Alana
and Carlo had been brought to the bordello within weeks of each other. After
realizing that rescue was not forthcoming they found some solace in each
other’s arms. Although their training included other young men and women, as
well as private sessions with the madam, they were allowed exclusive time with
each other. Highly sexed as she was, Alana enjoyed all her encounters with the
other trainees, but none more than those with Carlo.
After
an hour of teen talk, they had sex. Despite rising passion, they heard loud
noises, including screams, coming from elsewhere in the huge compound.
“No
wonder the old bitch didn’t want to stay,” Carlo said, slowing his movements.
“There must be a big party going on. Rowdy bunch. Probably some sado shit.”
“Who
cares?” Alana said. “Don’t move. I want to show you something I can do. We can
come together.”
A
few moments later, as they reached their peak, the door crashed open. Before
either could react, a man in black fatigues rushed to the bed and pulled Carlo
off by his hair and calmly slit his throat, then dropped him to the floor.
Alana screamed and reached for her lover, who was gurgling horribly. The killer
grabbed her and threw her on the bed.
“Go
easy with her!”
Another
man entered the room. A tall, commanding figure holding a smoking machine
pistol.
“Put
her in my jeep.”
Carlo’s
killer wrapped Alana in a sheet and picked her up effortlessly. She clawed at
his face. The other man patted her gently on her cheek.
“Easy
child. You are going home. Cover her eyes.”
“Yes,
Capitán.”
She
felt herself being carried down the stairs. The man’s hand on her face smelled
of cordite, the odor reminiscent of her days hunting rabbits or deer with her
grandfather.
“Alana,
for the love of God, please help me.”
Alana
ripped away the hand. Vera Pappas and several other men and women, in various
states of undress, were kneeling on the floor at the bottom of the stairs,
guarded by men with automatic weapons. Vera’s hands were lifted in
supplication.
“Please
talk to them. Tell them what we mean to each other!”
Alana
was rushed out the door and placed in the back of a camouflaged Humvee between
two burly men. She started to shiver. One of the men shrugged out of his tunic
and wrapped it around her. Looking out, she could see that the compound’s
courtyard was packed with several similar vehicles and was swarming with armed
men. Moments later the “Capitán” climbed in and sat across from her. Taking off
his own jacket, he wrapped her legs and feet with it. Then he reached into a
compartment and brought out a thermos. He poured something into a cup.
“Brandy.”
Alana
nodded and took a deep swallow, gagging slightly. The men laughed. One of them
pounded her gently on the back and said, “Good girl.”
“Your
grandfather would be proud,” the captain said.
“You
know Grandpapa?”
“He
sent us. It took us a while to find you. But he never gave up hope.”
They
were interrupted by gunfire and screams from inside the bordello. Then silence.
A gunman came to the window. The leader looked at him.
“Meurto,”
the man said.
Alana
looked at the captain.
“Did
you have to?”
“Your
grandfather is not the forgiving kind, I’m afraid. Now rest. He waits for you.”
“And
Mama?”
The
three men exchanged glances. The captain gently took Alana’s hands.
“I’m
afraid your mother…passed away.”
Alana
Loeb had not cried in years. But now a lone tear rolled down her cheek. One of
the gunmen patted her on the knee. The leader rapped on the window behind him
with his ring finger and the Humvee started to move. His hand dropped to his
lap and Alana’s gaze drifted to the ring. In its large oval center is a cross
with two horizontal bars…the Cross of the Lorraine.
***
After
her rescue, Alana was happy to be home. But things were different. It was more
than the loss of her mother. Her presence was a suppurating wound in the
community. She was coddled by her grandfather and other relatives, but they –
and their retainers – watched her closely, lest she resort to “evil ways.” No
longer the innocent child, she found herself scrutinizing every word, every
gesture for a hidden meaning. She suspected that the boys who came calling knew
everything, and wanted it all. Her grandfather treated all of them with barely
concealed hostility.
It
didn’t matter to Alana; mere boys no longer interested her. She took up with a
series of powerful men, most married. She soon became an embarrassment to her
grandfather and was shipped off to a private religious school in Europe, which
she hated, but where she honed her facility for languages, math and science.
Eventually, she declared her independence and moved to the United States. In
Miami, with its rich mix of cultures and decadent lifestyle, she thrived. She
studied the law, slept with all the right men and turned her back on her
family, except for her grandfather, who provided her with a liberal allowance
and showered her with gifts. Her last sense of connection to her earlier life
died when he did. She had no desire to run a winery or participate in any of
the other family businesses, most of which had suffered from the neglect of her
dispirited grandfather. His “empire” was crumbling and she knew her feckless
cousins would finish the job. She sold her interests to them, as well as her
beloved hacienda.
Alana
Loeb, now free of any emotional restraints, would make her way in America,
where her innate intelligence, newfound sexual prowess and disdain for men
almost guaranteed success.
In
both her personal and business life Alana now assumed everyone’s intentions
were malignant or at best selfish. It was easy to deal with the world that way
and certainly a good way to make a lot of money. If she had a soft spot it was
for children, especially the youngest. But ever the realist, she knew she was
just compensating for her own truncated childhood. Her relationships in the
adult world were all business or sex, and often a mix of both. She enjoyed
relationships with many men, some just to further her career, and some more
casual. She was not against having fun. But as pleasant and charming as some of
her lovers were she never considered that they might love or value her. She
understood that their primary instinct was to bed her first and get to know her
later. She often gladly allowed the first, never the second.
So
it was with Victor Ballantrae. Some of what Alana told Scarne about her
recruitment by Victor was true. He had indeed been impressed by her skills and
did want her to set up a legal department. But he wanted to fuck her first. He
made that quite clear early in the negotiations about her compensation. His
approach was so direct and vulgar she told him bluntly he was risking a
lawsuit. Never missing a beat, he said he’d make her rich. At the time he had
her pinned on the couch in his office. It was after hours; they were alone.
She
thought about crippling him. Vera Pappas had taught her a few tricks. ("
Remember,
precious, it is you who will be using them. Make sure they always treat you
well. And, if they don’t….”)
Alana
knew she could leave any man – even one as powerful as Victor Ballantrae –
writhing in pain. Briefly, she contemplated using the notorious “nut knot” on
him. But she had done her homework. Ballantrae was the kind of man who could
make her rich. So, Victor was pleasantly surprised when Alana’s resistance
lessened and she became an enthusiastic participant to an activity that moments
earlier had bordered on rape (not that he had anything against rape). More than
enthusiastic. After they finished, a dazed and sated Ballantrae wondered if
he
had been raped. It was the most incredible carnal experience of his life. And
Alana Loeb became his highest paid employee. He never knew how close he had
come to being made a eunuch.
As
their physical relationship progressed, Alana and Victor realized how much
alike they were, and developed a real affection for each other, albeit one
always tempered by self-interest. Victor amused her. He had told her about his
background. She smiled at his braggadocio, but approved. To her mind, no family
worth its salt lacked ancestors who ended up on the gallows. She suspected that
in Victor’s case the law missed a few.
And
for all his faults, Victor was a real man, in and out of bed. For his part,
Victor was astounded to realize that Alana ruined other women for him.
Previously he had devoured them like burritos. After Alana, he still tried, but
was invariably disappointed. She was the best sex partner he’d ever had; there
wasn’t a second place. She was a different woman in bed every time, a trait
that never failed to amaze him. As for the other women in his life; Alana
tolerated them, unless she had occasion to meet them. Then it wasn’t pretty.
Victor
was at one point so taken with Alana that he even broached – in the broadest
possible terms and with the caution of a minnow approaching a bass – the
possibility of marriage. He might as well have asked her to pass the ketchup.
He never brought it up again.
Their
partnership, such as it was, had proven incredibly lucrative. Alana Loeb had
brought structure and order to the Ballantrae organization, solved the legal
and other problems (often with Garza and Keitel’s help) caused by Victor’s
recklessness and penchant for larceny, and managed the flow of political contributions
and bribes. With her financial acumen and common sense, she also vetted
Ballantrae’s endless stream of new schemes.
And
occasionally came up with one of her own.
CHAPTER
34 – THE MAN IN COACH
Scarne
was contemplating his nakedness (and was mildly relieved to see that his sexual
organs were intact) when Alana padded into the room carrying a tray, on which
sat glasses of orange juice, mugs of coffee, pastries and silver bowls with
cream and sugar.
“Just
leftovers,” she said. “I’ll make us a proper breakfast later.” Placing the tray
on the table nearest Scarne she looked lasciviously at his crotch. “Sit up,
Jake, I don’t want you spilling hot coffee in your lap. I have plans for it.”
He
pulled up the covers and did as he was told. She sat on the bed next to him.
The juice was delicious. It was Florida, after all. And the coffee was strong.
She picked up a croissant and moved it toward his mouth. He took a bite then
grabbed her hand. He turned it over and kissed the underside of her wrist. Then
he bit the soft fleshy mound under her thumb. She cried out, pulled back her
hand and handed him the rest of the pastry.
“So,
you know about the ‘Mound of Love,’” she said.
They
ate in silence for a few minutes. When they were finished, she picked up the
tray. On her way out the door she looked back.
“Why
don’t you start the shower? I’ll be right in. We can wash each other. Then we
can make love all morning. I owe you a bite.”
***
Her
lovemaking skills were remarkable. Scarne knew that she was a woman of the
world, and he had long ceased to be surprised by feminine passion. But Alana
took pleasure-taking to a new level. And pleasure-giving, for she was
unquestionable generous. She usually allowed him to be dominant – and often
near her climax put up a show of joyous resistance – until they were both
spent. Then she often took over, first gently, then more urgently as her needs
were reawakened. She was multi-orgasmic and very vocal. Afterwards, in
post-coital languor, her soothing voice and feathery touches enveloped them in
a cocoon of contentment.
Alana
never fully let her guard down in these quiet moments, but she alluded to an
earlier, tougher life. When he pressed her about her upbringing, she simply
said, “My childhood was cut short, Jake, so there is nothing to tell.” She
clutched him tightly, as if his presence could erase horrible memories.
When
he walked into the bathroom, he caught her reflection when he opened the
medicine cabinet mirror. She was lying on her side in a
Naked Maja
pose
staring after him. Her eyes said everything. But by the time he got back to the
bed, she had recovered. She pulled her legs up to her chin and smiled
mischievously at him.
“Looking
for Viagra, Jake?”
“I’m
thinking more in terms of CPR.”
But
he jumped her and they fell back laughing, and were soon asleep. It was late
afternoon when he awoke, again alone. He threw on his pants and walked to the
top of the stairs leading down to the pool area. She was sitting at a table,
talking on a phone. The crime scene tape was gone and workers were cleaning the
area. She waved him down. She was dressed in a shorts and a T-shirt and looked
freshly scrubbed. The workers kept glancing at her. He leaned down and nuzzled
her neck, inhaling her scent.
“Yes,
I understand. I’ll be along as soon as I can. It would be easier if I had one
of the jets, but I’ll make do. I’ll see you there. No, I don’t think there will
be any problem leaving. If there is, I’ll call you. Yes. Yes. Fine. Goodbye.”
She
hung up and looked at him.
“I
have to go to Antigua.” She took his hand and smiled. ““Darling, come with me.
We can stay at the nicest place. I’ll only be working a few hours. You know how
it is in the islands. Nobody puts in a full day. Oh, please!”
The
transformation from efficient businesswoman to sultry lover and temptress was
unsettling, but also irresistible.
“Alana,
I’m working. Things have happened. The police may want to talk to us.”
“By
staying with me, you will be working, no? We’re not suspects in what happened
to Tony.” She put her hand to his face. “Please. I need you now.”
Scarne
weighed his options. He convinced himself that sticking close to Alana was the
right move. But he also knew that he just wanted to be with her.
“I’ll
have to go back to my place and get some things.”
“Thank
you, darling! All the corporate jets are in use, so we’ll have to fly
commercial. I’ll have the office make arrangements for the noon flight.”
Scarne
told her he’d be back in an hour to pick her up.
***
Once
back at La Gorce, he packed and called Evelyn.
“How
long will you be gone?”
“Day
or two, tops.”
“I
don’t like it, Jake.”
“What
don’t you like?”
“First
the fellow at the church, now the murder at the pool. Don’t you think this is
all just a little bit strange?”
Scarne
had almost forgotten the incident at St. Christopher’s. Something began to
coalesce in his thoughts.
“Oh,
by the way, Sheldon Shields stopped by. What a nice man.”
Scarne
lost the thought.
“What
did he want?”
“Just
said he was in the neighborhood and wanted to drop off a package. Said it was a
gift. It’s in on your desk. Would you like me to open it?”
“No,
I’m in a hurry. I’ll do it when I get back. Right now I want you to take
something down.”
Scarne
spent the next 10 minutes dictating an abbreviated version of what he had
learned up to that point about Josh’s death and the Ballantrae organization.
Evelyn made no comment until he finished, and then simply said, “Jellyfish,
Jake?”
“Yes,
I know. It all sounds so bizarre. But something is not right. I no longer think
Sheldon Shields is wasting his money.”
“Have
you told him any of this?”
“God,
no. I haven’t come across anything that even remotely looks like a clue. I
don’t know what, if anything, all this has to do with Josh Shields. I’m just
going to keep pulling the string to see what’s on the other end.”
“Be
careful it’s not a noose.”
“You
might want to let Dudley take a gander at your notes. Just in case.”
***
Alana
and Scarne were booked to fly American Airlines first-class to Antigua, through
San Juan. The traffic was heavy and neither of them spotted the two cars that
followed them to the airport. One, a maroon Cadillac, stopped a few lengths
behind their cab when it pulled up to the departure building at Miami
International. The man in the passenger seat got out with a small carry-on bag
and followed the couple into the terminal. He was only steps behind them in
line when they picked up their tickets. He spent a lot of time looking at
Alana, but neither noticed him. It was to be expected that men stared at her. A
moment later he booked the same flight.
The
three occupants in the second tailing car had concentrated on the cab carrying
Scarne and Alana; they didn’t notice the Cadillac. One of them, dressed in a
dark blue suit, as were the others, also followed Scarne and Alana at a
distance to the counter. Once the line dissipated, he showed his credentials
and jotted down the information he needed. When he got back to the car, his
companions were also flashing wallets to airport security cops who wanted them
to move the car. He climbed into the front seat and pulled out a cell phone to
call New York as the car pulled away.
The
flight to Antigua took just under six hours. Alana and Scarne, exhausted by
their lovemaking, and sedated by food and wine, slept most of the way.
The
man following them had a seat far back in coach. He didn’t sleep. He was
thinking. Unarmed, and with no connections in Antigua, he would have to
improvise. He assumed he could get his weapon of choice from a street urchin or
someone hanging around the docks. For now, he felt naked without it. Escape
from the island might be a problem. But given the well-known incompetence of
Caribbean cops, he thought he had a fighting chance. Those idiots in Aruba
still hadn’t found out who killed that American girl. That was a shame. From
all accounts, she was apparently a nice kid.
He
then thought of his own loss and his face hardened.