A crew member showed up with the champagne. At Gabriel’s slight finger motion, he poured, then left the bottle and ice bucket and retreated.
Gabriel stood and offered Diane a bubbling flute, but remained silent.
She took a sip, then said softly, “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have pried.”
Gabriel walked to the stern rail. The wind had piped up. Waves splashed through the marina entrance, then foamed and hissed in retreat.
Staring out over the water, Gabriel said solemnly: “Our relationship—family as well as business—changed after my little brother’s death… It was an accident… But I blamed others. I did not cause it, but my father knew that only I could have prevented it. Within the year, my mother died of a broken heart.”
Diane swiveled slowly in her chair and touched the back of Gabriel’s arm. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
After a few moments, Gabriel spoke. The smile had returned to his voice. “Twenty-six years and this is the first time I have allowed this conversation.” He turned away from the rail and pointed to Diane. “You have spent too much time among the shamans. You are a sorceress.” He walked past her holding his hand out behind him. “Come with me. You will enjoy the night view from the cliffs.”
Diane stood, hesitated a moment, then reached for his hand.
Diane and Gabriel rode in the open jeep to the northern cliffs, more than half way across the island. From there they watched in awe as veins of lightning extinguished themselves in the sea. But soon rumbling thunder signaled the storm’s approach, and they knew it was time to leave.
Gabriel backed the jeep away from the cliffs just as a lightning ball and thunderclap exploded overhead.
“That was too close,” he shouted turning the vehicle onto the perimeter road heading east. He pointed to Diane’s lap. “Buckle your seatbelt.”
Diane’s hair stood up and her nostrils curled at the smell of ozone. The sky roared. Wind pelted them with dirt. Then the rains came.
The headlights became useless, and they had to stop. Then strobe flashes of lightning outlined Gabriel’s villa ahead, and they pressed on.
As they neared the house, the wind shifted, and they were pelted from behind. They jumped from the jeep and made for the entry, grappling with torrents of water and debris flung their way.
Sanctuary at last. Diane shivered inside her cocoon of wet silk while Gabriel shouldered the doors against the wind.
The electricity was out, but intermittent shafts of lightning illuminated the enormous room before her. She turned and surveyed the stone and leather space. Its masculinity comforted her, and awakened a yearning.
As Gabriel approached her, flashes of lightning revealed her face, but she made no attempt to disguise the need in her eyes.
“You are shivering,” he said in a husky voice as he reached toward her.
Diane was certain that lightning had entered the room, striking the precise point, just above her elbow, where Gabriel placed his hand on her arm, electrifying her being, converting her chills to uncontrolled trembling.
“Gabriel, I…
Gently, he turned her toward a hallway. “Come; let me find you a towel and something dry to wear.”
μ CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR μ
Diane refused Gabriel’s invitation to spend the entire night with him. She couldn’t bear the thought of facing Carlos if, after breakfast, he encountered her—an alley cat tiptoeing in, attired in Gabriel’s clothing.
They rode in silence while Gabriel focused on the road ahead. The rain had stopped, but he was kept busy dodging debris blowing across their path.
Approaching Carlos’ hacienda, Diane was grateful to see that electric power had been restored. She’d had macabre visions of groping along in the darkened mansion with the small flashlight Gabriel had given her.
Parking at the fountain, Gabriel jumped from the jeep and walked Diane to the back entrance. He pulled her to him and kissed her forehead. Then he stepped back and studied her face. “Not to worry. I am sure my father has been in a deep sleep for hours. Besides that, you are his guest, not his teenage daughter arriving home past curfew.”
Diane smiled, tenderly touched Gabriel’s cheek and promised she’d visit him before she left the island later that day.
She slipped into the back door of the mansion and stepped quickly around the perimeter of the atrium, heading toward the staircase. But approaching Carlos’s study, she noticed the lights were on inside. She checked her watch and grimaced; it was three in the morning.
Prepared to face the music, she walked to the study doorway. The elder Carrera stood at the opposite end of the room looking up at his battle memorabilia. She watched as he removed the antique dueling pistols from the wall. Obviously unaware of her presence, he stood motionless, head bowed, studying the firearms in his hands. She moved on.
Exhausted, Diane stumbled into her suite and collapsed onto the bed. She closed her eyes, thought of Gabriel and groaned. What had they set into motion? Drifting into slumber, she rolled onto her abdomen, slipped her hands up under the pillow and let out a yelp. She had been bitten.
She jumped to her feet, her heart pounding with the sudden fright. She turned on the light and examined her finger, then moved closer to the bed and flipped the pillow over—like a rock off a snake. There, at the head of the bed, lay a stalk of prickly aloe vera.
Carefully, Diane picked up the plant and studied it. It had apparently been placed there by a member of the household staff. But what did it mean? Was the word already out about her and Gabriel? Did his manservant find the pile of dripping wet silk that Gabriel had peeled off of her and somehow telegraph the news across the island? And did the Indians sense bad karma there?
Rubbing the aloe gel on her punctured finger, Diane walked to the window and looked down at the placid marina below bathed in amber lighting. Watching the boats tug gently at their dock lines, she began to feel ill. Then anxiety gripped her chest.
She looked at the plant in her hand. Could this be some sort of spell? She shook her head. Most likely it was sleep deprivation. She set the aloe on the windowsill, returned to the bed and flopped on her back.
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply to relax. Drifting off, she saw Gabriel’s face appear before her. She could still feel his heat igniting her being and the excruciating caress of his velvety towel, its monogram gently branding her skin—
Suddenly she was catapulted into a sitting position. “No–o-o,” she groaned and jumped to her feet. She ran to the window, and it all came into focus. It burned through her tear-filled eyes and into her brain. “Oh my God,” she wailed.
She reeled to the foot of the bed where she steadied herself on one of the posts. Then she paced, raking her fingers through her hair. She was in grave danger. She had to get off that island. But how? She sat on the bed and dropped her face into her hands. Calm down. Think. Think.
Maybe she could jog over and wake up Fernando; on the island tour, Gabriel had pointed out the houses where the captain and his crew lived. She’d concoct some story so he’d run her over to Aruba in the launch. Or, how about the helicopter? It should be back on the island by now. Santos could fly her over. She groaned and shook her head in her cupped palms. Get real, Diane.
The only person she could rely on to get her off that island and away from the Carreras was herself. She’d have to steal the motor launch.
Overnight bag slung over her shoulder, Diane slipped out the back door. She worked her way around to the front of the mansion staying inside the shadows of the foliage.
She had seen Carlos’s study from the atrium balcony. The doors were closed now. But she knew his bedroom suite faced the harbor. She needed to check it for lights.
She left her bag under a shrub and ventured out onto the veranda. If she encountered anyone, she had insomnia. Stepping to the rail, she gazed around like a tourist. Hopefully, the darkened front windows meant everyone was asleep. With a parting glance at Carlos’s balcony, she wondered how far his
two-century-old pistolas could shoot.
Diane retrieved her bag and headed for the marina stairs. But at the top step, she froze. The birds. If they sent up their alarm, they could awaken the household. But it was nighttime, and normal birds should be sleeping. She’d just have to chance it.
She opened the veranda gate and stepped down one step. Then another. The first macaw sat asleep beside her. So far, so good. She successfully advanced another four steps. Then her bag rubbed a palm leaf, and water droplets sprayed the bird below. Feathers fluttered. Diane stopped dead. The bird settled down.
She descended the rest of way without incident. Reaching the bottom, she turned and walked quickly past the Carrera’s yacht and approached the launch tied up alongside the dock. She threw her bag into the cockpit, then loosened the stern line and tossed it onboard. She untied the bowline, hooked it around a dock cleat and climbed aboard holding the free end.
Stepping to the helmsman seat, she studied the electronics mounted in front of her. Where was the starter? Then her heart sank. A key. What was she thinking when she came up with this harebrained scheme? Of course she needed a key.
Her eyes frantically scanned the controls. Then she smiled. “God bless you, Fernando.” Just below the starter button, there in the keyhole, was the ignition key.
Diane turned the key and reached for the starter. Then she stopped and grimaced. On the way to the island, the inboard engine had been quiet. But she didn’t remember how it sounded starting up. And the cliffs surrounding the harbor provided a perfect echo chamber.
“Please don’t roar.” She took a deep breath and pushed the button. The engine purred to a start. She flipped on the instrument lights and pulled in the bowline. Shifting into gear, she steered toward the opening to the sea. Almost free.
She turned and looked up at the house. All was quiet. She glanced back at the stairs. Nothing moved. Some great guard birds you are.
As she approached the harbor’s outlet to the sea, waves splashed through the opening and rolled up the cliff on the boat’s starboard side. She could see a riptide where the rushing sea met the slack harbor water. But beyond that, only blackness.
She’d have to steer to the port side to avoid being smashed against the rocks. She throttled up and motored through the opening. But immediately she lost steerage, and the boat stern whirled into the cliff. She was caught in an eddy and being dragged along the rock face. The sound of grinding wood echoed off the walls. She flipped the wheel around, powered all the way up and plunged out into the darkness.
When her night vision finally kicked in, she scanned her surroundings until she spotted the dome of light on the horizon. Relieved, she turned the boat toward Aruba. She was committed.
What’s next? Diane thought with dread. Then she remembered the gap between the islands that funneled the open sea southward. Her old friend the wind waited there to throw more trials in her path. She hoped one of them wouldn’t be another boat. She was running without lights and would be until she was well past the island.
Ignoring Gabriel’s house on the cliff, Diane planted her feet for stability and cleared the eastern end of Carrera Island. But she had underestimated the wrath of the storm-churned sea.
The first wave crashed across the port bow and rolled the launch onto its side. Diane was thrown from the helm and smashed against the opposite seat. The boat wallowed, then tracked off to the southeast, taking its cues from the sea.
Ignoring the crushing pain in her shoulder and jaw, Diane scrambled back to the controls. She watched the compass and fought the wheel around until the bow headed northeast. She looked through the windshield for the reassuring dome of light. But only blackness lay ahead. Then she realized she was staring into the side of a wave.
“Please God, help me,” she screamed and steeled herself for the onslaught. But it didn’t come. The launch climbed to the crest, and the wave swept underneath it. She had gotten into the rhythm of the sea.
Diane whispered a breathless stream of thank you’s and switched on the running lights.
As the boat moved farther and farther away from Carrera Island, the waves broke less frequently and the lights ahead became better defined. Then slowly, blessedly, the launch moved into the lee of the big island.
Diane adjusted her course, turning slightly away from Aruba. No matter if it did offer safety and shelter, she didn’t want to cozy up to a landmass composed largely of rocks. She needed a chart. She clicked on the autopilot and rifled through the helm storage and cockpit lockers. No charts. No life jacket either.
Then, with a start, she wondered if she had enough fuel. She slapped her forehead. “Good planning, Rose.” But, actually, if she had gone over every detail earlier, she might have thought twice about setting out on the lone voyage. Some journeys were better taken one peril at a time.
Now, however, some planning was in order. Her immediate future loomed large. And she desperately wanted to survive it. She pulled back the throttle, settling the boat into a comfortable ten-knot speed. She needed time to think.
What happens when she gets back to land? She had an uneasy sense that she shouldn’t involve Olimpia in her plight. But if not Olimpia, who? Or what?
Should she go to the airport, hoping for an early morning flight? Not a good idea; the Carreras would miss the launch by then and come looking for her. She found herself already out of options, unless she tried booking passage on a cruise ship. But, “Oh shit!” she’d need her passport to go anywhere. And it was in her luggage at Olimpia’s house.
She had to phone Olimpia. She grabbed for the overnight bag.
Olimpia’s voice was sleepy. Good, Diane thought. No one had been looking for her.
“You say you are coming in? It is the middle of the night.” Olimpia sounded incredulous.
Diane fought to keep her voice steady. “Something has happened, Olimpia. I need you to trust me. I must get out of Aruba. Now.”
“Who is bringing you in?”
“I’m alone… I stole the launch. Please, I need your help.”
Silence. Then, “How far out are you?” Her tone had become businesslike.
“Fifteen minutes to the dock, maybe.”
“I will meet you at the marina.” The phone went dead.
Bright resort lights backlit the harbor. Diane squinted, frantically trying to pick out the red blinking light marking the channel entrance. It should be there. It was an international maritime law, she thought. She hoped.
Then, with profound relief, she recited the sailor’s mantra, “red, right, returning,” as the red flashing marker passed her starboard side, and she entered the channel.
But her celebration was short lived. She knew other perils awaited. For starters, who would greet her at the dock? Olimpia or the police?
Frank Chen sat at a breakfast table at the J.W. Marriott overlooking three stories of curved glass that presented an IMAX view of Hong Kong.
He pulled his gaze away from the panorama as the hostess led a gentleman to his table. Mr. Chen stood and extended his hand. “Mr. Lee, I presume.”
Harry Lee’s Uncle Hu bowed slightly. “Yes. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Chen.”
“Thank you for coming,” Frank Chen said and gestured toward the seat opposite him with a sweep of his hand. “Won’t you join me for breakfast?”
Hu Lee bowed once more and allowed the hostess to seat him. He looked at Mr. Chen with a questioning glance, wondering why he had been invited there.
“I understand you are also in banking, Mr. Lee.”
Hu Lee knew of Frank Chen’s financial empire. Everyone did. Now it pleased him that Mr. Chen spoke to him as a peer. “Yes, I am. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Do you know of an American scientist, Dr. Diane Rose?” Chen asked.
Hu Lee was taken back. He nodded tentatively.
Frank Chen sat forward with a twinkle in his eye. “I initiated this meeting at the request of my eldest son, Tung. Dr. Diane Rose was his biology prof
essor in the States; he had a secret crush on her for several years. But she also kindled in him a passion for science, which is responsible for the success he enjoys today. She is an honorable woman.” Mr. Chen held his hand over his heart. “You would be doing my son a great favor if you could find the time to talk with Dr. Rose.”
Hu Lee relaxed. “Of course,” he said. He would be glad to do such a favor for Mr. Chen and son.
μ CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE μ
Diane awoke to the rhythm of her head bouncing on Olimpia’s shoulder during a rumbling twenty kilometer taxi ride from the airport into Santa Marta. She sat up, worked her neck and jaw into place and looked over at Olimpia who seemed to be dozing. She squinted at her watch; her nap hadn’t lasted long enough. But it was amazing that she’d slept at all.
Glancing outside, she couldn’t make out any land or building features. Everything was obscured by a dense morning fog. Not that she had any interest in sight-seeing. At that moment, her overriding concern was: What the hell are we doing here? Olimpia’s pilot friend could have taken them to Curacao or Bonaire or Venezuela, all nearby. But Olimpia had brought her to the place where the Carreras wielded the most power: Colombia.
Diane let her head collapse against the smoke-infused upholstery behind her and prayed for sleep to return; wakefulness was far too painful. But her mind kept replaying the past several hours.
Olimpia had picked her up at the harbor in Oranjestad and had driven like a mad woman to a private airstrip. Throughout the harried trip, Olimpia assured Diane that leaving on short notice was not a problem. “We will just go to the Kogi a few days earlier than planned,” she said.
The bumpy flight to Santa Marta in the single-engine plane, with its many rattles and vibrations, was not conducive to whispered questions like: “Who or what is the Kogi?”
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