"Not until you tell me who you are," she countered, "trusted as you must be to pa.s.s along news to certain rug merchants."

He shook his head. "Actually I've never met him, it's Abdul I meet. Someone has to drive to Damascus twice a month to pick up supplies we can't get in Tadmor, and it's an a.s.signment I've asked for, so twice a month -on the same day-I lunch at the Al-Arabi restaurant where Abdul is stationed outside selling baskets or whatever, and we pretend to haggle over a sale. We've become friends, and he trusts me, but he's said only that his father sells rugs in the souk. Since just about every fourth merchant in the souk sells carpets-"

She interrupted him to say, "You're still not telling me who you are."

He said quietly, "Not CIA , if that's what you're thinking. I suspect you are, but I'm not."

"But you must have some connection -to pa.s.s along news."

"Very slight," he said, and when she looked at him skeptically, "It began when I was a graduate student -in ancient history at the university-and was paid a very small stipend for my teaching stint, I can a.s.sure you. When Dr. Robinson accepted me three summers ago-a real honor to be chosen out of so many applicants, even though there's no money in it-I couldn't afford even the plane fare to Syria . My cousin- he has a desk job at the CIA -said he thought he could scrounge up some money for airfare if I .. ." He smiled wryly. "If I would pa.s.s along any local news: mood of the workers, droughts, diseases, rumors, all vague and sounding innocent. Anyway, I was greedy for the job and frankly thought my cousin was just being kind, but my airfares have continued to be paid for very mysteriously. You're the first indication that any of my feeble reports -mostly agricultural-have ever mattered. Does that satisfy you?"

"So you've been here for three summers, then?"

He nodded. "This is my last one, though, because I've finally landed a good, very good job teaching Arabic and Arab history beginning in February. Now it's your turn. What's it all about, you being here? To have come so far -d.a.m.n risky, too."

"Fair exchange," she said. "It's due to a young American woman who was -" She stopped and began again. "Six weeks ago-seven by now-a plane was hijacked and landed at the airport in Damascus , and thanks to this young woman the lives of over two hundred pa.s.sengers were saved. She was quite a heroine, interviewed in the airport on television, and then in plain view of the camera she got into what is believed the wrong car waiting outside, and hasn't been seen since. In a word, kidnapped. Surely you heard something of this?"

He shook his head. "My radio ran out of batteries in August and we mostly get static anyway. I seem to remember Barney saying something about a hijacking but that was weeks ago, and if that's why you're here I don't see what you can do."

"Find her, of course," said Mrs. Pollifax. "If she's still alive. The emba.s.sy thinks she's dead, but if Bazir Mamoul overheard an American girl talking in the desert somewhere I'm here to learn where. I want to find him." She added crisply, "I'll need a guide, and a Land Rover, or a camel or whatever transportation is available out here."

He said in astonishment, "You expect to find Bazir Mamoul just like that -and by yourself? This is a very big desert."

"If he herds sheep," she pointed out tartly, "then he can be found where there's grazing. That's a start, isn't it?"

"You know deserts?" he said, surprised.

She smiled. "A little, yes. I've money, rather a lot of it. I can pay any guide very well who can help me find Bazir Mamoul."

"You're nuts -crazy."

"Of course," she told him cheerfully, "but what I need from you is advice, not comments on my sanity. Can you help? At least until Farrell -" She stopped, not wanting to think of what he must be enduring. It's up to me now, up to me, she repeated silently, bracing herself.

He was scowling at her words, looking owlish with his tousled hair, gla.s.ses and boyish face. "We have one Land Rover here," he said, "and Dr. Robinson would never agree to loaning it. One of the workmen -Argub-brought two of his camels with him, but. .."

"Then I'll go on a camel," she told him. "American tourist who's lost her tour group."

His frown deepened. "Of course he might loan the Land Rover during one of our noon siestas, but .. ." He shook his head. "Not today, though. It would need .. , well, negotiating. And meeting you."

"Then let's go to breakfast and have me introduced," she told him. "There's also Barney with his shortwave radio; the emba.s.sy should be opening in an hour or two. You'll ask him to try to get through about Farrell? John Sebastian Farrell."

Joe said wryly, "I think I liked you better last night before I learned all this." He grinned. "So come along, Aunt, and meet everyone and see what we're doing here."

By daylight Mrs. Pollifax had a very different view of the encampment; in the darkness she'd not seen the excavations, their many levels meticulously marked off by rods, nor the long stretch of open, canvas-shaded worktables extending out from the one adobe building that was the field office.

Joe said, "The caravan route between the Euphrates and Damascus ran through here. What we've found is either an Umayyad khan -inn, or caravansary-you can see two of the vaulted arches we've uncovered-or possibly a military outpost. ... After all, the Qasr al-Hirt is only about thirty miles from here. Good morning, everyone," he said as they reached the long dining tent. "Look who's arrived last evening-my Aunt Emily Pollifax, removing herself from a guided tour to say h.e.l.lo. Dr. Robinson ..."

The man at the head of the table politely rose, looking startled: tall, spare, with a short gray beard, his face shadowed by a wide-brimmed hat. He said doubtfully, "Yes er that is, welcome."

Following this, names were flung at her: Barney from Brooklyn -she took special note of him-Fritz from Austria; Amy Madison, whose tent she'd almost shared last night; Julie and Curtis Lowell from California; Awwad; their Syrian archaeologist; and Branmin, supervisor of the workmen. At the second table sat the workers: Argub-with two camels, she remembered; Mustafa-she noted him especially, too-Fayah, Ali, Hamed, Ha.s.san, Mahmud .., the remainder blurred.

Room was made for her at the table next to Dr. Robinson and she at once began to artfully overwhelm him with conversation: how she wanted to learn everything about the Umayyads that her nephew researched, how she longed to see more of the desert, and while she waited for her cousin, delayed in Tadmor, would Dr. Robinson possibly allow her to help in the work so long as she didn't get in the way?

Across the table Joe listened to her with amus.e.m.e.nt; The witch., he thought, she's certainly determined to get that Land Rover. Her offer to help was masterful, too, since three of their party had left early: his bunkmate and Amy's, due to university commitments, and Cecil Burton for a family emergency, leaving them definitely shorthanded.

With breakfast finished Or. Robinson excused himself and Mrs. Pollifax caught Joe's eye and said, "Barney, please?"

"Ah yes, Barney," he said. "Good man, Barney, ex-wrestler, ex-army." He called him over, saying, "My aunt has a question to ask you."

She liked Barney at once, older than Joe, a friendly bear of a man with broad shoulders, a battered nose and a cheerful face, the sort of brash New Yorker with whom she was familiar, and she shook his huge hand.

He grinned. "We a.s.sumed all of Joe's relatives would be Umayyads. What can 1 do for you?"

"Could you get a message through to Damascus on your shortwave radio? To the emba.s.sy, for instance?"

" Damascus !" he exclaimed. "h.e.l.l no -if you'll excuse the language."

"Why?" asked Joe. "Weather?"

He shook his head. "Not enough power. What we have here is really a ham radio, its frequencies are in the middle-range band -enough to reach 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 emba.s.sy 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 emba.s.sy will know where we are. Or where / am. You see, we had a Tuesday morning appointment at the emba.s.sy for the amba.s.sador 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 Pica.s.so 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 a.s.semble bits and pieces or ceramics like a jigsaw. She was shown the interior of the held office building, where found objects were stored and locked up each night: a veritable treasure house of ceramics whose fragments had been successfully a.s.sembled by Amy and sh.e.l.lacked; 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 compa.s.s-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 fervent desire to hug you but I won't embarra.s.s you. You're really offering help."

"No," he said, "just a ride into the desert to show you what you're up against."

She said gravely, "I'll accept that. Until tomorrow noon , then."

7.

She bunked that night with Amy Madison, a woman whom Joe had described as a tough old bird, but Mrs. Pollifax liked her. She was a faded blonde in her fifties, gruff voiced, carelessly dressed, a native of Australia and author of a book on the Umayyads, and she was not at all interested in small talk, which Mrs. Pollifax found restful after her tiring attempt to seduce Dr. Robinson into loaning his Land Rover, and a long day of work in the desert heat. She was even able to endure another morning, this time helping Julie Lowell make falafel, bean cake stuffed in bread and garnished with tahini sauce, but she watched the sun climb higher in a sky white with heat and waited patiently for the midday siesta.

When Joe drove the Land Rover up to Amy's tent the workmen were lounging in the shade and smoking cigarettes, but the site was otherwise emptied. "So," he said, smiling. "Off we go!"

As she climbed in beside him he unfurled a map. "I've been studying this," he said. "It's hard to know where not to go. If we head directly south away from the highway and from the digs it could be tricky."

"Why?"

He said uneasily, "Because there are said to be a few military camps in the south. One of the rumors," he added dryly, "that I pa.s.sed along, no doubt already known by your own people, if true. And we don't want to head west, there's a well-known military post at Khabajeb, about twenty miles from here."

"How do you know that7." she asked.

"It's a very poor country. From time to time there've been a few things stolen that we'd report. Food mostly, or tins of kerosene. Everything of value we keep locked up and guarded."

Peering at the map she asked, "What is that long name in capitals?"

"Badiet esh-Sham -Arabic for the Syrian Desert . We have only two hours," he reminded her. "What I suggest is that we drive for one hour, not south but to the southeast, then make a turn and drive straight west, and, after scouting that, head back north to our camp. That should cover a fair number of miles and bring us back in time. Agreed?"

"Agreed," she said. "Sounds most efficient."

He started the engine and they drove out of camp past the field office and the privies, and soon there was nothing but flat and empty earth except for the shape of a mountain far away to the north and hazy from heat. Mrs. Pollifax had already learned that deserts were more often fashioned of grit and pebble, and only seldom the golden sweep of windblown sands shown in ads and in the movies, and she automatically braced herself for a rough drive.

"It's like a moonscape, isn't it," she said. "Is there the slightest possibility of finding sheep -or Bazir Mamoul-in this direction?"

"I've never been this way before but I'm afraid it's doubtful. Along the highway that brought you here, running from Tad mor to Deir Ez Zor, one sees flocks of sheep. They stop traffic when they cross the road, and we can try that direction another time -Dr. Robinson willing-but if this shepherd saw this girl you speak of, it had to have been well away from highways and villages, and his stopping at our camp for water suggests he'd been looking for his lost sheep on this side of the highway."

Mrs. Pollifax nodded.

"Who is this girl, anyway?" he asked. "Other than her name, I mean. Amanda, you said?"

"Amanda Pym. Not much known about her except that she came from a small town in Pennsylvania , both parents dead, one of them recently. We couldn't risk bringing photos of her. A rather plain young woman, twenty-three or -four, and looking -to be frank about it-rather dowdy."

There was no further conversation; the Land Rover had been stripped to essentials, and although it was topped by canvas to shade its pa.s.sengers there was no windshield, and an occasional stirring of air sent dust back into their faces. They had been driving for perhaps half an hour when the earth ahead of them began to rise, the pebbles grew larger and they b.u.mped up and down over holes and hillocks.

"Are the tires sound?" Mrs. Pollifax inquired rather anxiously, thinking it time to speak. "I mean, if a tire goes flat have you a - oh, look!" she cried, pointing to a patch of green.

They stopped and left the car to look, and, "Sheep have been here, yes," said Joe, picking up a handful of dried dung.

"But not recently," she said. "Not much gra.s.s left."

"No, they cleaned out the best of it and it hasn't rained since. By George," he said, turning to her, "I'm beginning to feel like a detective."

She smiled at him. "Welcome! Shall we go on? We've thirty minutes left before turning west."

They continued more slowly, looking for other patches of green. As they approached a more impressive rise in the ground Mrs. Pollifax said suddenly, "There's something on that hill, Joe, it looks like a sign. See it?"

"And a wire fence," he added, and driving closer he braked. Peering ahead he said, "Can't see what it says, my gla.s.ses are foggy."

"It's in Arabic, isn't it?"

They left the Land Rover to walk closer.

"Oh dear," said Mrs. Pollifax. "Not all in Arabic." Underneath the musical scrawls of Arabic there was a line in French and then in English that read, OFF-LIMITS, KEEP OUT.

They looked at each other with interest, and Mrs. Pollifax said, "You could wait in the Land Rover."

"Of course not," he said crossly. "Can you crawl?"

She nodded. "I can crawl, yes."

Side by side they crept to the top of the hill and peered over it. "Tents," she whispered.

"Not Bedouin," Joe said grimly. "Bedouin tents are black goat hair; those are army tents."

"Not necessarily," she whispered back. "You have the same khaki tents at your camp, but there are only four here and two long ones."

"Mercifully at a distance from us," Joe pointed out, "and not a single human being in sight. It's deserted -abandoned."

Mrs. Pollifax a.s.sessed the camp with a critical eye, noting how the hill surrounding the camp looked man-made, surely not at all natural, since it appeared to embrace the tents like a large horseshoe, making the site resemble an amphitheater. There were shrubs growing here and there, and several stunted trees, and in places the gra.s.s grew knee-high. It was hot, the sky a cloudless blue and empty, until a hawk or kite in the distance interrupted the silent and lifeless scene. "Did you happen to bring binoculars?" she asked.

"Good grief, yes," he said, "I'll go back to the car. I brought the usual gallon of water, some bread and the map and I think the binoculars are in the knapsack. I'll fetch them."

When he returned he handed them to her. "What are you looking for?"

"I thought something moved," she told him.

"Moved? In this empty place?"