Unfair. How terribly unfair to use that childhood name.
"You're lying," she said, trying to force the bittersweet memories from her mind.. "You always lie. Why should I believe you now?"
"Because I have nothing to gain, Kelly. It's over for me. I just want to give you a chance to get out."
"Get out? Get out of what? This is a party, Sean. You make it sound like some nefarious scheme."
He grabbed her arm, his lean fingers digging cruelly into her bare flesh. "Haven't you been listening to a word I said, princess? Steel is no good. He's looking to do deals with the other side."
"How do you know? What bar did you hear that bit of news in?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"That's right," she said, trying to pull away from him. "I wouldn't believe anything you told me."
He gestured toward Max who was engaged in conversation on the other side of the ballroom.
"Would you believe him?"
Tiny beads of sweat broke out along the back of her neck. "Of course I would," she said, not entirely certain.
"Then ask him," her father challenged. "Go tell him what I said and see who's telling you the truth."
A fine Irish rage settled itself inside her breast and she thrust her empty glass at her father.
"Wonderful idea," she said angrily, "and when he's through laughing I hope he throws you out of his house."
"He won't," said Sean. "I promise you that."
"Liar," she whispered as she crossed the ballroom toward Max. He wouldn't know the truth if he saw it...
She touched Max's arm. "We need to talk."
He disengaged himself from conversation with a Japanese businessman and his kimono-clad wife. "What's wrong?"
"My father said some things--" Was she imagining it or did he flinch at her words?
He took her arm. "Outside," he said, then led her through the ballroom and out the French doors to the patio that overlooked the beach. "What did Sean say?"
"It's ridiculous," she said, voice trembling, "and you're probably going to want to go in there and knock Sean's block off but he...he said some terrible things...crazy things about you and..." Her words trailed off miserably. "I can't even say it to you."
"He said I'm a traitor, didn't he?"
Pain caught her unaware and her stomach clenched in fear. "Yes. How--?"
"He said I'm working with the other side and that he's been caught up innocently in the plan."
The tears she'd held back for days streamed down her cheeks."Oh, dear God," she whispered brokenly. "It's true...it's true..."
He grabbed her shoulders. "Listen to me, Kelly, because we don't have a hell of a lot of time. The truth is the exact opposite."
He spilled an ugly story about Sean's betrayal of his country at her feet like a pool of stinking, stagnant water and he took no time to spare her sensibilities in the telling.
"He's not a saint," she said, trying to push the horrible images from her mind. Not my father...not my father... "He drinks and he gambles and everything else but treason?"
Don't do this to me, Max. I love you. I want to believe you but this is more than I can bear...
His fingers pressed more deeply into her flesh. "And you believe it of me?"
"I don't know," she whispered, wishing he would let her go. "He's my father, Max...my father..."
Those ancient ties of blood and bone that meant so much and mattered so little in the greater scheme of things were her undoing in the face of this double betrayal.
There was a commotion from inside the ballroom. Max glanced inside and she could feel him galvanize into action.
"Stay here," he commanded. "Don't breathe. Don't move. Don't talk to anyone. I'll be back as soon as I can."
He strode back into the ballroom and as soon as he disappeared into the crowd, Kelly turned and ran for her life.
Chapter Twenty-eight
The commotion turned out to be nothing more than an altercation between a slightly drunken ambassador and the unwilling object of his affections. PAX employees, posing as waiters, quickly eased the situation.
"More champagne for everyone," Max called out and was on his way back to Kelly when Viktor Maksymenko waylaid him.
"The pate is superb," Viktor said, those dark eyes still gleaming. "Your guests seem to be enjoying it."
The familiar taste of fear filled the back of his mouth. "I hope you enjoy it as well."
"I did," Viktor said, watching him the way a scientist watched a specimen beneath a microscope, "but a prudent man knows when it is wise to stop."
Unexpectedly Max thought of the war and the endless messages he had encoded for transmission, day after day. What was the meaning behind Viktor's words?
"Perhaps I should sample some."
"I would not," said Viktor. "Save your appetite for other things."
Ryder. He had to tell Ryder.
"Would you excuse me?" He offered Maksymenko his most practiced, gracious smile. "I think it is past time for the orchestra to start the samba."
Viktor nodded and raised his glass of champagne. "I am a patient man, Mr. Steel. I shall be here when you return."
Max found Ryder on the floor in the rear hallway. He was curled in the fetal position. Sweat poured off his ashen face.
"Viktor," Ryder managed. "The contamination . . . "
"He said he would give me proof of what he can do."
"He did." Ryder's groan echoed in the empty hallway. "Believe him . . . others sick too . . . sent Sean to the chopper . . . get Kelly . . . get out . . . ."
"I can't leave you here. Let me--"
"We're on top of things . . . " Ryder's eyes closed for so long Max thought he'd passed out. "Their hit squad is here . . . slip out at midnight . . . we'll take them then . . . ."
"I can't." Panic, hot and frantic, raced through Max's brain. "I can't do it."
"You have to," Ryder said. "There's no one else."
Max leaned against the wall, his breathing shallow and erratic as the memory grabbed him by the throat.
It was always there, tucked away in the darkest part of his soul, the part where pain and loneliness had dominion.
It waited for when he was tired, for when his defenses were down, and then like the sand storms, it wiped away any mistaken idea he might have entertained about his worth.
And it was there tonight to get him.
#
Max wasn't supposed to see action.
They'd promised him and the others they weren't going to see any action at all.
"We're dropping you behind the line to bring the crypto equipment back up," the second looey with the ROTC smile told them as the chopper flew low near Kandahar toward the camp. "Pickup time 0900 hours."
Easy . . . an easy job . . . easy . . . an easy job . . .
Max repeated the words like a mantra as he parachuted down into the vast expanse of nothingness.
"Here!" A young red-haired grunt, face slick with sweat and blood, waved him over. "Where've you guys been?"
Max gathered up the chute and ran toward the men huddled behind an outcropping of rock.
"Get down!" the grunt roared. "Y'wanna get your ass blown off?"
Max hit the ground, his belly dragging along the rocky ground. "I thought there wasn't any action back here."
The guy laughed like an old man. "There's action everywhere, man. Haven't you figured that out yet?"
Last night Max dreamed he was watching the old Dick Van Dyke Show. He'd smiled in his sleep as he enjoyed the sight of sweet and sexy Laura Petrie with her long, fine legs as she gave Rob a kiss Max could feel right through the tube. The wife, the kid, the house in New Rochelle, the great job, the funny friends -- they were all his for the taking.
Now here he was, crawling for his life, and it wasn't even noon.
At least they hadn't lied about the job. Getting the equipment back up was easy. Ignoring the bodies piled up wasn't.
Young kids in camo gear, their skin
ny bodies tossed under ponchos to hide their faces from the merciless sun, waiting for the Big Bird to swoop down and take them back home one day too late.
Beam me up, Scotty, he thought. I'm getting real scared down here.
He wanted back into his dreams. He wanted to see Laura Petrie's big brown eyes smiling up at him as he tripped over the hassock in his suburban split-level. He wanted--
Something whined past his ear, and somewhere a man screamed.
"Watson's gone!" The red-haired guy tossed Max a bloodstained rifle as a ball of fire arced overhead. "They're comin' for us."
"Hey, man, I don't know anything about action," Max said, trying to push the rifle back at the grunt. "I'm just here to fix the crypto. I'm going back to the base."
"If you don't get to it, you're goin' back in a body bag with your dog tags shoved in your mouth. Take off the safety, dammit, and watch my tail. I'm goin' up there."
The last time Max had see a rifle was back in basic, where they'd practiced taking one apart and putting it back together in record time. He didn't even remember how to shoot it.
Guys were getting wasted all around him. A whole graduating class getting blown away while Max Brody watched, paralyzed, stinking in the dirt and the sweat and the fear.
"Left, eleven o'clock," the grunt screamed. "We got company."
Max looked up and saw the dark-haired guy crawling out from behind a bush to his left. Something shiny glinted in his hand, and something wild gleamed in his eyes as he fixed his sights on Max.
Got something real nice for you, American boy. Maybe sent you back home to New Jersey where you belong.
"Ammo up!" screamed the grunt. "Cover your ass, air force! He's outta my range!"
The enemy looked right into Max's head.
Can't do it, can you, American boy? They forgot to teach you this part, didn't they?
"Do it, air force!" screamed the grunt. "Do it now!"
But Max was back in New Rochelle with his steak and eggs and Laura Petrie, and he couldn't move.
The enemy grinned and pulled the pin.
Max watched Laura Petrie smile up at Rob.
The grunt leaped forward with a yell and flung himself at the enemy's knees.
The grenade exploded, and the grunt went home on the Big Bird one day too late.
And Max just stood there, watching Laura smile.
#
The whole flash of memory only took an instant, but Max felt as if he'd lived it over again in slow motion.
"I know what you're thinking . . . " Ryder's voice was the hoarsest of whispers. "You're wrong . . . you can do it, Max . . . you always could . . . . "
"Don't ask me to." His words were torn from the deepest part of him and were red with the blood of an innocent man. "I don't have the guts, Ryder. I've never had the guts . . . . "
But O'Neal was unconscious, and it was just Max and the patchwork of guilts that he'd carried with him for half a lifetime.
A second chance.
Someone had seen fit to hand him a second chance, and he wondered if turning away from that opportunity would be the greatest failure of all.
He thought of Kelly, of her trust and her beauty and the vulnerable heart she'd handed into his care, and he knew what he had to do.
And he prayed that God was watching him tonight.
#
White candles flickered up and down the ribbon of sand as midnight neared. All around Kelly, people danced and laughed as they waited for Iemanja, goddess of the sea, to choose among their offerings.
The shoreline was littered with bouquets and hair combs, crystal bottles of perfume and curls of ribbon shimmering in the candlelight--special gifts for the fickle and beautiful goddess.
Legend had it that if Iemanja accepted your gifts with the third wave of the New Year, your wish for the next twelve months would come true.
Not even you, Iemanja. Not even you can make me believe in happy endings.
There was truth on both sides. She could feel it deep inside her with a certainty born of pain. God knew, her father hadn't lived a blameless life, but she'd never once suspected him of anything beyond a need for booze and a love for women.
And Max--
Her eyelids fluttered closed as razors of pain sliced at her heart.
So much about him hadn't fit. Right from the start, there'd been the variations of accent, the strange relationship with his chauffeur, the oddly American grin that would light up his handsome face in a way that made her heart soar.
Both men were guilty. Oh, yes, she had no doubt about that.
Tomorrow or next week she would face the greater issues of national loyalty and betrayal. Tonight the only betrayal that was real to Kelly was the betrayal of the love she'd given so freely.
So foolishly.
The crowd roared as they began to count down the last moments of the old year.
The flickering candlelight danced off the diamond bracelet, and impulsively Kelly slipped it off and placed it next to a bottle of homemade wine.
Bells and sirens and cries of joy welcomed in the New Year in a blaze of glory, and she closed her eyes as the first wave rolled over her bare feet.
Make it not be true . . . make it not be true . . . .
Just as the third wave grazed her toes, someone grabbed her from behind and lifted her into the air.
Max looked like an angry god in his formal dress, and she tried to hide her towering fear with rage as he carried her up the beach toward the house.
"Damn you!" she cried as he sliced his way through the thick holiday crowd like a machete through dense foliage,. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Shut up!" he roared over the blare of music and drums and fireworks flashing over the beach. "Shut up unless you want to have your head blown off!"
She looked again at the glittering beach with the revelers dancing around blazing campfires. Suddenly its splendor seemed sinister; its unbridled passion, dangerous.
Two men in dark suits lingered near the gate to Max's mansion, and for one terrifying moment she wondered if they were about to whip out a pair of .357 Magnums and shoot her to kingdom come.
Nothing would surprise her tonight. Not even if the devil himself rose up to greet her.
Obviously the two men were allied with Max, because they waved him inside the gates then snapped those gates shut behind them.
Max put her down, and, muttering something about being thankful she wasn't wearing high heels, started to drag her along after him.
"Max!" She struggled to keep up with him. "Slow down!" It was like talking to a wall, and she had to break into a run to keep her arm from being yanked from its socket.
A few hundred yards ahead, a helicopter waited, engine screaming, and she had to duck to avoid the razor-sharp blades.
Sean, haggard and drunk, sat slumped on one of the benches. He didn't seem to notice as the pilot waved them in.
Kelly had trouble maneuvering her slim skirt as she tried to climb into the ungainly machine, and Max placed his hands on her rump and shoved her inside where she sprawled on the floor.
Max climbed in on top of her and the chopper was in the air before the door closed behind him. The pilot muttered a string of curses as gunfire shattered a window and chipped a piece off the door.
Just a few hours ago she'd been back in Max's mansion, snapping on her diamond bracelet and dabbing perfume to her pulse points.
Now those same pulse points threatened to race out of control.
They swayed crazily cross the city, and the image of the statue of Christ atop Corcovado, glowing bright against the black sky, sent chills up her spine. Good versus evil. Wasn't that what it always came down to in the end?
Max helped her up onto a bench, and she met his eyes.
The moment--painful and unexpectedly sweet--drew out between them, and she knew the second he lowered his defenses and allowed her to see inside his heart.
She turned to look at Sean, but her father could not hold her gaz
e.
"Damn you, Sean Ryan," she said, knowing the truth at last. "Damn you to hell."
Chapter Twenty-Nine
As they neared the tiny airport north of Rio, Kelly held onto Max's hand as if he were her lifeline to reality. Her body was angled toward the window as if she were trying to block Sean Ryan from her sight but his reflection danced on the broken glass.
Max found himself alternating between irrational pity for the man and hatred so intense that it terrified him. What in hell had been wrong with Sean that he could breed such insecurity, such distrust into his beautiful and brilliant daughter? How many years of happiness had she lost because of her father's selfishness?
But what scared Max the most was the fact that in Sean Ryan he saw his own weaknesses. Years and years of failure looked back at him in the face of the devastated man and Max couldn't help but wonder if it wasn't too late for them all.
Fortunately there wasn't time for introspection. Survival came first. There would be plenty of time for breast-beating later on.
If they were lucky.
The pilot filled him in on the details: an assassination squad from behind the Iron Curtain had gotten wind of the fact that Sean was about to be apprehended by PAX and had been dispatched to Rio to cut him down--along with anyone who had the misfortune to get in their way.
Static crackled through the tiny chopper as the pilot intercepted a radio message.
"They're on our tail," he said as he circled in on the airport. "Code 32Z is in effect."
Max nodded as Kelly looked up at him, her blue eyes wide with fear.
"We're not taking the jet," he explained, squeezing her hand. "We're sending that up as a decoy and leaving in a prop-job instead."
Do yourself a favor," the chopper pilot said as he touched down. "I know that plane. The doors don't work, the left engine is iffy--wear the chutes."
"Thanks," said Max. "Safe trip back."
The pilot looked from Max to Kelly to Sean then lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "Don't worry about me," he said. "You guys will be drawin' all the fire."
Fine Madness Page 19