by Alan Russell
“By interfering, she asked for her headache.”
“What are you going to do next? Pick a fight with a blind child?”
“No. I have the prior engagement of killing you.”
Jaeger advanced. Instead of retreating, Graham also strode forward. He wasn’t about to run this time. That wasn’t an option. Better to attack, to be the berserker.
Graham lunged, swung, and lunged again. Jaeger had an answer for his every stroke. And then the German countered. Coming out of sixte, he swung his blade across Graham’s face, cutting open his cheeks and lips in an angled slash. His second cut came as a blur, but instinctively Graham lifted his left arm, a motion that saved his chest from being cut open from sternum to navel, but at the expense of his arm.
Jaeger stepped forward to finish the fight, but his shoe caught on the edge of one of the tatami mats. He quickly regained his balance, but it gave Graham enough time to stagger backward out of reach of Jaeger’s sword.
The damage was already done, though. Graham’s left arm had a deep cut in it, but even worse, it was broken. His face wasn’t much better. The flesh was split open, and an alarming amount of blood was pouring out of the wound. The force of the cut had cleaved his lips and taken two teeth. Warm, salty blood flowed into his mouth and down his chin.
Jaeger surveyed the damage he’d wrought. His eyes were shiny, almost glowing, exultant from the blood sport. It was almost as if he were feeding off his butchery.
Graham could feel himself growing weaker by the second. He stood at an angle, unbalanced by his broken arm, listing to one side like a ship that’s taken on too much water. Blood loss and shock were making him dizzy. So much blood was coming from his forehead and lips that he couldn’t spit it out fast enough.
Through the blood, Graham could see Jaeger smiling.
Lanie was sitting up again, staring at him with horrified eyes. She was sobbing, her face as ravaged in its own way as his. Graham wished she hadn’t awakened to see this. He turned away from her horrified eyes and focused on the blade. Lanie had told him the swords were made in Japan centuries before. Berserker hadn’t worked, Graham thought.
Maybe kamikaze would. If he sacrificed himself, Lanie would live.
Fleche, thought Graham. The word translated to “arrow.” In fencing, when you attempt a fleche you leap off your lead foot, attempt to make a hit, then pass your opponent at a run. In his days of playing with a foil, Graham’s foot speed had made the maneuver a favorite of his.
He had to do it while he still could. There would be no second chance.
His deadened left arm was a worthless weight at his side. Graham took a step forward, and then another, trying to find the right balance. He had to breathe through his nose. There was too much blood in his mouth. His nose sounded like a teakettle at full steam.
Closer. Still closer. Jaeger was still smiling, watching the dead man shuffling along.
Now. Graham leaped forward, but even while he was in the air, he knew the hit-and-run wouldn’t work. Jaeger had seen his fleche coming, and was prepared to parry and riposte. Instead of attacking, Graham jumped away.
Jaeger was smiling now. His prey was virtually helpless.
Blood filled Graham’s mouth. He didn’t spit or swallow. He couldn’t stop the river.
But maybe he could ride it. He thought of his encounter with the brothers. For what he had in mind he would have to get close, have to dance with death.
Jaeger came at him. Graham met his blade with his own and stepped in even closer. Any sword-fighting discipline had long vanished. He was a fighter clearly on his last legs. Jaeger pulled his sword arm back for the final cut. The paparazzo’s guard was wide open, the coup de grace a thrust away. But Jaeger had no defense for the mouthful of blood Graham spat into his eyes.
It struck him like a thrown bucket of blood, catching Jaeger open-eyed just as he was beginning his lunge. The red slap blinded him, throwing off his cut. For a second he lost control, his face awash in the blood of another man. There was so much blood for a single human. Blood he had spilt. He jumped back, wildly swinging his sword with his right arm as he furiously tried to wipe away the blood with his left.
Jaeger never saw the blade coming at him. The steel cut deep into his neck, severing both his vocal cords and his jugular vein.
He didn’t fall right away. He stood like one of those trees cut in half that somehow resists gravity. His gasps brought him no oxygen, and only accelerated the stream of blood. He finally dropped to the ground where his mouth opened and closed, as if he was trying to say something, but he had no voice to say his last words aloud.
It was almost time, Graham thought, to say his own last words, but all he could think of was that he had picked a damn silly way to die.
CHAPTER
FIFTY-ONE
You are not going to die,” Lanie said. “Do you understand that? Because if you die, I will never forgive you. Never.”
Graham couldn’t have answered even if he wanted to. Lanie had all but mummified him to stop his bleeding.
He was drifting in and out of consciousness. If only Lanie would let him goddam sleep.
“We’re only a couple of miles away from the hospital. Do you understand that? After all we’ve been through, you are not going to die on me.”
Lanie looked at Graham. Too much time had passed, and too much of his blood had been spilt. She’d had to cut herself free, bind Graham’s too many wounds, drive the car up to the house, and drag him into the vehicle. As fast as Lanie hurried, death moved even faster. Though she wrapped Graham in three layers of towels, he quickly bled through them all. The towels were now sodden masses of red. She was glad the darkness prevented her from seeing too closely.
It was her fault for not having a telephone at the property, her vanity for not wanting to be disturbed. Common sense should have dictated she have an emergency phone.
Lanie rode the accelerator. She was driving far too fast on a road with so many switchbacks, was barely holding on to the road, but nothing was going to slow her down. Her adrenaline had won out over the sleeping pills. Now she was wide awake.
“Kind of stupid of me to live in communities where you better not get sick after dark,” she said. “You live in Southern California, you don’t really think about that.”
Her headlights were on bright, but the darkness still seemed to be closing in on all sides.
“This is a role reversal, isn’t it? Remember how you saved my life? I thought you were an angel. I really didn’t want to die, and you wouldn’t let me. You know how people who have near-death experiences say that it’s like going through a tunnel, and that they see this beautiful light? We both had our tunnels. And now we’ve gotten through them. This is our time to live, not die.”
She talked for both of them, her voice loud and commanding. She was going to give him her strength somehow.
“You are a pilgrim, Graham, whether you like it or not. But your pilgrimage isn’t over. You have to be brave again. What you did tonight was the bravest thing I have ever seen. I don’t know how you kept fighting, but you did. But you still have to fight a little longer.
“Do you hear me? You have to fight, Graham. Show me you are fighting. Show me.”
Her words were fading in and out. Bad TV reception, thought Graham. And it was getting worse. All he wanted to do was sleep. There wasn’t any more fight in him.
“Don’t fucking quit on me,” she said. “I didn’t quit on you. Are you listening, Graham Wells? Give me a sign. Show me you’re not a quitter. Show me.”
Graham wanted to ignore her. Then he remembered something from a long time ago. Lanie’s cursing the dying of the light. He put his mind to it. His body didn’t want to respond. It was almost like nothing was connected anymore. But finally, trembling, he managed to raise his right hand and flip her off.
Lanie started laughing
and crying at the same time. “That’s right. I gave you the bird, didn’t I? The thing is, even then I knew I really didn’t want to die. It’s just that I didn’t see any options.”
Graham had just about guessed it all. She couldn’t own up to the accident, because that would have implicated Brett. Lanie was compromised in so many ways that it didn’t seem like there was any way out. The accident; the Mossad; the affair. Guilt overwhelmed her. Alive, she was a bomb ready to be set off. They would find out she was a murderer, a spy, and an adulterer. And the vice president would be dragged down with her. Killing herself was the only answer. It would save Brett, and it would punish her sins. It was the logical sacrifice, she had decided, even though she so much wanted to live.
“Twice now you have saved my life, Graham Wells. That’s a lot of good karma.”
Three lives were lost in Paris, Graham wanted to say. But he couldn’t talk. Even now he felt as if he were floating away.
“You hold on to life, Graham. You hear me? Hold on.”
But he wasn’t listening. He was out of body, beyond Lanie’s words, anybody’s words.
CHAPTER
FIFTY-TWO
He should have died.
You lose that much blood, the surgeon said, and you don’t make it.
As it was, Graham barely did. They lost him three times on the operating table, and each time they were able to bring him back.
He gained strength rapidly, though he wasn’t conscious for most of the time to know that. His meds should have put an elephant into a deep slumber, but he kept waking up with a sense of urgency, only to be dragged down by the drugs.
Graham’s eyes opened again, propelled by the same anxiety. It felt as if he were waking from a nightmare. He tried to sit up.
“Go to sleep,” said Lanie, her tone like that of a mother offering reassurance to a spooked child. She hadn’t left his side, had only taken catnaps on a cot the hospital had brought in for her.
“Mirror,” Graham said.
The word actually sounded like “Ear-er,” but this was the third time he had stirred in the last four hours, and Lanie was getting good at interpreting his sounds. Between his two missing teeth and lips that hurt too much to move, Graham was doing his speaking from his throat.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“’Ease ’et it.”
Please get it. Lanie dug out her compact mirror and held it up to Graham’s face. It looked as if he had been through a war. In a way, both of them had.
“I no ’retty ’oy.”
“No, you’re not a pretty boy. But I don’t like pretty boys.”
“Good.”
“While you were resting, a cosmetic surgeon came in. He thinks you can be made as good as new.”
“I ’as ’oping ’or ’etter.”
Lanie did the mental translation, and laughed. “So was I, actually.”
“’Uck ’ou.”
“Sorry, I can’t understand you.”
“You’re ’ull of ’it.”
“I still can’t make out what you’re saying.”
What the hell, Graham thought. Lanie could choose not to understand what he said for the third time. “I ’ove ’ou.”
Lanie leaned over, whispered, “I love you, too,” and as gently as she could, kissed the side of his lips.
Good medicine, thought Graham. The best.
“The surgeon said he can do the procedure when the swelling on your face goes down.”
If you can’t beat them, Graham thought, join them. There had been times when he had thought he was the last male in the LA area over the age of thirty not to have had plastic surgery.
“’Ell ’im I ’eed a ’ummy ’uck ’oo.”
“You do not need a tummy tuck. I like your tummy just the way it is.”
Lanie reached out and tried to find a part of his stomach that wasn’t bandaged. As much as it hurt, Graham stretched his right hand out. She met him more than halfway. For a minute they held hands; then the fear that had kept awakening Graham came to the fore again.
“We ’ave ’o ’eave.”
“What are you talking about? You’re not going anywhere.”
“’A ’ray ’an.”
At first Lanie thought he said, “A ray gun.” Then she realized he was saying, “The Gray Man.”
“We have security right outside our door,” Lanie said. “They’re keeping the paparazzi away. So far we’ve had photographers trying to pose as doctors, nurses, delivery people, and messengers. There is an army camped outside. Even if you were in a condition to be moved, we couldn’t run that gauntlet.”
Graham moved his lips. This was important. He didn’t want to be a sitting target. “’A ’ray ’an,” he said again, like a small child would have said “the bogeyman.”
“You need medical attention.”
“No.”
His unease was contagious. Lanie’s thoughts had been all about his medical condition. Now they both had to think about their safety.
“Maybe tomorrow you’ll be well enough to move.”
“’Oday.”
“Not today. I’ll get more security. We’ll be safe.”
“’Oday.”
“Didn’t you hear what I said about all the paparazzi? They’ve got this place locked in.”
“’Arking ’ogs.”
“What?”
Speaking clearly, though it hurt like hell, Graham said, “They’re just barking dogs.”
The catering truck did a brisk business. The vendor was a young woman. Her hair was tucked under a colorful bandana of tropical fruit, the Carmen Miranda look without the walking fruit bowl. The catering truck made several stops around the hospital, ending up in the delivery zone. No one took notice of the vendor wheeling a large cart of her wares into the hospital. There was too much else going on. A helicopter was coming in for a landing, and two ambulances were hurriedly being readied for departure. The paparazzi knew that all the activity could be misdirection, but they were still prepared for the chase. No way was Lanie Byrne getting away without doing some explaining. Supposedly she and her boyfriend, who still hadn’t been identified, had gotten into a donnybrook. Rumor was that she had stabbed him. It was the biggest stabbing story since O.J.’s rampage. Everyone was guessing who Lanie’s victim was. There had been talk that it was Matthew McConaughey, but then he had turned up on location. Leonardo DiCaprio was the current name of the hour. With cell phones, and scores of eyes ready to track it, even the whirlybird wouldn’t be able to outrun the paparazzi.
The helicopter landed, but its rotor kept spinning. Its pilot was the sole occupant. The ambulance engines were also running, evidently prepared for a fast getaway.
Everyone expected a diversion. The chase was about to be on. But what no one anticipated was the arrival of all the sedans. They pulled up on all sides of the hospital. No vehicles, not even the ambulances, were going to leave without their permission. The cars were very plain, very American.
Government cars.
One of the sedans pulled up to the helicopter. A man in dark glasses got out and waved a badge at the pilot, motioning for him to cut the engine.
“Flight’s canceled,” he yelled.
No one took any notice of the vendor with the flamboyant fruit bandana as she wheeled her cart out to the catering truck. Two minutes prior to the arrival of all the sedans, the caterer and her cargo made their escape.
They drove to Isla Vista, cruising the constellation of motels near the UC Santa Barbara campus before making their choice. While Graham waited in the catering truck, Lanie paid cash for a room. The clerk didn’t recognize Lanie with her fruit headdress.
“Without a credit card,” the clerk said, “we will need a hundred-dollar refundable deposit as a guarantee for any incidental charges or expenses you might incur
—”
Lanie pushed Ben Franklin forward to cut off the disclaimer and was handed two room keys.
Per their plan, Lanie dropped Graham off in front of their room, then took the catering truck and parked it almost a mile away from the motel. The walk back felt good. She had been cooped up for too long. Lanie returned to a room with closed curtains and a “do not disturb” sign hanging from its door. She quietly entered the room. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Graham was resting on the king-size bed. He wasn’t moving, was so still that Lanie’s heart raced. They should never have left the hospital. She hurried to his side, bent down, and saw that he was still breathing.
Thank God.
Graham opened his eyes. “Guess I dozed off.”
“Keep sleeping.”
He lifted the cover. “Join me.”
Lanie got into the bed, nestled beside him, and almost instantly fell asleep. Four hours passed before Graham awoke again. Even with Lanie next to him, his heart was racing. He still couldn’t shake his uneasiness. It didn’t help that he felt like an invalid. He could hardly be counted on to provide any protection. Lanie felt him stir and raised her head. She knew he had to be in great pain.
“I’m going to call Dr. Burke and get him to prescribe you some pain medication.”
“I don’t think Dr. Burke would even prescribe an aspirin.” Graham’s speech was still slurred, but his words were clearer now.
Lanie had forgotten about her own suicide attempt. That seemed as if it had happened to another person a long, long time ago.
“I have some Advil in my purse,” Lanie said.
She turned on a light, and after a short hunt found the pain medicine. His lips were so swollen it was difficult for him to drink from the glass of water.
“I’m going to get you a straw. You must be hungry as well. There’s a place nearby that sells smoothies.”
“Do they also sell chocolate shakes?”
“You must be getting better.”
