A Stirring from Salem (20 page)

The sun was going down in the Timbavati and soft light filtered through the trees into John and Marlena’s suite. Her head rested in exactly the same position where John had put it nearly three hours ago.

“Doc,” John said quietly as he pushed the hair back from her peaceful face. “How tired were you?”

He kissed the tip of her nose just as the bedside phone rang. Marlena repositioned herself slightly as John quickly answered.

“Shane?” It was indeed Shane Donovan, one of John’s best friends and still a high-ranking agent in the ISA.

“I’ve been trying to reach you for hours.” John was frustrated, and that was obvious in his voice.

“I just saw your messages,” Shane answered apologetically. “I’m not quite awake, my friend.”

John glanced at his sleeping wife. “Is there some sleeping epidemic I don’t know about?”

“It’s not even 8:00 a.m. in L.A.,” Shane answered. “Besides, I left you two messages on your cell phone.”

John took his iPhone from his pocket.

“I can only get spotty service here out in the middle of nowhere,” John realized. “When I first heard about the poaching down here, it didn’t make sense that it was so out of control. But the area’s huge and communication ain’t easy. I’m beginning to get it now. What are you doing in L.A.?”

“I’m here over the holiday…trying to work on things with Kim,” Shane admitted.

Shane Donovan and Kim Brady Donovan were two of John’s closest friends, and their relationship had been as much of a roller-coaster ride as John and Marlena’s. The danger and uncertainty of being an international agent had taken its toll on so many. Kim and Shane’s marriage had been one of the victims. Now Shane was juggling his position in London with trips to Los Angeles in hopes he could heal their scarred relationship.

“Glad to hear that,” John said sincerely. “I know most of the problems were because of the ISA, and family’s got to come first. But I need you desperately at the moment, pal.”

“She’s meeting me here at the hotel to talk in less than an hour. Yes, I am in a hotel. The Sunset Tower so I’m not complaining, but we’re still on a rocky road,” Shane said as he glanced out the window of the landmark Art Deco hotel with its panoramic view of greater Los Angeles. “I guess if anyone knows the hell of losing the love of your life you do.”

John glanced at Marlena, who was beginning to stir. “I also know that when we see a wrong we have to right it,” John said. “The slaughtering of rhino is still crippling this country.”

“One would have thought Selebi’s conviction would have made an impact,” Shane offered.

The South African High Court had found Jackie Selebi, National Police Commissioner of South Africa, guilty for taking bribes from drug traffickers less than a year earlier. Also the former president of Interpol, Selebi had resigned from both posts and was on “extended leave.”

“Just goes to show how high the corruption here goes,” John said, disgusted. “Obviously why I’m keeping this close to the vest. We all believe in signs, Shane, and I landed in the heart of this for a reason. I tried to get into the ISA computers myself but I’ve lost my clearance.”

“I’m all yours,” Shane said simply.

“I need you to check on an Asian couple for me. Jiao-jie and Wen Xing. They’re importers, but I think I know what they’re exporting.”

“Any chance you can spell those names for me?”

“As a matter of fact, I can.”

John retrieved the business card he’d gotten from the couple and spelled the names for Shane. He began to pace as he spoke, his adrenaline pumping.

“They’ve got their own private jet on the airstrip here. A Falcon 200,” he added.

“Isn’t that what you owned?” Shane asked.

“Yep,” John answered. “And if I’m right about this, I need one more little favor. I need you to break its emergency security code for me. Mine was registered with the builder of the aircraft. Dassault. Surely you can hack into their system for me.”

“I’m sure I can,” Shane assured him.

“Think you can get it done before you order breakfast?”

“I’ll do my best,” Shane repeated. “Right now, all you can do is wait.”

“Wait by this friggin’ phone.” John’s voice was filled with frustration.

“And this is the only number where I can reach you,” Shane said as a statement more than a question.

“Guess they don’t think you need good cell service in paradise.”

“Stay cool,” Shane reminded him.

“I know the drill. But I’m like a caged animal here, Donovan,” John said pointedly. “And time is of the essence.”

“I hear you. In our line of work, isn’t it always?”

John hung up the phone, but he couldn’t stop pacing.

“Hey,” he heard softly.

Marlena was finally opening her eyes.

“Hi, Doc,” John said as he entered the bedroom and quickly moved to her side. “You were really out of it.”

“I still am a bit,” she admitted as she yawned. “I didn’t realize what an emotional day it would be.”

“Me, too,” John said with his own meaning.

“How did I get back here?”

Marlena’s mind was fuzzy, exactly the side effect Cornelius had counted on to keep Bill’s mind a muddle.

“Bill brought you.”

“He did? I didn’t realize I was so loopy.”

Outside, she could see that the streaks of coral and purple in the sky were fading.

“Did we miss the game ride?” she asked.

“Do you still want to go?” he answered.

“Well…would you hate me if I just rested a while longer?”

“I can keep myself busy,” he answered. “Why don’t you sleep some more and we’ll have a late dinner here.”

“I love you,” she said.

He tenderly kissed her. “You might want to get comfortable.”

“I’m fine,” she said drowsily. Her eyes were still heavy from the Rohypnol, and she began to drift back to sleep.

John moved from the bed and took the phone receiver out to the deck to wait for Shane’s call. The stars were emerging like a blanket of twinkle lights laid across a heavenly garden. In the distance John could see a loping herd of impala, and he could hear the trumpet of an elephant.

It was now fully night. The animals were stirring. And soon, at the hands of mercenary men and women, some of them would be dying.

Throughout all of Africa, open Land Rovers were taking astounded tourists to view the wonder of nature at its purest. Rangers from neighboring game farms were sharing their sightings over walkie-talkies.

Shut off from the pressures and problems of their day-to-day lives, these foreigners were allowed to be quiet. To look inward. To see the world in a way they’d never experienced. To commune with nature, God, and their own inner voices.

Others from around the world would get to see it through Vince Castle’s lens as a backdrop for his models. Scarlett. Nikki. Brigitta. And now Charley.

Charley understood the importance of this assignment going well. And it was not only that the client was spending a fortune. She had also come to realize the importance of showcasing South Africa. As Charley had flown over their locations on the plane, she had seen a country of mind-boggling contrasts. Beautiful people living in supreme wealth or villagers living in poverty. Billionaires in hilltop Cape Town mansions enjoying the finest the world has to offer, while tribesmen in outlying villages lived on less than two dollars a day. Extremes isolated by distance and politics and religions that were as black and white as the zebra’s stripes. Yet the people of South Africa were also constantly struggling to find common ground, and they were making progress.

The World Cup in 2010 had given the world a glimpse of the progress the country had made, jokes about the bleating vuvuzela trumpets aside. Now, by being included in this photo shoot, Charley would be one of the country’s ambassadors.

As they climbed into the open Rover, she saw Brendan’s silhouette approaching. Her heart leapt.

She nervously started playing with her hair.
Oh, God, what is happening to me?

“Everybody here?” the ranger asked as he emerged into the light. She saw it was not Brendan but Ben, the ranger they had had when they arrived.

“Where’s Brendan?” Scarlett said, smiling through her perfect veneers. “He was a lot cuter than you.”

“Had to see his girl,” Ben answered. “She just got back from holiday. It is amazing to see them together. Wish I had someone to love that much.” Then he changed the subject. “Let’s go.”

The tracker climbed into his seat at the front of the Rover and they took off.

Charley had been aching to see Brendan and feel the warmth of his lips again. But he had to see “his girl,” she thought to herself as her heart now sank.

The ride through the natural, rough terrain with its hills, valleys, stones, and fallen branches, was difficult as always, but Charley’s mind was a million miles away.

She wasn’t one to give her heart easily and, with her commitment to abstinence, had never given her body to anyone. Until Brendan, she had never wanted to. Because when she looked into his eyes, what reflected back was pure love. At least she had thought so.

He’s committed to someone else? she said to herself. What was I thinking?

Charley gazed out into the vastness, her chestnut hair blowing softly in the wind. Vince’s eyes were on her, and he was mesmerized.

“Stop,” he told Ben as he put his hand on the ranger’s shoulder. Ben didn’t know why, but he did as he was asked.

Vince positioned his camera.

Charley was so lost in thought that she didn’t notice as Vince began snapping photos of her, focusing on her face with its enigmatic, haunting expression. Vince saw it could be interpreted a thousand different ways, and it was perfect. The light from the headlights and the stars lit her in a way that was magic.

“That’s our money shot!” Vince said with an enthusiasm he hadn’t felt since he’d shot Scarlett’s first cover.

“What?” Charley said as she was brought back to reality.

Vince blew Charley a kiss, gave her a thumbs-up, and then signaled for Ben to continue the ride.

From her position behind Vince, Scarlett saw and heard it all. And she knew, as clear as the African sky, that Charley, not she, would be on the anniversary-issue cover. And when Scarlett was relegated to the editorial pages, no one would be clamoring for her to do big-money endorsements.

Scarlett stared into the vastness of the Timbavati, deep in thought as the wind tousled her hair.

There are millions to be made with rhino horn, she thought to herself. Who needs the limelight anyway? But as she noticed Vince clicking through the shots he’d just taken of Charley, her smile faded sadly.

I need it, that’s who.

“And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free,” John uttered as he gripped the telephone handset, waiting and hoping for Shane’s call.

John was quoting the words he had held as his mantra ever since he’d seen the Bible verse etched into the marble entrance of the CIA.

“But this truth ain’t gonna free you two,” John said as he glanced at Jiao-jie and Wen’s business card. “With luck, it’ll bury you.”

The handset finally rang and John answered.

“Was I right?” John asked, anxious for news.

“I’m looking for John Black,” was the confused answer.

“Shane?” John asked.

“Donovan? No, it’s Patch. And why are you expecting a call from Shane, anyway?”

Patch and Shane knew each other from their ISA days…not to mention that their wives were sisters. Still Shane, the erudite Londoner, was as different from rough-and-tumble Steve Johnson as chalk and cheese.

“Strange things going down over here, my friend, and after I hear from him, we may have to jump into action.”

Patch looked to Joe, who was soundly sleeping on the sofa, and ignored John’s request. “Is Kayla with you?”

“Haven’t heard from her. Why?” John was thrown.

“We had a pretty bad fight, and she took off for the clinic. I left messages, but she hasn’t picked up,” Patch said with growing concern in his voice.

“Sorry,” John answered. “And if she had called us, Marlena’s in no condition to see anyone. The day really did her in.”

They both heard a clicking on the phone.

“It could be Shane,” John said quickly. “What equalizers do you have?”

“Guns?” Patch asked, startled. Having worked undercover at one time, Patch knew exactly what John meant. “I have a Smith & Wesson M&P. Why, what the hell’s happening?”

“Hold on,” John snapped as he clicked onto the other call. It was Shane.

“Those two have more aliases than a Vegas brothel,” Shane told him.

John’s heart began beating faster as it always had when he was on assignment.

He conferenced in Patch, and they quickly filled him in on John’s suspicions and Shane’s confirmation. The three spoke with a professional shorthand they had developed when all had worked in various capacities with Salem’s branch of the ISA.

Suddenly, it felt like the great old times they’d had in Salem.

“The security code for the plane?” John asked.

Shane rattled off a series of numbers, and John smiled widely. If anyone could hack a computer system, it was Shane Donovan.

“Get over here with that M&P, Patch,” John directed his cohort. “We need to check what they have stashed.”

“As soon as I connect with Kayla, I’ll be there,” Patch said with urgency. “My wife’s my top priority.”

“We understand,” John said as he looked at dozing Marlena.

“Better than you can imagine,” Shane said, as there was a knock on his hotel room door. His estranged wife had arrived.

“Just remember my window is less than two hours.”

***

Patch realized the enormity of what John had asked him. He also felt the pressure of an MIA wife and the son who’d just gone through the most traumatic day of his life.

It was dark as pitch out now, and he was feeling uneasy.

He knew that Kayla would be furious with him for waking Joe, but since he couldn’t reach her, he had no choice.

“Get home, Sweetness,” he said under his breath, and he went to retrieve the pistol he’d purchased to keep in the house for protection.

Though Kayla hated the idea of guns in the house, she knew that in South Africa, a gun was a necessity in case of emergency.

Near the entrance to the hallway to the bedrooms was a large teak bookcase with a carved fascia just above eye level. Patch gave the fascia a light tap, and it flipped open. His “Military and Police” revolver was inside. He took a box of clips from behind it, put them in the pocket of his khaki vest, and jammed the gun into the waistband of his pants. Then he went to rouse his miserably unhappy little boy.

“Sorry about this, Bud,” he said warmly as he reached to awaken the sleeping toddler.

But just as he was about to touch him, Patch heard a car in the driveway.

“Thank the Lord and pass the ammunition,” he said wryly as he heard the engine turn off and then footsteps.

“I am sorrier than sorry, Sweetness,” he said as sincerely as he could as he opened the front door.

But it wasn’t Kayla, it was Beauty.

In her hands was a handmade woven basket. She presented it to Patch as a peace offering.

“Mr. Patch, I am sorry for today,” Beauty said in her click-tongued Xhosa accent. “I have made this for Joe and Ms. Kayla. Please tell them I ask forgiveness.”

Patch looked out into the driveway. There was a twenty-year-old Suzuki idling, with a young man behind the wheel.

“Who brought you?” he asked.

“My cousin,” she answered. “He knew how upset I was and—“

“And can he leave you with Joe until we get back?” Patch asked.

“So Ms. Kayla forgives me?” Beauty asked wide-eyed.

“She will,” he answered, determined to believe it. “Right now I need your help.”

And I’m the one who’s going to need forgiveness if she gets back here before I do
, Steve thought grimly as he ushered Beauty inside.