The Scorpio Illusion Part 72

"Kill him, kill the boy!" she shrieked. "He must not live!"

"Cabi ... Cabi!" came the screams from the unseen teenager beyond the corner of the wall. "What are you saying?... Auhh!"

A second marine guard lunged forward, firing two rounds, blowing apart the head of the chauffeur, who fell in Bajaratts path. Tyrell grabbed the second marine. "Get the President out of there!" he shouted. "Get everybody out!"

"What, sir?"

"Just do it!"

Bajaratt shoved the falling dead body of the chauffeur out of her way, grabbed his gun, and ran down the corridor as the marine, joined by his colleagues, raced into the Oval Office. Hawthorne, his weapon extended, crouched and spun around, looking for the woman he once thought he loved but now hated, a serpent with gla.s.s eyes and a mouth filled with poison. She was nearing the end of the hallway! Tyrell sprang forward with such force, the wound in his thigh split open, the blood spreading throughout his trousers as he raced after her.

When he was halfway down the corridor, there was a ma.s.sive explosion from the Oval Office. Horrified, Hawthorne whipped around, stunned by the smoke and the flying debris, then instantly relieved by the sight of blurred, excited figures on a lawn beyond an open side door at the far end of the hall. The marines had done the job; the President and several others were running around in panic, but they were out of the White House, out of harms way. Spinning again, Tyrell was paralyzed-where was Bajaratt? She had disappeared! He ran, reaching a large circular room with three hallways beyond a wide staircase; she had chosen one of them-which one? Suddenly, sirens and ear-shattering bells echoed throughout the hollow caverns of the executive mansion. Then there were voices-screams, commands, ma.s.s hysteria-seemingly from everywhere and nowhere. And through the chaos a tall figure walked slowly down the staircase, a figure with one arm, his face taut, his eyes wide and bright, as a cruel man looks observing an act of brutality that excites him profoundly.

"Its done, isnt it, General?" shouted Hawthorne. "You really did it, didnt you?"

"You!" yelled the chairman of the Joint Chiefs as streams of marines and civilians raced out of the hallways, crossing the large circular room toward the Oval Office corridor, oblivious of the celebrated general and the bleeding man who limped to the staircase below the soldier. "And you were too late, werent you, mister?" Meyers moved his arm behind him as he stared at the gun in Tyrells hand. "Ive faced a thousand weapons and none have ever frightened me."

"You dont have to worry about this one, General. I may blow both your kneecaps off, but I want you alive. I want the rest of your wriggling carca.s.s for all the world to see-because I wasnt too late. You lose."

Without warning, without the slightest body movement, Meyers arced his arm from behind him, and in a single motion brought the blade of his bayonet slas.h.i.+ng down across Hawthornes chest. Tyrell leapt backward, firing his gun as rivulets of blood spread throughout the s.h.i.+rt under his jacket. And General Maximum Mike Meyers fell forward down the staircase, most of his neck obliterated, a ma.s.s of white tissue and soaked, bright red flesh, his head more off the rest of his body than on.

Bajaratt! Where?

A gunshot-a scream! From the far right hallway. Dominique had killed again-no, Bajaratt!

Bunching his s.h.i.+rt together to absorb the blood, Hawthorne limped to the corridor where the shot and the scream had come from; the walls were soft yellow, the light from crystal chandeliers, not neon tubes. It was a short hallway with anterooms, probably for social functions, where invited guests primped for state occasions, two doors on the right, two on the left. There was no corpse in evidence, but there were blotched streaks of red, as if a body had been dragged into the second door on the right. A killer setting a trap had made a mistake that only another killer would recognize. In such a situation, one did not follow the blood, one looked in another direction. Tyrell sidestepped down the hallway, his back against the left wall, the wound in his thigh now draining profusely. He reached the first door and, summoning what strength he could, spun around, cras.h.i.+ng his shoulder into it while twisting the k.n.o.b with his left hand. The ornate room was empty, several full-length mirrors reflecting Hawthornes image; he limped quickly back into the hall, into the pandemonium of screaming sirens and deafening bells. He proceeded to the second door in the left wall; it was the a.s.sa.s.sins illogically logical sanctuary, he knew it, he felt it.

Once again, finding what was left of his reserves, he turned the k.n.o.b and propelled his body against the door, sending it cras.h.i.+ng back into the inside wall. Nothing!... Then, in a microsecond flash of understanding, he whipped around and lunged to the right-for knowing her pursuer, Bajaratt had reversed the trap! She came flying through the open door from the room across the hallway, half her clothes torn to shreds, her face the face of the demonically possessed, her eyes wild, her features stretched in fury. She fired twice, the first bullet creasing Tyrells left temple as he swung his head away, the second shattering a mirror on a dressing table, the third attempted shot ... a click. The gun she had taken from her fallen colleague was out of bullets.

"Shoot!" screamed Bajaratt. "Kill me!"

Thunder cracked across Hawthornes mind, bolts of lightning searing his inner eyes, blinding his thoughts yet leaving him the torture of outer sight. Opposing wind shears of loathing and remembered love collided as he stared at the contorted features of the h.e.l.lhound who had slept in his arms in another time, in another life. "Whom would I be killing?" he asked weakly, taking long gasps of breath. "Dominique or the terrorist they call Bajaratt?"

"What does it matter? Neither of us can live any longer, cant you understand that?"

"Part of me does, another part isnt quite sure."

"Youre weak! You were always weak and filled with sickening self-pity! Youre pathetic! Go on, do it! Havent you the courage?"

"I dont think courage has anything to do with it. It doesnt take bravery to kill a quartered mad dog. But maybe it takes a little more courage to capture it, dissect it, and learn what makes it diseased. Also, to learn what other mad dogs travel in the pack."

"Never!" shrieked Bajaratt, flicking the gold bracelet on her wrist and lunging at Hawthorne. His thigh crippling him, Tyrell fell back under her attack, his strength sapped; he was almost no match for the maniacal strength of the fanatic. Then, as the gold bracelet came nearer his throat, blocked only by his grip on her wrist, he saw the open hole of a jagged gold point. It was dripping fluid meant for him. He fired. Into her chest.

Bajaratt gasped and rolled over, trembling in the rattle of death. "Muerte a toda-" The head of Amaya Aquirre fell to the right, into the comfort of her shoulder. Somehow, her face became younger, the lines of hatred diminished, a ten-year-old child at peace.

EPILOGUE.

The International Herald Tribune

Paris Edition-(Page 3)

ESTEPONA, Spain, Aug. 31-It was reported yesterday that police, accompanied by the American amba.s.sador, sealed off the villa belonging to retired former justice of the United States Supreme Court Richard A. Ingersol, who suffered a fatal heart attack while attending his sons funeral in Virginia. Justice Ingersol was a prominent member of the exclusive community Playa Cervantes, on the Costa del Sol. The American amba.s.sadors presence was deemed proper pursuant to instructions from Ingersols survivors that his personal papers be removed and returned to the United States, including those that contained confidential information and advice sought by U.S. government officials.

The Was.h.i.+ngton Post

(Front page, lower right)

General Meyers Found Dead; Termed a Suicide WAs.h.i.+NGTON, D.C, Sept. 5-The body of Gen. Michael Meyers, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, was discovered early this morning in the bushes several hundred yards from the Vietnam Memorial. His death was attributed to a ma.s.sive bullet wound to his neck, the weapon fired at close range, said weapon found gripped in the generals hand. The motive for suicide is best described in Meyerss own words delivered in a speech last May to the Forever America convention. "Should the time come when my infirmities determine that I cannot fulfill my commitments to the best of my ability, I shall quietly take my own life rather than become a burden to the country I love. If I had my wishes, it would be among the troops who served me and the nation so magnificently." The general, a former prisoner of war, sustained multiple wounds in the Vietnam action.

Highlights of Meyerss life and military career appear in the obituary section of this paper. A Pentagon spokesman said its flags would be lowered to half mast for a week, and that there would be a minute of silent prayer at noon today.

The New York Times

(Page 2)

Is There a Purge?

WAs.h.i.+NGTON, D.C., Sept. 7-Sources close to the CIA, Naval Intelligence, and the Immigration Service say that a ma.s.sive reevaluation of numerous employees, as well as stringer personnel under loose contracts to the three departments, is under way. No one will go on record as to what prompted this action, but it has been confirmed that several dozen arrests have been made.

The Los Angeles Times

(Page 47)

MEXICO CITY-Two American pilots, Ezekiel and Benjamin Jones, appeared at the offices of La Ciudad, a Mexican tabloid, claiming to have information about the "disappearance" of Nils Van Nostrand, the multimillionaire international financier and adviser to the past three administrations, as well as select committees of the Congress. A spokesman for Mr. Van Nostrand said he had never heard of the two brothers and was amused to learn that Van Nostrand had "disappeared," as he was merely taking a three-month world cruise, a trip he had promised himself for years. The charter service in Nashville, Tennessee, where the pilots claimed to have been hired, said it had no record of their employment. This morning it was reported that two men fitting the description of the Joneses stole a Rockwell jet, and under false aircraft identification flew south, presumably to Latin America.

"Now you know the truth, famiglia Capelli," said Nicolo, sitting nervously forward in a chair, his chest strapped under his jacket, his left arm in a sling. They were in the s.p.a.cious living quarters above the delicatessen-restaurant. "I am only a dock boy from Portici, although Im told there is a great family in Ravello who will accept me as their own, for they lost a son not unlike myself.... I cannot do that, for I have been false to myself long enough, lied to people long enough."

"Dont be so hard on yourself, Paolo-Nico," said Angel Capell from a chair across the room, a tactic devised by her doubting father. "My attorney spoke with the government people-"

"Her 'attorney, Papa!" cried the actresss younger brother, laughing. "Angelina has an attorney!"

"Basta!" said the father. "Perhaps if you work hard enough, you may be your sisters avvocato.... What did this lawyer say, Angelina?"

"Its a government thing, Papa, everything is silenzio. Nicolo has spent the last four days in isolation, being questioned by dozens of officials, telling them everything he knew. There were those who wanted to put him in prison for years, but our laws require a trial. Everyone accused of a crime is guaranteed an attorney for his defense-and frankly, Papa, I guaranteed the best lawyers my attorney could find to defend him." Angel Ca-pell, nee Angelina Capelli, paused, blus.h.i.+ng slightly as she smiled at Nico. "Naturally, thered be a lot of publicity and, Im told, a great deal of embarra.s.sment for lots of people all over the place, in and out of the government, helped that terrorist because they thought they could get money from her."

"So?" thundered Capelli. "This is all incredibile!"

"No, Papa. Among the cla.s.sified statements made by the marines and the naval officer in charge, each clearly heard the woman order Nicolo killed-killed. Papa!"

"Madre di Dio," whispered Mrs. Capelli, staring at Nico. "Hes such a good boy, maybe not so perfect, but not cattivo."

"No, hes not, Mama. He comes from the streets, as so many of our young people do who roam in gangs and act stupidly, but he wants to better himself. How many dock boys in Italy have gone to high school? Nico has."

"Then he wont go to prison?" asked the Capelli brother.

"No," replied Angel. "As long as he swears to say nothing, they accept the fact that he was a puppet-un fantoccio, Papa-for that terrible person. The attorney has arranged the papers, and Nico will sign them this afternoon."

"Scusa," said the elder Capelli, his eyes wide in bewilderment. "Your friend here-the barone-cadetto... this Paolo, or this Nicolo-spoke of a great deal of money in Napoli, say nothing of the envelope filled with so much denaro I should work six: months to see such a profit-"

"Its all there, Papa," answered Angel. "My attorney checked with the bank in Naples.... The instructions are clear. If Nicolo Montavi of Portici, with proper identification, claims it, it is his. In the event of his death, it reverts to the depositor who does business with the bank; and if neither claims it within six months, the funds are to be transferred to a confidential account in Zurich."

"All that is true, Signor Capelli," said Nicolo. "I knew nothing about my employment other than that it would be a sciarada, a game for money, which, to be honest, the docks of Portici play many times."

"And this money is still available to you?"

"It wasnt meant to be," acknowledged the dock boy, a flash of anger crossing his face as he briefly closed his eyes. "As Angelina has told you, she ordered me to be killed," he added in a quiet monotone.

"But now it is," exclaimed Angel. "My attorney said that all we have to do is fly to Naples, to the bank, and its all Nicos!"

"We fly ...? You both together?"

"He is an innocente, Papa. Hed get on the wrong plane."

"How much money is there?"

"A million American dollars."

"Take your avvocato with you, Angelina," said Angelo Capelli, fanning his face with a menu. "You must have a proper chaperone, but if your attorney is anything like your agente, the worm who changes your name, I put a maledizione on him too!"

Dear Cath: It was great seeing you yesterday, and even better to know youre going to be okay after a stretch. You looked terrific, by the way, but then, you always do to me. Im writing this letter so you wont have a chance to pull that superior-officer stuff with me, or talk to me like I was your nerd kid brother who always gets lost in a shopping mall, okay? I appreciate this here leave they gave me, but the truth of the matter is that I dont care to take it. I know I talked some about my daddy, and your saying you didnt even know he was a big lawyer and all, but I guess I didnt mention that Daddy retired last year. He wasnt that young, Cath. You might say my little sister and I were late babies on account of they were both in their forties. As a fact, Daddy claimed thats how Sis and I got our brains, because his and Mommas were fully developed, which, of course, wouldnt stand up in any biological study of heredity. But there isnt any overpowering reason for me to go home because theyre not there much. Theyre traipsing all over Europe like a couple of kids, and when they wear out Europe, theyll head elsewhere-last time I heard it was someplace called Adelaide in Australia on account of theres a great casino-Momma loves to gamble, and Daddy likes to have a few bourbons with the foreign folks and has a h.e.l.l of a time. I thought about going out to see my little sister, she and I pretty much always got along, but shes heavy dating a guy whos got his own company and wants to steal her away from where shes at, like with a senior vice presidency, and when I called her, she said, "Dont you dare come out now, big brother, because h.e.l.l offer you the job!" I guess shes got a point, Cath. The kids good, very inventive, but I taught her most of what she knows. Gosh, Im a h.e.l.l of a prize for anyone in the private sector! Okay, okay, so maybe Im exaggerating a bit, but I know enough to stay away.

Whatll I do? Im going back to the only home Ive got right now, to the base, and I hope you dont have a problem with that-my leaving without saying good-bye in person, I mean. Now may I say something as it pertains to you, Major? I believe youve got a fair amount of thinking to do, if youll pardon me. I know you, Cath, and Ive watched you for almost five years now, and I dont have to tell you that I truly love you, sometimes in my thoughts profanely, but I know when not to continue the march. Also, youre at least maybe seven or eight years older than I am, and I dont care to take advantage-just kidding. Major! All Im saying is that youve got a couple of options that I dont have and one of them is with a guy I truly respect, a man whos a real man because among other things, he doesnt go around thinking hes got to prove it. He just is. I first learned that when Charlie was killed, and I was way out of line. But you know what happened then, and, as I recall, he had a talk with you too. Times like that tell you a lot about a guy, you know what I mean? Tye may have jumped s.h.i.+p, as they say, but in my lexicon hes just about everything thats implied in the bulls.h.i.+t phrase "an officer and a gentleman." Like I said, he just is, although hed probably never talk to me again if I told him to his face.

I know Ive always said you were born to run the air force and things like that, and you probably could, but that was before Tye told me what you said you might have done if you could have afforded college. Maybe you could do it now, like the commander suggested. I sure hope you think about it, then maybe Ill run the air force.

The hospital told me you got the uniform. Frankly, I think you look terrific in a dress.

I love you, Cath, I always will. Please think about what I said. Incidentally, Id make a h.e.l.l of an uncle for your kids. How many families have a real genius to help with the homework? Just kidding-not!

Jackson In her blue air force uniform, Major Catherine Neilsen sat in a wheelchair alone at a table in the hospitals outdoor restaurant lounge overlooking the Potomac. In front of her was a tall gla.s.s of iced coffee; across the table in a metal ice bucket a half-bottle of white wine was chilling. It was early evening, the orange sun settling in the western sky, casting long shadows over the rippling waters below. Movement at the gla.s.s doors caused her to look over as the figure of Tyrell Hawthorne limped, weaving through the seated visitors and patients, toward their table at the railing. She quickly shoved Pooles letter into her shoulder bag.

"Hi," said Tyrell, sitting down. "You soften a uniform considerably."

"I was sick of the hospital attire, and since I couldnt go shopping, Jackson had this flown up from the base.... I ordered you some Chardonnay, I hope thats all right; they dont serve the hard stuff."

"Its probably too good; my stomach may revolt."

"Speaking of which, or close to it ...?"

"The new st.i.tches are holding nicely, thanks, but then, theyre bound in cloth cement. The marine captains better off; the bullet went right through his side, messy but clean."

"How did the meeting go?"

"Try to imagine a cage full of ocelots racing around in the mud.... They really dont know what hit them, or how it all got through their impenetrable security."

"Come on, admit it, Tye, the whole strategy was ingenious."

"That doesnt wash, Cathy. It was ingenious because we were so flawed internally, a Mack truck could have driven through the gaps. Christ, the kid was all over the papers, the ersatz countess way in the background, I do admit, but still she was there. Where were the super counterintelligence yuppies who employ all those marvelous computers that check and cross-check and triple-check?"

"You didnt join up early enough and Poole wasnt operating the computers."

"Id like to believe that about me, but, as usual, there were too many accidents ... Poole, Ill buy-you too, lady. You were outstanding.... Anyway, Howell-Sir John Howell-of MI-6, was on the speakers in the White House Situation Room. Londons rounded up four of-Bajaratts-accomplices; the rest, if there are any more, they figure have flown back to the Baaka. Paris was really good. The Deuxieme sent out a signal that the Baaka Valley unit had to figure was the one it was waiting for. At two oclock in the morning it was announced over all the radio and television stations that an emergency meeting of the Chamber of Deputies was called into immediate session. Nothing short of a global catastrophe, a terrible event that was temporarily being kept quiet could produce such an action. They caught five terrorists getting the h.e.l.l out of there through a single exit."

"What about Jerusalem?"

"Theyre beautiful. They wont say-just that everything is under control. Also, Van Nostrands death will be covered. Somewhere down the road, or maybe an ocean, itll be announced that he had a heart attack or an accident, and be eulogized in absentia."

"The White House?"