The Scorpio Illusion (58 page)

“I’ve just de-requisitioned them, Doctor,” replied Tyrell. “Thanks very much anyway.”

He was escorted into Catherine’s room by a nurse who said kindly but firmly that his visit would be timed. Hawthorne stared at the figure on the bed; strands of her blond hair fell in the back of her operation net, the precise, lovely features of her pallid face caught in the soft light of a bedside lamp. She heard footsteps and opened her eyes, turning her head, and, seeing Hawthorne, gestured with her hand for him to come closer,
indicating the chair by her side. He did so, limping across the room and sitting down. Then slowly, hesitantly, their two hands drew nearer each other, finally clasping.

“They told me you’re okay,” said Cathy, her voice weak, her wan smile approving.

“So will you be,” said Tye. “Hang in there, Major.”

“Come on, Tye, you can do better than that.”

“I’m trying.… Jackson’s a little upset that you didn’t ask for him.”

“I love him dearly, but it’s not the time for a brilliant child, and I’m not up to his predictable behavior.” Neilsen spoke in soft bursts of breath, with effort, but clearly, snaking her head when Hawthorne raised his left hand to slow her down. “Isn’t that the kind of decision we officers are trained to make? I think you tried to tell me something like that when Charlie was killed.”

“I may have said it, Cathy, but I’m not the best teacher. This officer fell apart in Amsterdam, remember?”

“You won’t now, will you?”

“That’s an odd thing for you to say, but I would hope not. I’m an angry man, Cathy, as angry as I was in Amsterdam—and you’re part of it now.… Why did you say that?”

“I’ve put a couple of things together, Tye, and I’m frightened—”

“We’re all frightened,” Tyrell interrupted gently.

“Frightened for you, for what I think you’re carrying around.… When you and Jackson came back from Old San Juan, from Simon’s place, you’d changed. I couldn’t put a name on it, I’m not sure I want to know, but it’s something deep, something terrible—”

“I’d lost two friends,” Hawthorne broke in nervously, “just as you lost Charlie.”

“Then later,” the major went on quietly, disregarding his interruption, “you had a message over the phone at the Shenandoah. I never saw a face change so much, it
was suddenly pale white, then almost blue, and your eyes were on fire. All you said was that you’d heard from someone who made a mistake. Still later—I know you didn’t realize I could hear you—you gave Henry Stevens a telephone number in Paris.”

“
That
was—”

“Please.… Then tonight you raced out of that diner like a maniac, as though you wanted to kill the chauffeur.… I ran after you, and when I got to the door which was closing, just before the shots, you shouted—no, Tye, you screamed,
you
! And then the woman opened fire.”

“Yes, she did,” said Tyrell, his eyes locked with Cathy’s.

“Bajaratt, of course.”

“Yes.”

“You know who she is, don’t you? I mean, you knew her.”

“Yes.”

“She’s someone you knew very well, isn’t she?”

“I thought I did. I didn’t.”

“I’m so sorry, Tye.… You haven’t told anyone, have you?”

“There’s no point. She’s not who she was, there’s no connection whatsoever.”

“You have no doubts about that?”

“None. Her world is in the Baaka Valley. I knew her in another world that had nothing to do with the Baaka.”

“In that good world, the good life, where your boat cuts through the water from island to island and the sundowns are peaceful?”

“Yes.”

“Will the number in Paris help?”

“It could. I hope so. I want it to.”

Catherine studied his tired face, the eyes that held such pain and such anger. “Oh, God, you poor, unhappy
man. I feel so for you, Tye … and we’ll say no more about this.”

“I appreciate that, Cathy.… Lying there, with what you’ve been through, you can think about me?”

“Sure,” she whispered, growing weak but smiling. “It’s better than thinking about myself, isn’t it?”

Tyrell leaned forward in the chair, removing his hand from hers and cupping her face. They drew closer until their lips met. “You’re lovely, Cathy, so very lovely.”

“Hey, that’s better than ‘outstanding,’ Commander.”

The door opened, the nurse in the frame; she cleared her throat softly. “Time’s up,” she said. “The best-looking patient in this hospital has to rest.”

“I’ll bet you say that to everyone who’s been operated on,” offered Neilsen.

“If I do, I lie a lot. But not here, not now.”

“Tye?”

“Yes?” said Hawthorne, standing up.

“Use Jackson, make him a full partner. He can do everything I can do, and do it better.”

“Of course I will, but you’re saying something else.”

“It’ll take his mind off me.”

Phyllis Stevens pounced on the telephone. It was nearly ten o’clock in the morning, but it had taken until six-fifteen when she finally got her exhausted, guilt-ridden husband to bed. The woman air force officer had been operated on, the prognosis unknown, but Tye Hawthorne had not been seriously wounded, a fact that relieved Henry Stevens’s current concerns but did nothing to relieve his deeper anxiety—
only inches and he might have been killed
!

“Yes, what is it?” said Phyllis quietly into the phone, pulling the cord to the far side of her bed.

“FBI, Mrs. Stevens. May I speak with the captain, please.”

“Frankly, I’d rather you didn’t. He’s had no sleep for
nearly three days, and he’s finally getting some. Can’t you give me the message?”

“Only part of it, ma’am.”

“I understand completely.”

“Phyll, what is it?” Henry Stevens bolted upright in the bed next to hers. “I heard the phone, I know I heard the phone!”

“He’s all yours, federal man.” Phyllis sighed, handing the receiver to her husband, who had already swung his feet to the floor.

“This is Stevens, what is it?”

“FBI, sir, Field Agent Becker, on the Ingersol office detail.”

“Anything?”

“It’s hard to explain, sir. We found a telephone in a steel cabinet camouflaged by wood paneling as though it were part of the wall. We had to torch it open—”

“Is it a regular phone, and if it is, why was it concealed?”

“That’s what’s crazy, Captain. The tech men have been working on it most of the night and all this morning and have only gotten so far.”

“How far is that?”

“They found a satellite dish on the roof which accesses the hidden phone, but all they’ve been able to figure is that it beams up and beams down to the state of Utah.”

“Utah? Where the hell is Utah?”

“There could be a couple of hundred laser frequencies to a thousand receiving dishes out there, sir. Maybe more of both.”

“That’s nuts!”

“That’s the new technology, Captain.”

“Then put your high-priced computers to work, those same magic machines that cost the taxpayers so goddamn much money, and come up with something.”

“We’re working on it, sir.”

“Work harder!” Stevens slammed down the phone,
falling back on his pillows. “They have their own satellites up there in space,” he whispered. “It’s unreal!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Hank, but if you’re saying what I think you’re saying, all of us everywhere made it possible. All it takes is money.”

“Progress,” said Stevens, “isn’t it wonderful?”

“Depends on who controls it, I imagine,” said his wife. “We all thought we would—the best and the brightest. Apparently we don’t.”

It was late morning and the hospital had nothing new to report on Catherine Neilsen other than she was resting, her vital signs stable. Hawthorne, in shorts, tested his leg in the bedroom of the Shenandoah Lodge under Poole’s scrutiny. “It hurts, doesn’t it?” said the lieutenant. “You’re hurtin’.”

“Not so bad,” replied Tyrell. “I slept halfway decently, which I didn’t expect to. The main thing is to keep the weight off the left side.”

“It’d be better if you stayed off it completely for a couple of days,” said Poole. “Let the sutures set.”

“We don’t have a couple of days. Get more of that tape and bind it tighter.” The telephone rang. “It’s probably Stevens. Phyllis promised she’d have him call me when he woke up.”

“I’ll check it out,” said Jackson, going to the desk. “Hello?… Yes, yes, he’s here. Just a moment.” The lieutenant turned to Hawthorne. “It’s someone who says he’s your brother and I figure he is. He even sounds like you, except kinda nicer.”

“He isn’t really; it’s an act he learned while teaching.” Tyrell limped to the bed, slowly sitting down. “I called St. Thomas from the hospital last night.” Tye picked up the bedside phone. “Hello, Marc, I figured you’d be mooring sometime today.”

“About an hour ago, and it’s very kind of you to let me know you’re still around,” said Marc Anthony
Hawthorne sarcastically. “You
are
still around, aren’t you?”

“Cut it out, bro, I’ve been busy, and don’t be curious because that phone is off limits.”

“Not to a couple of others—”

“What others? I didn’t check for messages.”

“The first is from a B. Jones. He called yesterday at 4:12 in the afternoon, leaving you a number in Mexico City and strongly advising you to reach him within the next twenty-four hours.”

“Give it to me.” The brother did and Tyrell wrote it down on yet another menu. “Who’s the other?”

“A woman named Dominique, who said she was calling from Monte Carlo. The timer says the call came in at 5:02 this morning.”

“The
message
!”

“I’ll switch it on for you. It’s not the sort of thing an innocent younger brother should repeat to his role model.… Oh, you’re a real island man,
mon
.”

“Let me hear it, and stay on the line and drop the comments.”

“Aye,
aye
, sir.”

“Tyrell, my darling, my love, it’s Domie! I’m calling from L’Hermitage in Monte Carlo. I know it’s very late, but my husband is at the casino and I have wonderful news! I performed extremely well during these past few days, but frankly I’m sick of it all and I do miss you so—as I, indeed, feel it’s my duty to be with my uncle during his last days. I broached the latter consideration to my husband, and you cannot believe what he said! He said, ‘Go back to your uncle, for he needs you, as I’m equally sure you need your lover.’ I tell you, I was astonished. I asked him if he was furious and his reply was a gift from God. ‘No, my dear wife, for I have my own plans for the next several weeks. To the contrary, I’m very happy for you.’… Isn’t it wonderful—I told you he was kind, if lacking in some male qualities. At any rate, I’m driving to the airport in Nice now to catch
the first plane. I’ll be in Paris tomorrow, dashing around everywhere, of course, for there are so many things to do before leaving on an extended vacation, but if you need me, call Paris. If I’m not in, speak only to Pauline. I will reach you.… I can feel your arms around me, my body pressed against yours. Oh God, I sound like a lovesick young girl, and so young I am not! I’ll be in the islands in a day, perhaps two, certainly no later than three, and I’ll call you instantly.… My love, my darling.
”

A primeval roar of fury was forming in Hawthorne’s throat; he controlled it, but not the violence of his outrage. Words of love so viciously, so unfeelingly used to propel a lethal myth. The call had been placed within an hour after the caller had tried to kill him! Not from a yacht in the Mediterranean but from the steps of a diner in Maryland.… How easy to tell an answering machine that one was wherever he cared to say he was. Remembrances of the games in Amsterdam: Hold on to your cover at all cost, it may be all you have left. Little Girl Blood was playing out her false cards, believing he would accept them on the table. He would make sure she did with his own call to Paris, to the ubiquitous “Pauline,” alerting the Deuxième beforehand.

“Okay, Tye” came his brother’s words over the telephone. “I’ve rewound the tape, and we’re starting from scratch at this end. Aren’t you happy I’m not making any comments?”

“None are called for, Marc.”

“Well, something must be, because you wanted me to stay on the line—”

“Oh, Christ, I’m sorry, bro,” Hawthorne interrupted, bringing his focus back. “Practical matters.… I assume the money came through and you’re looking for a couple of class A’s.”

“Hey, come on, Tye, I just sailed into Red Hook an hour ago! But, yes, I did contact Cyril at the Chase in
Charlotte Amalie, and he told me we got an unbelievable transfer from London. He was pressing me for any connections to the old
Noriega
crowd!”

“He’ll trace and find it’s as clean as the queen’s lingerie. Get to work on the boats.”

“Without you?”

“I said get to work, don’t make a deal. If you find something promising, put a binder on it.”

“Oh, yes, I remember now, a binder. When do you think you’ll be back?”

“It can’t be too much longer—one way or another.”

“What do you mean, one way or another?”

“I can’t tell you. I’ll call you in a day or so.”

“Tye …?”

“Yes?”

“For God’s sake, be careful, will you?”

“Of course, bro. You know my dictum, I despise foolhardy people.”

“You say.”

Hawthorne replaced the telephone, wincing as he leaned to his left. “Where are the notes that were in my trousers?” he asked Poole.

“Right here,” replied Jackson, going to the bureau and picking up several pages scrunched together.

Hawthorne took the scraps of paper, rustling through them, extracting one and flattening it out on the bed. He picked up the phone, again wincing as he turned, reading the figures on the paper, and dialed. “Secretary Palisser, please,” he said courteously. “T. N. Hawthorne calling.”

“Yes, sir,” said the secretary. “I’m to put you right through.”

“Thank you.”

“Commander
?” Palisser’s voice was like the man—authoritative, not aggressive. “What have you learned, if anything?”

“Another killing, and I almost made it one after that.”

“Good
Lord
, are you all right?”