Rising Storm

MACAPA, BRAZIL

Vera couldn't resist; she moved up behind the big Austrian where he stood checking gauges in the wheelhouse and ran her hand lightly across his firm buttocks. It went with the warm breeze, the clear blue water, the salty air and diesel oil…

'Can't I help you, Ms. Philmore?' Dieter asked without turning around.

'How did you know it was me?' she asked, sounding mildly surprised.

'I don't think it's something Arnie or Joe would do, ma'am.' She laughed and he continued, 'Besides, I recognized your perfume.'

'I hope you like it, Wulf,' she said, moving around him to look at his face. 'I have it made specially for myself.'

'Very pretty,' he said. She caught a glint of blue from his sidelong glance. 'Very feminine.'

Vera preened. She hadn't made as much progress with him as she'd hoped to, and by the end of next week or sooner they'd be in San Diego. 'I didn't think you'd noticed,' she said with a pout.

He turned to smile at her. 'Of course I did.'

Vera felt her heart flip-flop. Something that happened more rarely now, but was very welcome when it did. It was time to move into high gear.

'I've been meaning to find the time to get acquainted with you,' she said. 'I like to know my crew, since we're under one another's feet all the time. If you're free I'd love for you to have dinner with me tonight.'

Dieter's face showed his surprise when he turned to her. 'I'd be honored.'

What else could he say? He'd wanted to get some time to talk to her alone, see if she was a suitable recruit. He just didn't want things to get… personal.

Unfortunately Vera Philmore was the kind of woman who liked to take things personally. Suddenly, and unusually, von Rossbach had the feeling he was in over his head.

'Eight o'clock, then,' Vera said happily. Then, with an alarmingly direct look, she added, 'Try to be very hungry.'

'Oh, God,' Dieter muttered as she sauntered off.

***

'That was wonderful,' Dieter said. 'Even better than in the crew's galley.'

Vera chuckled and gestured to her maid, who brought her a mahogany box.

Pursing her lips judiciously, Vera chose a cigar, neatly trimmed the end with a cutter she took from the box, and lit it with a candle. She indicated Dieter with a nod of her head and the maid brought the box to him.

'Cuban,' his boss said, exhaling a fragrant cloud of smoke. 'And the best of the best at that. Do you enjoy a good cigar, Wulf?'

'When it's something this special, yes.' Dieter selected and trimmed a cigar for himself. Took a long, deep drag and leaned back, letting the smoke out in a long plume.

The lighting was intimate and the windows wrapped around the seating area at the stern showed a view of a nearly full moon over the ocean.

Vera rose and Dieter stood with her. 'Let's have our brandy in the lounge,' she suggested. 'Why don't you pour, dear?'

Uh-oh. We're up to endearments already. It wasn't that he would object to having sex with her, it was that he thought sex might screw things up. He wanted to recruit Philmore, to use her money to lay by the caches of food and weapons they'd need after Judgment Day, and her influence in high places and her mobility. For this to work right it needed to be a genuine commitment to the cause on her part, not something she was doing for romantic reasons. There were no reasons in the world more likely to cause vicious feelings once the bloom was off the rose.

He brought the brandy to her, pleased that she hadn't asked him to warm it for her. There was a contraption on the bar, but he wasn't in the mood to mess around with something flammable right now. Dieter handed her the balloon goblet and took a seat on the couch opposite.

She gave him a rueful smile and said, 'I know who you are, you know.'

Dieter froze. 'Pardon me?'

Tossing her head back, she giggled like a girl. 'You're Dieter von Rossbach. We have friends in common. Though you've been off the scene for a very long time now. Actually'—she put her drink down on the side table—'I only recall seeing you in the society column or Town & Country. There are several events that we both are supposed to have attended; only… you weren't there. I assure you, I would have noticed if you were.'

She sucked delicately at her cigar, waiting for his reaction, but von Kossbach just sat there, wearing a grim expression, ignoring the brandy in his hand.

'So why,' she continued, 'are you playing deckhand on my little boat?' Vera settled back, taking another puff of her cigar, and watched him through the smoke.

Taking a puff of his own cigar, Dieter regarded her. It was easy to forget that Vera wasn't just a bubbleheaded blonde. She liked to laugh, disdained formality, and had an earthy sense of humor. But she'd also made most of her fortune herself and was utterly independent.

'I wasn't actually ready to talk to you about that,' he admitted. Not least because he wasn't sure how to go about convincing her that what he said was true.

'Well, I am.' Vera shrugged and looked away. 'You're hardly the first good-looking guy to get aboard my yacht under an assumed name. You're just the first one that was rich. You could have your own yacht, you could have your own deckhands, you don't have to be one. So. What's your story, von Rossbach?'

'What do you think it is?' he countered.

She tapped her cigar into a crystal ashtray, watching the rich ash flake off as she spoke. 'Well, I think that you want to sneak into the U.S., and for some reason you expect to be stopped at the border.' She looked up at him, smiling. 'How'd I do?'

He pulled the corners of his mouth down and shrugged.

'You're dead on, Vera. I have to admit I'm impressed.'

'I had Arnie check your stuff, so I know you're not carrying contraband. And I may be kidding myself, but I don't think any of my regular guys is being your mule. So, why do you need to go sneaking around. Can we get to the point here?'

'Well, here's the problem.' He paused, wincing. 'My story is so unbelievable I'm kind of afraid you'll throw me overboard when I'm through.'

'Oh, don't worry, honey,' she assured him. 'If I don't like your story, Mexico beckons.' She took a sip of her brandy. 'Start talking. Where were you all those years we were supposed to be partying together?'

'I was doing something else.' Dieter began to unbutton his shirt and Vera's eyebrows shot up, her eyes widening and a little smile unconsciously curving her lips.

When he slipped off his shirt the first thing she noticed was how muscular his torso was, although not quite the standard gym-muscleman type. More functional, graceful despite its thick-muscled solidity. A thrill shot through her

as she wondered if he meant to seduce her.

Then she saw the scars.

'Ho-ly shit!' she whispered. 'What the hell happened to you?'

Dieter smiled; he couldn't help but be pleased by her reaction. In a distant corner of his mind he wondered how Sarah would react. 'This one'—he pointed to what looked like a second navel placed four inches to the side of his real one

—'is a bullet wound. I got that in Beirut. This'—his finger touched a crescent-shaped scar on his arm—'was a knife, one of those curved Arab jobs. Here'—he finally got to the one that really intrigued her—'is where a guy named Abdul el-Rahman tried to carve his initials. I killed him before he could finish. Sometimes these guys get so involved they forget they're not immortal.'