Charades (25 page)

     Mercy smiled at Anton.

     “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Steiger. I’ve heard so much about you from Wulf.” That’s an understatement, Mercy thought, gazing up at the imposing Anton.

     The iron gray-haired, burly man radiated both competence and dynamism. “When is the happy day?” he asked.

     “We haven’t settled when or even
if
we’re getting married yet.” She and Wulf still had a lot to discuss before she would feel ready to make any permanent vows. This marriage, if it ever happened, would be her first and last.

     Wulf frowned at her. They were going to be married, and soon if he had anything to say about it. He had seldom ever lost anything he put his full concentration on, and right now, it centered on her.

     “Anton, you’d better watch your language around Mercy,” Wulf cautioned in a teasing voice. “She speaks German better than you or I.” He grinned at Anton as he draped his arm loosely around Mercy’s shoulder, pulling her toward his side.

     Anton motioned them to sit down as he pulled out Mercy’s chair and signaled for a waiter. “So this is Mercy,” he said slowly, his perusal hard, penetrating, and unsmiling.

     Mercy tensed, the muscles of her face freezing. Wulf had warned her that Anton was intimidating, and he’d been right about that. What Wulf hadn’t told her was the dangerous aura Anton exuded. She held her breath, her gaze glued to Anton’s like a caged animal—until she realized he was purposely trying to intimidate her. Why? To scare her away from Wulf?

     Smiling calmly back at him, she let him know in no uncertain terms that she could hold her own with him, or anyone else for that matter.

     Wulf watched the two people in the world he loved most as they measured each other. It would’ve been amusing to see them acting like two alley cats establishing territory if he didn’t want them to like each other so much. He could tell Anton liked Mercy’s quiet defiance, and silently he applauded her attitude toward Anton, loving that slightly tilted, pointed chin of hers. It was never smart to let Anton run over you like a steamroller. Wulf knew that from experience.

     Mercy was as strong and determined in her own way as he, Wulf suddenly realized. Good! The way Mercy had come out of her shell since they’d met made his chest expand even more with pride and love for her.

     Anton cleared his throat. “I had to see for myself why Wulf’s been acting like such a…”

     Wulf’s cough caught the crude word before he said it.

     “I mean, why he’s in love with you,” Anton said.

     “Thank you.” Mercy blushed.

     When was the last time Anton had ever seen a woman blush? Wulf wondered. Probably never!

     “Anton knows everything,” Wulf said, easily picking up the reins of the conversation.

     “You know all about my notorious family?” Mercy asked. “On both sides?”

     “Yes,” Anton said. “Makes no difference. I’ve seen worse. What’s important is who you are.”

     “I didn’t think you missed any details when you looked me over,” she returned coolly.

     Anton chuckled, and Mercy was struck by how similar his laugh sounded to Wulf’s. In fact, she mused, there were a lot of similarities—not only height, but they both seemed to have the same intensity and demeanor. But, of course, they’d been working together for about ten years. Similarities were bound to have occurred.

     They were a well-organized team, she could see, with Wulf the seasoned diplomat and Anton the tank, plowing through the competition with the force of his personality.

     “Tomorrow you’ll be through with it all, I guess,” Anton said.

     “You mean our Jasonian quest?” Mercy inquired, feeling slightly more comfortable. “I hope so.”

     “I contacted the Organization last night and left a message where we were and what we planned to do,” Wulf said. “They haven’t gotten back to me yet, so I don’t know who will be contacting us.”

     Anton coughed, looking at them sheepishly. “That’ll be me.”

     “
You!
” Mercy and Wulf responded. They both looked at Anton in astonishment.

     “What?” Anton asked, his bulk leaning forward aggressively. “You think someone like me is too old for this kind of stuff? Hell, I handled a lot more dangerous missions during the cold war, let me tell you.”

     Mercy’s eyes widened. “I thought it was only a rumor—you being in espionage work, I mean.” Suddenly, Anton’s aggressiveness and his imposing bulk felt more ominous than reassuring.

     Anton held up a hand. “A friend asked me to do a favor for old times’ sake. I agreed because I’m sick and tired of doing without my vice president.” He glared at Wulf. “This was only supposed to take a few days. Remember?”

     “What can I tell you?” Wulf said, shrugging. “Things got complicated.”

     “Yeah, right!” Anton growled.

     “It’s all my fault,” Mercy felt compelled to explain. “If it hadn’t been for my family in Mexico,” she began.

     “Don’t let Anton bully you, Mercy,” Wulf warned. “His bark is worse than his bite.”

     “That’s what you think,” Anton shot back. “I’ve taken a bite out of your butt once or twice.”

     “All right, all right. I stand corrected.” Wulf chuckled. “I don’t have any personal objection to your being our contact.”

     Anton sat back, clearly annoyed with the both of them. “Why is it you young people think the older generation is just a bunch of lightweights?”

     “Maybe not that light,” Wulf suggested, studying his drink.

     “I work hard to keep those extra pounds in shape, you young scamp. Besides, it’s all muscle.” Anton slapped his rather large stomach. “Better than to give up my beer. Hell, I’m as good as I ever was.”

     “Okay, okay, you’re as good as you ever were,” Wulf conceded. If Anton was in on the exchange of the money, then he probably knew Hazel, too. All of a sudden things fell into place.

     “What have you found out about our fugitive status in Germany?” Mercy asked in a low voice.

     “Oh that.” Anton shrugged and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “That was cleared up after you left the country. You’re no longer wanted in Germany or anywhere else for that matter.”

     “Thank God!” Mercy breathed.

     “It was simple ballistics,” Anton added. “The gun used to shoot the manager was different from the one used to kill Muller. Of course, whoever was responsible for that has disappeared, probably someone who knew about the setup and decided to try his luck.”

     “Have they found Stratton yet?” Wulf asked.

     Anton shook his head. “From what I understand, they still don’t know anything. But, don’t worry,” Anton hastened to assure her. “He’ll be eliminated once he’s found.”

     Mercy was stunned that Anton would think she’d want anyone eliminated. She stared at Wulf. Was he as cold and unfeeling as he sounded? Dear God, what was she doing here with people who were so foreign to her system of values and principles? Mercy’s stomach lurched. She had to get out of here!

     “I’m tired,” she said, standing up. “Must be jet lag catching up with me. I’ll just order up some food to my room and meet you two in the morning. Excuse me, Anton. It was nice meeting you,” she lied, shaking his hand and plastering a smile on her face.

     “No, no, don’t get up,” she gestured quickly to them. “I’ll see myself to my room.” She had to leave before she crumpled in front of them. She shared more than just an uncanny likeness with her grandmother, Merci Stratton.

     Wulf stared at Mercy’s back for a moment, startled by her sudden change of mood and behavior. “This isn’t like her. Excuse me. I’ll be right back.” He caught up with her at the elevator. “I’ll see you to your room.”

     “Fine.” She sighed. “But I’m very tired.”

     Neither said anything until they got to her room. Wulf took the key from her hand and opened the door. She walked inside and turned to shut the door, running instead into the wall of his formidable chest.

     He put his hands on her shoulders and stared down at her. “All right, what’s wrong? Spit it out.” He didn’t know whether to hold her or shake her.

     “Nothing. I’m just tired.”

     He shook his head. “The hell you are! That wasn’t like you, running off like that. What’s going on in that crazy brain of yours? You’d better tell me, damn it, because I’m not leaving here until you do.”

     “I don’t know,” Mercy said, shaking her head and looking away. “All of a sudden, I… it was… oh, I don’t know, just all too much. Everything! I feel as though I’ve been folded, stapled, bent, and mutilated!”

     “Mercy…”

     “Don’t you see? It’s the way you two were talking so casually about life and death, after all the dangerous, life threatening things that have happened to us. It’s the way you sometimes lie to me, for my own good,
of course
. And worse, it’s the fact that I can’t help but love you, even if I sometimes don’t like what you do or who you are.”

     “Mercy, please.”

     “How can you wipe out the truth and just put something there you want me to see? And you do it so easily, too. Maybe it’s the fact I’ve had my head up in the clouds for so long I can’t seem to come down to earth.”

     She gave a bitter laugh. “I’ve been so naive and foolish, I must seem like an idiot to you.” She looked at him with longing and uncertainty. “All I want to do right now is finish this stupid charade. I’m tired of people who aren’t what they say they are or who they seem to be. I want to live a normal life again,” she said, her voice rising.

     Wulf pulled her into his arms, hugging her close and rocking her. He gulped down the fear that spread through his gut, the fear that she might not have anything to do with him after tomorrow.

     “Tomorrow it will all be over. Then we’ll take it one day at a time. Okay? Just give us time to really get to know each other. I know we can make it if we try.”

     Mercy nodded and leaned into him, exhausted. She hadn’t known feelings could billow out of control, stomp on your heart, make your head swim, and cause your stomach to tie itself in knots.

     “I understand now why Papa never returned to Mexico.” She clung to Wulf as she cried out the rest of the grief built up inside her.

     “I forget how innocent you are,” Wulf said, his voice rumbling beneath her ear. “I should have realized you were over-stressed.”

     “I’m so afraid,” she said, shaking her head slowly and pulling away from him.

     “Of what?”

     “That I love a man who is all wrong for me.” Mercy choked on a sob as she finished. “Just as my grandmother did.”

     “No! What we have together is not the same thing at all.”

     “I don’t know if it is or not,” she said, shaking her head. “This is worse than just being angry at you or not trusting you. It’s knowing full well who and what you are and loving you anyway.” Tears choked her words again. “
Nothing
is as crazy or mystifying to me as what I feel for you. I need time to think.”

     “Okay,” Wulf said, pulling her slack body gently against his chest. His stomach clenched with fear. He wanted so much to be everything she needed and wanted him to be. Unfortunately, he was just himself. It took all his courage and fortitude not to press her for some sort of commitment, but she didn’t have the experience to fight him, and, damn it, he wanted more from her than just sex. He wanted her to want more from him, and he wanted her to want him—a total connection between them.

     “All right, Mercy.” Wulf sighed. “I’ll do anything you want except stop loving you. It will take me less than ten minutes to wrap up with Anton, then I’ll be in the next room. Just leave the door unlocked for my sake, okay?”

     She nodded. He kissed her forehead, her eyes, her lips, and quietly left the room.

     Mercy tossed and turned all night. She missed the solid bulk of Wulf’s body, the reassuring feel of his warmth and laughter, and tried not to think about the blissful ecstasy of their joining. She didn’t feel at all rested when she woke the next morning. Her eyelids felt like leaden weights and her eyes felt as though gritty sand had been thrown in them.

     After a quiet breakfast, Mercy and Wulf walked with Anton to the bank.

     “We’ll need a death certificate for Merci Stratton as well as birth and death certificates for Lisa Stratton Fuentes and Pedro Diego Fuentes and your own birth certificate,” the bank officer informed her.

     Mercy turned to Wulf, flustered. “I never thought… I didn’t bring any documents.” What a total lack of preparation, she thought with dismay.

     “Don’t worry,” Anton said, handing a folder to the bank officer. “I’m sure you’ll find everything in order,” he told the officer.

     Mercy stared at Anton. “But where…?”

     “A mutual friend,” Anton replied cryptically. 

     “Ah, yes,” the officer said as he perused the documents. “I believe this will suffice.” He left to obtain a copy of the account, coming back shortly.

     “In American dollars, the account presently amounts to $909,589,634.13. That includes accumulated interest, of course,” he said.

     “That much?” Mercy’s palms grew damp. She turned to Wulf and found herself staring into the barrel of a gun.

     “Well, well,” Adolph said with a sinister smile. “Isn’t it nice to see family again?”

        Adolph and Ramon stood holding guns with silencers. Ramon smiled malevolently at Mercy’s startled face.

     “Wire the money to this account in Mexico,” Adolph said in a grating voice, waving his gun at the bank officer and thrusting a slip of paper at him. The bank officer stood there, frozen.

     “Get moving!” Adolph rasped.

     The bank officer grabbed the paper and moved to a corner of the room, his hand shaking.

     “How did you get here?” Mercy whispered.

     “I told them I was in the Israeli government.” Adolph cackled. “I assure you, my credentials are the best forgeries to be had.” He glared at Wulf and Mercy. “You didn’t think I would let you get away with this, did you? That
puta
did it to me once. I am not going to let it happen again. That money belongs to
me
!”