'Where was that?'
'France… Southwest Asia.'
The doctor's eyebrows had arched. 'My geography's not very good. Where is Southwest Asia?'
'Is this necessary?'
'Yes, it is.'
'Oman and Bahrain.'
'He was with you?… Excuse me, but your exploits are common knowledge.'
'He was with me,' answered Evan. 'He's one of the people I couldn't thank publicly because it wouldn't be in his interest.'
'I understand. We have no press office here.'
'Thank you. Why do you ask?'
'Unless I'm mistaken, and I could be, he's infected with a—let's say a virus—that to the best of my knowledge is indigenous to central Africa.'
'That couldn't be.'
'Then perhaps I'm wrong. Our equipment is among the finest in the West, but there's better. I'm having lung tissue and blood samples sent to the CDC in Atlanta.'
The what?'
'Centers for Disease Control.'
'Disease?'
'It's just a precaution, Mr. Kendrick.'
'Have them flown there tonight, Doctor. There'll be a jet waiting at Stapleton Airport within the hour. Tell Atlanta to go to work the minute your findings arrive—I'll pay whatever the cost even if they have to stay there around the clock.'
‘I’ll do what I can—’
'If it would help,' said Evan, not sure whether he was bluffing or not, ‘I’ll have the White House call them.'
'I don't think that will be necessary,' said the pathologist.
As he left the hospital, having said good night to a heavily sedated Manny, he remembered the vanished Dr Lyons of Mesa Verde, the physician without an address or a telephone but with full government clearance to be presented to a congressman and/or his staff. What clearance? Why was clearance necessary?… Or was it simply a very impressive document, a device for slipping into the private world of one Evan Kendrick? He decided to say nothing to anyone. Khalehla would know better what to do.
He approached the Brown Palace and was suddenly aware through the falling snow of the coloured lights on the Christmas decorations extending across the wide avenue from the old classic structure to the new south Tower. Then he heard the strains of a carol filling the street. Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa-la-la-la-la… la-la-la-la. Merry Christmas from the legacy of Masqat, he thought.
'Where the hell have you been?' shouted MJ Payton, causing Khalehla to hold the telephone away from her ear.
'Having dinner.'
'He's there! Our blond European is in the hotel!'
'I know. I had dinner with him.'
'You what?'
'As a matter of fact, he's here in my room now. We're going over what we know. He's not what we thought.'
'Damn you, Adrienne! Tell that son of a bitch Mr. B would like to talk to Mr. A!'
'Good God, you were the one?'
'Cap it, Rashad! Put him on the line.'
I'm not sure he'll agree.' The agent from Cairo again had to pull the phone away. She turned to Varak. 'A Mr. B would like to talk to Mr. A.'
