The Haj - Leon Uris [222]
‘When are they coming?’ Kabir slurred. ‘Look at this damned couch. I paid ten thousand dollars for those Swiss dogs to repair it. Look, it does not either go up or down or turn,’ he said, banging on a console of buttons.
‘They still have some work to do on the cables,’ she said.
‘They are all thieves.’
‘Do not fret, my dear. You won’t need the couch for this exhibition.’
‘What do they do? You promised me something crazy unique.’
‘They will be along soon and you will see for yourself. It is like nothing that has ever taken place here. This couple is original beyond description.’ Ursula nodded to the Persian that she had things in hand and for him to take up his guard post.
When Sultan hesitated, she felt a pang of queasy fear. ‘Well?’ she demanded.
‘I am hungry,’ the Persian said on cue. Ursula had depended on the Persian’s appetite. He did not fail and she was relieved.
‘It will only be a two-person show tonight,’ she said. ‘I did not assign a chef.’
‘But I am starving,’ the Persian insisted.
‘Why don’t I fix you up a plate from the kitchen? I will bring it to your station.’
Sultan broke into a great grin, revealing a mouth patched with gold. He moved his massive frame down a short corridor to where the big speedboat and a half-dozen sailboats were docked under a roof. The guardroom was small but contained the latest security innovation. Cameras covered all the rooms of the boathouse. Their pictures could be viewed on a half-dozen screens. Sultan was able to observe his dozing master as well as Ursula in the kitchen.
She prepared a tray of four heaping plates to fill his bottomless stomach. It was very spicy food, spicy enough to completely disguise the sprinkling of cyanide she managed with her back blocking the camera’s view. She set the tray before him. ‘This should hold you for a while.’
‘Ursula,’ the Persian whispered, seeking a confidence, ‘what do you have going tonight?’
‘It’s like nothing you have ever witnessed,’ she assured him. ‘Keep your eye on the screen.’
He chomped down a baby lamb chop, and another. ‘You won’t leave me out of it,’ Sultan said with a wink.
‘If the Effendi passes out, as he usually does, it will be no problem to include you in some sport. Leave it to me, Sultan. Don’t I always see to it you are taken care of?’
‘Ursula, you are a true friend.’
She smiled and left and walked to the main mirrored room and quickly turned up the music just in time to drown out a horrendous shriek from the guard post. She dared look into the corridor to see a wide-eyed, murderously angry Sultan lurch toward her. He screamed, grasped his throat, sank to his knees, crawled, reached out... fell flat. She approached him with terrified caution. A half minute agonizingly ticked off. He twitched, then remained still.
Ursula quietly closed the door.
‘What was that noise?’ Kabir grumbled from the couch.
‘I did not hear anything, darling.’
‘I thought it might be our act.’
They will be along soon. Why don’t we have some H together. Something to set us dreaming, and when your eyes open again, everything will be ready.’
‘You are good to me, Ursula, so good.’
She opened a leather kit with a velvet lining holding ‘his’ and ‘hers’ needles. His had been filled earlier with Dilaudid, enough to keep him under until Ibrahim arrived. She expertly plunged the needle into his arm and sleep followed quickly.
The ‘funeral march’ from Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony inundated the boathouse. Lights had been set to twirl in a billion sparklets. Ursula broke an ammonia capsule under Fawzi Kabir’s nose. He groaned to consciousness, then clamped his eyes closed against the lights of whirling luminescence. He tried to cover his ears to shut out the music but he could not move his hands. They were handcuffed behind his back.
‘Ursula!’ he screamed.
‘I am here,’ she said from the foot of the couch. ‘Are you