snarling up at him. It soared away from the cliff and glided majestically above the river below.
Victor gazed into the glowing embers of the fire and breathed out heavily. Yoinakuwa sat on the floor, his back against the fireplace, staring at nothing.
The FBI man, Harris, sat back in his chair, watching Victor.
His assistant, Jacobs, leant forward, elbows on his knees like a kid full of expectation.
Victor remained silent.
Jacobs glanced at Harris, wondering why Victor had stopped. He wanted Harris to ask Victor a question but his boss seemed lost in his own thoughts.
Jacobs could not stand the suspense any longer. ‘Well, what happened then?’
Victor shrugged. ‘We made it to the horses. Only three of us escaped. David, Yoinakuwa and myself. The women and children, those who survived, were handed over to Hector’s brigade. Besides us, not a single rebel fighter lived through that day. Hector never took full command as planned. He died a few months later. He was found hanging by his neck in his cabin. Some say his death was by his own hand. Some say he was murdered in revenge for Sebastian’s betrayal.’
Jacobs was still frustrated. ‘Louisa and Stratton?’ he asked. ‘What happened to them?’
‘America, I think. I have never seen or spoken to either of them since that day. Her political ambitions had been formed on the campuses of Boston and Cambridge but they could not stand the test of the realities of this country. I think of them as living happily ever after, somewhere.’ Victor emptied the contents of his mug and went quiet again, lost in his thoughts.
Harris stirred and put his notebook into his pack. He took a deep breath and got to his feet, studying Victor. He seemed to be about to ask a question but changed his mind.
He walked to the door, opened it and left the cabin.
Jacobs watched him leave and looked back at Victor. He wanted to hear more but decided against asking anything else. He got to his feet, nodded a thanks to both men, neither of whom were looking at him, and went outside.
Harris stepped off the porch and stood on the damp earth, looking up at the cloudy sky with patches of blue breaking through. Water dripped off the porch and the leaves on the trees. The air outside was refreshing after the damp room and cigar smoke.
‘What do you think?’ Jacobs asked.
Harris glanced at his assistant. ‘I think it was Victor’s story, more than it was Stratton’s . . . or Louisa’s.’
‘You don’t believe him?’
Harris looked undecided. ‘It was a good story. It’s the end that wasn’t true.’
‘What do you mean?’ Jacobs asked, anxious to know.
‘What end?’
‘She died. That’s pretty obvious.’
‘How do you know that?’ Jacobs asked. A part of him didn’t want to hear it but another part had to.
‘That’s why Stratton killed Steel, of course. It’s the only reason he would have. He wouldn’t have done it if they were together. And she would’ve come back, don’t you think? She didn’t sound the type to give up easily.’
‘Why did Victor lie?’
‘To protect Stratton.’
Jacobs considered the explanation. Despite his feelings, his wish for a happy ending, it made sense. ‘What will happen to Stratton?’
‘Steel acted outside his parameters. He broke US law as it applies to an overseas intelligence officer, for one thing. The CIA would be too embarrassed to acknowledge him. Stratton can’t be charged with murdering someone who didn’t exist.’
Jacobs looked back towards the cabin door. ‘Maybe Victor doesn’t know that Louisa died. Not if he never heard from them again. It’s possible.’
‘He knows.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Look at the porch canopy.’
Jacobs looked up at the canopy flapping in the wind and his mouth opened in astonished realisation. The fabric was bright green, with a red fire-breathing dragon emblazoned on it. Stratton’s parachute.
Harris shouldered his pack. ‘Come on, Jacobs. We’ve got a long way to go,’ he said, walking away. ‘Goddamned waste of time, if you ask me.’
Jacobs grew sad as Victor’s description of the couple’s fall off the cliff came to life in his mind. As he stared at the parachute, flapping in the breeze, it suddenly went taut and the cells filled with the air flowing through them.
Stratton hung beneath the shadow of the canopy with Louisa in his arms. He held her tightly, as he had promised himself he would. Her head rested against him, her rich black hair flowing around them.
To begin with, her arms were tightly about him but then they began to lose their grip. Eventually they let go completely and hung loosely by her sides.
The ground grew ever closer and Stratton held Louisa firmly with one arm as he pulled down both toggles with the other. He stalled the fabric and touched down lightly, unclipping the risers from his shoulders to disconnect the chute, which floated away to roll onto the river bank.
Louisa’s head dropped back in Stratton’s arms and he saw that the light had gone from her eyes. His heart was filled with panic as he knelt down and lowered her onto her back. When he released his hand from around her waist it was covered in blood.
‘Louisa,’ he said, but he knew she was already gone.
Stratton made no effort to stop the tears rolling down his cheeks. They had both lost in the end.
He leant down and his lips touched hers gently. ‘Safe journey, my love,’ he said.
A distant shot sounded and a bullet struck the ground close by. Stratton did not flinch. He cared about nothing else at that moment. His world had been shattered and he didn’t give a damn if he lived or died.
Another bullet struck the ground and he got to his feet and looked to the top of the cliff where the shooting was coming from. The tears fell as he stared up at the man who had destroyed the only thing in the world he had ever truly loved. The man he was going to kill if it took him the rest of his life.
Steel, his pistol in his hand, looked down at the tiny figure. He knew that he could never hit anything with his gun from that range.
Deep inside his heart he suddenly felt something - an unusual feeling for him. But he recognised it nonetheless. It was fear.
