“Not all of Dhaba is in the twentieth century,” Formutesca said.
The conversation between Gonor and the Major seemed to have ended, but Parker kept his attention on these two in front of him. He said, “That means you know rifles. Anything else?”
“I have fired handguns,” said Manado. “And the Sten and Uzi.”
“Me too,” said Formutesca.
“What languages do you speak?”
“Just Abu and English,” said Manado.
“Abu? That’s your native tongue?”
“Yes, sir.”
Formutesca said, “I speak some French, some German. More French.”
A door closed. Parker said, “You both drive? You have licenses to drive in this country?” They both nodded. “Either of you color-blind? Epileptic? Get fainting spells? You got any phobias, fear of heights or anything like that?” They both kept shaking their heads.
Behind Parker, Gonor said, “Mr Parker.”
Parker turned around. Gonor was alone. “The Major has approved you,” he said, and it was possible there was something humorous in his tone.
“Good,” said Parker.
“We’ll go for a drive now,” Gonor said.
“Why?”
“I’ll show you where the diamonds are.”
2
The car was a black Mercedes-Benz. Manado was at the wheel and Formutesca beside him, with Gonor and Parker in back. “Go down Park Avenue,” Gonor had said, so Manado had driven down Fifth Avenue to the first eastbound street, over two blocks to Park, and they were now headed south, the Pan Am Building hulking in the roadway ahead of them.
“This will be interesting to our young friends as well,” Gonor said, nodding at the two in front. “They still don’t know where the Kasempas are keeping themselves and the diamonds.”
Gonor should have kept his security as tight as that on the whole deal, but Parker didn’t say so. He just nodded and looked out the window at the cabs.
After a minute Gonor said, “You don’t think much of Major Indindu.”
“I don’t think anything of him. I don’t think about him at all.”
Gonor frowned, studying Parker. “Is that true? Is that why you’re successful? You ignore whatever is not directly necessary?”
“You can’t think about more than one thing at a time,” Parker said.
“Granted,” said Gonor.
“Do I continue, sir?” Manado asked. The Pan Am Building was looming up directly ahead, like a life-sized model no longer needed and left out in the street for the Sanitation Department to take away.
“Straight on,” Gonor said. “But don’t take the tunnel.”
Manado steered the car around the racetrack ramp girdling Grand Central Terminal, of which the Pan Am Building is the hat. He drove well but a trifle too cautiously, letting himself be outbluffed occasionally by hustling cabbies.
They came down the ramp to Fortieth Street, avoided the tunnel underpass, and Gonor said, “Turn left at Thirty-eighth Street.”
Formutesca turned around, saying, “The museum?”
Gonor nodded to him.
“Nobody lives there,” Formutesca said.
“There is the top-floor apartment.”
“But
nobody everlived there!”
“Not till now,” Gonor said. Turning to Parker he said, “Seven Central African nations, when they were all colonies of the same European power, combined to create and support a Museum of African Arts and Artifacts in New York City. Actually it was the mother country that was the inspiration and most of the financial support for the museum. As each of the colonies became independent it ceased to be a supporting member of the museum. Until us. We were the last of the colonies to gain independence. Rather than take over the museum itself, which would have been at the least anomalous, our former mother country has given the museum to us and has presented us with a fund from which the proceeds will furnish the operating expenses.”
Manada had been stopped by a red light at Thirty-ninth Street, but now it turned green and he drove forward a block and made his left. Gonor looked out the windshield and said, “Park across the street.”
“Don’t stop,” Parker said. “Just go past it slow.”
Gonor looked at him in surprise. “Wouldn’t you care to study it for a period of time?”
