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San Francisco, U.S.A.
One Month Earlier.
Every morning, even on weekends, Lee Shoemaker rose before Aaron, put coffee on, took a shower, dried her hair, wrapped herself in a towel, loaded the toaster then shouted to him from the kitchen. Sometimes she would have to go back to the bedroom and physically pull him from his morning dream.
Lee thought it a mystical coincidence that they were the same age; they were both born on Monday, 21 July, 1969, the day Neil Armstrong walked on the moon. (Aaron illegally purchased a moon rock the size of a silver dollar from a friend from NASA - it cost him three thousand dollars - and sat it on the desk in his study). Aaron was embarrassed by their birthdate fluke, more so because Lee made too big a thing of it. Once in a while, when she harped on it at parties, he joked that they weren't the same age, she was older by an hour and he would call her an old biddy; her line then was to ask him to respect his elders.
'Aaron get up!' she yelled from the kitchen.
Aaron practically fell out of bed. He yawned, stretched and flexed his naked body. He was a tall, athletic, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, fourth generation German-American. He had been a long distance track star at college, and was proud that he still contested the San Francisco marathon; this year's event would be his seventh consecutive race. Even though his times were gradually worsening he was pleased he could still break three hours, he liked to take care of himself. His father, a stockbroker, had died suddenly at fifty-five while on a yachting holiday in the Bahamas leaving him and his younger brother, Todd, to divide an inheritance of eight hundred thousand dollars. Nancy, their mother, received almost three million dollars, the family house, the holiday cabin at Lake Tahoe and the Picasso.
When Lee married Aaron four years ago she was well aware she was marrying into a wealthy family. She was from a middle-class Catholic family from Oakland, one of six children. Her mother lost the seventh and had the operation. There were four girls and two boys. Her father managed his own small printing business out of an abandoned toy shop. As a young girl, Lee thought wrongly, that he had put the local toy shop out of business so he could assume that convenient location.
Her childhood memories were mostly of her convent school, her church and the people who ran them, people who indoctrinated her and her friends in a belief system based on miracles and mysticism. She used to shiver and become weak kneed at the thought of Satan and Hell; of God knowing her every secret thought and action. But even as a child she dared to query the ferociousness of the civilised people of the Bible; and of newborn infants who would endure eternity in Hell for being born out of wedlock, or worse, never being christened.
Renouncing her faith in adulthood had been like psychological torture and had hurt her deeply. It had taken many years but she had resolutely, even neatly incorporated it into her adult personality. Occasionally she found she had to reach for her frayed Christian tapestry because she continued to believe in the power of prayer, uncertain about why or how it worked.
On a whim, Lee changed her long, brown hair to the colour of pitch and had it cut into a short, geometric form. She was thin and angular, her movements tantalisingly fluid, her skin chalk white, her charm, unique. Her deep-set, dark eyes flashed from behind large lids with long lashes and she wore scarlet lipstick.
'Come on darling, please,' she pleaded emphasising every word separately.
Aaron had fallen back onto the bed and was immediately asleep. But startled he raised his head and chirped at the ceiling. 'Yep, coming!' He tried to sound as if he were wide awake. 'Coming right now.'
––––––––
Lee worked as a photographer, sharing a studio above a record store in the shopping village at Berkeley. Her work days were mainly taken up doing product shots for retail catalogues, culinary pictures for magazines, some work for a baby apparel shopping chain and sometimes she would be called out on an industrial shoot. She liked industrial photography. It gave her an opportunity for real expression, she said. The shots were used in expensively produced annual reports; it seemed money was no barrier when it came to satisfying inquisitive investors. Some industrial jobs she received from Aaron's business contacts, others were referrals from satisfied clients.
Aaron had told Lee the previous week that he was leaving for a series of meetings in Europe after which he would be off to some remote, undisclosed destination. For some reason, this time Lee didn't want him to go. She sensed something was amiss, but she had no logical reason to stop him, her doubts were based only on intuition. Aaron would be gone for eight weeks, two whole months on some faraway island or dried out desert or steaming jungle. Over the past few years, Aaron had become more mysterious about his work. He would not say exactly where he was going, but he always came back precisely when he had promised. Lee likened his work to international espionage; stakes were high: multi-national mining companies stood to win, or lose, billions of dollars based on Aaron's reports - she knew that. Aaron was most secretive about his recent mining data. At first she thought his behaviour bordered on paranoia but now she, too, felt that something was not quite right.
––––––––
They'd met at a squash club. Eyeing each other up every Friday on adjoining courts it got to the stage that it would be rude for them not to speak. Both had regular court bookings and played with a small group of friends. Afterwards both groups used the bar facilities and that was where they were when finally Aaron broke the ice and spoke to her. Each was really attracted to the other. Initially, he had misread her coyness as snobbishness. She had the ability to maintain her demure composure even after a good few drinks. She thought he was an actor or fashion model - he was so good looking, amusing and verbose.
'I've seen you play... you're good,' he said. Then he had thought what an unoriginal thing to say. 'Well, not that good.' He redeemed himself by turning it into a joke. They both laughed.
'I'm Aaron.'
'I'm Lee.'
'I know I heard the others screaming at you when you duffed your shots.'
He had made another joke.
'Hey, that's not nice,' she said and feigned a swipe at him.
Their friends watched Aaron's advances with amusement. By evening's end, no one was surprised he had asked her out for dinner and a show the following week.
*
Aaron wrapped his dressing gown about himself and sat at the kitchen table with his wife.
'What time do you need to leave to the catch the plane?' she asked, breaking the silence.
'Six-thirty,' he groaned as he sipped his coffee.
'It's six now,' she reminded him.
'I know... I know. Don't worry I've allowed plenty of time.'
'You never allow enough time.'
'But I'm never late, am I?'
'That's because you take shortcuts.'
'It's because I cut the cloth... '
'Across the corners.'
'... to fit the occasion.'
She looked into his eyes and cupped her hand against his cheek.
'I'm just a bit worried.'
'Me too.'
He reached up, took her hand in his and silence prevailed once more. Suddenly, nervously, they both sprang into action scurrying in different directions.
They left the house at exactly six-thirty.
The early morning fog lay motionless above the expanse of San Francisco Bay. The huge ocean swell at the Golden Gate was reduced to a shallow wash by the time it reached the Oakland Bay Bridge. Lee looked longingly across the bay. 'We'll have to take the boat out when you get back,' she said softly. 'I'd like to start racing again.'
They had been members of the Berkely Sailing Club for two years and had been regular contestants in the Friday "beer can" races. Aaron's parents had been members of the larger and more exclusive St Francis Yacht Club for many years. Lee and Aaron's boat "El Dorado" was a Cal 2-27 Class yacht, Lee simply would not let Aaron buy anything big or pretentious. She particularly enjoyed the Yacht Racing Association one-design racing series.
But she also liked their own private day sails. Last week they had managed to do her favourite day trip to Angel Island where they moored-up at Ayala Cove and walked to Mount Livermore - the top of the island - to take in the 360 degree views of the city, the entire bay, the Golden Gate; next they made the short trip across Raccoon Straight to Tiburon, docking at Sam's Anchor Café for a late lunch. Sam's was crowded as usual and they met up with friends and stayed longer than they had planned. They watched the sun set behind the hills - the water reflected the colours of the sky - the movement of the water gave the spectacle life. They drank champagne on the sail back to Berkely under the light of an almost full moon. Their love making that night was tender. It had been a perfect day.
Lee was worried Aaron would miss his plane so she manoeuvred the Volvo aggressively as they rushed onto the Bay Bridge, then she pushed it hard all the way until they reached the sparseness of the Bayshore Freeway South, the last part of the drive to the airport.
The United Airlines flight to Paris was full but the next segment of Aaron's journey to Morocco had not been full since 1978. Travelling business class, he was able to join the short queue at the priority boarding counter. He pushed an arm around Lee's shoulder as he waited for his ticket to be processed. Lee could not control her tears.
'It's okay... it's only two months baby,' Aaron whispered to her.
'I know.'
At the security gate she clung to him tightly like a frightened child, reluctant to let him loose. 'I love you Aaron,' she said as if for the first time.
Aaron noted the seriousness in her voice. He thought - this doesn't feel right, they weren't parting forever. 'And I love you too baby,' he responded, looking into her eyes. 'But I have to go.'
'No you don't, let's turn around and go home and be rid of this whole mining bullshit.'
He laughed. 'Don't be silly Lee, this is my job. This is what I do. I wish I could tell you but you know I can't.... I'm closing in on something big, my own discovery. I've researched this site for four years. It's—.'
'It's dangerous! Ridiculous and dangerous, it's all a big game for big boys, that's what it is.'
Security people began to look at them.
'Okay... I'm going now, okay?' he said, unravelling her arms from about his neck, ' ... love you,' he whispered.
Holding both her hands in his, he twice kissed her lips with a soft, sensuousness reserved for lovers. Then he looked into her eyes and mouthed the words, I love you, and turned away.
He passed through the security gate, picked up his carry-on attache case and laptop computer at the other end of the x-ray scanner and chanced a last look back. Lee's face was wet with tears, her mascara had streamed from the corners of her eyes to her jaw line. She stood stooped, her arms hung at her sides, her feet could not move. Aaron knew he shouldn't have looked; he waved, gave a crooked smile and kept pace with the crowd as it shuffled forward.
Once inside the passenger-only part of the terminal, Aaron turned into the duty free shop near the UAF-17 boarding gate. He slowly sauntered among the leather goods, taking the occasional bag in hand. Eventually he made a choice, purchasing a small Cartier carry-on case.
As he took a seat in the waiting lounge he pulled a bulging envelope from his boarding case and loaded it into the Cartier bag. Then he stood, took his jacket off, laid it on his seat next to the boarding case and went in search of a toilet. He took his new bag and laptop computer with him.
He walked past two men's toilets, choosing the third which was a hundred metres further along the extremely wide corridors.
'Passengers for United Airlines flight seventeen bound for Paris, you may commence boarding your aircraft,' a female voice on the public address system called.
It was Aaron's plane. The crowd surged forward, armed with their boarding passes. The waiting area was emptying fast, soon only one man sat waiting, absorbed in his book. He was seated behind where Aaron had left his coat and case. The man stood and walked so he could see along the busy corridor; he looked in the direction Aaron had headed. A male flight attendant tapped the man on the shoulder.
'Are you joining the United flight to Paris sir?' the attendant asked.
It startled him.
'Yes... I'm just waiting for my friend.'
'Is that your friend's case and jacket?' the attendant asked.
'Yes... .'
'Do you know where your friend is sir?'
'No.'
'Is he in the toilet sir?'
'Yes... I suppose he is.'
The attendant shuffled his feet and looked about anxiously.
'Sir, really... the plane will have to leave without you unless you board it right now.'
'I have to travel with my friend. I'll go and see if I can find him.'
'Sir, what about your friend's things?'
The man strode off in a hurry, almost running.
'Sir... wait!'
The man was incensed, he began a frenetic search for Aaron which took him to every passenger toilet in the San Francisco airport. He walked from the airport a half an hour later disgusted with himself. He forced his way to the front of the taxi queue and leaped in the cab, leaving a tired, angry group of travellers in his wake.
Meanwhile, Aaron was thirty-six thousand feet above the Pacific Ocean, seated in the first class section of Qantas Flight zero-five. He had pre-boarded the plane through the V.I.P. lounge. His second glass of Möet & Chandon tasted better than the first when he had proposed a toast to himself and to the success of his Australian expedition.
Werner Müller, TransGlobal's senior security man spoke proudly into the telephone in his best English.
'I saw the whole thing, Sir Peter, our opposition was completely thrown off the scent and didn't even board the Paris bound plane,' he said and turned to look defensively over his shoulder.
'Yes sir, Shoemaker's on his plane now. My flight will be leaving in two hours. Yes sir... I plan to call you immediately after I land. Yes sir... yes sir... I will. Good-bye Sir Peter.'