The Search for Yaser Abdel Said (Part 54)

CHAPTER 54:

TANTUM ERGO

“Tantum ergo, Sacramentum, Veneremur cernui,” mumbled Piffy, his voice barely audible over the roar of the fans. He couldn’t remember the rest of the words to the Pange Lingua so he mumbled the same ones over and over again as he stared in growing horror at the Sheikh and his immensity. Where in the hell was the Sheikh going to put that damn thing?

Oh, God, oh, God, please let me move…please let me get the gun from under the mattress…I will learn my catechism…I will be a good altar boy…Don’t let him stick me with that thing…Please, God, please…

The Sheikh, with one hand on his immensity, leered at the child. Yes, it was like he had expected it would be! He would immerse himself in her juices; he would be young again! He dropped to his knees between the ten-year-olds legs.

He heard a faint scream. He frowned. It wasn’t coming from the child. But it was irritating—he wanted everything to be perfect. He glanced over his shoulder. The sound was coming from the beach house. Perhaps Aisha had got loose. Yes, that was it.

He stood up, teetered on the edge of the bed. My! What bouncy-bouncy springs! He could easily be upset. He turned away from Piffy. The wind from the fan was blowing straight and hard into his face. He had better be careful. The screaming had stopped.

He was turning back to the ten-year-old, to the greatest conquest of his life when the victim-to-be raised a feeble foot and with a last “Tantum ergo” drove it into the Sheikh’s butt!

It wasn’t much but it was enough. Al-Kabibble lost his balance. He teetered precariously on the edge of the bed for a moment and then fell straight into the fan and just as the driver had warned the wires that shielded the blades of the enormous breeze maker from accidental contact with those who might otherwise stick their fingers between the rotating blades gave way and the Sheikh plunged his immensity into a vortex of whirling steel that even the mighty Hercules could not have withstood!

Al-Kabibble screamed…and screamed…and screamed…

Piffy lay back on the bed. He wasn’t sure what had happened. The Sheikh was gone and he had to go to the bathroom but he couldn’t get up. If he wet himself Aisha would be sure to make fun of him. And he was getting sleepy again…very sleepy…

And then Bonds—Stockton Bonds was in the room and Aisha was right behind him. Bonds was no longer the Agent Six-and-seven-eights of Moonraker or The Island of Dr. No, but he was still spry. He could have done a hoe down with Jed and Elli Mae in the Clampett vestibule without working up a sweat and now he sprung into action.

He pulled al-Kabibble away from the fan, shook his head grimly at the damage done to the Sheikh’s immensity and unplugged the fan. He laid the blubbering wretch on the floor, pulled a WWII combat first-aid pack from his pocket and went to work. He gave al-Kabibble a tetanus shot and somehow or other in a matter of seconds stopped the bleeding. He was after all, Bonds—Stockton Bonds.

Aisha was on the bed beside Piffy. “Bernie? Bernie?” she cried. She shook him vigorously. “Are you okay?”

Piffy opened his eyes. “Tantum ergo Sacramentum,” he mumbled.

She shook him again. “Wake up! Wake up!” she cried.

“I’m so sleepy,” whispered Piffy. He looked around. “I got to go to the bathroom…what happened to the Sheikh? Where’s Fatima? Have you seen puppy dog?”

Bonds checked the Sheikh’s vital signs. The wretch was alive but unconscious. “We got to get this man to a hospital,” he said. “These do-it-yourself sex-change operations can be a nasty business.”

“He was trying to rape Bernie!” cried Aisha.

Piffy had enough strength to pinch Aisha. “It’s Krista…Krista,” he mumbled.

“Yeah…Krista,” she said.

If Bonds was aware of Aisha’s slip of the lip he gave no sign of it. He was staring at what was left of his WWII web-belt first-aid pack. “I suppose Her Majesty will charge me for this damn thing,” he mumbled. “I had to sign for it three times! Damn Socialist budget cuts! A million pounds for tribute and not a tuppence for defense! This wasn’t the way Maggie Thatcher did things. I wish we had a Tea Party in England!”

It took some coaxing but with Aisha’s help Piffy was able to sit up. The first thing he did was to tug his skirt over his knees. He was beginning to learn—no more free shows. But he was still woozy.

Aisha kissed him on the cheek. The middle-aged mind in the ten-year-old body was thrilled! What a sweet little girl! If he weren’t so old…then he remembered who he was and where he was and he fell back on the bed. He was exhausted…drained.

Bonds tucked the remains of his WWII first-aid kit in his pocket and went over to the bed. He looked down at the ten-year-old. “Is she okay?” he asked. If al-Kabibble had harmed his little Honey Rider he would run what was left of the wretch’s immensity through a meat-grinder!

“The Sheikh poisoned him!” wailed Aisha.

“Poisoned her?” said Bonds. “With what?”

“With Jihad Cola!” cried Aisha.

Bonds frowned. “With Jihad Cola?” he said. “Are you sure it was Jihad Cola?”

Aisha shook her head vigorously. “Yes,” she said. “It was Jihad Cola.”

Bonds shook his head doubtfully. “I don’t know,” he said “Jihad Cola is pretty weak stuff. They make it out of rainwater strained through soiled baby diapers. Andy Capp got a hold of some by mistake and had to have his stomach pumped. I had a rum and Jihad Cola in Istanbul. There’s more water in it than there is in water. Are you sure it was Jihad Cola?”

“He put something in it!” cried Aisha.

“Do you know what?” asked Bonds.

“No” wailed Aisha.

“Tantum ergo Sacramentum,” mumbled Piffy.

“I think she’s going to be sick,” said Bonds. “Is there a sink or a toilet in this place?”

There was and with Aisha’s help Agent Six-and-seven-eights maneuvered Piffy into the bathroom. They set him on the commode and Bonds took a pill from a small plastic cylinder. While Aisha steadied her little friend Bonds managed to get the pill down the ten-year-olds throat.

“What was that?” asked Aisha.

“High octane scopolamine,” said Bonds. “I make it myself.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Aisha asked anxiously.

“Indubitably,” said Bonds.

After a couple of minutes Piffy was able to stand up. “Where am I?” he mumbled.

Bonds smiled. It was almost like Old Times. He gave the child a pat on the behind. “Well, Honey Rider,” he said. “You’ve had your first little adventure.”

The ten-year-old retched emptily.

Agent Six-and-seven-eights took Aisha by the arm. “We better leave her alone for now. She’s going to be okay but she’ll be sick to her stomach for a while.”

They went into the lounge.

“Honey Rider?” said Aisha.

Bonds smiled. “I call her Honey Rider,” he said. “She reminds me of a lady I once knew.”

“Honey Rider?” repeated Aisha.

“Your little friend is a terrible flirt,” said Bonds. “Did you know that? She will drive men crazy when she grows up.”

“Yes, she will,” said Aisha, realizing at last that she had been referring to her friend as he, but fortunately the kindly old man had not picked up on it. But he was only a chauffeur, wasn’t he—not a secret agent of some kind that could be expected to catch the slightest slip of the lip.

Bonds fixed a drink at the bar. “Al-Kabibble must have become infatuated with our little friend,” he mused. “Which reminds me—we’ve got to get the bloody old fool to a hospital.” He eyed Aisha. “Do you know how to drive this vehicle?”

“No,” said Aisha. “I’m only ten years old.”

“Too bad,” said Bonds. “Did anybody ever tell you, you looked like Tatiana Romanova?’

“Who?” said Aisha. She had never heard of Tatiana Romanova.

Agent Six-and-seven-eights smiled. “Well, seeing as how you don’t know how to drive this thing,” he said, “I suppose I’ll have to do it myself and my license expired in ’98. You don’t happen to have one I can borrow do you?”

“No,” said Aisha.

Bonds took a sip of his drink. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, “we’ll get the other girls in here and I’ll see if I can find some directions on how to start this thing. I hope it doesn’t have a crank. I don’t like cranks. One of them flew out of my hand one time and landed in the Thames—I was ticketed for polluting. Or was it the Mersey? I get those two mixed up. If I can get this thing started we’ll take the Sheikh to the nearest hospital so he can get some competent medical attention. How does that sound?”

It must have sounded good to Aisha—she was mesmerized.

They got the girls into the Midnight Rider without any major incidents and then Bonds went around to the front of the vehicle. He climbed into the front seat and picked up his cell phone. He called M—or was it O? No, it was M.

“Look M,” he said. “When I took this assignment I expected to be thrown in amongst grown women. You’ve stuck me with a bunch of little girls! They’re sweet and all that, but, Good Heavens, they’re little girls! I have half a notion to bring you up on breach of contract. One of them doesn’t even know who Tatiana Romanova was!”

Piffy must have spent at least fifteen minutes in the bathroom. He would sit on the commode for a while and then get up to vomit and then he would sit down again. Eventually, like the little boy in Abe Lincoln’s joke, he got down to the raisins. Whatever it was that Bonds had given him, it had done the trick.

He looked in the mirror. He was a fright. He was still woozy and a little weak in the knees but his mind had cleared considerably and he could turn around without losing his balance. He filled a paper cup with water and gargled; he stuck a finger down his throat—nothing. His stomach was on empty—at least he thought it was. He gargled again. He was ready to face the world.

He stepped out of the bathroom and Hanadi hit him so hard across the face he was knocked halfway across the lounge and against the bar!

Oh, my God, somebody had set the Sheikh’s jilted child-bride free!

He shook his head. His eyes were out of focus. He saw two Hanadi Hamzas and each had something in her hand that looked like a knife! No fair! In his present condition he wouldn’t have been able to defend himself against a three-year-old wielding a pair of cardboard scissors!

He sat up as she came at him and then all at once he begin to vomit! Good grief! He wasn’t down to the raisins yet!

He had survived the Sheikh’s Immensity for what—for this? He grabbed at her legs. “Tantum ergo…” he croaked. That was as far as he got.