flatter her, either.
In her roommate’s purse she found a driver’s license made out to a Sally Glenndarning. A Discover, a Visa, and a MasterCard. And Sally had left one hundred and thirty-five dollars in her wallet, a dreadful temptation for the hospital help.
Putting Sally’s thick wallet back in the purse, she slung the awful, clashing leatherette bag over her shoulder and tiptoed to the door.
Mrs. Parisi had always been a meticulous planner. She’d wanted to make her move all evening, but knew she should hold out until four.
By three in the morning the body processes started to creep. Eyelids became heavy, the heart slowed. Between three and four, most people who were going to die peacefully quit breathing. The live ones, though, were sleepy at three and comatose an hour later.
Peering out, she saw one agent asleep in his chair a few feet down the hall. The other was nowhere to be seen.
Scrunching up her feet to keep them from flopping out of the oversized sandals, Mrs. Parisi walked to the stairs. She limped down three flights and came out in the lobby. No one, not even the uniformed guard, watched her leave.
She walked three long blocks before she found a pay phone. Using Sally’s AT&T card, she dialed Tad Ellis in Maryland.
“Huh? What?” Tad said sleepily, catching the phone on the third ring.
“Wake up and listen.”
Mrs. Parisi heard a rustling on the other end of the line. Probably Tad’s bedcovers. “Linda?” he asked in a mumble.
“Yes. Now listen carefully. I want you to go out and rent me a car. Better yet, a van.”
Tad was awake enough now to cough. As with most heavy smokers, it was the thing he most wanted to do upon arising. In the middle of his hacking fit he managed to say, “But it’s four o’clock in the morning.”
“Go to National Airport. They rent cars at all hours there. Bring money, Tad. At least a thousand. Go to as many ATMs as you have to.”
“It’s not the ATM,” Tad said with a yawn. “It’s the card that determines the credit limit. I could go to one A TM and get as much as I wanted.”
“Oh, Is that right, dear?” she asked with counterfeit admiration for the boy’s fiscal acumen. There was nothing Mrs. Parisi loathed more than being corrected; and so to teach Tad a memorable lesson in manners, she added, “Then perhaps you’d better make it two thousand. I’ll take a cab to—” She thought for a moment. “The Lincoln Memorial. You meet me there.”
Yes, Mrs. Parisi decided. The Lincoln Memorial. That should suit Tad’s clichéd sense of adventure perfectly.
“Are you listening, Tad?”
“Jesus, Linda. Can’t this wait till nine?”
“Tad,” she told him somberly. “Army Intelligence is after me. They want to take me to Spain. Do you hear what I’m saying, dear? To the war front. They’ll make me tell them all I know.”
“Oh, my God,” he breathed, and Mrs. Parisi knew that not only was Tad fully awake at last but she had hit all the right paranoia buttons. “Drugs. Torture. They’ll get everything out of you.”
‘That’s right,” she agreed, feeling more than a bit foolish standing in Sally Glenndarning’s absurd tent dress and grossly wide sandals. “You must help me, Tad.” Then she added darkly, “Or the Eridanians won’t understand.”
CENTRAL ARMY HOSPITAL, BADAJOZ, SPAIN
Dr. Rita Beaudreaux lifted her head from the microscope and rubbed her blurred eyes. Beside her lay the slides from the hole in the sternum. The hole had parted the cells so neatly, they were stacked like boxes in a warehouse. Nothing-no laser, no scalpel, nothing—could have made such a neat incision.
The sound of the door opening behind her brought her head around in a snap and set her heart racing as though she was afraid she’d see something supernatural there. It was only Lieutenant Colonel Martinez. The short, swarthy officer had his hands stuck into the pockets of his camouflage jacket, and it didn’t look as though he was
In her roommate’s purse she found a driver’s license made out to a Sally Glenndarning. A Discover, a Visa, and a MasterCard. And Sally had left one hundred and thirty-five dollars in her wallet, a dreadful temptation for the hospital help.
Putting Sally’s thick wallet back in the purse, she slung the awful, clashing leatherette bag over her shoulder and tiptoed to the door.
Mrs. Parisi had always been a meticulous planner. She’d wanted to make her move all evening, but knew she should hold out until four.
By three in the morning the body processes started to creep. Eyelids became heavy, the heart slowed. Between three and four, most people who were going to die peacefully quit breathing. The live ones, though, were sleepy at three and comatose an hour later.
Peering out, she saw one agent asleep in his chair a few feet down the hall. The other was nowhere to be seen.
Scrunching up her feet to keep them from flopping out of the oversized sandals, Mrs. Parisi walked to the stairs. She limped down three flights and came out in the lobby. No one, not even the uniformed guard, watched her leave.
She walked three long blocks before she found a pay phone. Using Sally’s AT&T card, she dialed Tad Ellis in Maryland.
“Huh? What?” Tad said sleepily, catching the phone on the third ring.
“Wake up and listen.”
Mrs. Parisi heard a rustling on the other end of the line. Probably Tad’s bedcovers. “Linda?” he asked in a mumble.
“Yes. Now listen carefully. I want you to go out and rent me a car. Better yet, a van.”
Tad was awake enough now to cough. As with most heavy smokers, it was the thing he most wanted to do upon arising. In the middle of his hacking fit he managed to say, “But it’s four o’clock in the morning.”
“Go to National Airport. They rent cars at all hours there. Bring money, Tad. At least a thousand. Go to as many ATMs as you have to.”
“It’s not the ATM,” Tad said with a yawn. “It’s the card that determines the credit limit. I could go to one A TM and get as much as I wanted.”
“Oh, Is that right, dear?” she asked with counterfeit admiration for the boy’s fiscal acumen. There was nothing Mrs. Parisi loathed more than being corrected; and so to teach Tad a memorable lesson in manners, she added, “Then perhaps you’d better make it two thousand. I’ll take a cab to—” She thought for a moment. “The Lincoln Memorial. You meet me there.”
Yes, Mrs. Parisi decided. The Lincoln Memorial. That should suit Tad’s clichéd sense of adventure perfectly.
“Are you listening, Tad?”
“Jesus, Linda. Can’t this wait till nine?”
“Tad,” she told him somberly. “Army Intelligence is after me. They want to take me to Spain. Do you hear what I’m saying, dear? To the war front. They’ll make me tell them all I know.”
“Oh, my God,” he breathed, and Mrs. Parisi knew that not only was Tad fully awake at last but she had hit all the right paranoia buttons. “Drugs. Torture. They’ll get everything out of you.”
‘That’s right,” she agreed, feeling more than a bit foolish standing in Sally Glenndarning’s absurd tent dress and grossly wide sandals. “You must help me, Tad.” Then she added darkly, “Or the Eridanians won’t understand.”
CENTRAL ARMY HOSPITAL, BADAJOZ, SPAIN
Dr. Rita Beaudreaux lifted her head from the microscope and rubbed her blurred eyes. Beside her lay the slides from the hole in the sternum. The hole had parted the cells so neatly, they were stacked like boxes in a warehouse. Nothing-no laser, no scalpel, nothing—could have made such a neat incision.
The sound of the door opening behind her brought her head around in a snap and set her heart racing as though she was afraid she’d see something supernatural there. It was only Lieutenant Colonel Martinez. The short, swarthy officer had his hands stuck into the pockets of his camouflage jacket, and it didn’t look as though he was
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