by Ana Leigh
This Patricia Manning was a stranger to him.
A faint roar slowly penetrated the dark void that swaddled her. The sound heightened as blackness slowly faded into a grayish haze and Trish struggled through it to regain consciousness.
With this slow return of her sensibilities came a feeling of uneasiness. Fright. Why? She strove to remember. Then the horror of it swept through her as leering images of Robert and Ali bin Muzzar swirled around in the muddled confusion of her thoughts like demonic specters.
The need to scream rose within her and a responsive spasm racked her spine. Overwhelmed with panic she opened her eyes. The scream froze in her throat, but this time it wasn’t drugs that prevented the outburst; it was stunned recognition. She stared into the eyes fixed on her. Those beautiful, compelling brown eyes she remembered so well, had imagined before she passed out.
“Dave,” she murmured softly.
There was shocked recognition in his eyes as he stared back at her. Was he all part of the same hideous nightmare?
“Manning, your wife’s awake,” he said, and moved away.
She’d know that voice anywhere—and that same hard tone he’d used the last time they’d spoken six years ago.
Trish closed her eyes and felt the salty sting of hot tears on her cheeks.
When Trish next awoke, the effects of the drug had worn off fully, and she became aware that she was in a helicopter about to land. For several minutes she remained lying still, trying to distinguish in her mind what had been real and what had been part of the nightmare.
She jerked up to a sitting position and looked around when she recognized Dave’s voice. But what was happening? What was he doing issuing orders to a huddled group of men preparing to disembark. Could she still be dreaming?
She closed her eyes and pinched herself hard. It hurt and she opened her eyes. He was still here. She hadn’t imagined it. It was true. Dave was here. Close enough to touch.
Shifting to her knees, she felt a thousand needle-pricks in her arms and legs. Now there was no doubt. She wasn’t still dreaming, that was for sure. The pain was too intense to be imagined. She started to get up to shake it off.
“Ma’am, it’s best you remain seated until we touch down,” the man who sat beside her said.
“Where are we?”
“Rheinmein Air Base, ma’am, in Frankfurt, Germany.”
“Germany!”
Their voices attracted Dave’s attention and he glanced over to them. “Trouble, Addison?”
“No, sir. Mrs. Manning is awake and wanted to know what was happening.”
Outside the plane, crewman swung the door open, and several of the men jumped out. The revolving red light of an emergency vehicle flashed through the opening and someone outside handed a stretcher into the helicopter.
“If you lie down, ma’am, we’ll get you out of here.”
“I don’t need a stretcher,” Trish said. “I’m fine, now.”
She moved to the door, and as she tried to step down, her knees buckled. She fell forward into Dave’s outstretched arms.
For a hushed moment they stared into each other’s eyes, and she fought the urge to fling her arms around his neck and never let go.
“Mrs. Manning, there would be less chance of your getting injured if you would lie down on the stretcher,” he said.
“I’ll be fine. I just have to shake off the numbness.”
Dave released her, and joined the squad who were piling into a military vehicle. Addison led her to a sedan, assisted her in and then joined his squad. Robert and two other men climbed in after her.
The car pulled out and the military vehicle followed behind. They drove to a building located right on the base.
Once inside, Trish was taken to an office where two men and a woman were waiting.
“How do you do, Mrs. Manning,” one of the men said. “Please sit down.” He nodded to the woman and she turned on a machine.
The woman identified herself, announced the date, time and location, and then said, “The following is an interrogation of Patricia Diane Manning. Present are Agent Roger Reteva, Agent William Moore, and Mrs. Patricia Manning.”
To Trish’s further surprise, the woman followed it with her father’s Georgetown address. Why would these people know her father’s address?
“Mrs. Manning, I’m Agent Reteva,” one of the men said. “And this is my associate William Moore. We’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind.”
“Who do you represent, Mr. Reteva?” Trish asked.
“I don’t think that’s germane to the issue, Mrs. Manning.”
“I’m afraid I do. If you expect me to answer any of your questions you will have to answer mine first.”
The two men at the table exchanged meaningful glances. “We’re with the Central Intelligence Agency of the United States, madam.”
Trish gasped in surprise. “The CIA? What is this all about?”
Reteva’s lips curled in a slight smile. “That’s what we are trying to find out, Mrs. Manning. Your name is Patricia Diane Manning?”
“Yes.”
“Your maiden name was Patricia Hunter, and you’re a citizen of the United States?”
“Yes, I am,” Trish replied. “Will you kindly tell me why I’m being interrogated?”
“It is our understanding you were a house guest for the past two days at the home of Sheik Ali bin Muzzar. Is that correct, Mrs. Manning?”
“Yes.”
“Was this a business or personal visit, Mrs. Manning?”
“I was told it was a business trip,” Trish said. “Although, the sheik and my husband were classmates at Harvard University. It has been my impression that they have maintained a friendship since then.”
“Were there any other guests present at the time?”
“Yes, a Mr. Colin McDermott.”
“Had you met Mr. McDermott previously to that time?”
“No,” Trish said.
“Was Mr. McDermott also a Harvard classmate of your husband?”
“I have no idea.”
“A business associate?”
“I’ve never heard the name before, but it doesn’t rule it out since I’m not active in my husband’s business affairs.”
“Your husband is a vice president at the firm of Hunter International Banking Incorporated in Washington, D.C., is that correct?”
“Yes it is,” Trish replied.
“And your father Henry Jonathan Hunter is the president and majority stockholder of that firm. Is that also correct, Mrs. Manning?”
“The last I heard he was,” Trish said lightly, to disguise her irritation. She was thoroughly confused. Why was she being interrogated like a common criminal?
“It is our understanding that as American citizens, your life and that of your husband would have been threatened if you had remained at the home of Sheik bin Muzzar. Is that correct?”
“I don’t know. I passed out. When I awoke, I was in a helicopter and on my way here.”
“Before you ‘passed out,’ Mrs. Manning, did you witness any business exchange, conversation or threats between your husband, Ali bin Muzzar or Colin McDermott.”
“No. On the contrary, my husband and bin Muzzar were close friends. I only met Mr. McDermott for the first time at dinner that evening. He retired to his room early because he said he intended to leave the following morning. I did the same.” She could not embarrass herself by telling these strangers what had actually transpired between her and those two degenerates after McDermott had departed.
“And that was the last you saw of Mr. McDermott?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Manning, you’ve been most cooperative.”
The woman turned off the machine, and the two men stood up.
“Until Sheik bin Muzzar’s death is cleared up—”
“Ali is dead?”
“Yes, Mrs. Manning. Until we have all the details, you will have to remain in our custody. We will
be returning you to the United States tomorrow.”
“I don’t understand, Mr. Reteva, am I under arrest?”
“Mrs. Manning, there has been a crime committed, so for the time being consider yourself under our protection. If you have been straightforward with us, you have nothing to worry about. Enjoy your brief stay in Germany, madam. If there is anything you need or wish, we are at your disposal.”
Trish was taken to a reception room where several of the squad were playing cards. There was no sign of Robert, but Dave was stretched out on a bench in a far corner with his eyes closed. She wanted some answers and wanted them now. She strode over to him.
“Dave, I want to talk to you.”
He opened his eyes, gave her a disgruntled look and then sat up.
“What do you want?”
“What happened at bin Muzzar’s palace after I passed out?”
“Hmm…let me think. Oh, yeah, your husband and his friend invited us to join the party, so the whole squad jumped you.”
His sardonic smirk made her angrier than his words. “Your attempt at humor fails miserably, General Cassidy. I once believed that kind of humor was beneath you.”
“I might say the same about you, Mrs. Manning. So it would seem we were both wrong about each other. By the way, it’s Agent Cassidy. I’m not in the military, Mrs. Manning.”
He lay back down and closed his eyes.
“Agent? You mean you’re one of these CIA agents, too?”
With a resigned sigh, he opened his eyes and sat back up. “I work for the CIA if that’s what you’re asking, Mrs. Manning. I’m not with intelligence.”
“I think I have a right to know what went on there, since the CIA apparently believes I’m involved in the murder of Ali bin Muzzar.”
“I can assure you, Mrs. Manning, you weren’t. Bin Muzzar was still alive after you passed out. I informed them of that during the debriefing. Now, if you don’t mind.” He stretched out on the bench again and closed his eyes.
“I suppose your squad killed him?”
He stiffened with annoyance and sat up. “No, my squad did not kill him. Ask your husband, Mrs. Manning, maybe he can tell you.”
“Are you saying Robert killed Ali?”
“I didn’t say that. I can only tell you that the last time I, or any member of my squad, saw bin Muzzar he was still alive.”
At that moment Robert Manning came into the room and took a seat. Trish made no move toward him, but went over and sat down on an empty chair.
They waited another half hour until all the squad members were debriefed, and then they were driven to a hotel.
Chapter 3
Trish balked when they started to assign her and Robert to the same room. She insisted upon a separate one and won the argument.
Once alone, she flopped down in relief on the bed. Despite everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours, the hardest thing to bear was the change in Dave.
Seeing him again had been the answer to her prayers. But he was so different from the man she remembered. Granted, he had good reason not to greet her with open arms, but remembering the love and tenderness they had once shared, it was hard to believe he held so much bitterness toward her.
She yearned to sit down and just talk to him again. After all, even if they were ex-lovers, they also had been good friends. They had always enjoyed each other’s company. They had not only loved each other, they had liked each other as well.
But now, she could see the loathing in his eyes when he looked at her. And that hurt. That hurt badly. She was helpless to avoid reacting negatively to it, so they’d ended up snarling at one another.
As if that wasn’t staggering enough, there was all this mystery surrounding Ali’s death. Could it be that Robert had killed Ali?
Trish shook aside the thought. Ali was probably the only friend Robert had. And although she held no one in lower esteem than Robert, she couldn’t see him in the role of a murderer. Liar, conniver, rapist, yes. But murderer, no.
A light knock sounded on the door and the chambermaid came in.
“Frau Manning, I am Helga, the chambermaid. The gentleman in the next room told me to bring you these items.” She handed Trish a brown paper bag.
“Thank you. Helga, I’m so sorry,” Trish said, embarrassed. “I don’t have a purse with me. Perhaps I can put a tip on the bill.”
“That is not necessary, Frau Manning. The gentleman has taken care of it. If you need anything else, just ring for me. Have a pleasant evening, madam.”
Trish gratefully dumped the goody bag on the bed and out dropped a plethora of useful items: a comb, shampoo, toothbrush, toothpaste, a compact of pressed face powder, a tube of lipstick, a pair of panties and a bra. There was even a black and white jogging suit in her size.
Trish was so grateful she could have shouted with joy, and the thoughtful gesture was so unlike Robert. As difficult as it would be, she would have to swallow her pride and thank him.
She gathered up several of the items and headed for the shower.
After fifteen minutes of hot water and swirling steam, Trish felt like a new woman. She dried off, combed her hair and while it dried, she rinsed out her underclothes and hung them up to dry.
As she struggled with the decision of whether to go down to dinner or settle for room service, the telephone rang.
“Mrs. Manning, this is Justin Addison. We’re going down to dinner soon and Dave wants to know if you’re ready.”
“I was just considering ordering room service,” she said.
“One moment, ma’am.”
She could hear him consulting with someone in the background, then he came on the line again.
“Ma’am, Dave says that’s not a good idea. We’ve been ordered to keep an eye on you, so if you don’t go down to dinner, a couple of us will have to remain up there with you.”
“And you’d have to be one of them, isn’t that right, Mr. Addison?”
“I’m afraid so, ma’am,” he said.
Apparently the decision had been made for her. “Okay, I’ll be ready in five minutes.”
The new underwear and jogging suit were a perfect fit. Leave it to Robert to be able to appraise a woman’s figure.
She pulled her hair back into a plain ponytail and tied it with a piece of white ribbon that had been wrapped around the jogging suit. After adding a light dusting of powder to her nose and cheeks, a dash of gloss to her lips, she was ready when the rap came on the door exactly five minutes later.
Dave, Justin Addison and the agent they called Kurt Bolen were in the hallway.
“Gosh, gentlemen, are you sure three of you big, macho males are enough to keep li’l ole me from escaping?”
“I guess we’ll just have to risk it, Mrs. Manning,” Dave said. “Your husband preferred to eat earlier so we were forced to split up the squad.”
She was pleased to hear she wouldn’t have to have dinner with Robert. Two consecutive nights facing him across a table would have been a tough row to hoe. Granted, she was grateful for the goody bag, but it fell far short of erasing the sordid memories of the past two years.
Deciding to try a restaurant elsewhere, the group strolled along casually, peeking into shop windows. They finally settled on a quaint rathskeller several blocks from the hotel.
Despite her hunger, Trish was unable to finish the tasty baked apple stuffed with pork that she had ordered. The men however had no problem consuming large plates of thick slices of sauerbraten served with plump dumplings and steins of dark beer.
When it came time for dessert, Kurt insisted they order one called Zwetschgenkuchen. The guys went along with his selection, and as they drank steaming hot cups of strong coffee, the waitress brought them the dessert.
Trish already had had enough to eat, but Kurt insisted she try a small piece.
“You’ll love it, Mrs. Manning. When I was young, I remember my German grandmother used to make it all the time. I haven’t had a piece since she died.�
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Trish relented. “Well, out of respect to your dearly departed grandmother, Kurt, I’ll take a tiny piece.”
“This isn’t bad,” Justin declared after taking a hardy bite. “What am I eating?”
“It appears to be a puff pastry and the filling tastes like plum,” Trish said.
“Trouble with plums, Mrs. Manning, no matter how juicy and sweet they taste, they shrivel up into prunes,” Dave said.
The comment was too deliberate to be casual. Then she recalled he’d talked of plums and prunes the last time they’d made love. She raised her head and looked at him. His gaze was fixed on her. So he too was remembering that—and the tragic ending to that day.
“Don’t you agree, Mrs. Manning?” he said.
“I suppose they do, Agent Cassidy. But at least they’re sweet while they last.” Right back at you, David Cassidy!
Trish raised the fork to her mouth and slipped a piece of the pastry between her lips.
“Dave, do you mind if the kid and I kind of check out the town for a little while?” Kurt said. “We’ll be pulling out of here first thing in the morning.”
“What time is your watch?”
“Not until midnight.”
“Then you better make sure your butt’s in that hallway when the clock strikes twelve.”
“Thanks, sir,” Justin said, jumping to his feet. “Let’s go, Kurt.”
“Are you ready to leave, Mrs. Manning?” Dave asked, after paying the check.
Now that they were alone, Trish was so tempted to challenge his attitude. To try and have him get out whatever was on his mind. But she just couldn’t get the right words out either. They were at an impasse.
“Yes, any time you are.”
Once outside they saw the weather had taken a turn for the worse. Fog had moved in, and it was difficult to see more than a short distance ahead.
“Our being alone puts you at a disadvantage, doesn’t it, Agent Cassidy?”
“Now why would you think that, Mrs. Manning?”
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll try to escape?”