Forever (28 page)

'As a matter of fact, Girlie, I remember
that from my youth. You couldn't pick up a newspaper or a magazine
without seeing the front-page pictures of Lili kneeling and kissing
His Holiness's ring.'

'What a joke!' she said. 'Lili was . . .
probably still is, since I'm convinced she's alive ... the
consummate, ruthless, power- hungry bitch. Everything points
towards it. After returning to Berlin, what did she do? Why, she
consolidated her power base by having a series of affairs with
high-ranking Nazis - each more powerful than the last. And then,
when she ran out of conquests? Why, she simply arranged for her
maestro, Detlef von Ohlendorf, to take over the Vienna opera - and
joined him there, the two of them practically running the cultural
life of that city while she set up housekeeping with the head Nazi
there. Oh yes. Uncle Sammy, I know all about Lili's conquests. The
public may have perceived her as some kind of angel-voiced saint,
but I know better. She wasn't a mere sinner-she was a monster!'

'Some would call her the last of the great
courtesans.'

Stephanie bristled. 'Courtesan indeed!' she
sniffed. 'Uncle Sammy, courtesans don't play musical beds the way
Lili did. First, mistress of the most powerful Nazis - plural - in
Berlin? And then the most powerful Nazi - singular - in Vienna?
After which, during the Allied Occupation of Austria, what does she
do? Mm?'

'If I remember correctly, she seduced that
Russian general, what's-his-name . . . ?'

'The commander of the Russian occupying
forces.'

'Yes, him.' Sammy nodded.

'But - surprise, surprise!' Stephanie's
voice dripped sarcasm. 'Frau Schneider found out there was a price
to pay for having been such a highly visible - and vocal - member
of the Nazi party. Suddenly her career was down the tubes, since
the Allies wouldn't let her perform, record, or broadcast in either
Austria or Germany.'

Stephanie sat forward, half raising herself
from the bed.

'But did she let that stop her? No, she damn
well did not! Our Frau Schneider, who had screwed every powerful
man from Berlin to Vienna, hired herself a
duena!
for
Chrissakes - a
duena!
- and started running around London as
if she were some helpless, cooing teenage virgin!'

'Yes,' Sammy said quietly. 'But, Girlie, you
must admit it worked. She did catch Sir Kenneth Hughes-Coxe.'

'Who just so happened to be the chairman of
Heavenly Records, and the single most powerful classical record
producer in the entire world to boot! He not only made her Lady
Hughes-Coxe, if you please, but a British subject - free of the
Allies' shackles and welcome to sing anywhere on earth - Austria
and Germany included!' Stephanie sat back and brooded. 'Why am I so
surprised that virtually overnight, she was suddenly a bigger star
than ever?'

'Well, you shouldn't be,' Sammy murmured.
'Lili always was a survivor. You said so yourself.'

'Yes,' Stephanie said. 'Which brings us back
to square one . . . 'Her voice trailed off as she frowned.

'And what square is that, my darling?' Sammy
prodded gently.

She stared at him. 'Lili had everything at
this point in her life, and I mean everything. The past was behind
her. She had wealth beyond compare. Worldwide fame. Immense power.
Even a title, for God's sake!'

'So what are you saying. Girlie?'

'What I'm saying is, why would she
manufacture herself a convenient death and disappear? I mean, think
about it, Uncle Sammy.' Her voice dropped to a whisper. 'What could
disappearing get her that all the money and power in the world
couldn't?'

'I suppose,' he said, 'there's only one
person who can answer that.'

'And one person persistent enough to find
her and make her tell us,' she added.

'You,' he sighed.

'Me,' she agreed, and nodded.

En route: The Van Wyck Expressway

'I'm sorry, Uncle Sammy,' Stephanie said.
'The answer's still no.'

The two of them were sitting in the rear of
the dark-blue stretch limousine, cocooned from prying eyes by
grey-tinted one-way glass.

Stephanie, wearing the Nana Mouskouri
glasses, black contacts, and a long, glossy black wig, possessed a
high-style urban chic. She had on bright yellow culottes over
opaque black tights and bumble-bee shoes with bold black-and-yellow
stripes and moderate heels. Her loose shirt was of yellow-and-black
silk, vertically striped, and the lightweight, outsized yellow
blazer had an embroidered crest on the pocket.

She couldn't be missed from a mile away -
which was the whole point.

'It's far too attention-grabbing an outfit
for me to be anything but on the up-and-up,' she'd explained to
Sammy earlier, when he'd registered his surprise.

'Nothing better than to hide in plain
sight,' he'd agreed, nodding.

Now, she opened her yellow-and-black
shoulder bag and checked the contents to see if she'd forgotten
anything. The right passport and visa. Makeup. Tissues. Wallet.
Traveller's cheques.

'I do wish you'd reconsider. Girlie.' said
Sammy wistfully.

'I already told you.' She snapped open a
compact and eyed herself critically in the little round mirror,
moving it this way and that. 'It's much safer if I do this on my
own.' Stephanie frowned at her dark and exotic complexion.
Carefully, she daubed a bit more bronze powder onto her cheeks,
expertly fluffing away the excess. As she worked, she flicked him a
disapproving sideways glance.

'Come on, Girlie. Where's your spirit?' he
gloomed.

'How much longer are you going to badger me
about this, Uncle Sammy?' she wanted to know. 'You can do
handstands, and the answer will still be the same. Uncle Sammy, you
will not - I repeat not - accompany me, and that's my final word on
the subject.' She found a magenta lipstick and unscrewed the
cap.

'But you really could use my help, you
know.' He crossed his legs jauntily and clasped his hands around
his knee, in case you've forgotten, my dear, classical music is my
forte. My world, as it were. My life. I know my operas and
musicians and composers and singers backwards and forwards.'

He paused to gauge her reaction, but she was
busy painting her lips.

'Not to mention,' he went on, 'I speak
Italian fluently, German quite well, Hungarian passably, and French
. . . well, French like a foreigner, what else? But I would come in
very, very handy in Europe. Especially,' he added slyly, 'in
Eastern Europe.'

She gummed the lipstick, peered closely into
the compact lid, and dabbed her lips with a Kleenex.

'Have a heart, Girlie!' Sammy cried. 'You
want I should stay behind and worry myself to death over you?' He
didn't wait for her to reply. 'Why do you think I brought along my
passport, credit cards, plenty of traveller's cheques, cash, and a
little luggage? To save you the guilt of leaving me behind, that's
why!'

'Nice try, but no cigar,' Stephanie said
flatly, putting the lipstick away. She closed the compact with a
loud snap of finality.

Pouting, he sat back, folded his arms, and
tucked his hands up into his armpits.

'Be that way,' she said unconcernedly.
Humming to herself, she dropped the compact into her bag and
buckled it shut. Then she put her elbow on the armrest, rested her
chin in her hand, and stared out through the tinted window at the
other lanes. The traffic was bumper to bumper, moving along at a
snail's pace.

They rode along in silence for a while. She
watched a rusty clattering station wagon in the next lane with
surfboards sticking out of the back. It was full of happy kids in
their late teens.

The silence in the back of the limo grew
longer. Finally, knowing it was time to placate, she turned and
faced Sammy.

The little man had his back turned to her,
and was staring out of the other window.

She tapped him gently on the shoulder.
'Uncle Sammy?' she ventured softly.

He didn't respond.

'Uuuuncle Saaaaaammy?' She tapped him on the
shoulder again.

He slid her a miffed, tight-lipped little
sideways look.

'Oh, come on, Uncle Sammy,' she pleaded.
'Please try to understand. The only reason I don't want you along
is because you're far too famous a music critic not to attract
undue attention. Now, you know that!' She waited. 'So we're going
to part like this, are we? Well, if that's the way you want
it!'

He cackled unexpectedly. 'Almost had you
that time!' he hooted gleefully.

'I'll say you did. Then there are no hard
feelings?'

He reached for her hand and laced fingers
with her. 'How could there be?' he asked solemnly. 'You're my
Girlie.'

'And you are my Uncle Sammy.' She flashed
him a lovely smile and planted a noisy kiss on his forehead.

'Now then,' he said. 'There's just one last
little thing.'

'I know,' Stephanie said intuitively. She
sighed and slumped in the seat. 'Johnny.'

'Yes, Johnny.' Sammy nodded. 'He's still in
town, you know. A day doesn't pass when he doesn't visit or call.'
The old man paused. 'He's shattered, Girlie. With your "death", his
whole world has collapsed.'

She drew a deep breath and let it out
noisily. The cheerful youths in the battered station wagon were now
bopping up and down in their seats to the beat of '50s rock and
roll. For a moment, she shut her eyes. Then she turned back to
Sammy.

'Finding Grandpa and Pham's killers has to
take priority,' she said.

'And Johnny?' he asked. 'What about how all
this affects him? He's hurting. You can't know what witnessing that
explosion did to him, Girlie. He blames himself for your "death",
you know.'

She nodded.

if anyone's a victim of your disappearance,
it's him.'

She nodded again, beginning to feel like one
of those dolls in the rear windows of cars.

'I guess what it comes down to is, it's
really not fair to continue letting him believe you're dead. No,
Girlie, not fair at all.'

'I know' she said miserably. Then she shook
her head. 'No, Uncle Sammy,' she said slowly, 'much as I'd like to
let Johnny in on it, it will be safer for all three of us if he
still believes me dead.'

Sammy looked at her sadly, but didn't press
the point. He kept holding her hand. He was still holding it when
they pulled up in front of the TWA Terminal at Kennedy Airport.

The driver stopped in the No Standing zone,
got out, opened the rear door, and went around to get her luggage
out of the trunk.

'You'd better not go in with me,' Stephanie
told Sammy in the car.

'I understand. But I'll be beside you in
spirit all the way.'

'I know you will!'

They gave each other a fierce hug.

'You'll take good care of Waldo?'

'Don't worry, Girlie, don't worry. Much as I
hate him, I'll take care of that bird.'

She hugged him again. 'Just to ease your
mind, I'll check in regularly. Okay?' She looked at her new watch.
'Yikes! I'd better be off. It won't do to miss my flight. Not when
there are bushes to shake to see what pops out of them.'

Quickly she ducked out of the car.

'Girlie?'

She leaned back down and looked at him
questioningly.

'Shake your bushes,' Sammy warned, 'but
shake them carefully and stand back. You never can tell what might
fall out of them.' He paused and added pointedly: 'You will be
careful, won't you? If anything happened to you -'

'I will and it won't,' she assured him.

'But if it does, I'm coming looking for
you.' He wagged a finger at her. 'Remember that.'

'I will.' She touched her lips with her
fingertips and then gently touched his lips with them. ' 'Bye,
Uncle Sammy,' she said huskily.

'Bye-bye, Girlie,' he said. 'Hope to see you
soon.'

Stephanie let a porter grab her three
suitcases.

'Up, up and away!' she said brightly.

Three clicks of her heels, and the automatic
doors swallowed her up.

Near West Cornwall, Connecticut • Budapest,
Hungary

He moved stealthily on sure feet, guided by
instinct rather than sight.

Like a hunter.

Or a foraging creature on the prowl.

Like the night, which offered him haven, he
was clad entirely in black: turtle-neck, pants, gloves, and black
sneakers with thick black rubber soles. Prudently, his canvas
carryall, which held his implements, was matt black and fitted with
nonreflective zippers.

He moved through the woods with the furtive
ease of a ghost, the night his uncertain ally. He knew it could as
easily become his deadliest enemy, too.

He had left his car, camouflaged with
branches, half a mile down the road in an unused, overgrown
forestry access road. Now, going the rest of the way on foot, he
slipped soundlessly through the murmuring forest and dense brush,
ducking under branches and skirting obstacles with an almost
psychic ease. At one with nature and all its myriad impediments,
lest he get lost he was careful to stay parallel to the road.

Suddenly his ears caught the distant sound
of an approaching car. He froze, making himself one shadow among
many, and stood there, head lowered, eyes half-closed, so that
neither his face nor his eyes would reflect light, but he would
still be able to see.

Before long, a halo of light appeared from
around a curve. It grew brighter and brighter, and then the
brilliant burst of blinding headlights swept directly at him like
searchlights, emphasising his fragile vulnerability.

He sensed, rather than saw, the Martian
light on the roof of the car. Moments later, his worst suspicions
were confirmed when he heard the crackling chatter of the
police-band radio drifting out from its open windows.