At the Edge of the Sun (22 page)

He told her how long he loved her, long before he even knew it, long before he even recognized that love existed. They made love over and over and over again, and yet still he held something back.

She knew it without asking, knew by the shadow that still lingered in his blue-gray eyes, the tightness that thinned his mouth when he thought she wasn’t looking. She knew, and she felt the clutching tendrils of fear weaving around her heart. She knew, and was too frightened to ask what it was.
She just clung to him all the more tightly, dreading the future.

She yanked her suitcase off the bed, looking around the room one last time. She’d spent her first honeymoon in this room, lying in Mack’s arms. She’d spent her second honeymoon, this time without benefit of marriage, in the same bed, becoming so tied up with Randall, physically, emotionally, spiritually, that there was no way she was ever going to be free. She looked around her and knew, no matter what happened, that she would never come back here again. A part of her life was over, a part full of doubts, regret, and passion. Stepping out into the hall, she shut the door behind her without a backward glance.

When it came to arranging transportation, Randall was an expert. The small, sleek Learjet waiting at the private airport just outside of Mestre was new and shiny, and if the pilot looked more like a member of the Red Brigade and less like Peter Graves, Maggie’s perfect idea of a pilot, well, who was she to complain? She had little doubt he really
was
a terrorist, given Randall’s usual efficiency.

“You want to tell us your plan of action?” Ian demanded not long after they took off into the southern skies. “I presume you do have a plan?”

“Did you check out your passport?” Randall was stretched out in one of the elegant reclining seats, his expression shuttered, giving nothing away.

“It says I’m James Welcome, age thirty-three, from New Zealand.”

“And that’s who you are,” Randall said. “James Welcome died in an airport bombing in Brussels last fall. The suitcase he was carrying exploded before he could leave it with the innocent passengers. Interpol kept his death a secret, just in case someone might be able to use his identity. He happened to have the same general physical description as you have. Do you think you can manage a New Zealand accent?”

“Australian is as close as I can come.”

“It’ll do. Holly’s your girl friend. She’s a violence groupie—likes excitement. All she has to do is giggle a lot.”

“Great.” Holly groaned. “How about letting me be the terrorist and Ian be the groupie?”

“Ian’s used to working undercover,” Randall replied. “Besides, we couldn’t come up with a match for you. There aren’t that many staggeringly tall and beautiful terrorists roaming around.”

“Sexist pig,” Holly said genially. “What about you and Maggie?”

Maggie looked up from her seat beside the window. “You think a groupie is boring? I get to be a nurse, for God’s sake. I’m just lucky he didn’t decide to make me a secretary.”

“A nurse?” Ian echoed.

“And I’m a plastic surgeon. Cul de Sac has the best equipped hospital in the entire continent of Africa. They do the most advanced cosmetic surgery there, for obvious reasons. Maggie and I are simply taking over from an American doctor and his mistress.”

“And where are they?”

“They’ve been … er … persuaded to remain in the States while we make use of their identities. So we all have an entree, and if we just watch what we’re doing, we’ll be fine. We’re landing on the private airstrip in a couple of hours, and then we’ll be on our own. Between the four of us we should be able to find Flynn.”

“What if he finds us first?” Holly demanded. “He knows what we all look like.”

“We’ll just have to find him before he finds us,” Randall said.

“And before we’re scheduled for surgery,” Maggie added.

“Oh, no,” Holly murmured, shuddering.

“Don’t worry.” An uncharacteristic smile lit Randall’s dark face. “I can look efficient in an operating room. I used to watch
M*A*S*H
all the time.”

It was the last semijesting remark anyone made. The tension inside the pressurized cabin was so thick, Maggie
thought she might choke on it. The galley was stocked with ice, Dom Perignon, and every kind of liquor imaginable, but none of them dared take anything. They just sat there, drinking coffee and diet cola, watching the thick, puffy clouds as they drew nearer and nearer to Armageddon.

Maggie stretched her long legs out in front of her, willing her muscles to relax. Ian and Holly weren’t talking, but at least they were sitting together, and beneath their silent tension there was clearly a bond. He still didn’t know that Flynn had murdered his cousin Maeve—Randall insisted it would only distract him. Sooner or later they’d tell him; for now ignorance was their best bet. Every now and then Holly would put out one slim hand, touching Ian’s arm and he’d smile at her distractedly, sweetly, and Maggie was jealous …

There were no sweet smiles for her. No closeness, no touching, no silent bond. Randall had withdrawn into himself, leaving her miles away, and he sat by the opposite window, alone, staring out into the limitless sky, grimness haunting his mouth and eyes.

He’d chosen a seat off by himself, but that didn’t stop Maggie. She rose, making her way steadily across the cabin, and sank to the carpeted floor beside him. He looked up then, but his expression was unreadable.

“What do you think our chances are?” she said softly, pitching her voice low so the others couldn’t hear her.

Randall shrugged. He was wearing a crushed linen suit, looking as elegant as always, and his long, thin fingers were tapping the armrest. “Nine out of ten.”

“That good?”

“That bad. Nine out of ten we don’t make it,” he said.

“Then why are we doing it? Sybil’s going to be fine, she doesn’t really need her jewels. Besides, he’s probably had them all cut and sold by now.”

“Perhaps,” Randall said.

“I don’t want to die, Randall. I want to go back to New York and live happily ever after. With you.”

He looked down at her, his eyes dark and despairing. “There is no happily ever after for us, Maggie.”

She held herself very still. “Why not?”

“There are too many people between us. Pulaski, for one. Bud Willis, for another.”

“I don’t believe what Bud Willis told me,” she said fiercely.

“Don’t you?” He leaned back in the seat, and his eyes were bleak and distant. “Maybe you should.”

Maggie shuddered. “What are you telling me?”

“Not a goddamned thing. I’m just saying you shouldn’t be so trusting. Don’t believe what people tell you. Don’t believe what Bud Willis tells you, don’t believe what I tell you,” he said, and his voice sounded infinitely weary. “The world is full of con artists and liars, and you’ve known more than your share.”

“Including you?”

“Including me.”

It was nerves, she told herself. It was getting psyched up for the coming confrontation, it was edginess. But damn it, she felt the walls building between them again, and she couldn’t see any way to tear them down.

“Why don’t we turn around and fly back?”

“Because,” he said. “Because of the women that weren’t as fortunate as your mother. Because of the twenty-five people who died in Champignons, the seventeen in Northern Ireland, the five in Lebanon. Because he enjoys it, and he’ll do it again. And the first people he’ll be after are you, your sister, and your mother. You can all identify him, and Tim Flynn doesn’t leave witnesses.”

She sat in a despairing silence for a long moment. “All right,” she said. “You’re right, we have no choice. But at least we’ve got a plan.”

“Even better than you think. Dr. Milhouse was coming over for a rush job, for an especially important client. I’m guessing that patient is Tim Flynn. Too many people can
recognize him now—it’s time to alter that handsome Irish face of his.”

“But then he won’t—”

“Yes, he will. Safe or not, he doesn’t leave witnesses.” The last three words were a soft, deadly hiss as he turned to stare back out the window.

Maggie knelt there, saying nothing. She had to clench her hands to keep from reaching out to him, but she was afraid she’d be rebuffed. At that moment she didn’t think she could take his rejection. “There’s something else, isn’t there?” she said finally.

He nodded without looking. “Something’s not right, hasn’t been right all along. And I’m afraid I know what it is.”

“Are you going to tell me?”

“No. I could be wrong. And if I’m right we’ll find out soon enough, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Is it something to do with Flynn?”

“Only marginally.” He turned and looked down at her. “I think I know the double agent who runs the place.”

“Someone you’ve worked with in the past? Is he someone I might have met? Was he around when I worked for the Company?”

“Maggie,” he said. “Leave me alone. There’s too much riding on this to play guessing games. Either our cover works or it doesn’t. And there’s nothing we can say or do at this point to influence matters. Go back to your seat.”

Without a word she leaned forward, brushing her lips against his hard, worried mouth then pulled away, rose to her feet, and went back to her solitary seat.

“What do you suppose they’re talking about?” Holly murmured.

Ian’s green eyes narrowed as he took in the pair of them. “I don’t know. Whatever it is, it isn’t pleasant.”

“No. Maggie looks like she’s about to cry. And Maggie never cries.”

“Maybe he’s just told her how bad our chances are. Even if our fake identities get us into the fortress, getting out will be the real challenge.”

“Not to mention taking Flynn with us,” Holly added.

Ian grimaced. “You don’t need to mention it,” he said. “We’re not bringing him out.”

“You can’t just kill him in cold blood.”

“I can,” Ian said. “And I will. Or I’ll damn well die trying.”

Holly, looking at his determined expression, had little doubt that he would.

The rest of the flight passed in silence. Three hours later they landed on a small airstrip in the midst of a shimmering desert. Heat surrounded them in waves as they walked into the African sunset, heat so intense that the sweat evaporated from their skin before it had time to form.

“I thought you said Cul de Sac was in the grasslands,” Maggie whispered to Randall.

“These were grasslands,” he replied. “Salambia’s been hit by the drought almost as badly as Ethiopia. Look nursely, Maggie. Here comes our welcoming committee.”

A jeep was barreling down the roadway toward the waiting jet, whipping up whirls of dust in its wake. It slammed to a stop a few yards away from the four of them, and the two men who jumped out had bristling beards, soulful Arabic eyes, and Uzi machine guns trained directly at the newcomers.

“Lazarus?” Maggie whispered. Randall shook his head.

The older of the two moved toward them, machine gun at the ready, a welcoming smile on his ferocious face. “Welcome to Salambia, my friends. State your names and business.”

“Dr. Irwin Milhouse,” Randall said, stepping forward and sounding marvelously officious. Once more Maggie had to admire his ability to take on protective coloring. She could readily believe he was a plastic surgeon from Scarsdale and not the dark, dangerous man she’d been sleeping
with. “I’m here to perform surgery on several of your guests. This is my nurse, Maria Calderwood.” He held out the phony passports with a steady, slightly impatient hand.

The first man grabbed the papers, glanced at them, and his smile widened. “You are expected, Doctor,” he said. “You and your assistant. And who are your friends?”

It was Ian’s cue, and he played right up to it. He swaggered forward, and although his New Zealand accent sounded like a cross between Australia and Texas, the two Semitic strongmen didn’t know the difference. “I’m James Welcome, and this is my lady, Hilary. We’ve been told by mutual friends that there’s a place for us here.”

“What friends?” The first man wasn’t half as friendly, though his smile remained undiminished.

“The four horsemen,” Ian said.

The men nodded at the recognized code word. “Lazarus will be glad to see you. Please to climb into the jeep. I’m sorry there isn’t more room, but we were only expecting two.”

“That’s all right, mate,” Ian assured them. “Hilary and I can snuggle.”

“As for you, Doctor, you couldn’t have come at a better time. We have three patients for you, at least, and maybe more.”

“How gratifying,” Randall said icily, climbing into the jeep and pulling Maggie after him.

The rest followed suit, the six of them cramped into a vehicle better suited for two. “I am Abu Hassan Mizal,” the older man introduced himself as the jeep roared to life. “And I’m your first patient, Doctor.”

“Really?” Randall murmured coolly.

Mizal nodded. “We know you are in a hurry to return to America,” he added. “All the arrangements have been made.”

Maggie could see Randall’s slight frown of irritation. As
far as she knew the real Dr. Milhouse hadn’t explained any arrangements.

“That’s good,” he said noncommittally.

“Yes. You can operate the moment we get back,” Mizal announced cheerfully, and he began to hum.

Randall could feel Maggie freeze up beside him. Her face was serene, unmoved, even as her muscles tensed. He touched her, a small, reassuring caress that surprised her almost as much as it surprised him.

“No, I won’t be operating the moment we get back,” he announced in his iciest voice, and he caught Ian’s grin of amusement. “While I don’t wish to be in this pesthole a moment longer than I have to, I’m not about to perform surgery when I’m not properly rested. And I’ll take my patients in the order I choose, when I choose.”

Mizal grinned over his shoulder, but his dark button eyes were vicious, and Randall felt Maggie shiver. “You’re the boss, eh?”

“I’m the doctor,” Randall replied. “Someone is paying very highly for my services, and if you want the best I can give then you’ll do things my way. If I’m overtired or distracted I can’t do my best work.”