"Mother, shut up," she said; then, to Geoffrey, "I need a doctor."
"Yes, dear. Simmons, if you please-" The butler nodded; after a last cautious glance at Stone, he put the pistol in his pocket, picked up the chrome bar again, and went to the terminal in the comer, where they heard his voice murmuring discreetly.
"Is it a clean break, dear?" Geoffrey asked.
"I think so. Give me a couple of aspirin."
"Take all you want." Geoffrey handed her the bottle and poured a glass of water from his carafe. "Our story will be that you tripped on the doorsill. Is that all right?"
"Sure."
"The ambulance will be here in a few minutes, Mr. Nero," said Simmons, returning.
"Very good, Simmons. You might wait for them and bring them in when they come."
"Yes, sir. May I say before I go, Miss Linda, how deeply I regretted that?"
"I understand, Simmons. No hard feelings."
"Thank you, miss." He touched his forehead and withdrew.
Stone said, "Are you people all crazy?"
"No, no, Ed," Geoffrey replied. "Linda understands perfectly, don't you, dear?"
"Of course I do. Ed, they broke my leg to show you they mean business. If you don't make a deal with them, they might have to kill me."
"My baby! " ejaculated Mrs. Nero.
"Mother, will you please shut up?"
An ambulance arrived about ten minutes later; the two paramedics put a temporary splint on Lavalle's leg and took her to Pinecrest Hospital, where she was examined, X-rayed, and given a permanent cast. It was epoxy, and hardly visible, but she couldn't get her right shoe on.
On the drive back, Stone said, "Let's see if I've got this straight. They broke your leg to show me they're serious. If I don't back out of the Cube Project, they might kill you."
"More likely they'd just escalate a little. They'd break my jaw next time, or my skull."
"How can you be so damn calm about it?"
"Do you want me to scream and yell?" She drew a deep breath and let out a healthy scream.
Stone got the car back under control. "Jesus, don't do that." He pounded the steering wheel. "What I want to know is, whose side are you on?"
"What do you mean, whose side? I'm on my side. I don't want to get killed."
"But you wouldn't feel bad if I gave in?"
"Sure, but I might feel worse if I was dead."
He chewed his thumbnail. "Got to think about this," he muttered.
"Like which is more important, keeping me alive or getting everybody into the Cube?"
He was looking wild-eyed again. "Don't say that."
"Well, that's what it comes down to. Do what you want."
"I can't give up the Cube. That's number one. Even if they killed you. So we've got to get you out of sight."
"They'll be watching my apartment and the office, and they'll watch you whenever you're in town."
"Okay, and that means this might be our last chance to do something. Look, they know you can't fly. So that's what they won't be expecting."
"But I can't fly."
"Sure you can. You take a couple of drinks, then Doc gives you a pill or something, and we pour you onto the plane. When you wake up, you're in Argentina."
"Why Argentina?"
"I was going to go there tomorrow anyway, for the ceremonies. But you don't have to stay there-" He got his phone out of his pocket, clicked it on. "We can run you over to Paris, or Berlin-Hello, Florence? Ed. Listen, get hold of Frank and tell him to have the plane ready in an hour ....Yes, the whole crew. Right. And is Doc there?
Good, tell him to get out there too, and bring his bag. I want him to meet us in the Federal Lounge, okay? I'm on the way in from Rye, and we'll go straight to the airport. Okay. 'Bye."
"Listen," she said, "we're not going straight to the airport. I need some clothes ..."
"You can buy clothes. They're watching your apartment, remember? Don't be dumb."
"What about my passport? I can't go to Argentina without a passport."
"Hell, that's right. Where is it?"
"I don't know, in one of my bureau drawers, I think. I haven't used it in years. In fact, it's probably expired by now."
"That's great."
"Well, don't snap at me-this wasn't my idea." She opened her purse and started looking for a tissue. "Damn it to hell, now you've made me cry."
"Oh, Jesus." After a moment he picked up the phone again and punched a number. "Hello, is Steve Lonergan there? ...Steve, it's Ed Stone. Listen, I need a big favor. Can you get somebody to meet us in Buenos Aires with a diplomatic passport for Linda Lavalle? ...I can't explain right now, but I've got to get her out of the country ...I don't know, wait a minute." He passed the phone over to her. "He wants to know your date of birth and stuff."
She took the phone. "Hello, Mr. Lonergan?"
"Yes, Ms. Lavalle."
"I was born June tenth, nineteen seventy-four."
"All right, thanks. Now about the photo-"
"Oh, Jesus." She looked at Stone. "Ed, we've got to go back to my place and get the old passport, for the photo."
"No, Ms. Lavalle," said the voice in her ear, "we can't use the old photo. Let me talk to Ed again, please."
She handed him the phone. He said, "Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Okay, wait a minute." He turned to her. "Is your photo on file where you work?"
"Sure."
He said into the phone, "Yes. It's the International Development Association in New York, okay? She works under McNevin Fairbairn ....Okay, Steve, thanks a million." He
hung up the phone. "He'll call them and get them to fax a copy to Buenos Aires. Then they can fake up a passport and have it ready for us when we get there. You feeling any better?"
"Sure, I'm having a great time."
"Don't be that way."
"What way do you want me to be? My leg is broken, and I'm going to fly in a goddamn airplane. I wish I'd never met you."
They were silent for the rest of the trip. Traffic was heavy on the Taconic Parkway, then thinned out as they neared the airport. Stone pulled in to the visitors' lot and phoned for a chair.
"Ed, I can walk," she said. "If you put me in a wheelchair, I'll be that much more conspicuous."
"It's too far. Anyway, airports are full of people in chairs. Hey, Linda, let me steer for once, will you?"
An attendant showed up a few minutes later with the wheelchair, and Lavalle drove it across the parking lot, up the ramp into the concourse. "Which way?"
"About half a mile straight ahead."
They found themselves in a discreet private lounge, empty except for themselves, Doc Wellafield, and a bartender and waiter. Lavalle sat down and said, "I'll take that drink now."
"A tranquilizer would be better," Wellafield said, sitting beside her. "In fact, the best thing would be one of these neurosignalers like the one I'm wearing, but we haven't got time for that-"
"I'll take the drink," Lavalle said. "Double Beefeater martini," she said to the waiter. "Straight up, very dry, very cold."
The waiter nodded. "Gentlemen?"
"Carstairs and ginger," said Stone.
"Nothing for me. This limits what I can give her afterward," Wellafield muttered, pawing through his bag.
The waiter came with the drinks and a bowl of shrimp crackers. "Take those away," said Lavalle. "They'll soak up the alcohol, and I want to get drunk."
"Yes, ma'am." He watched her as she raised the glass and lowered it half-empty. "Another?" he asked.
"Yes, please. This one's very good."
Stone sipped his highball and put his arm around her. She drank the rest of the martini and leaned against him. "That's a very attractive waiter," she said. "Don't you think so?"
"You're not drunk yet," Stone told her.
"No, but I'm going to be." The second martini came and she drank it a little more slowly. "You're very attractive too, and so are you, Doc."