At the Edge of the Sun (23 page)

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.”

“Oh, I’m just waiting till after dark. Besides, I think Ian will find him, by sheer animal instinct if nothing else.”

“Why didn’t you tell him he killed Maeve?”

Randall shrugged. “I didn’t want to distract him. He’s got enough motivation.”

“He’s going to have to find out sooner or later.”

“I think he might already guess.”

Maggie turned away from the window, and looked at him. “What else do we do?”

“We wait,” he said. “We wait, and we watch.”

A remnant of a grin warmed her face. “Rats. I was hoping we could take a little nap. Jet lag, remember?”

He managed an answering smile. There’d be too few chances in the future, but they didn’t dare take this one. “Curb your appetites,” he said. “Business first.”

“Yes, sir.” She sank down on the bed, kicking off her sandals. “Wake me when something happens.”

She was asleep almost instantly. He sat there, half his attention trained on the jovial, charming Irishman out by the pool, half his attention on the sleeping figure not four feet away, wishing he dared have a good, stiff drink. If he kept up being distracted he wouldn’t have to worry about making a tiny, fatal mistake. It would happen anyway.

It was almost an hour later when Flynn finally lifted his
tanned, muscled body from the chaise and wrapped a burly arm around the skinny redhead before starting toward the east wing of the building. Randall sat there, watching, unmoving, intent. His patience was rewarded. Moments later he saw them pass by the third-floor hallway opposite them. They passed by the first, but not the second window, which narrowed them down to one of three suites, if the building’s layout was the same on both sides of the courtyard. Slowly he leaned back, breathing a sigh. He looked over at Maggie, still sound asleep, and he began to untie his tie.

The bed sagged beneath his weight as he eased himself down beside her. Her breathing was slow and shallow, and he could see the faint web of veins beneath the translucent skin of her temples, the beginnings of lines fanning out from those beautiful eyes. They weren’t from laughter, and he had to take some responsibility for that. She hadn’t seen enough laughter in her life, and she wouldn’t find it with him. He had to let her go.

He touched her, gently, his long fingers whispering against her vulnerable neck. This might be the last time they had together—he ought to make the most of it.

But making the most of it wasn’t stripping off her clothes and losing himself in her warmth and fire. All he wanted and needed was to touch her, to steal some of her softness and comfort. Moving carefully, he rested his head against her breasts.

She sighed, stretching her arms around him, never waking. The white-gold light of the merciless African sun blazed down on them, stretched out on the queen-size bed, as Randall followed her into a temporary respite that would last too short a time.

Ian was pacing the room repeatedly. Holly sat curled up by the balcony that looked out over the fortress walls, out into the burnt-out wasteland, and sighed. “You aren’t going to help matters, Ian,” she said in her most practical voice.

Ian glared at her. “Where the hell are the others? We’ve
been waiting here for over three hours and there’s been no word.”

“I’ve been waiting over three hours. You got to go see Lazarus.”

“Much good that did me. He was worse than useless. I was hoping he might be someone I knew, but I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

“You did manage to fool him, didn’t you?”

Ian looked affronted. “Of course I did. Do you think he would have let me come back if I didn’t?”

Holly shrugged her elegant shoulders. “Who knows? We’ve been set up all along the way—maybe this is just part of some major trap.”

“Maybe,” said Ian. “And maybe we’re fools to sit here like rats.” He stopped his pacing as a sudden, decisive expression darkened his green eyes. “And maybe I won’t just sit here. I’m going out to reconnoiter.”

“Don’t you dare!” Holly shrieked, leaping upright.

“The hell I won’t. No one told me I had to stay put. Lazarus said I was to make myself at home, enjoy the pool, visit their goddamned fitness center. I believe I’ll do that.”

“You can’t leave me behind in this room,” she said. “I’ll go crazy.”

“You can come along. After all, you’re supposed to be a terrorist groupie—you may get to play up to Carlos the Jackal.”

“Spare me,” she said. “This claustrophobic hotel room is preferable. But what if someone recognizes you?”

His hand was already on the doorknob. “The only person who would know me is Flynn and I’ll see him before he sees me.”

“Surely you’ve run into other terrorists while you were in the army?” she persisted. “Someone who might have ended up here?”

Slowly Ian shook his head. “No.”

“No, you’ve never run up against terrorists?” Her voice
was getting squeaky with fear and frustration. “Then what makes you think you can have any luck with—”

“I didn’t say I hadn’t run up against terrorists,” Ian interrupted her in a weary voice. “I just said they wouldn’t have ended up here. Whether I like it or not I’m too much like Tim Flynn. I don’t leave witnesses either. Any terrorist I’ve run up against is dead.” His face was bleak.

Holly just stood there, the sense of unreality battening around her aching head. “Seven,” she said, remembering their conversation in Northern Ireland.

“Seven,” he said. “And Flynn’s the eighth.” The door shut silently behind him.

“What do you mean, he went out to reconnoiter?” Maggie demanded, staring at her sister in baffled fury. The sun had set, but Cul de Sac was more brightly lit than Las Vegas, and the sounds beyond their closed door were festive.

She and Randall had been eating a late supper when Holly’s hesitant knock on the door interrupted them. When she’d awakened that evening it had been in Randall’s arms, and for a few short hours she’d been at peace, but the moment she saw her sister’s worried face the tension was back again.

“I couldn’t stop him,” she said, taking Maggie’s wineglass and draining it. “Do you have anything else to eat? I didn’t want to call room service and have them find out Ian isn’t in his room. I didn’t feel up to answering any questions.”

“I don’t think anyone would ask any,” Randall said. “The woman who brought our dinner was a Salambian native, and didn’t know any English at all. I think Lazarus and the previous innkeepers here have it that way on purpose.”

“Speaking of Lazarus, Ian went to see him.”

There was a sudden stillness in the room, one that Maggie couldn’t miss. Randall toyed with his wineglass, seemingly at ease, but she wasn’t fooled. She rose from the table, gesturing her sister toward her half-finished portion, and moved over to the terrace. The courtyard was still crowded,
although no one was swimming. Everyone was dressed up, laughing, partying, enjoying their vacation in the sun. Only the proliferation of side arms clashed with the cheerful tableau.

“What did Lazarus have to say?” Randall asked with what appeared to be only desultory interest. But Maggie knew better.

“Not much, apparently. Just told him to make himself welcome, that sort of thing.”

“Did he ask about us?”

“Not according to Ian. As a matter of fact, Ian was disappointed. He was hoping Lazarus would be someone he knew.”

Randall shrugged, and Maggie watched the tension recede infinitesimally from his shoulders. “We can be grateful he wasn’t.”

“That still doesn’t solve our problem,” Holly persisted. “I’m scared half to death. Where the hell is Ian?”

“I imagine he’s looking for Flynn,” Randall said, his voice remote. “Or maybe he’s already found him.”

“What are you going to do about it?” Holly stopped with a forkful of fresh asparagus halfway to her mouth.

“Nothing.”

“What do you mean, nothing?” The fork clattered onto the Limoges plate as she raised huge, desperate eyes to Randall’s shadowed face. Once more Maggie felt that small slash of jealousy, once more she stifled it.

“There’s nothing I can do right now. This place is teeming with people who know me far too well. If I put one foot outside this door, Lazarus and his crew would be down on me before I could sneeze. We’ve got the perfect setup for Flynn. I was right—he’s scheduled for the second round of surgery tomorrow. It’ll be easy enough to exchange his time with Mizal. A slip of the knife, something going wrong with the anesthesia, and Flynn’s death will be a regrettable accident. I’ll be too shaken to operate the rest of the day, and we can leave without anyone being the wiser.”

“What makes you think you can pull it off?” Maggie countered. “Or me, for that matter? Don’t you think the other medical personnel will notice if we start butchering the patients?”

“I can fool anyone,” he said, and his tone was matter-of-fact, not boasting. “All you have to do is keep quiet and do as I say.”

“Don’t you think someone—Mizal, for instance—might object if we kill Flynn?”

“No one gives a damn about anyone else here. They’re only concerned with their own skins,” he replied. “It’ll be quick, efficient, and more humane than he deserves. As long as Ian doesn’t blow it.”