But that didn’t happen. Jarvas was working at the business of being a bodyguard. He stayed close to Dannerman, keeping anyone else from touching him even on the subway, his good hand always near his own weapon, and he wasn’t talkative. When the train speeded up to pass what some terrorist had done to the Fourteenth Street station, all lightless and covered in dark green radiation-proof foam, Jarvas crossed himself awkwardly with the arm that was in a cast. Dannerman considered mentioning to him, as a conversation opener, that he really had nothing to worry about, the residue from the terrorists’ nuclear satchel bomb was no more dangerous than the general atmospheric levels-as long as you didn’t linger there, of course. But as soon as he opened his mouth Jarvas gave him a warning scowl.
He closed his mouth again, and followed Jarvas meekly as they got out at Chambers Street.
The Floridians had their place on Embassy Row, just like the rich foreign countries. Theirs wasn’t one of the big-money establishments-it wasn’t anything like the Swedish embassy on the corner, twelve stories high and immaculately kept, and of course not a patch on the embassy of the United Koreas across the street. But then Florida was stretching a point to have an “embassy” at all, since it wasn’t really an independent nation. At least not in name.
The Floridians took themselves as seriously as one, though. Both Jarvas and Dannerman had to turn over their guns even before they got to the scanners in the vestibule, and then Dannerman had to turn over his ankle gun as well. Jarvas gave him a scowl for that; at least, Dannerman thought with resignation, the scanners hadn’t picked up the bomb-bugger. Then they had to sit for half an hour in a sort of barred quarantine chamber before a guard was available to escort them to the office of Major General Martin Delasquez Moreno. Jarvas sat like a stone, a scowl on his face. After a moment Dannerman decided to improve the time; he checked his mail, wiped it all, then accessed a news broadcast. But he had time only for a couple of items before the door guard leaned in and ordered no electronics.
Then they just sat.
When the armed guard came for Dannerman he pointed to Jarvas and said, “You stay.”
“Hey! I’ve got my job-“
“Your job is stay here. Come on, you.”
Leaving the fuming Jarvas behind was a surprise for Dannerman, but not altogether unwelcome. It occurred to him that, without Jarvas by his side, it was a chance to sneak a quick look into the leather bag; but it really wasn’t, with the armed embassy guard watching every move.
When he got to the office of General Delasquez the man seemed surprisingly young-probably a relative of somebody high in Florida’s government, Dannerman supposed. He was wearing the full dress uniform of a general of the Florida State Air Guard, and when he shooed the guard out with an offhand gesture the man was meek to obey. Delasquez closed the door. “Hand it over,” he ordered; and then, when he had the leather bag in his hands, “Turn around. This is not your concern.”
But by then what was in the satchel was no longer much of , secret to Dannerman, because he’d felt its contents as he took it out of his belly bag. It felt like a few dozen pebbles. It wasn’t pebbles, though. When the general had finished his inspection and had locked the bag in a drawer and told him he could turn around again, he forgot to put the jeweler’s loupe away, but by then Dannerman had figured out that they were gemstones, almost certainly the diamonds Jerry Dixler had mentioned Pat was buying.
“Wait,” the general ordered, and keyed on his phone. Dannerman couldn’t see the picture, but he knew his cousin’s voice when she answered. “Your application has been received and is satisfactory, Dr. Adcock,” the general said. “The documents will be processed immediately.” And then, to Dannerman, “You can go.”
With their errand completed, Jarvas loosened up a little. He listened almost politely as Dannerman answered his questions about what had happened in the general’s office, then actually managed a grin. “Got that done, anyway; your cousin’ll be happy about that.” Then he stopped short in front of the Swedish embassy, eyeing the curbside vendors. “Hey, Dannerman, how about some candy? I’ve got kind of a sweet tooth.”
“Not me, but go ahead.” As he watched Jarvas haggling with the woman at the pushcart he wondered how Jarvas got away with his drug habit; the candy addiction was a tip-off, and so was the fact of his mood swings. In some ways Cousin Pat didn’t seem to be as sharp as he’d thought. But it was good that Jarvas was mellower; maybe on the way back he would be more talkative.
The other good thing in his future, he thought, was that that night he could go back to the theater. He must have smiled, be-^-cause the guard outside the Swedish embassy gave him a suspicious look before going back to eyeing the vendors and loafers along the crowded sidewalk. Dannerman kept getting nudged as people bumped against him, but if any of them were pickpockets, as they likely were, he had nothing left in his belly bag worth picking.
He felt droplets of cold water hitting the back of his neck and looked up; the meticulous Swedes had permanent crews at work in hoists overhead, to keep the building washed down. Even so, they were just barely keeping ahead of the pollution. As he moved away he felt someone touch his arm. It was a young boy, no more than fifteen. “Vill herrn vaxla? Vagvisare?” he hissed.
Dannerman shook his head, but the boy persisted. “Vill ni knulla min syster? Renflicka, mycket vacker. “
Dannerman realized the boy had taken him for a Swedish tourist. “Asshole,” Dannerman said cheerfully. “I don’t want your sister, and besides I’m an American.”
The boy changed gears without a blink. “Okay, sport, how about a little American happy time? Sticks, ampoules, mellow patches, I can get you anything you want.”
“No sale.” And then, as Jarvas came toward them, munching on caramel popcorn, he said, “You can try my buddy there. He might be in the market for some dope.”
It was a light impulse, and he regretted it. The boy took one look at the expression on Jarvas’s face, and then dodged across the street to try his luck with the Koreans. And all the way back in the subway Jarvas stood cold and angry beside Dannerman, and wouldn’t say a word.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dan
There was one job remaining for Dannerman to do that day. It was a fairly nasty one, and not one he looked forward to, but it was best to get it over with. So at quitting time Dannerman went looking for the Cypriot astronomer, Christo Papathanassiou. The man was standing over the screens in his office, preparing to shut them down for the day. When he saw Dannerman in the doorway he gave him a quick, apprehensive look. “Sorry to bother you, but I need to talk to you for a minute,” Dannerman said. “I’ve got a problem.”
Papathanassiou sat down again, stiffly waiting. “See, Dr. Papathanassiou, I’m in a little trouble with my cousin, and I don’t want to make it worse. When I went down to the lobby to get something for Dr. Chesweiler that man was there and he started up again.”
The astronomer still didn’t speak. He didn’t look surprised at what Dannerman was saying, only sadly resigned.
“And now,” Dannerman went on, “I’m really worrying about not telling my cousin about it. You see, what the man says- well, he says you’ve been mixed up with some bad business. You have a brother-I think he said the name was Aristide? Yes. And this Aristide was implicated in an assassination on Cyprus. A Turkish tax collector, I think he said. Shot in the back as he was opening his own front door.”
Papathanassiou stirred. “I know of this case, yes. A very sad business. But it was long ago, more than five years, and Aristide is only my half-brother. My father’s youngest son, by his third wife. We were never close, so what has that to do with me?”
“Well, Aristide’s on Interpol’s wanted list, and it seems they have some idea you helped him get away.”
Papathanassiou nodded somberly. “I was aware they had that idea. I was questioned at the time, of course. That is all. Never since. But how does it happen, Mr. Dannerman, that you know so much about Interpol?”
“Who, me? Oh, I don’t know anything about Interpol,” Dannerman said quickly. “That’s just what the man said. But if Pat finds out I knew about this and didn’t tell her she’ll be even madder.”
“Madder about what?” Papathanassiou inquired.