gestured toward the Mexican presidential candidate. 'I will let the professor explain his perspective.'
Zarra stood up and went behind the lectern. He adjusted his half-glasses and then focused on his audience.
It was true, thought Fitzduane, the man did have something. There was the quality of a leader about him and that intangible called integrity. And when Zarra began to speak, there was also that extraordinary, quite compelling voice.
As a speaker, even in English rather than his native Spanish, well practiced after two decades of university lecturing, Valiente Zarra was dynamite. And charming. And, regardless of his academic background, highly political.
'My friends, I will start by making a confession. In my country we are rightly proud of our heritage, and it is not always a good thing to admit that one was educated for a time in the United States. Well, I attended Wharton for several years and that was how I met Lee. We were at university together. It is something, of course, I try to hide in my home country,' he said with a smile, 'but it is the reason I am here today.
'My interest in the state of Tecuno, senors, started off as a pure matter of politics. What I – my people – have discovered is why we are here today.'
He spoke for another twenty minutes.
The punch line made the blood drain from Fitzduane's face.
Reiko Oshima!
It was the name of someone he had been absolutely sure was dead. Whom he had killed.
The name of a Japanese terrorist leader who had been the lover of the Hangman. Who had killed one of his closest friends, Christian de Guevain. Who had been the leader of the fanatical group Yaibo – in English, 'The Cutting Edge.' Whose people had come within a hairsbreadth of killing Fitzduane and his small son.
Reiko Oshima – also known as ‘The Lethal Angel.’
Fitzduane had seen her die, had seen her helicopter explode over TokyoBay as his rounds had pumped into it. No one could have survived that holocaust, he was sure. But the evidence was overwhelming.
She lived.
And if she lived, she was an active threat. She had to be stopped.
The rationale was indisputable. Cochrane and Valiente Zarra were passionate and persuasive advocates. Others joined in. Even Maury fixed Fitzduane with his soulful eyes.
'No,' said Fitzduane.
'Hugo,' said Cochrane. 'You're the best-qualified man to do the job. It is a matter of fact, not opinion. You're the best there is at what needs to be done. We know what this woman has done to you and your son. You know she will try again. You can't leave it.'
'No!' said Fitzduane heavily. 'I cannot – my family comes first – and that is all there is to it.'
Kathleen lay back, glowing nicely from the aftereffects of making love.
She had heard that pregnancy could go one of two ways, but certainly she had not found her own ardor diminished, and Hugo, if anything, seemed sexier than ever.
He was, without question, a very passionate man. Since she had found out she was pregnant, he had announced that he was particularly turned on by the notion that their very own little human was growing inside her, and there was certainly frequent evidence that this was so.
There was a whine from the kitchen, and at irregular intervals high-speed chomping sounds as if sand and the tentacles of an octopus had gotten into the gears of the appliance.
Kathleen smiled and then laughed out loud. Since he had been shot, Fitzduane had been forced to take his health very seriously while convalescing, and since then had become a permanent convert to hard daily exercise and healthier eating. The results certainly showed. However, sometimes, Kathleen felt, Hugo carried things to excess. He read widely and had recently discovered ‘juicing.’ The health benefits of this were apparent enough, but some of Hugo's blends were a little weird. He liked to experiment.
Frankly, Kathleen would have preferred if he confined this tendency more to their sexual relationship and kept it away from the juicer. He had once juiced raw leeks and turnip, and the resulting concoction had nearly killed them both. Still, he had been learning then. His recent blends were quite promising.
Hugo came into the bedroom clutching two pint glass mugs of a thick, frothy, multicolored liquid that looked as if it should have a rum base and a Polynesian name and have little umbrellas sticking out of it. Both mugs sprouted bent straws. Fitzduane wore the pleased look of an inventor whose latest experiment has worked, but otherwise not much else except a towel. His hair was still damp from the shower.
Kathleen took her mug and sipped it warily. Hugo was rational on most things, but he would juice, she had the impression, anything that grew. She had strong doubts as to whether the potted plants in the apartment were going to survive much longer. She was sure she had caught her husband eyeing them contemplatively.
'Ummm!' she said. 'This is really very good.'
'Mango, carrot, apple, celery, kiwi fruit, sorrel, parsley, red peppers, and…'
Kathleen looked at her husband. 'What?' she said firmly.
'Ingredient X,' said Fitzduane. 'I'm like the Coca-Cola company. I keep my recipes secret. There could be billions at stake.'
'Talk!' commanded Kathleen. She took another long sip. It really was extremely good. The straw got blocked and she drank straight from the glass.
'You've got froth on your nose,' said Fitzduane. 'It's quite becoming when you're naked. It sort of balances out your pubic hair.'
'Where?' said Kathleen.
Fitzduane put down his glass. 'Working from the top,' he said, 'if you put a fingertip on your nose and then follow it down over your mouth and chin and between your breasts and then down to your tummy button and keep on going… You find your public hair. And my hand. And you feel gorgeous.'
'That's not quite what I meant,' said Kathleen, her voice a little thick as Fitzduane worked on her.
Fitzduane did not reply. At the time he physically could not, since his mouth was otherwise engaged. Later on, as he entered his wife, she seemed, in turn, to be otherwise preoccupied. His nipples tingled as she tongued them, and later on she did other things.
It went on for some considerable time. There was definitely something to the idea, Kathleen thought as waves of pleasure repeated again and again and gradually subsided, that juicing promoted stamina. 'What is ingredient X?' she asked dreamingly as she surfaced.
'Your wife has to be pregnant,' said Fitzduane.
'You're a maniac, Hugo,' said Kathleen, 'and I love you.'
'And love doesn’t hurt either,' said Fitzduane. 'But for true ecstasy, you want to add a little broccoli ginger.'
Their earlier conversation had focused on Reiko Oshima and Fitzduane's refusal of the mission. And then other matters had distracted them.
Now, after they had made love and eaten, they talked late until the early hours. There was much that Fitzduane would have preferred to keep for Kathleen, but that was not the way it worked. Kathleen, he felt, had earned the right to know. In truth, she did not have to earn anything. He loved her. Their child was in her womb.
'Apart from Lee Cochrane and Zarra, a whole bunch of people talked,' he said. 'I'll try and summarize it.'
'Start with Tecuno,' said Kathleen. 'I'm curious to know how one state can act as if it is an independent country. Surely the Mexican government would bring it into line?'
Fitzduane smiled. 'When is an independent nation truly a separate country?' he said. 'It is not as simple as a geographical accident. Mostly, it is what people and power and what people can get away with. In essence, might
