Martin nodded and left. Grom's shoulders slumped slightly with relief.
"Back in a flash," she announced to Grom. She strolled to the ladies' room, carrying her purse. Locking the door behind her, she stared into the mirror and considered the huge risk she was about to take. She could let her guard down when she was alone, and what she saw in the mirror was the face of a young woman. Smart. Pretty. Ambitious. The young woman in the mirror had a long life left ahead of her. The only way she could guarantee that long life was to leave now. Climb out the bathroom window and get off the island fast. Get away from Greg Grom and start fresh elsewhere.
Or she could go through with this, and take the huge risk. If she gambled, and she lost, then the woman in the mirror would be gone forever. Dawn Summens would no longer exist. There would be only a soulless puppet in the hands of puppet master Greg Grom.
But if she gambled and won...
Then she would hold the strings to Greg Grom and to all of Union Island. And Union Island was only the launch pad.
She had her sights set high.
Without further contemplation she opened her clutch purse and yanked out the black inner liner, then opened the small protective case hidden there. She snapped it open and twisted the lid off the bottle of charcoal capsules, upended the bottle into her mouth. She swallowed them all, washing them down with cupped handfuls of water from the faucet. That was a total of thirty-five charcoal capsules, each 260 milligrams, for a total of 8.32 grams or double a normal maximum supplemental dose. But would it be enough to absorb the GUTX that would surely contaminate the pasta Puttanesca she was about to eat?
Next she withdrew three prepared, sealed syringes and packets of alcohol wipes. She pulled up her skirt and swabbed a spot on her thigh, then jabbed in the first needle.
She was too preoccupied to even feel it. Would this work? Would it save her? She yanked out the needle, sterilized a second skin patch, and jabbed in the second syringe, squirting the contents into her leg. The first two syringes contained neostigmine and edrophonium, both of which were used to restore muscular strength in victims of intoxication by tetrodotoxin.
Hopefully she wouldn't even need it. Hopefully the charcoal would absorb most or all of it before it got into her system. But she just didn't know.
The third syringe contained 4-aninopyridine, a nondepolarizing neuromuscular blocking agent. It was used in the treatment of multiple sclerosis, and it had been shown to reverse tetrodotoxin toxicity in some animal experiments. She shot it into her thigh, then put the empty syringes away, snapped the case shut and tucked it back in her purse.
She left the ladies' room without even a backward glance at the girl in the mirror.
Chapter 34
Martin, the waiter, cleared their plates. The president had hardly touched the big chunk of pork loin but he didn't seem displeased. In fact, President Grom wore an ear-to-ear smile.
Minister Summens had made thorough work of her Puttanesca, though. Not a scrap of a noodle remained. "I'm glad to see you smiling, Greg," the minister said.
"You will be spending the night with me tonight," Grom announced.
"That makes me happy."
"I'm glad it makes you happy."
They packed up the paperwork and left Cafe Amore. They had walked just a few steps along the wide Bay Street walkway when Grom halted and turned on Summens. He smiled condescendingly. "Dawn, you know better than that. Tsk tsk."
They started down Bay Street again, but now, instead of side by side, Dawn Summens walked a few steps behind him.
It was a pleasant five-minute stroll to the presidential beach house, and Greg Grom was cheerful. He whistled. He tipped an imaginary hat at the waving police officers.
The cops waved to the tourism minister, too, who waved back, her nose crinkling in its delightful way, and the cops couldn't tell that inside she was screaming.
THERE WAS ALSO a policeman stationed at the beach house every night from dusk to dawn. The President of the United States had to worry about assassination attempts, but the president of Union Island had to worry about drunks who had a tendency to wander in thinking it was their hotel, or any hotel where they could spend the night. On average the officer on duty at the presidential beach house would taxi two drunks per night back to their resorts, Three on Saturdays and Sundays.
Tonight it was still early. The cop was pacing the grounds, just because he hated being locked up in his squad car. He had no problems serving as doorman for the leader of his island and soon, he was convinced, his country.
As they approached, Greg Grom gave Summens a suggestion, off-handedly and over his shoulder. "Good evening, Mr. President," the officer said respectfully.
"It is a good evening, isn't it, Officer?"
"Yes, sir, Mr. President. Ms. Powlik has already arrived. Good evening to you, Minister Summens." Like the damned she screamed. Like eternal agony the wails echoed inside her skull. She struggled to make the sound come from her lips. She had to let someone know this wasn't the real her.
"Good evening, Officer," she said. "Your tie is a little bit crooked."
She adjusted the police officer's uniform tie, her lips parted provocatively, and for a moment her slender, tanned fingers rested on his shoulder. The officer didn't know quite how to react, and before he could figure it out she was gone inside with the president.
He never guessed that, on the inside, she was howling like a rabid animal latched inside a steel cage.
AMELIA POWLIK WAS wearing nothing except a sparkle in her eye.
"Been waiting for you, Mr. President. Did everything go as planned?"
"It all went perfectly, Amelia."
Amelia Powlik barked happily. "I have more good news. Your federal friends just stopped by for a little dinner at the cafe."
"Oh, really?" Grom said.
"I was watching from the balcony. You just missed them."
"Pity," Grom said, wondering how the night could get any better, really. "Well, Martin knows just what specials to serve our honored friends from the federal government."
"Let's watch what happens!" Amelia bounded out the open balcony doors and put her eye to the telescope, which was angled down into the heart of Union Island's urban center, right at Cafe Amore.
"I'd much rather watch what happens in here than down there," Grom suggested.
Amelia jostled back inside, barking. And Grom was chuckling. And, on the inside, despite the smile on her face, Dawn Summens was screaming and screaming.
Chapter 35
Chiun stood in the doorway of Cafe Amore and scowled at the decor, the potted plants and the hammered-tin ceiling. He scowled at Martin the waiter, who was coming at them in a smooth glide. Finally, he awarded his best scowl to the one who had brought him to this place. "What's the matter with it?"
"It is someone's home," declared Chiun.
"Believe me, it's a restaurant."
"Excuse our intrusion," the ancient Korean declared to the entirely emotionless man in the tuxedo. "My ill-mannered son was under the impression that this is a restaurant."
"Hiya, Martin," Remo greeted the waiter. "Set him straight, would you?"
"This is indeed a restaurant, sir," Martin said stiffly. "Two will be dining, sir?"
"If this is a restaurant, why is there no garish advertisement on the street?" Chiun demanded.
"Relax, Little Father, it's a VIP place," Remo said.