Shock Waves(34)

He dialed the long-distance operator, gave her the number in Seattle and told her to reverse the charges. No point in making Ernie cough up for the call that sealed his fate. Before the night was out he might be needing every dime he had to buy his life back.

Patriarcca waited through the rings until someone picked up the phone. He recognized the hard voice on the other end.

"Hey, Jimmy, this is me. That's right. I need some things."

And for the next ten minutes, Patriarcca told the listener of his needs, receiving an assurance that they would be met immediately. Finally satisfied, he cradled the receiver, already unbelting his robe as he moved toward the open bedroom door.

Time to feel young again.

Time for a booster shot of that magic she carried inside her.

And afterward, it would be time to meet with Don Minelli and the others. Time to be a statesman, then...and maybe, as the night wore on, there would be time for warriors, too.





15




Sally Palmer stood beneath the shower's stinging spray and let it cleanse her on the outside, slowly rinsing off the feel of hands. Her face upturned, eyes closed, she let the water pummel her across the neck and shoulders.

It would take more, she knew, to clean her on the inside, where it counted. Yes, a great deal more.

The lady Fed felt black and rotten inside, like a piece of fruit with insects working at the core. She knew it was irrational, ridiculous. She knew that she had only done her job. And yet...

She wondered if the taint showed through like crow's feet or a blemish on the skin. If so, Mack Bolan had not seemed to notice. Maybe she was learning how to hide it, maybe he had simply been hip deep in blood and rot too long to notice anything outside himself.

Sally hated herself for the thought and took another turn beneath the scalding shower to erase it from her mind. It was the shock of seeing him, and nothing else, which had revived those other memories of other times in the Manhattan hellgrounds. They had made a date back then, so many aching lives ago, but he had not been free to keep it, and she understood.

But still, it rankled.

She had been angry for a time. At Bolan. At herself, for being so irrational, for caring in a world where caring got you mangled, got you killed.

And she had missed him.

Damn it.

Sally turned the shower's single knob to cold. The driving, icy streams raised gooseflesh, and slowly rinsed away the dirty feeling.

It was work, and nothing more. Whatever Sally had to do in order to complete the job, it would be done. She had already bedded Patriarcca, and in time she might have to kill him.

Whatever was necessary, Sally Palmer knew that she was equal to the task.

But there was Bolan...

Stepping from the shower, reaching for a bath towel, Sally wondered what had brought him in on this one. He was unofficial now, she knew that much from rumors on the clandestine grapevine. Something had gone wrong, disastrously... and he was on the outside once more, looking in.

No, scratch that.

Bolan was a forward-looking soldier, Sally knew. If he was looking back at all, it was to watch his flank. And if he grieved at all, for anyone or anything, he did it on the inside, on his own time.

His presence here could only mean that there was something big at stake. The word about Eritrea had been a shocker, certainly, but Sally did not think a hostage would draw the Executioner across a continent to risk his life. Minelli's rumored coronation plans, now...that was something else again.

The Executioner's concern about Minelli was no less than that within the ranks, from what the lady Fed had so far overheard. She had been privy to the poolside conversation — she had had planted a miniature transmitter in the earpiece of Patriarcca's glasses one morning months ago when she had taken them "for repair" — and had listened in on his one-sided conversation with Seattle afterward. Within the hour, he would have an army airborne, headed eastward, and if she was not mistaken, others — Cigliano and Lazia, for openers — were likewise making preparations for a showdown.

She would have to reach Brognola and let him know what was about to happen. She still had time, and Jules was resting in the adjoining bedroom. He might desire her one more time before the sit-down, but she would be finished long before he found the strength to go again.

No point in even thinking of the telephone inside their bungalow. Jules might wake up at any time, surprise her, and she would be finished. Patriarcca cared for her, Sally knew, but only to a point. Where sex collided with his business world, emotion ended, cut off like a scream beneath the guillotine. He would destroy her instantly if he believed she had betrayed him, and Sally Palmer wanted better odds before she rolled the dice.

The house.

There would be telephones, of course, and perhaps a chance to use one unobserved. It was risky, but she had to take the chance.