It was more than likely, he reminded himself, it was more than likely that pretty soon now he'd be feeling the effects of his hectic, danger-filled life. He was thirty-nine now, and you couldn't cram enough adventures for a dozen lives into eighteen years without sooner or later suffering for it.
Another thing, he had been a gambler all his life, and long ago he had realized that there came a point when you knew that you were going to lose. That was the time to throw in your cards and quit the game as gracefully as possible. The present situation was equally undeniable, equally absolute. He wasn't going to make it. They'd get him before he could report back to Western Intelligence.
His self-confidence had been cracked right down the middle, and he knew that this made him a sitting duck for the enemy. Well, he vowed, I won't go down without a fight. And I'll make sure I take a few of them with me.
Meantime, there was the question of the carrier for the second micro-tape. He looked carefully around the bar-and his eyes came to rest on those of a young girl in the uniform of an SAS stewardess. His eyebrows lifted slightly and he inclined his head, smiling pleasantly at her.
The girl responded by lifting her glass and toasting him before she sipped at it. He swung himself lightly off the bar stool and walked across to the small wooden table where she was sitting, not taking his eves from hers.
"I'll bet you speak English," he remarked. "Do you mind if I join you?"
She smiled. She was even younger at close distance, scarcely in her twenties, he thought. She wore very little make-up, her only concession to fashion being a carefully penciled eye-shadow. Her face was very pleasantly attractive. She had the sweetest pair of lips he had ever seen. They pushed forward in a kind of pout, as if the girl was begging to be kissed. It gave her a sulky little-girl look that was belied by the far from innocent appraisal in her clear blue eyes.
Her eyes traveled slowly up and down the man's powerful frame before replying. Then she said, "Be my guest. I'm Danish but English is my second language'" He sat down opposite her and crossed his legs. "Are you staying at the hotel?"
He shook his head. "I'm going out on the 2 AM flight to Copenhagen," he told her. "Are you in transit, too?"
Her eyes showed an unmistakable twinkle. "As a matter of fact I'll be your stewardess," she said.
He studied her more closely. "Wait a minute." he exclaimed. "You were on the plane that brought me in, weren't you? Four days ago?"
"That's right," she replied. "But it looks as if I paid more attention to you than you did to me! Your name is Mr. Cabot."
"Call me Don," he interrupted her quickly. "Tell me, what happens when you get back to Denmark? Do you stay there for a while or go out again?"
"I go on to New York the next day," she told him, her frank eyes meeting his in a provocative challenge. "Why, what did you have in mind?"
"I wondered if you'd mind mailing a small parcel for me," he asked. "It's rather important and I want it posted in the U.S."
The girl shrugged her shoulders. "All right. I don't mind." Glancing quickly around the bar, he pressed a small sealed package into her hand. She slipped it into her handbag and snapped it shut.
"How about buying me a drink?" she suggested. "The bar will be closed soon."
He beckoned the waiter over, ordered a Slivovitz for the girl and another Scotch for himself. The bar was now otherwise empty although it was only eleven p.m. It was a big and spacious place and in the stillness their voices, though lowered to a quiet volume, seemed to bounce off the stone walls back at them.
"My name's Erica," she said. "Erica Sondgaard. And I've got a funny feeling we've met somewhere before. Not on the plane. I mean before that."
"Possibly," he replied. "I travel quite a lot. We may have bumped into each other almost anywhere in the world. I'm afraid I can't quite place you." His first thought had been to get rid of the girl as quickly as possible after getting her to mail the micro-tape for him. But now, talking with her and using the time to give her a thorough physical examination, he grew more and more attracted by her possibilities.
Maybe it was simply a case of reasserting his masculinity, using Erica to wipe out the unpleasant memory of the episode with Eva. Well, all right; if that was the case… so what? He was becoming more resigned to his fate, to his conviction that his number had finally come up. Why shouldn't he go out with a last, voluptuous sex fling. He had evidently lost his connoisseur's appreciation of good liquor, but he felt quite certain that his taste for women was unimpaired.
"It doesn't matter," Erica was saying. "It's just that your face seems so familiar." She gave an involuntary shiver. "God, it's cold in here," she exclaimed…, suppose they wait for the tourist season before they put the central heating on."
"Why don't we adjourn to my room?" he suggested. "I have a bottle or two up there and I'm sure we can persuade the bartender to sell us ice and mixer."
Erica gave him a frank look which told him that she knew precisely what he was really after. She drank the last of her Slivovitz and licked her lips, running her tongue slowly over the top one and keeping her eyes on his face the whole while.
"I've been a stewardess for too long not to know what you're after," she told him. Between the couple passed an electric wave which spoke volumes. As they stared at each other, he consciously poured every ounce of his personality and his charm into the gaze. For a moment he thought she was going to walk out on him, just like Eva. Then she leaned forward across the table.
"The only thing that bothers me is… what took you so long to invite me?" Her blue eyes sparkled brightly as she blatantly told him she was more than willing to go to bed with him.
The man threw some coins onto the table and stood up. He took her arm and, without another word being spoken, led Erica up the wide staircase to his room. He locked the door behind them and pulled the girl into his arms. Her body strained into his, her arms going around his neck and her fingers tightening about his broad shoulders.
He looked down into her eyes, quietly savoring her upturned face, her half-parted lips and her dreamily closed eyes. This may be the last time, he told himself. The very last time.
Don cupped her head in his large hand, opening the fingers as wide as possible and drawing her face firmly down onto his. Forcefully, he crushed her tender, full red lips against his own, feeling Erica gasp into his open mouth as the girl felt his urgent passion. He kissed her as soundly and as expertly as he was able, thrusting his tongue deeply between her sharp young teeth and searching for hers. He tasted the fresh, sweet juices of the girl's mouth, letting their saliva mingle and feeling her body pushing against him, her hard breasts pressing into his chest.
For several minutes they kissed wildly and desperately; as if she, too, had guessed that she might be the last woman he would have. Then he bent her slowly backwards onto the bed, lowering his body on top of her, stretching out at full length across Erica's softly rounded curves.
She was breathing heavily now, panting and gripping him tightly, her fingers running up and down his back, caressing the nape of his neck and fondling the thick black hair.
Don withdrew his mouth at last and worked his lips around the girl's face until they were poised at the softness of her earlobe. Seductively, he licked the underside of the fleshy lobe, letting his teeth close firmly and securely on Erica's fragrant smelling ear. She shivered, her body trembling like a child's beneath the weight of his body. He felt for the buttons of her uniform but instead of gently disengaging them, he tore savagely at them, pulling the neat black fastenings away with one swift downward stroke.