Black Sunday

24

“DAHLIA? ARE YOU HERE?” THE room was very dark.

“Yes, Michael. Right here.”

He felt her hand on his arm. “Have I been asleep?”

“You’ve slept for two hours. It’s one a.m.”

“Turn on the light. I want to see your face.”

“All right. Here it is. The same old face.”

He held her face in his hands, gently rubbing his thumbs in the soft hollows beneath her cheekbones. It had been three days since his fever broke. He was getting 250 milligrams of Erythromycin four times a day. It was working, but slowly.

“Let’s see if I can walk.”

“We should wait—”

“I want to know now if I can walk. Help me up.” He sat on the side of the hospital bed. “Okay, here we go.” He put his arm around her shoulders. She held him by the waist. He stood and took a shaky step. “Dizzy,” he said. “Keep going.”

She felt him trembling. “Let’s go back to the bed, Michael.”

“Nope. I can make the chair.” He sank back in the chair and fought down a wave of nausea and dizziness. He looked at her and smiled weakly. “That’s eight steps. From the bus to the cockpit won’t be more than fifty-five. This is January fifth, no, the sixth, it’s after midnight. We’ve got five and a half days. We’ll make it.”

“I never doubted it, Michael.”

“Yes, you did. You doubt it now. You’d be a fool not to doubt it. Help me back to bed.”

He slept until midmorning, and he was able to eat breakfast. It was time to tell him.

“Michael, I’m afraid something is wrong with Fasil.”

“When did you talk to him last?”

“Tuesday, the second. He called to say the truck was safe in the garage. He was scheduled to call again last night. He didn’t.” She had not mentioned the Libyan pilot to Lander. She never would.

“You think he’s caught, don’t you?”

“He wouldn’t miss a call. If he hasn’t called by tomorrow night, then he’s taken.”

“If he was caught away from the garage, what would he be carrying to give it away?”

“Nothing but his set of keys. I burned the rent receipt as soon as I got it. He never even had that. He had nothing that would identify us. If he had anything and he was caught, the police would be here now.”

“What about the hospital telephone number?”

“Only in his head. He picked pay telephones at random to call here.”

“We’ll go on then. Either the plastic is still there, or it’s not. The loading will be harder with just the two of us, but we can do it if we’re quick. Have you got the reservations?”

“Yes, at the Fairmont. I didn’t ask if the blimp crew was there. I was afraid—”

“That’s all right. The crew has always stayed there when we flew New Orleans. They’ll do it again this time. Let’s walk a little.”

“I’m supposed to call the Aldrich office again this afternoon and give them your condition.” She had introduced herself on the telephone as Lander’s sister when she reported him ill.

“Say I’ve still got the flu and I’m out for at least a week and a half. They’ll keep Farley on the schedule as chief pilot and Simmons as second officer. You remember what Farley looks like? You only saw him once, when we flew the night-sign run over Shea.”

“I remember.”

“He’s in some of the pictures at the house, if you want to look at him again.”

“Tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll go to the house tomorrow. You must be sick of this dress.” She had bought underclothing at a shop across the street from the hospital, had bathed in Lander’s bathroom. Otherwise, she had not left his side. She laid her head on Lander’s chest. He smiled and rubbed the back of her neck.

I can’t hear him bubbling, she thought. His chest is clear.