"This has to be your room," Roddy said. He noted framed photographs of her parents and a smaller one of a man he presumed to be Elena's late husband.
She smiled. "It's my sanctuary. When I get fed up with the world, I retreat here. Come look at the view."
She switched off the lights and opened the glass doors, revealing a long, black wrought iron balcony. Roddy followed her into the cool darkness and leaned against the railing as his eyes took in the yellowish glow and the speckled gleam of Guadalajara at night. A breeze whispered through the trees, the rustle of the leaves making the distant lights appear to be winking at them.
"Magnificent. You've got a ringside seat, Elena," he said softly. It was like looking down on a plaza filled with people holding lighted candles.
"It gives you a feeling of belonging, yet being apart from it all."
He gazed down at the neatly manicured grounds below and grinned. "I feel like Juliet on the balcony."
She moved closer until the delicate odor of her perfume scented the air around him. When she tilted her head back to gaze at the iridescent sky, the softness of her hair brushed against his cheek.
"Balconies are romantic," she said dreamily. It was almost a sigh. "Nights like this are surely made for romance."
Roddy nodded. "What's that old saying, if you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with?"
She turned to him, her face so close he could see every flawless feature in the glow of the night sky. He saw that hint of a smile on her lips and in her eyes that had snared his attention when he first encountered her in the sitting room.
"They could both be the same," she said in her throaty voice, "the one you're with and the one you love."
He wasn't sure who made the first move, but suddenly she was in his arms. They kissed hungrily, as if this were something both had been starved for. The firmness of her breasts pressed provocatively against his chest. When her lips finally began to move slowly away, he kissed the closed lids of her eyes, the smooth skin of her face and neck and felt her bite gently at his ear.
Roddy was lost in the mystery of the moment. It would not be until later that he thought about Karen and how loving her might compare with the consuming presence of this passionate, exciting woman. For now, everything else was blocked out of his mind. It had been so long since he had experienced the exhilaration of being wanted, no, being desired, that he could feel nothing but an insatiable yearning to find ways to share the limitless heights of pleasure he was prepared to scale.
After a timeless moment in which his hands had begun the gentle exploration of her body, Elena pushed him toward the bedroom doorway. It was not the way she had envisioned the night ending, but Roddy was right about her being warm, amiable and caring. He could have added passionate. And once those long-suppressed passions had been set free, they buried her inhibitions like hot lava rolling over a restraining wall.
"Make love to me, Roddy," she said, her voice a breathless rush. And they crossed to the rose-covered bed, leaving a trail of hastily discarded clothing.
36
Yuri Shumakov checked out before daylight and drove nervously back to the motel where he had last seen the yellow dump truck. He did not relax until he found it in the same spot where the Mexican driver had left it the evening before. Parking his rental car in a secluded area that still provided a view of the motel parking lot, Yuri sat and waited. His thoughts drifted toward home. He wondered if the charges against him had caused Larisa any difficulties at the hospital. And what about Petr and Aleksei? School age youngsters could sometimes be devastating in their insensitivity toward their classmates' family problems. Had they been the target of taunts about their father? He realized he wasn't even certain of the time of day in Minsk.
He wondered about General Borovsky's investigation. Had it turned up any traces of General Zakharov? Maybe he should call and let the General know he was following Major Romashchuk. No, he decided, it would be too risky. Anyway, would Borovsky believe him now? The tale of stolen chemical weapons shipped halfway around the world would certainly sound farfetched, not to mention self-serving.
It suddenly occurred to him, accompanied by a sinking feeling, that he was still no closer to solving his own dilemma, finding the identity of the killer who had butchered Vadim Trishin. And with most of the labyrinth called Mexico, Distrito Federal, still ahead of him, there was no guarantee he would manage to stay on their tail across the sprawling capital city.
Just before seven o'clock, he saw Romashchuk and the Mexican wander out toward the truck. The Major glanced around the parking area before getting in, but he did not appear overly concerned about the possibility of anyone keeping an eye on him. Yuri watched them pull out onto the highway, then waited as long as he dared and eased out into the traffic a few car lengths back.
Traffic was heavy, but the truck rolled along at a leisurely pace, making Yuri's job relatively easy. A short distance before the airport, he followed the green tarp as it turned south and then west on the Viaducto Miguel Alemán, which the map showed cutting straight across the southern half of the city. On the western side, a couple of turns would lead onto Highway 15, the route to Guadalajara. Everything went smoothly until they approached the major intersection where Miguel Alemán crossed Avenida de los Insurgentes, with a couple of side streets joining in to confuse things.
Yuri was forced to jam on his brakes as traffic came to a sudden halt. After a few minutes, the line of vehicles moved slowly again, then just as abruptly stopped. He was close enough to the intersection now to see there had been a major pileup. A station wagon lay with wheels turned to the sky like a large turtle flipped on its back. At least three other cars were involved. As he checked the vehicles up ahead, he realized with a start that the dump truck was no longer in sight. It had apparently been directed around the accident to make maneuvering room for wreckers. If he lost it, how would he ever track down the man who was the key to his salvation?
Yuri sat there sweating from the heat and the frustration for at least twenty minutes.
Finally under way again, he kept his eyes darting about, searching for road signs. When he reached the intersection with Highway 15, Romashchuk was nowhere to be seen. Yuri turned toward Guadalajara and pushed the Ford as fast as he dared. The highway was heavily traveled, with a steady stream of cars and trucks, everything from pickups to eighteen-wheelers. After nearly an hour, he began feeling discouraged. Had they crossed him up and gone off in a different direction? His grand plan appeared to be on the verge of a roadblock. And then somewhere beyond Toluca, about ninety kilometers west of the capital, he finally caught sight of the yellow truck. It gave him a feeling of overwhelming relief. He began to breathe more easily and suddenly realized how the tension had made his muscles resemble iron bands.
When Roddy arrived at Aeronautica Jalisco at mid-morning, a pixie-eyed María handed him a note with a mischievous grin. "This lady has called twice for you. Sounds serious."
He spotted the name "Señora Castillo Quintero" and smiled. "She's a businesswoman. Probably wants me to fly her someplace."
It had been quite late when he got home from Elena's. Anybody with any sense knew you didn't drive in rural Mexico after dark. The warm pavement, heated by the sun during the day, provided an irresistible sleeping place for roaming livestock during the cool nights. It had taken Roddy twice the usual forty-minute drive. But he was determined to get off to himself and sort out his thoughts. He had sat up another hour drinking coffee and pondering the confused state of his emotions. The exercise produced nothing but continued confusion. Elena had made him feel more alive and vibrant, more like a fully-recovered, full-fledged man than he had felt since the tragic conclusion of Operation Easy Street. But he remained plagued by General Wackenhut's admonition and by unsettled notions about Karen. He had no desire to be the guy who screwed up relations for the American community, and he wasn't sure he was ready to give up on the quest to regain the love and respect of his former wife. But of one thing he was certain, what had happened in Elena's bedroom could not be brushed off as a casual encounter.