Amazing Mrs. Pollifax Read Free

minutes in which to talk.”

CHAPTER 2
    “The Near East!” echoed Mrs. Pollifax.
    “Yes, on a ticklish courier assignment, and a risky one, the necessity of which became obvious only thirty minutes before I telephoned you.” They were seated now in the rear of the limousine and he brought his attaché case to his lap. “I’m sending you to Istanbul,” he said.
    “Istanbul!” exclaimed Mrs. Pollifax, and in an astonished voice added, “Do you know, I was reading a news story from Istanbul only a few minutes before you telephoned!” She looked at him doubtfully. “Are you—that is, does this have anything to do with the Ferenci-Sabo woman, the Communist spy who tried to defect?”
    “A great deal to do with it,” Carstairs said. He unzipped the attaché case to expose an interior bulging with papers. Glancing up at her he said, “Except that rather a lot has happened since that news story you read.”
    “She’s been found?” said Mrs. Pollifax eagerly.
    “No.” He shook his head. “If you take a second look at the dateline on your news story you’ll discover the story was held up for twenty-four hours—Ferenci-Sabo reached the consulate Friday night, God knows how, and was taken in. No, she’s not been found. This is Sunday afternoon—already late evening in Istanbul because of the time difference—and during these hours Istanbul has turned into a hotbed of intrigue, with agents pouring into the city from every point of the globe, all with one hope: either to find Ferenci-Sabo andoffer her sanctuary in their country, or find Ferenci-Sabo and silence her, depending upon their political stance.”
    “She really was abducted then,” said Mrs. Pollifax. “I thought—because of her importance—she might have been hidden away somewhere by the British.”
    “She was abducted all right,” Carstairs said grimly. “Very cleverly, too, and it’s believed she was abducted by Communists. The curious point is that she was abducted and not murdered. If it was silence her captors wanted, they need only have killed her in her bed at the consulate—the devils seemed to have had no problem entering the building! It leaves the implication that Ferenci-Sabo still has more value alive than dead—a conclusion,” he added dryly, “that many other intelligence agencies have also reached. Ferenci-Sabo has now become fair game for everybody—and a great number of ruthless people have entered the game. A woman of Ferenci-Sabo’s background was bound to be coveted but since she’s been abducted, and is presumably still in Istanbul, there are high hopes that what one country has accomplished can be neatly done by another.”
    “I see,” said Mrs. Pollifax, and waited patiently for the explanation that might make some sense of her being here. At the moment she could see no light at all.
    As if reading her thoughts he said gravely, “I’ve called upon you, Mrs. Pollifax—with Miles to keep an eye on you—because in a city teeming with professionals you lack the slightest aura of corruption or professionalism yet at the same time”—his mouth curved wryly—“at the same time you give every evidence of being a resourceful courier.”
    “Thank you,” said Mrs. Pollifax, “but a courier for what? I don’t understand.”
    He said quietly. “We have heard from Ferenci-Sabo.”
    “You?” she said in astonishment. “The CIA? But how? When? Why?”
    He held up his hand. “Please, we know almost nothing except that in a situation where we’re technically only innocent bystanders we suddenly find ourselves in the position of being like the recipient of a ransom note in a kidnap case. No, that’s misleading: she’s apparently eluded her kidnappers and is alive and in hiding in Istanbul.”
    “How incredible,” said Mrs. Pollifax.
    He nodded. “The message, received late this morning, said only that Ferenci-Sabo would go each evening at eight o’clock to the lobby of the Hotel Itep—a small Turkish