Infiltrator

Sarah and John had been a bit uneasy about going unarmed, but Dieter convinced them that he could get anything they needed with very little effort.

For that matter, Sarah knew, so could she. So they'd left their arsenal locked in the car. If for any reason the car was investigated they'd stripped it of any identifying marks and used a false name when they brought it in to park.

Dieter spotted a restaurant up ahead as they walked through the concourse.

'Wait for me there, I'll get the tickets.'

Sarah nodded and asked, 'Shouldn't we make hotel arrangements, or something?'

'Not a problem,' von Rossbach said. 'We'll be staying with someone I know.

He's done money laundering for some pretty nasty characters. I've stayed with him before and I know that he'll cooperate enthusiastically without asking any embarrassing questions.'

'Yeah,' John said, 'when you've got 'em by the balls their hearts and minds follow right along.'

'You are wise beyond your years, John,' Dieter said with a grin.

'Hey I'm old beyond my years according to my passport,' John said. 'That's got to have an effect.'

Sarah smiled at him. 'C'mon,' she said nodding towards the restaurant. 'Do you want us to order for you?' she asked Dieter.

He shook his head. 'I don't know how long I'll be. Airport food is bad enough without being cold airport food.'

He moved off and Sarah and John entered the restaurant. She watched him through the glass until he moved out of sight. This was costing a fortune and so far von Rossbach had paid for it all. She'd let him because it was easier. He seemed to want to do it and it meant that she and John weren't leaving a trail of false credit cards and counterfeit cash.

Once upon a time she wouldn't have cared, she'd have used von Rossbach as a resource right to the limit of what he'd allow, and then pushed for more without a second thought. But her years as sweet, innocent Suzanne Krieger had taken their toll. Now indebtedness made her uneasy. Besides, she was—almost—

getting to like him a little. Or at least I'm getting closer to ambivalent, she

thought wearily.

The waitress seated them, gave them menus, and left them alone. Sarah looked around, automatically checking exits, while John read the menu.

'How do we get out of here in an emergency?' she asked, mildly annoyed by his apparent obliviousness.

John pointed without looking up. Sarah turned and noted an exit she hadn't seen and turned back to him, smiling.

'You're a good teacher, Mom,' he said. 'Give yourself some credit.'

She snorted. 'Sorry. It's been a while since we were on the road like this.'

'Hey, Mom, compared to the way we've been on the road this is first class. For starters, Dieter isn't going to fink on us to the cops, kill us for our wallets, or try to sell us both to a white slaver. I could get used to this.'

'Don't,' she warned. 'Things could change at any second.'

He made a face. 'Burger,' he said, closing the menu. 'And fries. It's traditional.'

Sarah smiled tiredly; that it was, even here. International airport food existed in a multinational Twilight Zone where difference was abolished.

'I'm going for something more substantial,' she said. 'Who knows when we'll eat again.'

They decided to order drinks and to wait for Dieter before ordering. Sarah sipped

her coffee tiredly and watched her son. John was staring off into space, chin on his hand. His index finger tapping out a beat.

Sarah smiled slowly. No doubt he was remembering a certain rather lush Brazilian girl in a painted-on red dress he'd danced with the other night. It had been at least an hour of normal adolescence. She had been, ahem, very modern in her manner, so much so that Sarah had thought she might be a pro. But the girl had devoted most of her evening to John, who clearly had no idea of the possibility.

Sarah's heart suddenly filled with remorse and she took another sip of her coffee to suppress a sigh that would have come out more of a sob. It's so damn unfair!

she thought. He doesn't even get to have part of a normal childhood. No first girlfriend, no gentle, easy segue into an adult relationship. Will he ever have anyone? she wondered. Will he ever get to rest?

'Here he comes,' John said.

Dieter entered the restaurant a moment later.

'What time does this place close?' he asked as he sat down and picked up the menu.

Sarah shrugged. The waitress came to take their order and then left them.

'The last flight is at ten,' Dieter said. It was eight-thirty now. 'So, if this place stays open we can have a nice leisurely meal.'

'What time will we get there?' Sarah asked.

'By the time we get through customs, it will be well after midnight eastern standard,' he said. 'All the better for getting cooperation from my 'friend.' '

'It'll be good to stop traveling,' John said. 'I've got this weird feeling that I'm still moving.'

GEORGETOWN, GRAND CAYMAN: THE PRESENT

Maybe it was the lateness of the hour, maybe it was the easy island way, or it might have been Gilberto's excellent workmanship, but they were waved through customs with only a few cursory questions. There were still a few cabs waiting outside despite the lateness of the hour, the cabbies leaning against their vehicles and talking in the soft Island patois beneath the dry rubbing of the palms.

Their driver dropped them off in front of a darkened modern-style house outside of Georgetown. There was a wrought-iron gate, but no lock. As he drove off, Sarah asked, 'What if he's not home?'

'Then we break in,' Dieter said. He hoisted his bag and headed for the house.

Sarah and John shared a look, shrugged as one, and followed him.

'Hold on, hold on! I'm coming already!'

Jackson Skye thundered down the stairs in his underwear, yanking on a silk bathrobe that had twisted itself into some kind of knot. It never crossed his mind that it might not be safe to pull open his front door at this time of night.

Georgetown was one of the safest towns in the world. Criminals came to the Cayman Islands, but they came to do banking business, not to burgle homes in

the middle of the night. In fact, they tended to be ferociously intolerant of ordinary crime. The native islanders felt the same way.

What did occur to him was that' he was going to clobber the asshole who was holding down his doorbell like that.

'WHAT?' he bellowed, and then almost swallowed his tongue. 'Von Rossbach,'

Skye said, eyeing the big man nervously. Still the same old slab of beef, no fat blurring the outline of the hard muscles. 'W-what are you doing here?'

Dieter gave him an affable smile. 'I've come to stay for a few days,' he said, moving slowly into the foyer, and moving Jackson back, step-by-step. 'I have some research to do and I can use your help.'

Skye's mouth dropped open. 'Naw,' he said desperately. 'I can't, man!'

'Shhh.' Dieter raised a calming hand.

'No, seriously! Y'know how volatile the market's been lately—'

'Shhh,' von Rossbach continued, smiling.

'But, Dieter, if you take me off-line to do your research I could lose millions.'

'Jackson'—Dieter put his hand on the man's shoulder—'you know that you can always do what you have to do. And you have to do this. We had a deal, remember?'

Skye remembered. And a deal with the devil it was turning out to be.