Touch of Magic (22 page)

Ballieu
had the satisfaction of hearing her whine
in pain. Immediately he pinned her against the
hard surface of the desk. It had entered his mind,
the display of dominance a woman like this would
find most bitter -- the kind most likely to teach her
her
place. His hand caught at her skirt and thrust it
up.

One side of her face was bleeding in spite of his efforts to leave no signs. He'd thought to see fear.
Instead there was only her all-consuming rage.
With black hair sprawled around her, choking
against the hand that pressed down on her throat, she laughed wildly.

"Go ahead,
Ballieu
. Rape your own daughter. Or
don't you even remember
Saleha
Adawi
?"

He wavered, stunned. It was a brilliant tactic.

But no. She wasn't lying. With shock he recalled
at last where he'd seen eyes like hers.

"She thought you were a god," the girl continued. "Everyone thought you were a god. I got so sick of
hearing it, I decided to see for myself!"

Unwittingly he had released the pressure on her throat. Now, though he did not press, he doubled
his caution.

"So what?" he said coldly. "Men and women
come together, they part."

But her words had dazed him.

He thought of
Saleha
Adawi
. A very attractive woman. A long time ago. It suddenly seemed he
could feel his life slipping from him, second by sec
ond, joining other things that were past. His anger
increased as he realized his mind had wandered.

"You discredit your brothers and sisters, taking
this assignment out of personal selfishness," he said.
"The individual counts for nothing in our cause --
 
only the cause itself. You're not fit to belong to your
organization!"

Beneath her sullenness she began to look frightened.
Ballieu
felt a quiver pass through him. Instinct told him to complete his act of violence, to break her once and for all, yet he was repelled by the news she'd flung in his face. A thought cast its
shadow over his mind. Did he really want to satisfy himself with the American woman as this one suggested?

Roughly he pushed himself free and turned, straightening his collar.

"Do exactly as you're told from here on out," he warned, "or I'll kill you myself."

She twisted onto her side, her voice calling
harshly after him as he reached the door.

"I am your surprise against them,
Ballieu
. You
need me."

Ballieu
smiled to himself. Her voice lacked con
viction.

*
  
*
  
*

The episode in the restaurant was fading because
she willed it to fade. Channing sat in a chair in her
room with her feet up and fingertips pressed lightly
to her forehead.
Serafin
sprawled on her bed. The
draperies were drawn against the afternoon sun. Their surroundings were dusky. On the floor be
tween them a small tape recorder filled the room, and their thoughts, with
Yussufs
voice.

"... and the king of hearts is upside down."

Channing still felt shaky, her mind filled with an
image of flying glass rather than the words she was
hearing. Had there been something in her drink?
Had
Ballieu
intended to kill her and then changed
his mind for some reason? Or had it been some sort of test?

Worse than the unanswered questions, she kept
rechurning
the knowledge that Ellery had wit
nessed her lapse in composure. He'd have two reasons now to doubt her ability to carry out the job
entrusted to her: today's reaction after
Ballieu
swept the glass away; and yesterday's snag with the
practice film.

She listened to
Yussuf's
instructions trail off for a
third time, as disturbing now as they had been
when she'd first listened. Disturbing because they
sounded so innocent and summoned such recollections of good times shared, she thought, rubbing her forehead. Disturbing because they were so innocent
 
-- a cherished magic trick. Whether
Yussuf
had felt
some premonition that he was in over his head, or whether he'd planned to disappear, he'd wanted to leave her this legacy.

There was only the scratch of the tape winding toward its end to break the silence.

"Maybe if we played it backwards or something,"
ventured
Serafin
. There was a waver in his voice.

  
"No." Channing scooted down in her chair and looked toward the ceiling, its actual margins soft
ened and obscured by the dimness. "It's what he
said it was. His special trick, which he invented and
no one has ever figured out. That's all."

Along with sadness she felt relief.
Serafin
would
start to heal now. He would see
Yussuf
had been
something more than the deceiver painted for
them by recent events. He would see that he him
self hadn't been just some sort of dupe.

"Part of him was really good, then?"

"Yes," she said softly.

A lie? Channing wasn't sure. She didn't know what to think anymore, didn't know how you measured things.

She recalled what she'd said to Ellery that morning. In the course of their lives everyone did some variety of sleight of hand. The thought depressed
her now.
Yussuf
had hidden what he was -- under
glitter, under laughter. He'd deceived people who
had admired him; he'd betrayed an entire profes
sion.

The tape snapped off. She roused herself for
Ser
afin's
sake.

"Part of
Yussuf
was really good," she reiterated.
"The part that was your friend. The part that was
my friend. I think he probably would have taken
you with him the way he promised -- just as he left
me this tape."

She needed to affirm it for the boy, to help him
accept what had happened.

Or did she need the affirmation herself?

She was thirty-two years old and felt every day of it just now, she realized, closing her eyes and pressing them. The backs of her arms ached from their hours of unaccustomed practice. Her confidence in her own ability ebbed and flowed, then ebbed
again. She was disgusted with herself for letting
Bal
lieu
rattle her.

Maybe Ellery had been right to consider her a
liability. Yet when she'd been a child, performing under
Gramps's
proud tutelage, she'd occasionally
blown a sleight or a trick she'd thought perfected.
She'd learned you didn't just quit. You didn't crawl into a hole. You studied what had gone wrong and
you worked harder. You went on.

"Channing?"

In the dimness of the room she could hear
Serafin
move closer. She opened her eyes and met the
bright, childlike anger in his.

"The man you're after is the one who killed
Yus
suf
, isn't he? I want you to get him, Channing!"

"I want that too," she said, and meant it.

Henri
Ballieu
had robbed both of them of
Yussuf
in a way that merely killing him could never have
done. She might be older than
Serafin
, but she
shared his feeling.

Reaching out to turn on a light, she brought a
piece of film to her fingertips and gave it a practice
snap. She was worried. The card shaver hadn't ar
rived.
Rundell
should have found it and had it on its
way to her this morning. She'd tried calling him several times but had gotten no answer. There was
nothing for her to do except wait -- and practice.

Matching action to thought, she rose and walked toward the draperied window. The change in posi
tion gave all the privacy she required. Her hand
moved almost automatically, performing the substitution. She'd accomplished it flawlessly hundreds of
times since yesterday's snag. It had to have been a
thread in the jacket she'd worn. Or the edge of the
film.

"Have we been resting long enough to go to the
pool again?"
Serafin
asked.

She shook her head.

"We're supposed to stay in the room until three
o'clock. Ellery said."

Either he wanted a break from baby-sitting, she
thought, or he had something else to do.

*
  
*
  
*

It was hot in the back of the van, and Oliver Lemming sounded tenser and more irritable than
usual.

"There are houses up in the hills in that direc
tion," he snapped, gesturing. "Not lots, but maybe
thirty or so. And a town ten miles away, even if it's not much. This safe the film's supposedly in could
be anywhere -- if it's all not a lot of baloney. What do
you think, Bill? I can get some sort of general search warrant so you can go poking. I thought you'd stud
ied law!"

They glared at each other. Ellery blotted sweat
from his chin. The van they were meeting in was
painted with the name of a commercial linen ser
vice, and Oliver wore the coveralls of a delivery
man. No question he rolled up his sleeves and
worked with his troops when he deemed it necessary. Whereas other field supervisors were content
to run an operation from a command post, Oliver
left nothing to chance. He assessed the territory. He
assessed his people. He checked in once a day to sift
through the nuances that could be missed by rely
ing on radio contact. The only thing he wasn't doing
was giving them a hell of a lot of help, thought
Ellery.

His resentment spilled out in words.

"For
chrissake
, Oliver! You can't get a warrant.
You can't get us more help. You haven't even gotten
us an ID on those photographs -- "

Oliver exploded, his silver brows drawing to
gether. "What the hell's the matter with you? We
only got the frigging photographs four hours ago!
You're sounding like a mother hen. Maybe it was a
mistake to put you with a woman."

"Yeah. Maybe it was."

Their eyes locked.

Ellery felt the heat beating in through the roof of
the van. Oliver looked away first and started to pace
as well as he could in the cramped space.

"Sorry," he said abruptly. "You know as well as I
do how things work."

Ellery nodded. What Oliver had said about trying
to locate the film was reasonable. They both knew it. He was being too protective of Channing. They
both knew that too.

Still, if they put their minds to it, the alternative
he was suggesting was surely feasible.

"She's nervous." He pressed his argument, any
way, not mentioning Channing's name. He won
dered why that was. "If we could find where
they've stashed the film, we could switch it our
selves. No risks involved."

"And miss who's selling the film." Oliver brought
his sharp scrutiny to bear on Ellery. "How do you
rate her? Apart from nervous."

Ellery tightened his jaw. He'd always respected
Oliver, and every decision made depended on can
dor between them.

"Good. She's damned good. She's got a knack for
playing off people and situations that's plain un
canny -- the entertainer in her, I guess.
Ballieu
threw her a real curve when he asked her about the
timing device, but she held her own.

"You were right. She's smart. And she doesn't
panic. But yesterday she muffed the film once. What if that happens when it's for real?"