Authors: Robert Ludlum
“That’s pretty cryptic, young lady.”
“Manny, try to understand. Evan does because we have an agreement. He knows that there are times when I can’t explain things.”
“May an old man who’s been a resident in your territory once or twice before ask why?”
“If you mean your work with Mossad, you shouldn’t have to—forgive my being blunt.… The basis is an imperative need-to-know, because what you don’t know you can’t reveal.”
“The Amytals and the Pentothals?” asked Weingrass. “In the old days, scopolamine? Come on, my lovely girl, we’re not in the back streets of Marrakech or the partisan mountains of Ashot Yaaqov. Who would use chemicals on us here?”
“I’m sure that young prisoner Evan identified, the one who’s on his way to a clinic in Virginia, probably felt the same way. Within twenty-four hours his entire life will be on tape.”
“Not applicable,” insisted Weingrass.
“Perhaps not, but something else is. As of six hours ago we have a trace—a
possible
trace—that may take us higher up in this government than any of us wishes. If we’re wrong, Congressman Kendrick of Colorado can’t be a part of it; quite simply, he can’t
know
anything. He has total deniability. As a result, neither can you, Manny.”
“That radio transmission on the plane,” said Evan, looking hard at Khalehla. “There was no station chief in Cairo, was there?” Khalehla shrugged, releasing his hand and reaching for her drink on the coffee table in front of the couch. “All right, no specifics,” continued Kendrick, “but let’s talk about the truth—forget deniability, which I don’t give a damn about.
What kind of truth are you after? Give me an
overview
—I’ve heard that word ad nauseam in Washington. What kind of people are doing what to
whom
? Whoever they are, they’ve killed my friends—
our
friends. I have a right to
know
.”
“Yes, you do,” said Khalehla slowly, sitting rigid on the couch, looking alternately at Evan and Emmanuel Weingrass, finally settling on Kendrick. “You said it yourself, questioned it yourself—part of the truth, anyway. Someone
did
let these killers in and made it possible for them to kill. Passports were provided without restrictions, and as I can easily picture their general appearances because I’m one of them, those false papers had to be terribly good to get past the antiterrorist experts we and our allies have at every immigration point here and abroad, including the Soviets, I might add. Beyond those papers are the logistics, the lines of supply without which terrorists can’t operate. Weapons, ammunition, money, driver’s licenses, and pre-rented vehicles; locations where they can hide and prepare themselves, even down to the most up-to-date clothing made in this country in case they’re arrested and interrogated. Then there are such items as train and airline reservations, all made in advance, the tickets delivered before they walk into a terminal, except when they’re on a platform or in a flight lounge at the last minute. You see, nothing is inconsequential to these people; everything is vital down to the last detail for the success of any given mission.” Khalehla paused, shifting her gaze between both men. “Someone’s made all of these things available to them, and whoever it is, or whoever they are, they shouldn’t
be
where they are in this government or have the accesses they have. It’s more important than I can ever explain that they be found.”
“You said that about those who stole the Oman file.”
“And you believe they’re the same people.”
“
Aren’t
they? It’s pretty obvious to me.”
“Not to me.”
“The setup. It’s the explanation for a revenge kill.
Me
.”
“Suppose they’re
separate
,” insisted Khalehla. “One giving birth to the other? It’s been ten weeks, remember? The impetus for killing you in the heat of vengeance that is intrinsic to
jaremat thaár
has passed.”
“You just pointed out all the details that had to be put in place. That takes time.”
“If they have the resources to do what they’ve done in ten weeks, they could do it in ten days, Evan.”
Emmanuel Weingrass held up his hand, palm forward; it was
a command for quiet and he expected to be obeyed. “You are now telling us that instead of one enemy my son has two? The Arabs from the Baaka Valley and someone else over here who works with them or
against
them? Are you making sense, my lovely child?”
“Two
forces
, both elusive, one a deadly enemy, certainly … the other I just don’t know. I only know what I sense, and I’m not being evasive. When MJ doesn’t have the answers, he keeps blaming it on what he calls ‘gaps.’ I guess that’s what I’m falling back on. There are too many gaps.”
Weingrass grimaced again, a silent belch filling his gaunt cheeks. “I accept your perceptions,” he said. “If Mitchell ever throws you out, I’ll find you reasonable employment with the Mossad, avoiding a certain accountant who would let you starve.” The old architect suddenly breathed deeply and leaned back in his chair.
“Manny, what
is
it?” said Khalehla, her question causing Kendrick to turn his head, alarmed.
“Are you all right?” asked Evan.
“I’m ready for the Olympics,” replied Weingrass. “Except that one minute I’m cold, the next minute I’m hot. It was all that running around in the woods like a kid. Lyons told me my systolic was a little high, or maybe it was the other one, and that I had a few bruises where I shouldn’t have.… I told him I was wrestling bulls on the south forty. I’ve got to rest these bones, children.” The old man got out of his chair. “Would you believe, Khalehla, that I’m not a kid?”
“I think you’re not only very young, but also remarkable.”
“Extraordinary is more appropriate, actually,” offered Manny. “But right now I feel the effects of my virtuosity. I’m going to bed.”
“I’ll get one of the nurses,” said Kendrick, starting to rise.
“For
what
? So she can take advantage of me,
ravage
me? I want rest, boy!… And let
them
rest, Evan. They’ve been through a lot and they don’t even know what they’ve been through. I’m fine, just tired. Try running in the Olympics when
you’re
sixty.”
“Sixty?”
“Shut up, son. I can still give you a run for your money for that lovely girl.”
“Could it have been something the doctor gave you?” asked Khalehla, smiling warmly at the compliment.
“So what did he give? Nothing. He just took a little blood for
his meshugenah laboratory and offered me some pills, which I told him I’d throw down the toilet. They were probably samples he got for nothing and then charges enough for a new wing on his fancy house.…
Ciao
, young things.”
The two of them watched as the old man walked through the archway into the living room, each step firmly planted ahead of the other as if he were summoning strength he did not feel. “Do you think he’s okay?” asked Evan when Weingrass was out of sight.
“I think he’s exhausted,” said Khalehla. “You try doing what he did tonight—forget sixty
or
eighty—try tomorrow.”
“I’ll look in on him every now and then.”
“We’ll take turns. That way we’ll both feel better without waking the nurses.”
“Which is another way of saying they’ll stay put and away from the windows.”
“I guess it is,” admitted Rashad. “But we’d still feel better, even if it’s on both counts.”
“Do you want another drink?”
“No, thanks—”
“I do.” Kendrick got up from the couch.
“I haven’t finished.”
“What?” Evan turned as Khalehla rose and stood in front of him.
“I don’t want a drink … but I do want you.”
In silence, Kendrick looked down at her, his eyes roving over her face, finally settling, staring into her eyes. “Is this pity? Be merciful to the confused man in pain?”
“You’ll get no pity from me, I told you that. I respect you too much, I told you that, too. As for the poor, confused man in pain, who’s pitying whom?”
“I didn’t mean it that way—”
“I know you didn’t. I’m just not sure how you meant it.”
“I told you before. I’m not looking for any fast action, not with you. If it’s all I can have, I’ll take it, but it’s not what I’m looking for.”
“You talk too goddamned much, Evan.”
“You evade too much. You told Manny that you weren’t evasive, but you are. For at least six weeks I’ve tried to get near you, tried to get you to talk about
us
, tried to break down that glass wall you’ve erected, but ‘No
dice
,’ says the bright lady.”
“Because I’m scared, damn you!”
“Of what?”
“Of
both
of us!”
“Now you’re the one who’s talking too much.”
“Well, you certainly didn’t talk last
night
. You think I didn’t hear you? Pacing up and down like an ape in a cage outside my door?”
“Why didn’t you open it?”
“Why didn’t you break it down?” They both laughed quietly, their arms encircling each other. “Do you want a drink?”
“No.… I want you.”
There was not the frenzy of Bahrain. There was urgency, of course, but it was the urgency of lovers, not of two desperate strangers grasping for release in a world gone crazy. Their world was not sane—they were all too aware of that—yet they had found a semblance of order between themselves, and the discovery was splendid and warm and suddenly filled with promise, where before there was only a void filled with uncertainty … each about the other.
It was as if both were insatiable. Climax was followed by quiet talk, and one or the other looked in on Emmanuel Weingrass, then more talk, bodies together, rushing once again for the fulfillment both craved. Neither could stop holding the other, pulling, weaving, rolling, until the sweet juices were exhausted … and still they could not let each other go until sleep came.
The earliest morning sun broke open the Colorado day. Drained but strangely at peace within the warm, temporary cave they had found for themselves, Evan reached for Khalehla. She was not there; he opened his eyes. She was
not
there. He elbowed himself up on the pillow; her clothes were draped on a chair and he breathed again. He saw that the doors to both his bathroom and the clothes closet were open, and then he remembered and laughed quietly, ruefully, to himself. The hero of Oman and the experienced intelligence agent from Cairo had gone to the Bahamas with one carry-on bag apiece, and in the rush of events had promptly left both either in a Nassau police car or on an Air Force F-106. Neither had noticed until after their first stampeded race for the bed, after which Khalehla had stated dreamingly.
“I bought an outrageous nightgown for this trip—more in hope than in realistic expectation-but I think I’ll put it on.” Then they had looked at each other, mouths gaped, eyes widened. “Oh, my
God
!” she cried. “Where the hell did we leave it? I mean
them
, the
two
of them!”
“Did you have anything incriminating in yours?”
“Only the nightie—it wasn’t right for Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm.… Oh, good Lord! A couple of real pros
we
are!”
“I never claimed to be one—”
“Did
you
have—”
“Dirty socks and a sex manual—more in hope than in realistic expectation.” They had fallen back into each other’s arms, the humor of the situation telling them something else about themselves. “You’d wear that nightgown for roughly five seconds before I tore it off and then you’d have to charge the government for the loss of personal property. I just saved the taxpayers at least six dollars.… Come here.”
One of them had checked on Manny; neither could remember which.
Kendrick got out of bed and went to his closet. He owned two bathrobes; one was missing so he went into his bathroom to make himself feel and look reasonably presentable. After a shower and a shave he applied too much cologne, but then, he reflected, it had not hurt him nearly twenty years ago in college with an air-head cheerleader. Had it been
that
long ago since impressions mattered to him? He put on his second bathrobe, walked out of the room and down the stone hallway to the arch. Khalehla was sitting at the heavy pine table with the black leather top in the living room, talking quietly into the telephone. She saw him and smiled briefly, concentrating on the person at the other end of the line.
“It’s all clear,” she said as Evan approached. “I’ll be in touch. Good-bye.” Khalehla got up from the table, the outsized bathrobe draped strikingly, revealingly around her body. She pulled the folds of fabric together and came to him, suddenly reaching out and placing her hands on his shoulders. “Kiss me, Kendrick,” she ordered gently.
“Aren’t I supposed to say that?”
They kissed until Khalehla understood that in another moment they would be heading back to the bedroom. “Okay, okay, Kong, I’ve got things to tell you.”
“Kong?”
“I wanted you to break down a door, remember?… Good heavens, you forget things.”
“I may be incompetent but I hope not inadequate.”
“You’re probably right about the first, but you’re definitely not inadequate, my darling.”
“Do you know how much I love to hear you say that?”
“What?”
“ ‘My darling’—”
“It’s an expression, Evan.”
“At this moment I think I’d kill if I thought you used it with anyone but me.”
“Please.”
“Have you?
Do
you?”
“You’re asking me if I just like to sleep around occasionally, aren’t you?” said Khalehla calmly, removing her arms from him.
“That’s pretty rough. No, of course not.”
“Since we’re talking and I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, let’s tackle this. I’ve had attachments, as you’ve had, and I’ve called several ‘darling,’ even ‘dearest,’ I suppose, but if you want to know the truth, you insufferable egotist, I’ve never called anyone ‘
my
darling.’ Does that answer your question, you rat.”
“It’ll do,” said Evan, grinning and reaching for her.
“No, please, Evan. Talking is safer.”