David Morrell - The Covenant Of The Flame

But the baffle prevented the slide from moving back and forth and allowing sound to escape from the weapon. The baffle was a reinforcement of the silencer! Thus the.22 could be fired only once! That was why the assassin hadn't pulled the trigger again and made sure I was dead!

No! Not an amateur! A professional! Very professional! A well-trained, experienced killer!

The assassin was good enough to need only one shot. He's aware I don't have a chance. He knows it's only a matter of time until…

The watcher, even more weak and light-headed, began to pray in agony, with fervent desperation. It was all he could do now. He had to protect his soul. His only consolation was that he couldn't be interrogated. Nonetheless, he regretted that he wouldn't be able to prevent the assassin from searching him and taking the ring that he kept hidden in his suitcoat.

Abruptly he felt the car stop. He heard the assassin get out and heard another car stop beside the Taurus.

So they're going to leave me here – wherever this is – to die?

Hope made his weakening pulse regain some strength. Maybe I can muster the energy to crawl from the Taurus. Maybe I can find someone to help me, to drive me to a hospital.

But his hope was cruelly destroyed, for the next dim sound he heard wasn't the assassin getting into the other car. Instead he heard liquid being spattered into the Taurus. He felt it soak his clothes and retched from the sharp stench of gasoline.

No!

The last thing he heard was a match being struck and the whoosh as the gasoline ignited. Flames filled the Taurus and swooped across his body. No! Dear God! In absolute torment, he prayed more fervently. Our Father Who art in heaven…! Amazingly his will was powerful enough that he got as far as deliver us from evil before the excruciating blaze consumed him.

In the mansion's vestibule, as Tess walked toward the huge wide staircase, her mother said, 'Despite the evening's regrettable unpleasantness, I really am glad that you came to visit. I hope a good night's sleep will put you in a better mood.'

Thanks, mother. And it's good to see you .' Tess drooped her shoulders. 'But somehow I doubt I'll sleep much. I've got too much to think about.'

'Well, perhaps if you had something to read. That always puts me to sleep. Oh, my.' Tess's mother halted abruptly on the staircase.

'What's the matter?'

'I completely forgot . You asked me to phone the director at the Library of Congress. He found that book you wanted and sent it here by messenger.' Tess's mother retreated down the stairs. 'It's in the drawing room. But he says you made a mistake about the title.'

' The Circle - or else The Ring – of the Neck of the Dove?'

'Apparently that's a literal translation from Spanish. But in English , the prepositions disappear and…' Tess's mother hurried into the drawing room and came back, removing a tattered book from a package. ' The Dove's Neck Ring . Yes, that's what it's called.'

The book smelled old. Tess quickly opened it, her spirits rising when she saw that it was in English. 'Thank you.' She hugged her mother, who blinked at so forceful a show of affection. 'I appreciate it. Honestly. Thank you.'

Her mother looked confused. 'I've never seen anyone get so excited about a book before. When I paged through it, waiting for you to arrive, it certainly didn't appear very interesting.'

'On the contrary, mother, I expect to be fascinated.' Heart pounding, Tess wanted to rush upstairs to her room so she could start reading, but she forced herself to climb the steps slowly, matching her mother's pace. In a long upper corridor lined with paintings by French Impressionists, they paused outside Tess's door.

'Good night, mother.' Tess kissed her cheek. Again her mother looked surprised. 'I apologize for making a scene, but you can't 'imagine what I've been through the past few days. You have my word. I'll try my best not to upset you anymore.'

'Dear.' With a choked voice, her mother hesitated. 'You don't have to apologize. Good heavens, you're all I have. I'll never stop loving you. Make as many scenes as you want. You'll always be welcome here. And I promise, I'll do everything I can to help solve your problems.'

Tess felt pressure in her tear ducts.

At once her mother did an amazing thing. She kissed Tess in return, no casual brush of a cheek against cheek, but an actual kiss, her lips placed firmly yet tenderly on Tess's brow. 'Remember what I used to tell you when I tucked you in bed when you were a child? Sleep tight. Don't let the bed bugs bite.'

Tess brushed a tear from her eye. 'I remember. I…"

'What, dear?'

'I don't say this often enough. I love you, mother.'

'I know. I've never doubted it. Stay in bed as long as you want. Phone the kitchen in the morning, and tell Edna what you want for breakfast. Then please phone me . I'd like to join you.'

Tess sniffled, wiping her cheeks. 'I look forward to it.'

'I wish you wouldn't cry.'

'Of course. I remember. Emotion always made you uncomfortable.'

'It's not so much feeling emotion but showing it,' her mother said. 'Very early, a diplomat's wife learns the difference.'

'Well, mother, I'm afraid I'm not a diplomat's wife. I'm merely his daughter.'

'The daughter of Remington Drake? Not merely. Not at all. Between your father and me, you're made from strength. Obey your heritage. Be strong.'

'I will, mother. I promise.'

'I repeat, I love you. And by the way, there aren't any monsters under your bed. I guarantee it.'

Tess watched her mother proceed down the corridor, a tired elderly woman whose footsteps faltered slightly but who nonetheless maintained her posture, trying to walk with dignity. Only when her mother stepped into her bedroom did Tess, heart aching, go into her own.

The room had been Tess's bedroom for as long as she'd been alive. Turning on the overhead light, shutting the door behind her, she studied the canopied bed, the covers of which a servant had folded down. The servant, presumably the butler, had also unpacked her suitcase, placing her shorts and T-shirt on a lace-rimmed pillow.

With bittersweet emotion, Tess scanned the room, her complex layers of memory making her see it as if transparent photographs had been placed in front of one another, all the different stages of her youth: her childhood bed, her doll house (which her father had made), her stuffed play animals, then the larger bed and her baseball glove on the bureau, her bat and ball beside it, the posters of baseball and football stars that had given way to posters of rock stars and her stack of records beside her stereo, the books she'd studied in college (she'd refused to live in a dorm at Georgetown University, prefering to stay at home so she could be near her father).

All gone now. All lost and gone.

With a shudder of regret, she subdued her nostalgia, peered down at the book in her hand, and forced herself to pay attention to why she'd come here.

The Dove's Neck Ring . The title page indicated that the book by Ibn Hazm had been translated from Spanish by A. R. Nykl in 1931. Leafing through the introduction as she walked toward the bed, she learned that Ibn Hazm had been an Arab who'd emigrated from northern Africa to southern Spain in the early eleventh century and had written this book, a treatise on platonic love, in 1022.

Plato.

Tess suddenly remembered The Collected Dialogues of Plato that she'd seen on the bookcase in Joseph's bedroom. And she painfully remembered something else: Joseph's insistence that his relationship with her could never be physical, only platonic. That way is better,' he'd said. 'Because it's eternal.'