Once in Paris

by Diana Palmer

  "My wealth is only counted in millions among my own people," he returned. "You must remember that our inflation rate at present is something like eight hundred percent. Surely you don't think Kurt Brauer would waste his time on an unknown Arab with a thin wallet in a starving nation unless he thought he could profit largely by it?"

  Pierce got up and paced the floor. "I don't understand. There were rumors that you had millions, if not billions, that you were seen, in all the most exclusive resorts, even in gambling palaces." -

  "Excellent rumors, were they not?" Sabon took another sip of water. "I started them my- . self."

  "You did?"

  "I needed to appear wealthy to interest Kurt in helping to develop my oil fields and keep my enemies at bay," Sabon said with a shrug. "I should have known that I couldn't trust such a man." He frowned. "I assume that he's in Washington right now telling the world that I've attempted a bloody military coup in my own country?"

  "You knew?" Brianne asked, astonished. He nodded. "It was the most logical step he could have taken." He smiled. "And it will, if you'll excuse the pun, blow right up in his face."

  Pierce sat back down on a bale of grain. "Could you explain that?" "The United States will find news of Brauer's covert dealings very interesting," he said. "And I can provide them with information you don't have about his forthcoming plans to set fire to certain oil fields and blame a nation who is hostile to the Americans."

  "Why would he do such a thing?" Brianne asked, aghast.

  "To start more wars, of course. He's an arms dealer. Didn't you know?" Sabon asked his companions. "That's how I connected with him in the first place."

  "He deals in oil," Tate Winthrop said slowly, "He deals in oil only so that he has access | to sensitive information about the countries in which the oil is found," Sabon told him. "By manipulating certain events, he can sell arms at a huge profit and still have the aura of respectability. He lost heavily when a war was recently averted. Now he hopes to recoup his losses by a threatened military coup and clean up by arming the neighboring nations. It was his real plan all along, but I had no knowledge of it I thought his interest in developing the oil wealth of my country was sincere, because I knew very fit tie about the private face of such a public figure." He shook his head. "It was only a means to an end for him."

  "Why kidnap Brianne?" Pierce asked. Sabon looked at her with quiet, secretive eyes. "Kurt was wavering in his support for my cause. By hinting that I wished to marry Brianne, I appealed to his greed. All those millions in the family and he would never have to worry about money again, you see." He sighed. "The only explanation I have is that he found out somehow that my claims to wealth were exaggerated. I must have left a loophole for him to find." He leaned forward, crossing his forearms over his knees and locking his long fingers together. "It's ironic, you know. He would actually have seen a profit on the oil," he added. "But not for some years. Perhaps he was too impatient. Gunrunning is, after all, a profitable profession with the potential for immediate capital."

  "He told me that his finances were desperate," Brianne mentioned.

  "And I gather that he also saw through my offer of marriage." Sabon glanced at her and his smile was genuine.

  "Saw through it?" Pierce stared at the other man grimly.

  Sabon met his hostile gaze. "I can never marry," he said curtly. He got up from his seat and stretched. He looked around their surroundings with resignation. "That it should end here, in such a way," he mused. "All my hopes for my people..."

  "Fifty thousand dollars won't be enough to mount a counterrevolution," Pierce said.

  Sabon turned. "Yes, it will," he argued. "These mercenaries are bloodthirsty and merciless. But they are no match for the sort that my men can hire across the border."

  "What sort?"

  Sabon's eyes narrowed. "I think you already know."

  Pierce grimaced. He searched the other man's cold eyes. "I don't like being a party to carnage."

  "Nor do I," the other man said with barely contained rage. "But I already have been. My Douse servant, Miriam, had been with me for ten years. They left her in the garden, in a condition that it hurts me to recall." He bit down hard and averted his eyes, trying to blank out the memory. He clenched his lean fists at his side. "I will have my country back," he said tightly. "And I will see to it that Brauer pays a very high price for his treachery." He glanced at Pierce. "Help me."

  Pierce threw up his hands in defeat. "I can't believe this," he said with pure exasperation. He let out a heavy breath and stared hard at the other man. "I never thought I'd see the day when I lined up on the side of my worst living enemy."

  "I was never your enemy," Sabon said simply. "I had no knowledge of the attack on your drilling platform or I would have warned you. Kurt appeared to be a rich foreign investor with contacts in the oil business. I never thought of myself before as politically naive, but perhaps my education was scanty in too many spots. I must rethink my ability to judge people."

  "Kurt had a lot of people fooled," Brianne said softly. "Including my poor mother."

  Sabon's eyes narrowed. "Fortunately, he will have little time for her at present. When he finishes here, one way or another, her life will be in jeopardy if she knows anything at all of his business dealings. He will not want to risk having too many witnesses around. Accidents can easily be arranged."

  "Oh, my God," Brianne whispered.

  "Don't borrow trouble," Pierce said gently. "We'll protect her."

  "As soon as we get out of here, I'll get a message to my contact in Freeport," Tate said in a deep, quiet tone that was reassuring. "He'll get your mother and the child out of Nassau before Kurt gets home."

  "Thank you," Brianne said with heartfelt gratitude.

  "So that was how you knew where to find Hutton and Brianne," Sabon mused, watching Tate. "I underestimated you right down the line, Mr. Winthrop."

  "Most people do," Tate replied with a flash of white teeth.

  "I think I hear something outside the ship," Pierce said, cutting into the conversation.

  They listened, and the sound came abruptly: sirens. They grew louder and louder.

  "The Coast Guard!" Brianne exclaimed,

  "In the Persian Gulf?" Sabon asked with lifted eyebrows. "The Americans may think they own the area, but I assure you, they haven't taken possession yet!"

  "It's the harbor patrol, at the very least," Tate murmured. He rushed to the porthole and looked out A minute later, he let out the breath he was holding and turned back to the others. "They're boarding a ship. Not ours. We've almost cleared the harbor."

  There were relieved sighs all around. If they were discovered too soon, the captain might have no choice but to turn them over on demand. It would mean certain death if Brauer got to them before they reached sanctuary.

  Pierce and Tate exchanged worried glances. They were a long way from home. They had connections and Pierce's sudden windfall, but if they used his credit cards, Brauer's men would trace any transaction immediately and close in. Even if they landed at Miami, they were going to have to outwit the henchmen who would certainly be on the lookout for them. They weren't even sure of passage out of St. Martin. If they were being watched, and that was possible, they might never make it aboard another westward-bound freighter.

  Sabon stared at them with a pensive expression. "The captain is not going on to Miami, which is as well. If you did go all the way to Miami on this vessel, you'd be carried on shore in body bags," he said.

  Three pairs of eyes turned toward him.

  "We were planning on changing ships. This

  is as far as the captain can take us. But I have a contact in Miami," Tate said after a minute.

  "Brauer will know who it is by now. Don't underestimate his intelligence network. I did, and you can see what it cost me," Sabon reminded him.

  Tate exhaled roughly, and his thin lips compressed as he tried to think rationally.

  "Have you a pen and paper?" Sabon asked after a m
inute.

  "You want to write home?" Pierce murmured dryly, but he handed the man what he'd asked for.

  Sabon scribbled a name and an address, added a note in Arabic and his signature, and pressed the ring on his little finger into the paper. He handed it to Pierce, along with the pen. His expression was somber.

  "For all I know, this" Pierce waved the paper at him "could be our death warrants. I can't read Arabic."

  "Unless I'm an even worse judge of character than I thought, he can read it," Sabon mused, nodding toward Tate.

  "Can you?" Pierce asked his security chief.

  Tate took the note, scanned it and handed it back to Pierce. His black eyes narrowed as he studied the tall Arab. He looked perplexed for a moment, and then he nodded, very slowly. "It's a legitimate request for the recipient to give us any aid possible." He didn't add what else the note said. But his gaze was eloquent

  Sabon also nodded. A look passed between the two men. Sabon spoke in quick, sharp Arabic. It was a question that neither of their come pardons could begin to understand.

  Tate replied in the same language with equal fluency.

  "What is this, charades?" Pierce asked curtly.

  "Nothing that concerns anyone else," Tate assured him. "And nothing to do with the matter at hand."

  He said nothing more, nor did Sabon. Night fell, and the four of them slept.

  "St. Martin," Sabon said as he studied the approaching island. "And my destination." He pulled the hood of his robe over his head and paused to look back at his companions. "We Moors once had very strong Spanish connections. The gentleman whose name I gave you is Spanish, but he has a grandmother in my country. He will do what he can for you be-

  cause I requested it and he owes me a favor. Trust him. But trust no one else. Your lives may depend on it."

  "Why are you helping us?" Pierce asked shortly.

  "Ask your comrade" came the quiet reply. He met the other man's eyes. "I will be here for three days, under an assumed identity. If you're still willing to help me, wire the money to Senior Alfredo Cantada in care of the Gardell Bank."

  Pierce sighed. "God knows why I should. But I will. I don't make promises lightly."

  "We'll erect a statue to you, as our benefactor," Sabon said with twinkling dark eyes.

  Pierce didn't reply for a minute. "He may find you, if you stay here that long."

  "His men won't recognize me," Sabon replied. "I have resources that I haven't used in years. He won't find me."

  "Good luck, then," Pierce said.

  "And to all of you. Including Mufti," he added with a secretive grin, "who has been trying desperately to avoid me since I came on board. Tell him that I did know who he was, and that he kept my secret, as I will keep his. There will be no reprisals against his family when my power is restored." He looked at Brianne long and poignantly. "By getting you out, he saved all his relatives."

  Brianne was more touched than she wanted to be. She felt so sorry for the man, and even vaguely guilty for having so badly misjudged him. "Take care, Monsieur Sabon," Brianne said gently. "Good luck."

  He smiled at her. "And ban chance to you as well, cherie," he replied in a soft tone. His eyes searched hers intensely. "I will mourn you for the rest of my life," he added in Arabic, with unexpected emotion.

  He turned and went up to the deck very quickly, and without looking back.

  "What did he say to you in Arabic?" Pierce asked Tate.

  "Just that he wasn't selling us out," he replied evasively. "Interesting man."

  "Damned interesting," Pierce agreed.

  Tate glanced at Brianne and frowned curiously. "I don't suppose you know why he said that to you?"

  "I don't speak Arabic," she reminded him. "What did he say?"

  "Just that he was dying for love of you and,

  having lost you, he'll never be able to think of another woman," he said facetiously.

  "Idiot," Pierce murmured, chuckling as he turned away.

  But Tate Winthrop's dark eyes met hers and he wasn't smiling.

  Brianne frowned curiously, but he didn't say a word. He turned back to Pierce and looked out die porthole as Sabon blended into the crowd.

  "We'd better make a move, and quickly," Tate said after a minute. "We don't have long to find this ship Sabon mentioned and get aboard."

  "If we aren't walking into a trap," Pierce said uneasily: He glanced at Brianne with a scowl. "I hope we know what we're doing."

  “Don't know about you,'' Tate replied. “But I know exactly what I'm doing."

  The three passengers stripped off their Arab robes and stashed them in the hold under some sacks of grain. They'd donned their European clothing the morning of their departure and they were still wearing them now. Mufti was wearing his headdress, but he borrowed a sweat suit from another sailor and shaved. He looked vaguely American when he was through.

  Brianne's silk slacks were hopelessly crumpled, like her. blouse and jacket. She knew her hair was a terrible mess and she wanted a bath until it was almost painful. But she was more worried about reaching the American coastline. Even with Sabon's dubious help, it was going to be very dangerous.

  "I don't even have a gun," she murmured.

  Pierce glanced at her. "What brought that on?"

  "We may have to fight our way out," she said simply. "I do know a little karate."

  Pierce nodded toward Tate. "Tenth degree black belt, tae kwon do," he told her.

  She whistled through her teeth. "Not bad, Mr. Winthrop."

  "What was your discipline?" he asked her.

  She smiled ruefully. "Tai chi," she said. "I thought of the movements as ballet."

  "They're graceful," he agreed. "But if you put speed behind those graceful movements, they can kill."

  "I'd be better off with a tire tool, I'm afraid. I wish you had a spare gun."

  "Can you shoot one?" he asked.

  "I'm great with laser tag."

  "These targets shoot back and they don't use blanks," he returned. "You'd better leave the shooting to us."

  She wondered if she should mention the judo classes she'd taken. She decided not to. She already felt like a third leg on this trip.

  Chapter Twelve

  The four prospective passengers wandered down the marina and blended in nicely with the tourists in port, in their European clothing. It wasn't hard to find the vessel in the marina. It was another freighter, but cleaner man the one they'd just departed, with Spanish registration. Its wiry little captain read the note Sabon had scribbled, took a long look at Brianne and offered them the hospitality of his ship without any hesitation whatsoever.

  They were taken below, and the ship started up at once in the marina where it was moored.

  "What about customs when we get to Miami?" Brianne asked worriedly. "What if Kurt has some of his men waiting there for us?"

  "This isn't Hollywood," Pierce replied. "Little fish slip through big nets. We're fugitives, you know. We don't do this with passports and suitcases."

  "Fugitives?" she exclaimed.

  Pierce nodded. "If we come into the country in any legitimate way, we won't get to a car before we're cut down by Brauer's men. We have to sneak in."

  "It's illegal," she groaned. "We could go to jail for circumventing customs!"

  "She's catching on," Tate murmured dryly.

  She shrugged back her inhibitions. One did, after all, have to roll with the punches. At least she'd have company in prison. "Okay. What do we do?"

  "We avoid Miami altogether. This captain is sailing to Savannah. He's let me use his radio to get in touch with my people in the States. We'll get off where they won't be expecting us," Tate told her. "You'll like it. There's a candy factory right there next to the harbor where you can get the world's best pralines."

  "Can we buy some without getting shot?" she wanted to know.

  "Let's find out." Pierce frowned. "I hope we can trust this captain."

  "We can," Tate said with conviction.
r />   "How can you be so certain?" Pierce asked.

  Tate glanced at Brianne and away. "Never mind how. But I am."

  "Then I suppose we'll have to trust your instincts."

  "You're really going to wire Mr. Sabon the money he asked for?" Brianne murmured as they watched the coastline grow farther away through the porthole.

  "God knows why, but I am," Pierce agreed.

  "He's not a bad man," she persisted. "He only wants a better future for his people."

  "He should leave that up to the sheikh who rules his little kingdom," Pierce muttered. "And speaking of the sheikh, instead of running for the border with his bodyguard and his harem, he should be out like a decent leader, trying to work on his country's behalf."