Touch of Magic

by M. Ruth Myers

  "Desert View Clinic," read Serafin as they rode closer.

  A scrubby little bush had taken root in a crack in the rock and was starting to obscure the sign. The Desert View Clinic didn't look open for business.

  Channing felt her pulse quickening. This was the break they needed, maybe. The kind of place that might have had a vault once, for patients' valuables or medicine.

  "Let's get back," she said.

  Avoiding the drive, she led the way back down toward an outcrop of rock. She was planning. Tell Ellery what she'd found. This was one of the places on his list, and it certainly looked promising. If nothing else turned up--

  She rounded the outcrop and jerked on her reins so sharply that the horse beneath her reared. She was face-to-face with Henri Ballieu. He, too, was on horseback, and he had a gun with a silencer leveled at her. At us, she amended sickly, hearing Serafin's gasp at her flank.

  "Looking for something?" Ballieu's voice held a deceptive pleasantness.

  In a split second Channing decided, almost intuitively, how she had to play this.

  "I'm looking for you, Ballieu," she said as smoothly as he had. "Was your meeting last night successful?" She gave a velvety smile as the pupils of his eyes widened almost indiscernibly. Knowing how to read an audience, how to judge a reaction, was paying off. "I put something in your watch," she said. "I thought I should ... know you better. Haven't you discovered it?"

  It was, she theorized, the last thing in the world he'd expect her to say. But maybe what someone who aspired to take over a business like Yussuf's would really do. By volunteering exactly what he'd meant to confront her with, she'd made him uncertain. She let her eyes flick suggestively to the surrounding rocks.

  "Put the gun away, Ballieu. Do you think we'd come here alone? Yussuf's people -- my people -- have been watching this place since before you arrived."

  He looked cunning now, and it made her own confidence waver.

  "And the one you left up there who's dead?"

  Damn. This could be a test. Or had he been up there ... killed whoever was guarding the place? But he couldn't have gotten the film or he wouldn't still be here wasting time with her.

  She shrugged.

  "We're testing each other, Ballieu. We both know it."

  All the time she could hardly swallow, trying not to watch his gun, trying not to think of Serafin in the middle of this.

  Ballieu switched his horse around. Coming nearer. Half circling her. The gun didn't waver.

  "You're bluffing," he said. "You don't know where the film is and you're hunting it."

  Wrong, she thought. You're confirming what I need to know.

  Calmly, pretending indifference to him with every ounce of acting skill she'd ever acquired, Channing reached up and removed the camera from around her neck. She shook her hair back.

  "If you knew as much about me as I know about you, you'd know I'm a geologist. I'm fascinated by rock formations." She gave a provocative smile. "Good cover for the kind of work I did for Yussuf, don't you think?"

  Steeling herself, she turned to Serafin and handed him the camera.

  "Take this back for me. I have business to talk over."

  Serafin's dark eyes met hers and received the message to do more than just take it back. He'd take it straight to Ellery and tell him what had happened. She felt sure of it. She hit his horse on the rump.

  Ballieu veered, on the verge of stopping the boy, but she spoke again.

  "There are federal agents watching you, Ballieu. Do we cooperate?"

  Once more she'd startled him, made another crack in his distrust of her if she was lucky. His gun dipped slightly.

  "How do you know who's watching me?"

  His eyes were narrow. Accusing. Yet wavering in their certainty. Channing looked at him with what she hoped was guile.

  "I have my ways."

  She could feel the two of them in double checkmate, will against will, wit against wit, her personality locked with his. A gleam she couldn't identify touched his eyes. He studied her and slid his tongue across his lower lip.

  "Yussuf's people aren't happy about your killing him," she continued. "But they'll do whatever I tell them. If I walk out with you when you get the film, they'll accept our truce. If not ... Can you see behind all these rocks?"

  He chuckled suddenly, a chilling sound. He brought his horse closer to hers. His gun was lowered.

  "And if I agree to a truce, what more?" His hand ran up the side of her throat. "There'll be more than business, perhaps? You entice me." His fingers turned over to stroke the faint line of her windpipe.

  Channing felt her flesh crawl. Sensuality and the threat of death mingled in his touch.

  "We'll see," she said, struggling to maintain her poise.

  He moved back. He slid the gun into a pocket, unwrapped a red-and-white candy, and dropped the cellophane on the ground. An expression like amusement curled his mouth.

  "Be at the small pool at midnight," he said. "We'll go from there."

  As she started to leave, the small of her back still prickling, he caught her reins.

  "If anything goes wrong -- if you've lied to me -- you won't walk out, either."

  Hate, like the dark sides of a box, closed around her. She couldn't touch him. She couldn't betray the contempt she felt. Yet she wouldn't bow beneath the fear he generated, either. "I hope you're better dressed at midnight," she said. "That flower you're wearing's too gaudy."

  The outrush of his breath was audible as he looked down to see the orange paper flower projecting from his shirt pocket. He realized she'd placed it there, and he hurled it angrily to the ground.

  It had been an act of defiance causing it to appear there, an act she realized she should have resisted yet didn't regret. Channing spun, setting her course toward the resort, deliberately not looking over her shoulder.

  Twenty-one

  "See Ballieu out there?" Walker, none too firm in his saddle, galloped up as Channing reached the stable area. "He gave me the slip."

  From half a dozen lengths behind them, Ellery saw Channing slide to the ground and nod in answer. She paid no attention as Walker took off in pursuit. As though attempting to steady herself, she bowed her forehead against the side of the horse she'd ridden.

  Tension easing, Ellery swung his own horse close. Her face was pale, but she looked unharmed. Her eyes sprang open.

  "I know where the film is," she said, breathing hard.

  "Old mental hospital on long-term lease to some movie company?" He spoke quickly, keeping part of his attention on Walker's retreating figure while his horse danced impatiently. "Serafin told me. Said you'd run into Ballieu and he'd pulled a gun--"

  "It's okay. He's taking me up there at midnight--"

  "He could be lying. I'm going to keep my eye on Walker. Back me up."

  He gave his horse its head and lunged ahead. They had lost several seconds in conversation. Now, as he reached the outer gate of the stable area, he saw Walker already circling back. Another dot farther out was heading in as well. Wheeling, Ellery trotted back and dismounted, watching Channing, just up in her saddle again, do likewise.

  "We look like the goddamn cavalry," he said in disgust.

  "Real subtle, huh?"

  "Yeah."

  Her mouth had twisted sidewise, reflecting an irony similar to his own. The shared recognition of absurdity made him feel better, even knowing their backs were against the wall. Smacking the horses on their rumps, he sent them toward the stable.

  "I thought maybe Walker was our man, and the meeting going down now. But they're both coming in," he said.

  "So it's not Walker?"

  Ellery squinted, wishing he could see the answer.

  "Who knows? Maybe we were just too close behind." He brought his gaze back from the horizon. "I'd dug up some facts of my own before Serafin found me. It was under a phony name, of course, but Yussuf subleased that old clinic about a week ago. The check number traced back to an account he kept."


  She was quiet. He knew it still hurt her, facing the fact that a man she'd valued as friend had been what Yussuf was.

  "You'd never make it up there in daylight, Ellery," she said with a waver in the steadiness of her voice. "The place has an open view of everything moving below. And guards. I think Ballieu killed one."

  He nodded, lost in thought.

  "We'll gamble on your meeting at midnight then, unless there's movement beforehand."

  They started back toward the grounds of the lodge. Ellery looked at her, eyes traveling the length of her body.

  "You have strings and things under the costume you wear for your act?"

  Her eyes took on a teasing look. She grinned without answering.

  "Dammit, Channing! I want to know if I can get a wire on you."

  Annoyed by her lack of seriousness, he caught her by the wrist and felt her recoil.

  "What's wrong?" he asked, immediately releasing her.

  Her mouth opened, set for denial.

  "Probably an inflamed tendon," said a voice behind them. "Doesn't have any better sense than her father did when he found a new pair of handcuffs."

  They turned as one.

  Channing's houseman was padding toward them, his body set at an angle. It was as white as grits, with lumps where his knees should be and chartreuse swim trunks flapping above them like curtains. His misshaped nose was in the air. Serafin was beside him.

  "All this practicing 'round the clock all of a sudden," he lectured, a narrowed eye on his employer. "Using muscles you'd let get flabby. You're out of shape, you know, madam, and you're not a girl anymore. Let me see." He poked the exact spot to make her gasp. "Rest and aspirin. I'm going to tape it to keep you from using it."

  Ellery entertained a fleeting thought that the household help where he'd grown up, afraid of overstepping bounds and being dismissed, wouldn't even have ventured advice on what to wear outside on a rainy day.

  "Beat it, Rundell," said Channing between her teeth. "It's nothing. I bumped it on something."

  "Rubbish. The boy already told me you dropped your coffeepot this morning."

  The old bird had a lot of steel inside him, Ellery decided. And Ellery shared his hunch that Channing wasn't telling the truth about her condition. They were breaking the rules enough as it was, and her flawless performance was vital. He looked at the houseman.

  "You know what you're talking about?"

  The old man drew himself almost erect.

  "I was The Great Sebastian's assistant for fifteen years."

  Ellery gave a nod.

  "She'll wait for you in the lobby."

  He whisked Channing aside before she could protest, and before Rundell could unhinge his mouth to speak again.

  "I'm trusting your judgment," he said, his voice lowered. "If a point comes when you think you can't do the job, speak up for chrissake. Otherwise it's the two of us against Ballieu and whoever. For practical purposes we have to consider Max, Walker, and Oliver -- all three -- the enemy."

  "That spreads us thin."

  A family with three children came bustling toward them, heading for the stable and chattering happily about the ride they'd have. Ellery didn't answer.

  "I'm still convinced Ballieu's got a helper too," he said when the family had passed. He wished he could forget that Ballieu had been known to snatch people around him for cover.

  "So our agenda for today is?"

  "Try to spot the mole. Try to spot the helper. Failing that, let's play it as planned and hope we move fast."

  He glanced at her as they walked beneath the thin shadow cast by a palm tree. To the right there were shouts from a doubles game on one of the tennis courts.

  "I'm not taking chances with you, Channing. That's why I want you wired. I'm going to be within fifty yards of you all the time, if possible. The minute you see anyone familiar, you go to ground and I'll move in."

  "Along with whoever's on our side, once they see the lay of the land?"

  "Let's hope so. If you were really playing the game you want Ballieu to think you are, you wouldn't tell any of the rest of us about the meeting you've set with him. So I'll wait till the last minute to call the others in.

  "The main thing is, forget the film switch. Save your hide. We'll have our traitor."

  "And Ballieu."

  "Right."

  "And if I don't see anyone I thought was on our side, then I play it through?"

  "Yeah. I guess. Just be prepared to duck for cover. And, Channing -- don't hesitate to use the artillery."

  They had come to a crossroad where one branch of the sidewalk led toward the noise and activity of the main pool area, another branch to the lodge itself. He halted. A crossroad. For one split second he considered how simple it would be for the two of them to walk out, get into a car, and drive away -- or walk into Oliver's post and announce they had a traitor somewhere and even get a pat on the back.

  It stunned him that he'd let his thoughts take such a turn. He touched the shoulder of the woman beside him. There were things he wanted to say, but he merely let his fingers press gently.

  "Come in after your first show and I'll put the wire on you," he said. "Until then, keep an eye on whoever's in the listening post."

  "And you'll be...?"

  "Keeping tabs on Ballieu -- and trying to smoke out whoever's with him."

  They separated. He glanced back once and saw her testing her hand.

  * * *

  The plastic explosive fit nicely inside one corner of a three-foot-high brick planter. It divided the swimming pool area from a group of tables and was in the middle of things.

  How fitting to send a bunch of American pigs to their deaths while they were eating, Khadija thought. She leaned against the planter, the large shoulder bag beside her camouflaging skillful movements of her fingers as she twisted the bomb's detonator into place. She smiled at two fat women who came by, smiled a second time for a waiter who was grinning at her like an idiot as he passed with his tray. Perhaps they would be among the recipients of the gift she was leaving.

  It was hard to judge how long it would take the sheath around the detonator to wear through. It ran between two bricks that were loosened. Each shifting of the bricks would wear at its shell.

  Khadija had noticed people were always perching on the edge of the planter. Girls who were flirting with men. Men who were watching for girls. Children. Even as she turned to leave, a group of shrieking boys ran up and jumped on the wall.

  This evening, maybe?

  Tomorrow?

  The brick wasn't loose enough to fall, only to shift itself slightly, its rough bits of dry mortar scraping.

  Khadija walked toward the pool to find a chair and sun herself. She would accomplish something against the enemies of her people even if Ballieu didn't.

  * * *

  The leggy blonde whose room Ballieu had visited the day before yesterday was deep in conversation with another man when Ellery spotted her. He waited impatiently. In the next eleven hours Ballieu was bound to move. The knowledge slapped at his chest like a cold, flat meat cleaver that could turn on edge and lay him open at any minute. He had to narrow the odds he and Channing faced. As soon as the other man departed, he moved in. Though he wore a shirt to hide his bandage, he had changed into swim trunks to blend into the pool scene. He carried a bottle of tanning lotion in his hand.

  "The small of your back's red," he announced, dropping into a vacant chair beside the blonde's. She was belly-down, reading a magazine. He displayed his bottle of lotion as she turned her head. "Allow me?"

  The blonde gave him a curious once-over.

  "Sure. Why not?"

  Nice to know all those hours he'd been stuck at the Country Club pool as a kid hadn't been for nothing, Ellery thought. He'd had plenty of chance to observe big brother Reid in action. Reid had been as quick with the lotion then as he was with the oil for constituents now.

  The blonde's eyes were alert but didn't seem hostile. Her
muscles felt long and relaxed as he smoothed the white cream over her. Her back arched into his hand a little.

  "I've seen you around," she said. "You here alone?"

  "Yeah."

  She had very long fingernails, carefully polished. One of them flipped a page in her magazine. When she felt his hand leave her back, she rolled over and gave him a cynical smile.

  "The bartender send you?"

  It dawned on Ellery what the lady was. Max had mentioned a call girl, but he'd forgotten it. That, coupled with her response right now, pretty much eliminated her as Ballieu's assistant.

  "Afraid not. Do I need a recommendation?" he asked easily.

  "Not necessarily."

  Her smile widened, showing the tips of her teeth. Ellery said maybe later. Another of Ballieu's conquests, the one with breast-length black hair, was at the far end of the pool.

  The lounges near hers were all occupied. Ellery killed twenty minutes. The cleaver at his chest kept pressing harder. Finally, fearing the girl would leave, and seeing she was in the correct facedown position, he decided to move, anyway.

  Setting course for a postcard stand, he turned off to walk between chairs. As he passed hers, her head raised. She'd been fully alert, not sunning at all. He stopped and looked back.

  "Excuse me," he said. "Did you know your back's getting red? Allow me." He extended the tanning lotion.

  Her dark eyes had a scorching quality. Maybe she was just reacting to the obvious come-on. He wouldn't blame her. He'd always thought the girls who responded to Reid's line must be morons.

  "I never burn. I love the sun," the girl in front of him said. She looked lean and supple.

  Her English was very good. Almost no accent. And the fact that she had one didn't prove anything.

  "You sure?" pressed Ellery. "It'd be a shame to see such a lovely back sunburned."