Touch of Magic (30 page)

Her eyes took on a teasing look. She grinned with
out answering.

"
Dammit
, Channing! I want to know if I can get a
wire on you."

Annoyed by her lack of seriousness, he caught her
by the wrist and felt her recoil.

"What's wrong?" he asked, immediately releasing her.

Her mouth opened, set for denial.

"Probably an inflamed tendon," said a voice behind them. "Doesn't have any better sense than her father did when he found a new pair of handcuffs."

They turned as one.

Channing's houseman was padding toward them,
his body set at an angle. It was as white as grits, with
lumps where his knees should be and chartreuse
swim trunks flapping above them like curtains. His misshaped nose was in the air.
Serafin
was beside
him.

"All this practicing 'round the clock all of a sudden," he lectured, a narrowed eye on his employer.
"Using muscles you'd let get flabby. You're out of shape, you know, madam, and you're not a girl any
more. Let me see." He poked the exact spot to
make her gasp. "Rest and aspirin. I'm going to tape
it to keep you from using it."

Ellery entertained a fleeting thought that the
household help where he'd grown up, afraid of
overstepping bounds and being dismissed, wouldn't
even have ventured advice on what to wear outside
on a rainy day.

"Beat it,
Rundell
," said Channing between her
teeth. "It's nothing. I bumped it on something."

"Rubbish. The boy already told me you dropped
your coffeepot this morning."

The old bird had a lot of steel inside him, Ellery
decided. And Ellery shared his hunch that Channing wasn't telling the truth about her condition.
They were breaking the rules enough as it was, and
her flawless performance was vital. He looked at the
houseman.

"You know what you're talking about?"

The old man drew himself almost erect.

"I was The Great Sebastian's assistant for fifteen years."

Ellery gave a nod.

"She'll wait for you in the lobby."

He whisked Channing aside before she could protest, and before
Rundell
could unhinge his mouth to
speak again.

"I'm trusting your judgment," he said, his voice
lowered. "If a point comes when you think you can't do the job, speak up for
chrissake
. Otherwise it's the two of us against
Ballieu
and whoever. For practical purposes we have to consider Max, Walker, and Oli
ver -- all three -- the enemy."

"That spreads us thin."

A family with three children came bustling to
ward them, heading for the stable and chattering
happily about the ride they'd have. Ellery didn't
answer.

"I'm still convinced
Ballieu's
got a helper too," he
said when the family had passed. He wished he
could forget that
Ballieu
had been known to snatch
people around him for cover.

"So our agenda for today is?"

"Try to spot the mole. Try to spot the helper.
Failing that, let's play it as planned and hope we
move fast."

He glanced at her as they walked beneath the
thin shadow cast by a palm tree. To the right there
were shouts from a doubles game on one of the
tennis courts.

"I'm not taking chances with you, Channing.
That's why I want you wired. I'm going to be within fifty yards of you all the time, if possible. The min
ute you see anyone familiar, you go to ground and
I'll move in."

"Along with whoever's on our side, once they see
the lay of the land?"

"Let's hope so. If you were really playing the
game you want
Ballieu
to think you are, you
wouldn't tell any of the rest of us about the meeting
you've set with him. So I'll wait till the last minute
to call the others in.

"The main thing is, forget the film switch. Save
your hide. We'll have our traitor."

"And
Ballieu
."

"Right."

"And if I don't see anyone I thought was on our
side, then I play it through?"

"Yeah. I guess. Just be prepared to duck for cover.
And, Channing -- don't hesitate to use the artillery."

They had come to a crossroad where one branch of the sidewalk led toward the noise and activity of
the main pool area, another branch to the lodge
itself. He halted. A crossroad. For one split second
he considered how simple it would be for the two of them to walk out, get into a car, and drive away -- or
walk into Oliver's post and announce they had a traitor somewhere and even get a pat on the back.

It stunned him that he'd let his thoughts take such
a turn. He touched the shoulder of the woman beside him. There were things he wanted to say, but he merely let his fingers press gently.

"Come in after your first show and I'll put the
wire on you," he said. "Until then, keep an eye on
whoever's in the listening post."

"And you'll be...?"

"Keeping tabs on
Ballieu
-- and trying to smoke
out whoever's with him."

They separated. He glanced back once and saw
her testing her hand.

*
  
*
  
*

The plastic explosive fit nicely inside one corner
of a three-foot-high brick planter. It divided the
swimming pool area from a group of tables and was
in the middle of things.

How fitting to send a bunch of American pigs to
their deaths while they were eating,
Khadija
thought. She leaned against the planter, the large
shoulder bag beside her camouflaging skillful movements of her fingers as she twisted the bomb's deto
nator into place. She smiled at two fat women who
came by, smiled a second time for a waiter who was
grinning at her like an idiot as he passed with his
tray. Perhaps they would be among the recipients
of the gift she was leaving.

It was hard to judge how long it would take the
sheath around the detonator to wear through. It ran between two bricks that were loosened. Each shift
ing of the bricks would wear at its shell.

Khadija
had noticed people were always perch
ing on the edge of the planter. Girls who were flirt
ing with men. Men who were watching for girls.
Children. Even as she turned to leave, a group of
shrieking boys ran up and jumped on the wall.

This evening, maybe?

Tomorrow?

The brick wasn't loose enough to fall, only to shift
itself slightly, its rough bits of dry mortar scraping.

Khadija
walked toward the pool to find a chair
and sun herself. She would accomplish something against the enemies of her people even if
Ballieu
didn't.

*
  
*
  
*

The leggy blonde whose room
Ballieu
had visited
the day before yesterday was deep in conversation
with another man when Ellery spotted her. He
waited impatiently. In the next eleven hours
Bal
lieu
was bound to move. The knowledge slapped at
his chest like a cold, flat meat cleaver that could turn on edge and lay him open at any minute. He
had to narrow the odds he and Channing faced. As
soon as the other man departed, he moved in.
Though he wore a shirt to hide his bandage, he
had changed into swim trunks to blend into the pool
scene. He carried a bottle of tanning lotion in his
hand.

"The small of your back's red," he announced,
dropping into a vacant chair beside the blonde's.
She was belly-down, reading a magazine. He dis
played his bottle of lotion as she turned her head.
"Allow me?"

The blonde gave him a curious once-over.

"Sure. Why not?"

Nice to know all those hours he'd been stuck at
the Country Club pool as a kid hadn't been for noth
ing, Ellery thought. He'd had plenty of chance to
observe big brother Reid in action. Reid had been as
quick with the lotion then as he was with the oil for
constituents now.

The blonde's eyes were alert but didn't seem hos
tile. Her muscles felt long and relaxed as he smoothed the white cream over her. Her back
arched into his hand a little.

"I've seen you around," she said. "You here
alone?"

"Yeah."

She had very long fingernails, carefully polished. One of them flipped a page in her magazine. When she felt his hand leave her back, she rolled over and
gave him a cynical smile.

"The bartender send you?"

It dawned on Ellery what the lady was. Max had
mentioned a call girl, but he'd forgotten it. That,
coupled with her response right now, pretty much
eliminated her as
Ballieu's
assistant.

"Afraid not. Do I need a recommendation?" he
asked easily.

"Not necessarily."

Her smile widened, showing the tips of her teeth.
Ellery said maybe later. Another of
Ballieu's
con
quests, the one with breast-length black hair, was at
the far end of the pool.

The lounges near hers were all occupied. Ellery
killed twenty minutes. The cleaver at his chest kept
pressing harder. Finally, fearing the girl would
leave, and seeing she was in the correct facedown
position, he decided to move, anyway.

Setting course for a postcard stand, he turned off
to walk between chairs. As he passed hers, her head
raised. She'd been fully alert, not sunning at all. He
stopped and looked back.

"Excuse me," he said. "Did you know your back's
getting red? Allow me." He extended the tanning
lotion.

Her dark eyes had a scorching quality. Maybe she
was just reacting to the obvious come-on. He
wouldn't blame her. He'd always thought the girls
who responded to Reid's line must be morons.

"I never burn. I love the sun," the girl in front of
him said. She looked lean and supple.

Her English was very good. Almost no accent.
And the fact that she had one didn't prove any
thing.

"You sure?" pressed Ellery. "It'd be a shame to
see such a lovely back sunburned."

If she was connected with
Ballieu
, she should
have sense enough to play along in hopes of throw
ing him off-guard. His eyes watched hers. They told
him nothing.

"If you insist," she said with boredom. She lay back down.

Ellery stepped closer and squirted a line of lotion
into his hand. He smoothed it along her spine. Her
muscles were tensed for action and as hard as ropes.
There was always a chance they were well developed because she was some sort of dancer or acro
bat. But Ellery doubted it.

"I read somewhere that brunettes are more sus
ceptible to sunburn than other women," he said.
"Do you think that's true?"

Old Reid's best poolside routine. Used on a terror
ist.

Because Ellery was sure now that was what she
was. He wouldn't need to interview any more of
Ballieu's
female companions. He'd had a chance to look at this one's hands.