Busted Flush Page 0,65

day. Though 'cuz of the virus, we couldn't have kids - I already got myself taken care of, y'know." He made a snipping motion with two fingers. "I'd love to have kids, too - did'ja know that? I would. Fucking love it. You 'member those joker kids back in Egypt - always around me, trying to play drums on my chest?" Michael laughed and pounded on his torso, sending a wild, unrhythmic cascade of drumbeats echoing from the island. Below, the mechanics glanced up again. "Hell, that was a blast. Kids would be great; maybe we could adopt some . . . ." He paused, blinking. His eyelids felt impossibly heavy. "But hey, what about you, Rusty?" Michael asked. The beer can was on its side again. He looked at the foamy puddle mournfully. "How is it with you and the women? I bet you get your share, right, big guy like you?" Michael touched his chest, and a cymbal crash rang. Rusty said nothing. "Right?" Michael asked again.

"I never - " Rusty began, then grated to a halt like a broken locomotive. He was staring out at the dark Gulf.

"Never what?" Michael asked, then the import of the words hit him and he sucked in salt air in a great gulp. "Shit, you mean . . . ?" He could see the answer on Rusty's face. "Wow," he said. "I really don't know what to say, man. Never?"

Rusty shrugged. "I was seventeen when I turned my card. Before that, I dunno, I was a kinda shy fella, that's all. And after . . . Now . . ." Another shrug. Even through the haze of alcohol, Michael realized it was the most words he'd ever heard Rusty say about himself at one time.

"Never," Michael repeated, and belched. "We're a hell of a pair, ain't we?" he said. He put all three right arms around Rusty. They sat there a moment, just staring. Then Rusty reached into the bag and pulled out two more beers.

" 'Nother?" he said.

Michael took his and popped the top. He reached over to clank his can against Rusty's. "To us," he said.

They drained the cans as one.

Barbara Baden had called the meeting of the Committee members aboard the ship. Michael knew what it meant; they all knew. He could see it in their faces as they entered the meeting room belowdecks of the Tomlin.

"Hey, Kate," he said. He took the seat next to her at the table. Rusty sat on his other side. Across the table, Lohengrin nodded to him, and Tinker smiled. Barbara was at the whiteboard near the head of the table. There were notebooks in front of each of them, with the UN logo prominent on the cover. "We're the last, I guess. Sorry, Babs."

Baden smiled. "Not a problem, DB. I just finished talking with the secretary-general and John Fortune. So here's the situation: unless something changes in the next day, we'll be going in before dawn two days from now; the Tomlin is already heading to a new position just off Kuwait City."

"Going in where?" Lohengrin grunted. Goinguh in vhere? "To the oil fields?"

Baden shook her head. "We need a better staging area for that - there will be several UN battalions involved, not to mention the ground and engineering support we'll need when we take control of the actual oil facilities. We plan to take Kuwait International Airport first."

Michael couldn't contain his laugh. Six arms waved like a spastic tarantula. "You're kidding, right? We're going to take Kuwait International, in one of the Caliphate's biggest cities, and the Caliph and Prince Siraj are going to just let that happen? Hell, they'll have every inch of the ground covered with troops."

"We're hoping that won't be the case," Baden said stiffly through the smile that appeared to be chiseled on her face. "Even though negotiations have broken off, Secretary-General Jayewardene has kept the lines of communication open with Prince Siraj. He has reminded the prince and the Caliph what happened the last time they attempted to interfere with the Committee aces. We hope that they understand that 'permitting' a small incursion into the Caliphate would be better for them politically than resisting one and losing."

Rusty grumbled something unintelligible, Kate said nothing. Tinker was staring at his hands. Michael looked at Lohengrin. "You buying this?" he asked.

"Well . . ." Vell . . . A shrug. "I trust that John won't give us anything we can't handle."

"Must be nice to have that kind