end of chain over the handkerchief and swung the chain in the air. The weight of the gold coins made it sing viciously as it spun. Selina sat in an armchair facing the table where she would eat, and waited, staring at a picture of a carousel on the wall—splendid horses, fat and laughing children.
When she heard the key in the lock she sat back listlessly, the hand holding the chain hidden in the depths of a cushion. A stocky, Negroid Arab came in, a pistol in his fist.
"You eat now," he said, and put the pistol in his
pocket.
I'm not hungry," said Selina.
"You'll eat. It's time," the Arab said, and went to the door to pull a trolley in, then shut and lock the door before he took the trolley to the table, lifted a covered dish. Selina waited until he set the dish down. There must be no noise.
His back still turned toward her, the stocky Arab began to straighten up. The last sounds he heard were the whirr of the chain before it curled round his neck, and the slap of the gold coins into the palm of her free hand. Selina's foot slammed into his back, she hauled hard on the chain, and the stocky Arab's yell was muted to a gasp. The girl's leg straightened slowly, there was a sharp crack of sound, and the Arab was dead.
Selina unwound the chain, slipped it into her pocket, then put on a hip-length coat, took the stocky Arab's pistol from the trolley, then turned him over. She grimaced once when she saw his face, then she thought of her father, her brothers, and her face set like stone as she searched him, took away his keys, his money, the knife he carried in his trouser pocket. It was a knife of a kind she had never seen before, an enormous clasp knife with a single blade. She touched a button at its base, and the blade flicked out, leaf-pointed, one edge ground razor sharp. She looked at the weapon in her hand, tested its balance. The guard was poor, but the blade was excellent. She looked at the words etched into the blade, "Made in Germany." That made her think of Schiebel, but this time she smiled. The knife was a good omen.
She opened the door and looked out on to a deserted corridor that led to a wide, curving staircase. A tall, welldressed Arab was walking up it slowly. He was Schiebel's expert on nuclear physics, and he had helped Schiebel to explain to her what the cobalt could do. Even the thought of it seemed to horrify him, for he was a mild and gentle man, but now Selina had no pity for his gentleness; it might be useful to her. She crouched behind the banisters and waited as the Arab moved along the corridor to the door of the room she had just left, then rapped softly on the steel panel. Slowly, carefully, she moved toward him. As he raised his fist to knock again her hand went to her pocket.
"Here," she said.
The Arab spun round and she threw the keys at him. Automatically his hands reached out for them, and as they did so he found himself looking into the barrel of a .380 Browning Standard automatic, a weapon with a 3.5-inch barrel and a weight of twenty ounces, a weapon far too big and heavy for a woman, but this woman didn't seem to be aware of the fact. The tall Arab looked at her, and had no doubt that she knew how to use it. No doubt at all.
"Open the door," said Selina. "Go inside."
The tall Arab obeyed at once. Selina followed him, and the Arab noticed that she never came within reach of his hands. Then he saw the stocky Arab, and winced.
"You will do as I say," said Selina.
"Assuredly, princess," said the tall Arab. T am yours to command."
"You will get me out of here," said Selina.
The tall Arab said. "If I do, they will kill me."
Selina said nothing, but the gun barrel lifted from his heart to a point between his eyes. The tall Arab stared down it, then slowly, careful not to alarm her, he nodded. The telephone rang. "Answer it," said Selina. "Hold it so that I can hear what's said."
He picked up the phone as she had told him, and an agitated voice from the kitchen asked questions. The tall Arab said smoothly: "This is Sherif. David has an errand to do for me. He will come back to you when he has finished, in about half an hour. And hsten. I have business with the girl"—he looked at the gun barrel then away— "important business. I don't want to be disturbed again." He hung up then, and Selina smiled at him. Even then, as he loathed and feared her, Sherif thought how enchanting her smile was.
"Now I will have to help you," he said bitterly. "Do you think your father will protect me?"
Selina said: "The Tuareg always protect their own." Sherif winced again.
"It will have to be the roof," he said at last. "The doors are guarded all the time. The men on guard never let anyone in or out without a pass. The roof is the only way." He began to explain, and at last, reluctantly, Selina agreed. Sherif leading, they went out again to the corridor, to the stairs, up and up to a row of attic rooms. Sherif hesitated before one of them and the girl whispered: "My father cannot protect you if you are dead." Sherif shuddered, took a key from his pocket, and went in.
The attic was a wireless room, lit by a skylight. Sherif clambered on a table, and opened the skylight, then hauled himself through. As he got halfway, the girl said: "Stay there." Sherif sat in sulky silence as Selina put a chair on top of the table. "Now crawl away," she said. "Don't walk. Crawl. And count aloud as you go." Sherif thought of the gun barrel and obeyed. When he got to five he heard a low clatter behind him, and turned. The girl was coming through. He rose then, but she was as fast as a cat and was up before him, the gun rock steady in her hand.
"What now?" she asked.
They were in a deep gutter that ran between the twin roofs of the house. Sherif walked cautiously down it, Selina close behind him. Sherif crouched down and took out a cigarette, lit it with a hand that shook. "In a little while it will be dark," he said. "Then you can escape."
"Then we can escape," said Selina.
Sherif groaned.
When darkness came he led the way to where, at the edge of the tower, he pointed to a fire escape. Selina moved closer to him, and he felt the gun barrel burn into his back. They stepped on the escape together, and the girl stifled a cry as it swung down, counterweighted between the building and the one next to it. When it reached the floor beneath, Sherif reached out an arm, and held on to the rails of a balcony projecting from the house opposite, then stepped across. Selina stayed on the fire escape.
"Now you must let me help you, princess," said
Sherif.
Selina shook her head, walked back up two steps of the escape, then jumped, clearing the railings, and was beside him once again. Sherif stopped hating her then.
He tried the balcony windows, and found them locked, and spoke to the girl. The gun barrel flashed once, then again, and a pattern of cracks showed on the glass as Sherif flicked his lighter. She jabbed then at a square of cracks near the window latch, and glass made a brittle splash of sound as it fell. Sherif reached in and opened the window. They entered the offices of Stanley East and Partners, Solicitors. For a long time afterward Mr. East was to wonder why nothing was stolen, and why so many policemen came to investigate.
Selina and Sherif went from the solicitors' office to the lift, and Sherif wasted two frantic minutes explaining what a lift was, then they went down to the ground floor, and Sherif opened the main door, reset the catch, and locked up again as they went through.
London boiled in front of her, a long, wide street that seemed an endless river of cars, with here and there a bus, a floating island, moving always past her, cutting off any chance of escape. She squeezed hard on the butt of the Browning, now in her pocket, but it gave her no comfort. Sherif touched her arm gently.