The Silent Sea (2010) - Cussler Clive - Страница 49
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Then flew here yesterday, Juan finished for him. That was their plane, and if they were heading to Mexico City it was only to refuel. Thanks, Eric.
Juan turned to Max. They're taking her to Argentina.
The Silent Sea
Chapter NINETEEN
THE HORSE WAS A BIG ARABIAN STALLION WITH SUCH taut muscles that veins showed in relief under its glossy skin. It was streaked in sweat and blew heavily, and yet was game to keep charging across the Argentine landscape, its hoofs pounding the ground in a thundering drumbeat. Its rider barely moved in her saddle, her slouch hat hanging off her throat by a strap.
Maxine Espinoza was a superb horsewoman, and raced for the stream five miles from the mansion as though she was gunning for the Triple Crown. She wore tan riding breeches and a man's white oxford unbuttoned enough so that wind caressed her skin. Her boots had a worn look that bespoke of countless hours riding and an almost equal amount of time being lovingly polished.
It was that perfect moment of late afternoon, when the sun dappled the ground under the occasional tree and slanted so the grass looked like burnished gold.
Movement to her left caught her eye, and she turned quick enough to see a hawk lift off from the ground with its dinner clutched in its razor-sharp talons.
Ha, Concorde, she cried, and firmed her grip on the reins.
The horse seemed to love these wild rides as much as his mistress, and he lengthened his stride. They were of one mind, and existed almost as a Centaur rather than two separate beings.
Only when they neared the band of forest that lined both sides of a stream did they slow. Maxine entered the glen at an easy walk, the big stallion beneath her heaving great lungfuls of air through his flared nostrils.
She could hear the stream gurgling over rocks and songbirds in the limbs of trees. She ducked under a branch and weaved Concorde deeper into the woods. This was her sanctuary, her special place, on the sprawling estate. The clear waters of the stream would sate her horse's thirst, and along the bank was a bed of grass where she'd slept during countless siestas.
She legged over Concorde's back and lowered herself to the ground. She needn't worry about him wandering off or drinking too much. He was better mannered than that. From her saddlebag she pulled a blanket of the finest Egyptian cotton. She was just moving to spread it on the grass when a figure emerged from behind a tree.
Excuse me, se+|ora.
Maxine whirled, her eyes narrowing in anger at the intrusion. She recognized the man. It was Raul Jimenez, her stepson's second-in-command. How dare you come here? You should be on the base with the rest of the soldiers.
I prefer the company of women.
She took two steps forward and slapped him. I should tell the General of your impudence.
And what would you tell him about this? He grabbed her smoothly and drew her body to his. He kissed her, and for a few seconds she resisted, but it was too much, and soon she had her hand on the back of his head as her hunger grew.
Jimenez finally pulled back. God, I've missed you.
Maxine's reply was to kiss him again, even more passionately. Now that they were alone, all pretense of his shyness around her was gone. They gave in to their desires.
It was much later that they were lying side by side on the hastily spread blanket. She gingerly touched the burn scars on his face. They were still red and looked painful.
You are no longer so beautiful. I think I should find myself another lover.
I don't think there is another in the regiment who would dare do what we just did.
Are you saying I am not worth a court-martial?
To me, you are worth death itself, but you forget I am the bravest man in the Army, he joked. And then a shadow passed behind his eyes.
What is it, darling?
'yBravest,' I said. His voice filled with bitterness. It takes little bravery to gun down villagers or kidnap American women.
Kidnap Americans? I don't understand.
That is where your husband sent us, to America, where we grabbed a woman who's an expert on Chinese ships or something. I have no idea why. I tell you, though, it's not what I joined the Army to do.
I know my husband, Maxine said. Everything he does is planned, from eating breakfast to commanding your regiment. He has his reasons. This must be why he took off for Buenos Aires just as you and Jorge returned.
We met him at your apartment in the city. He had some men with him Chinese, I think.
They're from the embassy. Philippe has been meeting with them quite a bit recently.
I'm sorry, but I still don't like it. Don't get me wrong. I love the Army and I love Jorge, but these past few months . . . His voice trailed off.
You may not believe this, Maxine said, her voice crisp and firm, but I love my husband very much, and I love this country. Philippe may be many things, but he is not reckless. Whatever he is doing is for the greater good of Argentina and its people.
You wouldn't say that if you'd seen some of the things he's ordered us to do.
I don't want to hear about it, she said stubbornly, the romantic cocoon they had built for themselves dissolving.
He placed a hand on her bare shoulder. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you.
I'm not upset, she replied, but had to wipe at her eyes. Philippe tells me very little, but I have always trusted him. You should, too.
Okay, Jimenez said, and reached for her.
Maxine slithered out of his grip. I must be getting back now. Even with Philippe in BA, the servants talk. You understand?
Of course. My servants are always gossiping. They both laughed because he had come from a poor family.
Maxine moved off to dress. She climbed aboard Concorde, who had stayed near them the entire time.
Will I see you tomorrow? he asked, stuffing the blanket back into the saddlebag.
So long as you promise not to discuss my husband or his work.
I will be the good soldier and do as you order.
THE CHOPPER PILOT WAS RELIEVED that his passengers had paid cash because when he saw their destination he knew any check they wrote would have bounced. As it stood, he considered radioing his business partner and having him make sure the money wasn't counterfeit.
He was taking the two men from Rio's Gale+uo International Airport to a cargo ship a hundred miles offshore. From a distance, it looked like any of the dozens of vessels that approached Brazil every week, but as they neared and details came into focus he could see she was a floating heap of rust barely held together by duct tape and baling wire. The smoke from her stack was so black, he suspected she burned bunker fuel and lubricating oil in equal ratios. Her cranes looked like they could barely hold themselves up, let alone lift any cargo. He glanced over his shoulder at the younger passenger as if to say: Are you sure?
The man had the sallow look of someone who hadn't slept for days, and whatever burden he carried was just ounces away from crushing him. And yet, when he realized the pilot was looking at him, the passenger winked one of his bright blue eyes, and the mask of consternation melted away.
She's not much to look at, the passenger said over his mike, but she gets the job done.
I don't think I can land on the deck, the pilot said, his English tinted with a hint of Portuguese. He didn't add that he thought the weight of his Bell JetRanger would probably collapse a hatch cover.
No problem. Just hover over the fantail, and we'll jump.
The second passenger, a man in his late fifties or early sixties with a bandage on his head, groaned at the prospect of leaping from the helicopter.
You got it. The pilot turned his attention back to flying while the passengers gathered up their luggage, which consisted of a laptop case and a battered canvas shoulder bag. Everything else had been dumped in Mississippi.
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