the Hunted (1977) (24 page)

Teddy Cass and Valenzuela held on through th
e creeping, jolting ride, staring at the windshield.

They were eager, too, but also patient, waiting fo
r the sign from Rashad. When he was out of sight , beyond a bend and a stand of scrub trees, and wa s gone this time for ten going on fifteen minutes, the y sat listening to the hum of the air-conditioning unit , the sun glaring hot on the windshield, and neithe r of them spoke.

Then Rashad was coming back, approachin
g from the sandy creek bed, slipping, skinning hi s knee as he came up the bank, but smiling.

TALI SMILED, happy and relieved, as Rosen hugge
d her and kissed her on the cheek. He took the shortsleeved safari jacket from the Marine, put it on, buttoning one button, set his shoulders and patte d the pockets as they walked past the front of th e house to the patio.

"I'm home," Rosen said. "I put this on I can d
o anything. Tali, you're the cutest little broad in Israel and I love you. What'd you do with Edie? You talk to her?"

Davis saw Tali's expression change, the light g
o out of her eyes.

"She's waiting for you at the Laromme."

"She's not exactly waiting," the Marine said.

"She told us you could call her if you wanted." H
e saw Rosen's frown. "She thinks you're pulling he r chain and she's getting tired of waiting for you."

"Wait ing for me. She's running all over Israe
l with my passport. All she had to do was leave i t somewhere. She said that? She's tired of waiting?"

"I don't think she understands it," Tali said.

A blue plastic pitcher and four glasses were o
n the patio table, beneath the umbrella. Rosen put hi s hand in the pitcher and stirred with one finger.

They could hear the ice tinkle, the sound of something cold in the desert sun. The Marine stopped at the edge of the patio and looked back across th e yard to the Mercedes in the drive and, past it, to th e opening in the stone fence. In a few minutes he'
d bring the car up closer to the house. Pull up behin d the Camaro and maybe turn it around, pointing a t the road.

"Some broads, I'm telling you," Rosen said.

"They don't go one step out of their way if it'
s inconvenient. Okay, if I don't see her--it looks lik e I won't have time anyway, if we're going to Shar m el Sheikh."

Davis came over. "Why don't you take Tali wit
h you? Have somebody to keep you company."

Glancing at her. "I don't think Tali'd mind restin
g awhile, after all the running around she's been doing for you. But let's go inside and talk about it."

When Rosen looked at her, Tali gave her littl
e shrug and said, "It would be fine. Whatever yo u want me to do."

"I was thinking about it," Rosen said. "I'
m gonna need a cover, and I'm gonna need somebod y to make contact, call my company, tell them to mai l a certified check--quit screwing around with th e cash idea, take the bank exchange. Listen." H
e turned to Davis then. "I'm gonna take care of you , too, and I don't want to hear anything about wha t Mel gave you. Okay?"

"I thought we were friends," Davis said.

"Of course we're friends."

"I mean I didn't sign on for pay."

"I know you didn't. But you've got a funny ide
a about accepting money I want to help you change.

It's nice to stand up and be independent, but yo
u can't be selfish about it. You've got to give me a chance to show off, too, and I do it with money.

Okay, we're gonna make some plans. First
, though"--he raised the pitcher and began pouring--

"we'll have a vodka and orange juice in honor, i
n recognition, of my two best friends saving my ass."

He was saying, okay? Handing a glass to Tali.

Saying, if you need another excuse, think of one
, but we're gonna have a drink. Coming over t o hand a glass to Davis . . .

Davis saw the blood coming through the breas
t pocket of the safari jacket, the red popping out an d sounds, a grunt from Rosen, the wind knocked ou t of him, dropping the plastic glass. He heard th e grunt and the sound of automatic weapons in th e desert and the sound of the glass patio doors shattering with the continuing hard, thin chattering sound of the automatic weapons and Tali's scream , Tali holding Rosen on his feet. Davis thought sh e had been hit as he grabbed Rosen around the body , tight to his own body, and got him inside, into th e near corner against the stucco wall, and eased hi m down gently. Tali was next to him, on her knees , moaning something in Hebrew, staring at Rosen.

Davis brought the Colt automatic out of its holster and began firing past the ragged edge of the glass door into the desert, making out the figure s now lying in the scrub, two of them, as they continued to fire into the room, riddling the figurines in the secretary and the glass in the framed photographs of the Bedouin doctor and his wife, wiping them from the wall. There was a pause, silence.

Waiting for it, Davis ran across the opening an
d got to the oak table as a burst from the Uzis too k fragments from the glass door and shattered a lamp. He got to the kitchen window with th e Mauser 30-06, jacking a shell into the chamber. H
e got there in time and squeezed off two rounds a t the figure running through the scrub toward th e stock tank. The figure stopped dead, hesitated, an d ran back, throwing himself behind a low rise. Davi s stepped aside. A burst came through the kitche n window, blowing out the panes of glass.

He picked up dishtowels from the sink an
d moved back to the table to stuff 30-06 cartridges i n his jacket, then picked up Tali's Beretta and skidde d it across the floor, past the oriental rug to where sh e was kneeling over Rosen. With the rifle, the shotgun, and the old Enfield revolver, he ran back across the wide-open doorway, bringing a quic k burst from the desert.

Rosen was propped against the wall, his chin o
n his chest, looking down at the blood soaking hi s jacket. The exit wound was just below the righ t breast.

"It went through you," Davis said.

Rosen looked up at him, glassy-eyed, his mout
h open, as Davis opened his jacket and shirt an d pressed a folded dishtowel against the wound. A b ad one, a sucking chest wound, percolating ai r and blood. With splintered pieces of his ribs in th e wound. Rosen's expression said he couldn't believ e it. He was perspiring. A cold, clammy sweat. H
e was in shock.

"Turn over a little."

He helped Rosen roll his body so he could pres
s a dishtowel against the entrance wound, which wa s small and showed very little blood, and the n brought him back gently to lie on his back.

"We'll get you fixed up in a minute," Davis said.

He took Rosen's right hand and laid it on the towe
l covering the air-sucking hole in his chest. "Here , keep your hand on it and press, just a little."

"I've been shot," Rosen said.

"You'll be okay. Try not to move."

"I can't move. Christ."

That was good, his tone. But he had to calm hi
m down. "Don't fight to breathe. Try and relax."

"I brought them," Tali said. "I made this happen."

Davis glanced at her. "Take your gun, it's on th
e floor there. Go in the back bedroom and watch th e other side of the house."

"They shoot him, it's my fault. . . ." She wa
s looking at Rosen with an awful expression: pain , anguish, wanting to cry, wanting to lie down wit h Rosen and give up.

"Jesus Christ!" Davis said. "Will you get out i
n the goddamn bedroom? Go on." He picked up th e Beretta and forced her to take it.

As she finally moved, he rose with the shotgu
n and fired both barrels past the edge of the doorway--for noise rather than in a hope of hitting them. There was no return fire, and when he looke d he didn't see the figures in the scrub. He reloade d the shotgun and brought the Mauser with him , crawling a few steps to the nearest of the front windows. He had to rise up to push it open. Then he squatted again and laid the Mauser on the windowsill. There was no sign of their car. Nothing moved beyond the stone fence. No sounds from th e other side of the house. He hoped she had qualifie d with a handgun. He hoped she wouldn't choke an d freeze. Jesus Christ, he thought. What are you doing here? He let his gaze move back along the ston e fence, then moved his position to the edge of th e doorway and looked out. Nothing. He'd try them.

When he ducked past the opening to the othe
r side, there was no gunfire. There was no movement.

No sign of anything from the kitchen window. H
e moved through the hallway to the bedroom.

Tali stood between the side and back windows
, holding the Beretta at her shoulder, the barre l pointing up. She looked over at him and seeme d calm now.

"Anything?"

She shook her head. "Is he going to die?"

"I don't know."

"We have to get him to the hospital."

She said it so simply he stared at her and didn'
t know what to say.

"How're we gonna do that?"

"Tell them he's been shot. Tell them he's dyin
g and they'll go away."

Was she that dumb? No, she was hoping. O
r imagining a truce, a cease-fire to collect th e wounded. Maybe they did that in the desert. "The y won't take our word," Davis said. "And if the y come in to look, they'll finish him."

"Then what can we do?"

"See what the doctor's got. There's a medicin
e chest in the bathroom closet and some pills an d stuff."

"He's going to be all right, isn't he?" Wantin
g him to say yes.

"I've seen a lot worse. You stay here, okay? Bu
t don't show yourself in the window."

She nodded and he turned away, going into th
e bathroom. He hoped there was morphine, thoug h he didn't think the doctor would leave it in th e house. The rib fragments would be like knife blade s in him. Morphine would help. A goddamn suckin g chest wound. He could tell by the sound, th e wound trying to breathe, that Rosen had been sho t through the lung.

The jacket was ruined, the front of it dyed red i
n funny designs. The towel beneath his hand felt dry.

With his fingers he had probed carefully beneat
h the towel and pulled his hand away when he fel t something wet, something sharp and hard stickin g out. Jesus. Something that was part of him. H
e didn't want to think about it, his body ripped ope n by a machine-gun bullet, blood pouring out. But i t was good that he could think about it. He was her e and able to think. He tasted blood in his mouth. H
e didn't know where the Marine was, or Tali. He ha d heard their voices before, the Marine yelling something. Not yelling, but his voice hard. It was easier to breathe when he relaxed. Before, he had though t he was suffocating, or drowning. Now it was easie r and he felt less afraid of not being able to breathe , though he was nauseated and afraid he migh t throw up. The sound was still there when h e breathed, like bubbles in a straw, but not that loud.

It was difficult to move. It felt as if a spike had bee
n driven through him, holding him to the floor. H
e felt the floor moving, someone walking. The Marine was close, kneeling now, looking at him.

"How you doing?"

"Christ, I got shot. You know it?"

The Marine had white towels and some othe
r things in his arms, setting them on the floor.

"Let's get you fixed up," Davis said. "You'r
e gonna have to roll over again, on your left side."

He felt the coat pulling and heard the scissor
s then.

"You cutting my jacket off?" Somewha
t alarmed.

"You can get a new one," Davis said. He raise
d Rosen's arm to pull the right side of the jacket fro m Rosen's body. "Look at these. See if you kno w what they are." He put several bottles of pills, without labels, on the floor by Rosen's face. "You picked the right house. We've got compress bandages, sulfa powder--what do you see there?"

"Aspirin, tranquilizers . . . halizone tablets,"

Rosen said. "Dramamine, in case we get seasick.

Where's Tali?" Again alarmed, remembering sh
e was here.

"She's all right, she's in the bedroom. Hold still."

He got Rosen's wounds dressed, front and back
, and brought him blankets and pillows--a pillo w for his head and one to elevate his feet--decidin g this corner of the front room might be the safes t place in the house.

Rosen felt the Marine walking across the floo
r again. Then felt more vibrations with sounds tha t went through him. He turned his head to look. Th e Marine was moving furniture around. Christ, rearranging the room. No, he was pushing the heavy couch and easy chairs into the open doorway of th e patio, turning them over to form a flowery barricade of cushions.