Hot Streak

CHAPTER 43

C arey spent the evening with Egon, talking about Rifat, the abduction, and all that had transpired to disrupt their lives. As he rose to leave, he said, “Eat and do your exercises. I'll be back in a few days with some doctors who'll take out that bullet in your spine. Allen's checking the current research for me. You'll be walking again in no time.”

Egon smiled, strangely content even with his paralysis. Mariel was seated beside his bed, her hand clasped in his, her smile and presence the cause of his content. “The world sure looks good,” he teased, “when you consider the alternative. And even if”-he put up a hand to stop Carey's protest-“even if things don't work out,” he quietly said, a new maturity in his tone, “I'll consider myself extremely fortunate. Now stop worrying about me and go back home to Molly.”

“And the film,” Carey said. “Allen says Tangen is raising the roof about production delays. So I'll see you in a few days, probably over the weekend,” he added, moving toward the door. “Keep an eye on Sylvie.” She was like a loose cannon, totally unpredictable.

“And then?” Egon retorted with a grin, knowing as well as Carey she was ungovernable.

“At least warn me if she's heading my way,” Carey replied, grinning back, “and I can plan a defense.”

“I'll keep her here as my ministering angel, unless of course, she becomes bored with the role.”

“A good possibility with Sylvie. She has the attention span of a puppy.” Carey was standing by the door, pleased at the sight of Egon and Mariel so obviously happy despite the daunting circumstances of Egon's injury. “Well… take care,” he said, and with a casual wave he was gone.

Carey slept on the flight home. Assuming Molly wouldn't be back from her trip to camp till midmorning at the earliest, he made arrangements to meet Allen at the airport so they could discuss both Egon and the state of their film.

Sitting across from him in the comfortable lounge of Carey's plane, Allen told him a team of doctors had been assembled and would depart for Miami in two days.

“Thanks,” Carey said, stirring two extra spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee to help keep him awake. “I appreciate all your work.”

“No problem. With all the new data bases available, we came up with a list of names immediately. Checking them out took a little longer. No bullet holes in you?” Allen was drinking Red Zinger tea from a Styrofoam cup he'd brought on board. His baseball cap sat backward on his head, a sign he was tired.

“Nope. I can run faster. Egon played the hero.”

“The papers say you did, too.”

“That's all Sylvie's hype. Ant and Luger were with me-and that's security, let me tell you. Look,” he said, uncomfortable with Sylvie's publicity, turning the discussion from heroics, “my apologies for bringing you down here this early, but I'm going to spend a couple of days with Molly, and I wanted to get the business taken care of first.”

“Speaking of business,” Allen cautiously advanced, “what do you want me to do about Tangen? He's screaming cost overruns like it was his own money.” Allen's eyebrows rose resignedly. “All those days you were gone…”

“Stall him another few days. I'll talk to you tomorrow or the next day. Right now, I'm going to see Molly, and I don't give a damn about Tangen.”

Allen swallowed and said, “Okay, Carey, whatever you say.” But he had visions of money being blown away in the wind, and his practical soul was gulping hard.