“Never miss a party like this one, my friend,” Hellmut Wisser, the son of WisserChemFabrik’s general director assured him. For the next few minutes, the two old friends brought each other up to date on what they had been doing since they last met at Gstaad, Switzerland, for a week of skiing. Their friendship went back to the time when Matt was a cadet at the Air Force Academy and had accompanied his grandfather on a junket to visit NATO bases in Europe. They had met at a stuffy reception and had become instant friends when they discovered a shared interest in pretty girls, fast cars, skiing, and partying — not necessarily in that order. They had escaped from the elegant castle on the hillside overlooking Bonn where the reception had been held and for the next three days, pursued three of their four common interests, sorry that it was the midst of summer.
The friendship had grown on its own over the years and received positive encouragement from Hellmut’s family when they learned that Matt’s grandfather might become the President of the United States. For one short summer, the Wissers had hoped that something might develop between Matt and Hellmut’s younger sister, Lisl. But nothing came of it, for other than a lustful enjoyment of each other’s body, Matt and Lisl had nothing in common. They still slept together whenever they met.
They were talking about skiing when Shoshana walked onto the patio. “Who,” Matt said, very interested, “is that?”
“A new face this year,” Hellmut told him.
“And a new body,” Matt allowed.
“Her name is Rose Temple. I had the company run a background check when one of our”—Hellmut paused, searching for the right words—“more influential clients expressed an interest. She’s a Canadian working in California. Over here for a vacation and staying at the Atalaya Park. Some money in the family — ranching and lumbering.”
“1 hope,” Matt said, “that she’s one of them ‘wimmen’ my granddaddy warned me about.”
Hellmut shook his head, an amused look in his eyes. He knew when Matt was about to give chase. “We would, ah”—again he sought the right words—“rather you’d not. There is an engineer here who we would like Miss Temple to meet.” He nodded toward a dark, pudgy young man, Is’al Nassir Mana, standing next to Hellmut’s father.
“Is this business?” Matt asked.
“Of course.” Hellmut saw no reason to tell his friend that Mana was from Iraq and that his company was doing business with that country again. Americans could be incredibly naive about some things.
“Then he’s going to have to take his chances with the rest of us,” Matt said. He stood up and headed toward Shoshana.
“Matt,” Hellmut called after him, “Lisl is here.” The pilot paused before he rolled in for a reconnaissance run on his latest target.
Shoshana turned her head, cast a long gaze at Mana, then glanced away. He had seen her looking at him. Good. Slowly she returned her gaze, a slight smile on her lips. It was the classic, time-honored come-on — an interested look and a smile. Now the ball was in Mana’s court. Would he take the few steps over to her and say something? No matter what he said, it would be well received. The Iraqi engineer was saying something to the elder Wisser. Then he started to walk toward Shoshana.
“He’s not the one for you,” a voice said. She turned to see Matt standing behind her. Now Mana was walking away. Matt’s self-assured style cast a circle of strength and confidence around him that intimidated competition at a distance and that women found attractive and alluring. Mana could sense that he was already beaten. For a moment, Shoshana was flustered, not knowing what to do. A warm feeling welled up and pulled her toward the American. “Hi,” he continued, keeping her off balance. “I’m Matt Pontowski.”
She glanced back at Mana, who was watching them. Shoshana gave him an upward shrug of the shoulders with a smiling, perplexed look as if to say, “I can’t help it,” or “Save me.” Mana smiled back then rejoined the Wissers. All was not lost.
“Oh, ah, Rose Temple.” She looked away, sending an obvious signal that she was not interested. Her training had been most thorough in this area.
But Matt was not about to be put off. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare off your Arab friend. I seem to do that all the time.” He was establishing his territory, offering her protection if she wanted it and the tugging inside Shoshana grew stronger.
She was saved when a slender, self-possessed woman passed by. “Matt!” the newcomer sang out, her voice warm and friendly. “Hellmut said you were here.” Lisl Wisser stopped less than six inches from Matt and reached up, touching his cheek. She was establishing her own territorial claims. For a moment, the entire room was aware of the trio, watching them. The two women stood in a stark, beautiful contrast to each other; one fashionably slender, a golden blonde, the other a dark, mature beauty with a glowing sensuality. Most of the guests knew who Matt was. Two men commented on the choice Matt would have to make. A third speculated that knowing Lisl Wisser, Matt wouldn’t have to make a choice — if he was lucky.
Shoshana ended all speculation by excusing herself and walking away, determined to leave the party and salvage whatever she could. Matt watched her go. Lisl gave his cheek a friendly pat, recapturing his attention. “Tonight?” she asked, making sure Shoshana heard.
Outside the beach club, Shoshana asked the doorman for a taxi back to her hotel. A dark car driven by Gab Habish pulled up and she waited for the doorman to close the door before she said anything. Quickly, she recounted what had happened at the party. “You did well by leaving,” he told her. “We’ve arranged for you to join a water-skiing party tomorrow at Porta Banus. Mana will be there. Wear your black bathing suit.”
“I can’t wear that and water-ski,” she protested. “I’ll fall out of it.” Habish only looked at her. She got the point-that was the idea.
“I’ll have you picked up at eleven tomorrow morning,” Habish said. He was looking forward to a full night’s sleep. “And avoid Matthew Pontowski.”
“Who is he anyway?” she asked.
Habish let his irritation with her show. “Start doing your homework and learn all you can about the people you associate with. His grandfather is the President of the United
States.”
Shoshana felt a warm confusion tug at her again.
3
The black Mercedes Habish had dispatched to take Shoshana to Porta Banus blended perfectly with the other cars in the small, exclusive resort town that hugged a harbor overflowing with yachts. The driver deposited her at a dock where she joined a small group of people. Much more observant after Habish’s sharp rebuke about doing her “homework,” she noticed that most of the crowd was made up of the younger set from last night’s party. She also counted the armed uniformed guards that strolled casually through the waterfront and along the docks. She carefully noted the type and condition of their weapons.
Two luxury speedboats were ferrying the waiting guests for the water-skiing party out to a massive yacht that was too long to enter the harbor. A man in a white linen suit took her name and spoke into a small radio, checking her invitation before he let her board one of the speedboats.
Once on board the yacht, she was pleased that the baggy white shorts and cotton safari shirt she had chosen to wear over her swimsuit matched the casual dress of the other guests. Hopefully, she thought, Habish won’t be too upset when I tell him that I didn’t wear the bathing suit. Instead, she had donned a modest athletic tank suit with two bright fluorescent panels. Her instincts warned her that it would be more acceptable to Mana and less provocative to the likes of Matt Pontowski.