“Then we catch a plane.”
“Together?”
She was gazing at him hopefully, lips slightly parted. Suddenly, instead of answering, he was kissing her and she was straddling him, pulling her T-shirt over her head. He ran his fingertips gently over her breasts, the lightest possible touch, and she smiled and closed her eyes as if to say, you know me, you know me perfectly. Within seconds, they were moving together in a light of their own making. It passed beyond understanding, his love and desire for this woman, be- yond cellular memory or anything his science could conceive, and it alarmed him deeply. The effortless way he picked up on her every mood shift, every subtle alteration in her need, their easy rapture and total unity, all this terrified and electrified him to the core. Midnight came. He waited while she dressed and dried his clothes in the hotel’s laundry room, briefly waking the proprietor. Then she led him downstairs to her car. She woke the sleeping guard with the word, “To ro,” and he jolted awake and opened the gate. Elizabeth drove them to within a mile of the base. For a quarter of an hour they sat in her rented car saying nothing, unable to part. At last he opened the door, got out, and at the instant he turned around she was climbing out from behind the wheel. They kissed again under the canopy of stars, this time for so long he lost all sense of danger. He watched her make a U-turn and drive back in the direction of the Casa del Frances. For the last two hours, neither one had spoken a word. I know her, he thought with a shudder. I know her so well. Everything but her name.
And Beatrice?
At the moment, he couldn’t even picture his wife’s face without seeing this woman’s. It was as though they were the same face. That was the most terrifying thing of all.
Back in her room in the middle of packing, Elizabeth stopped and picked up the phone. If, as it seemed, she was going to vanish for a while, there were people she should call. Annie, of course, and maybe her landlord, and the people at Helvetica. And Rose-Anne, Hans’s mother.
It was now one o’clock in the morning, and eight hours later in Zurich. She dialed Zurich information using her calling card and asked for Rose-Anne Brinkman. She was given two numbers, one for an R. Brinkman, one for a Rose-Anne Brinkman. At the first number, a young girl answered in German. When Elizabeth asked if Rose-Anne was there, the girl said she was RoseAnne. Elizabeth apologized, dialed the second number and waited through four rings. “Yes?”
“Rose-Anne? It’s Elizabeth.” Silence.
“Rose-Anne, hello?”
“Elizabeth, where are you, you sound so far away” Lizzy, she thought, don’t say anything that isn’t necessary. “Rose-Anne, I’ve got some shocking news. “Oh, Lord, should I be sitting down?”
“Yes.” Elizabeth took a deep breath. “It’s about Hans.” “God, what now?”
“No, it’s good news. Hans is alive.” There was complete silence. “Rose-Anne, did you hear me? Are you okay?” There was a sharp crack on the line, then utter silence. “Rose-Anne?” She listened hard. “Hello?” She looked at the phone as if the instrument itself held an explanation for its silence. She pressed the receiver button, looked for the redial button. There was none. And no dial tone.
It took her a long moment to realize that the line had gone dead. A serpent of fear coiled into the room. It wrapped around her and stifled her breathing until she became dizzy. She went to the window and looked out, and listened for any’ sounds that shouldn’t be there. Outside was a cluster of date palms, an oblong of asphalt, and a lead-blue sky with a few cirrus clouds. Somewhere, a twin-engine plane was circling. She rechecked the Street, then crossed the room and opened her closet. She was packed and closing her bag when she heard a tiny creak outside her door. Then a knock.
Then a long pause.
Someone was listening on the other side.
She put her ear to the door, then jumped back, scared silly by a second, sharper knock. She held her breath until her lungs ached. “Miss Parker? Are you in there? I can see your Iight’s on.” Ivor Greeley. She exhaled, tried to sound normal. “Yes, Ivor, what is it?” “We gotta talk.”
“Why?”
“Can you open the door?”
She looked around for a heavy object. “Can’t it wait fill morning?” “You have to leave in the morning. I just thought I should tell you that tonight, since you’re up.” She stared at the door, the hotel regulations, the exit diagram, as though they were instructions from God. Why was Ivor awake at this hour? “Leave? Why?”
“I think you know why.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t.”
“Because, Miss Parker, your credit card’s no good.” She regrouped. It was a simple misunderstanding of some kind and Greeley didn’t sound threatening at all. A little put out, but entirely businesslike. She undid the chain and pulled open the door. He stood there sad-eyed, shrugging. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to spook you. But you’re gonna have to leave first thing tomorrow. You can spend the rest of tonight here, of course.” “Listen, I’ve got another card, let me get it for you.” “No, that won’t do any good either.”
She stopped halfway to her purse. “Why not?” “Because,” he said sternly, “when I called Visa they said the card was stolen and that probably any other card you gave me would be, too. Really, I don’t have time for these kinds of shenanigans in my hotel. That’s why I got out of Boston in the first place.” He turned on his heel and walked back down the hall. In the garden beyond, a parrot began to shriek. Elizabeth closed her door, then reopened it. “Ivor?” she called. His head reappeared, eyes narrowing. “Did you turn off my phone, too?” He looked bewildered. “No. Your phone? No, I wouldn’t even know how to do that.” He started off again.
“One other thing, if you wouldn’t mind telling me?” He swung around with a look of impatience. “The person at Visa who told you that? Did you happen to get her name?” “Now why would I do that? Anyway, it was a man, very polite. Said maybe you were just a runaway wife and I shouldn’t be too hard on you.” He turned and disappeared for good. Elizabeth shut the door and relocked it. No way that had been Visa, she realized with a sinking feeling. She paid her bill in full every month. Hans had warned that they would trace her here, but now that they had, now what? Without a credit card she wouldn’t have enough money to rent a kayak, let alone a boat that could make it to Puerto Rico. She sat down on the bed and thought hard. Call Annie, have her wire money. But could she get it here in time? Or would it get to her at all? She picked up the phone. Still dead.
Get out, she thought. Get off this goddamn Vieques as fast as you can.
No. Not without Hans.
But what if he’s not coming? He had hinted as much and had lied to her so many times in the past.” He had kept an entire identity hidden, so how could she trust him now? The look in his eyes, when she had mentioned the photos of the body, So strange, almost startled.” And why hadn’t he asked more questions about his mother? And the way he had told her he was married, as though it would be news to her, as if they had never once talked about Yvette.” Had the CIA messed with his head, selectively erasing his memories? And who was this person on the base to whom he was so loyal? Obviously, I don’t want to know, she thought.” Otherwise I would have asked.” He loved her, that was all she cared about.” Of that, crazily, she hadn’t the slightest doubt.” But the question was, did that make her an even bigger fool? His love had drawn her into danger, and now she Was even less certain about him.” What she really knew was that she didn’t want to spend another second in this hotel room. It was totally unprotected, accessible from the street by a sturdy trellis, She was being evicted, she couldn’t talk to anyone, and her phone had probably been bugged. Go! She grabbed the car keys.” Somewhere public, that’s where she had to go.” Maybe to an all-night bar or to any place where there were other people. She would have to hold on until morning and, one way or the other, get the boat Hans had asked her to rent and make their rendezvous. How? She didn’t have a clue.”
13
Approaching the front gate of the base on foot, Peter was an immediate target of suspicion. The guard, a jug-eared kid with a Texas accent, unslung his M-16 and asked Peter to stop right where he was and present identification. Peter handed over his wallet, still waterlogged, which didn’t help matters. The guard clicked his weapon off safety onto fire, then read the driver’s license. “This yours?”