Zero Day_ A Novel - Mark Russinovich [105]
Now it came back to him. How could he have forgotten? He’d been a fool for ever trusting this slick Arab son of a bitch. “What about airports?” Carlton demanded. “And dams? These Superphreak viruses are interfering with them, and that has nothing to do with finances. How do you talk your way out of that?”
Fajer sighed. “I don’t, my friend, I don’t. You should have just taken the money.” With that he drew the shafra from the small of his back and plunged it deeply into Carlton’s stomach as if punching him, then pulled it across his midsection with savage force. He watched the American drop to the ground with scarcely a sound, move his mouth like a fish out of water. Carlton’s eyes slowly rolled up as he struggled to breathe, lying in a growing pool of red.
“You should have taken the money and kept your mouth shut. No one would have known. And there is nothing you could have done to stop this.” Fajer wiped the knife on Carlton’s clothes, then put it away.
Fajer’s cell phone rang. “Oui?” The Arab listened, then gave rapid instructions in English. By the time he’d finished, George Carlton was dead.
53
MANHATTAN, NEW YORK
HOTEL LUXOR
EAST THIRTIETH STREET
SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 2
9:05 A.M.
The sun had already been up for some time when Jeff awoke. In the bathroom, he washed his face quietly.
Returning to the bedroom, he sat at the desk chair, where he could see Daryl clearly. In this time of exhibitionist tattoos and body piercing, with the supposed equality of the sexes, it seemed to Jeff that many women were just mimicking drunken sailors on shore leave in their expressions of independence. One of the consequences, he believed, was that men of his generation, and those of the one coming up, seemed no longer to respect women or hold them in the esteem they once had.
He’d always admired Daryl’s fine mind and hard work as a professional. He’d been aware of the chemistry between them from the first moment they’d met. But since Cynthia’s death he’d been hollow, unable to react to any woman in an emotional way. Sure, he’d had relationships, but his heart wasn’t in any of them. He’d thought that part of him had died with her. Now he realized that it had not. His attraction to Daryl had been so gradual, so natural, awareness of it seemed to have snuck up on him like the first breath of spring after a particularly harsh winter.
Daryl lay now with her head on a pillow, her face turned toward the morning light entering through the blinds. She looked as calm and innocent as a five-year-old child taking a nap. Her elegant, lean body was stretched out, only partially covered by a white sheet. Her right breast rested against the bed; the other was half-covered by the sheet in a provocative manner, as if a photographer had posed her. Under the cover was the rise of her hip, then the delicate line of her legs. It was a breathtaking sight.
Daryl licked her lips. “You’re staring at me,” she said without opening her eyes.
“Maybe.”
“No maybe about it. You’re embarrassing me.”
Jeff crossed his fingers. “I’ll stop.”
She rolled on her back, then kept turning until she stopped on her left side. Her back, Jeff decided, was as beautiful as the rest of her. “Promise me something,” she said, her voice soft and low.
“Anything.” He uncrossed his fingers.
Daryl jerked her head toward him and opened her eyes. “Careful what you say there, dude.”
“Anything.”
“It’s pretty simple, actually. Don’t worship me, okay?”
Jeff laughed. “You mean like a goddess or something?”
“More like an object of beauty or something. Okay?”
“I see,” Jeff said, though he wasn’t sure he did. “All right then, to me you are a hag. We need to turn out the lights to do it or put a paper sack over your head. Better?”
She grinned. “Perfect. Don’t look, I’ve got to use the bathroom.”
Jeff closed his eyes, then peeked the moment she stepped off the bed. Amazing.
* * *
Once Manfield was satisfied Jeff Aiken and the blond woman weren’t coming