| General Fiction posted December 15, 2019 | Chapters: |
...100 101 -102- 103... 
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Chapter 102: Sir Abdul Abidi
A chapter in the book The French Letter
The Peacock
by tfawcus
| Background Seconded to MI6, Charles and Helen are in Pakistan on a mission in the Hindu Kush to neutralise Abdul Jaleel Zemar (The Lion), leader of an international terrorist network. |
Last paragraphs of Chapter 101
After a while, my eyes grew heavy and the carpet rose gently into the air. It transported me through the casement window to the faerie slopes of Tirich Mir beyond. I saw a small herd of markhors grazing on the silver mountainside, unaware of a single snow leopard stalking them.
In vain, I called out, but my voice was swallowed by the night. I called again but was powerless to stop the killing. Fangs sank into soft flesh, and I woke with a scream to see blood on the crest of the mountain and a sky transforming from obsidian darkness to the dawn hues of ruby and jade.
Chapter 102
I sat up, unsure of where I was and attempted to get my bearings. A gentle tap at the door prompted me to struggle to my feet.
"Hello? Mr Brandon, are you all right?" There was the sound of low voices out in the corridor.
"Who's there?"
"It's me, sir. Khalid, the desk clerk."
"Just a minute." I threw the duvet across the bed and sat on its edge. "Come in. What is it you want?"
A head appeared around the door. "Sorry to disturb you, Mr Brandon. The couple in the next room heard a scream. They asked me to make sure you were all right."
"Fine, thank you, Khalid. Just a nightmare. That's all. Nothing to worry about."
I went to the door, and Khalid backed away, excusing himself. A Pakistani gentleman was in the corridor in silk pyjamas and a paisley dressing gown. It glistened blue and gold, like a peacock.
I was discountenanced to see that it was the man I had passed on the stairs, and I mumbled an apology, "Sorry to have disturbed you. Just a nightmare. Nothing more."
"Oh, it's you again, Mr Brandon. I'm glad you're all right. We were worried. I can quite understand you having nightmares after what you've been through." The words hung in the air as he closed the door to his room with a gentle click.
Now thoroughly awake, I racked my brains, stretching them to the point of torture, but still could not place the man. Nor could I imagine how he knew 'what I'd been through'.
By the time I went down for breakfast, I felt like a wreck, both from lack of sleep and from worry about this strange encounter. Bisto and Kayla were there ahead of me, sitting at a table on the veranda. Bisto was digging into a large slice of pawpaw, seemingly without a care in the world, while Kayla stared out over the valley, holding a mug of coffee between her hands. Coffee seemed like an excellent idea to me.
Bisto glanced up as I approached. "'Morning, Charles. Come and join us. This pawpaw's jolly good. You should try some." He forked another wedge into his mouth.
"Better with a squeeze of lime," I said.
"Really? Trust you to know such things. I say, you look terrible. Rough night?"
"I thought I'd be saying the same about you."
"Yes, I was slightly blotto, wasn't I? Still, glad to say, I took your advice."
"What was that?" Kayla asked.
"Nothing, really." Bisto turned crimson, and Kayla burst out laughing.
"I think I know. Naughty man! You are a spoilsport, Charles. I could have done with a bit of company. It's hard going cold turkey, you know. Sorry if I overreacted yesterday evening. It's a sensitive subject."
"It's me who should be apologising. Thoughtless of me," I said.
"Let's forget it, shall we? We've more important things to talk about this morning. Our trip to Bumburet, for instance. We should make an early start, don't you think?" Her query was tinged with concern. "If you feel up to it, of course."
"Oh, I'm up to it," I said, "but there's a problem. All my papers were lost in the rockslide."
"What rockslide?" Bisto mumbled, with his mouth now full of toast and marmalade. He brushed a few crumbs away with his napkin.
I realised he and Kayla knew nothing of the events leading up to my capture by the frontier police. "It's a long story, but the nub of it is, my backpack was swept away in a minor avalanche after a freak snowstorm. I shall need to contact the High Commission in Islamabad to get a new passport and visa."
"That rules you out, then." Bisto reached for a second slice of toast. "Do you good to rest up for a few days while things are getting sorted."
"Nonsense!" Kayla said. "We'll smuggle him across in the boot. The police at the Bumburet checkpoint will never think of searching the car of an international tourist."
The idea of an hour's journey curled up in the boot of a car terrified me, but I could see no other option. I hesitated before replying with a wry smile, "Yes, that would work. If I'm not used to darkness and a confined space by now, I never will be."
"What a ridiculous idea," Bisto said. "You're in no fit state to travel and certainly not like that. No, we'll leave you behind here while we're in the Kalash Valley, and that's final."
Kayla leant across, refilling his cup with tea and sliding the marmalade across to him. "That's Charles's decision, not yours, dear. We're all in this together now."
"Kayla's right. The main thing is to find Helen. I'll not be left behind." The 'dear' didn't escape my notice. God forbid, but they were beginning to sound like a married couple.
"All right, then. If you're sure. First, though, we'll have to stop in Chitral to pick up my permit. Apparently, there's a Foreigner Registration Office next door to the police station. Kayla won't need one, of course, being a Pakistani national. She can stay in the car with you."
The mere mention of the Chitral Police Station caused me to spill coffee on the table, but I quickly composed myself. "How clumsy," I said. "Anyone would think I had the DTs."
I looked around to see if anyone else had noticed. The man in the peacock dressing gown was walking across the room towards us with his sylphlike companion. He was neatly but much less flamboyantly attired.
Bisto scrambled to his feet. "Good morning, sir. Good to see you and your dear wife again. Allow me to introduce Charles Brandon. Miss Culverson you already know. Charles, this is Sir Abdul Abidi, without whose help we'd ..."
Sir Abdul interrupted. "Mr Brandon and I have already met. On two occasions, actually." He put a possessive arm around Genevieve's shoulder. "Haven't we, my dear?"
I now realised who Sir Abdul was. The Chief Justice. I'd seen his picture hanging on a wall in the police station. So it was he who had arranged my release. Bisto smiled. "A useful chap to know. Friend of the Deputy High Commissioner. Bamforth put me on to him. Said he'd be the right person to approach."
Kayla chipped in, saying, "I'll bet that Genevieve's not his wife. I wonder what he does with her when he's back in Islamabad. It's not surprising he's short of cash. She'd be an expensive accessory."
"Now, now! Let's not be catty. The poor man deserves a bit on the side after what he's done for us." Bisto winked at me.
"You're just a pair of bloody misogynists. All men are the same. My time in Bangkok taught me that." Kayla shrugged. "Oh, well. That's life, I suppose. Come on, let's get moving. Bring a banana if you're still hungry."
After a while, my eyes grew heavy and the carpet rose gently into the air. It transported me through the casement window to the faerie slopes of Tirich Mir beyond. I saw a small herd of markhors grazing on the silver mountainside, unaware of a single snow leopard stalking them.
In vain, I called out, but my voice was swallowed by the night. I called again but was powerless to stop the killing. Fangs sank into soft flesh, and I woke with a scream to see blood on the crest of the mountain and a sky transforming from obsidian darkness to the dawn hues of ruby and jade.
Chapter 102
I sat up, unsure of where I was and attempted to get my bearings. A gentle tap at the door prompted me to struggle to my feet.
"Hello? Mr Brandon, are you all right?" There was the sound of low voices out in the corridor.
"Who's there?"
"It's me, sir. Khalid, the desk clerk."
"Just a minute." I threw the duvet across the bed and sat on its edge. "Come in. What is it you want?"
A head appeared around the door. "Sorry to disturb you, Mr Brandon. The couple in the next room heard a scream. They asked me to make sure you were all right."
"Fine, thank you, Khalid. Just a nightmare. That's all. Nothing to worry about."
I went to the door, and Khalid backed away, excusing himself. A Pakistani gentleman was in the corridor in silk pyjamas and a paisley dressing gown. It glistened blue and gold, like a peacock.
I was discountenanced to see that it was the man I had passed on the stairs, and I mumbled an apology, "Sorry to have disturbed you. Just a nightmare. Nothing more."
"Oh, it's you again, Mr Brandon. I'm glad you're all right. We were worried. I can quite understand you having nightmares after what you've been through." The words hung in the air as he closed the door to his room with a gentle click.
Now thoroughly awake, I racked my brains, stretching them to the point of torture, but still could not place the man. Nor could I imagine how he knew 'what I'd been through'.
By the time I went down for breakfast, I felt like a wreck, both from lack of sleep and from worry about this strange encounter. Bisto and Kayla were there ahead of me, sitting at a table on the veranda. Bisto was digging into a large slice of pawpaw, seemingly without a care in the world, while Kayla stared out over the valley, holding a mug of coffee between her hands. Coffee seemed like an excellent idea to me.
Bisto glanced up as I approached. "'Morning, Charles. Come and join us. This pawpaw's jolly good. You should try some." He forked another wedge into his mouth.
"Better with a squeeze of lime," I said.
"Really? Trust you to know such things. I say, you look terrible. Rough night?"
"I thought I'd be saying the same about you."
"Yes, I was slightly blotto, wasn't I? Still, glad to say, I took your advice."
"What was that?" Kayla asked.
"Nothing, really." Bisto turned crimson, and Kayla burst out laughing.
"I think I know. Naughty man! You are a spoilsport, Charles. I could have done with a bit of company. It's hard going cold turkey, you know. Sorry if I overreacted yesterday evening. It's a sensitive subject."
"It's me who should be apologising. Thoughtless of me," I said.
"Let's forget it, shall we? We've more important things to talk about this morning. Our trip to Bumburet, for instance. We should make an early start, don't you think?" Her query was tinged with concern. "If you feel up to it, of course."
"Oh, I'm up to it," I said, "but there's a problem. All my papers were lost in the rockslide."
"What rockslide?" Bisto mumbled, with his mouth now full of toast and marmalade. He brushed a few crumbs away with his napkin.
I realised he and Kayla knew nothing of the events leading up to my capture by the frontier police. "It's a long story, but the nub of it is, my backpack was swept away in a minor avalanche after a freak snowstorm. I shall need to contact the High Commission in Islamabad to get a new passport and visa."
"That rules you out, then." Bisto reached for a second slice of toast. "Do you good to rest up for a few days while things are getting sorted."
"Nonsense!" Kayla said. "We'll smuggle him across in the boot. The police at the Bumburet checkpoint will never think of searching the car of an international tourist."
The idea of an hour's journey curled up in the boot of a car terrified me, but I could see no other option. I hesitated before replying with a wry smile, "Yes, that would work. If I'm not used to darkness and a confined space by now, I never will be."
"What a ridiculous idea," Bisto said. "You're in no fit state to travel and certainly not like that. No, we'll leave you behind here while we're in the Kalash Valley, and that's final."
Kayla leant across, refilling his cup with tea and sliding the marmalade across to him. "That's Charles's decision, not yours, dear. We're all in this together now."
"Kayla's right. The main thing is to find Helen. I'll not be left behind." The 'dear' didn't escape my notice. God forbid, but they were beginning to sound like a married couple.
"All right, then. If you're sure. First, though, we'll have to stop in Chitral to pick up my permit. Apparently, there's a Foreigner Registration Office next door to the police station. Kayla won't need one, of course, being a Pakistani national. She can stay in the car with you."
The mere mention of the Chitral Police Station caused me to spill coffee on the table, but I quickly composed myself. "How clumsy," I said. "Anyone would think I had the DTs."
I looked around to see if anyone else had noticed. The man in the peacock dressing gown was walking across the room towards us with his sylphlike companion. He was neatly but much less flamboyantly attired.
Bisto scrambled to his feet. "Good morning, sir. Good to see you and your dear wife again. Allow me to introduce Charles Brandon. Miss Culverson you already know. Charles, this is Sir Abdul Abidi, without whose help we'd ..."
Sir Abdul interrupted. "Mr Brandon and I have already met. On two occasions, actually." He put a possessive arm around Genevieve's shoulder. "Haven't we, my dear?"
Genevieve pulled away from her husband, brushing her shoulder with a manicured hand, and said, "I do hope you're feeling better now, Mr Brandon. You gave us quite a fright, you know. Nightmares can be very real, can't they? Come, Abdul, dear. It's chilly out here. I think we shall breakfast inside."
Kayla chipped in, saying, "I'll bet that Genevieve's not his wife. I wonder what he does with her when he's back in Islamabad. It's not surprising he's short of cash. She'd be an expensive accessory."
"Now, now! Let's not be catty. The poor man deserves a bit on the side after what he's done for us." Bisto winked at me.
"You're just a pair of bloody misogynists. All men are the same. My time in Bangkok taught me that." Kayla shrugged. "Oh, well. That's life, I suppose. Come on, let's get moving. Bring a banana if you're still hungry."
 Recognized |
List of Characters
Charles Brandon - the narrator, a well-known travel writer.
Rasheed - a taxi driver in Lahore, radicalised by ISIS
Abdul - a taxi driver in Islamabad, working undercover for the British High Commission
Hassim - a tour operator
Ash - a French liaison officer attached to the British High Commission in Islamabad. Also a member of the French anti-drug squad (la Brigade des stupefiants), whose operations are directed by Jeanne Durand.
Montague (Monty) - a member of staff at the British High Commission in Islamabad.
Sir Robert - the Deputy High Commissioner at the British High Commission in Islamabad (a personal friend and confidante of Group Captain David Bamforth, the British Air Attache in Paris)
Tariq Habeeb - the Senior Superintendent of Police in Chitral
Abdul Jaleel Zemar (The Lion) - Coordinator of an international network of ISIS cells
Helen Culverson - a woman of increasing mystery
Kayla Culverson - her older sister, who disappeared somewhere in Bangkok and has surfaced again in Paris.
Group Captain Bamforth (alias Sir David Brockenhurst) - an intelligence officer with MI6 and Air Attache in Paris
Madame Jeanne Durand - a French magazine editor and undercover agent with the French Drug Squad.
Madame Madeleine Bisset - Helen's landlady in Paris
Mr Bukhari - a Pakistani businessman (now deceased)
Ian 'Bisto' Kidman - an ex-RAF friend of Charles's.
Monsieur Bellini - a denizen of the French Underworld.
Andre (aka Scaramouche) - an actor in Montmartre and friend of Kayla's
Dr Laurent - a veterinary surgeon in Versailles.
Father Pierre Lacroix - vicar of the Versailles Notre Dame church.
Madame Lefauvre - an old woman living in Versailles - the town gossip.
Alain Gaudin - brother of Francoise, a gardener at Monet's house in Giverney
Francoise Gaudin - Alain's intellectually disabled sister.
Estelle Gaudin [deceased] - mother of Francoise and Alain, a prostitute
Mademoiselle Suzanne Gaudin [deceased] - Alain's grandmother, to whom the mysterious 'French letter' of 1903 was addressed.
Jack and Nancy Wilkins - a Wiltshire dairy farmer and his wife.
Gaston Arnoux - Owner of an art gallery in Paris. A triple agent, who infiltrated the ISIS network in France and fed information to MI6, but who is now providing information to Abdul Jaleel Zemar (The Lion).
Colonel Neville Arnoux [deceased] - Gaston's grandfather. Author of the infamous letter of 1903
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Charles Brandon - the narrator, a well-known travel writer.
Rasheed - a taxi driver in Lahore, radicalised by ISIS
Abdul - a taxi driver in Islamabad, working undercover for the British High Commission
Hassim - a tour operator
Ash - a French liaison officer attached to the British High Commission in Islamabad. Also a member of the French anti-drug squad (la Brigade des stupefiants), whose operations are directed by Jeanne Durand.
Montague (Monty) - a member of staff at the British High Commission in Islamabad.
Sir Robert - the Deputy High Commissioner at the British High Commission in Islamabad (a personal friend and confidante of Group Captain David Bamforth, the British Air Attache in Paris)
Tariq Habeeb - the Senior Superintendent of Police in Chitral
Abdul Jaleel Zemar (The Lion) - Coordinator of an international network of ISIS cells
Helen Culverson - a woman of increasing mystery
Kayla Culverson - her older sister, who disappeared somewhere in Bangkok and has surfaced again in Paris.
Group Captain Bamforth (alias Sir David Brockenhurst) - an intelligence officer with MI6 and Air Attache in Paris
Madame Jeanne Durand - a French magazine editor and undercover agent with the French Drug Squad.
Madame Madeleine Bisset - Helen's landlady in Paris
Mr Bukhari - a Pakistani businessman (now deceased)
Ian 'Bisto' Kidman - an ex-RAF friend of Charles's.
Monsieur Bellini - a denizen of the French Underworld.
Andre (aka Scaramouche) - an actor in Montmartre and friend of Kayla's
Dr Laurent - a veterinary surgeon in Versailles.
Father Pierre Lacroix - vicar of the Versailles Notre Dame church.
Madame Lefauvre - an old woman living in Versailles - the town gossip.
Alain Gaudin - brother of Francoise, a gardener at Monet's house in Giverney
Francoise Gaudin - Alain's intellectually disabled sister.
Estelle Gaudin [deceased] - mother of Francoise and Alain, a prostitute
Mademoiselle Suzanne Gaudin [deceased] - Alain's grandmother, to whom the mysterious 'French letter' of 1903 was addressed.
Jack and Nancy Wilkins - a Wiltshire dairy farmer and his wife.
Gaston Arnoux - Owner of an art gallery in Paris. A triple agent, who infiltrated the ISIS network in France and fed information to MI6, but who is now providing information to Abdul Jaleel Zemar (The Lion).
Colonel Neville Arnoux [deceased] - Gaston's grandfather. Author of the infamous letter of 1903
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