He was clean-shaven, with clean-lined, chiseled features, his dark, thick hair worn brushed straight back from the forehead. He was a handsome man and he knew it, worked it, traded on it.
Susan was in his arms right now. They'd spent much of the morning closeted away in her private retreat making love. After, they'd showered. Raoul had dressed and was in his shirt and slacks; Susan was still naked. She pressed against him.
She was tall, almost as tall as he, and he was over six feet. Her face was turned up and he kissed her on the mouth. Openmouthed. Her mouth was wet and warm; her breath was sweet.
She was tanned, her long, straight, dark blond hair glinting with metallic gold highlights. Long-limbed, high- breasted, with a pertly rounded rump and long legs. Her eyes were gray, her brows were thick and arched, her nose straight and thin, her mouth sensitive, if inclined to pouting.
She smelled good and tasted sweet when he kissed her. She was in her mid-thirties, a few years older than Raoul, a fact she preferred to ignore. She was twice-married, twice-divorced, and childless.
'Third time's the charm' — she'd accepted Raoul's proposal of marriage; if he hadn't asked her, she'd have asked him, of that he was sure. Their relationship was strongly physical; the sex was good. Better for her than for him, but then for Raoul there was an element of work involved.
She was in love with Raoul, of that he had no doubts. She showed all the signs. And he knew them. He had been with many women, no small number of whom had been international celebrities in their own right, stellar on a level equal to that of Wilmont Keehan's daughter, and some more beautiful and passionate, too.
And yet — more than an heiress, she was the living link to a powerhouse political dynasty, the Keehan clan, with all their global reach, their clout, their money.
Susan kissed with her eyes closed. Raoul's were open, and he glanced around, enjoying the view and the luxuriousness of his surroundings.
The room and everything about it was first-class. A high-priced professional designer had put it together, according to Susan's instructions. She was not without taste; her eye, instincts, and aesthetics were good, though inclined toward the safe choice, the conventional choice.
One wall was solid plate glass, opening on the heights, offering a spectacular view of the sky-high vista. Even here in the midtown business district, known for its tall buildings, none of the other structures came up to the heights of the Mega Mart; Raoul was able to look down even on the tallest.
A pleasing prospect: up here, his companions were eagles and airplanes. Neither of which was in evidence today, not with the storm coming.
Today's view was constrained, claustrophobic in comparison to the vaunting sky-high vistas of a clear day. The sky was blanketed by low-hanging cloud cover. If it got any lower, it would engulf the office floor and cut off the view below.
Solid cloud cover in shades of gray: charcoal for the interior masses of the cloud cover, slate for the outlines of stacked masses, silvery ash-gray showing at the few, infrequent rents in the cloud ceiling.
The clouds were in motion, the vanguard of Hurricane Everette.
It was a dark day; even with the window blinds and curtains drawn, the room was thick with shadow. The gloom was broken by artfully spaced overhead lighting; dimmers that kept the lights down low, warm, intimate.
Dark, rich, wood-paneled walls were hung with framed paintings. A key element of the decor was a long, well-padded couch, upholstered in black leather. It could fold out into a bed, but it was large enough even when unfolded to accommodate a carnal coupling and had; several, in fact, and recently, for that's where he had been with Susan for the past few hours.
The room featured a private bar, complete with a mini-refrigerator and a stainless steel sink. Mounted on one wall was an oversized plasma TV screen, now dark. An oversized alcove held an intimate dining nook for two, complete with table and two chairs.
Off to one side, an open door accessed a bathroom that would not have been out of place in the suite of a luxury hotel. Inside it, the light was on, bright light that slanted out the doorway and into the office. It had recently been quitted by Raoul and Susan, who'd showered after a strenuous bout of midmorning lovemaking.
He was now mostly dressed; she was naked, save for a towel. They made a handsome couple, a power couple; they exuded wealth, attractiveness, glamour.
Taking it all in, the whole luxurious milieu, Raoul could not help but congratulate himself, thinking, Truly, someday this will all be mine.
And soon.
The family Garros was a pillar of Venezuela's old-line, traditional oligarchy, that narrow apex of the social pyramid that controlled the vast majority of the country's wealth.
Raoul's breeding and background were impeccable. His mother was half French, and his Christian name had been rendered according to the French spelling Raoul, rather than the more Hispanicized Raul. The family had considerable holdings in shipbuilding, telecommunications, and real estate.
He was handsome, educated, athletic, and wealthy. The world should have been his oyster. All would have been well, but for the advent — or rather, onslaught — of Hugo Chavez.
This was a bad time in Venezuela for the clique of ruling families, for the oligarchy was all-powerful no more. Chavez had the power. He had the Army on his side and the impoverished masses. Once having been elected president, he would retain the office for life. He would no more be voted out than he would willingly relinquish power. His was the power supreme.
To be rich was no longer enough in Venezuela. Now, to be rich was to be vulnerable. Vulnerable to the prosecutions and nationalizations of the state, decreed by the President in his role as supreme representative of the people.
Many if not most of the oligarchs were too hidebound and fossilized to adapt to the new order of 'twenty- first-century socialism,' the regime's supreme buzzword and sacred cow. Not so the family Garros. They saw things clearly enough, without illusion.
Chavez was going nowhere, except to stay in place at the top of the heap for the foreseeable future. There was no telling what idea he might cook up next, he and his cadre of like-minded sycophants, ideologues, and newly empowered bandits.
Key sectors of the Venezuelan economy had been nationalized early. Companies foreign and domestic had been bulldozed by the strongman, including big global megaconglomerates that were forced to bow down and submit.
The family Garros had unreservedly put all its resources at the President's disposal. It was the only way to deal with such a man: total surrender. Let him have what he wants. It was less trouble for him to replace the existing infrastructure with his own people than it was for him to leave the system in place under the nominal control of the Garroses to serve him.
'We have lost much, my son. We will lose more. But, with the help of Providence, perhaps we will not lose all.'
Such were the words of Raoul's father, during a final meeting before the younger Garros was due to depart for New Orleans to serve as a high-ranking executive in the overseas branch of LAGO.
Raoul had said, 'I'll do my part, Father. I won't let the family down.' And so he had done his part, in his fashion.
Some men are fighters; he was a lover. It was his vocation and his avocation.
Hence, Susan Keehan. Because Raoul was on a mission for Caracas. A mission to marry into one of America's richest and most powerful families. A mission now on the verge of accomplishment.
Soon he would be wed to the daughter of doting father Wilmont Keehan, multimillionaire dynast and brother of Senator Burl Keehan.
Topping it all off, the woman was good-looking, too. That didn't hurt, although he would have gone ahead and romanced her no matter what her looks. That was the plan, cooked up by the master plotters back in Caracas. It was a plan with which Raoul thoroughly agreed.
The springboard for the scheme was the alliance between Senator Keehan and President Chavez.
With great fanfare, Chavez had announced he was making available a free supply of oil, earmarked to serve
