MAPUTO, MOZAMBIQUE
After checking into the Hotel Cardoso, Laura had settled in her room and called home to touch base with Marissa before she left for school. Someone knocked on her door just as she finished.
Rick.
“Time to make a few decisions,” he said, waving a map.
She had her suitcase opened on her bed so he unfolded the Madagascar map on the tile floor. He pointed to a thick dot made with a Sharpie.
“Here’s my best approximation of the coordinates Mugabe gave us—a hundred miles or so off Madagascar’s west coast. If there’s an island, that’s where it is.”
Laura sat on the edge of the bed, looking over his shoulder.
“But how do we get there?”
“We do what Keith did. We take a chopper, only we take it from Madagascar instead of Mozambique.” He pointed to an area labeled Morondava, east-southeast from the coordinates. “That’s the closest town big enough to have its name on the map.”
“Fine,” she said. “But how do we get there? And do they even have an airport? And if they have an airport, does it have a helicopter we can rent?”
Rick sighed. “Good questions. We need a travel agent, someone who knows this stuff.”
“How about the concierge?”
“Now there’s a thought. You take a nap while I go down and check this out.”
“No, no,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m on my second wind.” Or was it her third? Either way, she couldn’t sleep right now. “We’ll go together.”
The concierge was young and beautiful, with mocha skin and short black hair, straightened and shiny and close to her scalp. The brass nameplate on her desk read simply BIANCA.
The first thing Rick did when they sat down was slip a hundred-dollar bill across her desk. How many of those had he brought?
Bianca slid it back. “That isn’t necessary, sir. I’m here to help.”
Rick reached around and slipped it under her keyboard. “I have a feeling you’re going to earn it. If you still want to return it after we’re done, I’ll accept.”
She gave him a concerned look, but left the bill where it was. “How can I help you?”
“Tell me about Morondava.”
“On Madagascar?” Her face lit, making her even more beautiful. “I’ve been there. Very picturesque.”
Good, Laura thought. “Does it have an airport?”
She nodded. “A small one.”
Better.
Rick said, “Do you know if there’s a helicopter there we can charter?”
“No, but I can find out. This may take a few moments. If you’d like to visit the bar…”
Laura could have used a glass of wine, but drinks would have to wait.
“We’ll just explore the place.”
They strolled toward the floor-to-ceiling windows at the far end of the lobby.
“Do you really think you had to bribe her too?” Laura said.
Rick shook his head. “I consider that a tip. In a very real sense I’ve asked her to act as our travel agent, which is probably outside the scope of her concierge duties. I’m banking on that nice piece of change to fix her focus on us and put anyone else on hold.”
Laura glanced back. “I don’t know if you noticed, but she’s a stunner.”
“Oh, I noticed. Reminds me of Josephine Baker.”
She laughed. “You’re right! You’re full of surprises, aren’t you. How do you know about her?”
“What’s so surprising?”
“Well, neck deep in the clandestine services, as you’ve been all these years, I…” She shrugged. “I don’t see how you’d run across her. She’s not exactly in the news.”
“There’s a place in the city where I grab dinner now and then. Called Chez Josephine. Supposedly run by one of her offspring. Paintings and photos of her in various stages of undress all around the place. Great risotto.”
They stopped at the glass wall and looked out over the city to the blue waters of the Mozambique Channel. She glanced back and noticed Bianca waving to them.
“Hey, she’s got something.”
When they reached her desk she said, “There is someone with a four-seater helicopter who takes sightseeing charters along the coast.”
Rick handed her a credit card and said, “Can you book him for tomorrow?”
She nodded and began speaking French into the phone.
“French?” Rick said, glancing at Laura.
“After Malagasy, it’s the second official language of Madagascar,” Laura said. Before he could ask, she added, “I looked it up.”
She’d been happy about that, since her French was fairly decent.
“Done,” Bianca said, hanging up. “You are reserved. Most of his business is on weekends so he is glad to have a Wednesday charter. Is there anything else I can do?”
“Yes. Book us on the next flight to Morondava.”
Her smile faded. “I have heard an American expression that applies to this: ‘You cannot get there from here.’ You have heard this?”
“Unfortunately, yes. But the town’s right across the channel. There’s gotta be a way.”
“Yes, via Johannesburg and Antananarivo.”
Rick beat Laura to it: “Antananarivo? Where’s that?”
“It is the capital of Madagascar.”
Laura shook her head, dismayed. “So we’re talking four airports and three flights?”
“I am afraid so.”
Rick looked at Laura. “You need sleep. Stay here and I’ll go.”
Like hell. She couldn’t count how many times she’d watched those Madagascar movies with Marissa, who absolutely loved King Julien. If she ever learned that her mother didn’t go there when she had the chance, she’d never forgive her.
“I’ll sleep on the way.”
Rick looked like he was about to say something, then thought better of it. He turned back to Bianca. “Okay. Can you get us there sometime tonight?”
She pursed her lips. “I doubt that very much, but I’ll try my best.”
It turned out she could get them to Johannesburg tonight, but they’d have to stay over before traveling to Madagascar. They decided to stay where they were and head out early tomorrow.
They thanked her and wandered away. Bianca did not offer to return the hundred-dollar bill. Laura doubted Rick would have accepted it anyway. As they stepped into the elevator, she noticed a lost expression. She’d never seen that look on him before. It didn’t fit.
“What? Something wrong?”
He sighed. “So strange to care about my brother after all these years. Don’t think I thought about him once since I left home. Thought he’d rejected me, but you’ve made me see he was probably doing the best he could.”
Watching this tough, macho guy, this trained killer, struggling with unaccustomed emotions, Laura felt a sudden urge to hug him and tell him everything would be all right—that together they’d make it all right.
Oh, hell, why not?
She threw her arms around him and squeezed. “He’ll be fine, Rick. Really. And so will you.”
After a couple of heartbeats’ hesitation, he returned the hug. “If you say so.”
“Let’s go to my room.”
Did I just say that? she thought.
Yes. She did. And she meant it.
Rick looked flustered. “Um, Laura—”
“Hush.”
She watched the glowing numbers climb, her excitement, her need heating with every floor. When the doors slid open she half dragged him down the hall. She fumbled with her key and got the door open and pulled him inside. As it closed behind him …
“Now, where were we?”
“Laura?”
She didn’t want to lose this momentum, couldn’t let this feeling peter out. She put her arms around him.
“I believe I was like this and you were—go ahead.”
He put his arms around her as before. “I…”
“This is where you kiss me.”
Please don’t say no.
Rick hesitated a second. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
He lowered his head and their lips met.
Yes!
She started unbuttoning his shirt. “It’s time, it’s time. It’s way, way past time.”