Gift of the Golden Mountain (69 page)

When she woke he was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding an object in his hand for her to see, and his eyes were grave.

     "What is it?" she asked, pushing away the tangle of her hair.

     "A totem. An African family tree, this one is carved from a solid piece of mahogany—an exceptionally fine piece of native art. It's called the Tree of Life."

     "Eli?" she said.

     He read the card: "Glad you moved off the bench, brother. Love to your bride. Want to see you both."

     "How did he know?" she asked, smiling and wondering why Hayes wasn't.

     "I suppose he figured it out, from my note."

     "I didn't know you kept in touch."

     "I didn't want you to know. The less you know the better, in fact."

     "You know that won't work, not with Eli," she came back, annoyed. "We went through all that."

     "I deposit money for him every two months in a Swiss bank account."

     Now May looked shocked. "Your money?" she asked.

     It was Hayes's turn to be surprised. "Of course my money. What did you think? That I was acting as a conduit for some Panther supporters?"

     "No, not really," she said, "I just mean . . . well, I thought with the State Department appointment. . ."

     "Right," he said, his hands tracing over the bodies on the carving, faces and backs and legs, intertwined to form a tree, smooth ebony faces. "It's risky business, but I couldn't leave him stranded, either."

     "What happened to the money we gave him when he left?"

     "It went to the people who smuggled him out. When he contacted me the first time, he was broke."

     "The first time . . . have there been other times?"

     "Only once. When he got married, he let me know."

     "How?"

     "I was in Paris, I got a phone call telling me . . . not from Eli, from someone else. They also asked for more money. Later I got a note from Eli through the mail. He said marriage complicated his life, but that it had saved his sanity. That was about it, except to thank me for the money."

     May touched the totem, moved her fingers along the smooth
flat back of a boy, clinging to the tree. "So you sent it," she said, a statement, then asked, "But how did you get messages to him?"

     "Through the mail. I have an address in Libya. In fact, the only message I've ever sent him was that you and I were going to be married. I knew there was some risk involved, but I thought it would be minimal—and I did want him to know."

     "You remember I asked if there was any way we could let him know," May reminded him, pulling a silk robe around her.

     "I remember," he said. "What I don't know, and would like to, is how he knew we would be here. How he knew about this place at all."

     May was walking into the bathroom, but she stopped short, turned, and looked at him. "You didn't tell him?"

     He shook his head, and watched her face as she tried to come to grips with the puzzle.

     She spoke slowly. "I'm trying to remember if I ever said anything about Kit's place in St. Paul-du-Vence. Maybe I did. Do you remember when I first told you about it?"

     "I've been trying . . . I can't get it clear. It seems to me there was a conversation about the summer you went to Greece, to study the volcano at Thera. Karin was supposed to have gone with you and Kit to the house in France, but Karin backed out . . . something like that."

     "I remember talking about it to Sam, but I can't be certain we ever did when Eli was around. And frankly, I'm not sure it was the kind of thing we would have talked about to Eli. Not after Sam accused us of being jetsetters."

     They sat in silence for a while, thinking. "Somebody could have done some research," May finally offered.

     "I know," Hayes said, a grim set to his mouth. He caressed her shoulder, but it was an absentminded caress. Their seclusion had been violated.

Honeysuckle vines grew heavy on the stone walls of the garden, sending out waves of fragrance into the early summer evening. They sat side by side on an old bench, watching the birds feed on small clouds of insects that were lit by the waning light, waiting.

     May was wearing a white dress that gleamed against the green of the garden. They touched fingertips, and smiled and did not break the silence.

     The ring of the telephone ended their waiting.

"Speaking," Hayes said, pulling May to him and turning the receiver so she could hear too.

     "Mr. Diehl," a woman's voice said in heavily accented English, "your friend is very looking forward to seeing you and wife. He asks if you and she can meet him at a place on the border with Spain tomorrow evening?"

     "I understand that my friend has asked you to make this call for him," Hayes said in a firm voice, "but I will need to talk to my friend myself, to make the arrangements."

     There was a long pause. "That will be difficult," the voice said.

     Hayes did not answer.

     "Stay where you are," the voice ordered, "he will call within an hour."

They sat at the long table in the kitchen, eating cheese and fruit and a cold asparagus soup May had discovered in the cooler, along with a fresh baguette. Hayes started to open a bottle of wine, then stopped and looked at May. "None for me," she said, "not yet." He put the bottle back. Their celebration had been interrupted, now they needed to think clearly.

     "Whoever the woman is, she's giving the orders," Hayes said. "She didn't have to ask anybody's permission, she said he would call."

     "Why didn't he call in the first place? Did he think our line would be tapped?"

     "No. I don't know why—logistics maybe. He can't move as easily as she, is my guess."

     She concentrated on cutting a slice of cheese. Hayes sat down, picked up a small piece of baguette, put it down again, got up and paced.

     The ring of the telephone stopped him in his tracks.

     A familiar smile spread over Hayes's face, so she knew it was Eli on the other end of the line.

     "Yes," Hayes said, "she's right here."

     May called out, "Hello old buddy!"

     Though an echo on the line seemed to indicate it was a longdistance call, Eli seemed not to be in any hurry. "Tell me about the wedding," he said. "Who all came? Karin was there, right? And Sam and Israel?"

     "Karin was, not Sam. Israel was the preacher."

     Eli laughed. "Good for Israel. How about Rags? Did he make it?"

     Hayes frowned. "Afraid not, couldn't make it," he said.

     "Well that's too bad, I know he would've wanted to be there. Just like me. But let's talk about us now. Do you think you could drive to the Spanish border—a little place called Cerbere tomorrow evening? I surely am homesick to see you, Bro," he added. He started to give directions then, but Hayes interrupted.

     "Listen, friend, as much as I want to see you I have to say it doesn't look too probable. May's not feeling too well—she's running a fever and we think she may have a recurrence of a bug she picked up in Fiji. She's going to see a doctor tomorrow. Anyway you look at it, she won't feel up to it for tomorrow evening. Maybe we could make it day after tomorrow, if the doctor says it's okay."

     Static filled the line, and for a long minute neither could make themselves heard. Hayes shouted, "Are you still there?" and a voice shouted back, "Can you come by yourself?"

     "I don't want to leave her," Hayes said, but the connection had broken.

     May took the receiver from Hayes and returned it to its place. His face had gone stone gray, stunned.

     "What is it?" May asked. "Tell me."

     "Rags Wegman."

     "Yes?" she prodded.

     "Eli asked if Rags was at the wedding. Rags was a civil rights worker Eli and I knew in Mississippi in the summer of 1961. He was arrested and thrown into jail, all his ribs were broken. We got him out, and two days later we found him hanging from a rafter in his cabin. He left behind a note that said, 'It isn't worth it. We will never be free.' It haunted Eli, that message."

     "And you think that's the message he was sending you now?"

     "He was telling us not to come, that something is wrong."

     "What do you think?"

     "I think it's probably a kidnap attempt. If they know about this house, they know about Kit. She could afford a hefty ransom."

     May stumbled when she said, "Eli knows about the
Paris Match
article, where I was named one of the ten richest women in America."

     "That's why they were willing to let me come on my own. Two would have been better than one, but they figured you would come through for me."

     "Don't say it, Hayes. Don't tell me my money is already making problems for us."

     "I'm not going to say that, wife," he told her, smoothing her hair back from her face. "It's not your money that is making problems for us. It's Eli. Our friend." The last word was uttered with an edge of bitterness.

"What now?" May asked.

     "They know where we are, May. Right now they want us to
come to them because it will be safer for them that way. But if they begin to think we aren't going to come, they might come for us. We're at risk, and I think I have to get in touch with someone I know in Paris. He works in some sort of deep-secret agency that deals with terrorists."

     "But it is an agency of the French government?"

     "Yes."

     "So it is likely they will know about it in Washington?"

     "I'm not sure. The French don't like to share very much, and this is a good friend—Jacques Benoist."

     "Marie-Claire's brother?"

     Hayes nodded, watching her.

     She sighed, looking at him. "What will happen to Eli?"

     "Eli warned us, remember?"

     She put her hand on his shoulder, and said, "Make the call."