“What about this American naval officer? Tarkington? What does he want? Where does he fit in?”
“He just wants my body.”
“Oh.”
She whirled. “Watch your tone of voice, faggot,” she snarled. “Some men do like women’s bodies. That’s why you arrived in this world.”
The blond man threw up his hands. “Hey, I just asked. If you want him, that’s fine with me. I won’t lose any sleep. Just as long as the mission isn’t compromised.”
Judith waved her hand angrily, dismissing the subject.
He approached her and put his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry for you that I am the way I am.”
“Oh, Joel.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “Be sorry for us.” She pressed her face against his shoulder.
“What would you like to do today?” Jake Grafton asked his wife.
“You’re not going to the ship?” Shock. Amazement.
“I’m going to stay right here with you this livelong day. I may not even get out of bed.” He tossed the sheets away and examined her nude body critically.
“It’s already ten o’clock, lover. Do you think we could still get breakfast from room service?”
“You’re a remarkably well preserved specimen of womankind. Care to share any of your love secrets with an admirer?”
Callie pushed him onto his back and sat astride his midriff. The face on the pillow looking up at her wore a boyish grin. She bent down and began to nibble on his neck.
He picked up the telephone. “Room service, please…. Send up two large orders of ham and eggs. Extra toast and a pot of coffee.” He gave them the room number and cradled the phone. “They say they’ll bring it up in about twenty minutes.”
“Twenty minutes,” she whispered into his ear. “That’s barely enough time to cover today’s love secret, Jacob Grafton. But I’ll try.”
It was noon before they were out on the street, casually dressed and strolling hand in hand. “Let’s go catch the ferry to Capri.”
“Again? Judith and I went over there yesterday.”
“Why not? You’ll have more fun with me along.”
“Ha! Don’t be so egotistical.” They turned the corner and began walking toward the ferry terminal.
“What did you and Judith talk about all morning?”
“Well, we discussed young American naval officers and their distressing attitude toward women. And how they must be handled so delicately to avoid bruising their fragile egos. And we discussed our education and careers, and I told her about meeting you in Hong Kong seventeen years ago, and …”
When she stopped speaking Jake glanced at her. She was chewing her lower lip.
“And what?”
“There was something troubling about the whole conversation.”
Callie slipped her hand from his and hugged herself as she thought aloud. “She’s the perfect American career girl, living a fantasy life in Paris. She doesn’t let it go to her head, isn’t celebrity-conscious, spends her money wisely, never drops names.”
“Where is she from anyway?”
Callie stopped dead and turned to face him. “That’s it! She’s a nonnative speaker! She says she’s from New England and has a slight accent to prove it. But she isn’t.”
“Does that mean English is not her first language?”
“Precisely. She acquired English as a youngster, but there are still subtle traces of her first language — the way she articulates certain syllables, for instance — that she hasn’t eradicated, I could hear them but it didn’t register.” She gestured impatiently. “I accepted her as an American, so I didn’t listen.”
“What was her first language?”
Callie the linguist walked along deep in thought. “I’ll have to think about it,” she said at last.
“Perhaps her parents were immigrants who didn’t speak English.”
“That’s rare these days, unless you’re Chicano. But no, she didn’t learn English at age six when she started school. I think she started later, as a teenager perhaps. The later in life you acquire a language, the more difficult the old patterns of articulation are to change. Many people can never rid themselves of an accent.”
They queued for ferry tickets, then stood in the holding area and watched the ferry glide in past the quay where passenger liners and launches for the United States docked. The pilot brought his vessel into her slip with just the right amount of closure. The lines and gangplank went over and the passengers from the island disembarked, then the crowd on the wharf streamed aboard.
The ferry was halfway to Capri, and Jake and Callie were standing on the bow with the wind in their faces when she said, “It’s a Semitic language, I think. Arabic or Hebrew.”
It was noon when Ali came to the terrace where Qazi was sitting. He had been watching the squirrels on the lawn.
“Jarvis says the trigger is ready.”
“Take him back to his room and lock him in. Keep someone in front of his door.”
“Of course.”
“Are Youssef and his men resting quietly?” They had been at the villa for three days now, and Qazi insisted they remain awake all night and sleep during the day. The first day, they had slept little. Yesterday they had slept better.
“They appear to be asleep. I think the lack of sleep finally caught up with them.”
“Then they will be rested for tonight. And the pilots?”
“Resting.”
“Very well. Check the guards on the perimeter. They must report any — and I mean any—vehicles whose drivers do anything but drive straight past. The assault will be hard and fast with no warning, if it comes. And the guards will be the first to die.”
When Ali was out of sight, Colonel Qazi walked the hundred paces to the villa’s garage. The man lounging in front of the door nodded to him as he went in. Qazi closed the door behind him and shot the bolt.
He walked slowly around the interior of the building, checking the windows to see that they were properly curtained, ensuring the other door was locked and the loft apartment was empty. Three vans sat in the garage bay.
Qazi extracted a small tool pouch from his pocket and opened it on the workbench. The trigger device was housed in an oblong gray box that sat on the floor by the bench. He quickly unscrewed the four screws on the face of the timer, which was a remnant of a modern electric clock, complete with liquid-crystal display. The faceplate came off easily, exposing a circuit board and an amazing amount of small wires.
Three small screws held the circuit board, and when they were removed, the board slid partially out of the timer to the limit of the attached wires. He stared at it a moment, then took a piece of paper from his wallet and consulted it Using a small pair of wire cutters, he snipped two wires and a diode from the circuit board. Two months ago he had destroyed eight clocks trying to identify this diode. Not trusting his memory, he had sketched a diagram. He had already performed this little operation upon the other six triggers, which were still in North Africa.
He carefully returned the board to its position inside the timer and inserted the three little screws. In less than a minute he had the faceplate back on.
He stood on the workbench and felt along the top of the interior wall, where the plasterboard ended and the rafters sat on top of the studs. Yes, the drywall extended a few inches above the stud. He placed the tool kit there and climbed down, then used a handy automobile polishing rag to obliterate the faint heel mark on the workbench.
He climbed the stairs to the loft apartment. The scrap of paper from his wallet, the diode, and the bits of wire went into the toilet. As the water closet was refilling he heard noises in the garage. Someone was downstairs.
“Colonel.” It was Ali.