"You can't talk to me that way!"
"I just did."
He slammed the phone down on the counter. He poured another drink. He sat down, thinking about his sister.
His father had never gone after Shelley when he was drunk. She still defended him. It was one of the reasons they didn't get along.
He'd calmed down by the time Selena came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a soft, white robe and toweling her hair.
"Who were you talking to?"
"My sister. She called about our mother."
"What did she say? You were shouting."
"Nothing. I don't want to talk about it right now."
"See?"
"See what?"
"How easy it is to not want to talk about nothing?"
She tossed the towel, sat down on the couch and began combing out tangles in her hair.
After a moment she said, "The grenade thing got to me. Nothing's normal anymore. Last week I was giving a guest lecture at UCLA. Now Uncle William is dead, my car is wrecked, someone tried to kill us at least twice and I was drugged and betrayed by one of my best friends. Then you show me how to throw grenades. What the hell's going on, Nick?"
"You've landed feet first in a big pile of shit. Now you have to deal with it."
She stopped combing and looked at him. "You have a way with words."
"Would it make any difference if I sugar coated it? It's different for me. I was trained to do whatever it takes to accomplish the mission. You haven't had that training. The fact is you're a key player. You've got to go along for the ride and hang on."
He took a drink. "It helps to know you have options, skills if you need them."
"Like what?"
"Like knowing your weapons and knowing you can use them."
Selena put the comb down in her lap.
"I didn't mean to jump on you back there at the range. I didn't like the idea I might have to blow someone up."
"Nobody in their right mind likes the idea."
He wanted to put his arm around her. He didn't do it. He didn't want to start something she wouldn't let him finish.
"Yang hasn't had time to get people in there. We'll get in and get out. We're not going unless we know where the formula or the emperor or whatever is hidden. We'll be gone before he knows we're there."
"You really believe that?"
"It's the only way to think about it."
"At the house when those men were shooting at us, I wasn't thinking about it, I was just running for the river." She picked up her comb. "It wasn't until later I realized I could have been shot."
She ran the comb through her hair. "I heard what you said in Harker's office. I'm afraid I'll screw something up and get someone killed."
She was going, whether he liked it or not. Now wasn't the time to voice his doubts.
"You already proved you can act without screwing up."
"What do you mean?"
"The car, when the Chinese were chasing us. California. If you'd had a gun then you could have shot back. It helps to know you can shoot back. If you couldn't handle this, you wouldn't be going, language skills or not. Harker knows it. So do I."
"I asked to go, didn't I?"
"Don't worry, you'll be fine. Not everybody gets to jump into the Himalayas."
"You sound like a tour guide."
He was keeping it light, but he knew it wasn't going to be a mountain vacation, whatever else happened.
She said, "Doesn't it bother you? The people you've killed?" As soon as she said it she wished she could take it back.
"What the hell kind of a question is that? I've learned to put it out of my mind. It doesn't do any good to second guess myself." A headache started behind his left eye. "The people I killed were trying to kill me. Shit happens. So I don't feel particularly bad about it."
Except for that kid. He got up and went into his bedroom and shut the door.
Selena sat on the couch and watched the door close behind him.
What had she gotten herself into? Harker had asked if she'd be able to shoot someone. She'd said yes, but could she? Would she have to?
If the Emperor was really in Tibet, if somehow the Minoans had anything to do with that, she wanted to be there. It was the adventure of a lifetime. No adventure worth a damn was without risk. Risk didn't bother her. Killing people might.
Stupid of her, to say what she did to Nick.
Nick was a different kind of risk. What was she afraid of?
Carter was still awake when his door opened. Selena came in, slipped out of her robe and crawled into bed with him. She was naked.
"I'm sorry, Nick."
He turned to face her. "I thought you said it was too much right now. Sex. All that."
"I changed my mind."
She reached down and grasped him in both hands and felt him swell between her fingers. He stroked her face and moved his hand to her breast and kissed her.
Suddenly they were clinging to each other, their hands moving over each other, trying to meld into each other. When he entered she clenched her hands on his buttocks and drew him in as far as she could and wrapped her legs around him.
"Jesus, Selena."
"Nick."
Sleep came later.
Chapter Thirty-One
The Project was Elizabeth's life. She spent more time here than in her Georgetown home. No one waited for her there. She'd given up on the idea anyone ever would.
It wasn't supposed to work out like that. She'd been married for a time, back when she was still young and idealistic, thinking she could juggle a career at Justice and a husband and family at the same time.
Wasn't that the new role model for an educated woman? Crack the glass power ceiling, make a lot of money, go to fabulous places in a Prada suit with a great guy who appreciated your mind along with your body, have a couple of kids and commute in a BMW?
The American myth of having it all. There wasn't anything wrong with the myth, if you could get it without selling your soul, but sometimes people and events didn't cooperate. She'd never had kids. He hadn't wanted them. Maybe children would have made a difference, but Elizabeth suspected it would have only made things worse. Her former husband had been with ATF. He was still with ATF. He was also still with the last woman he'd been cheating with before Elizabeth dumped him. Lately she'd heard that wasn't going so well. It was a small satisfaction, but the truth was she didn't really care.
She drove an Audi, not a BMW. She had power, she had the President's ear, she had money, she had a very nice home in the heart of elegant Georgetown. She even had a couple of Prada suits in her closet. None of that mattered much. What mattered to Elizabeth was making a difference, and she was doing that. The picture of the Twin Towers on her desk reminded her of why she did it.
Her life had turned into a study in black and white. She preferred the simplicity of dress black and white offered, but it was more than that. She could not understand people who thought compromise was always the solution. That negotiating with evil was possible. The irony of working in Washington with that attitude did not escape her.
Politically correct rationalizations about why terrorists had good reason for their tactics of fear and murder and how negotiation was the answer struck her as naïve and dangerous. The terrorist organizations were an enemy with philosophies of political and religious fanaticism leaving no room for compromise or peace. As far as Elizabeth was concerned, the world would be a better place if they were all destroyed. If her father were still alive he would have agreed.
Judge Harker had been well-liked in the small town where she'd grown up. Traditional values of hard work and honesty still flourished on the western slope of the Rockies. In her father's private world, a man’s word was his bond, a handshake an agreement written in stone. On the bench, he was impartial and fair. Whatever doubts he might have had about the judgments the law required him to mete out, he left them in the courtroom.