Pete lay stretched out in the bath. The small room was full of steam. Pete’s head was under the water, and around his head and shoulders the water was a pinkish colour.
O’Brien reached forward and pulled the waste plug out. He caught hold of Pete’s hair and lifted his face clear of the water.
“He must have been crazy to have got into a bath this hot,” he muttered, his hand going down on Pete’s chest. He felt for a heartbeat, then shook his head. “He’s gone, Paul.”
“Move over!” Conrad snapped. “Let me get hold of his legs. Come on! Get him out and let’s work on him.”
Together they lifted Pete out of the bath.
“Bring him into the passage. There’s no room to work in here,”
Conrad said.
They carried Pete into the passage and laid him face down on the floor. Conrad knelt astride him and began giving him artificial respiration.
Pete’s personal guards had come out of Pete’s bedroom and were standing, watching.
O’Brien leaned against the wall. The strength had gone out of his legs, and it was as much as he could do to stand upright.