The Arm of the Starfish Page 5

  Adam almost jumped out of his seat.

  It was the melody Canon Tallis had whistled for Poly at the Hotel Plaza.

  He kept his eyes fixed on the rabbi, but the rabbi continued to look upward. Although Adam still could not place the melody it was familiar enough to him (had he sung it in school? in choir? was it something his parents knew?) so that he in his turn could whistle a measure. The rabbi stopped. His eyes moved slowly from the ceiling. He turned, looked at Adam, nodded almost imperceptibly, then turned away and studied the ceiling again.

  Adam was too upset and confused to look out the window as the plane descended toward Lisbon. He kept looking up and down the cabin, with his gaze coming to pause again and again on the rabbi. But the rabbi did not move. Adam felt, after a while, that he should not stare, that he should not let the other passengers, and certainly not the steward, know that he had had any kind of communication with anybody in the plane since Poly’s disappearance.

  He was startled to feel the touch of wheels upon runway, to know that they were earthbound again. The loudspeaker buzzed and the passengers were told the disembarking procedure. It would all be very simple. Except, of course, for Adam.

  The FASTEN SEAT BELTS sign blinked out, though the NO SMOKING sign remained lit. The passengers rose and took coats and bags and began moving to the door. Adam pushed forward as quickly as he could, almost knocking into the rabbi who was just ahead of him. As they waited to get out Adam touched the dark sleeve gently and the rabbi moved his head just enough to let Adam know that he was listening.

  “I did have the child with me, didn’t I?”

  The rabbi gave an almost imperceptible nod.

  At this quiet confirmation Adam was again able to think coherently. By the time he reached the exit he knew what he was going to say and do. He spoke to the steward with cold control. “I will have to report this to the authorities. I have taken your name and that of the stewardess.”

  The steward shrugged indifferently. “As you like, sir. You will be yourself again soon, I am sure.”

  The stewardess simply smiled blandly at him as she had at the other passengers, saying, as though there had been no trouble, “I hope you enjoyed your trip.”

  Adam brushed by her and down the steps after the rabbi.

  At the passport counter, despite, or perhaps because of his hurry, Adam found a number of passengers ahead of him; he was in the middle of the line. He looked ahead and saw the rabbi collecting his passport and disappearing. Adam was shocked and disappointed at this complete abandonment. For a moment he had felt that the situation was under control, that everything would be all right as soon as the proper authorities were spoken to. Now he felt blind panic.

  The line here in Lisbon moved more slowly than it had in Madrid. When Adam’s turn came he handed his passport across the counter saying, “I want to report a missing child. I got onto the plane with a twelve-year-old girl and she went to the washroom and never came out.”

  The official looked at him incredulously. “But sir, that is impossible.”

  “Yes,” Adam said. “Nevertheless it happened.”

  “Why didn’t you speak immediately to the steward or the stewardess?”

  “I did. They were not very helpful.”

  “Oh, but sir, the personnel is always—”

  Adam interrupted. “They said the child had not come on to the plane with me.”

  The official relaxed. “Well, then, sir—”

  “But she did get on the plane with me. If you will get in touch with Canon Tallis in Madrid—”

  “Yes?” the official asked helpfully. “His address, please? Or perhaps you know his phone number?”

  Adam realized that he had no way of knowing where in that enormous city the canon might be. He thought quickly, then said, “I don’t know where he is staying, but if you call the English church they would be able to tell you there.”

  “Sir,” the official said, shaking his head sadly, “I’m afraid I cannot possibly help you. I will see that you are conducted to my superior, and you can tell your story to him.” H summoned a young boy in a page’s uniform, and spoke to him in rapid Portuguese. Adam had hoped that Spanish and Portuguese would be close enough so that he would be able to understand, but they were not.

  The page said, “Kindly follow me, sir.” Adam started to move away from the window when a voice said, “Don’t forget your passport.”

  Startled, and furious with himself for having almost done exactly that, Adam wheeled around and there was the rabbi, together with a tall, blue-eyed, redheaded man. The resemblance to Poly was plain; it could be none other than Dr. O’Keefe who came up to the window and spoke in slow, clear English. “Mr. Eddington’s passport, please. He has had an unfortunate experience and is a little—upset. I will take care of everything.”

  Adam started to turn on Dr. O’Keefe in indignation, but something in the older man’s expression stopped him. The official at the window handed Adam the passport, saying, “Certainly, and my sincere thanks, Dr. O’Keefe.”

  Adam found himself hustled out of the airport and into a waiting taxi. As the door was slammed and the taxi pulled off he realized that he was alone with Dr. O’Keefe; the rabbi had again disappeared. “But Poly—” he started.

  “Not now,” Dr. O’Keefe said. Adam looked at him and could see that the older man’s face was white with strain. His complete quiet and control was costing him an enormous effort. After a moment, as though to break the silence, he said, “We managed to get your bags. Fortunately you had them well labeled. They’re in the trunk of the taxi.”

  “Where are we going?” Adam asked.

  “The Hotel Avenida Palace. We will have to stay there until-”

  “Sir,” Adam started, “sir …” and then stopped because he found that he could not go on.

  Dr. O’Keefe said quietly, “You are not to blame yourself for this in any way. It was nothing you could have prevented. We thought getting Poly away would be the best thing. But—” again he broke off.

  Adam saw little of Lisbon as they drove in, though, in order to gather himself together, he turned his face toward the window as though he were looking out. Lisbon was, even to his confused eyes, completely different from Madrid. Madrid was a cold city, Lisbon a warm one, full of buildings painted sun yellow, deep blue. There were squares with fountains, statues, gardens, a sense of space and color everywhere.

  The Avenida Palace was an old hotel, a beautiful building which at any other time would have delighted Adam; but he was now so tired with the events of the past hours as well as with lack of sleep that he followed Dr. O’Keefe like a small child. A porter took his bags out of the taxi’s trunk, and Adam went with Dr. O’Keefe into the hotel.

  “Your passport, please, Adam,” Dr. O’Keefe said, and registered for him. The passport, as in Madrid, was retained, but Dr. O’Keefe explained that this was routine procedure, and, unless there were trouble with the police they would get it back shortly.

  They were taken to a great square corner room with four shuttered and curtained windows. There were twin beds, an octagonal table with easy chairs, a desk, a crystal chandelier. The bathroom was large and all of marble.

  “We look out on the Place dos Restauradores and the Rue Jardim do Regedor,” Dr. O’Keefe told Adam as the page put down the suitcases. “There’s a rather interesting view of the Fort up on the crest of the hill.” He gestured to one of the curtained windows, but made no move to pull back the draperies. He locked the door carefully, checked the cupboards.

  “Poly—” Adam started desperately.

  Although Dr. O’Keefe’s rigid control had not lessened, he dropped, now that he and Adam were alone, the public manner, answering with the one word, “Kidnapped.”

  “But—”

  “But why? Old Doc may have told you something of my research.”

  “Just that it was interesting, and—unusual.”

  “I’ve stumbled onto something. Something that is unusua
l, desirable to many people, and important. It was wise of Old Doc not to tell you anything about it. What you don’t know, you can tell no one. Therefore, if you will forgive me, I will not tell you yet. But Poly knows too much for her own good. Therefore, Adam, I will have to ask you to stay here in this room until I return. Are you hungry?”

  “No, sir.”

  “But tired, I imagine.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then this will be a good opportunity for you to sleep. You should answer the telephone if it rings. But under no circumstances open the door, and when I go please double-lock it from the inside. The best thing you can possibly do now is to catch up on your sleep. When I find Poly and we get to Gaea I will be able to explain things more fully to you.”

  Adam said, “But, sir, what are you going to do?”

  “There are only certain things I can do. First I’ll go to Interpol—the International Police. But there is only so much, at this point, that they can do. Then the Embassy. Then to a man I know and trust in the police here. But for Poly’s sake nothing must be done wildly or without thought. Don’t be worried if I’m not back immediately.”

  Adam nodded numbly, taking courage from the fact that there was not a hint of a suggestion that Poly might not be found.

  When the older man had left he undressed and took a long, hot bath, followed by a shower, as though to wash off the evil aura of the steward and stewardess who had tried to make him believe that Poly didn’t exist. He put on his pajamas, turned down one of the twin beds, and got in. The telephone, a rather old-fashioned instrument, stood, silent, on the table between the beds. Adam looked at it, felt his eyelids sag. He had thought, while bathing, that he was much too upset to be able to sleep, but the moment his head touched the pillow his exhausted body took over and he blanked out.

  He did not know how long he had been lost in sleep, sleep so deep that it was dreamless, when he became aware at the edges of his consciousness of a soft but persistent tapping on the door. He had no idea where he was, his sleep-drugged body feeling that he was back in Woods Hole and that his mother was trying to rouse him to get him to Old Doc’s on time. “All right, Mother, all right, I’m up,” he mumbled irritably.

  The tapping continued.

  Finally it penetrated into Adam’s mind enough so that he knew that he must drag himself out of his stupor and do something about it. He pulled open his eyes to absolute darkness. His room at Woods Hole, many-windowed and curtainless, had always been full of light. He could not be there. Where was he? Slowly his tired mind began dredging up the events of the hours since he had first gone into the airport in New York, though it was several moments before he was able to waken sufficiently to remember that he was in Lisbon, in a hotel called the Avenida Palace, that the windows were heavily shuttered and curtained, and that this accounted for the sultry darkness. He fumbled around until he found the bedlamp and turned it on, a bulb of wattage that would be thoroughly inadequate for reading but did suffice to show him the face of his watch. It was almost four o’clock. In the morning or in the afternoon? He looked across to the other twin bed and it was empty. In this closed-in room there was no telling the hour of day or night.

  The tapping on the door persisted, never getting louder, just going on and on, like a branch in a light breeze knocking constantly against a window.

  It should have made him afraid. Alone in this dark, timeless place with someone—who?—softly trying to penetrate his consciousness and then his room, he should have been weak with terror. But he was too tired to feel anything but regret for his lost sleep.

  “Wait!” he called, shoving back the sheet, getting out of bed, crossing to the nearest window, dragging back heavy folds of curtain, opening creaking white shutters. A welcome breath of cool, damp air came in. Street lamps shone waveringly onto dark, rain-wet pavement.

  Four in the morning, then.

  He went warily to the door, put his hand on the knob, then drew back as if the door were hot, and called softly, “Who is it?”

  He half expected to hear the voice of the steward from the plane, or even Canon Tallis; but it was a girl’s light voice. “Adam, it’s Kali. Let me in.”

  Adam felt weak with relief, but just as he started to unlock the door his hand drew back again. “Just a minute.” He stood there in the dimly lit room, trying to marshal his thoughts. He was still not all the way out of sleep; his mind circled and would not focus.

  “Adam, what’s the matter?” Kali’s voice came softly, urgently.

  “Just a minute,” Adam said again. If he could have slept a little longer he would know better what to do. In spite of the urgency of the moment he could not control an enormous yawn. Finally a question that seemed reasonable came to him. “How did you know I was here?”

  “O’Keefe always stays at the Avenida Palace. Adam, let me in. I have to talk to you. We have work to do.”

  “Just a minute,” Adam said for the third time. He went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face, over and over again, until his thoughts began to clear.

  If Kali was right, then Canon Tallis was wrong.

  This was the primary fact he had to work with.

  It was not difficult for him to believe that Canon Tallis was wrong. But if Canon Tallis was wrong, then so was Dr. O’Keefe. This, too, was perfectly possible to believe. Hadn’t Dr. O’Keefe acted in a rather strange way at the Lisbon airport? Wasn’t this whole setup at the Avenida Palace peculiar? But then: if Canon Tallis and Dr. O’Keefe were wrong, then so was Polyhymnia, and right or wrong, Adam was responsible for Polyhymnia.

  He went back to the door. “Kali.”

  “I’m waiting, Adam.”

  “Why are you here, and at such an hour? It’s the middle of the night.”

  “I’m here because of you, of course. And I had to come while O’Keefe was out.”

  “How did you know he was out?”

  “I was at a party at the Embassy with daddy, and he came in.”

  “To the party?” Adam’s voice soared and cracked as though he were an eighth grader again. If Dr. O’Keefe, with Poly vanished, could go to parties, then there was no doubt on whose side Adam had to align himself.

  But Kali said, “To see someone, silly. I don’t suppose he’d even been invited to the party. Adam, I can’t help you if you keep me out here in the hall. Someone’s bound to come along.”

  “How are you planning to help me?” Adam asked.

  “Don’t you want to find the redheaded kid?”

  “Why should I need to find her?”

  “Because you know as well as I do that she’s been kidnapped. Adam, I’m not going to stand out here any longer. Either you open the door and let me in, or I go and you can just get out of this mess on your own.”

  You should answer the telephone if it rings, Dr. O’Keefe had said. But under no circumstances open the door.

  “Wait,” Adam said sharply to Kali. Never had his mind functioned at such a snail’s pace. He usually made decisions quickly; sometimes too quickly. At school he had been president of Student Council and often decisions had been forced on him, and occasionally decisions that seemed on first sight to go counter to the rules.

  ‘Rules are made for people, not people for rules,’ he had once said in defending one of his actions. ‘If you accept any position of authority you have to know when to break or circumvent a rule. It’s the knowing when that’s important.’

  But now he was in no position of authority.

  No. But one of responsibility. He was still responsible for Poly. She had been in his care when she disappeared.

  He pounded one fist into the palm of his other hand. Then he unlocked the door.

  6

  Kali came in. She was dressed for evening, and Adam drew in his breath sharply because he had forgotten how beautiful she was. Her shimmering hair was drawn softly back with a filigreed gold tiara. Her dress, of a material that Adam, being a boy, could not place, was the color of champagne. Her feet were
in gold sandals. She gave him a scowl which managed not to wrinkle her brow. “And about time, too,” she said, going over to the octagonal table and sitting in one of the easy chairs. “Now tell me everything.”

  Adam sat on the side of his rumpled bed. “You seem to know everything already.”

  Kali sighed with resignation. “I know your plane was rerouted to Madrid. I know you didn’t get to Lisbon till tonight. I saw O’Keefe come in to the Embassy and go off with the Ambassador. I happened to walk by the door of the library, looking for the ladies’ room, when O’Keefe mentioned his child. That was a lucky break, hearing that; it gave me some idea of what we’re up against and how I can help you. Get dressed and I’ll take you to daddy.”

  “To help me find Polyhymnia?”

  “Of course.”

  “But why me? Why didn’t you go right to Dr. O’Keefe?”

  Kali sighed again. “Adam, you are really very slow. It’s in O’Keefe’s own interest that the child be gone. Don’t you see he’s in on the whole thing? What we have to do is get her to daddy. Then he’ll take care of everything.”

  “Okay, I’m slow,” Adam said, “but even on not enough sleep that’s logic nohow contrariwise. Why under the sun would Dr. O’Keefe be in on the kidnapping of his own daughter?”

  Kali got up and went to the one uncurtained, unshuttered window, and stood looking out. “Adam, my sweet, you aren’t in your little backwash of a Woods Hole now, or your ivory tower of school. This is Lisbon. Lisbon.”

  “Yes,” Adam said. “I’d figured it might be.”

  “Has it never occurred to you that we do not live in one world? That there are certain nations interested in the private businesses of certain other nations? If this primary fact has never occurred to you, living in New York—and for heaven’s sake, kid, haven’t you ever even taken a tour through the UN?—it can hardly escape you in any of the capitals of Europe. Don’t you know we’re in a war, Adam? Aren’t you aware of it?”

  Adam had taken College Boards in Modern European History. But that was history.