Jorge swore softly under his breath and turned to look at his sleeping wife lying beside him. How beautiful she was, but he was glad that Cristina resembled him and not her. It would be somehow incestuous to have a daughter the image of your wife – besides which, he was proud of Cristina’s dark earthy looks. She was a born Maraco through and through. No one could dispute that.
He had returned to the house late the previous evening and slipped quietly into bed so as not to disturb his wife. Thank God Doris Andrews had arrived when she did. She had been a tower of strength, looking after Evita day and night, moving in to the spare room to be near her. What a magnificent friend she had turned out to be.
Evita stirred in her sleep, turning restlessly and pushing the covers from her. The beige satin nightgown she was wearing had slipped from one of her breasts. Ordinarily Jorge would have been instantly aroused. But not now – in fact it irritated him, and he pulled the covers over her and left the bed.
He knew he was not being supportive towards his wife. He knew he was rejecting her at the time she needed him most – but he had to go through this alone. Cristina was somehow more his than hers – maybe it was the strong resemblance – maybe it was the fact that she was his only child. Who knew? Whatever it was, his grief was personal and could not be shared – with anyone.
He shaved and dressed, then went in his study and wrote a brief note to accompany the earring which he left on Evita’s bedside table. He wanted to go straight to Carlos’s office. Today might be the day they got some news.
Silently he left the house, climbed into his Maserati and drove quickly away.
Doris Andrews watched him from the guest bedroom window. She waited a few minutes, then smiling softly to herself she padded along to Evita’s bedroom. She locked the door and climbed into the space that was still warm from Jorge’s body. Confidently she waited for Evita to awaken.
* * *
Talia Antonios strode purposefully down the street. She was a tall, arrogant-looking girl clad in a smart brown linen suit. Her red hair was cropped close to her head, and she wore very little make-up.
She swept into the building that Carlos Baptista owned and took the elevator to the eighth floor which housed his private suite of offices.
A secretary glanced up at her. ‘Yes?’
‘I have an appointment,’ Talia said. ‘Ten o’clock.’
‘Oh, yes – Señor Baptista said for you to go right in.’ The secretary indicated the way.
Talia strode through the door without bothering to knock.
Carlos, sitting behind his desk, was quite startled by the girl. For a start she was exceptionally tall, and secondly she bore down on him so intensely that he thought for a moment she was going to sweep right round his desk and hit him. She had that kind of look about her. Tough and uncompromising. Carlos was pleased that the chief of police and Jorge Maraco were stationed in an adjoining office with a tape recorder. She was only a woman – but there was something horribly violent about her – betrayed in her icy grey eyes. On the telephone he had sensed this. Known by instinct that here was someone who really did have some information for sale. She had requested that they meet alone. No police. Nobody official.
She paused at his desk and glanced around the office. ‘Let’s go for a walk,’ she said. Hardly the opening line he had been expecting.
‘A walk?’ he blustered. ‘What are you talking about? You said on the phone a private meeting – well, here we are alone in my office. What could be more private than that?’
‘Plenty of places. The information I have for you is for your ears alone. After I’ve told you, then make your own decisions. For all I know this place is bugged. So we either walk – or forget the whole thing.’
Carlos hesitated. He wasn’t sure what to do. But then he decided a walk would be all right – after all, as soon as he left the office the Police Chief would have his men watching his every move. The girl couldn’t kidnap him – the hidden fear of every rich businessman in South America.
‘If that’s what you want, we’ll walk then,’ said Carlos, getting up from behind the desk, ‘but I hope what you have to tell me is worth the trouble.’
Talia nodded. ‘I think you’ll agree it is.’
* * *
The city of Rio de Janeiro was as beautiful as Linda had always expected it to be. She only wished that she was visiting under different circumstances. Her New York agency had suggested that she do a photo story on the trip as soon as she had told them she was going. ‘No!’ she had protested, ‘it would be ghoulish.’ But she had brought her cameras anyway – she never went anywhere without them.
Why had she and Cody come there? It wasn’t as though they could do anything… But somehow it was comforting to be nearer. Someone would have to identify the bodies when they were found… If they were ever found…
For the first time, sitting on the plane earlier, she had finally faced the fact that Paul, Dallas, Al, Evan… were all dead.
She had desperately tried to remember the last time she and Paul had been together… Really together. But all she could come up with was Tucson, and Melanie bursting in on them. Before that was just a blur of airports and hotels and parties.
She wanted to cry, but tears wouldn’t come. And Cody was sitting beside her, enquiring after her welfare every two minutes. He was starting to drive her mad with his niceness. It was too much. Right now she would have preferred a parking boy or a Rik – someone who was not personally involved and would act accordingly.
The phone in her hotel room buzzed. It was Cody. He had contacted Carlos Baptista and a car would be picking them up in an hour.
‘He wants us to dine at his house,’ Cody said.
‘I didn’t realize this was a social trip,’ Linda replied coldly.
‘It’s not. Apparently something has come up and he wants to tell us about it.’
‘They’ve found the plane?’
‘I don’t know. We’ll find out soon enough. Is your room all right? Do you need anything?’
Yes – I need to be relaxed – I need to be fucked. ‘Everything’s fine,’ she replied. She was tempted to tell him what she really wanted, but somehow she felt he wouldn’t understand.
She sighed deeply. Men she could have relationships with would never understand her needs. They would be shocked at how strong her demands could be at times… Most men enjoyed sex. But no man enjoyed the thought that he might be used as a sexual object. Yet wasn’t that the way men had treated women since time began?
She half thought that she might call Cody back… But no… he wouldn’t understand.
* * *
Cody replaced the telephone. It was unfair of Linda to take her rattiness out on him. None of this was his fault. He was as destroyed as anyone about it. If he hadn’t sent Dallas off to Palm Springs she might never have got it into her head to go chasing after Al King in Las Vegas. And if she hadn’t gone to Vegas… then no South America… No plane crash… Maybe it was all his fault…
Anyway, he had thought he and Linda had something good going. Had was the operative word – it all seemed to have gone sour.
He thought of banging on the communicating door – but what for? To get another knock back.
Instead he picked up the phone again and placed a call to Los Angeles – better he should take care of business.
* * *
Evita examined herself in the mirror. The same ivory skin, smooth features, pale blond silky hair. Her eyes were still blue, her breasts voluptuously full.
She looked exactly the same. Glacial, proud, arrogant. A simmering iceberg.
She stared at herself for a while longer – and she hated what she saw – hated the cool blonde perfection that so betrayed her background.
It would all come as such a shock to Jorge. He had always thought of her as so utterly and absolutely his. The thought had probably never entered his head that she was capable of being unfaithful to him. He owned her, didn’t he? He had rescued her fro
m a life of poverty. At best – if not for him – she might have become a waitress – a shopgirl – or because of her exceptional looks, perhaps – and it was only a perhaps – a rich man’s mistress or high-class call girl. At the start of their marriage he had often told her these pertinent facts. The thought of ‘what a wonderful thing he had done for her’ was instilled daily. After all she had so much to thank him for. He had bought her parents a house in São Paulo and moved the entire family there. He still, even after seventeen years, paid them a monthly allowance.
Of course, she never saw them. Jorge had thought it best that way. ‘Forget about your beginnings,’ he had told her. ‘Your marriage to me is the beginning.’
‘My poor little girl’ was the pet name he called her as he instructed her in the intricacies of making love. ‘Lie like that – legs spread – wider – wider – just like that, my poor little thing.’ And he would sink his body into her, sighing with pleasure all the while.
Occasionally – if the mood took him – he would tweak her breasts for a minute at a time. But not enough to get her in the mood – never enough.
He liked her to kneel on all fours whilst he took his pleasure from behind.
He liked her to suck on his penis for hours on end.
In seventeen years of marriage he had never given her an orgasm.
Oh, he was generous in other ways. Clothes, furs, jewels. She could have whatever she wanted.
But in all these years… Often she had wondered what it would be like with another man… But Jorge loved her – in his way. He trusted her… He had saved her. How could she do that to him?
And then Doris had happened… Doris who caressed her body into molten liquid. Seeking and finding with her tongue every pleasure spot ever invented.
Oh, God… Evita shuddered with joy at the very memory. And yet… how could she feel anything at a time like this?
She continued to stare at herself until she felt a self-hate so strong that it overwhelmed her, and she had to turn away from her own reflection.
How could a woman whose daughter was missing – presumed dead – be so heartless as to embark on a new and frighteningly exciting affair?
It was an impossible situation. If… when Jorge found out… he would want nothing more to do with her. Nothing. And she could not blame him.
Her eyes filled with tears and spilled down her naked body.
The house was quiet. Jorge had gone to an important meeting at Carlos’s house. Doris was out at a dinner.
Jorge had not suggested she accompany him. Doris had.
Evita’s body shook with her own sobs. She kept on thinking of Cristina – her wilful fiery daughter – a woman – but no more than a child really. That child was lying dead somewhere. Dead because of her involvement with a boy called Nino. Evita was sure of that. If Jorge had been firmer. If… If… If…
Slowly Evita opened the bathroom cabinet and extracted the bottle of sedatives the doctor had prescribed for her. She tipped them out – all of them. There were plenty. Everyone knew Evita. They knew she was a cool, calm, intelligent woman. It would never even enter the doctor’s head to limit the amount of pills he gave her.
She picked up the pills, one by one – and swallowed them down with the help of a tumbler of water. When they were all gone she extracted another bottle from the cabinet. Jorge’s sleeping pills – large turquoise capsules. Methodically she swallowed every one of those. Now she was feeling tired. Her body was aching, and she felt a strange sickness.
Unsteadily she walked into the bedroom, and climbed into bed. Her eyes were blurring, distorting everything around her. She closed them, peacefully aware that she would never have to open them again.
* * *
Talia Antonios had killed the hope that Al King and his plane were being held somewhere for ransom. In a brisk no-nonsense way, she had explained the situation to Carlos Baptista as they walked through the public park near his office. She had explained about the organization P.A.C.P. and Nino’s involvement.
‘We were expecting the plane,’ she explained without emotion. ‘We probably could have claimed that we did indeed have the plane and collected the million dollars that was to have been our price. But what then? You would have paid the money – and we would not have been able to produce the goods. Not so hot for our reputation – who would have ever paid us ransom money again? We are a serious organization – dedicated to helping the oppressed and the poor. Our work is just beginning. Soon we will be famous for our deeds. We will deal honestly – and people will respect us. If we should kidnap – well – say you for instance – then we would demand a suitable ransom and if it was paid, you would be returned unharmed. If it was not paid, you would be returned anyway – in little pieces. But the point is you would be returned – either way. Are you understanding me?’
Carlos gulped. The woman was obviously mad and had to be handled with extreme caution. He glanced around, hoping that indeed the police were having him followed.
‘So,’ Talia continued, ‘it is quite obvious what must have happened. Nino was able to seize the plane, but unfortunately it must have crashed before it reached us.’
‘Perhaps Nino has taken the plane elsewhere,’ Carlos suggested.
‘Utterly impossible,’ Talia snapped. ‘Nino is – was – dedicated. Circumstances must have arisen to cause the plane to crash. They are all dead, Señor Baptista, and the reason I have come to see you is to know if you wish to pay for the privilege of recovering the bodies?’
‘Do you know where the plane crashed?’ Carlos asked incredulously.
‘Not exactly. But for the reward money you have offered – fifty thousand dollars, isn’t it? Then I could supply you with an exact flight plan. With that information it would merely be a matter of time before the plane was found.’ She paused, then added meaningfully, ‘I am sure that you would want to see your son have a proper burial.’
‘You cona!’ Carlos spat in her direction. ‘What kind of a person are you? Do you have no feelings? Can you just talk about people being dead – my son. You cona – I will have you arrested!’
She shrugged. ‘For what? You have nothing on me. I would of course deny this whole conversation. I didn’t have to come and see you, did I?’
‘I expect fifty thousand dollars was persuasion enough.’
‘If you wish to accept our offer, have the money in used notes by noon tomorrow. I will telephone you with further instructions. When the money is safely in our possession you will receive the flight plan.’
‘I’m supposed to just trust you?’
‘I told you,’ replied Talia coldly, ‘the P.A.C.P. is a very trustworthy organization. If we get the money – you get what you want.’
Carlos had related the entire conversation to the Police Chief and Jorge. They were all of the opinion that Talia knew what she was talking about.
‘We will pay,’ Carlos had finally decided.
‘Yes,’ Jorge had agreed. He wanted to recover his baby girl’s body as soon as possible. Numb with shock he kept this new information to himself and did not even reveal it to Evita.
Talia had informed Carlos that Cristina had been working with Nino. Had helped to execute the whole stinking mess!
Of course Jorge did not believe it. Anyone who knew Cristina would see at once it was a bunch of lies. She had been an innocent party to a series of bizarre events. She was not to blame. No way could she possibly have been knowingly involved in any kind of terrorist plot.
* * *
‘It looks like a movie set,’ Linda muttered, as the chauffeured Mercedes drew up outside Carlos Baptista’s palatial white mansion.
‘A simple palace…’ Cody observed.
‘I wonder what he is like.’
‘He sounds pleasant enough on the phone.’
A butler ushered them into an ornate room and poured them drinks. Then Carlos himself appeared. He greeted them both warmly, hugging Linda as if she was an old friend. She liked him immediately
– although physical contact from a stranger would normally have repulsed her.
‘The news is not good,’ he told them both gravely. ‘I think we have to assume beyond question they are all dead.’
Jorge Maraco arrived then, and they went into the dining room and struggled through a meal that no one was really interested in eating.
‘Please excuse my wife for not joining us,’ Carlos explained. ‘As you can imagine… she is… Louis was her favourite…’ His voice broke. ‘He was a very fine boy. Very good-looking, very intelligent—’ He covered his grief with a gruff laugh. ‘Not like his father, you know.’
During the course of dinner he explained the situation to them. Telling the story as he knew it, trying to piece together the bits he didn’t know. ‘So you see…’ he finished off at last, ‘I think we must believe this woman, and with the flight plan we will be able to trace the plane. Without the right information… Well – up to now our search planes have come up with nothing. Tomorrow we will pay the money. Tomorrow I think we will find them – God rest their souls.’
Linda was very depressed when the chauffeur dropped them back at the hotel. She wanted to cry, but tears again refused to come.
Cody had lapsed into his own silence.
They rode up in the elevator not saying a word to each other. Outside her door Cody kissed her absently on the cheek. ‘Goodnight,’ he said quietly.
Goodnight. What was so good about it? She marched into her room, slammed the door, and flopped down on the bed.
Why had they come here? What was the point?
Deep down she knew the point. When the plane was found – when the bodies were brought back… Well, she wanted to be sure that Paul had someone around who cared… It was silly… after all, he would never know… But all the same she felt that it was only right.
She sighed restlessly. She would never sleep. She felt strung out and tense.
The hell with it! Suddenly she didn’t care what Cody thought of her. He could take her as she was or not at all.
She jumped off the bed and went to the communicating door. She released the lock on her side, and knocked loudly. ‘Cody – hey, Cody – can you hear me?’