Mehr lesen
Informationen zum Autor Dorothy Gilman Klappentext NATIONAL BESTSELLER • "Mrs. Pollifax gives Agatha Christie's Miss Marple a rival to reckon with."-The Toronto Star After facing down hijackers on a flight to the Middle East and saving the lives of the passengers on board, a young American woman steps off the plane in Damascus in a blaze of celebrity and disappears. The CIA believes Amanda Pym was kidnapped, possibly murdered. Masquerading as Amanda Pym's worried aunt, Mrs. Pollifax begins her determined search, slipping through Damascus's crooked streets and crowded souks . . . and trekking deep into the desert. Yet she is shadowed by deadly enemies, whose sinister agenda threatens not only Mrs. P. but the fragile stability of the entire Middle East. Only a miracle-or a brilliant counterplot-can forestall a disaster that will send shock waves around the world. "Ms. Gilman has a nice, relaxed style and an easygoing way of telling a story."-The New York Times Book Review Leseprobe Mrs. Pollifax was feeling bored and rather left out of life. Cyrus had re-cently accepted an invitation to teach law three days a week at the university; he was hugely enjoying it. "Damned good to feel so useful again," he'd admitted, and she was glad for him. She, however, was not feeling particularly useful. She reminded herself that she was still growing prizewinning geraniums, was in excel-lent health, hoped soon to earn her black belt in karate, and remained a faithful member of the Save Our Environment club. But . . . How spoiled I am, she thought. For a woman of what was delicately referred to as "of a certain age" she ought to feel fortunate indeed, and yet . . . She realized that she was absentmindedly scratching her left arm from which, not long ago, a bullet had been removed in a Bedouin tent by a man named Bushaq, and she concluded that what she was experiencing was letdown. The price one pays, she thought sadly, for venturing out into dangerous worlds for Carstairs and the CIA, only to return to errands at the grocery store and bank, cooking and cleaning, mulch-ing her garden for the winter, and pampering her geraniums. Across the breakfast table from her, almost hidden behind his newspaper, Cyrus glanced up and saw the gesture toward her arm. "Still hurting?" he asked. "Do wish you'd let Dr. Orton have a look at that." He hesitated, and then, "Damn good to have you safe at home again, Em," and as he said this the telephone rang. He put down his cup of coffee, reached across his briefcase and newspaper, and when he answered it she saw his face change. Handing the phone to her he said, "It's Bishop." "Oh," she said, startled, and concealing her reaction she kept her voice casual. "Bishop, how good to hear from you, are you well?" Bishop, however, was not interested in polite conversation. He said bluntly, "Have any important plans for this day?" "No," she said, honestly enough. "A car will pick you up in forty minutes at your house," he said. "Carstairs wants to talk with you. Oh, and you might bring your pass-port with you, just in case." And he hung up. "Emily," said her husband warningly. "He just wants to talk with me," she told him. "Hard to believe," growled Cyrus. "You haven't even been home long enough for that arm to heal." "It's healed," she told him. "It just itches." He gave her a rueful smile. "I know, I know--I promised never to interfere, but still I don't like the sound of that call." With a glance at the clock on the wall he added, "And now I've got to go or I'll miss my first class, but Em--nothing dangerous, promise?" He knew, of course, that anything Carstairs might have in mind could be dangerous; after a...
