Karim, as if he recognized exactly what he was thinking, taunted, "Why don't you cry out? They say it helps. I will have you begging for me to stop before I am finished with you, my friend. And I think you know that, don't you?"
He tried to detach his mind . . . they said women could stand more pain than men could. Childbirth, the Resistance heroines of World War II. And this had all been planned, because Harris and his friends weren't exactly stupid. He should have guessed, should have ...
Christ! How long before he did break? Was that what they were all waiting for? No escape-no exit until Pleydel yelled, "Cut," and that would probably be a long time coming.
Pain had limits-didn't it? He could feel the involuntary jerking of his body and tasted blood in his mouth, smelled blood-his own-in the humid air that seemed to clog his nostrils, making breathing difficult.
"You're more stubborn than we'd thought you might be, but soon .. ." Karim sounded out of breath.
Tongues of liquid fire overlapped each other, and there was a red fog of smoky agony in Webb's brain, almost dulling it, but not quite.
"Fuck you! I'm going to kill you, you bastard. With my hands . . ." Each word was a rasping torture that had to be forced out of his throat. Cling to the thought that it had to end-sometime. Because he couldn't take much more ...
It wasn't real, of course. Somehow, this was all being faked. Special effects ... But Anne could not help shuddering everytime she heard the whip crack against bared flesh, every time she saw the look of concentrated enjoyment on Karim's face, with the sweat trickling down it now. The same look he had worn when ... God! Either she was crazy or everyone else was.
Acting ... we're all supposed to be acting. Metronome thought in her mind. But how did they fake the blood?
She looked desperately at Yves, who kept squinting through his viewfinder. Took an involuntary step forward, to be stopped by a hand, gripping her arm.
"What-aren't you deriving some satisfaction from what you are witnessing, daughter?
You should be smiling, but your face has gone quite pale. I am revenging all the brutalities this man inflicted on you while you were his-unwilling hostage. You were quite unwilling, were you not?"
Anne felt dizzy-the flickering torches on the wall and the blood-red sunset gave the effect of hell. The script-something in the script-but her legs didn't belong to her any more than the heavy long skirts Glory had to wear. It was like being suddenly trapped in a fog bank where lights reflected back at you and every tiny sound was magnified and the most familiar places looked unfamiliar and strange, and even time seemed to be suspended.
"No." The first time the word only echoed in her mind, hanging in silence while Karim's arm kept rising and falling like a pendulum that didn't tick, and nothing else moved and no one did anything.
"No!" This time she screamed it out loud, wrenching her arm free as she began to run. "Stop it-tell them to stop, do you hear? Has everyone gone insane? Can't you see that it's realit's real?"
"Gloriana!" She heard a voice thunder after her, but she wouldn't stop. She stumbled over her skirts and kilted them up with one hand; not pausing, even when she heard the swell of murmuring voices all around her, or when Karim turned to meet her, an ugly smile curling his mouth.
"You want to see what good work I do close up?"
He stood in her way, and she felt her face contort as she hit him as hard as she could-all the pent-up hatred inside her behind her two fisted hands driving into his solar plexus. Something purely instinctive, learned long ago.
"You sadistic bastard!". That couldn't be her own voice, screaming the words like a virago.
And then she was up close, seeing the blood everywhere-real blood. "Webb?"
He didn't answer her, but she heard him suck breath into his lungs-a loud, rasping sound like a groan.
Webb heard the voices coming from a long way off. Anne's voice-he thought it was Anne's voice, before it was drowned out by other voices and the sound of the blood pounding in his temples.
Hate and fury kept him fighting to stay conscious, battling against giving in to pain tha t sank inexorably through his skin to paint itself on every nerve and muscle in his body. Pain he hadn't believed possible, reducing him to cringing anticipation of each fresh wave of agony while every muscle strained against what was inescapable.
"I'm afraid our friend Karim let himself be carried away. I'm sorry. You should have called out, said something. Mon Dieu, he really did a nasty piece of work . . . ah, here is the good doctor." Pleydel's voice sounded smug beneath his falsely commiserating shower of words.
Warning: We're on to you . . . Ria. Question-and-answer games.
"Goddammit, I don't need a shot .. ."
"But I'm afraid you do." Brightman's voice, sounding very professional. Pinprick of oblivion in his arm.
-They were all being very nice to her-even Carol. Although -and in spite of the turmoil of her emotions Anne found herself thinking cynically-Carol always carried a little needle even when she wore velvet gloves. Which was a strange, almost medieval tum of thought. Hadn't Carol played Lucrezia Borgia in one of her early movies?
"I'd watch out for that Karim if I were you, darling. His reactions are really quite primitive, aren't they? My God-I was like everyone else, caught up in the action .. ."
Had she been? Had Ria, who was now with Webb? PleydeI, who hadn't called a halt until the last minute? Anne didn't quite understand her own reactions, and she hadn't had time yet to sort things out in her mind.
Why had it happened? Why had everyone let it happen? There was a tap on the door, and Anne twisted around to see Harris, wearing a worried frown.
"Anne? Carol seemed to think .. ."
"Why? You knew, didn't you? You all knew ..."
At least he didn't make excuses as the others had. He closed the door behind him, looking at her searchingly before he nodded shortly.
"Yes, of course. And you're not used to violence, are you? But violence is sometimes the only answer-the only message that is clearly understood by those who live by that particular code."
She gripped the edge of the dresser with both hands behind her back. "You're always warning me, Harris. I think I partly understand why. I remember when Craig, of all people, tried to-to warn me, too. In London. I wouldn't listen then. But ... all this ..."
She swallowed hard and made herself go on. "If-if Webb is dangerous-then why .. ."
Harris came up close and caught her arms, the touch of his fingers subtly caressing.
"I came here to explain to you. I know you've been held down and protected most of your life-I sensed that when I met you, when you were trying to break free, not sure where you ought to run! And I've tried to let you find your own way, in your own time.
But you have to try to understand. What happened today-very well, what we let happen-was in the nature of a warning. If Carnahan realizes we're on to him, his instinct for self-preservation should make him cautious. I gave you a gun, but I didn't know if you'd use it-even if your life was threatened. And mind you, I don't blame you for it. You've never gone hunting, have you, Anne? You don't know if you'd ever be able to pull that trigger, knowing that gun that looks like a little toy can kill. But you must know that he would kill you. Acting is his cover; killing is his profession. Anna-
Maria understands that. She's playing a dangerous game, but at least she realizes the risks-now. She had to learn about surviving the hard way. But you, Anne-" He shook her gently, because she was very still, staring at him as if she had been turned into a frozen statue. "For Christ's sake, do you comprehend what I've been trying to tell you? This isn't a game of patty-cake or a lurid television script-it's reality. We're fighting your father, and the others like him-those secret, shadowy behind-the-scenes figures that nobody quite believes exist. The manipulators, who aren't elected by the people, who send us into wars we don't need, who cold-bloodedly arrange for assassinations, connive with the Mafia-run this country! So far they haven't let anyone stand in their way-a president who thought for himself, anyone who spoke out or acted on their own. Do I need to remind you of what happened to the Kennedys, to Martin Luther King-not to mention the other killings ... ?"
"Oh, Harris-s don't!"
"I'm sorry, Anne. But you have to realize the scope of all this. Try to be objective."
"I think she understands," Harris told the others afterwards. If they weren't convinced, they didn't show it outwardly. Randall merely grunted from behind his cigar. "How did he react to the sodium pentothal?"
"Parmenter warned us it might not work. Anyone who retires or resigns from the Service gets the full treatment. I understand it takes a couple of months. A process of tearing down and building up again."
"In other words, they fixed it so that he wouldn't talk under questioning."
"Brightman thinks it's only that they've made him immune in some way to answering questions under the influence of a drug-that consciously, his memory would be quite normal." Harris was frowning, his finger brushing at his mustache.
Espinoza broke in smoothly. "But, my friends, what does it matter, after all? We are on to him, and he knows that we are. It should make him more careful. In any case, he still has not found out very much, has he? It makes no difference what he guesses. Within a week, perhaps less, it will be too late for Reardon to do anything at all. When James Markham makes his speech on the Senate floor and breaks open the hornets' nest .. ."
Randall allowed himself an unusual guffaw of harsh laughter. "I must say I rather like your colorful turn of phrase, Sal! And you're right, of course. We might have been getting things slightly out of perspective."
"And, of course, while the hornets are buzzing and the attention of the media is concentrated in that direction, the discreet activities of our other friends in the Middle East and elsewhere should go unremarked. The energetic and far-seeing Senator Markham will have found new sources for supplies of oil and created a cordial entente with the rulers of several Middle Eastern states. The United States will once again enter a period of prosperity."
"You ought to start writing some of Rufe's editorials!" Harris commented rather sourly. He continued to wear a slight frown. "But I still think we ought to take steps to eliminate Webb Carnahan as a possible threat."
"Well-of course, we go ahead with what we'd planned earlier," Randall said, shrugging as cigar ashes scattered. He noted slyly that Harris Phelps's frown smoothed out, and wondered how much of the other man's insistence had to do with Anne Mallory.
Anne knew that she ought to rest-collect her thoughts and decide-but decide what, for God's sake? Rest, then. This time she wasn't going to run away. She was going to stay here, and She was safely in her room now-all the lights on, the door finish the movie, and she didn't have to think of afterwards right now.
locked. Against whom, or what? Anne looked away from the door and saw her own reflection in the mirror. Her face looked pale and strained, with dark smudges under her eyes. Ghost face -wasn't that what the Indians used to call winter? And she felt just as cold, inside and out.
The telephone by her bed rang, startling her, and Anne could feel her fingers trembling as she picked it up. Anna-Maria's voice came sharply over the line.
"Anne? I'm sorry if I woke you up, but .. ." Anne felt her heart jump during the tiny pause. "Have you seen Webb? I had been sitting with him, you know, but when I saw he was asleep, I went to get some dinner and-he isn't in his room now."
Anne tried to fight the tiny shock waves that ran up her spine, stiffening it. She couldn't help looking at the door. Webb wasn't in his room ... but why should his wife (remember that!) think he might have come to her?
She was amazed that her voice sounded steady. "He isn't here-and I haven't seen him since this afternoon. Perhaps he decided to go for a walk."
"You're sure?" Anna-Maria persisted, and then, as if she'd realized she might have gone too far, she let a sigh escape. "Oh-I am sorry! It's just that I became worried. Dr.
Brightman gave him an injection of some kind for the pain. He warned me that it was pretty strong. I should not have disturbed you, but I thought I should .. ."
"That's all right. My door's locked, and I've already been warned. I won't be letting anyone in at this time of night." Anne drew some small, malicious satisfaction from hearing the other woman draw in her breath sharply. But then she spoiled it all by adding, almost without volition, "He's-I mean he must be all right, then? Do you know where Karim is?"
"I can only hope they have not found each other," Anna-Maria said grimly, before she hung up.
After a few seconds Anne put down her humming, empty receiver. She hated the thoughts that had suddenly started buzzing around in her head. Where was Webb?
Looking for her-looking for Karim? She remembered his cut, bloody back and shuddered, as logic and common sense fought against raw emotion she couldn't help, even now. Each memory she tried to run away from came back like a whiplash to flick at the fringes of her mind.
She had been warned-she had been told what he was and what he had done-why didn't it make any difference? I'm tired of running away from reality, she thought suddenly, and she remembered again what he had told her of his past. She let memory wash her back to the more recent past, knowing with a sense of fatalism that she couldn't escape this time.
Face it, Anne, face it! And she got up from the bed and walked over to the mirror again, studying herself closely as if she hoped to find some clue there that would help her understand herself better. And the truth shall set you free. More memory.
The truth was that she loved Webb Carnahan, and it brought her a kind of relief to admit it to herself. Even if they ended up destroying each other, and they might yet do so ...
Strange, maybe. Sick. But from the beginning there had been a bond between them, and some primeval instinct that had nothing to do with reason told her that. It was the reason they couldn't stay away from each other-the monstrous thing that kept them coming back to each other. She had tried other men, but it hadn't cured her. She had fought, but it hadn't helped. If he came to her room tonight, as Anna-Maria had thought he might, she would open the door to him and let him in.