Darkness before the Dawn (12 page)

She’d stake her reputation, her career, and her sister’s peace of mind that Randall had decided to fly to Gemansk. Leaving her behind, of course. Damn the man. Damn the sneaking, low-living, cowardly bum.

Well, she was going to take that bet. She was going to call the airport and book the first flight for Gemansk, throw everything she could in an overnight bag, and head straight for O’Hare. If Randall wasn’t there, if she’d overestimated his resourcefulness, so much the better. She could find the answers she needed just as easily as he could.

But he’d be there—and he’d be none too pleased to see her. The thought was absolutely delicious.

Slovak Airlines had a small, dingy corner in the northeast terminal at O’Hare. Business was far from brisk when Maggie arrived in the late afternoon—the only other customer was a tall, well-dressed gentleman with his back to her. She moved up on him silently and waited with all the patience of a saint as he bought a round-trip, first-class ticket on the flight leaving
in just over an hour. He was completely oblivious to her as he dealt with credit cards and window seats with his customary efficiency. For a moment she considered tugging on his jacket like an importunate child, but she resisted the impulse. It would be much more fun to see the look of shock when he turned and saw her.

Trust Randall to travel first class, she thought with a grimace, hoping she had enough credit left on her Visa card to cover her costs. She just might have to suffer along with the peasants in tourist class while Randall swilled champagne with the nobility. Why the hell did a Marxist country have an airline with classes? she thought self-righteously.

Her patience was wearing thin as she waited for him to turn. It had been an endless day, waiting for the one flight O’Hare boasted. Kate hadn’t bothered to show up at home, and Bud Willis was nowhere to be found. The anonymous voice at Langley had told her he’d taken a leave of absence, but she didn’t believe that for one minute. When it came right down to it, she was just as glad she hadn’t been able to reach him. It wasn’t that she was adverse to taking information from him; she just wasn’t eager to return the favor.

Randall turned, and she waited with delicious anticipation for his eyes to widen with shock and annoyance and for his mouth to thin with irritation. He looked down at her, raised an eyebrow, and handed her her ticket.

“I got you a window seat,” he said.

She grimaced. “I shouldn’t underestimate you.”

“You don’t. Not by much, at least. And I shouldn’t underestimate you.”

She nodded. “True enough. Know thy enemy.”

“I thought we were partners.”

“For now, Randall. I’m only taking it one day at a time.”

He smiled that faint, wintry smile that seldom reached his stormy eyes. It didn’t reach them now. “That’ll do,” he said.

She looked at him, remembering the surreptitious caress in the darkness before he had left her. And she wondered if she dared trust him even for a day.

Gemansk hadn’t changed in the last six years; it was still the same depressing, gray industrial town, full of downtrodden, beaten people with lost eyes and pale faces. The moment Maggie stepped off the airplane onto the pitted tarmac, depression settled in around her. Randall strode beside her, and she spared a furtive, curious glance up at him. He was clearly lost in his own thoughts; his face was shuttered and closed. But that was nothing unexpected—he’d never been a man with open emotions. His blue-gray eyes were hooded, and his mouth a thin, grim line. She looked at that mouth, remembering the brief moment of hateful, unwanted passion on her sister’s couch the night before, and looked away, to the squat, cinder-block building that housed the airport. With every ounce of effort she had, she tried to bring forth the memory of Mack, with his smiling eyes and warm, laughing mouth. But he was fading, leaving her almost more bereft now than his actual death had, and she knew with a desperate certainty that there would be a time when she would reach out for his memory and try to summon him back, and he’d be gone beyond reach, leaving her to Randall’s tender mercies.

“I don’t suppose you made any arrangements,” she said, her voice cold and cranky.

Randall roused himself from his abstraction long enough to smile at her. That smile wasn’t reassuring. “What caused this charming mood? You slept almost the entire trip.”

Actually, she hadn’t. She’d curled up into the cramped, uncomfortable seat that Slovak Airlines considered first class and had shut her eyes rather than have to make conversation
with Randall. She’d drifted off for an hour or two as they soared above the clouds, only to wake up with her hand clutching Randall’s immaculate shirt-sleeve. She’d released him immediately, pulling back, and he’d said nothing; he’d merely brushed at the creased linen with an absent hand.

“Jet lag,” she said dourly now.

He nodded. “You’ll feel worse later.”

“Reassuring,” she muttered.

“I try to be helpful. May I remind you, Maggie dear, that you weren’t invited on this particular expedition?”

“Then why did you buy me a ticket?”

“I saw you lurking behind me trying to be inconspicuous, and I knew if I had you shadowing me, you’d be even more obtrusive.”

“Damn you, Randall! I know how to shadow someone!” she said furiously.

“You’re out of practice. And time and the current situation are too important to risk while you relearn your trade.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you are an unpleasant, condescending bastard?” Maggie inquired in a polite tone of voice.

“Many times.” Again that faint smile flitted across his face. “Among other, less complimentary things. My heart isn’t breaking.”

“You don’t have a heart.”

He stopped dead on the tarmac, just outside the door to the airport, and Maggie careened into him. His long, hard fingers caught her arms. There was no gentleness in him. His bleak eyes looked down into her defiant ones, and his thin mouth curled into what might have been contempt. But then again, it might have been something else. He started to say something, then thought better of it, and his painful hands released her.

“What were you going to say?” she taunted. “Were you going to tell me you have a heart like anyone else?”

Once more he’d withdrawn behind his masterful defenses. “Maybe,” he said. “Except that you’re probably right. Hearts
and emotions are sentimental weaknesses we can’t afford. I’m probably better off without one.”

“Haven’t you ever loved anyone?” It came out before she could stop it. “Forget I asked that stupid question,” she added hurriedly. “I already know the answer.”

“Do you?” His voice was rich and deep, and it sent shivers down her backbone. He reached out, opened the door, and held it for her with ironic courtesy. “Far be it from me to disillusion you, Maggie. But try to be a little more romantic. We’re supposed to be lovers.”

She paused, half in the door, half out. “Why?”

“Why else would we be traveling together?” he replied with great practicality. “Either we’re lovers or we’re working together. And I don’t think we want the local government to think we’re here in any sort of professional capacity, do we? Do we?” he prodded gently when she said nothing.

She looked around her before answering. The airport was sparsely populated; their few fellow travelers had long since moved through customs and departed. Only the brown-uniformed officials remained, and the expressions on their broad, slavic faces were identical: curious and suspicious.

With a sigh, Maggie threaded her arm through Randall’s and smiled up at him a wide, loving smile that never reached her distrustful eyes. “You’re right as always, darling,” she said, pitching her voice so that their observers could hear her. Reaching up, she pressed her lips against his hard jaw. She lingered just a minute, and she could feel the tension throbbing through him, feel the pulse beneath her mouth. And then she pulled back, more unnerved than she let on. “We’re going to have a marvelous vacation,” she added.

He stared down at her, his eyes stormy, his face enigmatic. “I’m sure we are, Maggie,” he said, his voice too low for the officials to hear him.

Gemansk customs went smoothly. Too smoothly, she thought, still keeping a besotted simper on her face as she clung to Randall’s arm. Their luggage was inspected with only cursory interest, and no questions were asked. All her
instincts were aroused. Why should Gemansk be so lax, given the troubled state of the country’s internal affairs?

Whatever the reason, the two of them were safely through customs, through the narrow, dour corridors of the dark little airport, and out in the sunshine in a matter of minutes. Maggie immediately released Randall’s arm and stepped away from him with nervous speed. He stared down at his crumpled sleeve, smoothed it with an absent gesture, and raised his gaze to Maggie’s defiant one. And then his face grew very still as he stared at something, or someone, over her shoulder.

“Taxi, mister?”

Maggie turned and followed the direction of Randall’s enigmatic stare. She was barely able to swallow the small scream that welled up in her throat. Standing in front of them, an engaging smile on his youthful face, was Vasili.

But it couldn’t be Vasili! For one thing, Vasili was dead; Maggie had seen him gunned down. For another, even if he
were
alive, he’d be years older than the lanky teen-ager who was grinning at them now. She moved back a step and came up against Randall’s body; his hand pressed down on her shoulder in reassurance. For once she didn’t jerk away.

“We could do with a taxi into town,” Randall said carefully. “Do you know a decent hotel? We haven’t had a chance to make reservations.”

The boy threw back his head and laughed. “Me, I can show you anything you want, mister. You want to see the war memorial? Very impressive, I promise.”

She felt Randall’s hand relax when the boy made that prearranged response.

“You’re Leopold?” Randall asked.

Again that beautiful, flashing grin that matched Vasili’s. “At your service, mister. Welcome back to Gemansk. You too, miss.”

Maggie winced. Returning to Gemansk had never been high on her list of priorities. But it was too late to worry about that now. She had to concentrate on why they were
there, on how thankfully immune she was to Randall’s appeal, in order to get through the next couple of days.

Leopold hoisted their luggage and took off at a trot. From the back, his eerie resemblance faded somewhat. He was dressed in the uniform of all teen-agers: faded jeans, a Mickey Mouse T-shirt, and Nikes over neon-green socks. Six years ago, Vasili had managed jeans but nothing else of western culture, and his hair had been shorter than Leopold’s long black mop. Yet the resemblance was still unnerving.

“Who—?” she began, but the swift, almost imperceptible shake of Randall’s head silenced her question before it had been formed. She didn’t need to turn around to know that their exit from the Gemansk airport hadn’t been accomplished as easily as she’d first thought. In the fitful summer sunshine, she could see tall shadows behind them. “Who would have thought we’d decide to spend our first vacation in years in Gemansk?” she continued without missing a beat, once more clutching Randall’s sleeve as she leaned into him. “I wouldn’t call this the garden spot of the world, darling.”

“Sightseeing wasn’t particularly what I had in mind for the next few days, Maggie,” he said in his deep, slow voice. And even though she knew that the words were solely for the benefit of their military escort, and even though they were words she didn’t want to hear, she felt a slow, languorous burning in the pit of her stomach.

“We didn’t have to travel thousands of miles to make love, Randall.”

“With your family always around, we had to do something drastic.” His hand reached out and covered hers; his long, thin fingers stroked hers—a warning. The burning flamed a little higher.

She smiled up at him and tossed her blond hair out of her face long enough to get a glimpse of their escort. There were three of them, tall, blank-faced, uniformed men. She looked up at Randall’s distant face and clutched him a little tighter, a perfect parody of a clinging, impassioned female.
Was
it a parody? she derided herself.

They’d arrived at Leopold’s taxi, a battered Fiat that had clearly seen better decades. Leopold had already stowed their luggage and was standing by the open door, ready to usher them in with all the aplomb of a Helmsley Palace doorman. His soulful brown eyes went to the men following his passengers, then back to them. His face was impassive.

Maggie’s heart was thudding beneath her thin cotton suit, and her palms were sweaty on Randall’s jacket. He wouldn’t like that, she thought with distant amusement, releasing her grip as she started to climb into the car.

“One minute, please.” The words were barked out. Maggie slammed her head on the car ceiling, and it took all her shredded self-possession to pull herself back out with at least the appearance of calm.

“Yes?” Randall said haughtily; Randall could be very haughty indeed.

The soldiers ignored him. Their leader was shorter, older, and meaner, and his expressionless face was marred by small, hostile eyes. “You forgot your purse, Miss Bennett.”

A shadow crossed Randall’s face, inexplicable and instantly gone. “Silly of you, darling,” he drawled, holding out his hand for it. “Didn’t you notice?”

Maggie cursed herself furiously as she shrugged and smiled sweetly and stupidly at the nasty little man in front of her. He ignored Randall’s proffered hand, moved up to Maggie, and handed it to her. It was a large straw bag, almost empty, and when Maggie took it from him she noticed that it seemed heavier than when she’d placed it on the customs desk.

“You should be more careful, Miss Bennett,” he said. “If you were to lose your papers, you would have a great deal of trouble leaving our country. We wouldn’t want anything to mar your—vacation.” The sneer was clear in his voice, the suspicion strong.

Maggie gave him her most dazzling smile, but it left him stonily unmoved. “You’re very kind. I promise to be more careful.”

“At your service, miss.” He bowed, clicked his heels together
like a perfect Prussian officer, and moved away, his dark, suspicious eyes lingering.

Maggie stared after him, her fingers clutching the purse, until Randall half-pushed, half-shoved her into the taxi. Moments later, they were careening out of the airport. Leopold was driving very fast, very badly, and he was whistling.

“Of all the stupid, idiotic moves,” Randall upbraided her, his voice low and biting. “How could you be so half-witted? What did you have in that goddamned purse, anyway? I suppose now everyone knows why we’re here.”

“Everyone already knows,” Leopold offered from the front seat. His dark eyes met theirs in the rearview mirror. “You can’t keep anything from the secret police. You just have to be faster than they are.”

“Damn,” Randall muttered. “I should have tied you up and left you in the bathtub.”

“Listen, Randall, there was nothing the slightest bit incriminating in my purse,” she shot back. “If they know why we’re here, they didn’t learn it from me. Look.” She dumped out the contents of the purse onto the tattered cloth seat between them—dumped it out and then sat very still, as a wave of nausea swept over her.

“What is it, Maggie? What’s wrong?” Randall was never one to miss her reactions. It was lucky that she wasn’t planning to hide anything from him, she thought dizzily.

With a shaking hand, she reached down to pick up the small clutch bag that had fit so easily into the spacious confines of her purse. It was white; the leather was smudged and stained and cracked with age. She opened it, her fingers trembling, and pulled out the passport with Margaret Mullen’s name inside, the visa, the money, even the Chanel Number Five. Everything was there, just as she’d left it six years ago when Randall had rescued her from that tiny cemetery shack, rescued her and left Jim Mullen to die by his own hand.

Randall took the white purse out of her hand with surprising gentleness and opened the passport and the visas. He let out a quick, surprised breath. “I’d forgotten that you have a
habit of losing your purse,” he said after a bit. He stared down at the picture of a younger Maggie, eyeing it objectively. “You’re even prettier now,” he said, putting the papers back into the clutch bag.

“For heaven’s sake, Randall, do you have to be so damned cool about everything?” she snapped, pushing her hair out of her face with trembling fingers.

“Better than being hysterical about something we can’t do anything about,” he replied, and his common sense angered her even more. “We’d be much better off spending our energy trying to figure out who knows what and why they put this in your purse. I imagine it’s a warning. But why didn’t they just arrest us at the airport or, even better, refuse to allow us to enter? They could have put us back on the next plane—it’s done often enough.”

“I would think, mister, that they want you to lead them to members of the Resistance,” Leopold offered from the front seat as he careened around a corner.