My Brother’s Keeper

- 18 -

I was awake, flat on my back and staring up at a grey ceiling. Creaks and clattering came from all sides, then a whir of machinery and the sound of running water. Finally, I heard the squeak of leather boots.

Impossible to sleep. I sighed, gave up the fight, and opened my eyes. Sir Westcott Shaw slowly came into focus, frowning down at me. He grunted as he saw my eyes flicker open.

“What’s the point of patchin’ you up, when you go off and get torn to bits again? Open your mouth.”

“Where am I?” It came out as a throaty gurgle.

“Where do you think? Back where you started, in Intensive Care. Wider, an’ keep it open.”

He was shining a light down my throat, and moving my tongue around with a spatula. It hurt like hell.

“How did I get here?” I mumbled, as soon as he stopped poking about. “I thought I was dying.”

“We’re all dying.” He looked across at the bank of meters sitting by the bedside. “But you don’t seem to be goin’ any faster than the rest of us. Move your eyes, an’ follow my finger.” He passed his hand slowly across my face: up, down, left, right.

“I was in the Riyadh Zoo.” The memory blurred back like a bad dream. “Who brought me here?”

“I did, soon as you were stable enough to be moved.” He stopped waving his fingers in front of my eyes. “The doctors out there wanted to slice open your skull — didn’t like the EEG readings, said you had meningitis an’ a brain tumor. They only phoned me because our hospital discharge was in your wallet. I had a lot of trouble with ’em. An’ I had one hell of a job gettin’ the Riyadh Police to let you go, what with a dead man an’ a sick woman in that zoo with you. I told ’em—”

“Sick woman?” It took my fuzzied concentration a few seconds to interpret his words. “You mean a dead woman.”

“Uh-uh.” He shook his head firmly. “I saw her. She’d been bitten a lot, but they were small wounds — not much venom in ’em. They got you both out quick, so there wasn’t much danger she’d die. I’ll bet she’s discharged by now.”

Zan. Alive. The old blend of terror and excitement tingled inside me. Where was she now? On her way here? I started to lever myself toward the side of the bed.

“But you were somethin’ else,” went on Sir Westcott. He pushed me back firmly onto the pillow. “I told ’em you’d die for sure unless we got you over here sharpish. Does this hurt?”

He twisted the lower part of my left calf in a way that brought me upright and cursing, and nodded happily at my reaction. “Good. You’re a madman, Salkind, I hope you know that. You were brought in here missing a quart of blood, with a skin infection, abrasions, a hundred and three temperature, two bullet wounds, and a blood pressure of fifty over twenty. I suppose that’s your idea of takin’ it easy?”

Infections, abrasions, bullet wounds — and all for nothing? I struggled to sit up straighter and grabbed at his arm. “My jacket. What happened to it? In the left hand pocket, a little box—”

“The Belur Package?” He again pushed me back to the pillow. “We got that all right — your friend Chandra told us you might be carrying somethin’ interesting. We found it, an’ it’s being looked at by the right people. But some of the chips have ’em baffled.”

Chandra.

I wanted to ask ten questions at once. Ameera, Zan, the Package, Tess…

“You mean Chandra’s here?”

“Got here yesterday, along with that popsie of yours. Attractive girl, eh?” He sniffed. “We had a good long talk about everything last night, me an’ Chandra an’ Ameera — an’ Tess. Matter of fact, they’ll be poppin’ in later — you weren’t conscious when they stopped by yesterday.” He began to fiddle with the tubes of my I.V., but he wouldn’t look me in the eye as he went on: “Ameera’s eye operation is tomorrow. Should be an easy one, a week or two here and she can go back home — if she wants to.”

Tess and Ameera! There was trouble on the horizon, but I had to get something else out of the way before I could worry about that. I gritted my teeth and sat up again. My left hand was a ball of white bandages, my head was spinning, and I had an ache all the way from my crotch to my ribs.

“Sir Westcott, I have to talk to the police. I know what the Belur Package does — I don’t know who’s looking at it in London , but get them over here.”

He raised his eyebrows at me and rubbed a hand over his bald head. “We’ve already realized they’re implants. They’ve been takin’ data dumps off the chips, an’ tryin’ to work out what the program code means.”

“I can tell you more than that.” Maybe it was some odd combination of fear and medication, but my muddled brain suddenly hit high gear. “I know what they do. Three of the implants are improved versions of Belur’s old prototypes. They allow the person they’re grafted into to ignore pain. But he made new ones, quite different ones, a couple of months before he was killed.”

“An’ you know what the new ones do?”

“Not in detail, but I can tell you enough to get started. I got the main clue in the British Embassy in Riyadh . That, plus the fact that the people peddling Nymphs were so interested in the Belur Package. Each wafer in the box is a different introsomatic chip, designed to be planted inside the body.”

“We know that much. What else?”

“They hold programs that can override fatigue or hunger signals, or induce sleep for exactly the length of time that you want, or jump adrenaline and hormone levels, or increase or decrease blood flow to injured or infected areas — all under programmed control. Belur may not have known it, but he was creating the perfect soldier.”

“But you said Nymphs were a clue, too.” The fleshy jowls puffed out. Sir Westcott had paused in his examination of the monitors. “None of the effects you mentioned has a thing to do with the drug business.”

“Not the drug business — the sex business. Increased blood supply to any part of the body, under conscious control. Can’t you see what that means? Impotence a thing of the past. Some men — especially some old men — would pay fortunes for that implant. ’Specially if they could buy ones that control the female body reactions, too.”

“That’s what Nymphs do.”

“Nymphs can only do so much. Combine the drug with programmed control of a girl’s muscular and glandular system, and you have a dirty old man’s dream. Young girls who respond to him exactly as he wants, with his own implants helping him to take advantage of it.”

I let my head fall back on the pillow. Too much excitement; my head was turning back to a bowl of mush.

“The military implications may be biggest in the long run,” I went on. “But that wasn’t the game for Scouse and his buddies. They didn’t know that market. They wanted the packages to use in their own business. It would be the biggest thing ever. They went after it — hard. But we beat them to it.”

His eyes watched me closely most of the time, but every few seconds they would flick across to the monitors. He moved to look at a silver needle that quivered on its dial.

“How long before I get out of here?” I said.

“Give it a chance, man — I said you were mendin’, not recovered.” He looked casually off to the side, at the window, and shot the question at me suddenly.

“Who are you?”

“What? Why, I’m — I’m—” Damn it, man, get the words out. “I’m Li — Le — Lio — Lionel.” My cut tongue struggled with the word. Sir Westcott nodded.

“Exactly. You’re Lio-Leo-Lionel, that’s who you are. An’ that’s why you need a few weeks of quiet, puttin’ that lot together. What’s the main road from San Diego to Los Angeles ?”

“I-5.” The words came automatically.

“From Glasgow to Edinburgh ?”

“The M8.”

“Fair enough.” He sniffed. “You’ll do, but don’t get the wrong idea. You have a lot of mending to take care of before we’ll let you out of here this time.” He frowned down at me, and took another glance at the monitors.

“Mendin’, and explainin’. I’ll be back in here later, to sit guard when the lads from the Foreign Office come in to talk about the Belur Package. I’m as interested in the details as they are — be a dirty old man myself in a few years, if I get the chance.” He moved across to me and lifted my hand. “For the moment, I think you need a bit of this before you’re ready to explain any more.”

The needle went into my left arm so smoothly and quickly that I had no time to resist. Ten seconds of protest, then I felt the urge to close my eyes for a moment. When I opened them again he was gone. A familiar white-tunic-clad figure stood by the bedside with her back to me.

“Tess!” I reached out and just managed to touch the back of her thigh.

“Now then!” She turned gracefully, and I had my first look at her face. It was a complete stranger.

“Nurse Thomson told me what you’re like — all fingers,” she said. “Keep your hands to yourself, or I’ll have to tie them up.” Her smile took the bite out of her words. While I was still groping for my apology she went to the panel of monitors and did her own quick review of the battery of gauges, fluid sacs, and dial readings. I saw our reflection in the metal of the machine. I was as pale as the sheets. She saw me looking and shook her auburn head. Plump, placid face, dazzling smile, sexy body — and even in my drugged condition I could see she didn’t look at all like Tess.

She moved to the bedside. “You know, you’re supposed to be sleeping. Sir Westcott was right. You have quite a constitution. When they brought you in here I didn’t expect you to last the night. What have you been doing to yourself?”

“To myself. Not a thing. It was done to me.”

“I’ll bet. Some day I want to hear all the gory details. Not now, though. You’re supposed to be resting. But I’ll tell Tess you’ve recovered enough to have roving hands.”

She headed for the door, then turned back to me.

“Did anybody give you your phone message? He rang earlier, when you were still unconscious.”

“No. Who did?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t give his full name. Just asked how you were, and to tell you that Thomas called.”

“Thomas? I don’t know anybody called Thomas.” Scrabbling around for names hurt my head. Good constitution or not, something wasn’t right inside there.

“Well, he knows you. He wanted me to tell you that you’ve not seen the last of him. He said, give him a few months, then look out for his Godowsky.”

Thomas. Thomas? Godowsky? A faint memory. “Thomas, the Good Lord God has given you a talent…” It was true enough, in spite of the cynical way that Pudd’n had said it. “You’ve not seen the last of him"? With Zan alive, that could mean anything.

My face must have mirrored my feelings, because the nurse came back into the room and peered at me anxiously.

“Are you feeling all right? Everything shows fine on the monitors.”

“I’m all right. But — did he make any threats?”

“Threats?” She giggled. “Of course he didn’t — he sounded real nice. He said he was the one who sent the police into the Zoo to get you out of there. If he hadn’t done that you’d probably be dead by now. He helped you, he didn’t threaten you.”

Good old Pudd’n. So he had repaid the favor. Cast bread on the waters, and sometimes you get back a whole loaf. “Did he say anything else?”

She frowned. “Only that thing looking out for his Godowsky. What’s a Godowsky?”

“A dead pianist. It’s all right, I know what he means; and you’re quite right, he wasn’t threatening me.”

She nodded formally. “All right. I’ll be back in a little while. Tess comes on at four. I’ll tell her you’re having a sleep now.”

I was left for a while with my own drugged thoughts…

. . . of Tess, bringing me carefully back from death’s doorstep, mending my mind as much as my body… if it hadn’t been for her, I might never have left this place to go off to India, to Calcutta, to Ameera, to my child bride who wanted to bear Leo’s baby… if Sir Westcott had done his surgery well, the chances of that ought to be exactly fifty-fifty.…

. . . of Ameera’s courage when we had been captured in the house in Cuttack… of her look at me, totally calm and trusting, convinced that I would get us safely out and back home… back to the hideaway, the secret shelter from the whole world…

. . . of Zan, the red lips parted above the white rose… the flush of heat on olive cheeks, lust and cruelty alight in amber eyes… she was moving towards me, silk dress tight across broad, swaying hips…

I woke up sweating, full of a perverse excitement. A month ago I had worried about my future. That was a problem no longer — I knew what I had to do, where I must go.

I opened my eyes. Ameera and Tess were standing by the monitors, talking to each other in whispers. Their words were lost in the soft click and mutter of the medical equipment. They were talking about me; I was convinced of it. Now for the thunder and lightning. I wanted to cringe, but instead forced myself to lift my head.

“Er — I’m — er — I didn’t mean to — er — ah…” I said intelligently.

They moved together to my bedside. Ameera leaned forward and ran her fingers lightly over my face. Tess took my right hand — the other one was no more than a mass of bandages — in both of hers. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

They were both grinning like thieves.

“How are you feeling?” said Tess softly.

“Well, I’m — er — I suppose that I’m… are you two — I mean…” I mumbled .

Ameera didn’t speak, but she stooped over and kissed me gently on the lips. “We were both being so worried about you,” she said. Tess nodded, then in turn bent to give me a kiss.

I closed my eyes. In a few seconds I would open them again and wake up, but meanwhile I wanted to enjoy the moment — and sort out my plans. Somehow I had to make my peace with Tess and Ameera and explain to them how fond I was of both of them. But before I did that…

Other urgencies intruded. As soon as I could be up and about, I must trace Pudd’n — I had a few ideas on that already. If anyone could help me and lead me to Zan, he could. The business wasn’t finished. Zan was alive and active, Mansouri still at large. Even with Scouse gone the crooked ring was unbroken.

The old quivering excitement was building in me. The highest form of living, the hunt, the chase. I would face Zan again, move into and through the jaws of danger.

Damn you, Big Brother. What about the quiet life?

**Not yet, Little Brother. Not yet.**

I opened my eyes again and looked up at Tess and Ameera. They were smiling down at me, waiting to hear how I was feeling. Wonderful women, marvelous women. Someday, might I find peace and happiness with one of them? **Not yet. Not yet. After the hunt is over.**

I sighed, fought back a shiver of anticipation (or fear), and forced a smile.

“I’m feeling fine,” I said. “How long before they let me out of here?”