'So where are we?'
'In a dilemma,' said Payton. 'But for the moment it's mine, not yours.'
7:25 pm San Diego. They held each other; Khalehla leaned back, touching his hair as she looked at him. 'Darling, can you do it?'
'You forget, ya anisa, I've spent most of my profitable life dealing with the Arab propensity for negotiation.'
'That was negotiating—exaggeration, of course—not lying, not sustaining a lie in front of people who'll be suspicious of everything you say.'
'They'll desperately want to believe me, that's two points for our side. Besides, once I see them and meet them, I don't really give a damn what they believe.'
'I wouldn't advise you to think that way, Evan,' said Rashad, lowering her hand and stepping away. 'Until we have them, which includes degrees of traceable evidence, they'll operate as usual—down and dirty. If they think for a moment that it's a trap, you could be found washed up on the beach, or maybe just not found at all, just out there somewhere in the Pacific.'
'As in the shark-infested shoals of Qatar.' Kendrick nodded, remembering Bahrain and the Mahdi. 'I see what you mean. Then I'll make it plain that my office knows where I am tonight.'
'It wouldn't happen tonight, darling. Down and dirty doesn't mean stupid. There'll be a mix in there—some legitimate staffers and probably a smattering of Bollinger's kitchen cabinet. Old friends who act as advisers—they're the ones you want to zero in on. Use that well-recognized cool of yours and be convincing. Don't let anything throw you.'
The telephone rang and Evan started towards it. ‘That's the car,' he said. 'Grey with tinted windows as befits the Vice President's residence in the hills.'
8:07 pm San Diego. The slender man walked rapidly through the terminal at San Diego's International Airport, a garment bag slung over his right shoulder, a black medical bag in his left hand. The automatic glass doors to the taxi area snapped back as he passed through on to the concrete pavement. He stood for a moment, then headed for the first cab in the line of taxis queued up for passengers. He opened the door as the driver lowered a tabloid newspaper.
'I assume you're available,' said the new fare curtly as he climbed in, throwing the carry-on across the seat and lowering his medical bag to the floor.
'No trips over an hour, mister. That's when I pack it in for the night.'
'You'll make it.'
'Where to?'
'Up in the hills. I know the way. I'll direct you.'
'Gotta have an address, mister. It's the law.'
'How about the California residence of the Vice President of the United States?' asked the passenger testily.
'It's an address,' replied the driver, unimpressed.
The taxi started off with a planned, mean-spirited jolt, and the man known briefly in southwest Colorado as Dr Eugene Lyons was slapped back into the seat. He was unaware of the insult, however, his anger clouding all normal perceptions. He was a man who was owed, a man who had been cheated!
The Icarus Agenda
Chapter 39
The introductions were brief and Kendrick had the distinct impression that not all the names or titles were entirely accurate. As a result, he studied each face as if he were about to commit it to a canvas he was incapable of painting. Khalehla had been right, the seven-man council was a mix but not as difficult to discern as she had thought. A staffer making thirty to forty thousand dollars a year did not dress or behave like someone who spent such sums on a weekend visit to Paris… or Divonne. He judged that the staff was in the minority: three official aides versus four outside advisers—the kitchen cabinet from California.
