Rules of Betrayal

59

Balfour opened the door to Jonathan’s room without knocking. “You are all right?” he asked. “No phantom intruders came to snatch you?”

Jonathan rose from the desk, where he had been studying Balfour’s medical records. “I’m fine,” he said, the picture of overwrought concern. “Is it over? What exactly happened?”

Balfour entered the room with a reticent swagger, like a warden preparing to search a jail cell. His hair was mussed, his jacket open, and a pistol dangled from one hand. “That is what we are endeavoring to discover.”

“You said something about its being the Indians.”

“That was my first thought. I seem to have been wrong. They would never mount such a scattershot operation. Anyhow, my problems with the Indian government are not your concern. The compound is secure. Two of my men are dead, but I am safe. There is no need to change our plans.”

“Two dead? That is terrible. So it was an attack.”

“An attack, yes,” said Balfour. “Quite definitely an attack. We are still working out its aim.”

“And it is finished?”

“Do you hear any more gunfire?” asked Balfour sharply.

“No.”

“Then it is finished.”

“And the surgical suite is all right?”

“Intact,” said Balfour, making a slow, steady circuit of the room.

Mr. Singh entered the room behind him, his eyes locked on Jonathan.

Jonathan didn’t question the intrusion. He played the frightened guest who refused to be mollified. “But there were so many explosions. Isn’t this a matter for the police?”

“The explosions were only hand grenades and an RPG that took out my men on the roof. Mostly it was small-arms fire. The police do not intercede in this kind of thing. It is an army matter, but frankly, the army has no interest in protecting me these days.”

Balfour skimmed the desk with his pistol, pushing aside a copy of his medical records and tilting his head to read Jonathan’s notes on the pad of paper beneath it. Jonathan heard Emma telling him to find a good reason to leave. If he chose to follow her advice, the time was now. He could feign battle stress, admit that the tumult was too much for him. He could say he was a doctor, not a soldier, and ask to be put on the next plane home. Then he remembered that Revy had operated on a Chechen warlord in Grozny and a Corsican gangster under a death warrant from the national police. The Swiss doctor had logged too much time in stressful conditions for a few hand grenades and an RPG to shatter his nerves. But Revy’s history was beside the point. Jonathan had committed to the mission, and he never backed out on his word.

“And you stayed here the entire time?” asked Balfour, sliding open the closet door and admiring the suits.

“Of course,” said Jonathan. “I wasn’t about to leave.”

Balfour murmured, “Of course,” while Singh maintained his baleful glare.

“So we are still on for the morning after next?” said Jonathan.

“Certainly.” Balfour had moved into the bathroom and stood rifling through Jonathan’s shaving kit, pretending not to be interested in what he found. “I came to tell you that Yulia is quite distraught,” he called. “She will not be able to accommodate you. You would like another, perhaps?”

“No, no,” said Jonathan. “I’ve had more than enough excitement for one night.”

“No condoms,” said Balfour quizzically, poking his head into the bedroom.

“Excuse me?”

“I would think that a doctor would know well enough to bring sheaths.”

But Frank Connor was every bit as smart as Ashok Balfour Armitraj. He had read the correspondence between Revy and his client enough times to master the details of Jonathan’s cover. Sex, he knew, was foremost on the single male traveler’s agenda.

“If you need to borrow one,” said Jonathan, “look in the drawer.”

Balfour slid open the vanity’s drawer and picked up a silver packet.

“Help yourself,” said Jonathan. “I hope it’s not too big.”

For once, Balfour had no response.

“Good night, Ash,” said Jonathan. “I’m glad that you’re safe.”

Balfour dropped the condom back into the drawer and walked from the bathroom.