One Touch of Topaz

“T
HE CONTACT’S CODE
name is Topaz.” Skip Brennen made a face. “Sounds like something from a spy novel, doesn’t it? I feel like I should be wearing a trench coat and carrying a diplomat’s attaché case.”

“It’s too damn hot to wear a trench coat.” Fletcher Bronson slapped at a mosquito on his arm. “Hell, it’s too hot to breathe on this forsaken island. I don’t know what I’m doing here, anyway. Those thieving bastards will nationalize my refinery within the next six months no matter what they say now. I
should have accepted my losses and not wasted my time coming to St. Pierre.”

“Fat chance,” Skip said with a drawl. “You don’t like giving up anything that’s yours. We both know you’d still have stormed down here if the junta had only threatened to confiscate one of the company trucks, much less a multimillion-dollar refinery.”

“Maybe.” Fletch gazed moodily at the emerald-green hills in the distance. The beautiful view from the balcony of this hotel suite that those megalomaniacs in the palace had given him was no doubt meant to soothe and calm. At the moment it did neither. “But I don’t like Marxist juntas. I don’t like thieves.” He slapped at another mosquito. “And I don’t like bugs.”

Skip gave a soundless whistle as he leaned back in the rattan chair. Fletch’s temper was evidently flaring at an all-time high. Not that it came as any surprise. Even on a good day Fletcher Bronson was a diamond in the rough who possessed an intimidating ruthlessness. On a particularly bad day he had
seen that famous scowl cause corporate sharks and heads of state to quail and take a step back. And this was clearly a very bad day. It was no wonder the blustering and threats of the members of the junta had turned to deferential assurances when Fletch had confronted them that afternoon at the
palacio
. Fletcher Bronson was one of the foremost economic powers in this hemisphere, and he was known to let his displeasure be felt in no uncertain terms. This small refinery on St. Pierre may have represented only a minuscule percentage of Fletch’s financial assets, but it
belonged
to him, and he never let anything that was his be taken from him without a fight.

“So what’s the decision?” Skip asked quietly. “Do I fly you straight back to Damon’s Reef, or do we make the trip into the hills and meet with Topaz.”

“Topaz …” Fletch murmured, still looking at the hills in the distance. “I haven’t decided. Could this be some kind of trap? Where did they contact you?”

“In the bar downstairs.” Skip took a long pull on his whiskey and soda. “By a very luscious B-girl by the name of Maria Cruz, who seems to be exceptionally well informed regarding your business here. Ricardo Lazaro still appears to have a very strong network in the city in spite of his recent defeat by the junta.”

“Is there any chance that this Lazaro will be able to launch another offensive?”

Skip shook his head regretfully. “The junta is firmly in power. Lazaro’s men are scattered in the hills, running for their lives, and there’s a rumor that Lazaro himself is wounded. It’s a miracle they had the men and the weapons for this last raid on the Abbey.”

“The Abbey?”

“The Abbey used to be a monastery. For the past six years it’s been a prison for political prisoners”—Skip’s lips tightened—“one they kept carefully hidden from the human-rights committee.”

“Torture?”

“The works,” Skip said succinctly. “You name it, they did it.” “Charming.”

Skip nodded. “You’ve already discovered for yourself how charming this government can be.”

Fletch’s gaze returned to Skip’s face. “And they want us to get these political prisoners they rescued off the island before the army rounds them up?”

Skip nodded again. “They have supporters in Barbados, and they’ve asked us to fly the prisoners there.”

“How many are there?”

“Nine.”

“Can the helicopter carry that many passengers?”

“Possibly. If we jettison everything except the bare essentials. It will be pretty close.”

Fletch muttered a curse. “Dammit, this is none of our business. I don’t want to become involved in these penny-ante Caribbean politics. Most of the time one side turns out to be as corrupt as the other.”

“Then don’t become involved. I only thought I should relay the message.” Skip paused. “There’s something else you should know. There are three children among those escaped prisoners.”

“Children? What the hell were children doing in a prison?”

“Sometimes it’s easier to make a prisoner talk if the torture is inflicted on members of the family.”

The flesh tightened over the broad planes of Fletch’s cheeks as his teeth clenched. He was silent for a moment, his green eyes growing more icy with every passing second.

“I don’t like that,” he said softly. “No, I don’t like that one little bit.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

Fletch’s hands tightened on the lacy black iron of the balustrade. “When is this pickup supposed to take place?”

“Tonight at ten o’clock. They gave me the coordinates.” He shrugged. “They must be pretty desperate to run that risk. We could
turn the information over to the junta in exchange for certain concessions.”

Fletch looked at his wristwatch. “Three hours. We’d better get moving.”

Skip straightened in his chair. “You’re going to do it?”

Fletch smiled grimly. “You’re damn right I’m going to do it. I don’t like governments who use children as pawns in their vicious games. I’m going to enjoy the hell out of snatching them away from the junta. At least I’ll get the satisfaction of taking something back from those thieving bastards. Can you have the helicopter serviced in time?”

“It’s already serviced and ready to go,” Skip said blandly. “I also stripped it down as much as I could without raising the suspicion of the maintainance men at the airport. What I couldn’t get rid of, I unscrewed and loosened so that we can ditch it in the hills.”

“You took a good deal for granted. I don’t like being thought of as predictable, Skip.”

Skip felt a chill run down his spine, unconsciously bracing himself as he met Fletch’s gaze. Even after twelve years as his personal pilot and general jack-of-all-trades, Skip could still be made to feel uneasy by Fletch. He should have become accustomed to the man by this time, Skip thought. Wielding power had become second nature to Fletch, and he probably didn’t even realize he was doing it.

Hell, most of the time Skip liked Bronson, and he always respected him. Fletch was honest, generous, fair, and, on rare occasions, displayed a wry sense of humor few were aware existed. He doubted if Fletch would ever let anyone get close enough to call him friend, but if he did, he would probably be a damn good one. “You like kids,” he said simply. “I thought the odds were good you’d get mad enough to thumb your nose at our pals at the
palacio.”
He grinned. “And why shouldn’t I do a little mind reading myself? You have quite a few business rivals who claim you have occult powers.”

Fletch’s frown disappeared and a slow smile lit his face. “Why not, indeed? Sorry, Skip, this whole mess has put me on edge. I’ll be glad to get off this damn island and back to civilization.”

“No problem.” Skip rose to his feet with loose-limbed grace and set his drink on the glass-topped table next to him. “If you can be at the front entrance of the hotel in fifteen minutes, I’ll have a taxi waiting to take us to the airport. I’m going down to the bar and tell our luscious little B-girl we’ll make the pickup so she can send word to Topaz.”

“Have her tell him to have those prisoners ready to move out. I don’t want to linger there any longer than necessary.”

“Will do.” Skip pulled the bill of his Cubs baseball cap down more firmly over his eyes and moved toward the French doors that led to the interior of the suite. “But it’s not a ‘him.’ Topaz is a woman.”

________

Where
were
they, blast it?

Samantha’s gaze anxiously searched the night sky. There was moonlight tonight, which was both bad and good. It had made their journey from the hills to this glade easier, but it also made them easier to track. Ricardo was sure a patrol had spotted them.

The whir of a helicopter’s rotors came faintly to her ears, and relief poured through her with dizzying force. Even after Maria had radioed the confirmation, Samantha had been afraid Bronson would back out. It had been a long shot that he would be willing to involve himself in their troubles, but they had to ask for his help; they’d had no choice.