Sandstorm (3 page)

It was a rush order, which he detested, since details of his route had been arranged and taken care of by others. Because he was being paid a significant amount of money, he would go along—careful, however, not to place faith in anything or anyone.

The plump, red-cheeked manager, who greeted him upon arrival, stepped onto the loading dock from the building. He avoided the rain as if he were allergic, waving for Nevsky to come inside. Nevsky left his post from in back of the trucks.

The manager had a nervous way about him, his eyes darting from side to side, scanning the area. “Five more crates and we’re done,” he said, slightly out of breath. “Then, you and your men can go.”

Nevsky nodded. “Fine.” He looked beyond the manager to the final load being picked up. “My count is as it should be.”

“Good,” the manager said, as uncomfortable as a kid who needed to relieve himself.

Nevsky started to turn and then pretended to be deep in thought, as if he were trying to jog his memory.

“Oh,” he said, almost as an afterthought. “I, of course, have something for you.” He waved at his men in the back of the truck. An oversized duffle bag was ushered to him. The manager’s balancing act eased when he saw it. “I believe the agreement is half now and the balance delivered when we make our next destination,” Nevsky said, watching the gleam in the man’s eye. “A representative will bring you the rest.” In truth, he hadn’t forgotten at all. It was just that he hadn’t had any fun all day.

The manager followed the bag as if witnessing a baby’s first steps. “Yes, that is the agreement.”

Nevsky turned his attention to the last crate being loaded, and his men quickly closed and locked the doors on the back of the trucks. Two other trucks had previously followed the same procedure. He addressed the plump manager one last time. “Then, we are finished here.” The trucks were already pulling away when Nevsky stepped off the dock and into a waiting Range Rover. The driver waited for instructions.

Nevsky motioned forward with his arm. “Everything is fine so far.”

With that, the vehicle pulled away as the manager hurriedly slid the loading dock doors shut.

“Yes, everything is okay,” Nevsky repeated in his mind.

And yet, as he glanced beyond the rain-streaked windshield, he found little comfort in the statement.

CHAPTER
5

Every now and then he’d open his eyes, and except for cloud formation, the same powder blue sky stared back at him. On the horizon, the deep water of the Atlantic Ocean was a perfect navy blue, preceded by a hue of green, which grew increasingly lighter until one could see the glistening row of white ripples closer to shore. It was another in a long stretch of beautiful days in paradise.

Alex Koves felt the sun warm his body, his eyes shielded from the bright glow behind a pair of sunglasses. An unconscious move brushed free some of the excess water lodged in his black mane of hair, the remnants of several jaunts into the refreshing water. His six-foot-two-inch frame stretched out comfortably on the oversized beach towel. The sand beneath him was warm and molded to the contour of his body like a Temper Foam mattress. Drifting in and out of sleep, he lost sense of time and that was just fine with him.

It required more work to maintain, but his body was still chiseled from the days spent as a world-class athlete. With the Sunday afternoon poundings of football behind him, his body felt the best it had in years. As an added blessing, the headaches were gone as well.

Stereo speakers scattered about delivered soothing sounds of jazz from a boastful music collection. It was a musical taste handed down from his father who played it constantly in the household as he grew up. Many hours were spent listening and being educated on the various musicians and their style. Charlie Parker, Coltrane, Monk were like relatives. When his father took him as a preteen to see Dave Brubeck in concert, there was no turning back.

The volume was set low so it complemented rather than drowned out the audio provided by the ocean’s waves and the swaying leaves of palm trees. The setting did wonders for maintaining his equilibrium. This was as tranquil as life could get. The private stretch of beach served as the backdrop for the two-story house his family had purchased as a vacation haven when he was a young boy. Back then it allowed them to escape the cold, harsh Chicago winters whenever they wanted. Years later, after convincing his parents to sell the property to him, he put the house through a major renovation. It was now an architectural showplace of three bedrooms, a tech-rich media room, gourmet kitchen, and wraparound deck suitable for serious entertaining.

Nature provided a safeguard with tall trees and brush that lined the sloping, curved entrance road, preventing the casual observer from discovering the riches that lay beyond. With over a hundred feet of private beachfront, it was total tranquility.

The long month was finally winding down, but like every year, it would exit with a bang. Decorators and caterers were due to arrive shortly to begin preparations for his annual Carnival party tomorrow night. St. Thomas was a totally different place around Carnival time. From early April ’til the first weekend in May, it was as if the entire island took a deep breath from months of tourist overuse and indulgence. And while Carnival meant roughly a month’s worth of added abuse, it was pleasurable energy being exerted: during this respite, the focus shifted back to Virgin Islanders—their pleasures and desires came first. If outsiders didn’t understand the attitude, the atmosphere, or the slight delay in service, that was too bad. The island was in a constant state of celebration. Roberts Stadium held a battle of the bands, a costume competition, and calypso singers, while Emancipation Garden hosted the gluttonous culinary delight of the Cultural Fair. The waterfront provided cramped access to the spirited, socially driven nights of food and drink at Carnival Village.

After a late night of indulging in all that Carnival Village had to offer and still suffering the aftereffects of the four a.m. bump-and-grind of J’ouvert Morning, relaxing on the beach was exactly what the doctor had ordered. By now the children’s parade would be wrapping up in town. Many of the parents of the kids participating in the parade had been right alongside him at Carnival Village and J’ouvert Morning. By late afternoon, they’d go home and have a good nap, then awake to put the finishing touches on any floats or costumes for the adult’s parade. That activity would be followed up with another night of revelry at Carnival Village. Hell, Carnival only came once a year. Live it up. There was always Sunday to recuperate.

The wind, surf, and soft music concealed the footsteps, which would have been hard to hear anyway since they were made in sand. Alex felt the sun’s disappearance but paid it no mind, figuring the clouds had once again cut in between. His peaceful existence remained undisturbed until a voice interrupted the calm.

“Hello, Alex.”

He should have been startled, but the tone wasn’t alarming—it sounded almost apologetic, in fact. He squinted through his sunglasses, trying to identify the person behind the voice. He couldn’t make out who it was, but the mystery offered promise, the voice extremely puzzling.

“Hello,” he responded, inching up on his elbows. “Do we know each…?”

“It’s been a while,” the woman said, anticipating the question. “A lot of distance between us.”

His mind was racing. There was something about her voice. “Well, damn, if this isn’t intriguing.”

He took off his sunglasses as he began to stand up. On the way, he couldn’t help but glance at the woman’s body, nearly bumping against it. She was toned, but not overly muscular. Long, shapely legs led to a trim waist and firm breasts. His gaze finally rested on the woman’s face.

“You still don’t recognize me?” she said, sensing his apprehension. “All things considered, I suppose that’s a very good thing.”

He stood back for a moment, not wanting to believe what his mind was telling him as he cut through the layers of disguise.

Damn!

The hair was shorter and brunette, not blond. The eyes he remembered were not the blue hue that stared at him now. The eyebrows were thicker and darker as well.

“Nora,” he managed to say quietly, painting by numbers until the canvas took total shape. “Nora Mossa.”

“Guilty,” she said with raised hands.

He put his sunglasses back on and dropped down onto the oversized beach towel. “Thanks for stopping by,” he exhaled. “You look great. Enjoy your vacation or whatever it is you’re doing. Now, if you don’t mind, you’re blocking the sun.”

She ran her hand through her hair, not yet comfortable with its shortened length—a petty concern, given her present situation. She knelt beside him, sandals dangling in her hand. She bit her upper lip while trying to find the words. Nora glanced at the ocean for a moment. From Rome, to Paris, to New York, to this tropical paradise, she had thought countless times of what to say. She knew playing on the emotion of their being former lovers wouldn’t be persuasive. Revisiting the past surely wouldn’t rouse any sympathy from him. She’d tried every way possible in her mind to make this moment less painful and more likely to promote understanding. The bottom line was, she needed his help. He was the only one she could trust and depend upon, even though, when he had needed those things from her years ago, she had failed him miserably. She was fully aware that she had some nerve being here, and maybe that was where to start. Maybe he would respect that. If not respect it, perhaps he would at least understand the desperation that had driven her to seek him out.

“Alex—” She reached out to touch his shoulder but stopped short. She gathered herself. “I won’t say I’m sorry. I conveyed that several times years ago. That’s ground already covered. I do wish I were here on vacation, and heaven knows I would not have sought you out if I were.”

“Nora, whatever it is”—she could see a raised eyebrow above the rim of his glasses—“I don’t give a damn. So traveling all this way, you’ve totally wasted your time.”

Part of her wanted to strangle him. Another part totally understood his reaction. “Damn it, Alex!” She tried not to significantly raise her voice. “Do you have any idea how hard this is for me? I would never attempt to reenter your life if at all possible. Not after the way we left things. You made your feelings toward me painfully clear. I’m only here because I have nowhere else to turn.”

Alex used his elbows as support again. “I’m sorry to hear that. Sounds like you’ve got yourself in what you
perceive
to be a bad way. But your life and your world is one I don’t live in anymore.”

“Alex, my life is in danger. I—” He cut her off with a raised hand.

“Save it. Really.” He shook his head. “I mean, whatever it is, what the hell do you think I can do? As I said, that’s your paranoia. Your world. Look around you. This is me now. It’s quiet. It’s peaceful.”

She knew she was fighting for her life, so everything was fair game. “Does that mean you’ve totally forgotten? I don’t really see how that’s possible.”

“Forgotten!” Alex exploded. He took a moment to calm himself. “No, I haven’t forgotten. Let’s see if the names ring a bell with you. Cowl. Accord. Fitness. Why don’t you go ask them for help? Oh, that’s right, you can’t. Because they’re dead. I could go on. And that’s precisely the point: no, I haven’t forgotten. I just don’t want to remember it all every day anymore.”

“It’s because you haven’t forgotten that I’m here. I need the old Alex. My life depends on the old Alex.”

“Well, I’ve got some bad news for you. That Alex doesn’t exist anymore.”

She ran her hand over her face before continuing. “Believe me, if there was another way, another avenue—” Her head sunk into her hands. “I would have explored it. We’ve been through a lot together, and I’m praying that deep down inside, you can understand that enough to help me.”

Crap! She didn’t want to cry. She could feel the moisture forming in her eyes and tried to hide it by turning her head and wiping her face. “Look, I have my life savings. Nearly a hundred thousand dollars. It’s yours.”

He studied her through his sunglasses. He recalled the time when their lives had been entwined. She was a strong, competent, tough woman who could more than take care of herself. Though her facial features had changed a little, this was hardly, at the moment, that same Nora Mossa. He noticed her hands were trembling.

“Alex…”

He let his name trail out to the ocean, only to hear it come back.

“Alex, please,” she begged, realizing all her dignity was lost.

He fixated on the sky. “Nora, like I said. You’ve wasted your time. The answer is no. It’s not my place anymore. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m trying to ease out of a hangover.”

There was nothing left for her to say. She knew of no other way to persuade him. For the first time, she fully grasped how deeply she had failed him. After all these years, he had not eased an inch on how he felt about her. The way he left it was the way it remained. Dismissal. Total and permanent. As Nora got to her feet, the tears that ran down her cheeks weren’t out of self-pity but of compassion. The clock couldn’t be turned back. There apparently was no way to fix this.

“Thanks for your time, Alex. I’m sorry to have bothered you. I guess this really is good-bye.” She got no response. “If you change your mind,” she mumbled, “I’ll be at Frenchman’s Reef until Sunday afternoon. Room 410.”

She exited just as quietly as she had entered.

CHAPTER
6

The smell of fresh coffee in the early morning hours always provided the illusion that all was right with the world. Unfortunately, that euphoric state hardly ever lasted beyond a full cup.

Sitting behind his desk, George Champion, the director of the National Clandestine Service, stole a few minutes of government time to indulge in the aroma of a freshly brewed pot of French roast beans. The coffee itself would certainly end the fantasy. After all, how many times in his life had he truly enjoyed a perfect cup? Still, the odds of that were damn far better than those of solving the mountain of problems that greeted him today, none of which had any easy solution.