I knew I was betraying your trust.”
“Yeah, well, I feel pretty bad about it, too. Why don’t you just leave?”
“I’d rather stay and talk to you.”
“I think I have it figured out. Go on. You have dozens of people to operate on. Before the world has the slightest chance of being saved.”
“You do still believe that.”
“I haven’t had time to think about it, but yes, if the stuff you put back in my mind about the Jupiter Project is true, and if the Hammer of God is real, then something has to be done. You’re doing something.”
“You’re all right about it?”
“That’s like being ‘all right’ about losing an arm. I’m fine. I’ll learn to shave with the other hand.”
“I don’t want to leave you like this.”
“Like what? Just get out of my sight. I can think about it without your help.”
He looked at his watch. “They are waiting for me. I have Colonel Owens on the table.”
I waved him away. “So go do it. I’ll be all right.”
He looked at me for a moment and then got up and left without a word.
I fished around in my breast pocket. The pill was still there.
* * *
back in guadalajara that morning, Jefferson had warned Blaze to stay out of sight. That was no problem; she was holed up with Ellie Morgan several blocks away, working on the various versions of the paper that would warn the world about the Jupiter Project.
Then Jefferson and Cameron sat for a few hours in the cantina, a small camera on the table between them, watching the elevator doors.
They almost missed her. When she came back down, her silky blond hair was tucked under a wig of black ringlets. She was dressed conservatively and had toned her visible skin to a typical Mexican olive hue. But she hadn’t disguised her perfect figure or the way she walked.
Jefferson froze in mid-conversation and surreptitiously slid the camera around with his forefinger.
They had both idly watched her exit the elevator. “What?” Cameron whispered.
“That’s her. Made up like a Mexican.”
Cameron craned around in time to see her glide through the revolving door. “Good God, you’re right.”
Jefferson took the camera upstairs and called Ray, who, along with Mendez, was coordinating things in Marty’s absence.
Ray was at the Clinic. He downloaded the pictures of her and studied them. “No problem. We’ll keep an eye out for her.”
Less than a minute later, she walked into the Clinic. The metal detectors didn’t catch either of her weapons.
But she didn’t pull out a picture of Amelia and ask whether anyone had seen her; Gavrila knew that Amelia had been in this building, and assumed it was enemy territory.
She told the receptionist she wanted to talk about a jack installation, but she refused to talk to anyone but the top man.
“Dr. Spencer’s in surgery,” she said. “It will be at least two hours, maybe three. There are plenty of other people—”
“I’ll wait.” Gavrila sat down on a couch with a clear view of the entrance.
In another room, Dr. Spencer joined Ray looking at a monitor watching the woman watching the entrance.
“They say she’s dangerous,” Ray said; “some sort of spy or assassin. She’s looking for Blaze.”
“I don’t want any trouble with your government.”
“Did I say she was government? If she was official, wouldn’t she produce credentials?”
“Not if she was an assassin.”
“The government doesn’t have assassins!”
“Oh, really. Do you also believe in your Santa Claus?”
“I mean, no, not for us. There’s a crackpot religious group that’s after Marty and his people. She’s either one of them or she was hired by them.” He explained about her suspicious activity at the hotel.
Spencer stared at her image. “I believe you are correct. I have studied thousands of faces. Hers is Scandinavian, not Mexican. She probably has dyed her blond hair—or no, she’s wearing a wig. But what do you expect me to do about her?”
“I don’t suppose you could just lock her up and throw away the key.”
“Please. This is not the United States.”
“Well . . . I want to talk to her. But she may be really dangerous.”
“She has no knife or gun. That would have registered as she walked through the door.”
“Hm. Don’t suppose I could borrow a guy with a gun to watch over her while we talked?”
“As I said—”
“‘This is not the United States.’ What about that old hombre downstairs with the machine gun?”
“He does not work for me. He works for the garage. How dangerous could this woman be, if she has no weapon?”
“More