Deep Ice (23 page)

Sarah smiled and gazed into Henry’s pale-green eyes as he looked around the room. It didn’t bother her that his eyes weren’t riveted on her. She knew now it was his natural way of taking in his surroundings, permanently curious and a little awed. His eyes would always came back to hers and rest there for a moment, as though taking a welcome break from their wanderings. It was obvious she was the centre of his vision. In those moments when his eyes looked deep into hers she saw his love, his desire, and that mysterious little boy she knew would always be in his heart, however old he might be.

She decided right then that, if the question ever came, her answer would be an emphatic yes.

“Having a good time?” he asked.

“Yes. You?”

“My god, Sarah,” said Henry with a grin. “We haven’t known each other for long, but already we’re speaking to each other in monosyl ables.”

Sarah laughed. “Is that bad?”

“Bad? Heck, no. Think of how easy it makes conversation.”

“Yup.”

The hotel restaurant was serving a Chinese menu that evening. Some of the dishes were being prepared right at the tables, and the air was filled with the steaming aroma of garlic, ginger and sesame oil. By the time their food came, they were both ravenous. They dove into their assortment of dishes, sharing and comparing, until only the fortune cookies and a pot of black oolong tea remained.

Henry was about to tear the cellophane and reveal his fortune when Sarah stopped him.

“Don’t,” she said, touching his hand lightly. “Let’s save them.”

“But isn’t it the
law
? Won’t they shoot us or something if we don’t read our fortunes?”

“Let them try. After all, we’re armed.”

“Yeah. We’re tough guys, now, right?”

She scooped up the two fortune cookies and dumped them in her bag, grateful that Henry hadn’t made her explain that she didn’t want to think about their fortune or their future right now. Better just to keep them as a meaningful souvenir of their time together in Santiago.

“I still think we’re violating some sacred code of ethics,” said Henry. “Confucius may haunt our dreams tonight.”

“Then we’d better not sleep.” She rubbed his shin with her bare toes.

That familiar shiver of lust started at the back of Henry’s neck again. He smiled like an embarrassed schoolboy and looked around.

Right at Rudolfo Suarez, who was being seated with two of his men across the room.

But Henry, his mind elsewhere, didn’t notice them. His eyes returned to Sarah as she sensuously massaged his calf. Her naked toes found their way under his trouserleg and began exploring his calf up past his socks.

“Let’s go back to the room,” she murmured. “You can have your cookie there.”

#

Across the room, Suarez watched Henry and Sarah get up. His eyes followed them until they were out of sight. Remo and Trevor sat on either side of him, already engrossed in the menus.

“Shit, boss, I haven’t had Chinese for over a year,” said Trevor, sniffing the air. “Smell's great. Glad we found this place.”

Remo stared at the menu, stroking his thick red moustache as he contemplated the strange items listed there. “What’s good?” he asked, grabbing a handful of noodles.

“You’ll like the duck,” said Suarez. “Everybody does.”

He picked up the menu himself, then looked back in the direction of the lobby. He wondered where he’d seen that couple before. He shook his head as he told himself he was probably mistaken about them. He could think of no couples he knew where the woman had such magnificent red hair. It bugged him a bit, because he prided himself that he never forgot a face.

“I don’t see duck,” said Remo.

Trevor put down the menu and sat back in his chair.

“Szechuan Duck,” he said. “Left column. Top of the list.”

He took out a cigarette, lit it, and stared around the room.

Suarez shook his head.
Maybe it was a guy I’ve just bumped into in the street,
he thought. Then, frustrated that he couldn’t get an answer to his puzzle, he forced himself to think of other things.

He was only five days away from the October 1 deadline. Now was the time when he had to be careful to watch his every move. No time for distractions.

#

The next morning Henry and Sarah woke to the realization that this was their last day ashore before returning to the
Enterprise
. What would become of them after that was anyone’s guess, but the fact that life was so uncertain made them more focused on their moment in time together. Perhaps if they could have frozen time itself, both of them would have given it a try.

They got up early and walked Shep. As they encountered Enrique in his usual parking spot at the edge of the hotel foyer, they stopped to say hi.

“We’re just going to stroll around the park and maybe even swim in the hotel pool,” said Henry, leaning in through the car window. “Why don’t you take the day off, on us?”

Enrique frowned. “That is not what President Frei has asked me to do. He tells me to keep you in sight. To watch out for you.”

“Well, Enrique, seems like we have five guys from the US military for that. Besides, we’re armed and dangerous. Go ahead, we won’t be needing you until tomorrow. We won’t tell on you.”

Enrique whistled. “Your offer, Sir Henry, is most tempting. My little girl is having a birthday party, and she wanted me there.”

“How old is she?” asked Sarah.

“She is five today, señora. She is
muy bonita
. . . very pretty.”

“You should be at her party, Enrique,” said Sarah.

“Go ahead. If you get any flak, we’ll insist that we begged you to go.”

Enrique smiled and looked at the big malamute watching him from Henry’s side with friendly eyes.

“What should I do, Shep?”

The dog barked when he heard his name.

“He is also telling me to go. Perhaps I can argue with you, Sir Henry, but to argue with one so monstrous as this dog? I don’t think so.”

“There’s a wise decision,” said Henry. “We’re out of dog food. You should get away while you still can.”

Enrique pulled a spare cel phone from the glove compartment. He punched in a number, then handed the phone to Henry. “Take this and, if you need me, just hit number
uno
– one. I will answer the call. My home is not five minutes from here.”

Henry and Sarah waved goodbye as the limousine pulled away. Then they continued their walk with Shep up the street towards the park. It was a Friday morning, so they had the park all to themselves. The rain that had pelted Santiago so hard the day before had passed, leaving the park looking clean and fresh but all the benches wet. After a few hours of strolling around, they decided to have breakfast at the cantina near the hotel.

They chose to sit where they had before, a spot near the hedge and the street. Henry had found a copy of the
New York Times
and hoped to catch up on the news.

Antonio, the waiter who’d served them before, spotted them and came rushing over with a coffee pot. He greeted them like old friends and took their orders immediately.

When he left, Henry said, “Glad I didn’t give him more than a twenty. He might have given me a k. . .”

Sarah swatted him on the arm. “Be nice.”

He laughed and opened the paper. He glanced at the headline at the top of page two, and his eyes widened.

“Listen to this, Sarah.”

DEEP ICE DEADLINE APPROACHES
Authorities Mum About Threat

NEW YORK
Doomsayers are having a field day as the world waits for the Deep Ice Terrorists’ October 1 deadline to arrive. With only 96 hours remaining before the day on which terrorists promised to detonate more nuclear weapons on the Ross Ice Shelf, authorities are refusing to comment on the veracity of the threat.

He put the paper in his lap and stared off into space.

“God, Henry, that sounds more like front page news to me,” said Sarah, peering at the text.

Henry’s surprised expression changed to one of worry. “Jeez, I kinda figured they’d have paid up – done something – by now. I guess they’re still spinning wheels, waiting for the terrorists to make the next move.”

He picked up the paper again.

In Washington, a White House aide was expected to respond last night to the flood of inquiries which have clogged switchboards, letter bins and e-mail servers. Instead, in a brief unsigned press release, the White House said it was withholding comment. Meanwhile, an unprecedented amount of doomsaying is being reported, from graffiti and placard-carriers on the streets to Wall Street projections and apocalyptic messages from pulpits.

In Rome the Pope called for a week-long vigil of prayer to “dissolve the fear in our hearts and to dissuade the terrorists from realizing their terrible threat.” Speaking off the record in a phonecall to Ted Koppel on ABC’s
Nightline
, President Kerry said the USA “wouldn’t let its citizens down, and would meet all threats with a response that would protect its interests and those of the world.”

China has ordered the immediate evacuation of all coastal cities, and reports suggest the free world will soon follow suit.

Henry scanned down the page and then handed the newspaper to Sarah. “Read it yourself. No more news.”

She examined the remainder of the article as Antonio returned with their breakfast and a basket of rolls. He looked over her shoulder.

“Everyone is talking about this except the people who
should
be talking about it,” he said in disgust. “It is the same as always. When you really need them, our governments are hopeless to protect us.”

Sarah smiled. “You mean helpless.”

“That is true as well.”

She asked Antonio if he had family living on the coast.

The boy shook his head. “Thank the Virgin, no. But I have many friends in Vina Del Mar. . . Valparaiso. They are planning to leave, but few people have anywhere to go. And now the business is moving to other cities away from the coast.”

Antonio had the habit of poking her when he made a point, and it was beginning to get on her nerves.

“I have a friend who says the ships are afraid to come to close to the harbour because of the waves, and the vegetables they are rotting in the warehouses waiting for shipping.”

He jabbed her arm again.

“This could ruin us all, no?”

As central as Sarah and Henry were to the crisis, they felt powerless to say anything comforting. Finally Henry said, “Just be glad you live in Santiago. And, er, stop prodding my wife.”

When Antonio had finally gone, Sarah looked at Henry in wonder.

“Did you hear what you just said? ‘Wife’?”

“Well, what’s the diff? No need to go into big explanations. ‘Wife’ covers it.” He paused, a look of consternation crossing his face. “Oh. Um, did you mind?”

“Actual y I. . . liked the sound of it.”

“I’m glad.”

People began to filter into the open-air cantina. Soon every table was filled.

Henry glanced at his watch. “Just like everywhere else. Coffee break at ten.”

He looked up to his left as a shadow fell over them.

“Do I know you two from somewhere?” said a man’s voice.

Tied to the hedge behind Henry, Shep rose to his feet with a low growl.

Henry looked up to see who was speaking to him, but the man was silhouetted by the bright morning sun.

“Name’s Henry. Yours?”

“Giantonio Frazetti,” said the man. “I saw you at the restaurant in the Foresta, last evening, did I not?”

Henry still couldn’t see the stranger’s face.

Finally the man moved around to Sarah’s side of the table.

As soon as Henry looked into his eyes he knew.

This was the man who had shot him.

Chills coursed through his body.

Shep’s low growl continued from behind Henry’s chair.

Suarez was with four of his henchmen. Henry recognized them immediately. The big one’s red moustache was unmistakable.

Suarez held out his hand to Sarah. “And who are you?”

“Sarah Gibbs,” she said, winking at Henry. “We’re newly-weds from America.”

“Wonderful country!” exclaimed Suarez. “I have many friends there.”

Henry realized he could do the world a big favour by reaching in his jacket pocket, pulling out the gun and wasting this guy on the spot. His hand slid inside his jacket almost involuntarily.

Trevor Hodges caught the movement. His eyes narrowed as his hand slid inside his own jacket.

But Henry froze. Suarez was focused now on Sarah.

“You remind me of someone,” he said with a flirtatious look in his eye. “I know – it’s that woman on the television, that
X-Files
show. What’s her name?”

“Gillian Anderson?” said Sarah. “Why, thanks.”

Henry was doing everything he could to control his emotions. His mind raced as he weighed possible action. But all he did was stare at Suarez.

“I don’t think we’ve met before,” he said. “What was that name again?”

“Giantonio Frazetti at your service, Mr Gibbs.”

Suarez held out his hand. “I am a wine grower, in Santiago on business. These are my associates, Hodges and Poteshkin.”

Henry took his hand from his jacket and shook Suarez’s. Gradually his heartbeat slowed a bit. “Like my wife said, we’re just in town on our honeymoon –
turistas
.”

He looked at Sarah. It was obvious she found the bastard attractive. Right then he didn’t know which galled him more – that the man had shot him and his dogs or that Suarez was getting smiles from Sarah.

Then it dawned on him:
Suarez doesn’t recognize me!

Relief flooded through him.
Of course! I was covered head-to-toe in arctic gear, and this guy was an amateur in Antarctica. He wouldn’t have had the ice savvy necessary to recognize people through their parkas.

“I hope you are enjoying our city. It is lovely, no?”

Suarez was saying.

Henry nodded. “Very much. Say, are you guys staying at the Foresta too?”

Remo joined the conversation, shaking his head.

“We’re in the Carrera. Not far from the Foresta, on the other side of the Moneda.”

“How is it there?” said Henry, making smal talk.