THE SPANISH REVENGE (Craig Page series) (2 page)

“If you have to stay longer, don’t worry.”

“Are you kidding? Once word gets out about your newest success, French women will be fighting with each other to get my place in your bed.”

He laughed. “Hey, that sounds like fun.”

“Yeah, well. It better not happen.”

“You’re safe. Nobody like you. Break a leg tomorrow.”

“Thanks. I really want this.”

Craig put down the phone. Before returning to Jacques, he closed his eyes and thought how ironic that Elizabeth had come into his life at his moment of greatest pain and loneliness, a year and a half ago. He had never fully accepted his wife, Caroline’s, death, twelve
years earlier. Then he received that call in Milan, where he had been living and working after ending his CIA career because of Director Kirby’s jealousy and resentment.

He hated even thinking about the call. A bolt from the blue telling him that Francesca, his only child, his only family, had been killed driving in Calgary, Canada on a snowy night on the way to the airport. The result of a hit and run with a large truck, according to the police. He knew she was on the verge of uncovering a big story as a reporter with the
New York Tribune.
He was convinced her death was a homicide.

When he met Elizabeth, Francesca’s editor, after the funeral, they decided to join forces to discover what happened.

They not only succeeded, but, as he spent time with feisty Elizabeth in Washington, Tehran, and Beijing, he rediscovered feelings he thought had died with Caroline.

When Craig returned to Europe to assume the position of Director of the EU Counterterrorism Agency, eighteen months ago, it seemed natural for Elizabeth to relocate to Paris and to take a job as a foreign reporter with the
International Herald.
They rented an apartment on the top floor of a building on Montmarte, with a fantastic view of the city.

He wasn’t sure where they were going next. They hadn’t ever spoken about marriage or children. She was thirty-seven. He was eleven years older.

They were a couple of expat Americans loving Paris and enjoying each other, while fully committed to important jobs.

He noticed Jacques standing in the doorway. “Recess is over. They’re finishing up dinner. Dalton’s getting ready to leave.”

Craig and Jacques were back in front of the video screens, watching carefully as the motorcade pulled out of the Elysee Palace and headed toward the American Embassy. This time the ride was uneventful. Craig breathed a huge sigh of relief when President
Dalton’s car entered the embassy compound. Mission accomplished. Thank God they’re safe.

“Great irony here,” Jacques said. “The American President who hates Europe owes his life to a French bomb squad.”

Craig raised his hand and Jacques clasped it. The show of camaraderie pleased Craig. “Life would be wonderful without the politicians,” Craig said.

“So what’s our next act?”

Craig shrugged. “You can be sure some whacko or self righteous ideologue somewhere is hatching a plot.”

2

NEW YORK

Walking along Park Avenue and hustling to keep pace with Harold Gorman’s long strides, Elizabeth felt nervous, yet confident. Nervous because this was her first book deal negotiation and Harold was asking for more than she ever imagined. Confident because Harold had been an agent for forty years and knew every nuance of the business.

At sixty five, he still had a thick head of wavy black hair sprinkled with gray, spilling over the collar of his weather-beaten, tan raincoat. He had once played basketball at Cornell and maintained the athlete’s shape. Last evening at dinner at Jean Georges, he’d given her the detailed background on whom they were meeting with at Wellington Books. Virginia, in Harold’s words, “Is very smart, but tough, no nonsense, strictly bottom line, so cold blooded she’d freeze the mercury in a thermometer. Now Ned, your editor, if we cut a
deal, is just the opposite. A big teddy bear. Warm, friendly, wouldn’t kill a fly if it settled on his arm.”

Harold also told her, “When he’s in a meeting with Virginia, Ned rarely opens his mouth. But he happens to be one of the best editors in the business.”

A secretary led them into the publisher’s glass-walled corner office, looking down Park with a view of Grand Central. Virginia, wearing a dark gray suit, had her dark brown hair tied up and wound tight in the back. She was smiling warmly as she shook Elizabeth’s hand. “Don’t be deceived by that,” Harold had warned her.

Ned, standing across the room, did remind Elizabeth of a teddy bear. Mid forties, curly brown hair, five six, protruding stomach.

They settled in to a living area in one corner, pot of coffee with china cups on a marbled top table. Virginia clutching their book proposal was in a straight-back chair. Ned was on her left, Harold and Elizabeth on a sofa facing Virginia.

Ned pointed to the coffee. When Elizabeth nodded, he poured a cup.

“I read the proposal,” Virginia said. No pleasantries. Right to the point.

The word, “And?” almost popped out of Elizabeth’s mouth, but Harold had said it was better for him to take the lead. “I’ll tell you when to talk.” So she kept still. Harold was waiting for Virginia to continue.

“I like the concept. Europe does face a serious problem from its growing Muslim population. I even like your title,
Heads in the Sand
—
Europe Ignores the Islamic Threat.
But an advance of eight hundred thousand dollars in this market is ridiculous.”

“We’re offering world rights,” Harold said calmly. “Not just US”

Virginia waved around the proposal. “I can read.”

“It’s the hottest topic in the world. Muslims versus Christians.”

“That doesn’t mean it’ll sell books.”

“Thilo Sarrazin’s book claiming that the Muslims are bringing about Germany’s downfall sold over a million copies in the first month, in Germany alone.”

“He was a celebrity in Germany.”

“He was a banker for God’s sakes. Bankers aren’t celebrities. Elizabeth was a widely read and respected foreign affairs writer for many years with the
New York Tribune.
For the last year and a half with the
International Herald.
She won a Pulitzer for her coverage of the war in Iraq as an embedded journalist with our troops. I’m sure your sales projections back me up.”

Virginia was looking at Elizabeth. “Why’d you leave New York for Paris?”

“I was ready for a change and I’m in a relationship with someone there.”

“I know all about Craig Page. And I have powerful friends in Washington. People who were close to President Brewster. I’ve heard what you and Craig did to stop General Zhou in China. All very hush-hush. Why don’t you do a book about that?”

Elizabeth smiled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Virginia laughed. “I can give you a hundred thousand for
Heads in the Sand.”

Elizabeth’s chin dropped.

Harold fired back. “That’s insulting.”

He stood up. Elizabeth guessed she should do the same.

“OK, we’re out of here. It’s been swell.” He sounded angry.

As they started toward the door, Virginia said, “Tell you what, Harold, to go above two I need Board approval. Let’s break for lunch. Come back at three. I’ll make some calls. See what I can do.”

Elizabeth exhaled with relief. Harold took her to lunch at the Four Seasons restaurant. His usual poolside table. “I refuse to eat in the Grill Room, with all those publishing power players. It’s enough I see them the rest of the day.”

When the waiter came over, Harold told her, “Have a drink. It’ll relax you.” Though she almost never drank at lunch, she ordered a cosmo.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“We’ll end up around six hundred K. That gives her something to save face.”

“Are you serious?”

“I never joke about something like this. You’ll notice she didn’t argue when I said her marketing projections support my position. Your topic, Muslims versus Christians, is so timely. They know they can sell books. The large advance will make sure they do.”

She ordered a lobster salad, but her stomach was churning. She moved it around with her fork. As she sipped the drink, Harold asked, “What was this China business with you and Craig and General Zhou, Virginia was talking about?”

Elizabeth put down the glass. “I promised President Brewster I would never divulge it.”

“Brewster’s dead.”

“I know. But…”

“OK. Is that how you met Craig?”

“Yeah. His daughter Francesca was working for me as a reporter at the
New York Tribune.
She was killed in Calgary. Craig was formerly with the CIA. He and I hooked up trying to get to the bottom of Francesca’s death.”

When they returned to Virginia’s office, the publisher was smiling. “Good news. I have approval to give Elizabeth four hundred thousand.”

Elizabeth wanted to scream, “Take it,” but Harold was shaking his head. She thought about asking Harold for a recess to discuss Virginia’s offer.

Before she had a chance, Virginia said, “Dammit, Harold. You’re being unreasonable.”

“I don’t think so. This is the hottest subject in the world. My client is a Pulitzer Prize-winning author. You’re getting world wide rights.”

Virginia’s face hardened. Oh, oh, oh, Elizabeth thought.

“Tell you what, Harold. I’ll split the difference between your eight and my four. That’s my best and final. Take it or leave it.”

He looked at Elizabeth.

“Yes,” she said.

Virginia was smiling again. “Good. We have a deal at six. Thirty days for a detailed outline. Twelve months for a complete draft.”

On the way out, Elizabeth chatted with Ned and told him he could expect the detailed outline in three weeks.

Out on Park Avenue, she threw her arms around Harold. “Thank you so much. You’re the world’s best agent.” She was on the verge of crying with joy.

A black Lincoln Town Car pulled up at the curb. “He’ll take you to JFK,” Harold said. “You can get the next plane back to Paris.”

“Thanks. I have a stop to make first.”

“He’s yours. Wherever you want to go.”

She gave the driver an address on the North Shore of Long Island. Then she took out her cell phone and called Craig. “I’m coming back on the ten thirty this evening. For dinner tomorrow, book the best restaurant in Paris. I’m buying, and we’re celebrating.”

“Fabulous.” He sounded elated. “How much did you get?”

“I’ll tell you at dinner. Make it a surprise.”

“I love surprises like that. I’m so happy for you.”

The car exited the LIE and wound its way north, until it reached a middle class neighborhood of modest red brick two-story houses with small, but tidy, front lawns. Her parents had moved out here from Brooklyn six years ago, because her dad, then sixty-three, had recently retired from the New York Police Force and wanted to be close to the water to use his boat. Her mother died a year after the move.

Two blocks from the Sound, the car slowed down.

“That’s the one,” Elizabeth said pointing. An American flag hung from the roof.

Before Elizabeth was out of the car, the front door of the house opened. Her dad limped down the stairs, the result of a bullet he took in the leg in on a drug bust a year before retirement, after he had been promoted to Senior Detective. A large smile lit up his craggy face. She met him half way up the stairs and hugged him.

“What a nice surprise, you calling, Elizabeth.”

He always insisted on using her full name. “I didn’t give my daughter a beautiful name so I could call her Liz, as if she were some reptile.”

She followed him into the living room. “What can I get you to drink?”

“How about if I join you for a Jack Daniels and soda? I have reason to celebrate.”

While he fixed the drinks, she looked around the room. Nothing had changed since the day her parents moved from Brooklyn. Above the fireplace was a photograph of the mayor presenting the Distinguished Service Award to her father, Brian Crowder. She was twelve at the time. Her brothers, fourteen, sixteen, eighteen and twenty, were all in the picture, along with her mother.

On an end table was a picture of Elizabeth in her high school baseball uniform on the mound, pitching to a boy at the plate. Beside it, one of her dad in a Marine uniform when he returned from Vietnam. Then a picture of the whole family at her Harvard graduation.

He returned with the drinks. “Let me guess,” he said. “You and Craig are getting married.”

“Not that. I just made a deal to write a book for a huge sum of money.”

He raised his eyebrows. “A hundred thousand?”

“Six hundred.”

His face lit up with pride. “Alright! Good for you. I’ll drink to that.”

He raised his glass, pointed it at her and sipped. “What’s your subject?”

“The problem Europe is having with Muslims.”

“Why Europe? We’re having problems here, too.”

“Maybe I’ll do that next.”

He put a steak on the grill in the back. While they ate and sipped beer, he gave her a report on her brothers, all of whom were policemen, also her nieces and nephews.

“I like that Craig,” her dad said. “He appreciate you?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you should marry him.”

“We’re not quite there yet, Dad.”

“But you’re thirty-seven, Elizabeth. Don’t let that biological clock stop ticking.”

She loved her father for always saying what he was thinking.

“I don’t mean to be nosey. I’d just like to see a little Elizabeth running around.”

“Craig and I will come for Christmas.”

“That’s great. We’re having it at Tommy’s. They’ll all love to see you. You like living over there in France?”

“Mostly. Some of the time I miss the United States.”

She offered to help him clean up. “Where are you going now?” he asked.

“I’m on a ten thirty from JFK back to Paris.”

“Then you better get going.”

“I have time. How are you doing financially, Dad?”

“Clear sailing. Another forty thou on the mortgage. That’s all the debt I have. Not many people can say that these days.”

She took a deep breath and swallowed hard. Ready to skate on thin ice. She had to be careful. She was worried her father might get angry, but she had to try.

“As soon as I get my first installment on the book deal, Dad, I’m sending you a check for your seventieth birthday. Enough to pay off the mortgage.”

“Oh no you’re not.”

“Please Dad. I want to very much. I can afford it. I’ve never forgotten how you sacrificed to help get me through Harvard.”

“You had a scholarship.”

“But that only covered part of it. You know that.”

He shook his head. “You’re something, Elizabeth. God bless you.”

He stood up and hugged her. She glanced at her watch. “I guess I should be going.”

At the door, he put an arm around her. “Listen, honey, be careful. Lots of them are good. But some of them are dangerous people. Those Muslims. And they hate us.”