up the one that had failed in the back of the Mercedes. He would prefer to spend a night in a pit full of cobras rather than accept the quarters that Cactus Flower had prepared for him.
Peter stepped back into the passage and fixed the clerk with his most imperious gaze. The man scampered and returned within five minutes looking mightily relieved.
“We have one of our best suites for you.” Number 122 commanded a magnificent view across the valley to the Jaffa Gate in the wall of the
Old City, and in the centre of this vista towered the Church of the
Last Supper.
The gardens of the hotel were lush with lawns and tall graceful palms, children shrieked gleefully around the swimming pool while a cool light breeze broke the heat.
The suite abutted onto the long open terrace, and the moment he was alone, Peter lowered the heavy roller shutters across the terrace door. Cactus Flower could too easily send a man in that way. Then
Peter stepped out onto the private balcony.
On the tall stone battlements of the French Consulate adjoining the gardens they were lowering the Tricolour against the flaming backdrop of the sunset. Peter watched it for a moment then concentrated again on the security of the suite.
There was possible access from the room next door, an easy step across from window to balcony. Peter hesitated then decided to leave the balcony unshuttered. He could not bring himself to accept the claustrophobic effect of a completely shuttered room.
Instead he drew the curtains and ordered a large whisky and soda from room service. He needed it. It had been a long hard day.
Then he stripped off tie and shirt, wig and mustache and washed away some of the tensions. He was to welling himself when there was a tap on the door.
“Damned quick service,” he muttered, and clapped the wig on his head and stepped into the lounge, just as a key rattled in the lock and the door swung open. Peter lifted the towel and pretended to be still drying his face to cover the lack of mustache on his lip.
“Come in,” he gruffed through the towel, and then froze in the doorway, and a vice seemed to close around his heart and restrict his breathing.
She wore a man’s open-neck shirt, with patch pockets on the breasts, and khaki combat breeches hugged her narrow hips. The long legs were thrust into soft-soled canvas boots. Yet she carried herself with the same unforced chic as if she had been dressed in the height of
Parisian fashion.
“Sir Steven.” She closed the door swiftly behind her, and Peter saw her palm the slim metal pick with which she had turned the lock.
“I’m Magda Altmann, we have met before.
I have come to warn you that you are in very grave danger.” The abundant short curls formed a dark halo around her head, and her eyes were huge and green with concern.
“You must immediately leave this country. I have my private executive jet aircraft at an airfield near here-” Peter lowered the towel enough to allow himself to speak.
“Why are you telling me this?” he interrupted her brusquely. “And why should I believe you?” He saw the quick roses of anger bloom in her cheeks.
“You are dabbling in things you do not understand.”
“Why should you want to warn me?” Peter insisted.
“Because-” she hesitated and then went on sharply, because you are
Peter Stride’s brother. For that reason and no other I would not want you killed.” Peter tossed the towel back into the bathroom and with the same movement pulled off the wig and dropped it onto the chair beside him.
“Peter!” Astonishment riveted her and she stared at him, the colour that anger had painted in her cheeks fled and her eyes turned a deep luminous green. He had forgotten once again how beautiful she was.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” he said, and she ran to him on those long, graceful legs and flung her arms around his neck.
They strained together silently, neither of them found words necessary for many minutes. Then she broke away.
“Peter, darling I cannot stay long. I took a terrible chance coming here at all. They are watching the hotel and the girls on the switchboard are Mossad. That is why I could not telephone-“
“Tell me everything you can,” he ordered.
“All right, but hold me, Cheri. I do not wish to waste a minute of this little time we have together.” She hid in the bathroom when the waiter brought the whisky, then joined Peter on the couch.
“Cactus Flower reported to control that Steven had requested a meeting with Caliph, and that he intended to denounce him. That was all I knew until yesterday but I could build on that. First of all I
was amazed that Steven was the subject of the first Cactus Flower report and not you, Peter-” She caressed the smooth hard brown muscle of his chest as she spoke..” It had never occured to me, even when we discussed the fact that the report mentioned no Christian name.”
“It didn’t occur to me either, not until I’d already left Les Neuf
Poissons.”
“Then, of course, I guessed that you had taxed Steven with it, and told him the source of your information. It would have been a crazy thing to do not your usual style, at all. But I thought that being your brother-” She trailed off.
“That is exactly what I did-” Peter, we could still talk if we were on the bed,” she murmured. “I have been without you for so long.”
Her bare skin felt like hot satin, and they lay entwined with the hard smooth plain of her belly pressed to his. Her mouth was against his ear.
Steven’s request for a meeting went directly to Caliph through a channel other than Cactus Flower. He had no chance to head it off-“
“Who is Cactus Flower, have you found that out?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I still do not know.” And she raked her long fingernails lightly down across his belly.
“If you do that I cannot think clearly,” he protested.
“I am sorry.” She brought her hand up to his cheek.
“Anyway, Caliph instructed Cactus Flower to arrange the meeting with Steven. I did not know what arrangements were being made until
I saw Sir Steven’s name on the immigration lists this evening. I was not particularly looking for his name, but as soon as I saw it I
guessed what was happening. I guessed that Cactus Flower had enticed him here to make his interception easier. It took me three hours to find where Sir Steven would be staying.” They were both silent now, and she lowered her face and pressed it into the soft of his neck, sighing with happiness.
oh God, Peter. How I missed you.”
“Listen, my darling. You must tell me everything else you have.” Peter lifted her chin tenderly so he could see her face and her eyes came back into focus.
“Did you know that there was to be an assassination attempt on
Steven?”
“No but it was the logical step for Mossad to protect Cactus
Flower.”
“What else?”
“Nothing.” You don’t know if actual arrangements have been made for a meeting between Caliph and Steven?” if “No, I
don’t know, “she admitted.
“You still have no indication at all of Caliph’s identity?”
“No,
none at all.” They were silent again, but now she propped herself on one elbow and watched his face as he
