“Did you love your husband very much?”
“Can you forget him?”
“Could you want me?”
He cleared his throat again. “I see. Well, if I have the sequence of events correctly, we’re to check into another hotel here in Trinidad for a couple of days, then board the yacht and set sail for some country.… What was it?”
“Kadeira. It’s northwest of here.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of it. And while we sail around Kadeira, we’re supposed to make contact with the operative with the coded information?”
She hesitated. “Um … sort of. Actually, the agent is more or less incommunicado because of his cover. We have to go to him.”
Rafferty drummed his long fingers soundlessly on the arm of his chair as he forced himself to consider this second disconcerting aspect of the situation. And he knew now why Hagen had been so evasive in naming their destination. Rafferty would have laughed in his face if he’d been told they were actually to go into Kadeira. “Correct me if I’m wrong,” he said morosely, “but isn’t Kadeira having political and social difficulties at the moment? The kinds of difficulties which make it inadvisable for tourists to visit the island?”
She was chewing her bottom lip, drawing his gaze despite all his good intentions and nagging suspicions, causing his heart to pound heavily and every muscle of his body to tighten, and her soft voice sounded as if it were afraid of itself.
“Uh, yes. The president there claims it isn’t a revolution and that he’s in control, but there have been a few incidents in the past months involving American tourists. They don’t get many tourists,” she added.
His fingers drummed faster. Dammit, why couldn’t he take his eyes off her? “Yes. As I recall from the news reports, a salesman from Wichita was arrested for being a spy. Bit paranoid, aren’t they?”
She looked uneasy for a moment. “He was released,” she offered.
“Uh-huh. But the toy manufacturer from Billings hasn’t been seen in over a month.”
Her eyes widened, but Sarah Cavell had nothing to say.
Rafferty stopped drumming long enough to run his fingers through his thick copper hair. His tawny eyes frowned at her. “Tell me, did Hagen suggest we go into this island paradise armed? Or are we being given diplomatic immunity to perform an act that Kadeira’s president—judging by his record—would certainly consider an act of espionage?”
Sarah examined her long, bronze-lacquered nails. “About guns, personal choice, Hagen said. I should mention, I couldn’t hit the side of a barn if I was standing next to it.”
“Great,” Rafferty muttered, becoming unwillingly fascinated in a horrified kind of way. “And the rest?”
She seemed to find the secrets of the universe in the metallic gleam of her nails. “Oh … no diplomatic or political immunity for us, I’m afraid. Kadeira doesn’t exactly recognize American nationals as being … worthy of such honors. We’re reasonably safe outside the three-mile limit, but once inside Kadeira …”
“And how,” Rafferty asked carefully, “are we supposed to get inside Kadeira? Being unworthy American nationals, I mean?”
“Hagen said that it’s been arranged.”
“Oh, did he? Did he happen to mention just how it’s been arranged?”
“No.”
Rafferty began to entertain notions of locating the elusive Hagen and choking the information out of him. It was a blissful possibility while it lasted. He sighed. “I see. We just leap blindly into this thing, trusting Hagen beyond the limits of sanity. Do you happen to speak Spanish?” He watched her shake her head slowly, and wasn’t surprised. “Neither do I. And from what I’ve seen of the rare news footage, neither of us looks as if we belong in Kadeira. How in the name of hell are we supposed to get into that country without getting ourselves arrested?”
Sarah lifted her hands in a kind of shrug and tried a smile that she couldn’t quite pull off. “Hagen said it’s all arranged,” she repeated softly.
Rafferty wished he smoked. Or drank to excess. Any escape would have been pleasant at the moment. “Right. Well, ignoring that question for the moment, what about later? Once we’re inside Kadeira, how do we make contact with the agent holding the information?”
Sarah studied her nails again. “We’ll receive a signal from him to arrange a meeting. At the meeting, we’ll receive the information, which I’m to verify. Then we just … leave Kadeira.”
“Just leave Kadeira,” Rafferty repeated, fascinated. “Tell me—since I definitely have a need to know—just what is this information we’re going after?”
She sent him a fleeting glance. In a very soft voice, she replied, “It has to do with an organization operating out of Kadeira.”
“What kind of organization?” he asked with careful politeness.
Sarah was chewing her lip again. “Terrorist.”
Rafferty closed his eyes briefly. If she chewed her lip once more, he decided, he was going to lunge. He could certainly think of worse ways to begin what was looking more and more like a nightmare. “That’s what I was afraid of. So. We’re going after information which, if we are caught, will clearly brand us both as spies and will certainly get us shot—at the very least. And our fearless leader Hagen will no doubt call out the marines if we’re arrested and labeled as spies?”
She brought her nails closer to her face and gazed at them, frowning. “Well … there are problems with that. We aren’t supposed to be conducting covert operations down there. And we would—legally—be in the wrong if we were caught.” She linked her fingers together, resting them in her lap, and lifted pleading green eyes to his face. “So we’re pretty much on our own, I’m afraid.”
Rafferty tried to resist those eyes. He really tried. But somehow he found all his wrathful dismay seeping slowly from his trained legal mind. His trained legal mind, in fact, seemed disposed to make fanciful and utterly ridiculous comparisons between green eyes and absurd things like priceless gems and bottomless lagoons.
“I think—” He cleared his throat violently and tried again. “I think we’re both fools.”
Sarah Cavell, watching that lean and handsome face, silently had to agree. With her part of it, at least. She was a fool. She was a fool because a stranger had opened a hotel room door, and looked down at her with surprised tawny gold eyes, and she had forgotten why she was there. She had forgotten the assignment, the dangers, and her own serious lack of training for situations such as this promised to be.
She had all but forgotten her name.
What she had not forgotten, what Hagen had impressed on her strongly, was that Rafferty Lewis was off-limits. He would be her professional partner for the next three weeks or so, but any other involvement was impossible. He had, Hagen had told her quietly, buried a young wife only a few months before. A much-beloved wife. But she wasn’t to mention that, because Rafferty had not recovered from his loss, would probably never recover.
Sarah was only dimly aware of hot tears welling up in her eyes at the thought. Hers was a soft heart, unsuited to the work ahead of her, and she tended to cry for anyone burdened with pain. She wanted to cry for Rafferty’s young wife, and for him, but blinked back the tears fiercely; not for anything would she expose the man’s raw grief to even her own compassion. Meeting his eyes, she found them rather startled, and realized he had seen the unshed tears. She spoke quickly. “I guess we should find the other hotel, then.”
“I guess so. My bags are waiting downstairs.”
She rose to her feet, absently smoothing the pale cream silk dress that complemented her golden tan so well. “I’ll—I’ll get a cab for us and wait outside.”
Still disturbed by her tears, Rafferty racked his brain to remember what had been said to upset her. Heaven knew he didn’t want her to cry. Tears in those vivid green eyes roused strange feelings inside him. It was worse than watching small white teeth bite into a full lower lip.
He couldn’t think what could have made her cry. Unless …
was she worried that he might refuse to accompany her? Or had he inadvertently said something to remind her of her recent tragic loss? Frustrated, he could think of no way to ask without bringing it out into the open, and he had promised Hagen.…
At a luxurious hotel on the other end of Trinidad, Mr. and Mrs. Rafferty Lewis checked in late that Friday afternoon. They were accompanied by mounds of baggage, and it was obvious that they were, if not a honeymoon couple, then at the very least newly wed and still delighted with marriage. The bride wore a spectacular diamond beside her gold wedding band, and the groom wore his own wide band with pride.
However, the status of the couple might have undergone a change in the eyes of the hotel staff if any had overheard the groom’s muttered words in the elevator going up to their suite on the twentieth floor.
“Why do we have to start this now?”
Sarah gazed at the bellman’s back and said nothing, but Rafferty’s question brought the quick, inevitable tears to her eyes. Hagen, she thought, should be shot for subjecting this poor man to such a charade. It was cruel. Anyone with even a shade of sensitivity must have known how hard it would be on Rafferty to pretend a loving, happy marriage so soon after his own was destroyed.
She said nothing, fighting to suppress her compassion while the bellman brought their bags into the large suite, and she wandered about the rooms automatically exclaiming at the view and the lovely decor. She listened as Rafferty thanked and dismissed the man.
Then she turned and faced her “husband”—for the duration.
Keeping her voice even with an effort, she said, “According to all the information Hagen—we—have, there shouldn’t be any undue suspicion directed toward us. But there’s no reason to take a chance on that. There’s too much at stake. We have to make sure our cover is solid. So we begin now. And we keep it up until this is over. Hagen believes it’s vitally important that no one question our marriage.”
Rafferty moved toward the window and stared out, looking at anything else because looking at her affected him oddly. “And if someone does question it? I suppose our marriage has been duly documented and registered?”
“Yes, it has. We were married two months ago in New York, after a whirlwind courtship.”
“How romantic.” He didn’t intend to sound so sarcastic, but Rafferty was still incensed with Hagen for choosing such a cover for Sarah. The callous bastard!
Sarah dropped her purse on a loveseat nearby and sent a glance through the doorway into the bedroom; it boasted a king-size bed, but she felt it wasn’t big enough. Not big enough, at any rate, for a man and woman separated by a charade and a tragedy one of them had suffered.
“There’s still time for you to turn the assignment down,” she reminded him quietly. “Hagen very likely has someone else waiting in the wings in case you do. He has a reputation for not leaving much to chance.”
He turned slowly toward her, his face still. His gaze moved from her burnished hair to her small feet, taking in every delicate feature and the throat-tightening curves in between. “No, I suppose he doesn’t.” Rafferty drew a breath. “Well, he believes I’m the man for the job, for whatever reasons. So I’m in. We’ll spend the next two days here, and then board the yacht. What’s it called, by the way?”
Sarah linked her fingers together. “An odd name for a yacht. It’s called the Thespian.”
Rafferty’s eyes narrowed, but a smile curved his lips. “Maybe not so strange. We’re actors—I suppose the yacht is as well.”
Sarah’s gaze skittered away from that smile, and she reminded herself again of why they were here and what their relationship was to one another. Professional partners. Actors playing roles. For the duration.
He cleared his throat, not surprised that it was beginning to feel raw from all the tightening and clearing he was doing. Nodding toward the bar in one corner, he suggested, “Drinks?”
Sarah sat on the loveseat, wondering a bit desperately how she could possibly get through this without making a fool of herself. It didn’t look especially promising. “Please. Anything will do.” She watched beneath her lashes while he poured their drinks, her gaze clinging to broad shoulders, and long-fingered hands that moved with natural grace. When he brought her glass, she took pains to avoid touching him, so much so that of course she did touch his fingers and nearly dropped her drink.
Rafferty didn’t seem to notice. He sat at the other end of the loveseat, her purse the only barrier between them, and half turned to face her. “I don’t suppose it’s necessary that we know much about each other,” he said slowly, “but we’d probably be more comfortable if we do. Do you agree?”
She nodded. Rattled, she spoke at random. “Yes, I—Probably. Hagen said you were once a district attorney.”
He nodded. “Once. But I wasn’t exactly suited to playing political games. So when a businessman asked me to work for him, I jumped at the chance.”
“Joshua Long.”
“Yes. Since you know the name, you probably know he’s a financial wizard. My partner and I handle most of his legal problems, not that there are many considering the size of his empire. He has other interests, though, and so does his half sister, whose legal work we also handle.”
“Other interests? I heard that he was not only philanthropic, but also involved in fighting things most people aren’t even aware exist.”
Rafferty laughed a little. “I suppose that’s one way of putting it. Josh hates dishonesty and believes everyone should fight against anything that’s wrong. He does. And, because I work for him, I’ve had occasion to fight as well.”
Sarah sipped her drink and smiled, feeling more relaxed now. “According to your file,” she went on, “you’ve fought a few times on your own. And for the Justice Department. On crime commissions. You went undercover as a special agent once to gather information on corruption in a state-level attorney general’s office, didn’t you?”
He nodded, but said dismissively, “I had the background for the job. Still, it was satisfying to be able to do something about a serious problem. I guess that’s why you’re in this business?”
Sarah wasn’t evasive, but her tone was offhand. “I’ve always been good with puzzles, and that’s an ability that people tend to notice even before you leave school. Hagen’s people found me in college, and when I graduated there was a job waiting for me.” She looked at him for a moment, then added dryly, “An office job, I’m afraid.”
Rafferty swallowed part of his drink. He needed it. Then he looked at her. “In other words, you’ve never had a field assignment before this?”
“That sums it up nicely.”
“I was hoping,” he murmured, “that at least one of us knew what we were doing.”
“Sorry.”
He sighed and tried not to feel appalled. “So you sit in an office and unravel puzzles?”
“More or less. Decipher messages, break codes, invent them and transcribe them. Things like that. And I’m Information Retrieval too.”
Rafferty blinked. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Probably. In our office—which is disguised as a research company, by the way—you come to me for answers. About anything. Want to know how much grain the U.S. has stockpiled? Just ask me. Want to know how many passenger miles are flown by the world’s aircraft each year? I can answer that for you. Want to know the total cost of obscure research projects on such topics as why cats purr? I’m the one you ask.”
Fascinated, Rafferty said, “Computer data banks?”
“If I need them. I don’t, often.” Her smile was faint. “I have an unusual memory.”
“Unusual in what way?” He thought he knew.
“I remember things. In fact, I remember everything I’ve ever read or heard or seen. And I see patterns in things; that’s why I’m a good cryptographer.”
He stared at her for a moment, then asked briskly, “What’s the population of New York City?”
Without hesitation and in an automatic tone,
she replied, “Seven million, seventy-one thousand, six hundred thirty-nine, according to the 1980 census.”
Refusing to admit defeat, Rafferty racked his brain for trivia. It distracted him from other things. “The Cougar Dam is on what river?”
“The South Fork McKenzie River. It’s in Oregon. Constructed in 1964.” Sarah was beginning to smile.
“Who’s on the one-hundred-thousand-dollar bill?”
She blinked. “Wilson. Have you been associating with the Treasury Department or Federal Reserve System? They’re the only ones who see that one.”
He ignored the question. “Who invented the third-rail system used in subways?”
“Granville T. Woods.”
“Who was the twenty-fifth Vice President of the U.S.?”
“Theodore Roosevelt.”
Rafferty closed his eyes. “And I suppose you can tell me who made a trip around the world in 1889?”
“Nellie Bly. Seventy-two days, six hours, eleven minutes.”
Rafferty finished his drink. It seemed appropriate. “I can see,” he stated, “why you’re such an asset to Hagen. I bet you read very fast too.”
She shrugged. “Well, I don’t always read; I just look. Statistics mostly, going as far back as there were records. You have to understand, I’ve been doing this as long as I can remember. Teachers used to accuse me of cheating, until I proved to them that I remembered facts verbatim.”
After a moment, Rafferty said slowly, “I imagine that was difficult for you. Being different from other kids.”
Sarah smiled faintly. “Yes. But my parents were terrific. They made me feel that I had a gift rather than a curse. It helped make … other opinions … easier to take.”
Rafferty nodded. “And so you grew up to become the answer person for a secret government agency.”
“There are worse jobs.”
“Agreed.” Rafferty stirred, abruptly restless. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starved. Since we’re supposed to be visible, why don’t we go out somewhere for dinner?”
“That sounds good.” She rose to her feet and then hesitated, glancing toward the bedroom.