The Scorpio Illusion (63 page)

“What do you ask of me, demand of me, for my life, which is of no great consequence?”

“Don’t kill the Jew. Call off your people in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv.”

“How can you
say
that? It’s our final statement, the vengeance of Ashkelon!”

“And the death of thousands upon thousands of our people, Amaya. Israel acts unilaterally, personally if you like. She really doesn’t care what happens beyond her borders, unless it threatens her; and if any other small country had gone through the German Holocaust, that country wouldn’t either. I told you, we are coldly objective. You assassinate a Jewish leader, sorties of Jewish planes day and night will fly over and bomb our camps and settlements for weeks on end until they’re utterly destroyed, reduced to rubble and burning flesh. Consider recent history—the Jews released twelve
hundred
prisoners
for
six
Israeli soldiers, and later exiled more than four hundred Palestinians over the death of one soldier. Their leader is the equivalent of ten thousand Jewish soldiers, for he is more than a man, he is the living symbol of their nation.”

“You ask a terrible price of me,” said Bajaratt barely above a whisper. “One I’m not prepared to pay. I’ve waited all my life for this moment, this one magnificent moment that will justify so much of my having lived at all.”

“My child—” the woman began.

“
No
! I am not your child or anyone’s child,” said Bajaratt, her voice distant, frozen. “I was never a child.
Muerte a toda autoridad
.”

“I don’t understand you—”

“It is not your business to understand me. As you yourself said, you have no authority over me.”

“Certainly not, I agree. I’m only trying to reason with you, protect you.”

“Reason
?” whispered the Baj. “Where has reason gotten your people, or
my
people? Yours are at least in camps, no matter how filthy, but mine are hunted like animals in the mountains, executed, slaughtered on sight—
beheaded. Muerte a toda autoridad
! Everywhere they must
die
.”

“Please, my dear,” said the ageless dark-skinned woman, her expression conveying her alarm at the sight of the mesmerizing figure in front of her. “
Please
, I am not your enemy, Amaya.”

“I see it now,” Bajaratt said. “You’re trying to stop me, aren’t you? You have an armed servant who can easily kill me.”

“And have the wrath of the Baaka descend on all our necks? You are their adopted, most-favored daughter, wife of the dead hero of Ashkelon, a woman so revered, the Councils seek your advice and forever give you their blessings. For all I know, the Baaka had you followed to this house.”

“Never! I act on my own, never to be interfered with!”

“I’m sure that’s your understanding, but I have no such assurance, therefore no harm would ever come to you here. Please, you’re overwrought, and I say again, I’m not your enemy, I’m your friend.”

“Yet you’re saying you want me to eliminate the Jerusalem agenda, how
can
you?”

“For the reasons I just gave you—among them the slaughter of perhaps a million Palestinians. There would be no Palestinian cause, then, for the heart of a people would be ripped out.”

“They’ve taken our lands, our children, our future, why not our hearts?”

“Words, Amaya, foolish declarations—”

“They will never take our souls!”

“Even more foolish words. Souls can’t fight without bodies. One must survive to fight, you of all women must know that. You are the supreme strategist.”

“And you? Who are you, living in all this, to lecture me?” Bajaratt’s hand swept the opulent room.

“Ah, this,” the ageless beauty said, laughing softly. “The image of wealth and self-indulgence, a combination that denotes power and influence, for one follows the other in this materialistic world. We all show off. It’s always the images that are important, isn’t it? I don’t have to tell you that, you are an
imagiste extraordinaire
.… We’re not so different, Amaya Aquirre. You create diversions from the outside, aimed at penetrating the exterior; I, on the other hand, bore my way into the interior, and when the time is right, blow apart the shell with the ammunition at hand.…
You
are that ammunition, that nitroglycerin, my child—and don’t tell me you are
not
my child in this cause, this holy cause—because you are now my daughter.”

“I am no one’s daughter any longer! I sprang from death, watching death!”

“You are
mine
. Whatever you watched, whatever you
observed, is nothing compared to what I went through. You spoke of Shatila and Sabra, but you weren’t there. I was! You think you want vengeance, my non-Arab child? I want it far more than you can ever imagine.”

“Then how can you stop me from killing the Jew?”

“Because you will unleash a thousand air strikes against my people—
my
people, not yours.”

“I am one with you, and you know it! I’ve proved it. I gave you my husband and I’m willing to give you my life.”

“It’s not terribly difficult to give away something one despises, Amaya.”

“And if I refuse your request, your misplaced demand?”

“Then you will not reach the White House, much less the Oval Office.”

“
Ridiculous
! My access to the White House is guaranteed! The man who accommodates me is committed to the Ravello millions, and he’s not a fool.”

“And this man, this Senator Nesbitt from the state of Michigan who accommodates you, what do you know about him?”

“You know who he is, then?”

The woman shrugged. “The appointment was changed, Amaya.”

“Yes, of course.… He appears to be the usual American politician, and I’ve done considerable research. He must be reelected in a state that has widespread unemployment, therefore he has to convince the voters that he deserves his office. What better way than to bring hundreds of millions into a depressed workplace?”

“Yes, you’ve done your research, my dear. But what of the man himself? Would you say he’s a good man, an honest man?”

“I have no idea, nor do I care. I was told he was a lawyer or a judge, if it means anything.”

“Not much, there are judges and then there are judges.… Had you ever considered that he might be a
Scorpio? That he might be accommodating you because he was ordered to do so?”

“No, that never occurred to me—”

“We know there is a Scorpio in the Senate.”

“He would have revealed himself,” said Bajaratt defensively. “Why not? Van Nostrand did; he gave me the telephone codes to reach the Scorpios.”

“Untraceable satellite transmissions. We know all about them.”

“I find that hard to believe—”

“It took us nearly three years, but we finally found and bought our own Scorpion. As a matter of fact, you met her in Florida. Your hostess in Palm Beach. It is a very pleasant estate, is it not? Sylvia and her husband could not possibly afford it without enormous assistance. The husband’s one unique talent was going through an inheritance of over seventy million dollars in less than thirty years. She’s the Social Register Scorpio, unearthed by Van Nostrand. Very useful. Quite simply, we traced her through Van Nostrand, offered more than the Providers, and enlisted an ally.”

“She introduced me to Nesbitt—they’re
both
Scorpions!”

“She is, yes; the senator, absolutely not. It was my idea to fly him down to Palm Beach for what he believes are perfectly legitimate political reasons. He hasn’t the slightest idea who you really are or why you’re here. He knows only the Countess Cabrini with an immensely wealthy brother in Ravello.”

“Then you confirm my judgment. You cannot stop me unless you kill me, and you yourself have accurately described the consequences from the Baaka. I think this conference is at an end. I’ve fulfilled my obligation to the Councils, for I’ve listened to you!”

“Listen a bit further, Amaya. It will do you no harm and might be instructive.” The Arab woman got to her feet slowly, with the grace of a cat, startling Bajaratt with her size. She was short, barely five feet tall, an
elegant doll-like figure contrarily projecting immense authority. “We knew you were working with the Scorpions—our Palm Beach ally was apprised of it through Fort Lauderdale immigration—and since we learned of your imminent appearance at the White House, I had to make certain you came here first.”

“You knew I would,” interrupted the Baj. “Our meeting was scheduled weeks ago in the Baaka, the pertinent information coded in Arabic. Address, day, date, and hour.”

“I had every confidence in you, but then I didn’t
know
you; surely you can understand my apprehension. If you had not arrived tonight, a Madame Balzini would have been picked up at the Carillon hotel in the early hours of the morning.”

“Balzini … the Carillon? You
knew
all that?”

“Certainly not through the Scorpios,” the woman replied as she walked across the room to a gold-plated intercom in the wall, “for they didn’t know either,” she continued, turning back to Bajaratt. “Our friend in Palm Beach called and said even she was having trouble reaching her superiors through the Scorpio telephone codes. In point of fact, she stopped trying for fear of exposure.”

“There have been several problems,” the Baj offered without further comment.

“Apparently.… However, we had no need of the Scorpions, as you will see.” The sleek, diminutive woman reached up without looking and pressed a silver button on the intercom. “Now, Ahmet,” she said, her eyes still on Bajaratt. “What you are about to observe, dear Amaya, is a man with two distinctly different personalities, even identities, if you like. The one you already know is as real as the one you are about to observe. The first is a dedicated public servant, an honest man, a good man. The other is someone who has endured the pain of an unfortunate life, no matter his trappings of power.… Unfortunate is inadequate; unbearable is far more appropriate.”

Stunned, Bajaratt watched as a man she barely recognized walked down the wide staircase, flanked by the robed servant Ahmet and a striking blond-haired woman dressed in a sheer negligee that revealed the flesh beneath, clearly emphasizing the swell of her breasts and the sinuous movement of her hips. The man was Nesbitt! Each held the senator from Michigan, steadying him down the steps. His face was pale, nearly death-white, his eyes two ceramic balls devoid of movement, his expression frozen as if in a trance. He wore a bathrobe of blue velveteen; his feet were bare, the veins apparent.

“He’s had his injection,” said the Baj’s hostess softly. “He won’t recognize you.”

“He’s drugged?”

“Medically prescribed by an excellent physician. He’s a dual.”

“Dual?”

“Dual personality, Amaya. A Jekyll and Hyde without the evil, only with unfulfilled hungers.… Shortly after his marriage more than forty years ago, a tragic event took place, an assault that left his wife physically and psychologically impaired, in a word, permanently frigid. The act of intercourse was repugnant to her, the mere thought of it sending her into hysterics, and for good reason. She had been raped by a psychopath, a burglar who broke into their apartment, bound the young lawyer, and forced him to watch the rape. From that night on, his wife could not fulfill her marital obligations. Yet he was a devoted husband, and far worse, a religious man; he sought no release from his perfectly natural sexuality. Finally, after she died three years ago, the burden destroyed him, or, I should say, destroyed a part of him.”

“How did you find him?”

“There are a hundred senators, and we knew that one of them was a Scorpio. We studied them all, starting alphabetically—every shred of their lives.… Alas, we never found the Scorpion, but we discovered an obviously
deeply disturbed man whose frequent and mysterious absences were covered up by the only close friend he had, his housekeeper of twenty-eight years, a woman in her seventies.”

Nesbitt and his two guardians reached the bottom of the staircase and walked past the door to the living room. “He sees nothing!” whispered the Baj.

“No, he doesn’t,” Bajaratt’s hostess agreed. “In an hour or so he will, although he will not remember the specific events of tonight. He will only realize that he’s been satisfied, that inner recognition that produces peace.”

“He does this often?”

“Once or twice a month, and usually in the late evenings. At first it started with his humming a strange melody from long ago in his past. Then, like a sleepwalker, he would change his clothes, an entirely different wardrobe he kept in his deceased wife’s closet. They were hardly the clothes of a powerful senator, instead the trappings of a well-to-do roué out slumming for the night. A suede or leather jacket, frequently a wig or a beret, always dark glasses, but never any identification. Those were terrible days for the housekeeper. When it happens now, she calls us and we pick him up.”

“She cooperates with you?”

“She has no choice. She is well paid, as is his driver-bodyguard.”

“And so you control him.”

“We’re very special friends. We’re there when he needs us, and there are times such as now when we need him, need the power of his office.”

“I can see that,” said Bajaratt icily.

“Of course, the optimum would be to learn who in the Senate is the highest-placed Scorpio, for as the Providers control
him
, so can we. However, it’s only a matter of time before a pattern is established, no matter how subtle. Your own actions will help us, as every member of that body will be studied anew, and in their reactions to
the chaos will be found the weakness that attracted Van Nostrand.”

“Is it so important to you?”

“Make no mistake, dear Amaya, it’s of vital importance. I repeat what I said before, we have great sympathy as well as close ties to the Baaka, but these do not extend to the mercenary Scorpions. They are the creation of Van Nostrand and his mad companion in the Caribbean, recruited by blackmail and kept on their tethers with money—money that pales into insignificance compared to the money they make for the Providers, who, in reality, have always been the
padrone
and Van Nostrand, no one else. The Scorpios have no cause but fear of exposure and, of course, the money they receive. Such people have no calling beyond themselves, beyond their petty little lives, driven by greed and anxiety. They must be destroyed, or rendered impotent … or recruited by us.”