Her lovely eyes drifted over the idlers in the cafe and the pedestrians strolling by on the sidewalk. “It’s as good a place as any,” she told me with a shrug.
I signaled the waiter for another glass and poured brandy for Pilar. Then I asked abruptly, “What did you do to your hair?”
Instinctively, her hand went to her head in momentary confusion, then she smiled. “You must have been told I was a redhead. As you know, it often becomes necessary in our business to change one’s appearance. Do you like it black?”
“Love it. Bet you were a knockout as a redhead, too.”
“Why, thank you,” she said and peered at me mischievously from under her long lashes.
For an instant Pilars features seemed to fade and shift into the fine-boned face of Rona Volstedt. I took a gulp of the powerful brandy and the image vanished.
“The only lead we have,” I said, “is the launch that put the suitcase aboard the Gaviota. I couldn’t spot a name or identifying numbers in the dark. It rode too low in the water and was powered by twin outboards.”
Pilar chewed on her lip and shook her head.
“That’s not much to go on. Did you get a look at any of the men in the launch?”
“The man in charge was short, thickly built, and completely bald.”
She held up a hand to stop me. “A stocky, bald man?”
“That’s right. Do you know him?”
“I think so. There is such a man who leads a band of smugglers on Curasao. He is called Torio.”
“Can you tell me where to find him?”
“I can take you there. I know Curasao, and we’ll be able to move quickly.”
For a minute I was going to object. I didn’t want her to end up like Rona. But Pilar was right, I could waste precious time blundering around Curasao without a guide, and time was the all-important factor.
“How soon can we leave?” I said.
“We can catch an early flight tomorrow morning. I will make the arrangements.”
“Can we get started sooner?”
“No. And it is important that you rest tonight. Tomorrow you will have to be strong and alert.”
My aching muscles agreed. We drank another glass of brandy, and she walked with me to my hotel.
“I will come for you in the morning,” Pilar said, “and we will go to the airport.”
I left her in the courtyard and wearily climbed the stairs to my room.
Fifteen
I took my second shower of the day and drew the blinds against the late-afternoon sun. I stripped off my new clothes and laid them over a chair. Then I stretched out naked on the bed, pulled a sheet over me, and stared at the ceiling.
To simply will yourself to sleep is usually impossible. Every nerve in my body cried out for rest, and my eyes were gritty pouches, but I couldn’t sleep.
Somewhere a former U.S. scientist and a former Russian general were preparing to erase my country, city by city. New York would go first, day after tomorrow. I should be racing somewhere to stop them, not flaking out on a hotel bed in Veracruz.
But rushing into action without preparation would be foolish and dangerous. And if Pilar could locate the smuggler, Torio, there might still be time enough to carry out the mission. I closed my eyes. The vision of Rona swam before me, faded, then returned.
The sunlight filtering through the orange blinds dimmed gradually through all the shades of gray, and finally it was dark. Still my mind wouldn’t rest.
Every sound from the street below seemed to be piped directly into my ears. A toilet flushed in the next room, a gushing Niagara Falls.
Then someone knocked lightly on my door.
“Yes?”
“It’s Pilar,” came the soft answer.
I swung out of bed, grabbed a towel and opened the door. Pilar wore a black dress with tiny flowers that seemed to grow happily in the mounds and valleys of her rich terrain.
“Come in,” I said.
“I didn’t really believe that you would be able to sleep,” she said, and stepped inside.
“Your beauty is only surpassed by your wisdom,” I answered.
“I brought you something to help.” She settled lightly upon the edge of the bed.
“Pills?” I asked. “I never take them.”
She offered me a lazy smile. “No, not pills. Me.”
“Well,” I answered, recovering from my amazement, “you certainly are a delightful tablet, and you wouldn’t be at all hard to swallow.”
Her pretty face sobered, became almost stern. “Don’t make Jokes,” she said. “Both of our lives may depend on your physical condition tomorrow, and…” Here she hesitated, her eyes walked over my towel-clad frame. “And perhaps I, too, would rest uneasily alone tonight.”
“Perhaps,” I said.
“You will leave everything to me?”
“Pilar, I am in your hands.”
“Bien. First I want you to lie here on the bed.”
I moved obediently to the bed and was about to sink down when her strong brown fingers slipped inside the towel I was wearing and whisked it away.
“For this, we will not need the towel,” she said crisply. “Lie down on your stomach, please.”
I spread myself prone across the bed, made a pillow of my folded arms. Something cool touched my neck at the base of the skull and trailed slowly down my back. I caught the light scent of cinnamon. Over my shoulder, I saw that Pilar had taken a tiny vial from the bag she carried, and had spilled the contents down the length of my spine.
“Oil of cinnamon,” she explained. “Now I want you to put your head back down and let me help you to relax.”
“Yes ma’am,” I grinned. There was a whispering silky sound. From the corner of my eye, I caught the flash of a tawny hip and knew that Pilar had taken off all her clothes.
As if sensing my thoughts, she closed my eyes with a butterfly touch of her cool, soft fingers. “Relax,” she murmured. “Now you must only relax.”
Her hands played over my back then in smooth little circles, the pressure of her fingers both firm and gentle. She spread the oil across my shoulders and down over my rib cage, making little humming sounds of approval to herself. She found the crease in my side where the Mayan spear had grazed me, and her fingers caressed the pain away.
She smoothed the oil down over my waist, her hands sliding deliciously over my skin with the scented lubricant. Down and down, across my buttocks and the back of my thighs. A little extra touch at the hollows of my knees, then over my calf muscles, along the Achilles tendon to cup my heels on her palms.
Gently Pilar brushed the oil over the soles of my feet, sliding a slippery finger between each of my toes.
My skin was alive and supersensitive to her touch. It seemed I could sense through my pores the nearness of her naked body.
I said, “Pilar, I don’t know if I’m excited or sleepy. Please make up my mind!”
“Be still,” she softly scolded. “We have just begun.”
She took my toes then, one at a time, caressing them, rolling them between her fingers. With her thumb and forefingers she made an oiled sheath, sliding up and down each toe.
Next, Pilar took each foot between her hands and kneaded it till I could feel the bones crack. Then she moved her hands up my legs again, her expert fingers digging into the tensed muscles, squeezing, manipulating, drawing out the aching soreness.
My rump received special attention. With one hand on each buttock, she leaned and squeezed with surprising strength for a woman, her hands rolling rhythmically from the heels to the fingertips.
The bed sagged slightly as Pilar kneeled astride my legs. From this position she leaned forward and worked her supple fingers over my back, magically loosening the tight muscles.
As she reached far forward to massage my shoulders and the base of my neck, I felt the nipples of her swaying breasts brush against me. Now her hands slid all the way down my naked back from shoulders to feet.