‘Where’s Zoe?’
‘She has a room down the hall. She’s tired, Ben. You need to go a little easier on her.’
‘I could kill her.’
‘She feels bad.’
‘She ought to.’
She stroked his forehead, brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes. Outside, the dawn light was brightening. He could hear horses neighing in the distance, and a dog barking. ‘I should go and see to the horses,’ she said. ‘Riley won’t be up for a while yet.’
‘Stay a minute.’
She smiled again. ‘OK.’
They sat in silence for a few minutes.
‘You were dreaming a lot,’ she said. ‘Last night. You were feverish for a while.’
‘Was I?’
She nodded. ‘You were talking in your sleep again.’
He didn’t reply.
‘You were talking to God.’
‘I don’t have a lot to say to him.’
‘You asked for his forgiveness, Ben. Like it really mattered to you. What happened? What did you do that you want to be forgiven for?’
He rolled over away from her.
‘I want to help you,’ she said.
He glanced back at her. ‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. I just do.’ She smiled. ‘I kind of feel I know you now. I undressed you and put you into bed. I’ve been up to my elbows inside your shoulder pulling that bullet out of you. Your blood all over me. I’ve packed your wound and patched you up. Bathed you and sat here half the night mopping sweat off you. So why won’t you let me help you with this? It’s good to talk, right?’
‘Bad things have happened,’ he said. ‘Things I don’t want to talk about.’
‘Bad things happen to everyone.’
‘I know that.’
‘It’s not your fault Charlie died,’ she said. ‘I know you blame yourself, but it’s not fair. You didn’t know what was coming. You were only trying to help your friend.’
He was about to reply, then shut his mouth.
‘What?’
‘Nothing,’ he muttered. ‘Maybe you should see to the horses now. Just don’t stay out in the open too long. The helicopter might come back.’
She smiled. ‘You can’t get rid of me that easily.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ he said. ‘About Charlie. Maybe it wasn’t my fault.’
‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’
He closed his eyes.
‘Tell me.’
After a long pause, Ben said quietly, ‘I can’t.’
Chapter Forty-Nine
As the morning rolled by, Ben could feel his strength slowly returning and his impatience mounting. He lay on the rumpled sheets reading his Bible, working through all the facts in his head.
He couldn’t stop thinking about Slater. Who was he? Not an agent. Not a cop. He wasn’t a warrior like Jones. He was a leader, an organiser, a brain. Obviously a man with considerable power at his fingertips. One of the movers and shakers. A politician, maybe, but not a prominent figure – Alex had never heard of him. Perhaps one who preferred to stay in the shadows, working behind the scenes. And one who, for some reason that was still a complete mystery, was politically interested in Clayton Cleaver and, by extension, politically threatened by Zoe’s ostraka discovery.
Religion and politics. Cleaver was aiming at governorship, but he was still only small potatoes in the larger game. What if someone else, someone far higher up the ladder, someone with much more to gain or lose, had a stake in this too? Votes and power were a big motivator, worth killing for.
But some inner voice told Ben there was something else to it. Did political ambition alone explain how Slater, or the forces he represented, was apparently able to hijack CIA resources to enable his plans? There was something bigger going on.
And as Ben leafed through the Bible on the pillow next to him, that thought kept returning in his mind and chilling his blood.
After a while he couldn’t bear the inactivity any longer. Just after midday he got to his feet, feeling a little woozy but much stronger. He was wearing only a pair of shorts. Alex’s dressing was tight around his chest and shoulder.
He picked up the ring and hung it back around his neck. Walked over to the window and looked out at the farm buildings and paddocks, the sweeping prairie and the mountains in the background.
Something caught his eye. In one of the barns, among old farm implements and junk, was the rusting hulk of an ancient Ford pickup truck. He gazed at it for a moment, then nodded to himself.
He went to the wash basin and splashed cold water over his face, then walked back over to the bed and pulled on the jeans that had been left out for him. They fitted well, and he wondered whose they were. Not Riley’s, not with a thirty-two-inch waistband. He remembered the old man had mentioned a helper, Ira. He pulled on the shirt that had been left out too.
The aroma of coffee was floating up from downstairs, and someone was moving about down below.
Ben ruffled up his hair in the mirror and made his way down the wide wooden staircase.
He found Alex down in the big farm kitchen, standing at an old cylinder-fed gas stove, frying strips of bacon in a battered pan. She turned in surprise as he walked in. ‘I was just about to bring you something to eat.’
‘What other US political figure uses the Bible as a campaign platform?’ he asked.
Alex stared at him for a moment. ‘You mean, apart from a President who said God told him to go to war with Iraq?’
‘Lower down the scale,’ he said. ‘Someone working hard to make it to the top.’
‘There are a thousand evangelical political wannabees out there,’ she answered. ‘Some are bigger than others. But I can’t just pluck one name out of the hat. Why are you asking about this all of a sudden?’
‘It’s nothing. Just thinking. Probably way off the mark.’
‘You shouldn’t be up so soon.’
‘I feel a lot stronger.’
‘You look it. But you can’t just spring up like a jack-in-the-box. You should rest a while longer.’
‘I’m not going back to bed. There’s a truck out there. Looks old, but maybe it’ll get us out of here. I’ll give Riley double what it’s worth, so he can replace it with a better one.’
‘Nice thought,’ she said. ‘But we’re not going anywhere in that, at least not yet. I already tried it. Battery’s all right, but the starter motor seems to be gone.’
‘A doctor
‘Make good coffee too. Want some?’
‘Love some.’ He gratefully accepted a mug from her and took a sip.
‘I made French toast, too. And some bacon and beans.’ She laughed at his expression. ‘You don’t have French toast where you come from?’
‘I only know Irish toast,’ he said. ‘That’s regular toast, soaked in Guinness.’
‘Try some. It’s fried bread with sugar.’
