Death is Forever (14 page)

“Take your restructuring even further,” Aram suggested in a hard voice. “Incorporate your farms. Then you’d be up to your ass in wheat, just like America.”

“Gentlemen,” van Luik said sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I believe the basis for compromise exists. Russia will continue cutting an increasing proportion of the larger melees, because the Soviet Union does a better job than anyone else for the same money.”

Aram looked unhappy but kept silent. What van Luik said was the truth, no matter how distasteful.

“The Soviet Union will guarantee a good price on melees for Israel’s artisans to fashion into jewelry,” van Luik continued, giving Yarakov an unflinching stare. “In turn, Israel will agree to train a number of Soviet craftsmen in the art of creating luxury jewelry.” He turned toward Nan Faulkner. “Does that seem a satisfactory compromise?”

“Ask Moshe. It’s his country,” Faulkner said, blowing out a pale stream of smoke. “The United States would have no objection so long as the net result doesn’t hurt Israel’s position within world economies.”

Van Luik nodded and felt a tremor of relief. Faulkner was the key. Her tacit acceptance of the compromise meant that markets rather than ideologies would rule again today.

“Mr. Aram?” Van Luik turned toward the Israeli.

“We would require a twenty-year noncompetition agreement,” Aram said sharply. “We taught the Russians how to cut melees and look what happened. They’re running us out of the market.”

“Five years,” Yarakov said, looking at his blunt hands rather than at Aram.

“Fifteen.”

“Five.”

“Thir—”

“Five!” Yarakov interrupted impatiently. “That is my final offer.”

“That might be your final offer, babe, but can you kill a deal like this without Moscow’s approval?” Faulkner asked. She tipped her glass of water from side to side, making the ice inside click softly. When Yarakov was silent, Faulkner turned to Aram. “How does twelve sound to you?”

Though Faulkner’s voice was casual, there was nothing casual about her suggestion, and Aram knew it. He hesitated, then nodded. Yarakov didn’t look happy either, but he nodded also, sealing the agreement.

“Ms. Faulkner, your requests are disappointingly modest,” van Luik continued.

“So is the market.”

“We disagree. DSD studies indicate an increasing demand for luxury jewelry worldwide. We have added twenty percent to your request. We are confident that the American market will be able to absorb it, particularly with the new advertising campaign American jewelers will be launching soon.”

Faulkner knocked the ash from her cigarillo and looked skeptical.

“The theme of the campaign,” van Luik said, “is ‘The time to show her is now. Give a diamond as important as your love.’ The stress will be on mounted diamonds in excess of one carat.”

Faulkner shook her head, making the high-quality diamond studs in her earlobes glitter. “It will take time for such a campaign to have an effect. Meanwhile, we’ll have expensive diamond jewelry up the gazoo. Give us a year’s grace.”

Van Luik made a note on the paper in front of him. “Three months’ grace, Ms. Faulkner. If your sight-holders don’t like the contents of their parcels, they may, as always, refuse them.”

Faulkner stubbed out her cigarillo and said nothing.

“Are we in agreement?” van Luik asked, looking around the table. There was no dissent. “
Mazel und broche.
”

There was a muttered chorus of “
Mazel und broche
.”

Even Nan Faulkner said the traditional words before she shoved back her chair and stalked out of the room, mentally preparing her report for the Secretary of Defense. She was certain of one thing. She would conclude with a bitter truth: Another gem diamond mine was definitely needed.

A mine controlled by the United States, not ConMin.

Erin looked up from the remnants of her dinner as Cole approached her. A busy restaurant hummed around her. She barely noticed it. She was watching his lithe walk with an unconscious intensity. It was the same way she listened to his words, looked at his eyes, breathed the air that had touched him….

Last night she’d fallen asleep in his lap with the hard proof of his arousal against her hip. This morning she’d awakened fully dressed and alone in the bed. The intense sexuality that was as much a part of Cole as his intelligence was fully controlled.

The realization still rippled through Erin’s mind at odd moments, rearranging everything in its wake, leaving a feeling that was both peaceful and shimmering with anticipation.

Yet even as the feeling radiated through her, she knew she was reading too much into Cole’s restraint. He wanted her, and he was smart enough to know that pushing her sexually would guarantee that he didn’t get her.

She was edging toward wanting him, and she was smart enough to know the emotional risks involved.

Cole Blackburn didn’t strike her as the kind of man who would let himself be vulnerable to love. She wasn’t the kind to give herself to a man without loving him.

“Ready?” he asked, holding out his hand.

She stood and slid her hand into his. “Did you get them?”

“They’re strapped to my waist. I got a room at a different hotel and left our stuff in it.”

“My camera bag?” she asked.

He smiled slightly. “It’s safe in the room. And no, you can’t take pictures yet. No one watching you with a camera would mistake you for a tourist.”

She sighed.

He squeezed her hand. “We’ll rent a car using the new passports and leave tomorrow morning. Once we’re out of the city you can take all the pictures you want.”

“That’s a rash promise. I’m going to hold you to it.”

Laughing, they walked out of the restaurant hand in hand, looking like a couple having a relaxed night on the town. Outside it was warm, humid, and smelled like a city built in a greenhouse.

As they strolled beyond the circle of illumination thrown by a streetlight, they all but disappeared. He was wearing lightweight cotton slacks, shirt, and shoes. All black. Erin was wearing the same. Cole had insisted on dark colors at night and khaki during the day. Since he’d bought everything—including the nylon duffels they were using as luggage—she hadn’t complained. All she had of her former baggage was a single camera bag and the diamonds belted around her waist beneath her clothes.

A breeze stirred vaguely, bringing the scent of the sea.

“Now will you let me go see the Indian Ocean?” she asked.

“Timor Sea, actually.”

“Sold.”

He laughed softly and looked down at the woman who walked so gracefully by his side. She’d been different since she’d fallen asleep in his lap. Her relaxation with him and her gentle verbal teasing only increased his desire. So did the frank approval in her eyes when she watched him.

“Come on,” he said. “There’s a way down to the sea over here.”

He led her to an unlighted, zigzagging walkway that tunneled down through lush growth to the nearby water. They were only a few feet from the coarse sand beach when he stopped short, muscled her against the trunk of a tree, and pinned her in place with his body as though they were lovers too impatient to wait for privacy.

After a reflexive instant of fear at being manhandled, Erin relaxed. Cole’s predatory attention wasn’t on her. It was on the path behind them that led back up to Darwin’s sidewalks.

“I thought I heard somebody behind us,” he said very softly against her ear.

With each breath Erin took, the strength and weight of his body broke over her, sending her heart racing. Only a small part of her response was the residue of old terror. Most of it was new desire.

There was just enough light from the waxing moon for her to see the strong tendons in his neck, the black beard stubble that was a shadow beneath his skin, and the deep, steady beat of life in his throat. The pressure of his body was impersonal rather than sexual, protective rather than seductive. She told herself it was better that way.

She lied.

“Come on,” he said in a voice that was barely a thread of sound. “Farther down the beach there’s another way back up to the sidewalk.”

Their shoes made a thick, gritty sound in the coarse sand. To their right the sea lapped, rather than broke, over the beach. Clouds with blurred edges ran like buttermilk over the sky, soaking up moon and stars until nothing remained but a vague haze and a dissolving ripple of moonlight on the water. Where trees overhung the sand, intense shadow flowed out. The densities of light and shadow fascinated Erin. They weren’t like any combination of dark and bright that she’d ever seen.

“Wait here,” Cole said softly. “If you see anyone or anything move ahead of you, yell my name and come running back to me.”

“Where are you going?”

The only answer was the whisper of steel being drawn from the leather sheath he wore at his wrist. Like another shade of darkness he glided back the way they had come. She stared into the night intently, trying to see where Cole had gone.

Hands shot out of the darkness, grabbing her.

Before she had a chance to panic, she was following the self-defense routines that had been drilled into her until they were as much a part of her as her memories of Hans.

The man holding Erin made a triumphant sound that ended in a grunt of pain as her heel connected with his kneecap. He spun aside, hanging on to her with only one hand, grabbing his knee with the other.

She screamed a warning to Cole as she tried to break her attacker’s wrist with the edge of her palm, but he yanked her off balance as he fell. She went down as she’d been trained to do, loosely, rolling instantly to her feet, poised to run, for escape was always the best defense.

The man’s hand shot out and wrapped around her ankle. She kicked him in the face. He bellowed in pain.

Suddenly men were swarming all over her, grabbing at her hands and feet. She used everything she’d ever learned, knowing even as she fought that there were too many men for her to win, that they were too strong, and, worse, some of them were trained in unarmed combat. She’d taken her captor by surprise when she’d defended herself effectively.

The other men had seen what had happened to their friend. They were overwhelming her by sheer weight. Silently, savagely, she fought back. She’d promised herself seven years ago that she would kill or die before any man raped her again.

Suddenly she took a blow to the diaphragm that literally paralyzed her, driving the breath from her body. She barely heard one of her assailants give a high scream of pain in the instant before he reeled away from her and slumped unconscious into the sand. There was another flurry of motion as a man was lifted up and flung away. He landed hard and lay gasping for air.

The three remaining men abandoned Erin and looked around frantically, trying to find the invisible attacker.

“Run!” Cole ordered.

For an instant she didn’t recognize his voice. There was a flatness in it that she had never heard before. She sensed motion to her left and turned her head.

“Damn it, run!”

Cole looked huge in the nebulous light. His hands and his body made sinuous, almost hypnotic motions as he waited for the men to attack him. With each continuous motion he shifted balance smoothly, always poised to attack or defend in any direction, never giving away his intentions. The knife he held had the dull shine of mercury. Slowly he backed away, trying to draw the men from Erin, who hadn’t gotten up.

The men rushed Cole in a ragged line.

Erin saw the sudden gleam of steel blades as two of the men drew knives. She tried to call out, to warn Cole, but there wasn’t any air left in her body. She fought against herself as she’d fought against the men, trying to drag air back into her lungs so that she could do more than lie helpless on the cold sand.

Cole watched the oncoming men, picking the order of his targets with the cool precision of a man who was used to being on the wrong end of the fighting odds. He had two advantages. The first was that he didn’t have to worry about injuring a friend by mistake. The second was that the men would expect him to defend himself rather than attack them.

The two men holding knives came eagerly forward, keeping just enough distance between them so that Cole could fight only one at a time. He’d already chosen his target—the bigger of the two, the man who moved and held himself like a fighter.

Cole feinted toward the smaller man, then pivoted and leaped toward the bigger one. Cole’s left hand slapped aside the knife. Simultaneously the edge of his right hand delivered a chopping blow to the man’s throat. The attacker went down, choking, a threat no more.

Using the momentum of his turn, Cole lashed out with a high, powerful kick to the smaller man’s head. There was a thick sound as he connected. The smaller attacker went facedown in the sand and stayed there.

One man remained standing. Two others had staggered back to their feet and were closing in again.

“Erin!” Cole said.

She tried to answer but couldn’t. She still couldn’t breathe, much less speak.

“Erin.”

Only silence answered.

Cole looked at the three attackers who were still standing. “You’re dead men.”

With an inarticulate sound one of the three reached inside his windbreaker and drew out a long, oddly shaped gun.

Swiftly Cole bent, straightened, and turned in a blur of motion, sending sand hurtling into the man’s eyes as the two unarmed men leaped forward. Cole rolled with the attack, taking the blows in order to get in close and finish off at least one of the attackers before the gunman got his vision back.

Erin struggled to her knees with wrenching sobs as breath slowly trickled into her lungs. She saw Cole go down beneath the two men and heard the man with the gun cursing in a heavy Cockney accent. He was on his knees, clawing at his eyes and swearing, temporarily blinded. She hadn’t the strength to stand, so she did the only thing she could. She crawled closer, gathered a double handful of sand and flung it in the man’s face.

His frantically moving fingers ground the new sand into his eyes. Screaming curses, he came to his feet, flailing around with the gun.

Even as Erin thought of making a grab for the gun she knew she was still too weak. She dug out more handfuls of sand and threw them into the man’s face. Grunts and curses came from the darkness beyond, followed by the unmistakable sound of a breaking bone. In the sudden silence the metallic click of the gun being cocked was like thunder.

“Get down!”

At Cole’s command Erin flattened out, rolled over and over, and then hugged the ground as the blinded man began firing wildly, shooting in the direction the sand had been coming from. She’d expected shattering noise from the gun. All that came were thick spitting sounds.

Cole had also thrown himself to one side, knowing that the next bullets would be aimed in the direction that his shout had come from. Instants later two bullets kicked sand where he’d been, proving that while the gunman was temporarily blind, he wasn’t deaf or stupid.

Erin lay utterly motionless, trying not to breathe, knowing that any sound she made would send a bullet in her direction. Because it was so quiet, she thought that Cole was also hiding by not moving. Then she caught a suggestion of motion from the corner of her eye. She turned her head very carefully. It took all her self-control not to cry out at what she saw.

Slowly, relentlessly, timing his movements so that they were covered by the faint lapping of the waves, Cole was easing closer to the gunman.

Fear washed coldly through Erin. If Cole made one mistake he would be shot down before he could do anything to prevent it. It was the same for her in this lethal game of blindman’s buff. Only if they were motionless would they be safe. Yet only if they moved could they ultimately survive.

The gunman wouldn’t stay blind for more than a few moments.

She dug her fingers further into the coarse sand, gathering grains to fling into the gunman’s eyes. She looked from the gunman to Cole, measuring the distance yet to be covered.

Cole’s head moved once in an emphatic negative gesture. He’d seen her hands clenching in the sand. He didn’t want her to move suddenly, calling down bullets on herself before she had any chance to get away.

Silently Cole slid closer to the gunman, who was between him and Erin. If Cole threw his knife or hit the attacker with a flying tackle, there was a very good chance that the man would topple, gun blazing, right onto Erin.

To prevent that Cole had to be within arm’s reach of the man, so close that the sound of the waves no longer offered any cover for his movements, so close he couldn’t even breathe without warning the gunman of his presence.

Erin’s hands closed in the sand with such force that her fingers ached. Slowly she began gathering herself with a series of small movements.

Cole’s heart hesitated, then slammed hard as more adrenaline pumped through him. If the gunman sensed Erin’s movement he would turn and shoot before Cole could do anything. If she would just lie still, she’d be safe. But she wasn’t lying still. She was trying to get close enough to fling more sand into the man’s eyes.

The gunman had his back partially to her, and his head was turning. He was poised to spin in any direction, his breathing ruthlessly controlled, listening like a cat at a mouse hole. The silenced gun wove from side to side, covering as wide a field of fire as possible.

Erin saw the glitter of moonlight in the man’s eyes as he turned toward the water. Cole was silhouetted against the pale gleam of the sea, a target too big to miss even with blurred vision.

She threw sand and rolled aside in the same violent motion.

The gunman spun toward her, firing before he could see a target. The bullet hit the sand, spraying grit. The gunman whirled back around toward the sea, warned of an attack more by instinct than by any noise Cole made. The gun spat again.

Cole grunted just before the base of his palm smashed against the man’s nose with a driving upward blow. The gunman’s head snapped backward, and blood poured blackly in the moonlight. The man crumpled without a sound to the sand.