through. The winding road that lay beyond must have been a full quarter of a kilometer in length.
They pulled up before an ornate entry and a young man dressed like the gate guard, but bearing no visible weapon, issued forth.
He approached, smiled at the Australian, and said, '
Nat said, 'A new Yank recruit. I vouch for him, Karl. Is the colonel in?'
'He is expecting you, Herr Fraser.' Evidently, the Australian had called ahead on his transceiver on the way up. Frank hadn't noticed, but he had been in no shape to be noticing things.
Nat got out of the little hovercar the same way he had entered it—over the side—pushed his bush hat back on his head, and went around to help Frank out.
Karl assisted, seeming to find nothing strange about the appearance of the soiled and battered newcomer.
They got Frank up the four stone steps and to the door. Nat took over completely there.
Karl said, 'Colonel Panikkar is in the study, Herr Fraser.'
'Too right,' the Aussie said, and helped Frank down the short hall that stretched ahead.
There was an identity screen on the heavy carved wooden door. Almost immediately, it clicked and opened. Beyond was the most impressive study Frank Pinell had ever seen. By the looks of it, it was a combination of library study and office. Bookshelves lined the walls, floor to ceiling, filled with leatherbound books of the old style. Tasteful paintings of both East and West were represented on the walls, none of them modern. But there were also steel files and on both of the two desks were the usual office equipment, including a voco-typer on the smaller one. The furniture was heavy and functional, but in excellent taste. Only the battleship gray of the carpeting detracted from the otherwise impressive decor. It gave a military effect.
Behind the larger of the desks, looking up at their entry, was a man of possibly sixty. Square of face, gray of hair and heavy mustache, he was dark complexioned. He wore traditional Indian clothing, including a black, frock- length coat and jodhpurs. He had a dignified military posture.
Nat said, 'This is the young Yank I called you about, Colonel. Strike me blind but he's got the luck of the Irish. Been in this buggering town no more than hours but a couple of the flashing ragheads set on him and leave him on the street with a broken block.'
Then he became more formal. 'Colonel Ram Panikkar, Frank Pinell.'
The colonel came around his desk to shake hands, western style. His face was indignant as he took in Frank's dirt-fouled clothing and bruises.
He said to Nat, 'Make your man comfortable, Nat. I'll be with you in just a moment.'
The Australian got his still-shaky companion into a chair.
The colonel said into a TV screen, 'Doctor, could you bring your bag and join us at once in my study?' He then flicked a switch and commanded, 'Get me Foud, immediately.'
He looked up at Nat. 'Where did this take place?'
'On the Rue D'Angleterre, just up from the bloody Grand Socco.'
The Indian looked at Frank. 'Just what did the hooligans get away with?'
Frank took a deep breath and said, 'Most important, about two hundred pseudo-dollars worth of Swiss gold francs and dirhams. Also my Moroccan police papers which I got at the airport, my pocket transceiver, and the usual odds and ends.'
A face had appeared on the phone screen—a dark, evil face crowned by an orange turban. Its owner would have had no difficulty whatsoever landing a part as a stereotype fanatic assassin on Stateside Tri-Di.
The colonel said, his voice dangerously crisp, '
The other answered, his own voice careful, '
The Indian spoke rapidly in what Frank assumed was Arabic. Perhaps the colonel was Pakistani, rather than Indian.
In short order, Ram Panikkar turned back to Frank and his Australian rescuer.
'Your possessions will be at your hotel in the morning, Mr. Pinell.' And then to Nat, 'It was Mustapha and Jabir. The dogs become bolder each month that passes.' He added with satisfaction, 'I let Foud know that your friend was under the protection of the Graf.'
A roly-poly little man entered from a side door, the traditional black bag of the physician in his right hand. He was a fussbudget, pink of rounded face and wearing old-fashioned pince-nez glasses on a bulbous little nose.
The colonel made introductions. 'Dr. Fuchs, Mr. Pinell. Mr. Pinell has been the victim of street desperadoes. We thought it best that he be checked. Do you wish to take him to the clinic?'
The doctor bobbed his head and said in accented English, 'Vevillzee.'
The examination was comparatively brief. The doctor hummed importantly as he worked. He wound up very pleased with both himself and his patient. AH was well. He gave Frank four pills with instructions for taking them, assured all that Frank was in good repair, then shook hands all around, said goodnight, and left.
While this had been going on, the colonel had gone to a bar along one wall and, when the doctor had gone, returned with three tall glasses containing the most excellent Scotch Frank had ever tasted.
As he handed the glasses around, the colonel said, 'I prescribe this as even more effective, under the circumstances, than the good doctor's pills. Cheers, gentlemen.'
'Fuck Ireland,' Nat murmured.
But in spite of his light words, the Indian was frowning.
He took a small sip of his neat whiskey and said to Frank, 'Two hundred pseudo-dollars? I understood from what our good Nat said that you had but landed this afternoon. Surely you have not already gone through eight hundred pseudo-dollars. Doesn't your, ah, former government issue each deportee a full thousand?'
Frank said bitterly, 'My IABI escorts decided that such a sum would be wasted on me. They handed over two hundred. It seems that on their way back to the States they intended to lay over in Madrid and blow the rest of it at, uh, I think a bar named Chicote's where the whores congregate.'
Nat blurted indignantly, 'And wot'd you do, mate?'
Frank looked over at him in disgust. 'What could I do? They were armed and I was completely out of my element and in a strange country.'
'I see,' the colonel said ominously. 'And what other adventures did you have today?''
Frank told him about the cab driver and his stolen luggage.
The colonel's dark complexion became even blacker with fury. He said ominously again, 'And what else?'
Frank shrugged it off. 'The customs officer took a rather valuable camera that had been left me by my father.'
'I'm not sure that even I can do anything about that,' the colonel muttered.
He turned back to his elaborate TV phone, dialed, and said, after a moment, 'Rafa? Ram Panikkar, in Tangier. Tonight there should be two IABI agents in Chicote's. They've shaken down one of the boys for eight hundred pseudo-dollars.' He looked up from the screen and over at Frank. 'What were their names?'
Frank said, 'MacDonald and Roskin. I don't know their first names. Look here…'
But the colonel was back at his screen, where he repeated the names. He said, 'I want the eight hundred back here by morning. I also want them taught a small lesson. Not to be overdone, you understand, but I want them left in no condition to travel tomorrow. You understand.'
He listened for a moment, then said, 'Yes, two IABI men, probably armed, but this has been going too far. I do not wish Tangier to get the reputation of being wide open for extortion. If you wish to check this out with Peter Windsor at the
Wolfschloss, go right ahead. I am sure he will agree with me.'
He flicked off the screen, thought a moment, then dialed again. A face must have appeared, since he said, 'Samir? I am speaking in my capacity as Tangier representative of the Graf. One of your drivers this afternoon stole two suitcases from a passenger from the airport. I make this perfectly clear, Samir. I want those two bags here, with all contents, before the night is out. No, I do not know the name of the driver. That is all, Samir.'
He flicked off the screen again and turned back to Frank and Nat, grim satisfaction on his face.
Frank stammered, 'I… I don't know how to thank you, Colonel Panikkar.'
The Indian waved a hand in dismissal. 'You simply presented us with an opportunity, Frank. Tangier is
