Part 38 (1/2)

She began to giggle. ”Yep, guess so.”

Doug reached for her gloved hand and pressed it to the visor of his helmet. ”That's the best I can do right now. But we ought to be coming up on a tempo pretty soon.”

”Tempo?”

”One of the old temporary shelters. We keep them stocked with emergency supplies. We can go inside and get out of these d.a.m.ned suits for a while.”

”Uh-huh. And what about Gordette?”

She heard his sharp intake of breath. ”Gordette,” Doug said, all the laughter gone. ”I had almost forgotten about him.”

”Doug, if we're going to have to surrender anyway to the Peacekeepers or Yamagata or whoever, why are we chasing after Gordette?”

It took several moments before he answered, ”Because I don't want to surrender to them, Edith. Deep inside me I'm still hoping for a miracle.”

”What kind of a miracle?”

”I wish I knew.”

DAY FORTY-THREE.

Grand Cayman Island had been a haven for tax-weary investors for more than a century, the Switzerland of the Caribbean, a home away from home for money that was to be hidden, laundered, or otherwise kept out of the sight of the tax collectors of the world.

Still a Crown Colony of the British Empire, the tiny flat island-a few minutes' flight from Cuba, less than an hour from Miami-possessed more banks than hotels, more financial offices than brothels, more citizens in business suits than beach wear.

Yet the beaches were lovely, Joanna thought as she and Lev strolled along the concrete walk from her hotel to the restaurant where she had been told the meeting would take place. It's a shame we won't have the time to go snorkeling or enjoy the suns.h.i.+ne.

The street was lined with restaurants and shops vending beach wear and souvenirs. They were dressed like tourists, as they had been instructed to be. Joanna was in white shorts and a flowered sleeveless blouse, with a big floppy straw hat; Lev wore comfortable baggy slacks, a loose-fitting mesh s.h.i.+rt hanging over them, and sungla.s.ses.

”I see the string bikini is making a comeback,” Lev said, grinning. ”I'll have to buy a few for you.”

Joanna pretended to grimace. ”One woman on the entire beach in a string outfit doesn't make a fas.h.i.+on trend, Lev. And she's very young, probably still in her teens.”

Her husband shrugged. ”She is a bit on the emaciated side, but still she seems quite attractive.”

”Honestly.”

”You would look much better than she does.”

”I couldn't wear a skimpy thing like that on the beach!”

”Who said you'd wear it on the beach?” Lev countered. ”We have fourteen rooms in Savannah. I could spread a little sand in the sun porch and chase you through the entire house.”

”You would, too, wouldn't you?” Joanna said, laughing. Lev was trying to lighten her mood, she realized. Ease the tension.

Arranging a meeting with Seigo Yamagata had been easier than getting to see Georges Faure. And more difficult. Yamagata was even more inaccessible than the U.N. secretary-general, but his aides had responded with swift politeness to Joanna's call. Very indirectly they suggested that a luncheon might be of interest to both parties. Joanna refused to come to j.a.pan; Yamagata's aides said with deep regret that a meeting elsewhere would probably be impossible.

At Lev's suggestion, Joanna suggested a neutral territory. Within an hour Yamagata's twenty-year-old son Saito called back to propose meeting at Grand Cayman. Quietly. Discreetly.

”Many corporations conduct business on Grand Cayman,” the young man said, looking earnest. ”It would not be out of the ordinary for a very high officer of this corporation to be present on the island at a certain time and place.”

Joanna nodded at his image on her phone screen. ”Yes,” she agreed. ”Masterson Corporation does business with several banking establishments there.”

The time and place were set. Now Joanna and Lev walked along the beachfront street in the brilliant late morning sunlight and brisk sea breeze, heading toward the Sunrise Hotel.

”I wonder how many of these j.a.panese tourists are actually Yamagata security people,” Lev murmured.

Joanna had noticed them, too, strolling innocently along the beach walk, window shopping, lolling in the suns.h.i.+ne. ”About the same number as our own Masterson troops,” she replied.

Lev's brows rose. ”Are any any of these people actually tourists?” of these people actually tourists?”

”A few, I suppose.”

At last they stood before the Sunrise Hotel, a quiet little modernistic construction of concrete painted pastel blue on the far end of the beach, away from the gaudier shops and restaurants. The arrangements for the meeting included the requirement that they walk to this hotel from their own corporate-owned condo; no taxi whose trip record could be traced, no ostentatious limousine.

Joanna thought that Yamagata was being melodramatic, overly cautious. It's understandable to want to keep your movements private and avoid the media paparazzi, she thought, but the man's acting downright paranoid.

She noticed that Lev walked up the hotel's front steps stiffly, like a man in pain.

”Are you all right?” she asked.

He looked surprised. ”Yes, of course.”

”You looked...' Joanna didn't know how to say it without hurting her husband.

”Like an old man,” he finished for her. ”My dearest one, I am am an old man.” an old man.”

”As soon as this mess is over,” she said, almost whispering, ”we're going back to Moonbase and you are going to start nanotherapy.”

Instead of protesting as Joanna expected he would, Brudnoy nodded. That told her worlds about how he truly felt.

Then he said, ”a.s.suming, of course, that there is a Moonbase left standing, and nanotherapy will still be allowed there.”

Joanna murmured, ”Yes, a.s.suming all that.”

Once they stepped into the cool shade of the hotel's lobby they saw that it was completely staffed by j.a.panese.

”Why do I feel like a fly walking into the spider's web?” Lev whispered to his wife as they followed a smiling young woman in an old-fas.h.i.+oned kimono through the lobby and out into a small but pleasantly decorated restaurant.

It was completely empty. The minimalist decor was decidedly j.a.panese: polished wood and lacquered low tables with cus.h.i.+ons on the floor. No chairs.

They took off their sandals at the door and the young woman led them to a table by a window that looked out onto a garden of raked sand and bare rocks.

”I'm glad I wore shorts instead of a skirt,” Joanna said as she sat cross-legged on one of the cus.h.i.+ons.

Grunting, Lev slowly lowered himself into the cus.h.i.+on next to her. Once his long legs were settled properly, he pointed through the window. ”We could have gardens like that at Moonbase,” he said.

”If Yamagata has his way,” Joanna whispered, ”probably they'll turn the entire floor of Alphonsus into a rock garden.”

”An exercise in esthetics,” Lev murmured.