The Council of Ten Read Online Free Page B

rhythmic thrusting of his hips.
    Her hands raised toward his throat, the Ring ready, wrist arching for the slice. Then she was in motion, just a flick of the hand was all it would take.
    In her mind it was over. Only when the spurt of blood didn’t come did she realize that something was very wrong. By that time she had already felt her hand forced up and back in a queer motion by the man who had suddenly become a snake beneath her. His action made no sense.
    Until she saw the blood. She realized it was hers at the same time her fingers clutched for the narrow slit across her neck. She felt her eyes bulge and thought at the last how strange it felt not to be able to close them as the world beneath her changed from red to black and then to nothing.
    When Doris awoke, Morris Kornbloom was seated by her bed.
    “You gave me quite a scare there, my girl,” he said, feeling for her pulse.
    Doris’s eyes gazed around her. “Where am I?”
    “The hospital.”
    “ Sylvie’s hospital? Good Samaritan?” She started to sit up and had almost made it when Kornbloom’s hands restrained her.
    “Easy. You’re not going anywhere.”
    Doris looked toward the window. Night had obviously fallen some time ago.
    “You’ve been with me the whole time?”
    Kornbloom nodded. “You made me promise. Don’t you remember?”
    “Has anyone … tried to come in?”
    “No one who shouldn’t have. Say, what’s gotten into you, my girl?”
    Her eyes dug into his. “Do you trust me, Morris?”
    His face squeezed together in puzzlement. “What kind of question is that?”
    “Just answer it.”
    “Of course I trust you!”
    “Then get me out of here. Take me home. Tomorrow I’ll check in somewhere else. Tomorrow I’ll explain everything,” Doris promised, wondering how she might go about keeping it. “You said that you trusted me. Then believe me when I say I’m not safe. Not here. Not now. Say you’ll do it, Morris, please !”
    Morris Kornbloom nodded slowly.
    Selinas sat at the Miami Airport bar watching a college football game. He had forgotten who the teams were, but he didn’t care because he was a fan of neither. It was the airport that was the key, preferred by him for its anonymity, bars within airports in particular. Of course, the problem was that weary travelers, cursed by missed connections or delays, often crowded into them for refuge and bartenders were thus firm with any patron looking for just a chair and a game to watch instead of a drink. Since Selinas never drank, this could have been a problem for him. So he had devised a simple system whereby he would slip the bartender a ten upon arriving in return for a bar seat, a single glass of club soda with a twist, and no questions.
    Selinas enjoyed drinking, but it simply wasn’t feasible in his profession. Booze slowed you down, made you sluggish. Even a single drink with lots of water and ice could steal a half second away from you, and too often that was all you had.
    His latest assignments had certainly illustrated that.
    On the television screen, the defense was bringing in its special third-down-and-long personnel. Selinas watched, amazed by the degree of specialization in sports and life in general. It was thought to be the same in his profession, but that was due largely to myth. One man might be great with his hands, another with a knife, a third with a gun, or so went the popular teaching. All bullshit. You could have a favorite, that was natural. But for tenure you had to be almost an expert with any weapon placed in your hand—as well as with the hand itself. Assignments often called for specific means of elimination to be employed, and even then you didn’t know what kind of weapon might be around if an opponent appeared unannounced, even if his footsteps did give him away.
    Selinas heard a familiar gait now and felt his neck muscles tense. The steps turned into the bar and approached him.
    The third-and-long pass fell incomplete.
    “Let’s get a