Free Mrs. Pollifax Unveiled by Dorothy Gilman Page A

Tadmor—but for Damascus I’d have to have a radio with a high-frequency range—three to thirty hertz, and the government wouldn’t like that. I could forward a message to Tadmor and ask it be sent to Damascus.”
    “Oh dear,” she said, frowning. “But would the embassy know it came from Tadmor?”
    He looked puzzled. “Of course.”
    She turned away. “I’ll have to think about that, Barney, thanks.”
    He nodded and left, but not without a last curious glance at her.
    “Why do you have to think about it?” asked Joe.
    She sighed. “I was so naive last night. I thought … but it’s impossible. If the message comes from Tadmor the embassy will know where we are. Or where
I
am. You see, we had a Tuesday morning appointment at the embassy for the ambassador to present his condolences on Amanda Pym’s death, and for all I know they may have called the hotel by now and discovered our luggage is still there, but we’ve not been seen since Tuesday. They’ve no idea why we really came to Syria, you know—I’m supposed to be Amanda’s aunt—as well as yours,” she added with a rueful smile. “And they have
not
been told of the rumor that Amanda may still be alive.” She shook her head. “They
mustn’t
know where we are,” she emphasized.
“Mustn’t
. The police followed us to Palmyra but not
here
. Yet,” she added grimly.
    “And all I was doing was meeting Abdul twice a month at a restaurant,” he said, staring at her with awe. “But your friend Farrell?”
    She didn’t reply. “I told Dr. Robinson I’d help,” she said curtly, and walked away before she had to answer that question.
    It was to be a long, frustrating and hot day for her, and she found work a blessing. She was shown a contour map of the site that looked like an abstract Picasso drawing; she learned that each new inch of earth had to be recorded, dated, and postholed. She was allowed to attend a flat screen set on legs and sift the excavated earth for any tiny objects or detritus brought up by spade or trowel. After lunch she took her turn at a long table helping Amy Madison assemble bits and pieces of ceramics like a jigsaw. She was shown the interior of the field office building, where found objects were stored and lockedup each night: a veritable treasure house of ceramics whose fragments had been successfully assembled by Amy and shellacked; fragments of clay pots, writing tablets, bones; a tiny bronze statue, quite beautiful; a necklace of stones and a cache of coins.
    And during the afternoon a line of donkeys made its way over the stones and pebbles, each carrying huge tin containers of water for them, and driven by two men in long gray skirts, black jackets and white turbans. “From the nearest village,” Amy told her. “We boil the water, of course, and occasionally, when we tire of chickpeas and falafel, we have them butcher a sheep for us.”
    “They’re shepherds?” said Mrs. Pollifax in surprise.
    “Oh yes, the village must have at least a hundred sheep grazing in the fields around the wadi, and when the grazing thins they move, but it’s a real boon for us. We have shish kebabs to celebrate.”
    “I could look forward to
that,”
said Mrs. Pollifax.
    But the best moment of a tiresome day was Joe cornering her before dinner to whisper, “You got it.…”
    “Got what?”
    “The Land Rover. For two hours tomorrow, noon until two o’clock. Siesta time.”
    “Wonderful!”
She gasped. “Oh thank you, Joe. Now if you could just produce the miracle of a guide for me, too.”
    He grinned. “You’ve got one—me. It’s the only way Dr. Robinson will allow you to be shown the desert in his precious Land Rover … and of course I’m your nephew, remember?” he said mischievously. “But don’t worry, I’ve a good compass—a really good one—not to mention I was an Eagle Scout and went through Outward Bound and all that. Not such a bad deal, is it?”
    She smiled. “I have the most fervant desire to