The catering staff brought bottles of water, sandwiches and cakes minutes before Sarah Moxley was due to arrive. As soon as the Post reporter appeared, his secretary sent her through.
Gates rose and shook hands, remembering the touch of her skin from before. He invited her to sit at the round table. “Sorry for the formal setting,” he said. “I don’t have too long, Miss Moxley.”
“Call me Sarah. Something still going on?”
“Always,” he repeated his words of a few days ago. Gates picked at his food as she talked, moving half a sandwich around his plate like a general arranging battle formations, but he listened well. Moxley talked about her work, her life and the friends she had died beside, but she didn’t ask a single question that put him on alert. Gates found himself interested, relaxing around her, and enjoyed the sight of her winning smile. But there were gulfs between them. He was fifteen years her senior. He was a widower. She was a reporter. He was sworn to this office in more ways than one.
But still…
When their time came to an end, Gates rose and smiled. “Good to see you again, Miss Moxley.”
“I’m sure.” She flicked her hair, redhead locks catching a ray of sunshine and every ounce of his attention. “Until next time?”
“The interview? Yes, we can arrange that.”
“Who said anything about an interview?”
Gates stared as she left the room, cursing inwardly that he had to send her away so soon, cursing the old gods and the megalomaniacs and every other piece of self-important shit that made good men worry about the safety of others.
CHAPTER FORTY FIVE
Alicia Myles’ feet barely touched the ground before she was whisked from the airport to the stylish Hotel Vier Jahreszeiten Kempinski in the heart of Munich, asked to wear a bikini by a very attentive Lomas, and taken down to the indoor heated pool, one of the very few inside any luxury hotel in the city.
Alicia was more than a little shocked, but she didn’t ask questions, expecting that Lomas would explain when they got settled. But the sight of the biker gang, sprawled in their speedos around the rectangular beige-tiled blue-lit swimming pool stopped her short.
“What the fuck, Lomas?”
The big biker leader pointed to a far corner where, before a huge oval mirror, two women were receiving some kind of spa treatment. From the bright tattoos on their shoulders Alicia recognized the two as Whipper and Dirty Sarah.
“Did they brainwash you idiots whilst I was gone?” When Alicia left to help Drake, Lomas and the gang had been barely comfortable in the posh hotel the U.S. had stumped up for, every single one of them wondering aloud if it was time to hit the road. Now, they showed all the signs of setting up a permanent camp.
“Look.” Lomas pointed out Tiny, the enormous Harley rider, sprawled out over a rattan lounger, massive legs and arms touching the floor on all sides and snoring like a grizzly with hay fever.
Alicia took a deep breath. “Well?”
Lomas just shrugged his big shoulders. “The staff hate us. They’re not sure whether to bow or run a mile. Let the boys have their sport for a day or two.”
Alicia relaxed. “And then we’re hitting the road?”
“Is there another way?”
“Nope!” Alicia ran and cannonballed into the still pool, splashing water up over the immaculate sides and across the nearest loungers. Fat Bob and Knuckler sat up complaining. Laid-Back Lex, the truest contradictory biker name the Englishwoman had ever heard, leapt to his feet and threw some abuse at her. Ribeye, the group’s vegetarian, shook his head in disgust. Alicia trod water and splashed them all some more.
Lomas, not an accomplished swimmer, thrashed around beside her. “Meant to say, your biker name was decided while you were off saving the world.”
“It was? What is it? Believe me, Lomas, it better not be something prissy.”
The biker didn’t answer immediately, not a good sign. But then Alicia noticed him staring at her breasts. “Later.” She swatted him. “Just tell me the goddamn name.”
“Ah, well we voted on… Taz.”
“What?”
“Taz. You know, the Tasmanian Devil from Australia. Carnivore. Strong bite. Hard fighters. Can turn crazy at the drop of a hat.”
“I’m not sure I like it. You think I’m an Australian animal? And I thought biker names were supposed to be contrary to your character.”
“Not all of them. It depends on your strength of character. Yours,” Lomas grinned, “just shone right through.”
“Taz?” Alicia thought about it. She didn’t know a great deal about the Tasmanian Devil, but Lomas made it sound good. “I suppose…”
“Good, now come here.” Lomas caught her in his muscular arms and held on tight. Alicia allowed herself to be hugged, just for a minute. A sense of peace settled over her, accompanied by the onset of dreadful, repressed memories. They only came when she relaxed. They were the reason she kept on moving, fighting, somehow always in motion. But the problem was rapidly becoming clearer — she couldn’t stay in action for the rest of her life.
Dare she let the memories back in?
The way forward was confrontation. Funny, she thought, how I love it in real life, but can’t face down my past.
“You okay?” Alicia heard Lomas’s voice and focused. The biker had pulled away from her and was staring into her distant, stormy eyes.
“Old demons.” She rubbed her temples hard. “Won’t go away.”
“Ah, I have those. Maybe someday we should swap horror stories.”
Alicia fixed him with a contemplative stare. “Maybe.”
Lomas doggy-paddled to the shallow end of the pool. Alicia watched him for a moment, grinning, then followed. The other bikers were all laid out in comfortable repose, some snoring, some flicking through magazines, others gazing out the windows as if they wanted to be out there, grinding up those gritty roads. Laid-Back Lex being the only exclusion, the young hothead sat glaring at everything as if trying to will it all to catch fire.
Through the half-open door, wafting from the kitchens, came the smell of newly cooked food. Alicia felt her mouth water. It had been some time since she’d sat down to a restaurant meal. Maybe tonight, she thought. Just Lomas and me. But the smell of freshly cooked food always caused that old vision to rear its ugly head, the one that had happened so many times it had become merely an event, each time indistinguishable to the one before, as her mother laid out her father’s meal, still steaming, and her father reached out, not for his knife and fork, but for that already half empty glass of amber liquid.
“Just a sneaky one to shake off the day,” he used to whisper, whilst trying to smile at her, not quite making it seem real.
Alicia blocked it out. The ringing of a cell phone intruded after a second and Alicia realized it was hers. Not only that, it was the tone she reserved for Drake. A little track by Pink called Trouble.
“Shit.” She climbed out of the pool, dripping wet, and walked over to her bag. “What the fuck’s happened now?”
“I believe you once said to call you for the next apocalypse?” It was Hayden using Drake’s phone.
“You’re fu—”
“I know, I know. You and Lomas — biker style. We’ve lost the tombs, Alicia.”
The Englishwoman clammed up as Hayden went on to explain the most recent events. When she had finished, Alicia immediately spoke up.
“You want me back in Iraq?”
“We’re thrashing out a plan. Between us we have to cover all three tombs. And Alicia, you’re already in Germany.”