Страница 41 из 68
"What does our government have to say about this General Tun?"
"The Secretary of State has been in contact with the Chinese government. We've issued a stern warning that Taiwan is not to be harassed. Of course, China's playing dumb. They say General Tun is simply performing military exercises and war games in and around Fuzhou. He supposedly has no intention to attack Taiwan, nor has the government given him the authorization to do so. So, to make a long story short, our government has assumed a 'wait and see' position."
I stretch and can't quite stifle a yawn.
"Am I boring you?" Lambert asks.
"I'm exhausted, Colonel. It's been a tough week. Hell, it's been a tough couple of months."
"Fine. You have twenty-four hours' leave, Sam. Get some rest. Go get laid. Do what you need to do to get recharged. We have a car in the garage upstairs for you to use."
"Thanks, Colonel."
Right on cue, Frances Coen enters the office. She looks at me expectantly.
"Oh, I almost forgot," I mumble. "I have an appointment before I go, right?"
She nods. "The doctor is here. You want to come into the prep room, Sam? I promise we'll get this over with quickly. It'll be painless. I think."
Lambert gives me a grin. "It won't be any worse than it was when you first had them put in."
"That's comforting," I say. The original surgery was horrific.
I stand and follow Coen into a sterile room where I meet a Dr. Frank and his pretty nurse Betsy.
At least I'll get a good drug out of the ordeal.
AFTERall that, there was nothing to it. I feel a little discomfort in my ears, kind of like when there's water in them and you can't get it out. The doc told me it would clear up in a few hours and I'd be as good as new. The car they've given me is a 2005 Nissan Murano, a roomy vehicle with a V6 engine and "continuously variable transmission." I'm impressed. It's the best company car Third Echelon has ever given me.
I have no idea where I'm going to spend the night in Los Angeles. While I'm cruising into the city on I-210, I phone my house in Maryland to pick up any messages that might be on my personal answering machine. Much to my surprise, there's one from Katia Loenstern.
"Hi, Sam, it's Katia. I know you're probably out of town but I just, I don't know, I just wanted to call and say I miss you. I had a nice time with my mom and sister in San Diego and now I'm in Los Angeles. I felt like coming up here to spend some money. What can I say?--I like to shop, and L.A.'s a good place to do that. I just checked in to the Sofitel Hotel across from Beverly Center and I plan on hitting the mall in a minute. I'm probably go
Well. What did Colonel Lambert say about me needing to get laid?
I'm suddenly faced with some decisions to make. On one hand I should probably stay clear of her, get some rest, and focus on the job. On the other hand, I'm dying to see her. But am I ready to dive headfirst into a relationship? Because that's exactly what it would be if I return her call--a relationship. Damn, just the thought makes me nervous.
Screw it. I need this. It's been too long. Call it Mental Health Therapy. Hell, call it Gonad Therapy. I may be a Splinter Cell but I'm also a man.
At least now I know where I'm going. After the 210 becomes the 134, I take the 2 down to the 101 and head west. It isn't long before I get off at Santa Monica Boulevard and make my way to Beverly Boulevard and La Cienega. Right to the Sofitel, across from Beverly Center.
24
Icheck in to the hotel, go to my room on the third floor, dial the front desk, and ask to be co
"Hello?" There's a slight puzzlement in her voice. Who could be calling her in Los Angeles?
"Hi, Katia," I say. "It's Sam."
"Oh, my God, Sam! What a surprise!"
"How are you?"
"I'm . . . I'm fine! My gosh, I'm flustered. What are you doing? Are you back in the States?"
"Yes, I am."
"What's it like in Baltimore? Still cold?"
"I don't know, I'm not there."
"Where are you?"
"Two floors below you."
She's not sure if she heard me right. "What?"
"I'm in the hotel. Two floors below you. In Los Angeles."
" Whatare you doing here?" Now she's laughing. "Oh, my God!"
"I got the message you left me at home. I was in L.A., so . . . here I am."
"This is amazing. I was just thinking about you."
"Yeah? Well, me, too, you."
"Do you . . . do you want to get together?"
"Well, duh."
"Are you hungry? I haven't had lunch yet."
"Neither have I. Let's do it."
We meet in the lobby twenty minutes later. Katia looks better than I remember. She is dressed in tight-fitting black capri pants that accentuate the shape of her long legs, a red cami, and a short black jacket. I ask her if garlic is okay for lunch and she tells me that as long as I'm having it, too, it would be great. I know a terrific place within walking distance of the hotel, just down La Cienega a couple of blocks, so we decide to hoof it. The weather in Los Angeles is slightly cool but certainly nothing like the winter temperatures back east. Neither of us needs a coat.
"How's your family?" I ask as we stroll. She takes my hand and I welcome it.
"They're good. It was a nice visit. My mom hasn't been well. She had some kind of weird infection in her toenail and the doctor was afraid she might have to lose it. The toe, that is. But the nail was removed and . . . well, you don't want to hear about that, do you?"
"I don't mind. I think I can take the image of a missing toenail."
"Anyway, I think she's go
"Like you?"
"Well, I'm a free spirit, too, but not like her. If she'd been around in the sixties she'd have been a hippie. What about you? Where have you been?"
"Oh, overseas. Nothing to write home about. Just the usual business."
"Yeah, right. International sales. Information gathering and troubleshooting. I remember, Mr. Mysterious."
"It's true!"
"Sure. So what are you doing in L.A.?"
"Had to make a stop. A business stop. But I've got twenty-four hours of free time."
"Aww, and you chose to spend it with me?"
"If you'd like."
"Of course I'd like."
"I dohave to get some rest, though. I'm pretty exhausted."
She punches me on the upper arm. "Don't give me that, buster. We might spend the next twenty-four hours in bed but we ain't go
We reach the restaurant, one of my favorites in L.A.--and San Francisco, too. It's called the Stinking Rose and it specializes in garlic dishes. Katia's never been there, so she's in for a treat.
The place is nearly full, as usual, but we're a little on the late side of the lunch hour. There's no problem getting a table. The hostess must sense the romantic tension between Katia and me so she sits us in a dimly lit corner and lights a candle. Katia scans the menu and proclaims that it all sounds good. I assure her it is and suggest the appetizer of bagna calda. We order a bottle of the house red wine and settle in for an enjoyable hour or two.