Operation Scheherazade
by Sinbad
Chapter 18
On the journey back to Amman the boys told their story, interrupting each other to fill in details, and being interrupted by Roger for explanations as needed. Eventually Roger came to consider the reasoning that had led Chris to shout 'bomb!'.
He had understood that the boys suspected Maureen of having betrayed their trip to Ajlun to some unknown person, possibly with the initial 'K', and that the result was the stalker that the goatherd had warned them about. At that point he felt defensive of Maureen, thinking they didn't have sufficient evidence to convict her.
But Ricky had thought about an assassination attempt, and with his suspicion of her already in his mind, had reasoned that her sudden decision not to come with them might mean she knew it wouldn't be safe for her. And on that flimsy reasoning Chris had sounded the alarm – and the boys had been proved right, at least about the bomb, if not about Maureen. And although there was no absolute evidence against her, it looked pretty bad – he no longer felt able to defend her, even in his thoughts. One thing kept coming back to his mind. If the boys were right, she discovered the attempt would be made on the King's life and backed out of coming to the races, but didn't try to save him or the boys. She couldn't care for him if she didn't even try to save him. Or she was just completely callous.
Poor Roger felt his world collapsing around his ears. He drove on, ashen-faced and red-eyed.
Ricky saw his father's pain and realised he didn't have the skills to reach him or to comfort him. He didn't know how to begin to help. But he knew a man who would – or probably would. He made a suggestion.
“Dad, rather than go home, can you take us to the Fieldings' house? The Ambassador's residence? I think we need to tell him what's happened.”
Roger didn't reply but as they reached the outskirts of the city he took a right fork where he would have gone left to take them home.
On arrival at the security checkpoint they had no pass to clear them through so a call had to be put through to the Ambassador to ask for permission to visit. But the barrier went up and they drove on, turning off the roadway that led to the palace on the hill, and through the wooded area and beyond it to the Residence building. Roland was waiting for them on the steps and came out to welcome them. Mr Fielding came out in response to the sound of the vehicle and shook Roger's hand, while looking a question to Ricky over Roger's shoulder. Ricky made a grimace in response, hoping to convey that there were things to talk about, and at the same time that all was not well with his father.
The Fieldings ushered the visitors into a comfortable and cool lounge room, with cane armchairs around a central glass coffee table. They sat down, the visitors exhausted after their experiences of the day, and drinks were brought. The ubiquitous freshly made lemonade in a big jug which the three boys started into with gusto, and tall whisky and ginger with ice cubes floating in it for Mr Fielding and Roger, who would rather have had the whisky neat. He downed it in one, realising, as he did, how thirsty he was.
“Well, it's good to see you, Taylor, but I suspect that this visit in not entirely a social call? What's up, old man, you look like you'd seen a ghost?”
Roger didn't immediately reply, so Ricky thought it best to speak up.
“Mr Fielding, sir, there's quite a lot to tell you, and my Dad's a bit shaken by it. Did you hear there was an attempt to kill the King at the Camel Races?”
“I have heard, yes. The King is unhurt, I understand. Were you there? Did you see what happened?”
“Yes, sir, we were. It was Chris who sounded the alarm that got everyone off the grandstand before the bomb blew. But I'd better start the story from the beginning.”
And he explained how he'd found the scrap of paper in his father's glovebox, and how he'd suspected his father until Chris had reasoned that it had to be Maureen who was in cahoots with the people who sent the stalker to Ajlun. And how she had suddenly changed her mind about going with them to the races, and that at the last minute they'd worked out that this might be because she knew that something bad would happen there.
“Sir, it's very hard for my father, because Maureen is a close friend. And I don't know what to say to help.”
The Ambassador looked across from Ricky to Chris, and from Chris to Roland, who was looking shell-shocked, all of this being new to him, and from Roland to Roger, also looking shell-shocked but for rather different reasons. First things first, he thought.
“Give me your glass, I'll pour you another drink, old man.”
“Thanks, Fielding. Could you leave out the ginger this time?”
“Sure. I'll make it a double, I think you need it.”
When he brought the drinks, one for Roger and one for himself, he said to the boys: “Why don't you go off and play, I want to talk to Mr Taylor alone.”
Under the circumstances none of the boys felt they needed to take umbrage at the insulting insinuation that at their age they still did anything that could be described as 'play'. And they went out to the garden area and played soccer.
When it got dark they went back into the house and the adults including Mrs Fielding were chatting lightly. The boys joined them and Mr Fielding took Ricky to one side and asked him again about the note he found in the car. He told him everything he could remember about it, including the signature at the end of the message, just the single letter 'K'. At that point Mr Fielding threw up his hands and said under his breath, but audibly to Ricky's keen ears, “Damn and blast!”
“Do you know who K is, then?” he asked.
“I can have a jolly good guess. Kamille Blumfeld. She's German. Known to be involved, or to have been involved, in several terrorist organisations in the Middle East. She's an explosives expert and very keen on Palestinian Liberation. She's known in the business as Camel. And this would be right up her street.”
“What do we do now, sir? Will you arrest Maureen and Kamille?”
“I'm the ambassador, not a policeman. My responsibility is to inform the Jordanian police so that they can take what action they see fit. They may well decide to arrest Maureen, but unless she tells them, they have no way of knowing where Camel is.”
“Do you think Maureen knows where she is?”
“Can't be certain, but probably. She's not likely to tell willingly, though.”
“Will they torture her?” asked Ricky.
“Richard, this isn't Saudi Arabia, they don't do things like that here. No, the police here do things strictly according to the rules. And one of the rules is no torture!”
Ricky thought about that. “Could we trick her into giving it away?”
The ambassador looked sharply at the twelve year old in front of him. “Well, what do you have in mind? It's an idea, certainly.”
The trouble was, Ricky didn't have anything in mind. He had no idea how to trick Maureen into revealing the whereabouts of the terrorist leader.
“Sorry, I don't know. I was hoping you would be able to think of something?”
“Well, I tell you what, let's both spend some time working on a plan. And we'll talk again when one of us has come up with something.”
“I'll see if Chris can think of something. He's really good at that sort of thing.”
They re-joined the rest of the party, and soon Roger announced that it was time for him to take his charges home, they'd had a long day and needed some sleep.
When they got home, the two boys were almost asleep and Roger sent them straight to bed. When he looked in on Ricky before heading for his own bed, he found him fast asleep on top of his bedcovers, and fully clothed. He took his shoes off, and pulled a sheet over him, and left him to sleep.
Roger did not fall asleep immediately. He lay in bed with his mind racing, pondering the shattering revelations about Maureen. He found he didn't know her at all, and that he'd bee deceived in thinking he did. She had been prepared to allow him and the boys to walk into great danger, which surely proved she didn't truly care for him as he'd thought. Was he just a needy middle-aged man, ready to believe in the affection of a pretty young girl when none existed? How could he have been so deluded, when he thought himself a good judge of character? Was he 'on the rebound', after separating from Shirley?
These self-doubts ran around in his head and robbed him of sleep until later that night he finally sank into unconsciousness, just as a single tear escaped from his eye and ran across the bridge of his nose, under the other eye and around his cheek until it met the pillow and dispersed into the fabric, dampening it.