Peacekeepers (1988) (34 page)

"Don't have snifters," he said almost apologetically.

"I'm surprised that you have alcohol of any kind aboard," she said, accepting the heavy tumbler with its inch of amber liquor.

"Rank hath its privileges," he said, tossing off the drink in one gulp as he stood before the couch.

Steiner's smile saddened slightly. "You didn't give me time to offer a toast."

Raising one finger of his free hand, Alexander replied, "Easily fixed." He turned back to the bar and poured himself another.

Sitting down next to her, he asked, "What should we drink to?"

"Success to our mission."

His lips twisted into a grin. "Confusion to our enemies."

They touched glasses and sipped.

"You know," Steiner said, looking into his eyes, "I almost feel like one of those people you see in the war videos. The night before a mission."

"Eat, drink and be merry," Alexander quoted, "for tomorrow we die."

"Yes. That sort of thing."

Her eyes were incredibly blue, Alexander noticed. And staring straight at him. "Are you trying to get into my pants?" He forced a laugh.

Steiner did not laugh. "I think making love would be a better release for you than getting drunk, don't you?"

Pursing his lips as if deep in thought, Alexander answered, "Well . . . there's no hangover the next morning."

"Not for the man."

"Not for you either, Alma. I'm sterile."

She made a little sigh. "Ahh. I suspected as much. From the radiation."

"Yeah. It's killing me slowly."

"But you are not impotent?"

Alexander made a bleak smile. "No, not impotent. Just—not interested, I'm afraid."

"Not interested?" Steiner put on a girlish pout. On her strong features it looked almost comical.

"It's got nothing to do with you, Alma," he said, looking away from her, staring into his glass. "It's my problem. Maybe after we get Shamar . . ." He drifted to silence.

She took a long swallow of her brandy. "I suppose it would make things difficult if members of the crew began —fraternizing with each other."

Alexander made a bleak smile. "Some companies have rules against that sort of thing."

"Yes." Steiner finished her drink swiftly and got to her feet. "You'd better speak to your daughter, then. If you don't want a romantic mess on your hands."

"Yeah, I know." He stood up beside her. There were fires smoldering in her eyes now. Fires of anger, barely suppressed.

Hell hath no fury, Alexander realized.

Aloud, he said, "Look, I'm sorry . . ."

Steiner turned from him and put her glass down on the bar. "As you said, it's your problem."

"Yeah."

She went to the door, then turned. With a slow, warming smile she said softly, "Maybe after we get Shamar your problem will be solved, eh?"

Alexander went to her and kissed her on her lips, briefly, chastely, almost as a brother would. "Maybe then," he said, his voice choking slightly.

She nodded, opened the door and left.

He stood there for several minutes, damning himself for not feeling anything.

Alexander watched the trees that hung out over the water as he held the tiller of the little inflatable Zodiac. He stayed under their shade as much as possible, not satisfied that his bulky bush jacket and wide-brimmed hat gave him sufficient protection from the sun.

The morning was broiling hot. The rising sun baked moisture from the thick forest on each side of the river; wisps of steam rose up through the trees to waft away on the soft breeze.

Kelly sat up in the prow of the dark gray rubber boat, an Indian shawl over her head, more to hide her red hair from prying eyes than to keep the solar ultraviolet off her. She wore a simple native blouse and skirt, both of them loose enough to hide a small arsenal. If anyone saw them, they would look like a well-to-do planter and his daughter out for a trip to Valledupar. Or so Alexander hoped.

With a twist of his wrist Alexander turned the throttle down low. The engine's roar muted and the Zodiac's bow settled into the water.

"Why'd you slow down?" Kelly asked. "I was enjoying the spray."

"Time for us to have a talk," said Alexander.

She nodded knowingly. "So that's why you brought me along with you."

"I want to talk with you," he said.

"Father-daughter kind of talk?"

"You bet."

Kelly sniffed, "That means you want to talk to me, not with me."

"I'll listen too."

"Really?"

"Yeah. What's going on with you, kid?"

She made a sad little smile. "Nothing very much."

"Come over here." He tapped the bench alongside him.

"I don't want to holler the length of the damned boat."

Kelly made her way down the rocking boat, across the midships bench, to sit beside her father.

"Now what's happening, little lady?"

Leaning her head against his shoulder, Kelly replied, "Like I said, nothing much."

"Looks like a romantic triangle to me."

Kelly nodded.

"Pavel's gawking at you like a little lost calf, and you seem to be mooning the same way over Jay."

"True enough," she admitted miserably.

"So?"

"So I fall for tall rugged guys. First Robbie, now Jay."

"Must be a father fixation," Alexander joked.

Kelly did not laugh. "I love Jay. I know Pavel thinks he's in love with me, but I love Jay."

"And Jay?"

"He's so hurt and mixed up he doesn't know what he's doing." Her words came in a rush, filled with pain and despair. "He's afraid of letting down his defenses, afraid of letting anybody get close to him."

He's not the only one, Alexander told himself.

"Pavel's nice," Kelly went on. "I mean, I like him and he's sweet and terribly romantic but there's just no chemistry there. I don't have the vibes with him that I get from Jay. He's so lonely and scared, really, when you get right down to it. So far from home and so mixed up."

"Pavel?"

"No," she said, "Jay."

Alexander slid an arm around his daughter's slim shoulders.

"So you love Jay but he doesn't love you, while Pavel loves you but you don't love him. Is that it?"

"That's it." Kelly's voice was small, almost childlike.

Alexander wondered what in hell he was supposed to do about this. You've never been much of a father, he thought.

You were never around when she was growing up. Now's your big chance to make up for all that neglect. Come up with some fatherly wisdom that'll set everything straight and make her smile.

But not a thing came into his head.

He heard himself say, "Sooner or later Pavel's either going to be called back to Moscow or he's going to try to nail me."

Kelly pulled free of his arm. "You don't think he's still ..."

"He's still on the KGB payroll, kid. We've been helping him to play them along, but once this Shamar business is finished, he's going to have to make his decision: us or them."

"If he chooses them/' Kelly murmured, "you think they'll order him to assassinate you?"

With a nod, Alexander replied, "Especially if I get the Plutonium Shamar's holding."

"But if he chooses us, then Moscow will send somebody to kill him!"

Alexander made his crooked smile. "Not necessarily. I might be able to work out a deal—maybe."

Kelly fell silent and leaned back against her father once more. The boat purred quietly along the river, to the accompaniment of raucous shrieks and chattering from the colorful birds that lived among the thickly leafed trees. The sun climbed higher and the heat became like a steam bath that turned solid flesh to streams of perspiration, a scalding towel that muffled the face so that it became difficult even to breathe.

"What you're saying," Kelly spoke at last, "is that if I'm nice to Pavel he'll decide in our favor, instead of trying to kill you."

Alexander shook his head, making the wide brim of his hat wobble. "What I'm saying, little lady, is that I can deal with Pavel one way or the other. He'll decide what he wants to do based mainly on you. But I don't want you to make up to him when you really are in love with Jay. That'd be worse than stupid—it'd be immoral."

She actually laughed. "You? Old-fashioned morality from you?"

"And why not?" Alexander suddenly felt distinctly uncomfortable.

"Have I been such an immoral monster all these years?"

"Not exactly. But you sure haven't been a perfect model of Christian virtues either."

"Who the hell has? One of St. Peter's first miracles was to strike some poor sucker dead."

"No!"

"And his wife."

"I don't believe you!"

"Look it up. Acts of the Apostles."

Kelly lauded, and Alexander enjoyed the sight and sound of it. But she sobered quickly.

"If only there was some way I could reach Jay and make him stop being afraid of letting somebody love him."

Choosing his words carefully, Alexander said, "I presume you have offered him the delights of your flesh."

Without a hint of hostility she replied, "He's too straight-arrow for that. He doesn't think people who work together ought to get themselves into romantic entanglements."

Alexander grinned his widest grin. "Well that's easily fixed! After this Shamar business is over, I'll fire the bastard."

"You do, and I'll quit!"

"Suits me."

"Really?" She seemed surprised, almost shocked.

Alexander said, "Damned right. What I've got to do next is something you won't want to be mixed up with anyway. Red Eagle calls it vigilante justice."

"You're going to be a one-man crusade, is that it?"

"It won't be just one man," Alexander countered.

"There are plenty of people willing to fight against the drug trade. And terrorism. Plenty. And others who are willing to pay the bills, too."

"But the Peacekeepers will be against you."

"I doubt it." The river was widening now. Other boats were chuffing along on ancient diesel engines. "They won't be^or me, of course. Ol' Red Eagle will fuss and fume, but the IPF won't actively oppose what I do."

Kelly looked altogether unconvinced.

Alexander nosed the little dark gray Zodiac through the growing river traffic, always remaining as much under the shade of the trees on the bank as possible. Abruptly the foliage ended and stark cinder-block and concrete buildings rose along the river's edge. Docks poked their fingers out into the water. Construction cranes swung high overhead.

The city of Valledupar was growing.

"This is what the fight is all about," Alexander said to his daughter over the noise of machinery and motors. "The country's getting rich on narcotics. The Castanada family wants to keep control of the trade."

"And you want to end it altogether."

"That," he said firmly, "is exactly what I'm going to do."

Alexander found the pier he was looking for, a busy commercial wharf where work gangs were unloading boats laden with tropical fruits from upriver. He tied his inflatable boat to a stanchion set into the new-looking concrete.

An unmarked four-door sedan was waiting for them at the end of the pier, its rooftop photovoltaic cells glittering in the sun.

Kelly shivered slightly as they ducked into the airconditioned interior and the driver wordlessly started the engine and headed out into the city. He was a thickset unsmiling man, swarthy and grim, with a black Pancho Villa mustache that drooped over his heavy lips. Through a tangle of crowded narrow streets they drove, the driver blatting his horn at the people milling around the sidewalk stalls.

"Must be market day," Alexander muttered.

The driver said nothing.

"Where are we going?" asked Kelly.

"Final meeting with Castanada. He's supposed to fork over the cash for the meres."

She caught the note of skepticism in his voice. "You don't think he ..."

"Remember how the good burghers of Hamelin paid off the Pied Piper? They offered him a thousand guilders before he drove out the rats."

"And once he'd done the job ..."

Alexander made a crooked grin. " 'Besides, our losses have made us thrifty,' " he quoted. " 'A thousand guilders? Come, take fifty!'"

Despite herself, Kelly giggled.

"We get the money for the meres now," her father said.

"Those guys don't work for promises; they want to see cash. Our own payment can come later. Castanada can keep our money in his Swiss account for another week; earn more interest on it."

The car left the narrow streets and headed into the broader avenues that climbed up the hills that overlooked the city. Wide green lawns and large whitewashed houses with graceful colonnaded facades and red tile roofs were spaced generously along the quiet, treelined thoroughfare.

"This is definitely the high-rent district," Alexander said.

"The Castanadas must live here," Kelly guessed.

"Nope. The whole family lives down in the presidential palace, where the army surrounds 'em. I don't know what the hell we're doing up here."

He leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder.

"Where are we going?"

The driver grunted.

"
Dónde vamos
?" Kelly asked.

Raising a heavy, blunt-fingered hand, the driver pointed, "Allí"

The street ended in a cul-de-sac with a little park of carefully clipped bushes and a few tall trees. A second car was sitting along the curve: a long gray limousine with mirrored windows.

"I don't like this," Kelly whispered.

Alexander looked at the driver, who turned off the ignition, folded his arms across his chest, and sat stoically unmoving. A rear door of the limousine opened and a slightly built man wearing a dapper double-breasted suit got out. His gray hair was brushed sleekly back and his mustache was neatly trimmed.

"It's okay," said Alexander, with relief in his voice. "I know him; he's one of Castanada's flunkies."

Both of them got out of their car and walked over to the limousine.

"Señor . . ." Alexander groped for the name.

"Rodríguez?"

"Ah, good morning, Señor Alexander!" Rodríguez smiled broadly, obviously pleased that his name had been remembered.