“Although the preliminary negotiations were conducted by his Majesty’s late brother, there must—for a number of reasons, some political, some not—there must be a certain amount of formality and protocol, even grandeur, if you will, incorporated into the actual signing of the documents.”
“You’re not going to do it publicly, are you?” I said.
“No, but nevertheless there will be appropriate ceremony and this is to be recorded on film. The films will be shown throughout Llaquah as part of an educational program that will acquaint the people with the significance of the transaction.”
“Will it be just Mr. Kassim by himself,” I said, “or will other representatives of Llaquah attend?”
The king smiled nervously again and ran his right hand over his smooth head as if testing to see whether it needed another shave. “I’m afraid, Mr. McCorkle, that the representatives of Llaquah who are in this country are also the employers of Messrs. Gitner and Kragstein. My fellow countrymen are not at all anxious for my Patrick Henry to appear on the documents. They would prefer their own signatures.”
“John Henry, I believe,” Scales murmured, looking at Padillo for confirmation.
“John Henry,” Padillo said. “But whoever signs the documents gets the bonus which is four million dollars.”
“Five million,” Scales said. He said it almost dreamily, as if there really weren’t that much money in the world. He was silent for a moment and he may have been counting his share of the prize again. “I suppose it must sound like a rather bizarre situation, but we live in unusual times and in this particular case, extremely high stakes are involved. For some, it is a matter of personal gain. For his Majesty, it is the opportunity to transform his country from a povertv-stricken desert waste into one of the economic wonders of the world in which all of the people—”
Scales might have gone on for another fifteen minutes if the phone hadn’t rung. Padillo answered it with a curt hello and then began listening. I watched the knuckles of his right hand blanch as his grip tightened. He didn’t say good-bye before he hung up and if he didn’t slam the instrument down, neither did he use any gentleness when he recradled it. He turned toward us and his mouth was stretched into that thin, hard line that made his lips seem bloodless.
“Miss Gothar?” Scales asked.
Padillo shook his head. “No,” he said. “Franz Kragstein.”
“Dear me,” Scales said, which must have meant that he was distressed. “What did he say?”
“He’s giving us an hour.”
“To do what?” Scales said.
“To get out of here.”
“And if we don’t?”
“He’ll come in after us.”
Kassim produced one of his nervous smiles. “But how could he possibly do that? Is not our door impregnated?”
“Impregnable,” Scales said.
Padillo turned to give the door a look. “It’s neither to Kragstein,” he said.
“What is it then?” Scales said.
“To him it’s just another door.”
I didn’t like the sound of it so I decided to say so. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“What?” Padillo said.
“Why should he call you? Why not just make his try?”
“Where would you rather try it, here or out on the street?”
“If I were Kragstein, out on the street.”
“So it would be wiser to remain where we are?” Scales said, making it a question out of politeness. He seemed more worried about the king’s occasional grammatical lapses than he did about Kragstein’s threats. The king wasn’t exactly quivering either. He had chosen a chintz-covered armchair and was leaning back in it, smiling at whoever paid him any attention, anxious to please, and eager to keep out of the way. If one had to be a bodyguard, the king seemed to be the perfect client.
“We stay here until Wanda calls,” Padillo said. “Then we move.”
“And you have a place in mind?” Scales asked.
“Only if we need it,” Padillo
“You’re not going to do it publicly, are you?” I said.
“No, but nevertheless there will be appropriate ceremony and this is to be recorded on film. The films will be shown throughout Llaquah as part of an educational program that will acquaint the people with the significance of the transaction.”
“Will it be just Mr. Kassim by himself,” I said, “or will other representatives of Llaquah attend?”
The king smiled nervously again and ran his right hand over his smooth head as if testing to see whether it needed another shave. “I’m afraid, Mr. McCorkle, that the representatives of Llaquah who are in this country are also the employers of Messrs. Gitner and Kragstein. My fellow countrymen are not at all anxious for my Patrick Henry to appear on the documents. They would prefer their own signatures.”
“John Henry, I believe,” Scales murmured, looking at Padillo for confirmation.
“John Henry,” Padillo said. “But whoever signs the documents gets the bonus which is four million dollars.”
“Five million,” Scales said. He said it almost dreamily, as if there really weren’t that much money in the world. He was silent for a moment and he may have been counting his share of the prize again. “I suppose it must sound like a rather bizarre situation, but we live in unusual times and in this particular case, extremely high stakes are involved. For some, it is a matter of personal gain. For his Majesty, it is the opportunity to transform his country from a povertv-stricken desert waste into one of the economic wonders of the world in which all of the people—”
Scales might have gone on for another fifteen minutes if the phone hadn’t rung. Padillo answered it with a curt hello and then began listening. I watched the knuckles of his right hand blanch as his grip tightened. He didn’t say good-bye before he hung up and if he didn’t slam the instrument down, neither did he use any gentleness when he recradled it. He turned toward us and his mouth was stretched into that thin, hard line that made his lips seem bloodless.
“Miss Gothar?” Scales asked.
Padillo shook his head. “No,” he said. “Franz Kragstein.”
“Dear me,” Scales said, which must have meant that he was distressed. “What did he say?”
“He’s giving us an hour.”
“To do what?” Scales said.
“To get out of here.”
“And if we don’t?”
“He’ll come in after us.”
Kassim produced one of his nervous smiles. “But how could he possibly do that? Is not our door impregnated?”
“Impregnable,” Scales said.
Padillo turned to give the door a look. “It’s neither to Kragstein,” he said.
“What is it then?” Scales said.
“To him it’s just another door.”
I didn’t like the sound of it so I decided to say so. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“What?” Padillo said.
“Why should he call you? Why not just make his try?”
“Where would you rather try it, here or out on the street?”
“If I were Kragstein, out on the street.”
“So it would be wiser to remain where we are?” Scales said, making it a question out of politeness. He seemed more worried about the king’s occasional grammatical lapses than he did about Kragstein’s threats. The king wasn’t exactly quivering either. He had chosen a chintz-covered armchair and was leaning back in it, smiling at whoever paid him any attention, anxious to please, and eager to keep out of the way. If one had to be a bodyguard, the king seemed to be the perfect client.
“We stay here until Wanda calls,” Padillo said. “Then we move.”
“And you have a place in mind?” Scales asked.
“Only if we need it,” Padillo
Similar Books
