Touch of Magic

by M. Ruth Myers

  "That's right," said Channing, answering Max's question, "And then I hope the rest of you are fast at doing what you do."

  No reference to the switch she was there to perform. Ellery had told her Oliver didn't want that part mentioned. He saw her steal a glance to confirm she was playing it right. He nodded slightly.

  Was he imagining it, or was there a strain around her mouth that hadn't been there before?

  "Maybe I won't have to cramp my ass so much in front of this damned equipment, then," growled Walker. He was middle-aged, black, and perpetually disgruntled. Chewing an unlighted cigar, he sat hunched in front of a video screen that showed the door of Ballieu's room. His head was hooked to earphones. Various pieces of electronic gear were spread on the desk before him.

  Ellery saw Channing taking in every detail: the equipment, the .38 tossed on the bed, the one Max was hiding under the expensive golf jacket he was shrugging into for a shift downstairs. Her eyes recorded it all with a single sweep.

  "Hey, listen, it's tough being new." Max was recovering his footing. He slipped a hand under Channing's elbow and started to draw her along with him toward the door. "I've got this shift in the lobby in case Ballieu leaves his hole. But let me buy you dinner when I'm done. Bill can spell Walker, and I'll clue you in on how things usually work in a setup like this."

  Ellery had to press his injured shoulder to curtail amusement at the look crossing Channing's face. With her free hand she reached beneath her elbow to flick Max's grip away with the tips of her nails.

  "I generally buy men dinner," she said. "If I'm interested."

  Max's jaw dropped. His gaze shot in question to Ellery's. His blue eyes started to narrow as his quick mind grasped at last that he'd been misled.

  "I owe you one, pal," he murmured, nudging Ellery in the ribs in passing. He took his exit with an air of pretended injury.

  Ellery crossed the room to look over Walker's shoulder. He'd give Channing a minute more to look at things, though she wouldn't be sharing the work in here.

  "Anything new?" he asked.

  "Not a thing." Walker fiddled with dials. "That other room Yussuf booked still looks empty."

  The joke on Max already forgotten, Ellery ran the back of a knuckle across his lower lip and frowned with displeasure. Yussuf had made three reservations: one for himself; one for someone named Cardwell, which Ballieu had claimed; and one they'd assumed was for whoever was selling the film. If the seller hadn't shown up ...

  "I don't like it." Walker's words paralleled Ellery's thoughts. "Something's not right."

  Ellery moved his head in slow agreement.

  Several things weren't right. Yet he couldn't quite put his finger on what they all added up to. In addition, Oliver wanted a low profile here so they didn't spook Ballieu. One man had to be with the equipment all the time, to monitor and relay messages from Oliver, who'd set up down the road with a couple of men. That left just two of them to keep an eye on both Channing and Ballieu.

  Last year Ballieu had gotten wind of a girl French intelligence had planted in his organization. Word was he'd gutted her like a pig.

  Turning suddenly, Ellery looked at the woman who was temporarily his partner. She was standing at the window now, her arms crossed, hugging her shoulders. Oliver had been right. She wasn't a girl. She knew too much, watched things too closely for the label. But what kind of defense was magic against someone like Ballieu?

  Channing felt him watching her in the same instant she realized her cheeks were wet. She'd been remembering the little girl in a bright pink dress who had died in her arms in that restaurant in Beirut. The scene and the feel of blood soaking into her blouse had returned to clutch at her even as she tried to avoid them.

  The child's arms had been blown off at the shoulders, and in all the noise and confusion no one was paying any attention to her. Channing, dazed with seeing Tony's body, realizing he was dead, had held the whimpering child and kissed her forehead. It was all she knew to do. From the first she had known the child would die. She could feel the blood surging out. And she had felt so helpless....

  "Something wrong?" asked Ellery as he came to her side.

  His presence took the sharp edge of the memory away.

  "No. Yes."

  She rubbed her forearm over her cheeks so he wouldn't see it was tears she was wiping away.

  "Ellery, if it turns out I can't do this -- if we fail -- what happens?"

  "We try to take the film by force. Maybe lose some people. Maybe it gets away."

  She saw his mouth tighten.

  "Several overseas intelligence sources have picked up rumors that some group, somewhere, plans to blow up an airport next week -- location unknown. Forged passports may be what they're counting on to get them in. So we damn well better not let it get away. Why?"

  Behind them, oblivious to their conversation, Walker stood up and tossed his earphones onto the desk.

  "How about one of you spelling me for a while? My daughter's expecting a baby any day now. Want to go make a phone call. See how she's doing." He beamed suddenly, as though he did it all the time. "First grandchild."

  Ellery waved agreement. Channing felt his sharpening alertness even though she could see no outward trace of it. This was her chance to do something for everyone who had died in that restaurant. But she had to be honest with Ellery. If she got her chance to switch the film and glitched again, his life would be in danger as well as her own.

  "The film snagged," she said when the door had closed behind Walker. "Just before I came down here. I don't understand it. It's been going fine. I think it was a thread on my jacket. Or the film -- a rough spot--"

  "Are you sure?"

  She watched the slow vibration of Ellery's throat. She heard the implication of his words: It might have been her.

  "Not a hundred percent," she said grimly.

  His attention flicked toward the radio equipment he'd promised to monitor. She could feel the pressure, feel him weighing this, feel his waning confidence in her even before he spoke.

  "Jesus!"

  Ten

  “Had enough of the kid already, madam?”

  Rundell’s smugness, funneled through the telephone cable, did more to kick Channing's spirits back into order than any reasoning she'd done since leaving Ellery. It had to have been some flaw in materials, not her own skills, that had caused that hitch in the film. Ellery might have his doubts, but she didn't. Couldn't. She was urged ahead not only by her own drive, but also by a vision of Gramps urging her to prove herself. She lay back in the cool of her room, the phone to her ear.

  "The 'kid' is no problem at all. But I need a card shaver, Rundell."

  She could hear surprise in his second of silence. This wasn't what he'd expected.

  "A card shaver, madam?"

  "That's right. Has your hearing gone bad? I need it just as soon as you can get it."

  She gave him the names of two sources. With a little luck he'd be able to get it today. If he expressed it out, it might arrive by midday tomorrow. Until then she'd just have to count on luck.

  With a few crisp words Rundell hung up on her to do her errand. Too restless for anything else, Channing rose and began to practice with the pieces of film. She'd asked Ellery for a replacement, to eliminate any chance of the problem being a rough spot in the film. He'd said it was impossible. So with a card shaver, generally used for such unsavory purposes as marking a deck, she'd make sure the edges of the film were smooth. It was a chance, but rather than simply sitting down and whimpering, she'd take that chance.

  * * *

  "Something bothering you, Billy?"

  Max swung cheerfully into place on the opposite side of the table where Ellery sat observing the pool scene. Ellery let Channing Stuart, reading in a lounge chair, slide into the edge of his vision.

  "Yeah. The heat," he answered, filing away the fact that his face had betrayed his tension, if not its cause. This new turn -- the fumble with the film -- breathed on his
back like a faceless presence.

  If he pulled Channing, they'd have to bring in more help -- FBI, try to capture Ballieu, risk a shoot-out, maybe never know who had stolen the film. If he didn't pull her, he might risk her life.

  He had to decide what to do, report the incident to Oliver or trust her ability. The irony was that he was even wavering. He'd been against the whole idea of using her in the first place. Yet now he had started to sense not only her competence, but also how she was being driven to prove something to herself -- to silence something in the past. He understood that need well enough, Ellery thought bitterly.

  "It's a son of a bitch, isn't it?" asked Max, squinting at the sun and fanning his collar.

  Ellery saw him check the pocket beeper that would alert him if Ballieu left his room. It wasn't a perfect system, but Max and Walker couldn't risk showing up afterward every time Ballieu surfaced. Whoever had downstairs duty had to be in place at least part of the time.

  "Walker seems kind of testy," said Ellery. "I offered to buy him a sandwich before he headed back up to relieve you, and he bit my head off."

  "Pissed he didn't get that promotion to a desk job he'd been shooting for." Max raked a hand through his black curls and stretched comfortably, putting his legs out. "Doesn't like your style, either. Face it, Billy, you're so goddamn set on perfection, I've wanted to take a swing at you a time or two myself." His features drew back in a lazy smile. "Always wondered which one of us would come out the winner if I did."

  Max signaled to a waiter and Ellery chuckled, coaxed from his somberness by Max's humor.

  "Anything new on our man?" he asked, glancing across the pool to reassure himself Channing was still reading.

  Max lit a cigarette. His expression tightened.

  "Just that the man's endurance is frigging amazing. He was in one woman's room at the crack of dawn and just paid a visit to another who, reliable sources tell me, is a high-class hooker. Besides which he's been chatting up a brunette who'd give any man hot flashes and playing bridge with some old broad. Sure doesn't fit the profile of someone in his line of work, does it?"

  Ellery felt the unpleasant breath at his back again.

  "It could be a smoke screen. He could be trying to throw off anyone watching him. It could be he's making contact with one of them."

  "He's sure as hell making contact," Max said with a leer.

  "Have you sent in photos of the women to see if we've got anything on any of them?"

  "C'mon, Ellery. The man works alone."

  "Yeah. I guess."

  "Buy you a beer?"

  Ellery shook his head.

  "I'll tell you," drawled Max, still stretched out to his full length, "listening to his activity's making me properly horny." He looked across the pool. "You think our Channing would accommodate? Assuming I make up for that fall on my ass you helped me take?"

  Ellery kept his face perfectly clear of the irritation that swelled inside him at Max's crudeness.

  "I couldn't say."

  Max was looking at him closely now but wasn't getting satisfaction.

  "You interested in her, Billy?"

  "That would be fairly stupid, wouldn't it?"

  Ellery's words sounded more clipped than he'd meant them to be. Max balanced a spoon between his two hands. His fingers were long and blunt with prominent knuckles.

  "Getting mixed up with a woman's always stupid."

  He sat up suddenly. The deceptive languidness of his manner vanished. His face looked strained.

  "You ever have premonitions, Billy?"

  "Hunches? I suppose so. Why?"

  Max's eyes looked at empty air beyond Ellery's shoulder.

  "I don't know. No reason. Only..." He shrugged, one hand lifting to rub at the back of his neck. "I keep having this feeling this is going to be my last time out."

  * * *

  Channing had thought to compose herself and lose herself in the anonymity of the main lounge before going on. Unfortunately Wilbur, the balding assistant manager, had spotted her as soon as she entered. Now, just as he was leaving, she saw Max coming toward her. Ellery must be elsewhere and Max in charge of watching her, she thought with annoyance. Baby-sitting or just making sure she didn't slip up?

  "I like it. I definitely like it," Max said, leaning easily on the bar and eyeing her black magician's dress, the golden kunjar riding at its waist.

  His gaze traveled up to the full pompadour that Channing knew gave her a different persona entirely. She could feel it happening when the hair went up and the dress went on. She became a Stuart. A conjurer. And tonight, if Ballieu showed up in response to her phone call, she was counting on the added powers that seemed to flow with that role.

  "Looks like there's a fan who wanted to make sure he didn't miss your show."

  Max flicked an eye, and Channing followed its direction to see Henri Ballieu settling in a few tables back from the stage.

  "Well. If he's sitting down, maybe I don't need to worry about my neck."

  She realized he hadn't understood her attempt at a joke. She felt antipathy toward Max. He seemed superficial, and that was not a quality she'd ever esteemed.

  "Let me buy you one and we'll disappear where we don't attract notice," he said. "That mirror over there's two-way. We've got use of the office on the other side of it. What are you drinking?"

  "A Virgin Mary -- and I don't need another."

  She turned to leave the room with him despite her personal feelings. They were coworkers, with more vested interest than most in getting along. Serafin was back in the dining room having a second dessert. She had time.

  Max made a face at her words.

  "You're not as clean-living as Billy, are you?"

  "I'm working," she said pointedly.

  Max had picked up a Scotch and water. He looked amused and hard to ruffle.

  "Stick out like a bandaged thumb in this job if you don't at least pretend to drink," he said. "Didn't you learn that in training?"

  He threw open the door to a small office. Across one wall a tinted window looked out onto the crowded lounge. Channing could see Ballieu. A woman was joining him. Channing weighed her answer, aware Max already had detected her hesitation.

  "I didn't have training. I'm just the bait on this assignment. Because I knew Yussuf."

  If he and Walker ever needed to rely on her, they ought to know that.

  Max's eyebrows rose.

  "Nervy. I guess I owe you an apology for that unsolicited two cents' worth." He waved around him. "Pretty nice setup, huh? The management thinks Walker and I are from the state liquor control, checking up on how they mind their p's and q's.

  "Look, if you're coming into this thing cold, don't hesitate to ask for help if you need it -- and don't take it to heart if Bill lights into you sometimes. He's a stickler for detail." Max hoisted his glass. "Great guy, but still a classic case of rich boy trying to redeem himself by playing cop."

  Channing let her curiosity show before she could stop it. Max read it and grinned.

  "Didn't you know? He's one of the Ellerys. Daddy made millions in real estate. Brother's a senator."

  She felt annoyed, as though she'd betrayed Ellery in some way by revealing how little she knew about him.

  "Well, speak of the devil," Max said cheerfully as the door opened.

  Ellery sounded out of breath. His hair was disheveled.

  "Search his room already?" asked Max.

  "Just a once-over. We'll do the full treatment as soon as Channing starts her show. He tore out our bugs."

  "Both of them?"

  "Yeah. Awfully cautious or else he's suspicious."

  Ellery's shoulders sloped as he sat on the edge of a desk.

  "Goddamn ass-grabbing butcher." Max moved to the window, sipping his drink and peering out at Ballieu. "It'll spook him if we replace them," he said after a minute. "That means we're stuck with keeping tabs on the bastard by visual contact!"

  "Looks like it." Ellery rubbed his hands t
ogether as if in thought. "This sure as hell isn't a place he'll carry a briefcase, and I don't see any other way to get a bug on him."

  Max clinked the ice in his drink back and forth against the sides of his glass.

  "How big are they?" asked Channing.

  By the way their heads raised, she knew both men had all but forgotten her. Ellery came alert immediately, picking up the direction of her thoughts.

  "They can come pretty small. You got an idea?"

  "Could I get one into his wristwatch? Between the links of the band, maybe?"

  Ellery was silent. Waiting. She sensed approval in the reaction -- the first she'd felt from him. For an instant now she was truly part of the team.

  "I'm going to do some close-up work in the audience. If I ask to borrow his watch, he'll think it's just a cover to set up a meeting."

  Ellery's slow outward breath showed admiration as well as reluctance. Max let out a short whistle.

  "Jesus, Billy. She's something!"

  "I'd need to know what the watch is like before I try it." Channing was starting to feel the pressure of time. Fifteen minutes till she was due backstage, and not much time after that till she went on. "I'd need to see how it's built -- where to put the thing. I'd need to practice."

  Ellery seemed to think for a second and then, without speaking, snatched Max's glass up and was out the door. A moment later, through the window, he came into view strolling in Ballieu's direction.

  "What--?"

  Channing let her question die. She had moved to the window and watched with Max.

  Ellery pretended to lose his grip on the glass, which spilled onto Ballieu's table. Ellery bent, apparently apologizing, and summoned a waiter. Ballieu's hands pantomimed an irritated "It's okay." He moved to a neighboring table.

  "That's Billy," said Max with a grin. "Nerve clear up to the old -- well, you get the drift."

  Channing scarcely nodded. Ellery was making an exit into the hall. Time was precious. She hurried to join him.

  There were couples drifting toward the lounge to find a place for the floor show, a Latin tamale with a drink in her hand and three men following her. Channing dodged around them. She and Ellery fell into step together, walking quickly and like strangers.