The Persian Price (21 page)

He got up and went back inside the villa. They were waiting for him, drinking the last of the wine.

‘You're right,' he spoke to Madeleine. ‘We've all got out of line. We have a job to do but it's got to be done my way. I'm in charge of the prisoner and nobody else interferes with her. If that's understood, we can forget what's happened today.'

‘You are the boss,' the Frenchman said.

Madeleine only nodded. Peters didn't stay; he went out and up the stairs. The girl looked at Resnais.

‘Do you trust him?'

He shook his head. ‘No. He didn't send us back to Damascus because he didn't dare. He's gone soft on the woman. We'll have to watch him very carefully.'

Madeleine stretched in the chair. She turned her empty wine glass over and over. She looked at Resnais.

‘I hope the mission fails,' she said. ‘I hope Logan Field refuses the terms. I want to see you shoot her.'

‘If that's what you want, chérie, be prepared for one thing. I shall have to kill Peters first.'

‘I know that,' she said slowly. ‘And if you don't, I will.'

Eileen lay still. It hurt her so much to move that she couldn't raise her arms. The immediate trauma of shock was dulled by the brandy. She was still shivering slightly and the ice-packed towel was a soggy mass which she had thrown off. The window was open and she could see a little balcony. It was dark and the sky was clear and bright with stars.

For a long time she had wept, after Peters left and she heard the door lock. She felt brutalized and degraded and more than at any time since her abduction she felt the anguish of being abandoned by the outside world. The days had gone by, interminable, nerve-racking, and nothing happened. No word from Logan. No move to release her. Just Peters coming in, or the Algerian. Hour after hour of solitude, keeping her spirits high with hope. And then that explosion of violence, the outrage of pain and savage sexuality. If she closed her eyes, all she could see was Resnais bending over her. Logan. She cried the name out loud and turned her face into the pillow. Why hadn't he helped her? Why was there not one word, one sign that he was trying to get her out?

James Kelly would have paid the ransom. If it had been James and not Logan, she would have been freed long before. Then, in the despair that shock and isolation brings, she doubted him as well. Nobody knew what was happening to her and their silence proved that they didn't care. They had given her up.

In spite of the pain in her breasts, she dragged herself up and looked at the window. The room was on the same side of the house as the one where she had been imprisoned. It would be equally impossible to climb down. If Logan wouldn't save her, she would have to escape. She would have to find some way of getting out of the villa. Peters wouldn't help her. She didn't even consider that. She didn't want him as an ally. She was shocked and ashamed of the way she had let him handle her body. She admitted in horror that after Resnais's attack she hadn't a resource left with which to fight Peters. And she had to fight him. She had to resist the temptation to give in and let herself depend upon him and look to him for the protection that was not coming from outside. It was going to be difficult. She kept listening for his step outside the door. He was her only friend in a situation of dreadful danger. Without him, Resnais would have raped her. She mustn't think of Peters as a friend. He was a killer, a terrorist like the other two. She pulled the covers over herself and shivered in spite of the heat. When she heard the door open, she shut her eyes and forced herself to pretend she was asleep.

8

Logan left for Tokyo at four in the afternoon. It was a long flight with stops in Bangkok and Hong Kong. He had a case full of papers on Imshan to occupy him and two sleeping pills Janet had pressed on him. He had no intention of taking them. He despised crutches of any kind and he had always been able to sleep when he travelled. She had driven to the airport with him, but stayed in the car. He didn't want to draw attention to his departure. He had been surprised and touched to see tears in her eyes when they said goodbye. They had drawn together in the crisis and this was important to Logan. He hadn't much faith in fair-weather relationships. He valued her cool common sense and he needed her sympathy. He leaned back in his seat on the plane and decided that he had never been so much in love with her as he was now.

Champagne was offered. He declined in favour of whisky, opened his case and set out his papers. He had told James Kelly to contact Homsi and demand proof that Eileen was still alive. Janet said he had made the right decision; Kelly looked at him as if he were a murderer. Whatever the outcome, James Kelly was finished as far as a career with Imperial Oil was concerned. Logan had no complaint against him as an employee. He had played a brilliant and vital part in the negotiations and his personal impact on the Shah had tipped the balance in the company's favour. There would be a termination of contract and a substantial compensation. But he was personally unacceptable to Logan. He had decided this, without allowing himself to trace that decision to Janet's remark about an affair with Eileen. He resented James's attitude and his lack of loyalty to the company's interests. When it was all over, he would be told to go.

All over. Logan had read the first paragraph of a memorandum twice without being able to concentrate on a word. There was a cold finality about the way he had expressed it to himself. Janet insisted that there was no way of saving Eileen. He didn't doubt her motives for a moment. She wasn't the kind of woman who would influence him out of anything but an honest opinion. She believed that his wife was going to die no matter what he did. Kelly, condemning him at every step, was sure that Logan had a choice.

In a flash of painful insight, he understood why Janet had been such a source of comfort to him. She denied him the choice and relieved him of the responsibility. He didn't want to lose Imshan. It was hypocritical to pretend that he could throw away the greatest coup of his career, forsake the power and importance of operating the key oil-field in the Western world. The very thought of giving it up caused him such mental agony that he writhed away from it, desperate for an alternative. There must be a way which wasn't the chilling deduction of Janet Armstrong. There must be a hope of saving Eileen and keeping Imshan. He wanted the oil-field because he wanted the power and the success implicit in it. He wanted it for the company which he saw as an extension of himself and to which he was deeply committed. And it was not hypocritical to say that a sense of responsibility towards Western Europe and its oil dilemma was a major part of his consideration.

But no decision could be made until he knew for sure that she was still alive. He settled back to his papers, forcing himself to concentrate. When the hostess came round with the cocktail canapés, he was completely absorbed in his work.

Six miles below and two hundred miles away from the plane as the crow flies, the brother of the waiter Habib Ebrahimi sat brooding in a coffee shop. He was a poor man who worked as a loader at the airport. He lifted heavy crates for ten hours a day for a miserable wage, his back was bowed and aching, and only the dream he shared with his brother brought light into a life dark with poverty. Equality for all, an end to misery and exploitation. He was not clever like his brother. He was content to listen and admire. The meaning of Habib's message was beautiful and clear. But Habib was dead, his wife taken away by the secret police. There was no doubt in the mind of Habib's brother who had commanded the killing. Habib had denounced his betrayal of the people often enough. Khorvan, the traitor. These were the words of Habib and his brother murmured them like a prayer from the Koran.

For some days after Resnais's attack Eileen had been ill. Her breasts swelled up and the pain kept her from sleeping. Shock made her lethargic; she cried copiously and without reason. Peters got her a sedative from the store of medical supplies in the villa. In common with many rich men their wealthy sympathizer was a hypochondriac and there were remedies for everything.

There was no suggestion of moving her back into the little room; as she suspected the window here looked over a sheer drop and she was equally secure. But it was airy and comfortable. Psychologically the new surroundings helped her to recover. By the end of the week she was up and dressed and her spirits had risen. Peters noticed it without realizing that the motive was her determination to escape. It had grown while she lay in bed, depending on him more and more, finding herself fretful when he didn't come. He sent wine in with her food and the quality in those few days when she was ill showed care in the selection. The signs were clear and there were times when she was overcome by panic at her own acceptance of his changing attitude towards her. At no point did she consider asking him to let her go. The locked door and the attention to security told her that this would be useless. She didn't want to expose herself by such a move. And secretly she shrank from the rejection which must follow. If she put herself at his mercy it would be at a price she wouldn't pay. The least part would be her self-respect. She had to do it alone. And since she had been sick, he might well be off his guard.

He came up that morning carrying a portable tape-recorder.

‘You look better,' he said.

Eileen denied it.

‘I feel awful. I'm dying for fresh air.'

He thought how colourless she looked. He decided he might take her down and let her walk in the garden.

‘I want you to send a message to your husband,' he said.

‘What kind of message? Have you heard from him? Oh, tell me, please!'

‘He wants evidence that you're alive and well,' Peters said.

That message had been relayed through on the radio the night before.

‘Of course,' Eileen said. ‘How stupid of me not to think of that. He's a businessman. He never does anything without collateral.'

‘Sit here,' he said, ‘and talk into this mike.'

She shrugged. He had never seen her show bitterness before.

‘What am I supposed to say? Please pay them the money or they're going to kill me. He knows that already.'

Peters bent over her. Last night's radio message had been less confident than the earlier reports. Logan Field was not acting in a hurry. He had left the last part of the negotiations with Homsi to a subordinate. He wanted proof that his wife was alive before he would proceed any further.

‘Look,' he said, ‘you've got a chance to talk to him. Pull out all the stops. It's for your own sake.'

She had sat down and clasped her hands in front of her. She looked up at him.

‘I'm not going to beg,' she said quietly. ‘And anyway it wouldn't do any good. He could have paid the ransom now if he really cared what happened to me.'

‘You're wrong,' Peters said. ‘It's not as simple as that. It can't be fixed in a few days.'

‘Then it's not money?'

He hesitated. He wanted her to send the message and make it as poignant as she could. Whatever was holding that bastard of a husband back, a frightened plea from her might tip the balance.

‘No, it isn't money.'

He saw her glance down at her hands and then up at him.

‘God help me if it's something to do with Imperial Oil,' she said.

He slipped the tape into the machine.

‘Don't be a fool,' he said. ‘Give him a chance. He'll get you back. Now talk into this; give him your name and the date. Make it a personal message, something he'll know is genuine. And for Christ's sake, don't be proud! You can't afford it.'

She took the little microphone on its lead and held it near her mouth. He pressed the switch to record. She did as he had asked; she gave her name and the date. She said she was alive and well and she asked him to get her released so she could go back to Lucy. ‘I wish you and Janet well.'

Peters switched off the machine.

‘Why did you say that? Who's Janet – what does it mean?'

‘You needn't be suspicious,' Eileen said calmly. ‘It will just prove I sent the message, that's all.'

‘It's too cool,' he said. He was irritated because she wouldn't help herself. ‘I'm going to erase it and you do it again. Tell him you're frightened. Tell him you're in danger.'

She got up.

‘I told you,' she said, ‘I'm not going to beg. If you rub that out, I shan't say anything else. He knows perfectly well what can happen to me. It's just possible he won't care.'

Peters picked up the machine.

‘Okay,' he said. ‘Have it your way.'

She came up to him as he reached the door and touched him on the arm.

‘I know you're trying to help me. I'm sorry. I think I've begun to give up hope. I've been very frightened these last few days.'

‘It's because of what happened,' Peters said. He wasn't angry with her any more. She looked wan and miserable. ‘It shook you up. Don't give up on your husband. He's doing his best.'

‘It's being shut in here all the time,' Eileen said. Her heart was beating very fast. ‘If I could just go outside for a few minutes. Sit in the sun …'

‘I was going to take you in the garden,' Peters said, ‘so long as you promise to behave yourself.'

‘I won't do anything,' she said. ‘I promise.'

They stayed at the back of the villa, away from the sea. They sat under the shade of a pergola, roofed with vines. She leaned back, looking at the pattern of the leaves over her head, the sunlight fragmented through them. He sat beside her. They hadn't spoken since they left her room.

‘Thank you for this,' Eileen said.

‘You needed fresh air,' he said. ‘So long as you're sensible you can come down every day.'

‘Have you ever been in prison?'

‘Yes. Twice.'