I got rather wrapped up in it.
Well, why not? It was an idiotic game, but it was also, as the gentleman said, the only game in town. If we were going to abduct the Queen of England, the least I could do was make sure the operation went off as well as it possibly could. If nothing else, I could try to ensure her being kidnaped instead of abducted. And I might be able to have her released safely.
And, when you came right down to it, wasn’t there a certain appeal, a certain unmistakable beauty, in the notion of kidnaping Britannia’s gentle sovereign? I could have a few words with her, no doubt. Not merely about Quebec but of other things as well. Like her abdicating in favor of Prince Rupert, for example. Or her restoring the six northern counties to the Republic of Ireland. Or-
Emile was absolutely correct. It was no time to think. It was a time to plan.
When Emile and the Berton Boys left, I made a fresh pot of coffee and rummaged through Arlette’s refrigerator and cupboards. Evidently the girl had solved the problem of what to do with leftovers; she chucked them out. I eventually gave up trying to find something already prepared and began improvising a pilaff of rice and onion and raisins. Arlette didn’t have many of the right sort of spices on hand – the dish could have done with a bit of coriander – but in cookery, as in secret agentry, one must work with the materials at hand. I ate well and drank more coffee and listened to the radio. The bright, clear, early morning gave way to deadly hot midday. I sat around perspiring, bathed, dressed, and began perspiring some more.
Then Arlette came back with color in her cheeks and a glint in her eye and a spring to her step. A few hours of simple inertia had taken more out of me than she had spent running around in the sun. “Ah, my Evan,” she said, and kissed me furiously. “But such a building! Three times I went through the Cuban Pavilion. If only all our membership and sympathizers could be led through that edifice. How formidable! What an inspiration!”
“So the socialist revolution appeals to you?”
“Socialism? I spit upon socialism. But does it matter? It is not the nature of revolutionary sentiment that makes the pavilion so exciting. It is the fervor of revolution itself. How dramatically it is portrayed! How the slogans scream at one, how one can hear within one’s head the chatter of machine guns and the roar of the bombs. An inspiration, Evan.”
“When one is in a revolutionary mood, any revolution will do.”
“Precisely.” She lit a Gauloise. “It took me until my third visit to overcome the emotional impact of the pavilion. I was transported, I could barely look for whatever it was that I sought. But then the effect of the displays dissipated for me. I was able to observe dispassionately. I think-”
“Yes?”
“You are right to be suspicious of the Cubans.”
“What are they doing?”
“I do not know.”
“But they’re doing something?”
“I am sure of it.” She drew on her cigarette. “I cannot tell you why I feel so, but the feeling is undeniable. The way the guards act, the way they glance here and there, something about them. The whole” – she gestured vacantly with both hands – “the entire atmosphere, the aura of the building itself. A sense that there was more to it than met the eye or ear. I am chattering like a silly woman-”
“No. I know what you mean.”
“But I did not actually see anything. Do you understand?” She hung her head. “I have found out nothing, in truth. Oh, Evan, I am worried about the girl, the poor little thing. It is not a good place to disappear, that pavilion. I sense it, I feel it. Of all the places where one might vanish, that is the last one I personally would select.”
I turned from her and walked to the window. It opened on an alleyway. I looked at the blank wall of the building opposite. I seemed to be looking at any number of blank walls lately, I thought. I cursed the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and I cursed Canadian Immigration and Customs and I saved special curses for the immortal soul of Jerzy Pryzeshweski. Minna was out there somewhere, and I ought to be out there looking for her, and instead I was cooped up in an apartment while everything went merrily to hell around me. A hot apartment, at that. A damned hot apartment. If I wanted to spend my time doing nothing, I could have stayed in my own hot apartment in Manhattan.
“You met with Emile, Evan?”
“Yes.”
“How did the planning go?”
I gave her a quick rundown on the ambush plans, and she listened more carefully than I spoke, because her heart was in it and mine was not. When I finished, we fell into a listless silence. She took a turn looking out the window, and I went over to the bed and stretched out on it. She came to me, lay down beside me. I did not kiss her.
“My poor Evan.”
“That’s where she disappeared, there’s no question about it. At that damned showplace of the revolution.”
“Cherished one.”
“And she wasn’t lost or strayed. She was stolen. I wonder.”
“What?”
I sat up. “Well, maybe they just like to kidnap people. Maybe that’s it. It’s an ideal setup for it, I suppose. A constant stream of visitors. They can single out the ones who seem to be alone and presumably won’t be missed. But-”
“But what?”
“But why?” I said. “Hell.” I got to my feet. “If we could both go there,” I said. “No, that’s out.”
“Why both of us?”
“One in front and one at the rear. One to count everyone entering the Cuban building and the other to count everyone leaving it. If more people go in than come out-”
“I see.”
“But it would be risky. In order to come up with anything remotely conclusive, we would have to stay at our posts for hours. Even if the police weren’t after me, I don’t think I could stay in one spot for that much time without someone noticing.”
“It would be difficult,” she admitted.