A Gentleman's Game

54

Israel-Tel Aviv, the Hilton Tel Aviv, Room 2303 24 September 0831 Local (GMT+3.00)

The SUV had saved them, allowed them to make the first pickup on the twenty-third, at twenty-two hundred hours. The bird had appeared out of nowhere, hugging the Jordanian terrain, set down just long enough for Chace to pull her battered and abused self into the back, Matteen following. The gunner in the back had nothing to say to them as they took off again, and when they set down at the base north of Elat, Landau was waiting.

Chace was taken to the base infirmary, where a brusque doctor gave her an efficient and not unkind examination, including eighteen stitches along her scalp, where the first rifle blow had torn away a flap of skin. He told her that she was lucky her skull hadn't caved in, and she just looked at him, not feeling lucky about anything much at all. He gave her a shot for the pain, and she was nodding off when Landau returned with two of the heavies she recognized from the safehouse. He told them to take her back to Tel Aviv, and they brought her to another helicopter, and there was another ride, a short one, and she nodded off again while they were in the air, and a third time after they put her in the car.

She honestly had no memory of how she'd ended up in the Tel Aviv Hilton. • She awoke in pain, disoriented, and it took her several moments to piece together where she was and how she might have come to be there. When she got out of bed and pulled herself to the bathroom, she saw a plastic shopping bag resting on the closed toilet seat. Inside were clothes, presumably ones that would fit her.

She took a shower and didn't much feel it, even when she made it hot, even when she made it cold.

She dried off and dressed, avoiding looking at herself in the mirror. • Landau and Borovsky came to see her for debriefing at nine, and she saw no reason not to tell them everything that had happened, so she did. They listened closely, their faces betraying nothing.

When she was finished, Borovsky asked how she was feeling.

"Dead," she said.

"That will pass," he told her, and laid a pack of Silk Cut on the desk, then excused himself and left the room, leaving Landau behind.

"Where's Matteen?"

"Already gone," Landau said. "CIA was waiting to scoop him up the moment we left the base."

"So he was for real?"

"Apparently. I didn't ask, they wouldn't say anyway, we go on what we know at any given moment, yes?"

Chace nodded, staring out the window at the Mediterranean.

"You should be getting a call shortly," Landau said, rising.

"All right."

"My advice, take some time off. Take some rest."

Chace nodded, not hearing him.

Landau sighed, put a card on the desk beside the pack of Silk Cut. "You call that number if you need anything, you understand, Miss Chace?"

"Sure."

He hesitated, then seemed to acknowledge there was nothing he could say that she wanted to hear. He left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

For several minutes, Chace stayed in the chair, staring at the Med. Then she roused herself enough to go to the desk and get the pack of cigarettes and the ashtray. There was a book of matches in the ashtray, and she used them to light the first smoke, then used the ember of the first to light the second, and so on.

She was on her eighth when the telephone rang.

She didn't answer it. • She called down to the desk and told them that she wasn't to be disturbed.

She undressed and went back to bed.

When she awoke next, it was early evening, and the message light on the telephone was blinking orange. She took another shower, then used the room service menu to order dinner, which was a bottle of scotch and a Caesar salad.

After lighting a cigarette, she picked up the phone again and called the hotel operator, saying that she would again be accepting calls. • The phone rang six minutes later, and she answered it this time, saying, "Yes."

"Tara," Crocker said. "You can come home now."