Beirut Incident Read Free Page B

cables along the way.
    In any case, I thought, there's no point taking the dry-throat non-fun route. I'd go home the other way, by way of Karachi, New Delhi, and Bangkok. After Bangkok, what? I shrugged mentally. Kyoto, probably, since I have never cared much for the smog and clamor of Tokyo. Then Kauai, the Garden Island of Hawaii, San Francisco, New Orleans and finally, Washington, and an undoubtedly furious Hawk.
    Before all that, of course, there was still tonight — and probably tomorrow night — in Dhahran. Muscles tightened involuntarily, and I grinned to myself.
* * *
    I'd met Betty Emers just a week ago, her first night in Dhahran after having been in the States on a three-month vacation. She had come into the club at about nine o'clock one night, one of those women with such a sexual aura that somehow, in that special, subtle way, communicated the message to every man at the bar. Almost in unison every head in the place turned to see who had come in. Even women looked at her, she had that kind of presence.
    I'd been attracted to her at once, and she hadn't sat alone at her table more than five minutes before I walked over and introduced myself.
    She'd scanned her dark eyes over me for a brief second before she returned the introduction and invited me to join her. We'd had a drink together and talked. I learned that Betty Emers was an employee of one of the American-owned oil companies — and I learned that her life in Dhahran had lacked an important element: a man. As the evening progressed and I found myself becoming more drawn to her, I knew that that would soon be remedied.
    Our evening ended with a night of furious lovemaking in her small apartment, our bodies unable to get enough of each other. Her deeply tanned skin was as soft as velvet to the touch, and after we'd spent ourselves, we'd lain quietly, my hand gently caressing every inch of that wonderfully smooth skin.
    When I had to leave the next day, I did so with reluctance, showering and dressing slowly. Betty had wrapped a wispy robe about her, and her farewell had been a hoarse, "See you again, Nick." It had not been a question.
    I thought now of her perfect body, the flashing eyes, her short black hair, and I felt her full lips under mine when Td taken her in my arms, crushing her to me as we lingered long and deep over a farewell that promised more delights to come…
    Now, driving down the Ras Tanura road in a hot, dusty Jeep, I was sweaty again. But it wasn't the same. I grinned to myself as I drove through the Dhahran compound gate. It soon would be.
    I stopped at the security office and left word with Dave French, SAMOCO's chief security officer, where to pick up Raschid and the Dutchman. I brushed off his congratulations and desire for details. "I'll give it all to you later, Dave, right now I want a drink and a bath, in that order."
    What I really wanted, I told myself as I climbed back into the Jeep, was a drink, a bath, and Betty Emers. I had been too busy with Hamid Raschid and his gang to have spent more than a few phone calls with Betty since that first night. I had a little catching up to do.
    I halted the jeep outside my Quonset hut and clambered out. Something was wrong.
    As I reached for the doorknob I could hear the strains of Bunny Berrigan's "I Can't Get Started" coming through the door. That was my record, all right, but I certainly hadn't left it playing when I went out that morning.
    I pushed open the door, furious. Personal privacy was the only surcease from the steaming cauldron of Saudi Arabia and I was damned if I would see it violated. If it was one of the
sadikis,
I told myself, I'd have his hide, but good.
    With one motion, I threw open the door and stormed in.
    Lounging comfortably on my bed, a tall, glistening drink in one hand and a half-smoked cheap cigar in the other was David Hawk, my boss from AXE.

Chapter 2
    "Good afternoon, Nick," Hawk said calmly, his grim-visaged New England countenance as close to a smile as