Sunlight gleamed on the white weather vane and the zigzag patterns of blue and yellow tiles on the pyramid roof of the tower.
Aryeh Mishal stepped out of the van that he had parked in the hospital lot, walked around to the other side and took Charlotte's elbow as she slid down from the seat to the pavement. Momentarily covered by Charlotte and the van, Mishal reached into his shirt pocket and switched on the transmitter.
"I guess the time machine didn't work?" she said. Her expression was blank, her eyes hidden behind her constant sunglasses.
"He's waiting in case I have a report about the thing in the tower," said Mishal with a smile. "In the meantime, we might as well walk through this exchange." He let go of her elbow. "Let's keep our hands spread and empty." They stepped out from behind the van.
But we shouldn't still be here! thought Mishal tensely as he and Charlotte began walking toward the tower with their hands open and held slightly away from their sides. God knows what I'd be doing right now if Lepidopt had delivered his message to Harel in 1967 and got the inscription from the Rephidim stone — but I wouldn't be doing this.
It didn't work, he thought as he stepped slowly across the painted white lines on the asphalt. Or this Vespers crowd caught them — no, I'd have heard the explosion in this quiet morning air, even a mile or two away.
Squinting ahead, he could see figures in the shade under a trellis by the entryway of the building below the tower — a bearded man in a wheelchair, and a white-haired man holding a little girl's limp body in his arms, and another man or two in the shadows behind them. They were about fifty feet away, with a curb and a couple of olive trees on a strip of lawn in between. None of them looked particularly out of place in this hospital setting; as he and Charlotte slowly walked closer, Mishal saw two white-clad nurses walk unconcerned right past the group.
Mishal smiled sideways at Charlotte so that his mouth was over the microphone in his shirt collar. "Jump," he said, "or run back to L.A."
She nodded. "You said it."
The man carrying the limp girl stepped forward out of the trellis shadow into the gathering daylight, and then paused.
Mishal and Charlotte stopped. "I think I go on from here alone," said Charlotte.
"I guess you do," Mishal said. "Uh — good luck."
"You too." She smiled bleakly at him, then turned toward the tower and resumed the careful pace.
Mishal heard several vehicles bouncing up the driveway into the lot a dozen yards behind him, and he slowly turned his head; and suddenly his chest was cold and empty, for the three compact cars turning into the lot were clearly escorting the familiar florist's van. Mishal could see Malk's stark face behind the windshield.
A man in a sport coat and jeans got out of one of the escorting cars and pointed to an empty parking space directly in line with the lot entrance; and Malk drove the van ahead, into that space.
Two of the escort cars pulled into the parking spaces on either side of the van, and a driver got out of each and simply stood by his car, watching the van. The third car carefully backed up to block the van from behind.
Mishal stood still, isolated on the pavement between the cars and the people at the clinic entry. His hands were still empty, but he was intensely aware of the gun under his jacket.
Though his left wrist was handcuffed to the spare-tire rack, Marrity could lean past the trembling, barefoot Lepidopt and see out through the front windshield, and the cigarette smoke caught in his throat at the sight of a white-haired man carrying Daphne's limp body across a sidewalk toward Charlotte, who was slowly walking to meet him. Marrity could only see Charlotte's back.
"I don't think I can move without getting shot from both sides," said Malk tensely from the front seat. "Oren, will you jump?"
Marrity stepped back, put his cigarette in his mouth, then knelt and thrust his right hand into the cat box. He got hold of the gun and lifted it out, shaking sand off it.
He pointed it squarely at the big glass cylinder, then spoke around the cigarette. "Hey."
Lepidopt turned his haggard face to him, and his eyebrows went up. "What are you going to do?" he asked.
"I'm going to wreck your time machine unless you uncuff me and let me go to Daphne."
"They'll just shoot you if you step out," said Malk. Marrity could see his narrowed eyes in the rearview mirror. "They want to shoot you, remember? But you're safe in here, they don't want to risk damaging the machine. Let Mishal get your girl. As long as you're in here, she's safe."
Marrity was shaking, and he forced his hand to hold the gun steady. "How's this trade supposed to work?" he demanded. "Look at them, there's nobody to carry Daphne back here! Obviously she can't walk!"
Smoke stung his eyes, but he didn't have a hand free to take the cigarette, and he didn't really dare spit it out in a confined space with a bomb.
"Mishal can—" began Malk.
"I'll shoot your damn machine, I swear. Uncuff me. They want the machine way more than they want Daphne. They won't start shooting till they're sure they can get it."
"Shit," burst out Malk, "uncuff him, let him get out of here, take his chances — you're going to have to hit the bomb, Oren. Or I will, even if they shoot me as I get up to do it. Marrity, you can leave by the passenger-side door." Marrity saw Malk's profile as he said out the driver's-side window, "We're letting our hostage go. He's a civilian, and that's his daughter over there, the little girl. If you kill him or take him out of our sight, we'll blow up the machine. Are we clear?" Marrity met his eyes in the rearview mirror, and Malk said to him, "Yes. Go. Get well clear of this van, if you can."
Marrity kept the gun trained on the glass cylinder as Lepidopt stepped barefoot away from the Chaplin slab and dug in his pocket for the keys; then he crouched and opened the cuff from around Marrity's left wrist.
"Thanks," said Marrity. He crushed his cigarette out in the ashtray on the counter, carefully avoiding touching the bomb mechanism, then hurried past the cylinder and the Chaplin slab to the front seats.
"Leave the gun, for God's sake!" whispered Malk. "And move slow!"
Marrity hesitated, then pulled up his pants leg with his left hand and tucked the gun partway down inside his sock. With both hands he tugged the elastic sock all the way up over the bulk and pulled his pants cuff down over it.
He grinned nervously up at Malk, who just shook his head.
"Nobody survives this, I guess," Malk said.
Marrity levered open the door and slowly stepped down. Immediately two of the men who had captured the van were beside him, gripping his upper arms tightly. They marched him a few steps away from the van and toward the tower, then halted, clearly not having any idea what to do with him. What had been predawn dimness was now long streaks of blue shadow across the parking lot. The air was chilly on Marrity's damp shirt.
Charlotte's straight back was still moving away, and the man carrying Daphne was still advancing toward her — Marrity could see that Daphne was struggling weakly in his arms — and now Charlotte called out, "We'll meet in the middle. You put her down there, and take me."
Marrity started forward, and was yanked back by the two men holding his arms.
"I'm getting my daughter," he told them, "since she can't walk. Come along if you want, but I'm going to her."
"You stay here," said the young man on his right, sounding nervous. "Somebody will fetch her."
Marrity just leaned forward with all his weight, and his captors took an involuntary step forward to catch their balance.