Gutenberg looked at his watch, a gold Patek-Phillipe. "I need to get back to Geneva."
"You'll brief the others?"
"Of course."
Gutenberg stood. Krivi rose with him.
"It's good to see you, Johannes."
"And you. You must come home soon."
"I'll come before the war starts. Tell Marta I miss her chef's cooking."
The two men shook hands. After Gutenberg had left, Krivi thought about Marta's desserts and the fine, rich chocolate of Switzerland.
He was fond of chocolate.
CHAPTER 3
Selena Connor didn't think of herself as stubborn. More like determined. There was a difference between stubborn and determined, wasn't there? The gym in the underground level of Project headquarters was cool with air conditioning but Selena's body glistened with sweat.
Ever since the wound in Mexico that almost killed her she'd been trying to regain the level of skill she'd had before the surgery. The bullet had nicked a vertebra and come close to putting her into a wheelchair for the rest of her life. It was months before she could risk a light workout. Her back still ached at the end of a day, no matter what she did.
She had her strength back, that part was all right. What bugged her was that she still couldn't get the height and speed she wanted for the lethal kicks she practiced in her martial art.
She aimed a kick at the target on the hanging dummy, where an attacker's throat might be. Her foot landed six inches below. She swore under her breath and kicked again with the same result. The heavy bag shuddered and swayed from the impact. An opponent would have been knocked across the room but that wasn't what mattered to her. What mattered, damn it, was placing her foot where she wanted it, on the target.
Selena wiped her arm across her brow, brushing aside a wisp of hair.
On the other side of the gym, Nick was working out on one of the Nautilus machines. The scars along the side of his chest rippled as he brought the bars of the machine together. He grunted with the effort. He let the machine return to neutral and wiped sweat away from his forehead with a towel.
"How about a break?" he said. He'd been back from the Philippines for two days but he still hadn't told her what she wanted to hear.
Selena aimed another angry kick at the bag. After two years of a rocky relationship Nick had finally proposed. Now it seemed to her that he was dragging his feet. He couldn't make up his mind about a date for the wedding. He couldn't make up his mind about buying her a ring. It was beginning to piss her off. She aimed a vicious kick at the dummy and came up short of her mark by about two inches. Better, she thought, but not good enough.
Nick went to a bench by the wall, picked up two bottles of water and came over to her. At thirty-nine and pushing forty, the workouts were getting harder. He wasn't about to admit that to Selena.
He took a swig of water. "Why don't you give the bag a rest and try your moves against someone who can kick back?" he said.
She gave him a dangerous smile. Selena had the kind of face that made people look again when she went by. Her eyes were sometimes deep blue, sometimes violet, an unusual color that might have been painted by van Gogh or Picasso. The color was complemented by her reddish blond hair. One of her cheekbones was a little higher than the other. She had a mole, a natural beauty mark, just above the right side of her upper lip. Selena was an attractive woman.
"You never learn, do you," she said. "You know I'll kick you all over the mat."
"You can try," Nick said.
"How's your hand?" she said.
The last two fingers on his left hand had been broken a few months before by one of Fidel Castro's sadistic policemen. They'd healed, but they were stiff and painful. He didn't have the flexibility he'd had before. Sometimes the fingers itched.
"It'll be all right," he said. "Don't worry about it."
Selena sighed and shook her head. "I promise I won't say I told you so when we're done," she said. "After you." She gestured at the large, square floor mat they used for their workouts together.
They faced each other on opposite sides of the mat, bowed, and began. Nick had height and weight on her, but with Selena that was no advantage. She was far beyond him in skill when it came to hard-core martial arts. She'd been studying with a Korean master for more than twenty years.
They sparred for the next half hour. After Nick had landed flat on his back for the eighth or ninth time and taken a dozen hits to his ribs and hips and legs, he surrendered. If she'd landed those blows at full strength, he'd be going to a hospital or the morgue. But this was practice. Nick had seen what she could do when it counted.
"Uncle," he said from the floor.
"I told you so."
"You promised you weren't going to say that," he said.
"So? I lied." She held out a hand and helped him up.
Nick looked at the clock on the wall. "We're supposed to meet Harker in 10 minutes."
"Then we'd better get cleaned up."
They undressed and went into the showers together. Nick watched her walk ahead of him and thought about the night he'd proposed to her. It had seemed right at the time, a natural in the romantic, tropical evening, with moonlight and the scent of flowers coming through the open window of their bedroom.
He still hadn't gotten her a ring. On the one hand, he wanted to surprise her. On the other, he thought it might not be a bad idea if they picked it out together. They hadn't set a date for the wedding, either. He wasn't sure why he kept putting it off but he figured the ring came first. After that they could move on to the next step.
He held her close under the running water and kissed her.
"You're not worried someone may come in?" she said.
"It's just a kiss."
"And then another, and then you know what happens."
Damn, it was hard to stay mad at him. She glanced down and smiled. "See what I mean?"
He kissed her again and went over to another shower head and turned on the cold water.
CHAPTER 4
Elizabeth Harker was a small woman. More than one self-important politician or general had learned the hard way not to underestimate her because of her diminutive size. Most people guessed her age at around fifty, but it was hard to tell. The stress of the job had left premature streaks of white in her black hair.
Harker wore one of her favorite combinations, a tailored black Prada suit and a crisp, white blouse with a Mao style collar. A butterfly-shaped emerald pin edged with small diamonds rested over her left breast. The pin and a pair of emerald earrings brought out the green color of her eyes.
Harker ran the Project, a small intelligence unit that acted in the shadows. Elizabeth's unit was the hidden point of the president's sword. Invisible compared to the giants at Fort Meade and Langley, the Project operated under the radar and outside the conventional rules. The free hand given to her by the president made her unpopular in the fiercely competitive world of Washington's intelligence community. Nick and his team did things the others couldn't or wouldn't, but freedom of action came at a price. Everything Harker and the unit did was deniable. If things went wrong, her head would be laid on the chopping block. There were plenty of people who wanted to see it there.
From the outside, Project headquarters looked like an upscale ranch house. The house had been built after the Cold War by a civilian millionaire over a decommissioned Nike missile site. The computers, armory, gym, emergency living quarters and operations center were underground. There was even a swimming pool. Harker's office was on the ground floor. It was a large, pleasant room, with a wall of bulletproof windows graced by French doors. The doors opened onto a flagstone patio and looked out over a green lawn and beds of flowers. A large, flat screen monitor was mounted on the wall across from Elizabeth's desk. A row of clocks showing world time zones was mounted over the screen. A comfortable leather couch and two chairs were grouped in front of the desk.