The man waited for the boy to go and said: “I think we can do a deal.”
“What sort of deal?” demanded Janet.
The suited man looked to his two companions. Janet saw that one was younger than the other but both had long and very curly hair and long faces, with similar long aquiline noses, and wondered if they were father and son. The elder of the two moved his head in agreement and the younger, taking his lead from the gesture, did the same.
The moustached spokesman, whom Janet assumed to be the captain, said: “Today is Monday: we sail later tonight. You could come here again on Thursday?”
“Yes,” said Janet, eagerly.
“By Thursday we will have spoken to people. We will know if we can help.”
“People in Beirut, you mean?”
The man nodded and said: “You can have the money, by Thursday?”
“Yes,” said Janet again.
“Then it is agreed,” said the man, positively.
There was another pause while the drinks were served. When the waiter left for the second time she said: “What time Thursday?”
“Mid-day.”
“Do you really think you will be able to discover something?”
“Not until you tell me the name,” the man said.
“Sheridan,” supplied Janet anxiously, irritated with herself. “John Sheridan.”
“English?”
“American.”
“When was he taken?”
“February.”
“Anyone claim responsibility?”
“ Hezbollah.”
“Any particular group?”
Janet shook her head. “No.”
The man remained silent for several moments, then said: “We will try.”
“I am grateful.”
“You have no reason, not yet.”
Janet pushed her chair away from the table, as if to stand up, and said: “I’ll be here, on Thursday.” If demands were going to be made for some money in advance they would come now, she knew.
“Wait!” the man said.
“What?” Janet asked.
“Money for the drinks,” the man said. “Five pounds will cover it.”
Janet led the way back to the car, aware of Haseeb watching her stow her handbag beneath her seat. As they regained the road, he said: “It is good?”
“I don’t know: I think so,” said Janet, cautiously. She was encouraged that no money request had been made: a small omen but important. There was still Thursday, of course. What precautions could she take against being cheated then, when she would have the money?
“I want to be paid,” demanded the Arab, beside her.
Ahead Janet could see the brightness of the hotels along the Dhekelia Road. She wanted the safety of their surroundings before handing over the?200. She said: “Those men. How are they called?”
“The boss is named Stavos,” said the man. “I’ve heard the older one called Dimitri. I don’t know the other. I think they are related.”
Greek, thought Janet. “What family name?”
“I don’t know.”
They were among the hotels now. Janet eased the money from her pocket and handed it across the car. As she continued driving she was conscious of the man slowly counting it.
“I could take you again, on Thursday?”
“No, really.” She was aware of his shrug of acceptance. Aware, too, of the even brighter lights marking the approach to Larnaca.
Hopefully Haseeb said: “You would like a drink?”
“No,” Janet said quickly again. “There are people expecting me, back in Nicosia.” Had she answered his look across the car she wondered if his disbelef would have been obvious. Sure of her way through the town now she slowed at the junction with Grigoris Avxentiou Avenue, knowing she could cut down it to gain the Nicosia road. “This all right for you?”
“Fine.” He made no immediate effort to get out of the car.
With the vehicle stationary Janet turned further towards him but pressed with her back against her door, as far away as possible. “Goodbye then,” she said, pointedly. “And thank you.”
Still he stayed, edging his arm along the back of his seat towards her.
“Get out of the car!” she said. She kept her voice calm. Inwardly fear was churning through her. She moved her hand towards the horn button.
Abruptly, unexpectedly, he smiled his ugly smile and said: “OK,” opening the door as he did so. He slammed it behind him and walked away without once looking back.
Janet started the car and drove hurriedly off, the fear coming out now in the trembling that vibrated through her, so she had to grip the wheel more tightly. She was still aware of the stink of fish, mixed with the stronger smell of Haseeb’s odor, and she wound her window competely down, trying to blow it-and her nervousness-away. It was ridiculous, an overreaction, to behave like an offended virgin. She’d known the danger and she’d confronted it and nothing had happened, anyway. There were far more important, more positive, things to think about. Like three men who had not sought money in advance and who should by now be at sea, heading towards the Lebanese coastline. How, in three days time, to decide if anything they might tell her was worth?10,000. Or whether once again people were trying to cheat her. And how to stop being cheated.
Three days, she calculated again; time to think and to plan.
16
F or the first night, largely from the fatigue of her previous sleeplessness, Janet slept soundly and awoke the following morning absolutely refreshed, wishing there was something, some activity, she could use to fill in the intervening days.
She telephoned her father, who asked at once when she was coming home. Janet was off-balanced by the demand. She said she had what she thought was another hopeful lead and because of it had no plans whatsoever at that moment to return. He pressed: Did she genuinely think there was any purpose in remaining on the island? Janet replied that if there wasn’t any purpose then obviously she wouldn’t stay. So what was it then that was so promising? Remembering the first disappointment, Janet held back, saying she thought she’d met people who had contacts in Beirut.
“Your mother and I are worried: now we’ve had time to think about it, your being there doesn’t seem very sensible at all.”
“I’m all right.”
“Hasn’t Partington been able to help with anything?”
“No,” said Janet, then added: “I had dinner with him and his wife. There had been some link with Beirut. The word was that it was hopeless.”
“There!” pounced the man at once. “If people on the spot say it’s hopeless, what chance do you stand!”
“Daddy, we’ve been through all this!”
“I think you should come home.”
“I don’t want to fight about this.”
“Neither do I,” said her father.
“Let’s not then.”
“Set yourself a time limit, at least.”
“Why?” demanded Janet. “What’s time got to do with it?”
“You can’t stay there forever.”
“I don’t intend to,” said Janet. “But I’m certainly not coming home yet.”
The conversation depressed Janet, dampening the enthusiasm with which she had awoken. Trying to remain objective-and thinking, too, of their age-she supposed it was natural that her parents should become increasingly concerned the longer she stayed but she really hadn’t been on Cyprus long, less than two weeks, and the change in their attitude seemed abrupt, disorienting.
To force the argument out of her mind, Janet tried to consider her other problem, how not to be cheated out of more money, remembering as she did so the policeman’s threat to monitor the account. A?10,000 withdrawal could be the immediate trigger for that other, more worrying threat, of his manipulating something to get her expelled from the island. The timing would be cruciaclass="underline" she’d have to make the withdrawal on her way to the cafe on the Dhekelia Road, not giving Zarpas any time to intercept or question her. And then what? Uncomfortably Janet accepted yet again that she didn’t know.