Wahab turned to Beatrice, who nodded. He did the same. “Who are these ‘people’? CIA?”
“It doesn’t really matter,” Lange said. “If you agree to our terms, and it will be in writing, we’ll arrange for your safe transport to another country.”
“I see.” Wahab looked at the ceiling. “I suppose I have no choice. Yes, I agree to your terms.”
“Good. We’ll begin to put matters into motion when these papers are signed.” Patience handed Wahab four official-looking memoranda. “You may want to sit over there at your desk and read them before signing.”
Taking the papers, Wahab read the top one while slowly walking to his desk. He looked up. “Canada? These are official Canadian documents! I would have sworn you were CIA. Oh well, I have no quarrel with Canada.”
Wahab went back to the forms and carefully signed each while the other three waited in silence. He looked up at Beatrice, but her eyes were looking off in the distance. He signed the last one and handed them to Patience.
“Have a seat over there, Mr. Wahab. We have some questions that demand immediate answers.”
Wahab obliged and noted his wife sat expressionless except for the downward curve of her mouth that appeared when she was distressed.
“We must know where Asuty is taking the bomb,” Lange said.
“He never told me. Not directly, that is. The deal was once he took possession our association ended. He never said what he was going to do with it, but it is assumed …”
“You assumed he intended to kill a lot of innocent people.” At Dirk Lange’s words, Beatrice jerked. “Think, Wahab. Give us something to go on. If you do, then those papers Patience is holding will become official. Otherwise …”
“I remember him saying something about a seaport and a shipping company. Oh, yes, Cameroon was mentioned, but so was Sierra Leone. Asuty’s group was infiltrated by a British agent. They tried to kill him but bungled it somehow.” Wahab looked at both his interrogators. “Ask MI6 what they know.”
“What about Libya? Could he be taking it there?” Patience asked.
“Definitely not. The Libyan intelligence service is at odds with Asuty’s group. He’s Egyptian, you know. Some bad blood there. Don’t know why.”
“We better get this to the right people,” Lange said to Patience.
This was the time to ask a question nagging Wahab since the morning. “Where is Dawid van Wartt?”
“He’s under arrest,” Lange said. “Very serious charges, you may imagine.”
“Knowing Dawid, he’ll buy his way out of this mess. A real blackguard. He talked me into this stupid idea.” Not quite fair. Since they were receptive to that question, what about the most important one. Why isn’t the CIA, and more importantly why isn’t his nemesis, Hayden Stone, present? He’d need to go about it obliquely. “I’m surprised Hayden Stone isn’t with us.”
Patience waved off the question and said, “I’m surprised you haven’t asked where we’re taking you.”
Wahab thought a moment. “Yemen?”
“Not yet. You’re heading for a colder climate. Pack your wools.” Patience rose. “Lady Beatrice, may I speak with you privately?”
“Before you leave,” Wahab said, “ I want to say I truly regret my actions. They were not at all thought out on my part.”
“Please,” Lange said. “No more of that bullshit.”
The absence of Hayden Stone concerned Wahab. If the CIA was not part of the deal, then dues were unpaid. Like the deaths of those two young CIA officers in the South of France. Another stupid mistake on his part.
“I have reason to believe that Hayden Stone still holds some grudge against me. Even though in Namibia I was instrumental in the saving of your life, Mr. Lange, and Stone’s life. Have you any idea what his thinking is about all this?”
“It’s always difficult to say what Mr. Stone is thinking or what he will do, for that matter,” Lange said.
“I’ll second that,” Patience said.
Wahab detected something in Patience’s aside that he couldn’t quite grasp, but it made him uncomfortable.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Rain pelted against the sliding glass doors that opened to the apartment’s third-floor balcony. Hayden Stone moved the sheet aside and, with half-closed eyes, peered out at the dim early dawn. He lay naked next to Lucinda, listening and feeling her slow, quiet breathing. She had put on a short chemise “To keep my shoulders warm,” she told him after their last lovemaking.
The wind accompanying the steady downpour rattled one of the sliding doors, and Stone, in that state of half awake, debated whether he should rise and check the latch. He waited a few moments, it rattled again, this time louder, and he slipped from under the covers and made his way to the door. It was secure.
He looked out at the gray winter storm coming off the South Atlantic. In the last minutes it had gained strength. He returned to the warmth on the sheet where he had been sleeping and eased closer to Lucinda. She stirred, stretched without opening her eyes, reached over, and squeezed his thigh. As if reassured he hadn’t left her, she went back to a hushed slumber. His face touching her back, his fingers roamed over her soft skin from waist to bottom and settled on her smooth buttocks.
Stone floated in a comfortable haze, allowing his mind to drift back to the events of the night before. He had picked up Lucinda here at Patience’s apartment in the Newlands, a district south of Cape Town’s that spread along the base of Table Mountain. They drove to a bistro Patience had recommended and gone to the trouble to make a reservation. Stone found the décor woody and dark, but in a way welcoming after coming in from the cold evening air. The lighting as well as the atmosphere was subdued. Most of the patrons consisted of young professional Cape Towners, and thankfully the noise and music level was low enough for conversation.
From the moment she’d entered the car, Lucinda had been concerned with Stone’s bruised face. After they were seated in the restaurant, she continued, “Is the rest of your body … discolored and cut?”
He told her it was, and now reminded of his injuries began to feel the aches that come as the body repaired itself. “I’ll live,” he joked.
She took a deep serious breath and placed her hand on his. “You wonder why I came down here to see you?”
He told her he hadn’t expected to ever see her again, but he was glad she had come.
“Last May we parted on bad terms. I told you I never wanted to see you again.” She shrugged. “Of course, I was upset about how things went … with us, with my palace wrecked by those Arabs. I blamed you, but our mutual friend, Inspector Maurice Colmont, told me that the French intelligence learned that it was the Arabs who were responsible. Not you.”
Stone considered it a stroke of luck that the waiter came for their order, giving him time to rethink his initial impulse to admit part of the responsibility. In fact, he had led a commando team into the palace, and they had done most of the shooting and damage. Oh well.
Lucinda leaned forward and asked if he minded her ordering for both of them. “Patience gave me some hints on the food here,” she said, looking pleased.
Tonight her auburn hair was pulled back and fastened with a silver filigree clasp. It looked Egyptian, probably a family heirloom. Her face, a mix Italian and Coptic-Egyptian blood, exuded an exoticism in the candlelight. Using the candle to read the menu, her green eyes studied the selections, and with authority she ordered the guinea fowl paupiette and smoked breast with wild rice and Kalahari truffles for him. For herself she chose the blue wildebeest with braised red cabbage, turnip puree, and red currant jus.