“May I ask the nature of the contract which requires this unusual step?”
“It is crash security, but I will put my faith and trust in your honor, Sheikh Omar, and be as frank and open as possible.”
“Mine the honor indeed.”
“And yours the grace. The contract concerns a unique lethal weapon. Its like has never been known before. I can’t reveal anything about the weapon while I’m negotiating ironclad patents, but I will confide that I used it secretly on two Guff goons in my investigation of its potential.”
“Not two of ours, I hope.” Sheikh Omar smiled thinly. “And the results of your investigation?”
“Oh, Lethal-One, of course,” Gretchen said casually. “Uniquely lethal. Subadar Ind’dni is very much upset.”
Sheikh Omar smiled again.
“But there were strange side-effects which I must explore and explain for the patent application. I need El Plo’s help for this.”
“No more? You merely want to ask questions?”
“Nothing more. Just a few questions.”
“And they are?”
“You will hear when you ask them for me, as I hope you will honor me by so doing. I would not dream of daring to speak to El Plo myself.”
“Yours the grace, Miz Nunn. Please to wait.”
While she waited in the tent with the uproar and stench of the Great Hall battering her, Gretchen speculated on the appearance of the formidable PloFather of the Mafia. Her secondhand sight gave her no clue. She was debating between a massive gorill who had lethaled his way to the top and an acidulous accountant who had bookkeeped his way to the top when Sheikh Omar ben Omar at last returned, looking rather awestruck.
“It is granted,” he said. “I would never have believed it possible. Please come with me.”
“Must I veil my face?”
“No longer necessary, Miz Nunn. The years have accustomed us to the strange ways of the infidels.”
He led her up steep ramps to the top of the pyramid where they were passed by four guerrilla guards and entered a pyramidal chamber. Gretchen was a bit short of breath.
It was an enormous room, carpeted with glowing rugs and hung with priceless tapestries depicting the conquests of Islam. A long, low, inlaid conference table stretched the length of the room with embroidered cushions on the floor flanking both sides for the cross-legged conferees. At the far end a group of magnificently robed sheikhs clustered around a regal ebony chair. Their heads were bent reverently as though they were listening to sacred whispers.
Sheikh Omar indicated a cushion at the near end of the conference table and Gretchen squatted down on it. He remained standing and cleared his throat. The sheikh cluster looked up and spread slightly, but Gretchen still could not see the PloFather in the chair.
“The Falasha woman is here,” Omar announced.
One of the sheikhs bent down attentively, then straightened. “El Plo instructs the Jew bitch unbeliever to stand that she may be seen.”
Gretchen started to rise, but Omar’s hand on her shoulder restrained her. He looked down at her. “El Plo instructs you to stand that you may be seen,” he said and then removed his hand.
Gretchen arose. The cluster of sheikhs spread a little wider to permit El Plo to see her, and she had her first view of the legendary PloFather. She saw an ancient little figure, almost a stick-figure, sitting twisted in the regal chair. The hands were gnarled and knotted with arthritis. The hair was white, long and sparse, exposing bald patches. The face was—What? Veiled? A woman? El Plo a woman? Gretchen was incredulous.
After a long interval of examination, a gnarled finger wavered up like an insect’s antenna and then dropped. A sheikh bent, listened to the veiled mummy, then straightened.
“El Plo says you first crossed our path in ‘71.”
By now cued in, Gretchen waited for Sheikh Omar to transmit. Then she replied, “Yes, the Oberlin contract. I did not know that the P.L.O. was involved when I signed. I’m sorry if I inconvenienced you. It was not intended, I assure El Plo.”
The transmission of her reply was transmitted to El Plo. Then, roundabout, came, “Why did you not then withdraw?”
“I was committed to the contract.”
“In ‘72 you caused the extinction of an entire P.L.O. assault cell.”
“Yes, that was the Graphite contract. That time I knew the P.L.O. was involved and warned the cell to clear out. I gave them good and sufficient notice, but your soldiers were either stupid or stubborn. I didn’t come out of that unscathed. I was in hospital for two months. I—” Suddenly she broke off and her mind blazed: Yes. Blinded in the crossfire. The medics thought and I thought that I’d recovered my vision, but I didn’t. My extrasensory sight took over, and none of us realized it.
But El Plo was continuing, “You were offered double your contract fee to drop the Graphite engagement. Why did you refuse?”
“I was committed to my honor and I do not accept bribes.”
“In ‘74 you were instrumental in the escape of a P.L.O. girl to join a dog of a Christian unbeliever.”
“I was.”
“Where is she now?”
“I will not say.” Gretchen heard Omar gasp alongside her.
“Do you know?”
“Yes.”
“But you will not say?”
“No. Never.” She heard Omar gasp again.
“You are committed to a contract?”
“No. To grace.”
There was another long pause. Sheikh Omar murmured, “I’m afraid you’re in for it now. I’m powerless to protect you.”
The veil before the mummy face fluttered slightly. A sheikh bent to listen to the whisper, then straightened. “El Plo is pleased with your defiance. El Plo is pleased with your strength. El Plo says both of you should have been born men.”
“I thank El Plo.”
“El Plo asks what you need.”
“Information.”
“What will you pay?”
“Nothing. I ask it as a favor.”
“Does El Plo owe you favors?”
“No.”
“Nevertheless it is granted. Ask.”
“Thank you. The P.L.O. deals in all drugs. Is there a new squeam just reaching the Guff streets which uses an extremely rare earth metal called Promethium? P-R-O-M-E-T-H-I-U-M.”
The double transmission seemed to take an age. At last came the reply. “No.”
“The P.L.O. knows the sources of all drugs. Is it possible that a new junk is being concocted privately by a squeamie?”
Again a long delay. Then: “The answer is no. Our Enforceurs would know within a week. They have not reported anything new made privately or commercially.”
Gretchen sighed in disappointment. “Then that’s all. I thank El Plo. You have my honor and my grace.” She turned to leave.
“Stop, please.” The projected whisper came as faint and yet as penetrating as a snake’s hiss. Gretchen stopped and turned in surprise. El Plo was actually speaking directly to her.
“You are no Falasha. You are Gretchen Nunn, a woman of clout and respect.”
“Thank you, El Plo.”
“You have earned it.”
“You honor me.”
“If you were offered a contract by the P.L.O., would you accept?”
“You have your own organization, El Plo.”
“Would you accept?”
“Why would you need me?”
“Would you accept?”
“As a bribe?”
“Not as a bribe. Would you accept?”
“I cannot answer a question unless I know why it is asked.”
“You have rare courage, independence, and ingenuity. You also have the rarest of all, earned arrogance. Would you accept?”
Gretchen began to sense the indomitable will that could not be deflected, concealed within that mummy stick-figure. Suddenly she was reminded of Tzu-Hsi, the last Dowager Empress of Imperial China, who maneuvered, murdered, bedazzled, and betrayed her way from slave-concubine to the Celestial Throne.
She replied very carefully. “I will accept and fulfill any and all contracts provided they are not intended to harm anyone or anything directly. I am not a destroyer. Unfortunately, I cannot foresee all possible results, but that’s my accountability, not the client’s.”