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Machado could not see the wary frown behind Ammar's mask, but he knew it was there.
"You were sent to kill me?" Ammar asked, casually flicking an ash from his cigarette while lining up a tiny automatic pistol that suddenly appeared in his palm like a magic trick.
Machado smiled and crossed his arms, keeping his hands in open view.
"You can relax. My orders were to work in total harmony with you."
Animar replaced the gun in a spring-operated device under his right sleeve. "How do you know me?"
"Our leaders have few secrets between them."
Damn Yazid, Ammar thought angrily. Yazid had betrayed him by giving away his identity. He wasn't taken in for an instant by Machado's lie.
Once President Hasan was out of the way, the reincarnated Muhammad had no further use for his hired killer. Ammar was not about to reveal his escape plans to the Mexican hit man. He clearly realized his counterpart had no option but to form an alliance of expediency. Ammar was quite comfortable in knowing he could kill Machado at any time, while the Mexican had to wait until survival was assured.
Ammar knew exactly where he stood.
He raised his teacup. "To Akhmad Yazid."
Machado stiffly raised his. "To Topiltzin."
Hala and Senator Pitt had been locked in a suite along with President Hasan. They were grimy and splattered with paint, too exhausted to sleep. Their hands were blistered and their muscles ached from physical labor none had been conditioned for. And they were hungry.
After the frenzied remodeling of the cruise liner's outer structure since leaving Uruguay, the hijackers had not allowed them any food.
Their only liquid intake came from the faucet in the bathroom. And to make their condition worse, the temperature had been steadily dropping and no heat was coming through the ventilators.
President Hasan was stretched out on one of the beds in abject misery.
He suffered from a chronic back problem, and the strain from ten hours of uninterrupted bending and stretching had left him in a torrent of pain which he endured stoically.
for all the movement they made, Hala and the Senator might have been carved from wood. Hala sat at a table with her head lowered in her hands. Even in her disheveled state, she still looked serene and beautffid.
Senator Pitt reclined on a couch, staring pensively at a light fixture in the ceiling. Only his eyes showed that he was alive.
Finally Hal
a raised her head and looked at him. "If only we could do something," she said, barely above a whisper.
The Senator rose stiffly to a sitting position. for his age, he was still in good physical shape. He was sore from neck to feet, but his he was beat as soundly as if he was twenty years younger.
"That devil with the mask doesn't miss a trick," he said. "He won't feed us so we'll stay weak; everyone is locked away separately so we can't communicate or cooperate in a counter-takeover; and, he and his terrorists have not made any contact with us for two days. All calculated to keep us on edge and in a state of helplessness."
"Can't we at least try to get out of here?"
"There's probably a guard at the end of the hallway waiting to blast the first body that breaks through a door. And even if we somehow got past him, where could we go?"
"Maybe we could steal a lifeboat," Hala suggested wildly.
The Senator shook his head and smiled. "Too late for any attempt now.
Not with the hijacker's force doubled by the crew from that Mexican cargo ship."
"Suppose we break out the window and leave a trail with furniture, bed linen or whatever else we could throw out," Hala persisted.
"Might as well toss bottles with notes inside. The currents would carry them a hundred kilometers from our wake by morning." He paused to shake his head. "Searchers would never find them in time."
"You know as well as I, Senator, no one is looking for us. The outside world thinks our ship sank and everyone died. Search efforts would have been called off by now."
