And if need be, the point was sharp and heavy enough to seriously deter a human who might want your wallet or virtue.
She wondered how Jay would react if she goosed him in the rear end with the sharp point.
She laughed at the thought.
Jay turned to look at her, all Lawrence of Arabia in his robe and that Arab headgear—what did they call those scarves? Kaffiyeh? Yeah, that was it. Held in place by a piece of goat hair or some such, called . . . an . . . agal? Something like that.
“Sorry,” she said. “I just remembered an old joke.”
Jay looked at her with the question in his eyes, but she didn’t follow up on it.
Finally, he said, “The URL and page ought to be around that next big dune.”
This was the piece she had gone back into her old game to plant for Jay to find, and it was a red herring; there wasn’t anything there that was going to help Jay locate anything useful. But there were a couple of things that would, on the face of it, look as if they might be worth chasing down. If Jay was chasing a false trail, that would be good. Eventually, he’d figure out it went nowhere, but “eventually” could be more than long enough.
They rounded the sloping dune. A warm little sirocco wind dusted them with fine-grained sand from the twenty-meter-tall hill.
An oasis lay three or four hundred meters ahead—a splotch of green, with desert grasses and palm and olive trees bordering a water hole. Of course. What else would there be out here?
A horned viper crossed the path ten meters ahead, sidewinding in a pattern like a letter S. Looking, she didn’t doubt, for shade, and good luck with that, snake.
It was hot out here, and while she knew the pale robes she wore were ideal for such a climate, keeping the sun off and her body’s moisture in, if were it up to her she’d be slathered in #30 sunblock and naked. Of course, if Jay turned around and saw that, he’d probably have a heart attack.
Between the shade and the water, the oasis was twenty degrees cooler, probably eighty F. instead of a hundred. Even though it was Jay’s metaphor, she knew what he was looking for, and she could easily spot the “clues” that were hidden here.
Jay said, “I saw something up in that palm tree,” he said. “I’m gonna go check it out.”
“I’m going to splash some water on my feet,” she said. “I’ll scope the water hole.”
“I’ll meet you there,” he said.
Lewis slipped her sandals off at the sandy edge of the water hole, which was actually a fair-size pond, fed, no doubt, by an underground spring. The water was cool and fairly clear. In RW, it would probably be scummy and full of bacteria that would make it pea-green, but here it was like it had just come from the tap.
She padded down the shallow slope of wet sand, raising the hem of her robe with her hands. She waded into the water until it was halfway up her thighs, with the robe bunched around her hips.
Jay hadn’t bothered with underwear, which was good.
She stood there for a few moments until she heard Jay coming through the dark bushes toward the water. She turned around and gave him a quick glimpse beneath her robe. As he already knew from her beach scenario, she was a natural blonde, and a reminder would be good. . . .
She waded to the shore, lowering her robe slowly as she ascended the gentle slope.
He watched her most attentively.
“See anything?” she asked. Butter wouldn’t have melted in her mouth, her voice was so cool and sweet. Other than the doorway to sensual bliss, I mean?
It was as if he was afraid his voice would crack. He wordlessly held out his hand. Upon it was a small electronic device, about the size of a book of matches. She knew what it was, of course, since she had put it here.
“Looks like some kind of signal generator,” she said.
Jay finally found his tongue. “Narrowcaster,” he said. “Probably set to send a slimbeam radio or LOS pulse. We need to see if we can figure out where it was sending its signal.”
She needed to give him another victory. She said, “It seems awfully small.”
“You’re right. Probably there’s a camouflaged parabolic dish here somewhere,” he said. “This thing is too weak to have much push. The dish will boost and relay the sig. Find that, and we can figure out which direction to head in.”
She nodded. “You’re really good at this, Jay. A lot better than I am.”
“You found this page,” he said.
“You would have when you got around to looking.”
He nodded. That was true enough, she knew. Of course, he wouldn’t have known he was supposed to find it because she had put it here for him to find.
Lewis knew she didn’t need to be entirely stupid here. Really bright men were often attracted to smart women, especially if the men were confident in their fields of expertise. That she was also competent at what Jay did was a plus—by being so, she could understand how really impressive he was, and he’d know that. Just as a good amateur basketball player could appreciate a real expert’s skill better than somebody who couldn’t play at all, her being able to run with him at least part of the way was good. Everybody liked an appreciative audience. Impressing the rubes was one thing; impressing other experts in your field was something better. And everything Jay Gridley did from here on out was going to impress the hell out of her. Oh, Jay. You’re so smart. And so good-looking, too . . .
“Let’s see if we can find the dish,” he said.
“Where do you want me to look?” she asked. Let him be the director. Anything you want me to do, Jay, just say the word. Anything at all . . .
“Check the bushes on the left, over that way. I’ll go to the right.”
“You’re the man,” she said.
She knew the dish Jay was looking for was to the left, but she also knew she was going to miss it on her search, leaving it to Jay to come and find and point it out to her. Another victory for which she could admire him. You’re so smart, Jay. So adept. I bet you’re good in bed, too, huh? Wanna show me how good?
She grinned to herself. Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.
It was just a matter of time. A small push, and he would fall, and she would be under him when he came down. She was going to enjoy it, and on more than one level, too.
22
Washington, D.C.
Somebody was following Carruth.
He hadn’t gotten a good look at the guy, only the car he was driving, and while it might be paranoia, Carruth didn’t think it was. There was a late-model American something-or-other back there, one of those boxy little sedans that looked like everything else produced in the U.S. in the last ten years, with some stupid, made-up name—a Springa or Freemele, something like that. Chevy, Ford, Dodge? It didn’t matter.
Carruth was on his way back from the Safeway, where he’d picked up staples. He wasn’t much of a cook, but there were times when he didn’t feel like going out to eat, so he kept the freezer stocked with stuff he could microwave—burritos and pocket sandwiches and chicken strips, like that. Low-fat, most of it. Plus cereal and milk and coffee and beer. And fruit, lots of apples and bananas and oranges and pears and grapes. Too much junk food, you got fat, and you needed fresh produce to oil the works. Fruit was good.
So, every couple of weeks he’d make a run, fill a basket up with stuff, and he’d be good for a while.
As he’d left his home and walked out to his car, heading to the supermarket, he’d seen the little gray nothingmobile, one of four or five cars that went by as he cheeped his car’s locks. He hadn’t paid any real attention to it, no reason to do so. It was on the radar, but low priority.