaving Jack and Alice Crowe in mid-conversation.
 

Orient looked across the room and saw that Raga was sitting by herself on the couch, watching him. He walked over to join her.
 

"I hope you have a good voyage to Naples, Raga," he said. He meant it. There was something strong and proud in her that he liked very much.
 

"Thank you, Owen," Raga smiled faintly. "But if my husband keeps trying to hold Pia on a short leash, I’m afraid that our little trip might prove to be too heavy to bear. For both of us."
 

"As a doctor, I can understand Alistar’s concern," Orient said. "I think you called it—an intense relationship." Raga looked at him steadily.
 

"Something like that." Orient felt slightly ill at ease. Actually the only thing he understood about that relationship was that it seemed too strained and complicated for comfort.
 

"At any rate, I hope we meet again," Raga was saying, her honeyed voice very low. "There’s something between us I’d like to extend."
 

Orient looked into her yellow-streaked eyes. They were dense and yielding, like molten gold. He knew she was telling the truth. He felt the same way himself.
 

He went out on deck and stared for a long time at the irregular beadwork of amber lights glowing awkwardly from the dark, dark streets of the city across the water.
 

Early the next morning the purser roused the departing passengers for their passport clearance. Orient expected the usual bureaucratic delays, so he took his time, making sure that everything was packed correctly. As he collected his books and clothes, it occurred to him that Presto hadn’t slept in the cabin that night. And his knapsack and personal effects were gone.
 

When he reached the lounge, he found the purser, two immigration officers, and Doctor Six having a loud argument about something. He went out to the side deck.
 

The dry of Tangier curved around the cold green bay and sprawled low and lush over the hills above the sand beach. Just in front of the ship was a bulge of gold domes, blue towers, and whitewashed houses rising up above the waterfront. The boat was docked close to shore and Orient could see hooded figures hunched on the curbs in the sun or sitting in cafes.
 

Women wearing long caftans, and veils over their faces like masked nuns, shuffled through the crowded side streets. Dark-skinned stevedores wearing hooded robes swarmed over the decks, unloading crates and boxes from the holds. Just in front of Orient a tall man in a brown robe, hood back to frame his bald, skullcapped head, impassively operated the crane mechanisms. Down on the dock, cab drivers, porters, and souvenir vendors waved to Orient, yelling incomprehensible prices for their services. As he stood there watching, Orient wondered what it was he hoped to find on this strange soil.
 

On his way back to the lounge he all but collided with Doctor Six, who was hurrying out through the door, his face contorted with anger. He didn’t stop when he saw Orient, pushing him out of the way against the wall as he rushed to the stairs that led to shore. Orient was annoyed for a moment, but he shook it off and proceeded to the table at the end of the lounge to present his passport to the officials.
 

Raga was standing next to the table. She seemed shaken, and very weak. Her skin had a bluish pallor and she was unsteady on her feet.
 

"Is something wrong?" Orient asked, suddenly concerned.
 

She tried to laugh, but it caught in her throat and she began to cough. "I’m afraid I’m hopeless, Owen," she said when she had recovered her voice. "Presto seems to have taken Pia away with him. They left as soon as his motorcycle was unloaded. The purser said they stayed up all night so that they could be the first ones cleared." She closed her eyes. "And Alistar’s gone after them."
 

When she opened her eyes again, Orient saw that they were faded and lifeless.
 

Orient took her arm. "What do you need?" he asked.
 

"Help me make these arrangements. Something about the change of destination on the ticket. I don’t think I can carry it off."
 

"Do you feel ill?"
 

Raga leaned against him. "Just very tired." She looked up. "And very helpless. Do you mind, Owen?"
 

"I’ll do anything I can," Orient said.
 

Raga exhaled slowly and Orient realized she’d been holding her breath. He wondered if her sigh was one of relief or fear.

CHAPTER 13

Tangier, 1970

Even with Orient’s knowledge of Serbo-Croatian and Arabic, it took hours to clear Raga’s documents and get her settled.
 

Orient took a room at a beachfront hotel adjoining Raga’s and checked on her condition every few hours by phone. He was worried by Raga’s lapse in health and surprised by Pia’s sudden decision to go away with Presto. But he was also somewhat pleased by the opportunity to keep tabs on Doctor Six. All three of them—Pia, Alistar, and Raga—had booked passage for Naples. But Pia’s flight had changed all that. Orient was convinced that there was something more than passion alone prodding Pia’s desire to get away from her physician.
 

When he called Raga the next day, she sounded better. She had recovered her strength and invited Orient to have lunch with her. On his way to her hotel, he saw an old woman selling flowers on the street and bought a bunch of yellow roses.
 

"They’re lovely," Raga exclaimed at the sight of the flowers. "They’re my favorite. You know, it’s been a year since anyone’s given me a bouquet." She kissed him on the cheek.
 

"Probably because you’re the emerald type," Orient smiled. "Feeling better?"
 

"Much." She took his arm and walked with him to the terrace. "I guess I just can’t cope with these sudden changes anymore. I must be getting old."
 

"Now you’re fishing." Orient held her chair and then sat down across from her. "Any word from Alistar?"
 

"Not yet." She looked away. "It’s a lovely afternoon, isn’t it?"
 

Orient agreed. It was clear and yellow-bright and a soft breeze rustled the palm trees around the hotel. Raga’s suite looked out over the wide bay, and there were flecks of white foam on the flat green surface of the water. A thin veil of mist muted the orange and brown tones of the distant Spanish hills rising up from the horizon far across the bay.
 

When the waiter came, Raga had him put the roses in a vase placed next to her on the glass-topped dining table. Neither she nor Orient were very hungry, so they ordered a Salade Nicoise and picked at their food and watched the steady stream of activity on the tree-lined boule-yard below the wide terrace. Burros loaded with decorated straw baskets, herdsmen driving small flocks, and veiled women walking with large trays balanced on their heads competed for road space with the cars, trucks, and bicycles on the street, as they passed the modern glass-and-concrete hotel.
 

"You know, I’m almost glad we had to make this stopover," Raga mused. "This place seems so sleepy and peaceful. So removed." Orient smiled. "On the surface it does. Actually Tangier has had a racy past."
 

"You mean opium dens and harems?"
 

Orient nodded. "Slave markets, smuggling. Every marketable vice. A few years ago it was independent territory. There was no law except its own."
 

Raga laughed. "Sounds intriguing. Perhaps we could go exploring for wickedness some evening."

 
"We’d probably find out that all of the wickedness has been carefully arranged and packaged by American Express."
 

Raga looked at him. Her gleaming silver hair fell loosely on the shoulders of a hazy pink dressing gown almost the same shade as her lips. The roses next to her smooth face looked pale in comparison with the gold streaks in her eyes. She was smiling but there was something challenging in her husky voice. "We could always try to figure out a vice American Express doesn’t know about."
 

"Do that," Orient said, "and Tangier will beat a path to your door."
 

"How about you?" Raga didn’t take her eyes from his face.
 

Orient met her gaze. "Pleasure is pleasant," he said quietly, "but it doesn’t necessarily lead to satisfaction."
 

Raga moistened her lips. "Any reason why it should? So long as it’s pleasant."
 

Orient smiled but didn’t answer. After lunch Raga went inside to change her clothes, while Orient waited for her on the terrace, still thinking about their conversation. For years his deepest enjoyment had been the pursuit of perfection in his work. He had never questioned that part of his life. Everything he did was secondary to that function. Perhaps he had been inhibiting his own natural capacities for pleasure. Certainly there was nothing unusual about exploring a life of his senses. They might hold the key to a door he had yet to open.
 

"I’m ready, Owen." Raga’s husky voice interrupted his thoughts, and he turned around. She was standing at the door of the terrace. She had tied a blue silk scarf around her head, accentuating the delicate oval of her face. Her pink dressing gown had been replaced by a slim black leather shirtdress that hugged the sharp curves of her body. The neck of the dress was cut in a wide V that came to a point between her full white breasts, and she had left the buttons of her long skirt open, revealing a creamy flash of thigh over her gray snakeskin boots as she came toward him.