With his awakening had come a profound conviction of his love for her, and hers for him. Carver was certain that Alix would never willingly have left him without even saying good-bye. Wherever she had gone, it had not been her choice. He would not rest until he had found her and made her his again.
One of the gymnasium staff was walking toward the treadmill, a look of concern on his face as he ran his eyes over Carver’s scarlet face, his heaving chest, and his pale-gray T-shirt, darkened with puddles of sweat under his armpits and down the small of his back.
“Maybe you should stop now,” he said.
“No,” said Carver. “I want to keep running.”
Across town a man was steeling himself to make a difficult call. He was way over six feet tall and beanpole- thin. His milk-skinned, freckled face, illuminated by gentle blue eyes, was topped by a starburst of red-blond dreadlocks.
Thor Larsson took a deep breath and started pressing the buttons. He waited a few moments until the clinic’s switchboard had answered and then said, “Monsieur Marchand’s office, please.”
He paced up and down, waiting to be put through to the finance director.
“It’s about Monsieur Carver’s account…” Larsson began. “Please, can you just give me another few days? I think I may be able to get some money. Maybe not all the bill, but a lot of it, I assure you.”
To his amazement, the voice on the other end of the line was reassuring, almost obsequious.
“Monsieur, please, do not derange yourself,” said Marchand. “There is no need to be concerned. Monsieur Carver’s account has been settled in full and instructions have been left for any future expenses. He is welcome to stay as long as he likes.”
“What? When did that happen?” asked Larsson.
“Pah! Let me see… it must have been two days ago, I suppose.”
“Who is paying the bill, then?”
“I am sorry, monsieur, that I cannot say. We have simply received instructions to pass any outstanding invoices to a lawyer acting on behalf of a client. Who that client might be, well… this is Switzerland, monsieur. We respect people’s privacy here.”
29
The moment she walked into his office, Kurt Vermulen knew that Natalia Morley would be his new assistant. He’d already been impressed enough by her resume. She was thirty years old, born in Russia, but carried a Canadian passport, thanks to her marriage (now dissolved) to an investment banker, Steve Morley. They’d met in Moscow, where they both worked for a Swiss investment bank-she was his boss’s assistant and she’d taken another high-level P.A. job when Morley had been posted to the bank’s head office in Geneva. They’d moved again to the States, where the marriage had broken up. Now she was looking to start a new life on her own. It didn’t look as if she would have too much trouble doing that. Her letters of recommendation were outstanding, and when he called the men listed as her references, they all sang her praises. Then he saw her, and he understood why.
Natalia Morley was a head-turning, jaw-dropping beauty. Over the past few weeks, Vermulen had been on a couple of pleasant, but unexceptional dates with Megan, the lawyer he’d met that night at the Italian restaurant in Georgetown. Megan was a fine-looking woman. Natalia was in a totally different league.
Even so, looks will get you only so far. Kurt Vermulen had the same basic instincts as any other heterosexual male, but he was also an intelligent, thoughtful man. What really hooked him was a deeper quality, something that suggested vulnerability, and even sadness, as though life had wounded her in some way. It could have been the divorce, he guessed, although, in Vermulen’s experience, that was more likely to induce anger or even bitterness in a woman. All he knew was that he sensed a personal loss in Natalia Morley that echoed his own bereavement.
At one point in their first meeting he even found himself talking about Amy and her death. It was, he realized, an inappropriate subject for a job interview. But it happened so naturally, and Natalia was so gracious in her response, that he found himself wanting her to be in his life. The job offer was really just a means, even an excuse, to have her near him. She’d started the following Monday.
Since then, her work had been impeccable. His appointments, correspondence, and travel arrangements were organized with flawless efficiency. The brutal murder of a general’s secretary, right in the heart of the capital, had attracted a fair amount of media attention, but Natalia had been adept at keeping even the most persistent reporters at bay. Knowing that there was no one at home to look after him, she saw to his dry cleaning, found contractors for his household chores and garden maintenance, and arranged for deliveries of fresh produce and deli items from the D.C. branch of Dean & DeLuca to his townhouse near Dumbarton Oaks. The rest of the staff at Vermulen Strategic Consulting seemed to like her, too, including the other women. That struck Vermulen as quite an achievement. He’d have expected them to resent her looks and her closeness to their boss.
Then again, she’d never got that close. Natalia Morley was perfectly friendly. She laughed at his jokes, listened to his problems, and charmed any client who set foot in the office. If she ever had a bad mood, Vermulen never saw it. But neither did he see any evidence that she was as interested in him as he was in her. Her manner was always entirely proper. She didn’t flirt with him at all, and while her elegant clothes could not help but show off her figure, her skirts were knee-length and her blouses demure. If anything was going to happen, he would have to make the first move.
Meanwhile, he still had a business to run and, most important of all, a false-flag operation to organize. Vermulen had persuaded himself that if he was right about the threat from Islamist terrorism, then it would be inexcusable to sit back and do nothing. Even if his actions were questionable, they were better than the alternative.
His plans were beginning to form now. He was going to take a couple of months off from the business. If anyone asked, he’d tell them he was taking a break by traveling around Europe, combining a spell of R & R with the opportunity to make new contacts. He would not mention, however, that the contacts were those required to procure a nuclear bomb. His itinerary would take him to Amsterdam, Vienna, Venice, and Rome, to start with. After that, he’d see how things panned out. Natalia could book him transportation and hotels as he needed them.
