To Deceive Is To Love (Romantic suspense)

by Lynne King

  “Pascal is right, Chantelle. Listen to me. The man I spoke of, Hendersson, is a ruthless manipulator. In order for me to survive and succeed as an undercover agent, very few know of my true identity. Hendersson was my controller and my only contact with the C.T.A.U. It is not unusual for an agent to go bad. When it happens, that person is targeted and eliminated. They can’t afford to have a renegade agent offer his services elsewhere. Hendersson can’t have me targeted if I’m already dead, which buys me a little time.”

  “You could turn yourself in to the French authorities. Your friend here believes your story, so surely they will protect you and see to it that their English counterparts learn the truth,” Chantelle said.

  David let out a small sigh. “If only it was that easy. Chantelle, I’m a trained killer, a mercenary who’s left bodies on French soil. My word won’t count for much and Pascal can’t afford to break his cover. It’s not how we operate.”

  “No, because you want vengeance, implemented by you and you alone. Isn’t that the truth, David? See, I do know you. Too well, it seems.” For a brief moment, their eyes locked. Chantelle lowered her lashes and turned her head, a sad admission that the earlier intimacy between them was now lost.

  “Look, somehow we’ll make sure your mother knows the truth and won’t be hurt by this, that’s all I can promise,” David said.

  “That’s not possible. It is too risky,” Pascal interjected.

  “It can be done. Look, you said yourself Chantelle’s involvement has been a secret only Hendersson knows. Arrange for just one body to be found. The main objective here is for the C.T.A.U. and the terrorists to believe I am dead. As for Chantelle, she has disappeared, either dead or in hiding.”

  “Whatever you say, but it doesn’t mean I like it. They will still be looking for the girl, even more now. She will become a liability for you, an unnecessary one.”

  “I’ll take that risk.” His intense blue gaze rested on Chantelle. “Word will reach your mother that you are alive and safe, but for you to remain that way, the opposite has to be believed by everyone else. Would your mother be able to carry out such a lie convincingly?”

  “Yes, if it has to be done,” Chantelle answered in a small voice. She knew only too well how her mother could disguise the truth. Her father was a prime example.

  “Let’s go then.” David rose unsteadily to his feet. His thigh was obviously causing him a great deal of pain. His brow knitted together as the grimace became permanently fixed.

  Pascal moved forward to offer his support, which in the end David reluctantly agreed to by placing his arm about Pascal’s shoulder.

  Grabbing their meager possessions, Chantelle’s gaze fell on the knapsack David had already secured around his free shoulder. Obviously, he wasn’t about to trust her with it now that she knew the contents.

  Down in the reception area, the proprietor, dressed in his night attire, unlocked the door and poked his head outside to make sure the street was clear. Nodding it was, he stood aside, allowing them to slip out into the darkness and the waiting car.

  ****

  The Renault slowly drove off, winding its way along dark, cobblestone streets. The scene in the rear window as Chantelle looked back was that of a medieval village shrouded by moonlight, the houses with their turrets becoming one beautiful castle as the car increased its speed and the setting behind slowly disappeared from view. Then, there was little to look at, just shapes and outlines of hills and valleys, an occasional twinkling of lights from a village they passed through and then more pitch blackness, the headlights their only source of light.

  Chantelle preferred to close her eyes and wrap the blanket Pascal had provided more tightly around her, shielding her from the draft made by the driver’s window being wound down. Whenever she opened her eyes, she could see the bright red glow coming from Pascal’s cigarette. She sensed the silence between the two men was for her benefit, especially with the occasional glance both from the rear mirror and David turning his head to check she was okay. Deciding to feign it, she allowed her head to roll back and kept her eyes firmly shut. It didn’t take long for Pascal to ask what David planned to do once he got to England.

  “Find a safe place for the girl and then set about getting Hendersson.”

  “It won’t be easy, my friend. He will know if you are alive, you will come looking for him and will make arrangements to that effect. Why don’t you forget him? Take the plane and your girl and fly to another destination. You have the money and the means to invent a new identity. Hendersson will be taken care of eventually.”

  “How? That’s just what Hendersson wants, for me to disappear. I’m his scapegoat, his ticket to continue setting up deals and having more agents killed. No, this is about more than clearing my name. This is personal.”

  He had kept his voice low and controlled, but a tremor rose through Chantelle’s body and a sense of foreboding that far worse was about to come.

  “Any word on Abdul? He was my original contact before Hendersson appeared on the scene and gave him my true identity.”

  “No, nothing. He’s gone to ground or he’s dead. Did he know of the girl’s involvement?”

  “Yes, unfortunately.”

  “Then you better hope he’s dead. Otherwise, it won’t be just Hendersson looking for the girl. I told you we had two bodies lined up, killed in an automobile accident, their injuries compatible to a plane crash. It would have taken the heat off. Now, the C.T.A.U. is the least of your problems. If the Algerians get hold of the girl, you’ve had it.” Pascal lit up another cigarette and drew heavily on it, the exhaled smoke nearly filling the car.

  “Yeah, if I don’t die of cancer first.” David wound down his window. “As for anyone getting hold of Chantelle, forget it. She’ll be glued to my side most times and at other times, a good friend of mine will take care of her.”

  “For how long? The rest of your life? These people don’t give up. A year, two years, they’re worse than the mafia, fanatique. You should know, but then you have not acted rationally. You are smitten and it is not good in our line of business. You are going soft, my friend.”

  “And you are mistaken. I feel responsible for the girl; that is all. Now, the item I asked you to bring. Where is it?”

  Chantelle opened her eyes as Pascal motioned toward the glove compartment.

  Opening it, David removed a SIG 9mm pistol and a spare cartridge clip. Holding the pistol up, he checked it over, then placed the gun and spare clip inside his flying jacket. “Thanks.”

  Pascal said nothing, but as if sensing it, David looked over his shoulder at Chantelle. Her eyes met his in the darkness, the shock causing him to turn his head back sharply.

  She remembered his words, a responsibility; he had used that term again. Lies and half-truths came easy for him. He told people what they wanted to hear, and maybe that included her. Did he know the truth from the lies?

  They arrived at the small airstrip. The fencing surrounding it had barbed wire along the top. There was a hangar, but that was the only building within the enclosure. The surrounding area was uninhabited farm land.

  Drawing up to large padlocked gates, Pascal climbed out, leaving the engine running and the headlights on. He unlocked the gates with a key produced from his pocket, then pulled one of the gates open wide, got back in the car and drove over to the hangar. Inside were half a dozen light aircrafts. Pascal led the way over to a Robin DR 400.

  “Sorry, David. She’s not what you’d call a bargain, but there was no time to negotiate.”

  “How much?”

  Pascal said the cost in Euros.

  Both David and Chantelle threw him an astonished look.

  “You’re right, she didn’t come cheap. I could have bought a whole fleet for that price.” Removing from the front pocket of his knapsack the tissue wrapped diamonds he had set aside on the bed, he handed the tiny package to Pascal. “Here. These should cover your cost and leave a little extra for yourself. Don’t worry, th
ey’re clean, at least in the context they don’t belong to anyone else.”

  “No, but you could say men died because of them, that they are soiled by the men who handed them over and the one they were meant for,” Chantelle added.

  “Ah! A moraliste. She has a lot to learn, no?” Pascal laughed as he placed the package in his pocket.

  David didn’t return the humor. Instead, he motioned for Pascal to help him into the plane’s cockpit so he could check her out and told Chantelle to do likewise on the outer parts of the plane. With everything seemingly intact and the instrument panel lighting up okay, Pascal opened the hangar doors, allowing David to taxi the plane onto the dirt runway. Chantelle climbed into the co-pilot’s seat and watched as Pascal leaned into the cockpit and shook David’s hand.

  “Faire attention a sa santé, mon cher ami, Le Faucon.”

  “I’ll try my hardest to do just that.” David smiled.

  Pascal looked over at Chantelle, “Au revoir, beautiful, brave lady. Maybe when this is over, you can come back and visit me. We could get to know each other a little better.”

  “I knew it, you randy French are all the same.” David’s tone was lighthearted as Pascal joked back that if he didn’t make a pass, his reputation would be at risk. Exchanges were made in a more serious nature and then it was time for them to leave.

  The plane gathered speed, finally leaving the unlit stretch of runway for the dark, starlit sky above, just the luminous control panel providing light. Changing star formations were the only way she could tell they were actually moving; there was certainly nothing to look down at for quite some time, until clusters of lights appeared as they flew over villages and towns.

  It was going to be a long flight, the silence between them causing an uneasy atmosphere. Chantelle wanted to question him more about what he was going to do once back in England, only she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to hear the answer. In truth, she already knew. He had one goal, one objective: Hendersson. As for their future, it hadn’t even been discussed.

  “The Falcon, why are you called that?” she heard herself ask.

  “It’s a nickname Pascal gave me. I don’t know why.”

  “Maybe you remind him of one. A bird of prey, I mean.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “It wasn’t meant as one.”

  “Look, Chantelle, if it’s about what you heard me say to Pascal, I wasn’t exactly being honest with him. About you and me, I mean.”

  “No, well, I’m not sure about anything anymore.”

  David reached over and squeezed her hand. The words she wanted to hear remained unspoken.

  Chapter 14

  “Damn, look at that weather. Might have guessed as soon as we reached the English Channel, the British climate would come to greet us. I was hoping we could avoid it, but it looks like we’ll be lucky to skim the edge.”

  David’s words brought her fully alert. Ahead was a thick gathering of nimbus clouds, a sign they were about to enter heavy rain. There was no avoiding it. The plane was already beginning to rock from the turbulence. Light spray against the windows was replaced by lashing rain, drowning out the noise of the engine and deteriorating the visibility. Losing height rather than risk trying to get above it was like being under a waterfall. The rain created illusions, making the horizon appear to be below the real horizon. The plane was so low now that it was as if they were skimming the sea’s surface.

  Chantelle glanced down and wished she hadn’t. The dark, oppressive sea looked as if it was about to claim them. Giant waves leaped out, churning crescents of surf that swirled and tossed as they sought a victim to take to their depths.

  Her eyes tore away and squeezed tightly shut, her body trembling. They weren’t entering storm clouds and David knew what he was doing, so why did she feel so on edge as if she was a complete novice to flying?

  Taunting images of being in the biplane flooded her thoughts, of the storm passing overhead as she crawled along that field, of the engine dying on her and the feeling of hopelessness. She had tried to forget, push it away. Even when they were in the Islander, she’d stopped the images from resurfacing by seeking comfort from being within the cargo hold. When David forced her departure, other fears surfaced. Suddenly, her eyes shot open and a small cry sounded.

  “Chantelle, what‘s wrong?” David took one hand off the control column and placed it over her hands, stopping her from wringing them together.

  His attention had to remain on the instruments, but Chantelle caught his sidelong glance, causing her to bite into her lower lip.

  “The weather was similar to this when you crashed, wasn’t it? Except there was also a storm and then the next time you were up in a plane, I forced you to parachute out. No wonder you look a little pale.” He gave a small smile.

  She looked at him, unable to hide her fear.

  Removing his hand, he turned his attention back to the instruments. The plane became steady as visibility improved, the belt of rain decreasing as they reached the tail end.

  “Take over the controls, Chantelle.”

  Her eyes widened in alarm. “I can’t, David. Please, not now.”

  “You will be fine. Take deep breaths and concentrate on one thing only and that is flying this plane.” There was no compromise in his tone.

  “Stop it! Can’t you see I must be sick? Even my hands are shaking.” She held them up to demonstrate the point. Rivets of perspiration ran down her back, making the anxiety turn to fear.

  This was what she loved, the one pleasure she clung to and it was turning into another nightmare. The more she thought about taking over the controls, the worse it became. Her eyes were now pleading with him, the dryness in her throat preventing her voice from sounding, her heart pounding against her chest.

  Putting the controls onto autopilot, he took her face within his hands. “Chantelle, look at me. Why are you doing this to yourself? The crash wasn’t your fault. You proved how good a pilot you are by bringing the plane down. If anything, you should feel more confident, having faced the worst situation and survived, not go to pieces simply because we hit a rain cloud.”

  She started to sob. “Haven’t you put me through enough? I don’t want to fly anymore. Engines just don’t quit.” She broke down, tearing her face away from his hands and replacing them with her own.

  “They do if the cam ring breaks and stops the valve action. It cuts out the engine immediately. A freak, one in a million happening, but it happens and the pilot can’t do a damn thing about it.” He had found some paper towels and handed her several. “It’s the first time you’ve let the tears flow. I’m hoping it’s a good sign.”

  Feeling weak and pathetic, especially since she wanted to keep on crying, Chantelle snatched the paper towels from him and rubbed the tears away.

  “Didn’t Danny tell you? Your mechanic Steve Tyler discovered that was exactly what happened?”

  She slowly shook her head. “Danny and I haven’t exactly been on speaking terms since you punched him.”

  “Well, he should have let you know. Anyway, it’s all been taken care of.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I sent a check to cover the damage.”

  “You had no right. I would have found the money somehow.” Strangely, her earlier fears leading to this confrontation had been put on hold. Now resentment was her governing emotion. “You shouldn’t have interfered.”

  “Danny’s lucky to get a penny, since he should have had insurance and he can also count himself lucky he wasn’t flying the plane. He might not have been so fortunate.”

  “It makes no difference, so don’t expect gratitude. I can handle my own affairs.”

  “I never doubted it. How about putting some of that assertive energy into flying this plane before we hit the white cliffs of Dover?” David gave her a smug smile.

  Chantelle returned a look of defiance. Her hands firmly took hold of the control column while David switched off the
autopilot. He knew his words would goad her, which made her feel all the angrier that he could read her so well. Once the plane was in her full control, her fears dispersed and she enjoyed the moment. It was a breathtaking sight as they flew inland just as dawn began to break on the horizon, an orange red glow that stretched across the earth’s surface.

  Red sky in the morning, Shepherd’s warning, Chantelle remembered her father quoting. Suddenly, that familiar saying took on a very different meaning. Before she could stop herself, she was pleading with him. “Please, David, let me turn the plane around. We could land somewhere safe back in France. Nobody would expect it. We could disappear.”

  “Slow down a minute. First it’s the plane, now it’s England that’s put the fear of God into you. Contrary to what you think, I don’t plan to die at the ripe old age of thirty-four. Neither do I want to live like a fugitive, so quit worrying and watch those damn instruments.”

  “Well, if you could stop shouting at me and tell me where exactly we are heading instead of expecting me to fly this blasted plane blind, I might not sound so hysterical.”

  Chantelle couldn’t believe it when David actually said sorry and went on to explain why it was so important Chantelle concentrated on keeping the plane at the altitude and flight direction he had instructed. It avoided any restricted or controlled airspace and the last thing they wanted was some curious air traffic controller asking them to identify themselves. The place they were heading was a piece of uncultivated farmland hidden deep in the Kent Countryside and used for emergencies such as this. He rented it in a fictitious name and told her he’d kept it from Hendersson and was thankful he had.

  “The other airstrip where I housed the Islander and where the weapons had been delivered to, I have no doubt will be under watchful eyes in case I was alive and foolish enough to land there.”

  “Thank you.” Chantelle smiled. “From now on, I want to know everything, not kept in the dark and expected to follow orders, not when my life is at stake, too.”