“Oh, I’m still angry with you. But more about that at a later time.” She folded her arms. “Who is Sandra?”
“She’s a colleague. We work together.” Stone knew he had to be careful. “I hope you two can meet.”
Lucinda said nothing. She eyed him with those green eyes, then looked off at the other guests. Her Mediterranean tan blended perfectly with the color of her suit. Her long fingers stroked her wine glass, and he expected her to say something important, but she remained silent.
Some guests had finished their meals and had begun to move toward the exit. The time approached when he would have to leave, and he wanted to reach some form of understanding with her.
Again, she spoke first. “I trust you are still in the same line of business?” She paused. “And this woman, Sandra, is also in the same work?”
He took his time answering. “Yes, I am. My intentions are to make this is my last assignment.” He stopped and let her digest his words and make sure she understood what he said next. “I had planned to go to California, to be near my children. Live by the Pacific Ocean.” He hesitated. “Have I picked the wrong body of water? Would the Mediterranean be a better choice?”
“We can talk about it when and if you return.” She reached over and traced her finger along the scar on his right cheek. He had missed her doing that, along with hearing her husky voice. Her touch sent sensations down his body.
Patience popped back and asked them to join her in mingling with the few remaining guests. As they did, Stone saw Frederick from across the patio give him the high sign. It was time to depart. Stone took Lucinda aside and told her he’d see her again in a few days.
“Lucinda. Tonight you kissed me when we first met.” He took her in his arms. “I want to kiss you good-bye.”
“I would rather you not.” She joined Patience, talking with an Asian couple.
The sun hung just above the horizon, shooting dull golden shafts from behind the winter clouds. Standing in the driveway of his villa, Abdul Wahab glanced at the black ocean, then turned his attention to Nabeel Asuty, who was getting out of a white sedan parked in front of the portico. Three men remained in the car as Asuty walked up.
Wahab intercepted him and directed him to the garage. “Come, Nabeel. I’ll show you my car. The Jaguar XK-150—you have seen it before. It’s been repaired.” Keeping an eye on his visitor, Wahab led the way to the three-car garage that stood separate from the main house. He wanted to see if this man displayed any reaction to seeing the Jaguar, the one that Dingane suspected had been vandalized by Asuty’s men. Had it been due to some pique, or a subtle threat on this loathsome man’s part? No matter. Soon Wahab would be rid of him.
Asuty’s eyes became wary. He followed Wahab to the garage, mumbling something about the chill from the sea.
“It’s warmer in here.” Inside, Wahab positioned himself by a window to keep an eye on the men in the car. “I had an expert do the paint job. The color is British racing green,” he said in Arabic. “What do you think?”
“Very nice,” Asuty said, looking away from the car. “I have news. Three men have come from Sierra Leone. That makes six for the mission, including you and me.” He pulled his jacket tighter. “We can manage to move that bomb if all of us go.”
“You’re missing one man. The one you brought the last time you visited.”
“Mohammed is no longer with us. However, he learned the location of the nuclear bomb.”
Wahab wanted to ask how and why Mohammed had departed, but let him continue with his report.
“I had Mohammed watch the house of Dawid van Wartt. Yesterday a South African man, who appeared very upset, visited Van Wartt. When this man left the residence, Mohammed followed him to an airport.” Asuty paused and smiled broadly. “He learned from a Lebanese woman working at the ticket counter that this man flew north to a town called Bruin Karas. It is in the Kalahari Desert.”
Wahab felt perspiration form under his armpits. He drew out a handkerchief and touched his forehead. Without consulting him, this imbecile had been watching Van Wartt, Wahab’s contact.
“Where is Mohammed?”
Asuty shrugged and held his hands skyward.
“Please. Be more specific.”
Asuty went to an adjacent window and peered out. In almost a whisper, he said, “He was shot.” Then swinging toward Wahab, said, “That ibn el-kalb, the son of a bitch, Hayden Stone killed him.” He folded his arms and glared.
Abdul turned away and felt for the Colt snub-nosed pistol in the pocket of his tweed jacket. This piece of khara had attacked Hayden Stone after he had ordered him not to. Wahab debated putting a bullet in the head of this idiot, but what would he do with the body? What would he do with the three men still in the car?
“I know you are displeased to hear this news.” Asuty gave him a coy smile. “But matters have progressed. I suggest we take action at once. We do not need this Afrikaner, Van Wartt. We will head north to this Bruin Karas and find the bomb and take it.”
“Did we get the money to pay Van Wartt?”
Asuty appeared confused with the question. “I repeat. Van Wartt is not needed.”
“You do not have the money?”
“Yes. I have it. It’s in the car. But no matter. The plan moves on without your Mr. Van Wartt.” Asuty opened his windbreaker. “Or, for that matter, you. Perhaps it’s best you stay here in Cape Town.”
Wahab’s eyes settled on the butt of an automatic pistol protruding from Asuty’s belt. Wahab clicked his tongue as if he was about to admonish an errant child. He pointed out the window. Beyond the car containing Asuty’s three henchmen, a silver Bentley coupe accompanied by a black van had parked at the top of the long driveway.
“Mr. Van Wartt wants his money. I do believe his people are about to take us for a trip to … Is the name of the town Bruin Karas?”
For a moment Asuty appeared confused. He moved toward Wahab. “We are armed and if Van Wartt—”
Wahab pointed again. Van Wartt had exited his Bentley. From the passenger side a very large man with a bushy moustache got out and accompanied Van Wartt as he hurried down the drive toward the garage. The van doors opened and four men, equally as large as Van Wartt’s companion, showed themselves.
Van Wartt walked past the white sedan and when the driver’s door inched open Van Wartt’s man kicked it shut, and not looking back, followed his boss. The four men from the van jogged down the drive and stopped, two men on each side of the sedan. Before Van Wartt entered the garage, he glanced at a second-floor window of the villa. Wahab peered out the garage door window and turned his eyes in the same direction. He caught a brief glimpse of his wife, Lady Beatrice.
“Good evening, Abdul,” Van Wartt said, walking through the garage door. “So happy to catch you before dinnertime.”
“Dawid, your visit is an unexpected pleasure.” Wahab tried for panache. “May I introduce my colleague?”
“I know who he is.” Van Wartt motioned to his man to stand next to Asuty. “Nabeel Asuty. Formerly from Alexandria, Egypt. Am I correct?”
Asuty looked out at his car. His three men were being pulled out and slammed against the doors. He tensed, moved toward Van Wartt, but in one motion the man standing next to him placed a large hand on his neck, tightened the grip, and as Asuty gasped, removed the automatic from inside his waistband.
“Please, excuse me, Abdul. We don’t have time for debates, no matter how much you people from the Middle East love to talk.” Van Wartt rested his arm on Wahab’s shoulder. “Do you have the money?”