Warren Murphy: Blood Lust

It was pure, unadulterated fear.

Chapter 42

"You know what you must do." Kimberly Baynes said in a breathy voice.

"I do not know what more I can do." Maddas Hinsein insisted sullenly. "I have done all you asked me. I have attacked the front lines. There is no reply. The U.S. does not want war. I have sent the fat prince's body to his father, the sheik. He makes light of this provocation. The Hamidis do not want war. I do not want war. I have Kuran. I need only wait out the sanctions and I will have won. There."

Defiantly he folded his thick arms. His lips compressed until they were swallowed by his gathering mustache. They lay on a bed of nails in the private torture chamber of Maddas Hinsein, where no one would bother them. They had laid plywood over the nails.

"They dared return your beloved ambassador with the American symbol around his throat," Kimberly said. "You can't ignore that."

"There are other ambassadors," Maddas growled. "Ambassadors are more expendable than soldiers."

"You must answer this provocation."

"How?"

"I think you know what you must do."

"Yes, I know," he said, suddenly sitting up. "Let us have sex. True sex. We have not had sex together yet. Just spankings."

Kimberly turned away. "I am the bride of Shiva. I mate only with Shiva."

"Who is this Shiva?" Maddas Hinsein demanded roughly.

"A great being known as the Triple World Ender because he is ordained to dance heaven, hell, and earth into nothingness under his remorseless feet."

"I believe only in Maddas Hinsein and Allah. In that order. Sometimes in the Prophet Mohammed, when it suits me. Did I tell you he came to me in a dream?"

Interest lighted Kimberly's fair face. "What did he say?"

"He said I had screwed up. His exact words. That is why I do not always believe in the Prophet. The true Mohammed would never speak such words to the Scimitar of the Arabs."

"What do I do with you?" Kimberly Baynes asked, running her multiple hands through Maddas Hinsein's coarse hair.

Ask him what will happen if the Americans succeed in assassinating him.

"You know the Americans have sent agents to harm you, Precious One," Kimberly prompted. "Do you not fear the consequences? You say they do not want war. Could that be because they expect to unhorse you through skulduggery?"

Maddas glowered. "It will do them no good."

"No?"

"My defense minister has instructions in case of my death. Deadfall commands, they are called. If I fall in battle, he is to launch an all-out attack on Hamidi Arabia and Israel."

Kimberly's violet eyes brightened like twin novae.

"You are willing to go to war dead," she pressed, "why not alive, so you may enjoy the fruits of victory?"

"Because I may be a crazy ass, but I am one smart Arab. I know the Americans will reduce all of Irait to cold, sifting ashes if I launch war." He shook his head. "No, not now. In a few years, when we have nukes, I can do what I will. I must survive until then."

Tell him he cannot survive until that day. His generals are plotting against him.

"I hear it whispered in the souks that your generals are plotting against you," Kimberly said. "They saw you vomit into the coffin of your ambassador, and took it as a sign of weakness. All of Abominadad is buzzing that you are chary of war."

"Let them buzz. Flies buzz too. I do not listen to flies either. My subjects will fall into line the moment I order them to. They know, as does the entire world, what a crazy ass I am."

Tell him they denigrate him with each hour.

"They denigrate you with each passing hour."

Maddas sat up, frowning. "They do?"

Tell him that they call him Kebir Gamoose.

"They are calling you Kebir Gamoose."

"Big Water Buffalo! They call me that?"

"They say you are a spineless hulk masquerading as an Arab."

Good touch.

"I will not stand for it!" Maddas Hinsein shouted, shaking a fist. "I will have every man, woman, child, and general in Irait executed for this!"

"Then who will do your fighting for you?"

"I have all the Arabs of Kuran as my new subjects. They will be loyal for I have liberated them from Western corruption.

"No, you know what you must do." "And what is that?" asked Maddas Hinsein sullenly, as he sank back into his bed, his arms crossing again.

Kimberly Baynes smiled. She toyed with a lock of his coarse brown hair, thinking how much like the fur of a water buffalo it was.

"You must publicly execute Don Cooder and Reverend Juniper Jackman in retaliation," she said flatly.

"I must?"

"You must. For if no one wants war, no one will attack you over a mere newsman and a failed presidential candidate."

"It would be good for my polls," Maddas Hinsein said slowly.

"Your people will respect you again."

"As they should," Maddas said firmly.

"Your generals will not seek your head."

"My head belongs on my shoulders," Maddas shouted, "where it should be-housing the keen brain that will unite all of Araby!"

"Your path is clear, then."

"Yes, I will do this."

Kimberly laid her blond head on Maddas Hinsein's shoulders. It needed support anyway. "You are truly the Scimitar of the Arabs, Precious One."

The big gamoose is putty in your hands, my vessel.

"I know."

"What is that, my sugar date?" Maddas murmured.

Kimberly smiled sweetly.

"Nothing. Just talking to myself."

Chapter 43

The water roiled and bubbled. Harold Smith could discern the rust flecks swirling in the water lapping at the foot of the stairs like a disturbed subterranean sea. They made him think of glinting specks of blood.

The bubbling grew agitated and a diver's mask broke the surface. A rubberized hand reached up to throw the mask back and pluck the mouthpiece from the navy diver's teeth. He spit twice before speaking.

"Nothing, Colonel. If there's a body down here, we can't find it."

"Are you certain?" Smith asked hoarsely.

The diver climbed to the lowest dry step. He stood up, shaking water off his wet suit like a sleek greyhound.

"There are eight floors underwater. A lot of territory to cover, but no body that I can find."

Smith's prim mouth compressed.

"I can't accept that."

"Sir, we'll keep looking if you order it, but I can assure you that every room has been searched. Twice."

Smith considered. "Step out of your wet suit."

"Sir?"

"I'm going in."

"Colonel, the environment down there is pretty hairy. Rotting beams. Floating wood. I wouldn't. At your age. I mean-"

"Step out of the suit now," Smith repeated.

Without a word. the diver handed Smith his flashlight as Smith helped him off with his oxygen tanks. Smith stripped to his gray boxer shorts and T-shirt. The suit was a snug fit. The tanks felt like booster rockets on Smith's spare frame.

Smith blew into the mouthpiece to clear it, and trying not to trip over his flippers, simply walked down the steps into the coldest, blackest water he could imagine.

He thumbed on the light. The water closed over his head. He could hear his own pounding heart, his labored, ragged breathing, and a faint gurgling. Nothing else. The world he knew was replaced by an alien environment that pressed its swirling cold fingers into his ribs. Steeling himself, he launched himself from the security of the steps.

There was a heart-stopping moment of disorientation. The floor and ceiling became indistinguishable.

Smith had done demolition work for the OSS during his war days. Long ago. His underwater craft came back to him. He pushed after the cone of light he held before him.

He swam the length of the ninth floor-actually the twentieth, counting down from the desert-going from room to room, his light probing. Fortunately, the Condome project had not reached the furnished state when it had been stopped. There were few floating objects to navigate around. Just wood flotsam and algaelike jetsam.