was almost impossible: what would happen when he had to break an appointment, or when he was late, or when he needed to meet his contact urgently?
He must have a radio.
What can I do if he has a radio?
I can take it away from him.
She put Chantal down in her cradle and looked around the house. She went into the front room. There on the tiled counter in the middle of what had been the shop was Jean-Pierre's medical bag.
It was the obvious place. No one was allowed to open the bag except Jane, and she never had any reason to.
She undid the clasp and went through the contents, taking them out one by one.
There was no radio.
It was not going to be that easy.
He must have one, she thought, and I must find it: if I don't, either Ellis will kill him or he will kill Ellis.
She decided to search the house.
She checked through the medical supplies on the shopkeeper's shelves, looking in all the boxes and packets whose seals had been broken, hurrying for fear he would come back before she was finished. She found nothing.
She went into the bedroom. She rummaged through his clothes, then in the winter bedding which was stored in a corner. Nothing. Moving faster, she went into the living room and looked around frantically for possible hiding places. The map chest! She opened it. Only the maps were there. She closed the lid with a bang. Chantal stirred but did not cry, even though it was almost time for her feed. You're a good baby, thought Jane; thank God! She looked behind the food cupboard and lifted the rug in case there was a concealed hole in the floor.
Nothing.
It had to be here somewhere. She could not imagine that he would take the risk of hiding it outside the house, for there would be a terrible danger of its being found by accident.
She went back into the shop. If only she could find his radio everything would be all right—he would have no option but to give in.
His bag was so much the obvious place, for he took it with him wherever he went. She picked it up. It was heavy. She felt around inside it yet again. It had a thick base.
Suddenly she was inspired.
The bag could have a false bottom.
She probed the base with her fingers. It must be here, she thought; it must.
She pushed her fingers down beside the base and lifted.
The false bottom came up easily.
With her heart in her mouth, she looked inside.
There, in the hidden compartment, was a black plastic box. She took it out.
That's it, she thought; he calls them on this little radio.
Why does he meet them as well?
Perhaps he cannot tell them secrets over the radio for fear that someone is listening. Perhaps the radio is only for arranging meetings, and for emergencies.
Like when he can't leave the village.
She heard the back door open. Terrified, she dropped the radio to the floor and spun around, looking into the living room. It was only Fara with a broom. "Oh, Christ," she said aloud. She turned back, her heart racing.
She had to get rid of the radio before Jean-Pierre returned.
But how? She could not throw it away—it would be found.
She had to smash it.
With what?
She did not have a hammer.
A stone, then.
She hurried through the living room and into the courtyard. The courtyard wall was made of rough stones held together with sandy mortar. She reached up and wiggled one of the top row of stones. It seemed firm. She tried the next, and the next. The fourth stone seemed a little loose. She reached up and tugged at it. It moved a little. "Come on, come on," she cried. She pulled hard. The rough stone cut into the skin of her hands. She gave a mighty heave and the stone came loose. She jumped back as it fell to the ground. It was about the size of a can of beans: just right. She picked it up in both hands and hurried back into the house.
She went into the front room. She picked up the black plastic radio transmitter from the floor and placed it on the tiled counter. Then she lifted the stone above her head and brought it down with all her might on the radio.
The plastic casing cracked.
She would have to hit it harder.
She lifted the stone and brought it down again. This time the casing broke, revealing the innards of the instrument: she saw a printed circuit, a loudspeaker cone and a pair of batteries with Russian script on them. She took out the batteries and threw them on the floor, then started to smash the mechanism.
She was grabbed from behind suddenly, and Jean-Pierre's voice shouted: "What are you doing?"
She struggled against his grip, got free for a moment and struck another blow at the little radio.
He grasped her shoulders and hurled her aside. She stumbled and fell to the floor. She landed awkwardly, twisting her wrist.
He stared at the radio. "It's ruined!" he said. "It's irreparable!" He grabbed her by the shirt and hauled her to her feet. "You don't know what you've done!" he screamed. There was despair and hot rage in his eyes.
"Let me go!" she shouted at him. He had no right to act like this when it was he who had lied to her. "How dare you manhandle me!"
"How dare I?" He let go of her shirt, drew back his arm and punched her hard. The blow landed in the middle of her abdomen. For a split second she was simply paralyzed with shock; then the pain came, deep inside where she was still sore from having had Chantal, and she cried out and bent over with her hands clutching her middle.
Her eyes were shut tight, so she did not see the second blow coming.
His punch landed full on her mouth. She screamed. She could hardly believe he was doing this to her. She opened her eyes and looked at him, terrified that he would hit her again.
"How dare I?" he screamed. "How dare I?"
She fell to her knees on the dirt floor, and began to sob with shock and pain and misery. Her mouth hurt so much she could hardly speak. "Please don't hit me," she managed. "Don't hit me again." She held a hand in front of her face defensively.
He knelt down, shoved her hand aside and thrust his face into hers. "How long have you known?" he hissed.
She licked her lips. They were swelling already. She dabbed at them with her sleeve, and it came away bloody. She said: "Since I saw you in the stone hut ... on the way to Cobak."
"But you didn't see anything!"
"He spoke with a Russian accent, and said he had blisters. I figured it out from there."
There was a pause while that sank in. "Why now?" he said. "Why didn't you break the radio before?"
"I didn't dare to."
"And now?"
"Ellis is here."
"So?"
Jane summoned up what little courage she had left. "If you don't stop this . . . spying . . . I'll tell Ellis, and he will stop you."
He took her by the throat. "And what if I strangle you, you bitch?"
"If any harm comes to me ... Ellis will want to know why. He's still in love with me."
She stared at him. Hatred burned in his eyes. "Now I'll never get him!" he said. She wondered who he meant. Ellis? No. Masud? Could it be that Jean-Pierre's ultimate purpose was to kill Masud? His hands were still
