The Persian Price (20 page)

He went to the door and yelled for Ahmed. She heard him giving orders in Arabic. The man came up quickly with a glass of brandy and some ice cubes packed into a towel. Peters uncovered her. She made no effort to stop him. She lay and watched him while he wrapped the towel over her breasts. He lifted her while she sipped the brandy. He had held Andrew Barnes in his arms on the dirt and dust of Kent State campus, while the crowd fled for their lives and the acrid smell of gunfire was in the air.

There was no comparison between the dead teacher and Eileen Field; they held nothing in common except a brand of steadfast courage and the role of victim. What he was feeling for her at that moment was a disaster and he knew it. From the moment he brought her to the villa he had been trying not to see her as a person. Above all, as a woman. If Resnais hadn't attacked her as a woman, he might have succeeded.

‘Stay quiet, Eileen,' he said. ‘I'm going downstairs to deal with that bastard.'

It was the first time he had used her name.

Everything Logan said made sense. James couldn't fault the logic; he sat in the suite at the Hilton, drinking whisky and listening to Logan explaining the full implications of the terms demanded for Eileen's release. Janet Armstrong didn't contribute, but as he heard the arguments he detected her brand of frigid detachment. An easy attitude to take when it was Eileen Field's life at stake. But she had been tactful enough to stay as a spectator in the background.

The company's withdrawal from Imshan was not a decision that Logan could take from personal motives, however strong. The consequences on all levels had to be considered.

James had just sat there, waiting. Logan looked grey and appreciably older. James hoped he felt as ill as he looked.

Imshan was not just vitally important to Imperial Oil. The reduction in oil price would contain the Arab stranglehold on oil for the Western world until oil started to flow from the North Sea and American technology developed new sources of energy. The political factors went far beyond the company's acquisition of rights in a massive oil-field or his own personal commitment to it. These considerations wouldn't have weighed against the threat to Eileen.

James watched him when he said it and didn't believe him. He was being less than honest because he was making a case. James put his whisky down.

If Imshan was developed by the Russians, then it would be a major political defeat for the West.

‘There's no guarantee the French and Germans wouldn't get it,' James said, interrupting. ‘The Shah doesn't want the Russians either, so it's only Imperial Oil that's the loser. That's what you really mean.'

‘Please, James, be reasonable.' Janet spoke for the first time. ‘Logan isn't going to abandon Eileen. He'd never do that. He's just trying to find some kind of compromise. He has other responsibilities too. We all have.'

‘Speak for yourself,' he said. ‘You know there's no compromise with these terrorists. You're just trying to justify letting them murder Eileen. I don't give a bugger about Imperial Oil or the economic situation or anything else.' He turned to Logan Field. ‘I promise you one thing,' he said. ‘If you let Eileen die, I'll make sure the truth gets out. I don't think there'll be many doors open to you after that. Either of you.'

He was on his way out when Logan stepped in front of him.

‘Just wait a minute,' he said. ‘All right, I give in to their demands. I pull out of Imshan. Never mind the consequences. Europe doesn't matter, the company doesn't matter, nothing matters but getting Eileen back alive – right?'

‘Right,' James said bitterly.

‘And then they kill her anyway. Have you thought of that?'

‘They won't,' James said. ‘They keep their bargains.'

‘Not on this level,' Janet said behind him. ‘They can't let her go and have the story come out. That's why they've insisted on secrecy! The world mustn't know how the West was blackmailed out of its oil. They'll promise and the minute the negotiations are wrecked beyond recall, they'll get rid of the star witness. My belief is they'll fix up some accident. Then nobody will believe Logan, even if he did try and tell the story. And let's face it, there wouldn't be much point. With Imshan gone and Eileen dead, he'd just ruin his own reputation for nothing. People would think he was covering for having lost the deal.'

‘Christ Almighty,' James said slowly, ‘you've got a lovely mind.'

‘I'm thinking straight,' she said, ‘because, believe it or not, I'm not emotionally involved. You and Logan are. In my view the only hope you've got of saving her is to go to the police. And in the meantime play along with Homsi. That's my advice to Logan.'

‘I'm going to Japan tomorrow,' Logan said.

‘To negotiate the loan,' James said. ‘To go ahead no matter what.'

‘To keep my bloody options open,' Logan suddenly shouted at him. ‘And to make it look good. If I have to screw up the deal, I'll do it when I come back. And that's where you stop calling me and Janet names and take your own bloody finger out. You see Homsi tomorrow morning. Tell him I'm going to scuttle the talks with the Japanese Government. In the meantime he keeps contact with you. And you reassure him all along the line that we're pulling out. Convince him. Try and get a date set for her release. Keep talking.'

‘And the police?' James said. ‘If you bring them in, she's finished. Mind you, your reputation's safe then. You can stand up as the hero, trying to save his wife from the kidnappers, knowing the first word that leaks out pulls the trigger on her. Bloody clever, Janet. I hadn't thought of that!'

Logan opened the door.

‘Get out,' he said.

When James Kelly had gone, she came up to him.

‘I didn't mean it like that,' she said. ‘You must believe me.'

‘I know,' Logan said. ‘You're trying to do the best you can. Jesus, I've never felt so tired in my life!'

‘You go to bed,' Janet said. ‘It's a long flight tomorrow and you've got to have a clear head. I think I should stay here and keep an eye on James. I wonder how long the affair's been going on?'

‘What affair?' Logan said. ‘What the hell do you mean? Eileen's never been to bed with anyone behind my back!'

‘If you say so,' Janet shrugged. They were in the bedroom and he was pulling off his tie. ‘But I don't see why you should mind if she had.'

Logan didn't answer. He kicked off his shoes and rolled onto the bed to try and sleep. An affair with James Kelly. Janet was right. There was no reason why he should mind if it were true. But he did. It took him a long time to go to sleep.

Resnais had loaded his revolver and was waiting for Peters.

Madeleine was with him. She had stopped the bleeding, helped him to clean up and given him a brandy. He was sitting in the lounge facing the door and she was standing beside him. He had refused to take her advice and go off in the car, leaving her to talk to Peters. It was a brave offer and she rose in his estimation, because he knew she was shaking with fear of what the American would do to her. She had pulled on a shirt over the bikini, as if she felt that seeing her semi-nude would only incense him more against her.

‘If he comes down and starts anything,' Resnais said, ‘I'll shoot him. So keep out of the way!'

‘Listen.' She knelt beside him quickly, all her feminine instincts of survival to the forefront. ‘Listen, we can't afford to fight this out. You made a fool of yourself; all right, he beat you up! Ever since that bitch came here she's come between us. It's got to stop now. We have a job to do, Resnais, and instead we're falling out among ourselves. Peters won't attack you again.'

‘He'd better not try,' the Frenchman said. His mouth was stiff and swollen. It hurt him to talk. He gripped the gun, hiding it down the side of the cushion. He waited, quivering and vicious like a wounded cat. As a boy his father had beaten him for laziness and stealing. Being small, and growing up in a tough district, he was a natural target for bullies. By the time he was twelve he had learned to use a knife and his threshold of provocation was very low. His graduation from petty crime to full-scale terrorism was not so much a political choice but a natural orbiting to the centre of violence.

‘I'll kill him,' he repeated, and he was hoping for the excuse.

They heard Peters coming down the stairs, shouting for the Algerian. They heard him tell the man to go upstairs and keep watch outside the prisoner's room. Then he came through the doorway. He expected the Frenchman to be armed. He knew from his position in the chair, his right hand tucked into his side, that he was hiding a gun. Peters looked at him for a moment and then at Madeleine. He went to a side table, found a cigarette in one of the alabaster boxes, and lit it. He spoke directly to Resnais.

‘I'm sending you both back to Damascus,' he said. ‘I'll give you a break you don't deserve. I won't say why. I'll send the message through tonight. If either of you goes near her again, Ahmed'll put a bullet into you.'

‘You can't send us back,' Madeleine said. ‘They'll want to know the reason. We'll come under suspicion!'

‘Too bad,' Peters said.

‘You bastard,' Resnais said. ‘You have her for yourself, eh? Nobody around to see? You are the one who should be taken off the mission!'

Madeleine looked at each of them. One was her lover, the other her comrade. Now much more than personal issues were at stake.

‘Resnais was wrong,' she said, ‘but it was your fault too. You took the wire off her window without consulting either of us, your comrades. Resnais didn't like it and I agreed with him. He went up to see if it was safe. What happened after was probably her fault.'

Peters looked at her; now it was she who had no identity.

‘He tortured her,' he said, ‘trying to cook something up against me. Our orders were to keep her safe until we were told different. She wasn't to be hurt. She told me you threatened to kill her, too. What would have happened to our mission then?'

‘Let him explain,' Madeleine said. ‘Please – we've worked and fought together. He's your brother-in-arms. He has a right to be heard.'

‘Okay,' Peters said, ‘explain. But first take your hand off that gun.'

Resnais didn't move. The Lebanese girl was right and he knew it. Her plea for a truce touched no chord in him but instinct urged him to comply. He didn't want to be sent back and to have to explain why. He might be believed, but there was no guarantee.

‘I went to see for myself if that window was safe,' he said. ‘She woke up and started making a scene. I got rough with her, but she asked for it. To you, she's something precious. To me, she's the wife of a capitalist pig and I'm the one who'll shoot her if he doesn't do what he's told.'

‘For God's sake,' Madeleine begged, ‘let's stop all this. Who is this woman? What makes her so special to you, Peters? I'm not asking for myself now – it's gone too far for that. At any moment we could get an order for Resnais to execute her. What will you say when that comes?'

‘If it comes,' the American corrected, ‘I'll do it myself. As far as I'm concerned she's in my care. I'm responsible for her and you come under my orders. Both of you. I have no personal interest in her one way or the other. But you're not to be trusted. That's why you've got to be replaced.'

‘You're making a mistake,' the Frenchman said. He brought his right hand up and laid it in view on the arm of the chair. If Peters asked for a replacement that would look very bad for him. His complaint against the American wouldn't be believed.

‘I made one too,' he said. ‘I admit it. I shouldn't have touched her. Wait till tomorrow before you do anything.'

Peters finished his cigarette.

Madeleine said, ‘I'm going to get us a drink.' She went out to the kitchen and came back with a bottle of wine. She gave Resnais a glass and handed one to Peters.

‘We should be united,' she said. ‘We've forgotten our common cause. Let's drink to it now!'

She had a sense of theatre which was less Eastern than Germanic. She chose the role of catalyst and, with the toast, she shamed Peters. He drank and the others did too. He didn't promise anything. He left them to sit on the terrace outside. Before he could decide what to do about them, he had first to examine himself.

It was a beautiful warm evening; the sky was rose and purple with the setting sun. He sat overlooking the sea; from far below there was a hiss and gurgle of waves breaking gently over the rocks. For years he had been committed to violence; the decision taken after Barnes's death during that campus riot had never been challenged. The world was a bloated capitalist corpse. There had to be a burial before the resurrection. He had conditioned himself to kill, just as he was unconcerned at dying. He remembered his mother's reproach, made during one of the futile scenes when he was still at college. How could he claim to love humanity when he wasn't capable of loving another human being? They had known nothing of his devotion and his teacher. They were referring as always to themselves. He was disturbed at recalling it now. He had given of himself in the fullest sense and for a higher purpose than a personal relationship. Suffering in the mass could move him to tears and he had never indulged in personal brutality. That was the weapon of the capitalist enemy; the truncheon-swinging riot police, the sadists in uniform; the cigar-chewing generals and the faceless bullies of the CIA. His adult life had been spent in revenging the murder of Andrew Barnes, in a crusade against injustice and oppression.

From the day she was captured, he could have put a bullet in the back of Eileen Field's head and felt no qualm of guilt because the act was totally impersonal. But now the screen protecting him had crumbled. She was no longer an object in the class war. She had a body and he had held it naked in his arms. He would have beaten Resnais to death for what he had done to Eileen Field. He sat in the darkness and tried to rationalize what had happened. Her courage had impressed him; inevitably then her vulnerability had touched him. He had fallen into the trap of allowing a personal relationship to develop between them. Of talking to her instead of slamming down her food and walking out; of accepting the responsibility which she had thrust upon him that first morning when she faced him in the little room. It was all clear and logical, and he had no excuse for letting it happen. And now he wanted her as well. He wondered whether she knew it, whether she had sensed that even as he wrestled with her by the window, his body had turned traitor and wanted to make love to her instead. Madeleine, with her sharp intuitive sense, had realized what was happening long before he did. Resnais had gone up to the room to prove it. They had drawn together against him because they felt he couldn't be trusted. Now he didn't know if he could trust himself. The truce between them was a false one, but he dared not send them back to Damascus. The Central Committee might send out a new team to take charge of Eileen Field. He couldn't risk that. She mustn't be handed over to anyone else. He could protect her against Madeleine and Resnais.