Operation Scheherazade
by Sinbad
Chapter 11
Maureen's attempts at making friends with Ricky became irritating. She seemed to be trying to be a mother to him, but that was ludicrous. Ricky didn't want a mother, he'd got one of those, and she knew how to do it – unlike a girl only nine years his senior. Ricky thought maybe if Maureen had tried being a big sister it would have worked better – but he couldn't be sure. And he was determined not to respond to her approach, no matter how she tried it. He took to avoiding her as much as possible. At the pool she sat around a table under a big parasol with some other women, drinking coffee and talking interminably, and Ricky stayed the other side of the pool or in it. Roger saw the animosity in Ricky and resented it, and sometimes let his guard down and snapped at him unnecessarily. It was becoming an unhappy holiday.
So when the day of the Hill Climb arrived, Ricky woke with a feeling of optimism. This would be a day for just the two of them, his father and himself, to spend time together doing something they both loved, watching motor racing.
The Jordan Hill Climb event attracts entrants from all over the world. The drivers take it in turns to drive up a hillside on a road that is all hairpin bends, and the one who achieves the best time wins. The cars are all Ferrari, Lamborghini, Porsche, Maserati, Bugatti, European sports supercars, and the drivers often the owners of the cars, very rich playboys with money to lavish on their very special cars. The event is very much King Hussein's brainchild and he competes each year and often wins. All this Ricky knew well as did his father. And they both looked forward to being in the spectators stand at a vantage point where they would be able to see some of the most exciting bends on the course and also the finishing line and the scoreboard. Roger had been twice before, but never with Ricky. Ricky had been once, with Chris and his parents. So both knew what to expect.
His heart sank when Maureen arrived and his father announced that she would be going with them. Ricky couldn't believe Maureen would enjoy the day watching the motor race – she didn't seem the type who would find it remotely interesting. But she was coming. And Ricky felt her presence would spoil the day for him. But he hadn't forgotten his mission and was determined to pass his message to the King if at all possible.
The event was scheduled to begin at eleven in the morning, and the course was a hillside near the Roman ruins at Jerash, not far north from Amman. They set off at nine and arrived in good time to get great seats on the grandstand. It was already getting hot and men with oversized vacuum flasks slung over their shoulders were moving among the crowd selling ice creams, the popular very sweet vanilla ones on sticks. They bought ices several times when the men came past, but when a vendor on an adapted bicycle turned up selling corn on the cob, Ricky suddenly felt hungry and got his father's permission to get one each for the three of them. He queued until it was his turn, held up three fingers and said “ 'talaateh”, three, and held out the money – thirty piastres, about twenty pence. The vendor lifted a lid on a cauldron of boiling salted water built onto the front of his bicycle, and used tongs to remove a cob, then he reached into a sack on the side of his vehicle and took out a maize leaf. He put the piping hot cob into the leaf and sprinkled salt on it before handing it to Ricky. Then he repeated the operation twice more before replacing the lid on the cauldron. A gas ring underneath, fed from a gas bottle strapped to the front of the contraption, kept the water boiling. Ricky loved this salty treat and tucked in ravenously after handing Maureen and Roger theirs.
The event began. At first there was only the sound of screaming engines echoing up the sides of the valley, but they they saw the first of the cars swinging around the hairpin bends as it climbed higher and higher towards the grandstand. The sound of the engine was deafening as it passed and climbed the last few bends to the finish line, and then the quieter sound of the next car could be heard making its ascent. The race is a time trial, each car is timed up the hill and the holder of the fastest time is declared the winner. The starts were staggered so the cars passed the grandstand at fairly regular intervals for the next hour or so, fifty competing cars. Everyone knew which was King Hussein's, he shot past in an Aston Martin, to rapturous clapping from the spectators, though it's doubtful the King was aware of their applause as he concentrated on taking exactly the right line through each bend.
At the end the King had not won, though he still held the course record. He was narrowly beaten by an Italian in a Ferrari, whose name Ricky didn't know. But medals were presented to first second and third drivers so the King was on the winners' podium and was presented with his medal by his wife, Princess Muna. She was his second wife, and the daughter of Lieutenant Colonel W P Gardiner, who after his retirement was an innkeeper. She'd been called Toni Gardiner, but had changed her name and converted to Islam when she married the King. Very beautiful, she had a wonderful way with people and was much loved. The prize-giving was a solemn occasion, lent a little levity by the irony of the Princess giving second prize to her own husband the King.
Once the medal ceremony was over, the victors were quickly surrounded by well-wishers and autograph hunters, and Ricky joined the crush, armed with his notebook and with his banknote in his pocket ready to deploy at the right moment. The crowd pressed forward and Ricky had to duck and squeeze between the adults to keep close to the King. He fought valiantly to get in front of King Hussein to ask for his autograph but there were too many bigger and stronger men with the same idea. Desperately he pushed forward and eventually got to a point where he thought he might be the next person to have his book signed.
Suddenly there was a commotion and Ricky strained to see what was happening. Two men in grey suits were pushing their way through the crowd towards the King. And he saw them and handed back the autograph book he had just signed to the boy who had proffered it. He looked alarmed and for a fleeting moment Ricky thought “Assassins!” but King Hussein spoke to them in Arabic, apparently friendly with them. Ricky revised his opinion: bodyguards. It was interesting that these men had not been surrounding the King all the time, but his majesty was known for being impatient with guards and being determined to keep in touch with his people in person and without hindrance.
Clearly, though, these men had something serious to inform the King about, and he turned back to the crowd and called out clearly in his precise English “That's all the time I can spare you today. Come to the Camel Races next Wednesday!” and he looked straight into Ricky's eyes as he said it, before turning and walking through the crowd, which parted like the Red Sea, to a limousine which had arrived from nowhere. One of the men opened the door for him and he climbed in and was whisked away. It all happened so quickly and Ricky was too far away to reach the King, so his banknote stayed in his pocket and he watched the departing vehicle in some consternation – had he failed his mission? Or was there still hope?
Ricky wondered what had happened that caused the King to leave so suddenly. And he wondered at the King having so clearly looked at him when he asked the people to go to the Camel Races. Had he recognised Ricky? Could that be? Was he expecting Ricky to be there? He realised the only way to find out was to go to the Camel Races.