“That’s good,” he said noncommittally.
“Yes.
You can operate the moment we get back,” Mizal announced cheerfully, and he began to hum.
eighteen
Randall could feel Maggie freeze up beside him. Her face was serene, unmoved, even as her muscles tensed. He touched her, a small, reassuring caress that surprised her almost as much as it surprised him.
“No, I won’t be operating the moment we get back,” he announced in his iciest voice, and he caught Ian’s grin of amusement. “While I don’t wish to be in this pesthole a moment longer than I have to, I’m not about to perform surgery when I’m not properly rested. And I’ll take my patients in the order I choose, when I choose.”
Mizal grinned over his shoulder, but his dark button eyes were vicious, and Randall felt Maggie shiver. “You’re the boss, eh?”
“I’m the doctor,” Randall replied. “Someone is paying very highly for my services, and if you want the best I can give then you’ll do things my way. If I’m overtired or distracted I can’t do my best work.”
Mizal chuckled. “I think I could inspire you,” he said, tapping the Uzi that rested between the seats.
“Perhaps.” Randall kept his voice cool. “Or you could make me nervous. And when people are nervous, their hands shake.”
Mizal shrugged. “You win, my friend. For now.”
He felt some of the tension drain out of Maggie’s body, and he allowed himself a brief glance down at her. Mizal couldn’t see anything behind Randall’s mirrored sunglasses, wouldn’t see the weakness that assailed him whenever he looked at Maggie. Weakness and despair. If they got out of this alive, got back to the States in one piece, then that would be the end of it. A short, dreamlike sojourn that was doomed to end, sooner or later. And if what he suspected was true, if they found what he was horribly afraid they’d find, deep inside Cul de Sac, then it would be sooner.
And even if he were being paranoid, if Lazarus was nothing more than some junior-grade operative who’d turned, then they still would only be buying time. Because if there was no one left alive to tell her the truth, he’d have to do it himself.
Maybe it would be better if they died. Maybe he could make one mistake, one small, fatal flaw, and Maggie would never have to be disillusioned. The moment he toyed with the idea he dismissed it. He wasn’t that damned romantic. Much as he liked the fantasy of their being locked throughout eternity in a deathless love, when it came right down to it his sense of self-preservation was stronger. He’d lived without her before, he’d live without her when she left him again. He wouldn’t enjoy it, but it would be better than being dead. Maybe.
“You look pretty grim,” Maggie whispered beside him.
He looked down at her through the mirrored sunglasses. She had light-purple shadows under her eyes, and the bones in her face stood out too sharply. Her wheat-color hair was a tousled thatch, and her mouth was too pale as it managed to smile up at him. She was nervous, and edgy, and he wished to God they were back in Venice.
“Jet lag,” he said briefly, and out of sight of Mizal’s watchful eyes, he put his hand on hers.
He didn’t know what he was expecting from Cul de Sac. Some sort of palace, perhaps, like a restored version of the Arabian castle they’d spent the night in in Lebanon, maybe with a hospital wing amid all the Islamic claptrap. They could see it from a distance, shimmering in the dry, hot air as they approached it, a sand-color oasis that blended with the burnt-out grasslands around them. It was a fortress, all right, the thick walls surrounding the place were innocuous enough if you didn’t recognize the lethal electric charges placed strategically. It was bordered by trees, the first growing things they’d seen since they landed, making it look peaceful and welcoming. Randall could guess how much it cost to bring the water over the wastelands to keep those ornamental trees alive, water that could have grown crops that would have fed a town. His fingers tightened around Maggie’s, but she made no sound.
Mizal’s silent companion pulled a small device from the glove compartment, punched a few numbers in, and the wide, steel doors opened to a tropical oasis of birds, flowers, fountains, and beauty. It looked like the Arabian Nights version of a Holiday Inn, Randall realized incredulously. General Hospital meets Ali Baba. This was going to be both easier, and harder, than he had imagined.
Their rooms were pleasant, upper-class American motel modern. Just the sort of rooms he’d always hated. They had put Maggie in with him, with Ian and Holly just down the hall. It was late afternoon, with the sunlight pouring in the sliding glass door. Maggie was standing there, staring out into the courtyard at the crowded swimming pool, the tropical lushness in the midst of the arid drought.
He came up behind her, not touching her, just close enough to absorb her body heat. He looked over her shoulder, out at the crowd of people eagerly soaking up the hot African sun, and he laughed, a short, unpleasant sound. “Quite a bunch,” he said. “I think I’d better stick to my room for the time being.”
She turned her head to look at him. “You recognize anybody?”
“I recognize at least half of them. There’s quite an elite crowd out there. Some of the most notorious members of the Baader-Meinhof gang, the PLO’s worst branches, the Red Brigade, IRA, and free-lance terrorists from Latin America, Libya, and China. You remember the airport attacks in Vienna and Rome last year? One of the men responsible for planning it is sitting at the bar down there.”
Maggie shivered. “What about Flynn?”
“He’s over by the diving board. With the skinny little redhead rubbing suntan oil on his back.”
She nodded, catching sight of him. “So what are we going to do next?”
Randall moved away, dropping down in the comfortable chair that overlooked the courtyard. “I haven’t decided yet. We could find out where his rooms are and then kill him.”
“How easy will that be?”
“Easy enough. We can watch him when he decides to leave and get a fairly good idea what part of the compound he’s in. Between the four of us we’ll be able to find him.”
“Not if you stay in the room.”