Then a new phase began: the voices almost died away and there were the muffled bangs of doors and the click of catches. A tap was run for a few seconds and then shut off. A cistern was flushed. The general impression was of haste and I began crawling across the humped tiles to the far corner, where the vines ran from the roof to the communal balcony below.
There was no direct access to either of the windows of my room and I had to walk along a dozen yards of the exposed balcony but they were too busy over there to mount any kind of lookout. The hair was still intact across the join of the door and the post, and I went inside with only a token degree of caution because no one could have got in through either window without my hearing them from the roof. I closed the door but left it unlocked because I believed the Kobra cell was professional, or at least composed of professional individuals, and there were some gaps in their thinking that worried me.
There were still a few things in the suitcase I'd bought in Belem and I distributed them on the chair and the dressing table and left the case on the stand with the lid open, because they'd sent Shadia to check me out and that meant I was suspect and if I were suspect they ought not to leave the hotel without making sure where I was. The bed had only a sheet on it but I rolled up one of the Indian rugs and made a forty-five degree kink in it and put it under the sheet, bunching the pillow and pulling down the mosquito net to cover the bed.
This was routine and my movements were directed mostly by habit; reinforced by experience and training: to leave this room without attending to these details would be like driving a car through a surveillance zone without checking the mirror.
The bathroom looked acceptable and there was nothing missing; the shaver would be in deep shadow if the light were put on in the bedroom so I moved it six inches: a shaver is the last thing in the bathroom a man forgets because it's a lot more expensive than the toothbrush and the other things.
One of the taps was dripping and I left it like that because false impressions are furnished with small details designed to misinform the enquirer at the subliminal level and at that level the sound of a dripping tap is a sign of occupancy.
I stopped to listen. None of the doors on the other side of the courtyard had opened yet: I would have heard them through the bathroom ventilator. I could hear two voices, one of them carrying more than the other, though both men were trying to speak quietly. Zade and Kuznetski.
Theory: Kobra had been waiting for the Secretary of Defence to agree to their terms and arrange the rendezvous for the exchange: Pat Burdick, safe and unharmed, for whatever commodity or facility was demanded. It was unlikely that they would ask James Burdick to come to Brazil, even on the pretext of visiting his daughter during her expedition, because his duties were exacting, and knowledgeable people would be surprised at his sudden absence. Possibly Burdick had been putting up some degree of resistance but had now broken because he believed his daughter to be ill, and the exchange had been agreed on: it was to take place as soon as possible and in the United States, possibly in or near an isolation hospital with tropical medicine facilities.
Theory, not assumption.
Assumptions are dangerous.
I had assumed for instance that when one of the doors was opened on the other side of the courtyard I would catch the sound through the bathroom ventilator, but as I turned to go back into the bedroom I saw the crack of light widening across the floorboards.
I stopped.
The movement of the latch had made no sound: they had taken great care with it. I didn't know if they'd taken the second key from the board in the hall and had been prepared to use it, but that made no difference: I'd left the door unlocked because the gaps in their thinking had worried me and I had wanted to make it easy for them to check on my whereabouts.
The crack of light became a band, tapering from the door towards the bed; it was thrown partly by the lamps outside and partly by the moon. The shadow of the intruder was slowly taking shape as the door was inched wider by infinite degrees.
Tidal breathing, the lungs filled, The drip of the tap.
If they turned to look in the direction of this sound, simply because it was a sound and possessed associations, they would look straight into my face.
Consider immediate action.
Wait Because they were not yet inside the room and couldn't at the moment see me and when they had come far enough to see me they would experience a half-second of shock and would require another half-second in which to react and that would give me time to move.
Without turning my head I looked at the mirror on the dressing table and saw that it formed a blind angle from here to the door: all I could see was the diaphanous whiteness of the mosquito net covering the bed. The shadow forming across the floor was distorted by the angle of contact and it was recognizable only as that of a human being. The door was not yet open more than five or six inches but I noted that the left hand was on the handle.
None of the Kobra cell were left-handed.
Inference: weapon.
The incoming data was increasing rapidly as the light from the balcony flooded softly across the mosquito net, reflecting adiffused radiance. The shadow was taking on form.
The scent of huile de citron.
Shadia.
She used it against the mosquitoes and its lemon sharpness had been on her skin when I was in her room earlier.
The door was now open ten or twelve inches and stopped moving.
Wait.
But consider taking Shadia hostage and trying for a stalemate. It was possible, practicable, and dangerous. But it was not less possible man other moves, and not more dangerous. I think it was the opportunity that looked so attractive so I decided against it.
I listened to her breathing.
The air was perfectly still and she was controlling each breath, but I heard it, and heard the excitement in it. Her shadow was moving, a short linear form bringing in a new component. It was some kind of gun and the muzzle was highlighted by the diffused glow in the room: I would have said it carried a silencer.
This would be the moment.
Later could be too late.
If she saw me now I would have the use of that one final second because her gun hand was against the door and she'd have to move the whole of her body through a right angle before she could take aim and fire. If she moved extremely fast I could finish up running into the first shot at zero range but the risk was calculated and I decided to accept it and began relaxing the leg muscles to whip up the circulation prior to tension.
Empty the lungs slowly. Refill.
Somewhere in the moist air a mosquito whined thinly and we both heard it. She believed that only she heard it. She was keeping absolutely still.
I watched the muzzle of the gun steadily: that was the sole focus of danger and I mustn't let it out of my sight even when I hurled my body against it.
She was within a few feet of where I stood and I could smell the recently-known scent of her body, subtler than the sharpness of the lemon oil.
Final review of situation: she hadn't come here to stand in the doorway and leave again without searching the room and when she began searching the room she would see me and shoot to kill. She was waiting only to make sure that the figure under the mosquito net was still sleeping and in a few seconds now she would move fully into the room.
Findings: it was logical to take her now.
Various sensory data presented itself: my right foot was within an inch of the bathroom doorpost and I would use that to initiate the spring; the muzzle of the gun was approximately waist high and I would go for it with the right hand while the left hand dragged at the door to expose her to the subsequent phases of the attack; the diffused light was sufficient to bring me accurately on to the primary target (the muzzle of the gun), and the brighter illumination from the balcony would give me all I needed to make the necessary movements once the gun was controlled.