Mortal Crimes: 7 Novels of Suspense (194 page)

It was almost a week before Julia and Ian stood at the airport while a pair of Namibian police officers unloaded the coffin from a truck and carried it toward a private jet that waited across the tarmac. Ian lifted the end of the coffin when it got to the airplane and then climbed into the cargo bay to strap it down himself.

“He should have a flag,” Ian said when he returned. “The things that guy did for his country; he deserves to arrive home with full honors.”

She squeezed his hand. “We know what he did. Kendall’s family will know when you tell them.”

Charles Ikanbo climbed out of the truck and approached. The man’s bodyguards fanned out, inspected the airplane, the fuel tanker, then took up positions around the perimeter to keep an eye on their man.

Charles held out his hand to Ian, then to Julia. “Thank you. From me, personally, but also from Namibia. As soon as we can, we’ll arrange your return. Publicly bestow Namibia’s highest honors on the both of you. If the U.S. government allows it, of course.”

“Thank you
,
Mr. President,” Julia said.

“What kind of Namibia will we find when we come back?” Ian asked.

“You mean, will I still be President?” There was a slight hesitation before this last word, as if he didn’t like to say it aloud.

In an ironic turn, the cabinet had appointed him interim president following the resignation of the Prime Minister. What his brother had tried to seize by force, the people demanded for the man who had saved them from the coup. Julia had read the local papers; if Charles Ikanbo wanted the office, nobody would force him out.

“No, you won’t find me President. I won’t stand for the election, though I might take a role in the new government.”

“If that’s true, you’re a better man than most,” Ian said.

A slow smile spread across Charles’s face. “A lecture about democracy from a white South African. Well, fair enough, you have reason to be cynical.”

“I’m not cynical,” Ian said, “just realistic.”

“With good reason around here. Well, you will see.”

“I believe you.”

________

Julia turned to Ian as they climbed onto the plane. “Do you? Believe him, I mean?”

“I think so, but a hundred things could happen that would make Charles think that now is not the time to turn things back to a civilian government. As soon as the Chinese start paying royalties on that oil, there will be new people plotting to get it. How will he handle that?”

It made her sad to think of Namibia suffering more problems. That oil really was a curse. It would have been better if it had stayed hidden under the desert.

As soon as they strapped into their seats, the plane taxied down the runway and took off. Windhoek shrank behind them. From the air she couldn’t see any effect of last week’s battle.

Julia punched up the terminal on the seat ahead of her and selected the news channel. Most of the stories were about Namibia. But to her surprise, most of them were about the effects on U.S. markets. There was praise all around for the quick action of the Federal Reserve in stemming an all-out market crash by shutting down trading until the coup resolved. But woven into every report were lurid details and rumors of political scandal. It didn’t take long for Julia to tire of reading about the untimely demise of Sarah Redd, unsubstantiated rumors of CIA involvement in the Namibian coup, and whether the President had knowledge of a massive cover-up. After all, it was yesterday’s news to her.

Julia turned from the screen to see Ian studying her with his intense blue eyes.

She returned a nervous smile. “You okay?”

He swiveled her chair so that they faced each other. “Just wondering what’s going to happen between us, now that this is all over. Have you thought about it?”

Her mouth felt dry. “Yes, I’ve thought about it. I’m trying to be realistic though.”

“How so?”

“Well, you’re young, handsome, and…”

He laughed. “Is that bad?”

“No, it’s just that…”

“You mean because you’re older than I am?”

Julia returned his gaze. Every part of him was focused on her, nothing reserved. The attention made her want to turn away. To hear him say it like that made her embarrassed. How stupid could she be?
You’re older than I am.
Did she seriously think that Ian, who could literally have any woman he wanted, would stay with someone like her? Maybe a weekend. Maybe until some airbrushed, breast-enhanced model winked at him. She wanted to crawl under the seat, hide how ridiculous she felt at her unrealistic fantasy.

“Because I don’t intend to let you reject me because I’m not smart enough. I may be younger, but I’ve had enough life experience to make up for it.”

“What are you saying?” Julia asked.

“I’m saying that I’m done with women who can’t understand what I’ve been through. I’ve had a lot of time to think about what I want in life. I’m done taking orders, putting my life on the line for something or someone I don’t trust completely.”

He put his hand on her knee. She wore a skirt and his hand rested against her bare leg. It even slid up a fraction of an inch, onto her thigh. It was an electric feeling. Her chest felt tight. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t talk.

“Julia Nolan, I’m crazy about you. No, it’s more than that.
I love you.
How is that? Direct enough?” A teasing smile turned serious again. “I love you because you’re older, because you have more depth than any women I’ve ever met. Because I’ve never been more attracted to any woman of any age. Because for the first time in my life, I know how I want to spend the rest of my life.”

“Okay.” Her voice sounded small. “Yes,” she added, more forcefully this time. “I want to try, because I’m crazy about you, too.”

“Good, that wasn’t very hard, was it?”

He leaned forward. They were all alone in the cabin. His hand slid a half inch higher.

She forced herself to lean back and put her hand over his to stop its progression up her thigh. “There’s just, uhm, just one thing I have to do first.”

________

Markov led Julia past security, through a pair of double doors that was like an airlock, and into the cell block. It took her back to that day when she first walked into her CIA office. It had seemed so simple back then. She was there to help. How could the technology be misused? The implants were in trusted hands. Just another way to save lives.

Meanwhile, Markov tried to sell her on continued involvement in the project. “I’m willing to offer more autonomy, and we’ll give you a full research budget, the ability to hire and fire as you see fit.”

“But what’s this I hear about Chang?” she asked. “Did he actually wangle a promotion out of this whole thing?”

“Yes, in a way. But for Chang that just means a bunch of new toys to play with. It doesn’t mean that he’s going to make project decisions, except as it comes to hardware.”

It was amazing, she thought, how some people prospered under any circumstance. But she had to hand it to Chang. He’d risen solely on his own merits. He was both very smart and completely apolitical.

“I don’t like it,” she said, “because I don’t trust that guy. I swear half the stuff he slipped into those implants was just because he could. He doesn’t have a moral compass, he just does whatever sounds the most fun.”

“You won’t work with him directly, and the condition of his continued involvement is that he is required to document all his work, leave no hidden features, that sort of thing.”

“I don’t know. The guy is good enough to do whatever he wants and make it look like whatever
you
want it to be. I’ll have to think about it.”

“Of course,” Markov said.

“In the meanwhile, I want all the specs for Ian’s implant. I need to see all the hidden features Chang slipped in. Can you lean on him until he gives it up?”

“Absolutely, I’ll get that to you by tomorrow.”

They passed through the final layer of security and entered the prison visitation room. Terrance was already sitting on the other side of the Plexiglas partition. He wore an orange jumpsuit and his hands were cuffed. Two armed guards stood behind him.

He grabbed the phone as soon as she took a seat. Slowly, not wanting to do this, she picked up the phone.

“Oh, thank God you’re here,” he said. “I need your help in a big way.”

“Yeah, kind of like I needed your help when I was in Africa,” she said. “Funny how that worked out.”

“We can talk about it later, but for now you’ve got to get me out of here, honey.”

“I’m not your honey,” she said. “And even if I wanted to get you out of here, there’s nothing I can do. You’re screwed and you know what? You did this yourself.”

It was easy enough to sound angry, but harder to feel that way. In spite of everything he’d done, she felt more pity than anything else.

“You don’t understand what it’s like. I did all that stuff because I had no choice.”

“You had no choice? You knew I was innocent, and you gave them everything they needed to track me down and kill me. If it wasn’t for Anton’s conscience—not yours — I’d be dead now.”

“Is this about that South African?” Terrance asked.

“What? Terrance, are you listening to me? It doesn’t matter if I slept with half the Namibian army. You tried to have me killed!”

Markov shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

“So you
are
involved with him, that’s what this is about.”

“Never mind,” she said. This was impossible. “I didn’t come here to chat.”

A man entered the visitation room behind Terrance. He slid a manila envelope in front of her husband. Terrance looked down at it with a frown. “What’s this?”

“Divorce papers. I thought I should give them to you in person.”

“Convenient. Now that I’m in trouble you’re going to abandon me. After all the sacrifices I’ve made for your career, after all the…”

She put down the phone. This wasn’t going to go anywhere and it was just making her doubt herself. On the other side, Terrance kept talking into the phone, as if he hadn’t noticed that she was pushing herself away from the window.

Markov took her arm and helped her to her feet. “Are you ready to go, then?”

“Sure he sacrificed,” she said, “but so did I. Our marriage wasn’t perfect, but I was trying.”

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” Markov said. “And don’t give that weasel any credit. None at all. He doesn’t deserve it.”

“Thanks, Anton.”

________

Julia led Ian by the hand into the house. It was bare, almost like she’d just moved in and hadn’t yet accumulated the detritus of years of marriage. She’d hired movers to box up all of Terrance’s stuff and haul it away to a storage unit.

She’d have to fight like hell to keep her own stuff from suffering a similar fate. Yesterday, after leaving the prison, she’d spent the afternoon digging into finances. The result was ugly. Terrance had well over a hundred thousand in credit she knew nothing about. Even crazier, he’d apparently put a deposit on a two million dollar yacht. The deposit was borrowed, of course.

The only good thing about her financial situation was that Terrance was currently in a place where he could no longer spend money. Otherwise, it looked like she would be moonlighting to stay on top of her bills.

She led Ian through the hallway and into the front room. He looked around, as if searching for signs of Terrance. “Uhm, are you sure this is the right place?”

“Absolutely. It’s mine, I have no intention of giving it up. As for that other guy who used to live here, he’ll never set foot inside again.”

“That’s comforting.”

“Would you be more comfortable if I brought out some firearms? Maybe built a bunker out of the sofa and coffee table? Or would you prefer a glass of wine?”

“Leave the firearms in the closet.” He smiled. “A glass of wine sounds great.”

She returned from the kitchen with two glasses and her best Pinot Noir. She may have rid the house of Terrance’s junk, but had decided the wine collection could stay.

He loosened up after a glass or two of wine and started talking about his complicated relationship with his father, his friendship with Kendall, and Markov’s offer for a promotion, once the current firestorm died down.

The wine must have loosened her up, too, because as she listened, sitting next to him on the couch, she put her hand on his arm without thinking. He stopped at the contact, turned his blue eyes on hers and smiled.

“You know what I’m thinking?” she asked.

“Thinking that I’m talking too much?”

“No, that’s interesting, I want to hear it all. I want to know all about you. But I was thinking about the airplane, when you put your hand on my leg.”

“Like this?” He put his hand on her leg, but this time let it slide along the inside of her thigh about two thirds the way up.

“It wasn’t exactly like that, but I won’t complain.”