physically.'
She smiled (a little ruefully, he thought) and said, 'Perhaps physically, too, under different circumstances. So don't underestimate yourself, Jake Cutter. But you're carrying a lot of baggage around with you, and the extra weight is taking too much of a toll on you. You haven't been the most sociable type, you know? And even if you were, this isn't the best of times.'
'Which disposes of physically,' he said. 'But there's still psychically to consider. I thought you were interested in that side of me, too — or should that be 'at least?'' With which he
felt her shy away from him, as her expression became a lot more serious. But then she gave a shrug, and said:
'Out in the desert, that first job of ours was like an initiation, a baptism by fire — for both of us. As we were working together and it was part of our job, it seemed only fitting and sensible that we develop something of a rapport. But—'
'Which we did,' he cut her off. 'So, is that finished now?'
'—But,' Liz went on, 'for this thing tomorrow night we've been split up, and since we're not going to be working together there seemed little point in us, well, working together! I mean, with this twin operation about to go down, Xanadu and the Capricorn Group island thing together, letting anything else get in the way would have been too much of a distraction. So I haven't been trying to avoid you, Jake. It's simply that we've all been very busy.'
'You have all been busy!' said Jake, moodily. And abruptly: 'I'm not… not having a good time of this.'
'Of this conversation?'
'And of everything else,' he answered. Then shook his head and said, 'Christ! Do I come off sounding like a cry-baby?'
And suddenly Liz found herself melting. It was the first time that Jake had shown any open wounds — in his waking hours, anyway — and here she was pouring salt in them with her deliberately detached, overly cool attitude! And so:
'What is the problem, Jake?' she said.
With which he felt that oh-so-tender telepathic aura probing in his direction, and immediately raised his shields.
She knew it, drew back from him, said, 'Is that what it's about? But I can't help what I am, Jake! If someone close to me is hurting, surely it's only natural that I should want to know why? And anyway, isn't it a contradiction? You were the one who brought up our telepathic rapport, this special 'thing' that we have going! But you can't expect anyone to be close to you, concerned for you on the one hand, while deliberately pushing them away on the other. You're shielding yourself— and from contact with me, Jake!'
He nodded, and said, 'And if contact -1 suppose we can call it that for now, instead of spying — if contact gets to be a habit, what then? Look, Liz, last night I had a bloody awful nightmare, a piece of the extra luggage you were talking about, that's the result of something I've done. It was an act of vengeance, but a very terrible act. You say it's only natural you should want to know what's hurting, but please believe me, you really don't want to know about something like that!'
At which she scarcely managed to keep from biting her lip. For she already knew about that — all about it. But before she could say anything and perhaps give herself away, Jake went on: 'I think… I thought, that maybe you were there with me, that you had seen, and that was why you were avoiding me.'
'No,' Liz shook her head. 'I wasn't, I didn't, it isn't.'
And she thought: Damn you, Ben Trask! I know it's your job, but this is killing me! And at the same time she knew how fortunate she was that it wasn't Trask himself she was talking to!
But even so (she tried to qualify her deceit), what she had told Jake was only a half-lie, or at worst a white one. For the real reason she had been avoiding him was because she knew that sooner or later she must remind him of that name, Korath.
It would be the right and proper thing to do after all, for with all the emphasis that Jake had placed on it, it might well be important to everyone. But now she had gone and complicated matters, making herself an even bigger liar. For as soon as she mentioned that name to Jake and he remembered it, he would know that she really had been there after all, sneaking in his mind, like a thief!
Right there and then she might have done it, blurted it out and accepted the consequences… except at that precise moment Ben Trask appeared in the door to the house, calling, 'Liz? And is that you, Jake? O-group time. Come and get your orders.'
Heading for the house, suddenly Liz found herself hating it all. But especially hating her weird talent, her telepathy. And more clearly than ever she understood why most E-Branch espers thought of their skills as curses. Again and again her condemnation of herself rang in her mind, but she heard it as an accusation, as if spoken by Jake:
'Sneaking in my mind like a thief! — like a thief! — like a thief!' And she hated it, yes. For the fact of the matter was that
Liz valued him far too much for that. And not only psychically,
either…
Then it was Monday.
By midday an observation post had been set up on the single approach road that angled up the mountain to Xanadu. In a tree-shrouded lay-by, it looked like a party of picknickers was enjoying the view and the mountain air. A table had been set up, and a small barbecue stand sent up smoke from where it stood on the stump of a tree. Cubes of meat sizzled on skewers, and a camera and six-pack of beer sat on the table. Two of the cans had been opened, one of which lay on its side. All very 'casual.'
Three men in light summer clothes ran the show. One of them was sitting in the car with the windows rolled down, apparently listening to the radio. In fact he was using a radio, or would be when it was required. Another soldier sat at the table, 'casually' watching the road where it zig-zagged up into the wooded heights. He wore binoculars round his neck but only rarely used them. The third member of the team carried a guitar. He perched on a stool in the shade of a pine, his broad-brimmed hat giving him a little extra cover as he strummed an inadequate, mainly tuneless tune out of his instrument, which was in fact capable of far more serious music. He was the team's 'minder,' and the sound-box of his guitar housed a deadly 9mm machine-pistol.
So far, the man in the car had registered their call-sign and reported their situation only once, clearly and succinctly stating that they were 'In situ…'
Also at midday, Liz's Warrant Officer Class Two 'Red' Bygraves, and the tech Jimmy Harvey, had bought 'day visitor' tickets at Xanadu's gatehouse reception desk. By I p.m., having 'cased the joint' but oh-so-carefully, they were sunbathing on opposite sides of the main pool. Both men had taken an armful of local morning newspapers with them, with front-page spreads that dealt with the incursion of Asiatic Plague; these had been left in strategic locations where they were bound to be picked up and read. Of course the resort had its own newsvending outlets; Trask's news-sheet ploy was intended as a supplementary incentive once his evacuation scheme got in gear.
As for the scheme: that was simplicity itself.
At precisely 1:15 p.m. Bygraves got up and strolled round to Harvey's side of the pool, stepping carefully around or over the many tanned bodies lounging there. The two men were 'total strangers/ of course. Jimmy Harvey saw Bygraves coming, adjusted his dark glasses, and stretched his arms up above his head, letting the sun caress the pale underarm areas. And:
'Christ!' said Bygraves, going down on a knee beside him, staring at the dark, purplish blotches under Jimmy's arms.
'Eh?' Harvey sat up. 'What?'
'Sir/ said Bygraves, 'would you mind if I examined those marks, that pustule?'
'Marks? Pustule?'
'Under your arms, sir. Because if they're what they look like…'
Harvey glanced under his arm, looked concerned. 'Is that something new?' he said. And, 'Who are you, anyway?'
'Doctor Bygraves/ said the other, prodding beneath Harvey's left arm where he obligingly lifted it. And by now the people at the poolside were interested in what was going on.
'A doctor?' Harvey was starting to look worried.
