Without a Trace (13 page)

“No.”

The tension that had been locked in her muscles throughout the night eased. “You’re a man who looked for adventure and excitement, and undoubtedly found more than he’d bargained for. I’d say you believed in freedom and human rights strongly enough to spend a great deal of your life fighting for them. And you’ve been disillusioned, and you nearly lost your life. I’m not certain which disturbs you more. I don’t think you lied when you told me you were tired, Trace. But you lie every time you pretend not to care.”

She was close, much too close, to the heart of things, much closer than anyone else had ever stepped. He’d found that life was more comfortable with distance. When he spoke, it was with the single goal of reestablishing it. “What I am is a trained liar, thief, cheat and killer. There’s nothing pretty or glamorous or idealistic about what I do. I follow orders.”

“I think the question isn’t so much what you do as why you do it.” For now, she stopped asking herself why it was so important for her to believe that, and just believed. “The whys became less clear, so you have a fantasy
about retiring to some little island where you won’t have to think about it.”

Trace crushed out his cigarette. “You said physicist, not psychiatrist, right?”

“It’s simply a matter of logic. I’m a very logical person.” She set her cup back neatly in its saucer. “Then there’s the matter of your behavior toward me. Apparently you’re attracted.”

“Is that so?”

She smiled then, always more secure when things were spelled out clearly. “I think it would be foolish to deny that a physical attraction exists. That can be listed as fact rather than theory. Yet, even on that basis, your behavior is contradictory. On each occasion when you’ve acted on that attraction, you’ve chosen to back off in favor of annoyance and frustration.”

He didn’t care to have his attractions, physical or otherwise, dissected like some embalmed frog. Trace waited until the waiter had freshened both cups before he leaned toward Gillian. “You can be grateful I backed off.”

Their faces were very close over the little round table. Her heart began to drum, but she found the sensation more unique than unpleasant. “Because you’re a dangerous man?”

“I’m the most dangerous man you’ll ever meet.”

She wasn’t about to argue with that. “I explained to you before, I can take care of myself.”

She reached for her coffee, and Trace closed his hand over her wrist. The grip was firm enough to make her eyes narrow. “You wouldn’t know where to begin with me, Doc. And you sure as hell wouldn’t know where to end. Count your blessings.”

“My family’s been kidnapped, I’ve seen a man die and had a knife to my back. There’s little you could do to frighten me.” She jerked her hand away and, with every outward appearance of calm, lifted her cup. Her heart beat fast and hard in her throat.

“You’re wrong.” This time he smiled. “If I decide to have you, you’ll find out how wrong.”

Her cup hit the saucer with a snap. “I’m ready to go.”

“Sit.” It was the sudden change in his voice that made her obey. “Drink your coffee,” he said mildly as he
picked up his camera.

“What is it?”

“Al-Aziz has a visitor.” The camera was one of the few pieces of ISS equipment Trace was fond of. He pushed a button, and a man stepping out of a black car twenty yards away filled the viewfinder. He recognized the face from briefings, and he smiled again. Kendesa was the general’s right hand, a man of taste and intelligence who just managed to balance the general’s fanaticism.

“You know who it is?”

Trace took two shots out of habit. “Yeah.” He lowered the camera.

“What does it mean?”

“It means they took the bait.”

Gillian moistened her lips and struggled to stay calm. “What do we do now?”

Trace lit another cigarette. “We wait.”

Al-Aziz’s visitor stayed twenty minutes. When he came back out, Trace was up and moving. By the time Kendesa stepped into his car, Trace and Gillian were in a cab. “I want you to stay with that car,” he told the driver, pulling out bills. “But keep a nice distance.”

The driver pocketed the money before he started the engine. Gillian groped for Trace’s hand and held on.

“He knows where Flynn is, doesn’t he?”

“He knows.”

She pressed her free hand to her lips as they drove. “What are you going to do?”

“Nothing.”

“But if he—”

“Let’s just see where he’s going.” Because her hand was icy, he kept it in his. The black car stopped at one of the more exclusive hotels in the business district. Trace waited until Kendesa was inside. “Stay here.”

“But I want to—”

“Just stay here,” he repeated, and then he was gone. As the minutes passed, fear became annoyance. Gillian
slid to the door and had her fingers around the handle when Trace pulled it open.

“Going somewhere?” He let the door slam behind him. Settling back, he gave the driver the name of their hotel.

“Well?”

“He just checked in this morning. He hasn’t given them a day of departure. I’d say that means he intends to stay until business is completed.”

“Aren’t you going to go in and make him tell you where Flynn is?”

Trace spared her a look. “Sure, I’ll go on up to his room, rough him and his three guards up a bit, and drag the truth out of them. Then I’ll march up to wherever they’re holding your brother and blast him out single-handed.”

“Isn’t that what I’m paying you for?”

“You’re paying me to get him out—in one piece.” As the cab pulled up at the curb, Trace handed the driver more bills. “Let’s play this my way.”

Knowing her temper couldn’t be trusted, Gillian remained silent until they were in their rooms. “If you have a plan, I think it’s time you filled me in.”

Ignoring her, Trace walked over to the bed and began to fiddle with what Gillian had taken for a compact portable stereo.

“This is hardly the time to listen to music.” When he continued to say nothing, she stormed over to him. “Trace, I want to know what you have in mind. I refuse to be kept in the dark while you sit here and listen to the radio. I want to know—”

“Shut up, will you?” When he played back the tape, the voices came out barely audible, and speaking Arabic. “Damn.” He adjusted the volume and strained.

“What is that?”

“Our friends talking, almost out of reach of the bug I planted yesterday.”

“You … I never saw you plant anything.”

“That boosts my confidence.” He rewound the tape to the beginning.

“I can’t think of any place you could have hidden it.”

“I left it out in plain view. People find things a lot quicker if you hide them. Didn’t you ever read Poe? Now be quiet.”

The voices were barely distinguishable, but he recognized al-Aziz’s. He could decipher the formal greetings, but from there on could translate only a few snatches. He heard Cabot’s name, and some basic monetary negotiations.

“What does it say?” Gillian asked when he shut the tape off again.

“I don’t know enough Arabic to make much sense of it.”

“Oh.” She tried to block off the disappointment. Running her hands over her face, she sat on the bed beside him. “I guess you’d hoped they speak in French or English.”

“It would have been helpful.” Trace removed the tape and slipped it into his pocket. “Now we need an interpreter.”

Her hands dropped in her lap. “You know someone who’ll help us?”

“Almost anyone’s willing to help for a price.” He checked his watch. “The club ought to be pretty quiet now. I think I’ll go to see Désirée.”

“I’m going with you.”

He started to refuse, then thought better of it. “Just as well. I can use you as a cover in case Amir’s around. With you hanging all over me, he won’t think I’m trying to tickle his wife’s fancy. Or anything else.”

“I’m so glad I can be useful.”

*   *   *

They found Désirée in the apartment above the club. Though it was nearly noon, she answered the door heavy-eyed and in a sexily rumpled robe that slipped provocatively off one shoulder. Her eyes brightened considerably
at the sight of Trace.

“André. What a nice surprise.” She spotted Gillian, pouted a moment, then stepped back to let them in. “You used to come visiting alone,” she said in French.

“You used to be single.” Trace glanced around the wide, dim room, with its fussy pillows and its china knickknacks. The room was crammed with furniture, and the furniture covered with things. Possessions had always been important to Désirée. Apparently she’d finally acquired them. “You’ve come up in the world,
chérie
.”

“We make our own way in life.” She walked to a table and chose a cigarette from a glass holder. “If you’ve come for your information, you haven’t given me much time.” She held the cigarette, waiting until Trace crossed the room to light it.

“Actually, I’ve come on other business.” She smelled of perfume that clung from the night before, no longer strong, but still overpowering. “Is your husband in?”

Her brow lifted as she glanced in Gillian’s direction. “You were never one for group games.”

“No games at all.” He took the cigarette from her and drew on it himself. “Amir. Is he here?”

“He had business. He’s a busy man.”

“Your Arabic was always excellent, Désirée.” Trace drew the tape from his pocket. “Two thousand francs for a translation of this tape, and a memory lapse immediately afterward.”

Désirée took the tape and turned it over in her palm. “Two thousand for the translation, and three more for the loss of memory.” She smiled at him. “A woman must make a living where she can.”

There had been a time when he would have enjoyed negotiating with her. He wondered why that time seemed to have passed. “Done.”

“Cash, darling.” She held out an empty hand. “Now.”

When Trace handed her the money, she went over to a stereo. “Amir enjoys his toys,” she said as she slipped the tape into the player. After switching it on, she adjusted the volume. Almost at once, her expression changed. With the touch of a finger, the player fell silent again. “Kendesa. You said nothing of Kendesa.”

“You didn’t ask.” Trace sat and gestured for Gillian to join him. “The deal’s struck, Désirée. Play it my way and your name will never be mentioned.”

“You mix in very bad company, André. Very bad.” But the money was still in her hand. After a moment’s consideration, she slipped it into her pocket, then switched the machine back on. “Kendesa greets the swine al-Aziz. He asks if business is good.” She listened for another moment, then turned the machine off again. “They speak of you, the Frenchman Cabot, who has an interesting business proposition for Kendesa’s organization. Al-Aziz has humbly agreed to act as liaison.”

She turned the machine on again, then repeated the process of listening before turning it off to translate. “Kendesa is very interested in your product. His sources have confirmed that you are in possession of a shipment of American arms intended for their Middle Eastern allies. A shipment of this size and”—she groped for the word a moment—“quality is of interest to Kendesa’s superior. And so are you.”

She switched the tape on again and lit a cigarette as the two voices murmured through the speakers. “Your reputation is satisfactory, but Kendesa is cautious. His organization is most concerned with another project at this time, and yet your product is tempting. Kendesa has agreed to have al-Aziz arrange a meeting. They discuss commission. Then it becomes interesting. Al-Aziz asks of this Fitzpatrick. He tells Kendesa he has heard rumors. Kendesa tells him to mind his shop and his tongue.”

Désirée turned the tape off. It ejected smoothly. “Tell me, André, are you interested in guns or in this Irishman?”

“I’m interested in the largest profit.” He rose to take the tape from her. “And your memory, Désirée?”

She fondled the bills in her pocket. “Quite blank.” She smiled, then ran a hand up his chest. “Come back for a drink tonight. Alone.”

Trace cupped her chin in his hand and kissed her. “Amir is a large, jealous man who has a talent with knives. Let’s just treasure the past.”

“It was an interesting one.” She sighed and watched him walk to the door. “André, the Irishman was in Casablanca.”

He stopped, clamping his hand around Gillian’s arm before she could speak. “And now?”

“He was taken east, into the mountains. That’s all I know.”

“There was a child.”

“A girl. She’s with him. It would have to be a great deal more profitable to ask questions now that I know who is involved.”

“You’ve asked enough.” He drew out bills and set them on the table by the door. “Forget this, too, Désirée, and enjoy your large husband.”

When he closed the door, Désirée considered for a long moment, then walked to the phone.

“He was here,” Gillian said, torn between relief and fresh terror. “They were both here. There has to be a way of finding out where they were taken. Oh, God, they were so close.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. The mountains to the east isn’t a street address.”

“But it’s another step. What do we do now?”

“We get some lunch. And we wait for Kendesa to move.”

“I want to go with you.”

Trace straightened the knot of the hated tie. “It’s out of the question.”

“You haven’t given me a reason.” Gillian stood planted behind him, scowling at his reflection. He looked so smooth, she thought, a world away from the man she’d found in the cantina. She wondered what dramatic turn her life had taken to make her prefer the rough, unshaven and slightly dirty man she’d first met to the urbane and cologned one who stood in front of her.

“I don’t have to give you reasons, just results.”

At least that much hadn’t changed, she thought wryly, standing her ground. “I explained to you right from the beginning that I’d be going through this step-by-step with you.”

“You’re going to miss this step, sweetheart.” Trace checked the plain brushed-gold links at his cuffs. “You just stay here and keep a light burning in the window.” Turning, he gave her a friendly pat on the cheek.

“You look like a stockbroker,” she muttered.