blade gleamed in the dull light.
'What is this?' Battat asked. It was beginning to penetrate his foggy mind that the newcomer was not a doctor. Battat tried to move, but his arms felt like they were full of wet sand. The man's arm went back.
'Someone!' Battat said, trying to raise his voice.
'Help me--' And then the man vanished.
A moment later, sounds came from the floor. There were low grunts, chattering, and then a long, slow groan. They were followed by silence. Battat tried to raise himself on an elbow. His arm shook, and he fell back down. Suddenly, someone rose beside the bed.
'There may be others,' said the figure.
'We have to leave.' The sharp, thickly accented voice belonged to a woman. There were an awful lot of people here.
'I thought this was a private room,' Battat said. With swift, sure movements, the woman lowered the gate beside the bed, unhooked the IV, and raised Battat to a sitting position. She kept her hand on his back.
'Can you walk?' she asked.
'If you let go... I'm not sure I can sit,' he replied. The woman lay Battat back down and stepped away from the bed. She was a tall, lean woman with broad shoulders. He could see now that she was wearing a police uniform. The woman went to the window and pulled the curtains aside. She turned the latch and raised the window. A cool, salty breeze blew in. It made him shiver. The woman looked outside. Then she grabbed a bathrobe from a hook behind the door and returned to the bed. She sat Battat up again and pulled the robe around his shoulders.
'What are we doing?' he asked. Without the IV in his arm, he was feeling a little more focused. His head was also hurting from sitting up.
'No talk,' she said.
'But wait,' he said.
'They've killed your companions, and they're trying to kill you,' she snapped.
'I was sent to get you out.'
'Killed them?'
'Quiet!' she hissed. Battat stopped talking. His head ached as the woman helped him stand. She grabbed Battat's clothes, then slipped his left arm around her shoulder and helped him to the window. As they hobbled over, Battat tried to focus on what she had just told him. Were Moore and Thomas dead? If so, it had to be the Harpooner. Maybe he thought they knew more than they did. But if they were dead, who had sent this woman to help him? And how did he know that she was not working for the Harpooner? She might be taking him somewhere so the killer could finish the job. But Battat knew he might as well trust her. He was certainly in no condition to resist. Besides, the woman was being gentle with him. And if she had wanted him dead, she could have killed him in the bed. Or she could have let the other intruder kill him. When they reached the window, the woman told Battat to lean on the sill. He did, unsteadily. She kept a hand on him, helping to keep him upright as she slipped around him. She landed quietly among the hedges outside the window and then helped him down. She put his arm back around her shoulder and then crouched. They listened for several seconds. Battat was shivering again, his teeth clattering. But at least he was more awake than before. After a moment, they were on the move again. He felt as if he was being carried through the night. They had emerged in back of the hospital and were making their way around to the north side. They stopped at a car. To Battat's surprise, it wasn't a police car but a small black Hyundai. She probably was not a policewoman at all. Battat did not know if that were a good thing or a bad thing. But as she laid him across the backseat and climbed behind the wheel, he knew one thing for certain. If he remained conscious, he would find out very soon.
Washington, D.C. Monday, 10:03 p.m.
The red-haired man sat behind his large desk. The office was dark, save for the glow of a green-shaded desk lamp and the red light on top of the phone. That meant the scrambler function was engaged.
'People are asking about Fenwick's trip,' said the red-haired man.
'What people?' said the man on the other end of the line.
'The intelligence unit at Op-Center.'
'Op-Center is well removed from the president,' the other man said.
'They don't have the same clout as the CIA-'
'I'm not so sure about that,' the red-haired man interrupted.
'What do you mean?'
'I was told that Director Hood asked for and received a private meeting with the president a few hours ago,' said the red-haired man.
'I know.'
'Do you know what they discussed?' asked the redhaired man.
'No. More fallout from the United Nations affair. I'd guess. Do you have reason to believe otherwise?' the man asked.
'Paul Hood spoke briefly with the First Lady last night.' the red-haired man said.
'I checked his file. They knew each other in the past.'
'Knew each other in a way we can use?'
'No,' said the red-haired man.
'It was platonic. Anyway, she might have seen a change in the president. Maybe she said something to Hood. I just don't know.'
