“I’m sorry I asked,” Emerson snarled. “I might have known you’d start talking psychology. When are you going to deliver the girl? I’m not sure I like that part of it. How do we know those bastards won’t bully or mistreat her?”
“That is another thing that is bothering Ramses,” I said. “And do not berate me for talking psychology – you are as sentimental about the girl as he is. As for me, I shall be glad to be rid of the responsibility. You may rest assured, however, that I will not leave her until I am certain she will be treated kindly. I will take her to Ismailiya first thing tomorrow morning.”
Emerson did not accompany us. He was afraid Esin would cry and plead. I thought she might too, so I did not attempt to change his mind. I could not dissuade Ramses from coming, however. He had that stubborn set to his mouth.
Esin was wearing one of Nefret’s frocks. She was somewhat stouter than Nefret, but this dress had a loose fit and an adjustable belt. It did not become her. I had not told her what was in store for her, in part because I do not believe in anticipating trouble and in part because I wasn’t certain myself. It all depended on what, and whom, we found at that address in Ismailiya.
It looked respectable, at any rate – a house set in its own gardens, built in the European style of the previous century. Esin let Ramses help her out of the cab and looked admiringly at the house.
“It is very modern. Are we paying a visit?”
“Yes,” I said.
The door was opened by a manservant, who led us into a nicely furnished sitting room. We were expected, it seemed; he had not asked our names, and we had only been waiting a few minutes before a lady entered the room – the lady Smith had introduced as his sister.
“Mrs. Bayes!” I exclaimed. “So you are -”
“Very pleased to see you again,” the lady cut in smoothly. “Mr. Emerson, a pleasure. And this is Miss Sahin? Welcome, my dear. Did Mrs. Emerson tell you you are to stay with me for a while?”
“Am I? Must I?” She gave Ramses an imploring look. “Am I a prisoner of war too?”
“Not in the least,” Mrs. Bayes said heartily. “You are an honored guest. Come along and I will show you your room. I think you will like it. I know you came away in a hurry, so perhaps later we can shop for some new clothes. There are many fine shops in the Muski.”
“I saw them,” Esin said slowly. She looked from Mrs. Bayes, who was holding out her hand and smiling sweetly, to me – I bared my teeth, not nearly so sweetly – and then to Ramses. “I am to go with her? Will I see you again?”
He had known it would be easier for her, and for me, if he was there to reassure her. I saw him brace himself for a round of comforting clichés.
“You must have known you could not stay with us, Esin. Mrs. Bayes will take good care of you, and one day… one day… uh…”
“We will meet again? You will not forget me?”
“Never,” Ramses assured her.
“I will never forget you.” She extended her hand at an awkward angle. Resignedly, Ramses kissed it. “One never knows what the future will bring, Esin,” he said. “We will think of you often, and if you ever need our help, you have only to ask.”
Her black eyes took on a dreamy look. “I read a book, an English book, where the lady sent a red rose to the man she loved, the man she had given up for duty. If I send you a rose, will you come?”
Ramses gathered himself for a final, valiant effort. “From the ends of the earth, Esin.”
Mrs. Bayes had followed the exchange with poorly concealed amusement. “Well done,” she murmured, and put a friendly arm round Esin. “Do not prolong the pain of farewell, my dear. Will you two wait here, please? Someone wishes to speak with you.”
She led the girl out. Ramses blew out his breath. “Is it all right, do you think? Mrs. Bayes seems kind.”
“And she has a sense of humor. That is a good sign. You did splendidly, Ramses.”
The servant entered with a tray and poured coffee. “Very conventional,” I said, accepting the cup he handed me. “Do you want to guess the identity of the person who wishes to speak to us?”
“No need to guess,” Ramses said. “He’s been behind this all along.”
It was indeed the Honorable Algernon Bracegirdle-Boisdragon whom the servant ushered in. He came straight to me, his hands extended, his thin lips stretched in a smile. “Mrs. Emerson. What can I say?”
“A great deal, I trust. I do not know that I care to take your hand.”
“I cannot say I blame you.” He turned to Ramses, who had risen, and his smile faded. “Sit down, please. I heard of your injury. You may not want to take my hand either, but I must express my thanks and admiration. You accomplished everything we hoped, and more.”
“It wasn’t I, as you are well aware,” Ramses said. “You knew when you sent me after Ismail Pasha that he was no traitor. He was acting with your knowledge and under your orders.”
“The danger to him was real,” the other man said soberly. “Military intelligence knew nothing of our plans. Call it interservice rivalry if you like, but they can’t be trusted, and they disapprove of what they consider our unorthodox methods.”
“So,” I said, “your group is distinct from all those departments with confusing initials and meaningless numbers?”
“They are confusing, aren’t they?” Smith agreed with a sardonic smile. “MO, EMSIB, MIa, b, and c… We don’t go in for that sort of thing, Mrs. Emerson. Ours is a long and honorable history, going all the way to the sixteenth century. Cardinal Wolsey and Thomas Cromwell -”
“The Tudors, of course,” I said with a sniff. “They would be the ones to foster spying and subterfuge. Spare us the history lesson, please.”
“As you like. You are correct in assuming that our mutual friend was following our agenda. He had several purposes; removing Sahin Pasha was only one of them. Another was to investigate the network in Constantinople. We had warned Ml that the man running that group was a double agent. They didn’t believe us. Sethos got rid of the fellow by persuading the Turks that he had betrayed them – which was true. The trouble with him is that he plays his roles too well! I learned that my bumble-headed counterparts in military intelligence were planning to assassinate him. The only way of preventing that was to persuade you to go after him. If I had told them who he was and what he was doing, the word would have spread, and sooner or later it would have reached the ears of the enemy.”
Ramses shook his head doubtfully. “Your solution was somewhat chancy. What if they hadn’t accepted me?”
Smith leaned forward, his hands clasped. “You continue to astonish me. Surely you know that your reputation is second only to that of your – that of Sethos. There’s not an intelligence officer in Egypt who wouldn’t give his right hand to enlist you. Cartright is an ass – military to the core, and he’s held a grudge against you since you fooled him several years ago, but he knew you were the only man who could get into Gaza undetected.”
“And get Lieutenant Chetwode in. I did wonder,” Ramses said deliberately, “whether the whole point of that operation was to convince the Turks of the genuineness of Ismail’s conversion.”
Under his steady gaze, Smith shifted uncomfortably. “You don’t trust any of us, do you? The only way that scheme could have succeeded was to have the Turks identify you and/or Chetwode as British agents. Believe it or not, we don’t risk our people so callously.”
“Not when they are as valuable as my son,” I said.
“Touché, Mrs. Emerson. You are correct, of course. Cartright’s group isn’t especially subtle; they wanted Ismail dead, and they were willing to hazard two men to accomplish it. To do them justice, none of them has the least idea of the difficulties involved in operating behind enemy lines; they still think of Johnny Turk as incompetent and cowardly.”