Part 9 (2/2)

The switch had taken only a few seconds but it had seemed like a slow-motion nightmare; in that short time his heart had started pounding and a sick, heavy feeling had formed in his throat and stomach. He clenched his fists and tried to force himself to calm down. There's nothing to it, he told himself. It's done now. Christ, why wouldn't his hands stop shaking?

He heard the door of the bathroom along the hall outside the kitchen close and lock, and breathed a silent prayer of thanks for the extra minute or two it gave him to pull himself together. He wiped his palms on his thighs, forced himself to take a series of slow, deep breaths, then got up and switched on the wall terminal in TV mode. A blonde with disgustingly perfect teeth was talking about a s.p.a.ce colony or something somewhere. It didn't interest him, and he watched without hearing the words until the sound of flus.h.i.+ng amplified suddenly by a door being opened jerked his attention away from the screen. Lisa came in and threw a pack down on the table.

”Only two?” Harry grumbled darkly as he fumbled one to his mouth and lit it. ”What are we, dest.i.tute or something? Don't we have any full ones left?”

”Well, I can't find any,” Lisa told him irritably. ”Get some more when you go out. I'll put a carton on the grocery order when I send it off.”

”Why do you always have to wait until we run out?” Harry snapped. ”Didn't it ever occur to you to do something when they're getting low? Why don't you try thinking with your head for a change instead of giving it?”

The side of his jaw was still throbbing twenty minutes later as he looked down from a cab on his way to downtown Vegas. But by that time the air around him tasted fresh and free, and the feeling of everything he had just left being about to become a closed chapter in his life was exhilarating. When he next saw that house his troubles would all be over, and there would be only the formalities to attend to before he could begin the new life in London that was his by right because he had earned it. Sometimes making that decision to go for the jackpot and seeing it through was tough, but for the exclusive elite who had what it took, the reward was the moon. And Harry Stone had now proved he was one of them. It was a good feeling.

Sandra lay back in the bed with the sheet covering her up to her waist and beads of perspiration still dotting the skin around her navel.

”I've been keeping a little surprise for you,” Harry said. ”What would you say to a bit extra on top of the insurance-like maybe a hundred grand, les the death taxes?”

”Sounds good,” she cooed. ”Tell me about it.” Harry began sliding his hand down over her body toward the sheet. She caught his wrist and giggled. ”I need to get my breath back, Alex. What's the extra?”

”Well, our friends back home in Surrey will be surprised to learn that my wife has been a stamp collector for years,” he said. ”I knew, naturally, but I was never that interested, and I don't know much about it.

So I'll be as surprised as anybody when they tell me that she left some very valuable items among her collection. Maybe she never realized what they were worth either. Who knows?” He shrugged. ”I guess we'll never find out.”

Sandra emitted a delighted laugh. ”Alex, you're too much! So what did you do-plant them somewhere? Were they to soak up some cash you had lying around that you didn't want anyone asking questions about?”

Harry brought a finger up to his face and tapped it meaningfully against the side of his nose. ”Let's just say that even if they do a lab test on the glue, they'll find it's genuine and has been there for years. It's the little details like that that amateurs trip up over.”

”But not Alexander Moorfield, huh?” she said, turning her head and gazing at him admiringly.

Harry lay back and folded an elbow under his head. ”How long will it take you to understand that I'm a real professional, baby? When I do things I do 'em right, and I go for the big stakes. That's what you have to do to survive in this world.”

”And you sure know how to survive.” She moved closer and rested her face on his chest.

”I guess so.”

Sandra nuzzled against his neck and nibbled playfully at the lobe of his ear. ”You really are a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, Alex,” she teased softly. ”And it's just what a b.i.t.c.h like me needs.”

He thought to himself for a while and then asked casually, ”What would you say if I told you I've been a real b.a.s.t.a.r.d?”

She moved her face back a short distance to peer at him curiously, but her eyes were still twinkling with laughter. ”I wouldn't be a bit surprised,” she told him. ”Why? What have you been doing?”

Harry hesitated for a moment, wondering if perhaps he had misjudged the moment, but the half smile dancing on her lips was disarming. He sighed and grinned apologetically. ”Honey, I guess you have to know this sooner or later-I'm not really me. I'm an Arabee.”

Although he kept his voice relaxed and easy, inwardly he was prepared for her to be shocked, insulted, or indignant, to cry, sulk, throw a tantrum, or do any one of a dozen other things that would have made things difficult. But she didn't do any of them. Instead she stared at him in disbelief for a second or two, then smiled, and then threw back her head and laughed. ”You are a b.a.s.t.a.r.d!” she exclaimed. ”All this time and you never told me? Christ, I admire the sheer b.a.l.l.s of it!”

”You don't mind?” he asked, not really believing that his luck could be holding out like this.

”You're still the same to me,” she replied. ”In fact it's quite exciting. Meeting the real you will be like being seduced by a new lover all over again. I like the whole idea.”

”Suppose I turn out to be fat, bald, and fifty,” he said. ”Wouldn't you care about that? You'd better say you would; otherwise I might start thinking you're only interested in the bread. I wouldn't want that much of a b.i.t.c.h. I've only just finished getting rid of that particular brand of problem.”

”Of course not,” she said. ”So now go ahead and tell me it's just as well, because it was only a line anyway.”

”No,” Harry tossed out a hand carelessly. ”It was straight, but I'm getting out of that business. I've got some personal enterprises that I want to develop.”

”I knew it,” Sandra said, sounding happier. ”And I don't believe you are fat, bald, and fifty. It wouldn't go with your personality.” She sat up and turned toward him with an intrigued look on her face. ”What are you like?”

”Oh, a year or two older than this, maybe, but just as handsome. I've got a little bit of gray at the temples, too. Does that sound okay?”

”Very distinguished,” Sandra p.r.o.nounced. She traced her fingers lightly across his chest. ”And what about all these beautiful muscles? Are you as good as that, too?”

”Better,” he told her. ”I used to do a lot of athletics. And I've got a much deeper tan than this.” It was all too good to be true, and as the last shreds of apprehension flowed away, he found himself starting to laugh uncontrollably. His laughter triggered Sandra's, and soon they were both writhing helplessly with tears pouring down their cheeks.

”What about those dimples on the sides of your face?” she asked between sobs.

”I've got one on my chin, and it's just as cute.” They burst into another paroxysm of weeping. ”And don't worry about the rest,” he managed between heaves of his chest which was beginning to ache. ”It's best American stud.”

After a while Harry began to calm down, but Sandra was still clutching her stomach and laughing, if anything, more loudly than ever-almost insanely. He watched and grew puzzled, and as her laughter continued with no signs of abating, his puzzlement changed to concern. ”Hey, Sandy, it's not that funny,”

he said. ”Cool it, for heaven's sake. You'll get hysterical if you carry on like that.”

Sandra wiped her face with the sheet and shook her head as she fought for breath. ”It's okay, Alex. I'm not getting hysterical,” she gasped. ”It's just that you don't-you don't understand how funny this really is.”

She wasn't making any sense. Harry frowned and shook his head. ”What the h.e.l.l are you talking about?”

”Alex-you see, it's-” She erupted into another spasm of sobbing laughter and bunched part of the sheet to her mouth in a futile attempt to stifle it. Harry's amus.e.m.e.nt turned to irritation as he began getting the feeling that he was being made a fool of somehow, and his mouth clamped tighter as he waited. ”You see, Alex, it's funny because-because-” But she never finished the sentence. Her mouth froze half open, her eyes widened in sudden alarm, and she slumped weakly back against the pillows.

”Sandy, what is it?” Harry forgot his anger at once. ”What's the matter? Are you sick?”

”I . . . don't know, Alex.” Her voice was a dreamy whisper. ”Sleepy . . . just hit me . . . Can't keep . . .

my eyes . . . op-”

”Sandy? Sandy, say something!” Harry's voice was close to panic. But Sandra made no further sound.

She lay with her eyes glazed and her mouth gaping as it had stopped in mid-syllable, with every trace of life and movement gone from her body. Harry stared at her, horrified, and instinctively drew away and stood up. After a few seconds, a monotonous synthetic voice began speaking from somewhere in the region of her head.

Please do not be alarmed. This is a malfunction of a remotely animated, nonhuman surrogate owned by Remote-Activated Biovehicles (U.K.) Limited. We regret any inconvenience. A recovery team is already on its way to you. If you need further a.s.sistance, please call 01-376-8877. Thank you . . . Please to not be alarmed. This is a malfunction of . . .”

But Harry didn't hear any more. He backed away in wide-eyed horror, unable to tear his eyes from the lifeless figure draped across the bed. It wasn't the knowledge of what she was that was terrifying him; it was the way it had happened, and when.

Surely to G.o.d it was impossible. He gnawed at his knuckle and forced himself to calm down and think.

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