Gift of the Golden Mountain (70 page)

They sat in the darkened sitting room that gave a view of the walkway that led to the house, waiting.

     "Is this how you planned to spend our honeymoon?" Hayes asked.

     She tried to laugh. "Do you realize how much we've been through together? I don't remember anything ever going smoothly. If you wanted smooth, you should have . . ." She stopped herself, and he squeezed her hand for it.

     "I don't want smooth," he said, "but I do want safe. I put us in jeopardy by sending Eli that letter."

     "We don't know that Eli was part of any kidnapping attempt. We don't even know for sure about the attempt."

     "He might not have been part of it, but he was the instrument. There is no way we can absolve him of that, May. And I promise you, there was going to be some kind of plan to extort money."

     At that moment a man approached the gate. In the shadows
they could only see that he was alone, that he was wearing a light jacket of some sort and took long, quick strides so he was at the door almost before they could move to the hallway. "I am Jean-Claude," the man said in husky French.

     They spoke in the kitchen, situated in the center of the house, without windows. "Benoist sent me." You are to move about the village in a normal way, doing what you would ordinarily do," he told them. "But first you must call this number and say exactly where you are going and what route you will take. If you get another of the calls, you must put them off, give them excuses but do not say you will not come. Pretend instead that you want to, it is only madame's malaise that keeps you away. You will let us know, immediately, if there is another call and what exactly is said. Am I clear? Do you have questions?"

     "Can you tell me," Hayes asked, "if Eli Barnes's name is on any of your lists?"

     "No, Monsieur Diehl, I cannot," Jean-Claude said.

     "Could you tell us if he was not?" May added.

     He shrugged, apologetically.

The call came late in the afternoon. "Your friend hopes your wife is feeling better now that she has seen the doctor," the same female voice said, this time with a surfeit of good will. "He is very much hoping you can come to see him this evening, or tomorrow. Will that be possible?" Hayes could imagine her gums pulled tight over her lips in a cobra smile.

     "I'm afraid the doctor says my wife cannot travel today or tomorrow, he thinks she can come with me on the following day. Will my friend still be able to meet us?"

     "Your friend is beginning to think perhaps that you do not wish to meet him, that you are making excuses."

     "My friend would never believe that," Hayes said. "We
have been as close as brothers."

     "Then you must come to your brother, today. He has asked to see you, you should not deny your brother."

     "I am sorry, I cannot leave my wife. Tomorrow . . ."

     "Remember," the voice spat, all pretense of charm gone, "we delivered the Tree of Life. You should remember that we know where you are."

     Hayes stood holding the phone, the line was dead.

     "Call Jean-Claude," May told him, then added with sudden fear, "Quickly."

At precisely 3:11 the next afternoon May was standing in the foyer, resetting her watch when the phone rang and a voice ordered in rapid-fire French, "Go to the wine vault and stay there, move!"

     Hayes pushed her ahead of him down the stairs, they were pulling back the heavy door when they heard the three shots ring out in rapid succession. "Stay in there," he told her, shoving her in.

     He reached the top of the stairs, slammed open the door, and ran point-blank into a man with a gun.

     "Jean-Claude," he said with relief.

     "You don't follow orders well, do you?" the Frenchman answered, drily. "We got both of them, one is dead. Our men are exploding the bomb in your garden right now."

     The explosion brought May crashing out of the wine cellar. "It's over," Hayes called to her.

They stood staring at the smoldering hole the bomb had blown in the middle of Kit's garden. Bits of honeysuckle and columbine
and a few stray rose petals marked the scene.

     "Jacques said they've identified the two men who planted the bomb. The dead one was Mahmoud el-Asmar, the one that's in the hospital here is Abu ben Sharif. He's the brother of Sofia."

     "Who is she?" May asked.

     "Eli's wife."

SHE KNEW SHE was driving too fast for the winding road. She heard the bags of groceries shift and tip over in the trunk but she didn't care. She was late, it was getting close to noon, and Thea didn't like to come home to an empty house.

     The hurry was for nothing. Thea wasn't home.

     Karin put the groceries away, opened a can of tuna, and began to mince celery, very fine, to put in it. She glanced at the clock; Thea had been out of class for an hour, she had never been this late.

     She dried her hands and called the Browns, no answer. She walked out to the lanai, shielded her eyes and looked down at the path that Thea would take if she had walked. But she would not have walked, she never did. One of her friends always drove her home. She went into Thea's room and found the little book decorated with pictures of yellow and blue balloons which held her telephone numbers. She was not at the Robinsons and no one answered at the Yungs. Karin let the phone ring eight times, ten. Her hand was shaking when she gave up, her heart seemed to be skipping beats.

     Something had gone wrong, she could feel it.

     She turned the pages of the book slowly. E, F, G, H. Alex Hollowell. Thea had drawn little stars around his name and outlined his address in red and blue pen. Ferdinand Street, Manoa. Karin lifted the phone, her hand poised over the dial, then she put it down again.

It was a big frame house, hidden in a grove of kiawe trees. A small Japanese woman opened the door and motioned her into the dark, cool interior. Karin looked at the woman's feet. She was wearing old felt slippers. Somebody else had worn slippers like that, but she couldn't remember who. And now, for an instant, she couldn't remember what she was doing here.

     "Alex," she blurted, "is he here?"

     The woman stepped back, wary. "Alex is away."

     "Can you tell me where he is?" she pressed. "I'm Thea Ward's stepmother, and I don't seem to be able to find her . . . I thought maybe . . ."

     The woman's face arranged itself into a mask of disapproval. "I can't tell you nothing about that. You have to talk to his father at the boatyard."

     "Thank you," Karin said feebly as the woman shuffled back into the cool dimness of the house.

Karin knew the turnoff to Sand Island and she had no trouble finding the cafe with a crude, handmade sign that said, "Hot Malasadas." The owner, a large man in an undershirt that failed to cover his stomach, gave her directions. From a pay phone that perched at a precarious angle, as if it had been nudged by one of the trucks that rumbled along the industrial avenue, she called her house and let it ring twenty times before giving up.

Paul Hollowell saw her before she saw him. He was perched on the spreader of the mast of a large sailboat, and he watched her walk toward him—tentatively, as if she might turn back. He called out to her, moving into the open so she could see him.

     "I'm sorry . . ." she began, and then laughed, embarrassed at having started that way. "I mean," she began again, "I'm sorry to interrupt you at work . . ." She could feel herself flush, and wondered why she was doing this . . . Thea was probably at home right now, waiting for her. She lifted her hand in the air . . . it had been a mistake to come here, a silly mistake . . .

     "What can I do for you?" he smiled, swinging easily off the boat.

     "I can't seem to locate Thea, and I thought she might be with Alex. Your housekeeper said I'd have to ask you."

     He frowned. "Didn't Sadame tell you Alex was at my cousin's, working in the pineapple fields?"

     She shook her head.

     "I guess she wouldn't," he added. "She's mad at me for sending him away. I apologize for her."

     "No," Karin said, in a voice that sounded feeble, "it's all right . . . Thea's probably just out with a girlfriend and forgot . . . I didn't mean to . . . it was silly of me . . ."