She smiled, liking his sincerity and his utter lack of arrogance. “I'd like that,” she said.
“Good. Can you stay over a few days?” In the pleasure of Mariel's company, Egon had forgotten he was on the run. He was losing himself in the sense of security Le Retour always instilled in him.
“I've a three day layover.”
“I'll have you riding out on the trail in two days. Wait and see… you'll love it.”
She laughed at his enthusiasm. “Just a warning… I'm a lousy athlete. Don't be disappointed if I fall off.”
“You can have Sylvie's Mannerheim. He's as gentle as a lamb. My sister doesn't like riding very much.”
“Why does she ride, then?”
“Well, first Mama insisted she learn. Mama was from a Junker family which prided itself on its hunting lands. And secondly, Sylvie's ex-husband is a world-class rider; she pretended she adored horses for him. Carey realized how deep that affection went the first time he saw her ride. Anyway, Sylvie's old Mannerheim is like sitting in a padded rocking chair, I promise.”
“In that case, I won't mind riding lessons. But don't feel you have to teach me to ride if it's an inconvenience.” Mariel had never so instantly liked someone in her life, but she remembered her manners and also remembered Egon was from a very different world.
“No inconvenience,” Egon assured her, reaching for his grappa. “I've all the time in the world.”
CHAPTER 34
R ifat was infuriated by the wire his batman had brought him. Seated at his desk in the bedroom of his Rome villa, his bearing military even in a silk robe, he expressed his anger in a terse expletive. Rifat's man Yalcin, ignored his master's comment as any good servant would.
“Do you care to return an answer, master?” he inquired.
“No,” Rifat retorted. “Wake me if there's any further message.”
Yalcin knew enough to do that in any event, but the fact Rifat had mentioned it made this particular mission an important one. “Very well, sir.” And he bowed deferentially before leaving.
“Jamaica,” Rifat snorted in disgust, his hooded eyes dark with rage. Egon had eluded his men again. He crumpled the telex in an uncharacteristic show of anger. Flinging the ball of paper across the dimly lit room, he cursed Egon in several languages-and reached for the phone. Maybe it was time to consider the sister as a possible hostage. He wouldn't allow the prototype to slip through his hands, and if Egon proved evasive, the countess would be a bargaining chip of equal importance. Meanwhile the countess should be put under surveillance in the event she needed to be picked up. When the call went through, he spoke curtly into the phone, relaying his message in ciphered language. He was assured he would receive a report of her whereabouts by morning.
While Rifat was bristling in Rome and Ceci was drumming his fingers on the window of their chartered plane, waiting for it to touch down at Montego Bay, Carey was tracking down the third member of the crew and hoping she'd know more than the pilot and copilot. They had no idea of Egon's whereabouts, but they'd suggested Danielle, one of the stewardesses in first class. She and some friends were staying at a beach house in Ocho Rios.
Jess hadn't had any luck with the cab drivers. No one had seen a man of Egon's description. Now Egon was either ahead of him, not yet arrived, or in an entirely different part of the world. They would have to split up. Jess would cover arrivals, and Carey and Molly would proceed to Le Retour with a short detour to talk to Danielle. If it would have been possible to leave Molly with Jess, he would have, but short of tying her to a seat, he didn't see it as a feasible option. So while Jess stayed behind with orders to leave for Bernadotte's immediately if he found Egon, Carey and Molly took a cab to Ocho Rios.
“An extra fifty if we make it to Ocho Rios in record time,” Carey told the cabbie.
“No problem, mon,” the smiling man replied, turning up the volume on his radio.
“You might want to shut your eyes,” Carey warned Molly.
And she did for the first two minutes, but curved roads and high speeds were stomach-churning with her eyes shut. Gritting her teeth, she braced her hands on the seat and watched the driver defy death a score of times in the next half-hour.
As they sped by the Ruins, Egon and Mariel were just beginning their dessert. They jolted to a tire-squealing halt at the Hertz rental in Ocho Rios, an old red brick building with a large plate-glass window and worn wooden door.
Carey casually remarked, “Great driving, thanks,” and paid the driver as though he were a passenger near death every day of his life. Pulling Molly from the car, he indicated the rental sign and asked, “Care to take over as driver?”
She felt like kissing the ground in thanksgiving, but in her best grown-up voice she said casually, “Sure.”
“Good, cuz I've some chasing to do.”
She lifted her brows in query.
“Looking for Egon.”
“I knew that.”
He grinned. “Women. You shouldn't even be here.”
“No chauvinist remarks. I'm not sufficiently recovered from the jaws of death to be in fighting form.”
He touched her cheek with a quick, brushing fingertip. “You're such a darling.”
“No patronizing remarks, either. If I'm about to become your driver, I demand the respect due that position. We are not darlings. We are shooter associates.”
For a moment he wondered if she was serious-but decided in the next moment she was not. “Where did you hear that?”
“On TV-where else?”
And for a second Carey wished he could turn off this program.
They drove out on the eastern tip of the bay to find Danielle. At least the beach cottage wasn't out of the way. Egon's villa was only another few miles down the road.
Over twenty-four hours had passed since Carey had decided to bring Egon in and fatigue was beginning to pervade his senses. Adrenaline could only sustain one so long. He'd hardly slept last night, his mind looping full speed on Egon's problem, and the hours today had been fraught with problems.
“I hope she saw him,” Carey said as Molly pulled up to the hotel entrance.
“And if she didn't?”
“We'll go to Le Retour and hope he arrived before us. I'll be back in a few minutes. Why don't you wait in that parking lot across the way?”
“Yes, sir, captain, sir,” Molly replied facetiously with a brisk salute.
“Now why didn't you do that back at Dad's when I wanted you to stay there?” he asked.
“Wanted to see the world, sir.”
“Hope like hell you don't see more than you care to, soldier.”
“Don't worry, sir.”
“Shit,” Carey muttered, but his smile was warm. How could she be so damn cheerful? And beautiful. Probably because she didn't have the slightest inkling of the danger involved. Which meant he'd better move his ass so Rifat didn't get too close to her. “Ciao,” he said. “Don't move.” And he was gone.
As he entered the main lobby, a small area the size of his bedroom with a ceiling soaring three-stories high, Carey passed a hundred-dollar bill to the manager, then asked for Danielle Garzin's cottage number.
The beach cottages faced the bay. He took the stairs down a floor to the open-air bar at poolside and, walking through, strode past the pool and out onto the sand. The temperature had diminished slightly with evening, and the breeze off the bay wasn't hot any longer. All the patios facing the beach were deserted, not only because of the off-season, but because late afternoon brought most guests inside to prepare for dinner.
At number 121, his knock on the glass door was loud and insistent but no one answered. He looked at his watch. Dammit, an hour and a half had passed since they'd landed, and time was a precious commodity. He peered through the glass doors for some sign of life, then checked out the two adjoining units in the hopes someone had seen her. They, too, were empty, but a radio was softly playing on a small table set between two cabana chairs on 121's patio, and a half-finished drink rested beside the radio.