Camouflage

—41—

“She wasn’t human,” Jack Halliburton said. “No human could have an arm blown off and then outdo a Hollywood stuntman in falling, running, swimming. What was she?”

Jack and Jan had Russell alone in Jack’s suite at Aggie Grey’s. “You loved her?” Jan said.

“This is so confusing,” Russell said.

“You had sex with her,” Jack said.

“Jesus, Jack.” Russell winced and turned away.

“No, listen. You’ve had sex with other women; lots of them.”

Russell looked toward Jan for support and got a blank stare. “I wouldn’t say ‘lots.’ ”

“So was there anything about her anatomy that seemed strange? Anything about her psychology?”

“I did love her,” he said to Jan. “I fell for her like dropping off a cliff.”

“But think!” Jack persisted. “Anything that wasn’t human?”

“She was a hell of a lot more human than you, Jack. She was funny and sweet and interested in everything.”

“That’s scary,” Jan said.

“I know it is.” Russell sank back into the big soft easy chair. “More scary to me than anybody.”

Jack levered himself up off the couch and stalked across the room to a table with three crystal liquor decanters. He poured himself a splash of whisky and dropped an ice cube into it. “Do you think she could have been some kind of construct, sent to spy on us?”

“Yeah, sure,” Russell said. “A robot. That accounts for the metallic sound when you rapped your knuckles on her.”

“I mean biological.”

“Of course. You think anybody in the world is capable of ‘constructing’ a superhuman?”

“She came from somewhere.” The phone rang and Jack snatched it up. He listened for about a minute, giving monosyllabic responses, and then said, “I don’t know what to say. We’ll get back to you. Thanks.” He set the phone softly back on the cradle.

“Who was that?” Jan said.

He twirled the ice around in his glass. “Woman named Peterson, Doctor Peterson. Forensic pathologist. Local.” He shook his head. “They sent a flesh sample from the arm over to Pago Pago for analysis, DNA identification.”

“They identified her?”

“It’s not a ‘her.’ ” He took a small sip. “It’s not even human—not even animal. It doesn’t have DNA.”

“Holy Christ,” Russell said.

Jack sat down. “Russ … you were fucking an alien from another planet. That’s probably illegal in Samoa.”