political activity. And while his mother's Armenian heritage was a consideration in a conservative military regime that traditionally treated Armenians as dйclassй, Timur's reputation as Turkey's best pilot would have overridden the deficiencies in his background. At base though, Timur was interested in a grander lifestyle than that afforded by a colonel's pay. He had a taste for casinos, beautiful women, and fast cars-vices that required the kind of money Rifat paid. And danger had always exhilarated him. While supersonic aircraft and wargames sharpened that sensational flare of excitement he thrived on, they couldn't compare with the life and death reality of Rifat's outlaw world.
“How long would you say,” Rifat inquired with a chilling smile that often appeared when he oversaw the “interrogation” of the assassins General Evren periodically sent out to kill him, “after the kidnapping before Charles Fersten appears at Egon's demanding he cooperate with us?”
Ceci's smile appeared again. There was gratification in a well-conceived assignment. “Since he flies his own plane at times…” his strong hands slowly aligned themselves across his trim stomach, satisfaction audible in his voice, “a matter of hours I'd say.”
“At which point we no longer have to deal with the erratic Count von Mansfeld. Directives will be given to Egon so he understands once he orders the weapons and blueprints released from his munitions factory, Mr. Fersten will be conveying them to us.”
“Until then, Egon is the weak link.” Ceci grimaced, insensitive to the forms of paranoia motivating Egon's drug use.
“Unfortunately. But once von Mansfeld has the prototypes ordered from his research facility, Mr. Fersten will better suit our purposes. He's seen more than the calibrations on a hypodermic syringe and the inside of Regine's. He's a seasoned athlete and an intelligent, practical man who served in America's war in Asia and survived. Unlike Egon, who's apt to disintegrate at the first sign of stress, we can depend on Charles Fersten to pick up the weapons and deliver them to us… for his daughter's sake.”
“How necessary
Rafit answered in an unhurried tone, as if he were describing an ordinary protocol in an ordinary businessman's schedule. “Only he or his sister the countess are able to order the weapons released. Von Mansfeld Works is, after all, a family-owned business, appearances notwithstanding.” Before his secretary could articulate the obvious question, Shakin straightened from his lounging posture, placed both hands palm down on his malachite desktop, and deliberately said, “
“Very well,” Ceci quietly replied, the matter settled. “I'll leave tomorrow to arrange the safe house while the men come in from the field.”
“Once the girl is abducted, send me a message and I'll see that Egon receives his instructions.”
“While I relay the necessary directions to Mr. Fersten.”
“Precisely.” They could have been discussing the weather, for all the emotion displayed.
Rising abruptly, Ceci stood with his natural military correctness and asked, “Will you be accepting Colonel Jorge's call today, then?”
General Rifat implicitly trusted Ceci's competence. He'd never failed him and, while normally not optimistic, normally a very prudent man who anticipated each possibility of reversal in advance, he uncharacteristically fell in with Ceci's prompting. Glancing briefly at the photos spread before him on the desk, he thought: How convenient. “Yes, today I'm in to the colonel. We're about to add a new legitimacy to our entrepreneurship.”
“Indeed,” Ceci said with a faint curve of his mouth. “Less tainted than the business of paying back other people's debts of vengeance.” Rifat's men were for hire… and to those in the world wishing to remain aloof from terrorism, for an appropriately large gratuity, their conspiracies could be executed, quickly and quietly.
“More respectable,” Rifat pronounced the words with a fastidious inflection, “than brokering the arms passing between belligerents. Although,” he went on with the merest of sighs, “I ask myself occasionally, Ceci, when a rare philosophical mood strikes me, why it's acceptable for some to sell arms and not others?”
“You mean the deceit of defining arms sales as ‘maintaining national security'?”
“That wonderful, benign phrase was what forced the third-world nations into the arms business in self-defense; they were being held hostage to powerful nations' whims of diplomacy. Although the small nations' inroads into arms manufacturing is tolerated, because they don't put enough product on the market to matter.”
“While the large nations maintain the fiction of ‘national security' as a motive because they're selling to
“But if you're an independent broker, you're cutting into some country's profits, so you're criminal.”
“When in fact it's simply an interpretation of whose bottom line is losing money to people like us. And all the noisy rhetoric and byzantine definitions are simply so many words-a smoke screen to hide all the profitable transactions and deceit.”
“Ah, yes, deceit… life's basic ingredient, along with the profit motive.” The general began stacking the photos with swift precision, impatient suddenly with the false righteousness so prevalent in arms sales. “Luckily my brief fits of piety are rare,” he briskly said, looking back up at Ceci. “I look forward, then,” his eyes were devoid of any trace of sentiment, “to confirmation-say in ten days-that the girl is in your hands.”
“Perhaps two weeks. But Minneapolis is a quiet city, insulated by its geography, untouched by terrorist alarm.” Ceci's tone was lazily confident. “The assignment will be without obstruction.”
CHAPTER 23
L ate that night in the warm shambles of the bed, restfully content, Molly and Carey talked. Carey wanted to get married immediately. He had a film scheduled in Australia next, and would be gone a year. He wanted them to go there as a family.
“My business…” Molly said. “A whole year?”
Lounging on his side, he reached out to touch the gentle curve of Molly's waist as she sat beside him. “Get someone to watch it for you.”
She looked at him incredulously. Watch it? Did he think it was a Springer spaniel? “I can't,” she said. The Design Center was her baby, had been her sanity, her passion, her pleasure for six years. And now, this second launching was only coming into its own. He couldn't ask her to simply walk away and leave it, and she told him so.
He stared at her in the soft, illumination of the bedside lamp for one of those long, brooding moments, and then replied, “You're right, Honeybear. That was selfish of me. We'll resolve this somehow.”
And Carrie needed some time to get to know him, she added. Even though he was her natural father, she couldn't abruptly marry a man her daughter had seen for the first time a few hours ago.
He rolled over on his back then, raked his fingers through his hair, and lay, arms stretched above his head, staring at the ceiling. After long moments, he finally spoke, his voice calm, though his eyes were electric, charged with his own special kind of raw energy. “Okay, Honeybear,” he said quietly. “We'll do whatever you want, but I'm marrying you this time. One way or another. You work out the details, the scheduling. Just let me know where and when.” He smiled then, mitigating the intensity of his gaze, softening the harshness of his features. “You're the boss, ma'am, on all the wedding arrangements.”
“If it wasn't for… my employees,” Molly murmured, “not to mention the mortgage payments,” she added in a small apologetic voice, suddenly aware how contrary the tenor of her refusal. “And the Midwest Wholesalers Show scheduled for August, I'd race you to the altar,” she finished in a whisper.
“I know, sweetheart.” His voice was soft, matching the dark splendor of his eyes. “Forgive my impatience, but after ten years-” He sighed, the hard muscles of his stomach rippling in a tiny flurry of movement. “Oh hell… come here.” His large hand circled Molly's wrist, and he tugged gently. “We'll iron out the timetable later.”
He held her in his arms, and she wondered how she'd survived so long without him. Too much had happened too swiftly tonight to unravel all the complexities. It was enough to hold Carey close and know they had a future together; it was enough to simply feel the warm, tangible, blissful security. Molly fell asleep to the slow, steady rhythm of Carey's heart beneath her ear, like a gentle lullaby.
