Mrs. Pollifax Unveiled Read Free

you right now, Miss Pym, there’s a car waiting for you”—he pointed—“to take you to a hotel where—”
    The words were blotted out by a plane’s landing in the distance.
    “Watch closely now,” said Carstairs.
    The camera followed Amanda Pym as she was escorted to the exit and outside, accompanied by the cameraman and a swarm of interested onlookers. The camera zoomed in on several cars waiting, and the group paused.… A man stepped out of the nearest car; from the second car a man already stoodwith the rear door open. Amanda Pym walked to the second car, entered, and was swiftly driven away.
    “And that,” said Carstairs, “is the last anyone saw of Amanda Pym.”
    There was a startled silence, and then Mrs. Pollifax said, “She got into the wrong car …?”
    “Kidnapped in public view!” exclaimed Farrell. “I’m astonished.”
    Mrs. Pollifax was frowning. “I did see some of that television interview weeks ago, not all of it—I think I was cooking dinner at the time—but she surprised me even then. She was safe, she’d survived, she was being honored for her courage and she didn’t show the slightest sign of being relieved or excited. In fact she had no personality at all.”
    “None whatsoever,” agreed Carstairs. “An enigma.”
    “And yet think what she did,” marveled Farrell. “But if the news was so big at the time, why was there nothing in the newspapers about her disappearance? Or was there?”
    Carstairs said dryly, “Naturally it was assumed that Miss Pym would be wined and dined somewhere—by the airline or by our embassy—but when she couldn’t be found at any hotel in the city the embassy thought it wise to issue a statement that she’d been taken to a hospital to be treated for nervous exhaustion.” He shrugged. “And with no concerned parents or relatives—”
    “None?” said Mrs. Pollifax.
    “None … and thus the story died. Tactfully,” he added, “because a member of our State Department was due to arrive the next day to once again discuss possible peace talks between Assad and Israel.”
    Farrell nodded. “Which al-Assad refuses to discuss unlessIsrael will consider returning the Golan Heights they took over after the Six-Day War in 1967.”
    “Yes,” said Carstairs, “but to depart for the moment from the immediate, let me tell you what we
do
know. The two hijackers on the plane have been identified as members of a group called Crusaders of the Faith. At this particular time in history there are terrorist groups who get their training in Syria, groups that Assad is content to shelter,
possibly
arm, but allow to train while denying their existence. But we have no idea who the people were who abducted Miss Pym.”
    Puzzled, Mrs. Pollifax said, “But what I don’t understand is how Farrell and I can possibly find a girl who disappeared in Syria, of all places, when nobody else could find her and neither of us speaks Arabic.”
    “You’ll not be without help,” said Carstairs.
    “Help?”
    Farrell gave Carstairs a keen glance. “May I ask by whom?”
    “No,” said Carstairs sharply.
    This was interesting but Mrs. Pollifax had a question to ask. She said thoughtfully, “If the people who abducted Miss Pym happen to belong to the same group as the hijackers—these Crusaders of the Faith—this brings in the element of revenge, doesn’t it? After all, Miss Pym interfered with
somebody’s
plans: one hijacker killed, the other captured. She may have been killed minutes after being kidnapped.”
    “Oh yes,” agreed Carstairs, “and frankly that’s what both the embassy and the State Department believe … that she’s dead. On the other hand,” he added smoothly, “we have resources and sources the embassy in Damascus lacks, and that we don’t always share with them.”
    “Such as?”
    “Certain rumors have reached us,” Carstairs said, “that Amanda Pym is still alive.”
    “Reliable rumors?” asked Mrs. Pollifax.
    “Bazaar rumors