The Teeth of the Tiger - Tom Clancy [183]
"She" was real enough for Fa'ad, who soon got deeply into the perverse fantasy. It wasn't as good as a real woman by a long shot, but Fa'ad was careful about indulging his passions in Europe. You never knew if the woman you rented might be someone from the Mossad, who'd be just as happy to cut it off as to take it inside. He didn't fear death much, but like all men he did fear pain. In any case, the fantasy lasted almost half an hour, which left him sated enough to take note of the "handle" in case "she" showed up again. He could not know that the Tyrolean accountant made a similar notation in his Buddy File before retiring to a cold and lonely bed.
When Jack woke up, the window blinds were raised to reveal the purple-gray of mountains about twenty thousand feet below. His watch showed that he'd been aboard about eight hours, and had probably slept for six of them. Not too bad. He had a mild headache from the wine, but the wake-up coffee was good, as was the pastry, which combined to get him semi-awake as Flight 94 cruised in for landing.
The airport was hardly a large one, considering it was the flagship port of entry for a sovereign country, but Austria had about the same population as New York City, which had three airports. The aircraft thumped down, and the captain welcomed them all to his homeland, telling them that the local time was 9:05 A.M. So, he'd have one day of heavy jet lag to deal with, but with luck maybe he'd be approximately okay tomorrow.
He cleared immigration easily-the flight had only been about half full-recovered his bags and headed outside for a cab.
"Hotel Imperial, please."
"Where?" the driver asked.
"Hotel Imperial," Ryan repeated.
The driver thought for a moment. "Ach so, Hotel Imperial, ja?"
"Das ist richtig," Junior assured him, and sat back to enjoy the ride. He had a hundred Euros, and assumed that would be enough, unless this guy had attended the New York City school of taxi driving. In any case, there'd be ATM machines on the street.
The drive took half an hour, fighting the rush-hour traffic. A block or two from the hotel, he passed a Ferrari dealership, which was something new for him-he'd seen Ferraris only on TV before, and wondered, as all young men wonder, what it might be like to drive one.
The hotel staff greeted him like an arriving prince, and delivered him to a fourth-floor suite whose bed looked very inviting indeed. He immediately ordered breakfast and unpacked. Then he remembered why he was here, and picked up the phone, asking for a connection with Dominic Caruso's room.
"Hello?" It was Brian. Dom was in the gold-encrusted shower.
"Hey, cuz, it's Jack," he heard.
"Jack who-wait a minute, Jack?"
"I'm upstairs, Marine. Just flew in an hour ago. Come on up, so we can talk."
"Right. Give me ten minutes," Brian said, and headed into the bathroom. "Enzo, you ain't gonna believe who's upstairs."
"Who?" Dominic asked, toweling himself off.
"Let it be a surprise, man." Brian went back to the sitting room, not sure whether to laugh or barf as he read the International Herald Tribune.
"You gotta be fucking kidding," Dominic breathed as the door opened.
"You ought to see it from my side, Enzo," Jack answered. "Come on in."
"Food's good in Motel 6, isn't it?" Brian observed, following his brother.
"Actually, I prefer Holiday Inn Express. I need to pick up a Ph.D. for my curriculum vitae, y'know?" Jack laughed and waved them to the chairs. "I got extra coffee."
"They do it well here. I see you discovered the croissants." Dominic poured himself a cup and stole a pastry. "Why the hell did they send you?"
"I guess because you both know me." Junior buttered his second.
"Tell you what. Let me finish breakfast and we can take a walk down to the Ferrari dealership and talk about it. How do you like Vienna?"
"Just got here yesterday afternoon, Jack," Dominic informed him.
"I didn't know that. I gather you had a productive time in London, though."
"Not bad," Brian answered. "Tell you about it later."
"Right." Jack continued his