Chapter 3 Chapter 2 The Woman on the Balcony

Bob Rawlinson walked along the marble corridors of the palace, which echoed.Never in his life had he been so unhappy.The knowledge that he had seven hundred and fifty thousand pounds in his trouser pockets distressed him immensely.He felt that every court official he met seemed to know this.He even felt that people could see from his face that he was carrying something of value.He would be relieved if he knew that the expression on his freckled face was just as mild and cheerful as ever. The guard at the door saluted with a click.Bob walked out into the crowded streets of Ramat, his mind still confused.Where is he going?What is he going to do?He himself does not know.And time is running out.

This avenue, like most avenues in the Middle East, is a mixture of dingy shabby and magnificent luxury.The newly built banks stand majestically.Countless small shops display a collection of cheap plastic items.Children's booties were displayed incongruously with cheap cigarette lighters.There are sewing machines and auto parts.Some pharmacies displayed specialty medicines with fly eggs on them, various forms of penicillin and brightly colored antibiotic billboards.Few shops have what you want to buy, with the perhaps exception of the latest Swiss watches, hundreds of which fill a window.There are so many varieties, even if you want to buy them, you will feel dazzled and have no way to start.

Bob still walks in a somewhat dazed way, being pushed around by those in local or European attire.He gathered himself together and asked himself again where he was going. He walked into a local café and ordered a cup of tea with lemon.While drinking tea, he began to wake up slowly.The atmosphere in this cafe is calming.On a table opposite him was an elderly Arab quietly plucking an amber rosary.Behind him are two people playing chess.It's a good place to sit and think. He has to think.Jewels worth £750,000 were handed over to him, and it was up to him to devise a plan to get them out of Ramat.And hurry up.Signals of riots could be raised at any time.

Of course, Ali was crazy.He just tossed £750,000 to a friend just like that, and sat down peacefully in his chair, trusting God.Bob had no such gods to turn to.Bob's God empowers believers to make their own decisions and take their own actions to the best of their ability. What on earth was he going to do with those hapless jewels? He thought of the embassy.No, he can't involve the embassy.The embassy would almost certainly not want to be involved. He needed to find someone, a very ordinary person, who was about to leave Ramat in a very ordinary way.Preferably a businessman, or a tourist.Such a person has no political connections, and his luggage is at most sloppily checked, or probably not checked at all.Of course, the situation on the other side must be taken into consideration.There could also be a shocking incident at a London airport.Attempt to smuggle into £750,000 worth of jewellery, etc.But the risk must be taken.

Such an ordinary person—a real traveler.Suddenly Bob blamed himself severely for being a fool.Isn't Joan exactly that?His sister Joan Sutcliffe.Joan has been here for two months with her daughter Jennifer.After Jennifer had a bout of pneumonia, the doctor said she needed sunshine and dry weather. In four or five days they will return by boat. Joan is an ideal person.What did Ali say about women and jewelry?Bob chuckled to himself.Not so with Joan.She doesn't get dizzy when she sees jewels.She can be trusted to stay sober.Yes—he could trust Joan. Wait a minute, though... Can he trust Joan?She's honest, not bad.But is she cautious?Bob shook his head regretfully.Joan would tell, and she managed not to.Even worse, she'd say, "I'm bringing something very important. I can't confide a word to anyone. It was exciting." Joan had never been able to keep her mouth shut, but if she was said to be people, she will be angry.Well, don't let Joan know what she's carrying.It's much safer for her that way.He'd better pack the jewels in a pouch, an ordinary-looking pouch.Make up a story about her.Said it was a gift for whom?Said to be entrusted by others?He had to think about what to say to her...

Bob looked at his watch and stood up.Time passed minute by minute. He strode down the street, forgetting the midday heat.Everything looks so normal.On the surface, there is no movement.It is only in the palace that one realizes that a fire is brewing, that someone is watching, that someone is whispering.Army - it all depends on the army.Who is loyal and who is not? Someone must have attempted a coup.Will the coup succeed, or fail? He frowned as he walked into Ramat's first-class hotel.The hotel, which modestly calls itself the "Ritz-Savoy" restaurant, has a majestic modern front.The hotel opened three years ago with fanfare, a Swiss manager, a Viennese chef, and an Italian restaurant head.Everything here used to be great.Then the Viennese chef quit first, then the Swiss manager.Now the head of the Italian restaurant is gone too.The food served was still dainty, but bad.The service is horribly bad.Most of the expensive plumbing fixtures are broken.

The hotel clerk behind the counter knew Bob well and greeted him with a smile. "Good morning, squadron leader. To see your sister? She took the little girl to a picnic." "Going to a picnic?" Bob was taken aback -- he just went for a picnic at this time. "Went with Mr. and Mrs. Hurst from the oil company," said the clerk, willing to provide information.People always know what's going on. "They went to Caladeva Dam." Bob cursed under his breath.It will be several hours before Joan comes back. "I'll go upstairs to her room," said Bob, holding out his hand, and the clerk handed him the key.

He opened the door and walked in.It was a spacious double room and, as usual, it was a mess.Joan Sutcliffe was not a tidy woman. Golf clubs lay across the chairs, tennis rackets were thrown on the bed.Clothes were everywhere, and the tables were strewn with photographic film, postcards, paperbacks and a collection of local curiosities from Sooke, most of which were actually made in Birmingham and Japan. Bob looked around, at the suitcases and ziplock bags.He—has the conundrum of not being able to meet Joan until he flies out of Ramat with Ali.If it is to go to the dam and rush back, there is no time.He could have wrapped the thing in a package and left the package with a note—but he shook his head immediately.He was well aware that someone was following him almost all the time.It is likely that he was followed from the palace to the cafe, and from the cafe to here.

He didn't see anyone following him--but he knew they were good at it.There was nothing suspicious about him coming to see his sister at the hotel—but if he left a package and a note, they would peek at the note and open the package. time... time... he didn't have time... Jewelry worth £750,000 was in his trouser pocket. He looked around the room. Then, he grinned.He took out of his pocket the little tool bag he always carried with him.He noticed that his niece Jennifer had some modeling clay that might help him out. He did it quickly and skillfully.For a moment he looked up suspiciously at the open window.No one, no balcony outside this room.This is his nervousness, feeling that someone is staring at him.

When he was done, he nodded, satisfied.He was sure no one would notice what he had done.Either Joan or whoever.Certainly not Jennifer, she was a self-centered child who could see and notice nothing but herself. He swept up the crumbs and put them in his pocket.Then he hesitated, looking around. He drew Mrs. Sutcliffe's pad and sat frowning.He had to leave a note for Joan. But what can he say?It had to be something Joan could understand—but anyone who peeked at the note couldn't understand it. This is really impossible!In one of the thrillers that Bob liked to read in his spare time, if you left a cipher, someone would break it.But Bob couldn't even think of a code--Joan was the practical kind anyway, and you couldn't understand it until you wrote it down bit by bit.

His frown loosened.There is another way to write sticky notes. To distract people from Joan—leave a regular, everyday note.Then ask someone to bring a message to Joan in England. He quickly wrote: Dear Joan: I came to see you and asked if you wanted to play a round of golf tonight, but if you went to the dam, you wouldn't care about anything else.Is it okay tomorrow?I'll be waiting for you at the club at five o'clock. Your Bob This is a casual note to his sister who may never see him again--but in some ways the more casual the better.Joan must not be involved in anything unusual, or even known to her.Joan doesn't pretend.To protect her you have to keep her from knowing anything. This sticky note serves two purposes.It would also make it look as though he, Bob, had no intention of leaving Ramat. He thought for a minute or two, then went to the telephone and gave the number for the British embassy.Soon he was connected with his friend, Third Secretary Edmondson. "Is that John? I'm Bob Rawlinson. Can you meet me somewhere after work? A little earlier? You must come, old man. It's important. Well, actually, it's a girl . . . " He coughed in embarrassment. "She's wonderful, very nice. That's rare. It's just a little tricky." Edmondson's voice seemed a little stiff and dismissive. "Bob, you're really, you and your girl. Well, two o'clock, okay?" Then he hung up.Bob heard a soft click like an echo, as if the eavesdropper had put down the phone. Great old Edmondson.Since all of Ramat's phones were tapped, Bob and Edmondson made up their own code word.A good girl who is "rare in the world" means that things are urgent and important. At two o'clock Edmondson would get Bob into his own car outside the New Commercial Bank and Bob would tell Edmondson where the stuff was hidden and that Joan didn't know about it , but if something happens to him, the place where he hides things is very important.Joan and Jennifer took the long sea journey by boat and it would take them six weeks to get back to England.By then the revolution will almost certainly have taken place and will either succeed or be suppressed.Ali Youssef might already be in Europe, or both he and Bob might be dead.He had a lot to tell Edmondson, but not too much. Bob took one last look around the room.The room was exactly as it had been before, quiet, untidy, and domestic.The only extra thing was the note to Joan.He put the letter upright on the table and walked out of the room.There was no one in the long corridor. The woman who lived in the room next to Joan Sutcliffe came back from the balcony.She holds a mirror in her hand. She had just stepped out onto the balcony to examine carefully the hair that had the audacity to grow from her chin.She plucked the hair with tweezers, then examined her face carefully in the bright sunlight. Just then, when her concentration slackened, she saw something else.She angled the mirror so that it reflected the wardrobe in the next room, and she saw a man doing something very strange in the mirror of the wardrobe. It was so strange and unexpected that she stood there staring at it without moving.His position at the table prevented him from seeing her, but she could see him through a double reflection. If he had turned his head away, he could have seen her mirror in the wardrobe mirror, but he was too absorbed in what he was doing to look behind him. It is true that once he looked up suddenly at the window, but seeing nothing he dropped his head again. When he was done with what he had done, the woman was still watching him.He paused for a while, then wrote a note and left it on the table.Then he walked away, out of her sight, but all she could hear was enough for her to understand that he was on the phone.She couldn't quite hear what he was saying, but the tone was relaxed--casual.Then she heard the door close. The woman waited for a while.Then she opened the door.At the far end of the corridor, an Arab lazily dusts himself with a feather duster.He turned the corner and was out of sight. The woman quickly slipped to the door of the next room.The door was locked, but she had expected that.She pried open the door swiftly and deftly with hairpins on her head and a pocket knife. She walked into the room and closed the door behind her.She picked up the note, and the envelope was only lightly glued and opened easily.She read the note with a frown.The note said nothing. She sealed the note, put it back in its place, and walked across the room. As soon as she stretched out her hand, there was a voice from the platform below, which startled her. She recognized one of the voices as the occupant of the room she was in at the moment.The voice was resolute, instructive, and full of confidence. She ran to the window. On the platform below, Lady Joan Sutcliffe, accompanied by her pale, stocky daughter Jennifer of fifteen, was speaking to a tall, sad-faced Englishman from the British Consulate.She gave him her opinion of his arrangements in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "Everything is very peaceful here, and everyone is very happy. I think this panic is completely mediocre." "We hope so, Mrs. Sutcliffe, of course we hope so. But His Excellency feels that it is his duty to..." Mrs Sutcliffe interrupted him.She had no intention of thinking about the responsibilities of ambassadors. "You know, I still have a lot of luggage, and we're going to sail home next Wednesday. Sailing is good for Jennifer. The doctor said so. Seriously, I'm not going to promise to change all our plans, foolishly hurrying." I hurriedly changed to fly back to the UK." The sad-looking man urged that Mrs. Sutcliffe and her daughter could fly to Aden instead of going to England and boarding their ship there. "Take our luggage?" "Yes, yes, that can be arranged. My car is waiting, and a station wagon. We can pack everything up at once." "Ah, well," relented Mrs. Sutcliffe. "I think we'd better go and pack." "If you don't mind, go right away." The woman in the bedroom shrank back hastily.She glanced quickly at the address on a luggage tag on a suitcase.Then she slipped out of the room.When Mrs. Sutcliffe turned into the corridor, she slipped into her own room. The counting clerk was running after Mrs Sutcliffe. "Mrs. Sutcliffe, your brother, the squadron commander, has been here. He has been up to your quarters. But I think he has gone. You must have just missed him." "It's a nuisance," said Mrs Sutcliffe. "Thank you," she said to the clerk, and she walked over to Jennifer, "I guess Bob is messing with himself. I don't see any commotion in the street. The door is unlocked. How careless these people are." "Maybe Uncle Bob did it," Jennifer said. "I wish I hadn't missed him just now. Ah, there's a letter." She opened the envelope. "Bob's not bothering himself, anyway," she said triumphantly, "apparently he doesn't know anything about it. Ending diplomatic relations, that's all. I hate packing in broad daylight, it's too hot. This room is like a furnace. Come on, Jennifer, get your stuff out of the chest of drawers and wardrobe. We're going to have to shove everything in anyway. We can rearrange later." "I've never seen a revolution," Jennifer said thoughtfully. "I don't think it will happen to you this time," said her mother sternly. "As I said, nothing will happen." Jennifer showed a disappointed look.