“God, you’re incorrigible.” Millie Gray smiled.
The security guard at the duty nurses’ station didn’t question Millicent about her connection to Khalid Khuddari or why she was here. He could barely tear his eyes away from her breasts long enough to notice she wasn’t even alone. He tripped over his tongue telling her that Khalid had a private room on the fourth floor. Millicent Gray and the disguised Trevor James-Price veered toward the elevators, both of them suppressing the desire to hold hands. Lord Harold Gray would be back from his African hunt in fifteen days, and any second of their affair they squandered would never be recovered.
Five minutes after Trevor and Millie stepped onto the elevator, an intense young Kurd walked into the lobby. The lump bulging out the left breast pocket of his khaki overcoat was a folding cellular phone. The lump at the right was a silenced Sig Sauer P220.
Tariq had met him in the parking garage in front of the massive hospital and told him Khalid’s room number, having learned it last night after a lengthy reconnoiter. The Kurd had exactly twenty minutes to reach Khuddari, kill him, and make his way back to the parking garage where Tariq waited to drive them away. The young man paused in the lobby, squandering five of his minutes trying to steel his courage. Security was lax, but there were two burly guards at their station, talking easily with reporters who were waiting to get a statement from the unknown victim four floors above.
The gunman decided that now was his time to strike. If he was somehow caught, he knew he would take his own life, redeeming himself for the failure yesterday. His martyrdom would be secured. The silencer attached to the big automatic had never been used; it would work at optimum efficiency. The shot would be undetectable from more than a couple of yards from Khuddari’s room. The guards didn’t even glance in his direction as the gunman headed for the multiple banks of elevators.
Khalid Khuddari had been awake for nearly two hours, pain insidiously bringing him out of his drug-induced sleep. The scabs on his back felt hot even through the layers of gauze protecting them, and they itched fiercely. Every time he blinked, the delicate muscles around his eyes pulled against the raw wounds on his face, bringing fresh tears streaming down his cheeks. And when the tears stung the cuts, it was quite literally adding salt to a wound.
The thought made him chuckle painfully.
“You can’t be that hurt if you can manage to laugh at this ungodly hour.”
Khalid looked across the room. He barely remembered Millicent Gray, but he knew the voice from under the veils. He hadn’t heard them enter. Trevor James-Price pulled the black veil of the chador from around his head, his fine hair dancing with the motion before falling naturally over his boyish face. Despite his cocksure smile, there was true concern behind his bluer-than-blue eyes. “God, Khalid, you look terrible, even for a wog.”
“You have no idea.”
“I won’t be pedestrian and ask you how you feel. And since I talked to that obtuse doctor last night and read the papers this morning, I don’t need to ask what happened either. All I need to know is why you wanted me here and why this outrageous getup? By the way, do you know that security here is an absolute joke?”
“Not surprising. No one knows who I am, and I want to keep it that way until after I’m gone.” Slowly, like an old man near death, Khalid struggled into a sitting position, each movement deepening the grimace on his face. By the time he got his feet dangling over the edge of the high hospital bed, he was out of breath and sweating freely.
“Easy, old fruit.” Trevor crossed the room and laid a hand on Khalid’s shoulder. Khalid winced at the slight touch.
“I have to get out of here, Trev,” he panted, his face deathly pale, his lips appearing blue. “I need to get back to the UAE.”
“I don’t think you should be going anywhere,” Millicent offered, moving next to Trevor. Although she didn’t know Khalid, it was hard not to look at him and feel anything less than total sympathy.
“I am going, Lady Gray. Trevor can explain why, but right now I need your help, not your pity,” Khalid said with a dedication that chilled the room.
Trevor was already pulling the black robes over his head. Contrary to his earlier tease to Millicent, beneath them he wore the suit pants and white shirt he’d had on the night before. There was a lipstick smear on the right collar of the Turnbull and Asser shirt. “What do you need her to do?”
“She should have worn the chador. I told you that last night.” Khalid was bothered that they hadn’t listened to him.
“Doesn’t really matter, old boy,” Trevor said flippantly, trying to soothe his friend. “Besides, I’ve always wanted to try cross-dressing.”
Khalid didn’t say anything further as Trevor produced a bundled package of clothing pilfered from Lord Gray’s dressing room. Millicent Gray’s husband was a large man, with a waist size that could accommodate two of Khalid with a little room to spare. After helping Khalid to dress, Trevor slipped the robe over his head, pulling it down so that only his shoes were visible below the black cotton. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Khalid. You’re in no condition to leave this room, let alone fly back to the UAE.”
“I don’t have a choice.” Khalid rode another wave of pain, each crest being just a little easier than the last. It was hard to believe, but his body was becoming accustomed to his injuries.
Millicent stepped forward quickly and grasped the arm of the swaying Khalid. “Trevor, you shouldn’t be helping him. He’s half dead.”
“There are more lives at stake than just his, Millie,” James-Price said with quiet understanding. “I’m sorry to get you involved like this. I’ve no right, but I ask you to please help us. The men who came after him yesterday at the British Museum will most certainly have another go. He’s a target sitting in this room.”
“Why not inform your Embassy?” she asked.
“Because I don’t know whom there I can trust right now. This is the best way,” Khalid replied.
“But he won’t be able to get a flight without reservations.” Millie continued to talk to Trevor as if Khalid wasn’t there.
“Diplomatic passport. He’ll get a flight.” Trevor held up the slim volume he’d taken from Khalid’s hotel room. “That’s where I went earlier this morning. Since the hospital didn’t know who he was last night, I figured he’d left his ID in his hotel.”
Khalid nodded gratefully to his friend, taking the passport. “The only perk better than the diplomatic license plates on the embassy cars I get to use. Lady Gray, I’m sorry, but there’s no other way. And like Trev said, there are a lot of lives at stake.”
“All right, I’ll help. But Trevor, you make bloody sure that there are security people waiting for us at Heathrow. And a doctor too.” While she thought the two men were being overdramatic, she would go along with it, if for no other reason than that she was the trophy wife of a millionaire member of Parliament and bored out of her beautiful skull.
“It’s best that she stays, Trevor,” Khalid said. “We could be followed once we leave the hospital.”
“Nonsense,” Trevor said, pulling the veil over Khalid’s head. “No one is going to pay you the slightest heed.”
He fished out the keys to the old Bentley he’d been driving since his divorce and placed them in Millicent’s waiting hand, caressing the tight junctures between her fingers. She smiled at the intimate gesture and he winked wolfishly. “Can you manage to get him out of the hospital? I could give you a hand down to the car.”
“No!” Khalid said. His voice was muffled by the veil but still carried the weight and fear of his words. “Two people came into this place together and two are going to leave. We don’t want to attract attention. I’ll make it.”
At the door, Khalid paused and turned back to thank his friend. The pale sunlight streaming through the window gilded James-Price’s hair. “I’ll see you soon, you bloody Pom bastard.”
“Take care of yourself, you stinking wog.”
Falling into the role of a bereaved family member leaving a dying relative and trying to remain as erect as possible, Khalid allowed Millicent Gray to lead him from the room. Neither of them paid the slightest attention to the trench-coated man headed down the hall toward them. Millicent had no idea how to spot any sort of trouble, and Khalid was struggling not to faint. Had they turned, they would have seen the man reach into his coat as he approached the door to Khalid’s room. They might have saved Trevor.
When the heavy door of the room swung inward against the articulating arm of the automatic closer, Trevor
