Law of the Lion

Seven

Carter and Margo were separated, Carter being moved into a side room with small high windows and several layers of whitewash covering the adobe surface. In addition to a plank table and a few primitive chairs, there was a cot, a table covered with old magazines, and a wooden crate serving as a base for a portable shortwave radio.

Abdul Samadhi, working on a two-day growth of beard, motioned Carter to a seat at the plank table, produced cigarettes, and leveled his strange blue eyes at Carter. "What were you doing in Paris?"

"Vacationing."

"Yes, and your experiences there were so taxing that you had to come to Mexico to get away from everything," Samadhi said, standing and beginning to pace about the room, tapping a willow switch against his palm. "What do you know of Lex Talionis, Killmaster?"

"The law of the lion," Carter said. "A concept in early jurisprudence that finds a perfect expression in the Old Testament. Basically, it's the concept of an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth."

Samadhi swiped at the tabletop with the willow switch. "Don't play games with me."

Carter spread his palms. "Obviously, you don't know what it is yet."

"Perhaps I am checking to see if you are innocent enough to be allowed to remain free." Samadhi fingered the cleft in his chin.

"Perhaps you're trying to cash in on what you think is a big thing, Samadhi, the biggest thing you've ever had thrown your way. I know some of you PLO fellows are reasonable in your dedication and conviction. But even among the best of a group of idealists, the scent of a big score becomes more than the ideals can stand."

"There are ways to make you talk," Samadhi said.

"Bribes?" Carter suggested, smiling.

"If I thought that would be effective."

"Torture?" Carter continued.

"As a last resort. But first we eat." The PLO operative called sharply in slangy Arabic. Moments later, the door opened and the man Carter had seen stirring the lamb stew entered carrying a tray with two steaming bowls, a pile of fresh-baked pita bread, a bowl of diced green chiles, and a single large pot of beans with sliced onions.

Samadhi urged Carter to chose his own serving to avoid any suspicion. When Carter slid a bowl in front of him, Samadhi began working the remaining bowl and the beans, eating quickly for a few moments, once again attempting to show Carter that none of the portions was tainted with any chemical or drug.

"You have to understand something about us, Carter. Our frustrations increase exponentially as each generation of youngsters comes to us, wanting to win the honorable way, through justice. But as you can see, justice is at best a concept for the classroom — and at that the classrooms of the highly privileged"

"You often fight among yourselves," Carter reminded him.

Abdul Samadhi nodded thoughtfully. "It is true. I try to explain to some of our younger ones. Just as violence and terrorism are options, so are negotiation and conciliation. But it is so easy to be violent when you are desperate, Carter. And what they cannot see is that they are walking on a two-way street. They use violence and terrorism as weapons, but they are blinded to the fact that it is ever so easy to use violence and terrorism against them. Then no one has gained and both sides have dug their heels in a bit deeper."

"I don't think you brought us here to discuss the Golan Heights," Carter said, beginning to realize how hungry he was. He started to eat the savory lamb, thinking how Samadhi was probably once a man of great honor and integrity in his home area. If he'd been born in any of a dozen other countries or locales, even those poorer than where he actually was born, Samadhi would have been another kind of leader — a man respected and followed. A teacher instead of a terrorist.

"You say we are opportunists and fight among ourselves," the PLO operative observed, it is all true. I believe there have been studies in your country, studies that significantly use laboratory rats or street people because they are equally desperate. The studies show that the oppressed, the desperate, the needy will frequently engage one another in violence when the medium of their freedom or salvation is within their grasp."

"I've conducted some studies of my own," Carter said. "Remember, I was present when your lot took out Nino Sichi."

Samadhi's light blue eyes flashed with amusement. "Such righteous indignation and moral posturing, Carter. My studies show that your country tried, as you put it, to take out Fidel Castro. My studies show your country successfully took out President Aliunde of Chile."

The PLO operative took several mouthfuls of stew, chewing reflectively. "If we had time, Carter, I would enjoy playing chess with you and discussing politics. The chess would probably be the purer of the pursuits because the moment we started in on politics, you'd point to so-called Marxist leanings in my arguments and then you would completely tune me out as the implacable foe of Western democracy." He daubed at his chin with a napkin, consulted his watch, and smiled at a thought that came to him.

"I can tell you that the people who gave you the essence of your precious Westernized democracy were scoundrels and pragmatists, demonstrably addicted to violence." He set his eating utensils down with a look of finality, smiled again, his light blue eyes flashing, and leaned across the table. "Yes, we did indeed remove that little worm, Sichi. You probably know better than I that he had a cynical eye and a hand in every pocket. He tried to betray us over a large matter. Many of us in the PLO have come to conclude that we must strengthen our cause by allying ourselves with the power. We must take the kind of overview our oppressors are unwilling to take. Even if, as the saying goes, politics makes for strange bedfellows, we must learn to reassess who our enemies are and with whom it is more provident for us to align ourselves."

His face seemed to lose the easygoing affability of the past moments and freeze into an intensity that had violence and determination. "It is time to be forthcoming, Carter. Tell me what you know about Lex Talionis."

Carter tried to push away a wave of heaviness that came, no doubt, from the amount of stew he'd eaten. But he felt a sudden surge of adrenaline when he heard a scream from the next room.

"Yes, right on time," Abdul Samadhi said. "You will hear that sound quite often unless you begin to give me information."

Carter waved his hand impatiently. "Forget it. That gambit won't work. Suppose she's with you. I sit here and spill all the beans while she files her nails, reads a magazine, and lets out a blood-curdling yell now and then. Sorry to disappoint you."

Samadhi exploded with impatience. He moved at Carter, thinking to lead him to the door, but Carter's instincts were too fast for thought. He danced behind Samadhi, his left hand catching him under the elbow, his right applying fulcrum force and suddenly the PLO man was wrenched painfully to the floor. Samadhi sat cradling his injured wrist, swearing bitterly.

"You terrorists are all pretty good at the first strike," Carter growled, "but if someone strikes back and one of you gets hurt, it's suddenly not fair»

For a moment Carter thought Samadhi had lost control — a bad thing for any fighter to do. He saw the man trying to calm himself. Before Samadhi was completely ready, he spoke.

"Fair? You talk to me of fair?" A scowl of determination twisted his face. He rose, dusted himself off, then spoke to Carter with ironic politeness. "Please, sir, come with me. I'll show you what's fair." He moved to the door, indicating for Carter to follow. "Fair, my dear sir, is a concept that applies to the man who has the most guns."

Samadhi showed Carter a chilling sight He opened the door and shoved Carter into the next room.

Margo Huerta was spread-eagled on a cot, wrists and ankles firmly tied to the four sides. One of the PLO had a twelve-volt battery and a device that appeared to Carter to use the ignition coil of an automobile. A ground wire from the battery and a lead from the coil were being applied to the skin between the toes of Margo's right foot. A faint crackling sound issued forth and Carter caught the scent of burning flesh. Margo strained against her bonds and let out another yell of the sort Carter had heard in the other room.

"Do you still think she's with us, Carter?"

Samadhi pushed Carter back into the next room, kicked the door shut, and pounded on the table. As if in response, another cry came from Margo Huerta. "For God's sake, Carter!" she screamed. "Tell them what they want to know!"

Carter sank to a chair, aware that for the past few moments his head was growing heavier. "Still don't believe you, Samadhi," he said. "Not convinced that contraption of yours is anything more than a bunch of wires."

Margo screamed again and Carter found himself having to fight to keep his eyes open.

"How did you do it?" he asked.

"The pita bread." Samadhi stood over him now. "You were concerned with the stew. It was easy to serve you pita bread with some additional ingredients. Listen to me, Carter. That is all real. If you were not so drowsy now, I'd show you firsthand. But your mind knows the truth. The Huerta woman is in real pain and you are the instrument. All you have to do is tell me what I want to know."

Carter felt the heaviness tumbling down upon him like a collapsing house of cards.

"What is Lex Talionis, Carter?"

The Killmaster had had several sessions with his psychologist friend, Ira Wein, in learning techniques to avoid such types of questioning. Wein had instructed him to focus his mind on some poem from his student days, something as juvenile as possible.

Chances were good that even if he'd been drugged with scopolamine or other so-called truth drugs, he'd repeat the poem over and over again, causing his questioners to think he'd reverted to a time in his youth from which they could not budge him.

"They ask you questions to get your mind on the subject of interest to them." Wein had told him. "The trick is for you to get your mind on anything else but where they want it, understand?"

"Tell me about Lex Talionis, Carter."

Carter got off a few stanzas of "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" before Samadhi began shaking and slapping him. In the background, he was again aware of Margo screaming.

He mustn't think of that screaming.

Focus on something else.

Focus on that flapping sound in the distance, whatever it was. The flapping noise that seemed to remind Carter of someone beating a rug with rapid, steady strokes. That increasing sound that suddenly seemed to make Abdul Samadhi angry enough that he began swearing and pushing Carter around.

"Lex Talionis, Carter. Tell me what you know."

"Organization to get revenge," Carter responded against his will.

Then the kindly image of Ira Wein came to him and he began to rock with laughter, although he didn't know why.

He saw the entrance to a large black cave and in his mind's eye, he entered it.

Everything was dark for a time, but someone was setting off fireworks and there was a good deal of activity with people shouting, and the stew was burning in the next room.

After a time, Carter realized he wasn't smelling burning stew at all but rather the distinctive smell of weapons being discharged. There was at least one muffled report nearby, and in his sleep-clouded mind, Carter tried to rouse himself to action.

He sank to the floor, tried to push himself to a sitting position, and collapsed again.

He was working on pure instinct and coordination now. He fought his way to a sitting position and tried to focus his watery eyes.

He was aware of a rather large presence carrying him to a cot and setting him on top of it.

Then the activities began to recede again and Carter no longer had the ability to fight it.