makes kind of a handy perch.”
Nimec had turned to look at her, noticed the swimsuit she’d worn to the beach dangling from a hook on the door. Then he’d noticed that faint sort of blush she would get above her cheekbones.
“Handy,” he’d repeated.
Annie nodded.
“Bet it would be sturdy enough for two,” she’d said. “The shower seat, I mean.”
Nimec had looked at her.
“I know what you mean, Annie,” he’d said. “And I’m getting lots of ideas.”
The color on her cheeks had spread and deepened.
“Me too,” she’d said. “Want to try some of them out together?”
Nimec had nodded that he did, and pulled shut the louvers, and they had spent a long, leisurely while trying out quite a few of their ideas, and coming up with some new ones besides, before finally driving off for a much heartier meal than either had anticipated.
Now, at half past eleven that night, Nimec was in the chair by the bedroom window again, his robe belted around him, wondering what had happened to the blissful guy with his face who’d sat in that spot not too many hours earlier. He’d tried referencing the various thoughts and events that had brought about his calmly untroubled state of mind, but they hadn’t helped him settle back into it. And, most irritatingly, he just couldn’t get any shut- eye.
Filled with tension, Nimec had briefly considered a stroll through the villa’s sculpted gardens, then decided against it — walking without a clear sense of purpose and destination never relaxed him. He thought about taking a swim in the big tiled pool across the grounds, but bumped the notion for similar reasons. The reality was he felt derelict. A splash under the full moon would only compound that feeling and frustrate him with more self- disapproval.
Nimec shifted restlessly, thinking he could use something to help him unwind. Roaming about downstairs yesterday on a minor expedition of discovery, he’d stumbled upon what he supposed was called an entertainment room, with a high-def flat-screen television and a wet bar. The bar had a refrigerator that he’d found stocked with beer, wine, and soft drinks. A beer would go down nicely, he concluded. If all the amenities went to type, there might be satellite TV feeds from the States. The difference in time zones between Trinidad and California made catching a West Coast baseball game a distinct possibility… some late innings, at least. Maybe the Mariners were pounding Oakland tonight. Or better yet, Anaheim. Though, given the injuries they always got from plowing into bases, walls, and opposing players like fools, Nimec figured it might be best leaving the Angels alone to pound on themselves.
He stood in the darknened room, turned from the window, and carried his chair over to the little table nook from which he’d taken it. Then, as he was starting toward the door, he saw Annie sitting up in bed.
Nimec looked at her with mild surprise in the moonlight coming through the parted blinds.
“Didn’t know you were awake,” he said.
She shrugged, leaning against a mound of pillows, her shoulders bare, the covers pulled just above her breasts.
“I haven’t been for very long,” she said in a quiet voice. “You?”
“Awhile,” he said.
Annie was watching him.
“I kind of guessed,” she said. “Can you tell me why?”
Nimec hesitated, produced a breath.
“You know,” he said.
“Work,” she said.
He nodded.
“I’ve been having a great time here, enjoying every minute of it,” he said. And paused. “I love you, Annie.”
She watched him another moment and suddenly chuckled.
“Something funny?” he said.
“Remembering our shower this afternoon,” she said, “I was left with the distinct impression that you might like me some.”
Nimec massaged his chin, feeling a little stupid.
“Is it still Ricci?” Annie said.
“No,” he said. “I promised myself I’d put that away for a while, and I did.”
“So it’s about Megan’s tipster.”
He nodded.
“I’m supposed to be finding out about it,” he said. “And I feel I’m losing time.”
Annie was silent.
“What is it you want to do?” she said.
Nimec rubbed his chin thoughtfully again.
“I want to head over to that main shipping harbor we passed on the way in from the airport,” he said. “And I want to have a look around.”
Annie was silent again, her eyes steady on him. “Go,” she said. “Do what you have to.”
Nimec stood there near the foot of the bed for perhaps a full minute.
“You sure you’re okay with me leaving?” he said at last.
Annie looked at him from where she sat against the headboard, then gave him the slowest of nods.
“As long as you always make sure to come back,” she said.
Out in the garage, Nimec opened the front door of his Mustang loaner, but stopped himself before climbing inside. He’d recalled something Beauchart had told him over their dishes of curry duck and roti at the previous night’s dinner reception.
A thin, hatchet-faced man with a broad expanse of forehead and smoothly combed gray hair, the onetime GIGN chief had, as advance-billed, matched Nimec’s fondness for vintage cars and shown a keen interest in discussing them. He’d also been quick to talk shop about how the expensive vehicles in his fleet were adapted for extreme high security usage.
“The Jankel Rolls you sent to pick us up almost had me fooled,” Nimec had said. “I wouldn’t have known it was armored except for the weight of its door. Then I noticed the flashers, and the extra buttons on the rear consoles, and those speaker covers for the P.A. And I guessed it had a full package.”
Beauchart had nodded.
“For me, retrofitting the older model passenger cars is an enjoyable challenge,” he’d said. “As an enthusiast I don’t want to compromise their luxury and style. Even so, I insist they meet or surpass NATO Level Seven standards of protection.”
“Hard to improve on armor that can stop AP rounds and take the brunt of a mine or grenade blast.”
Again Beauchart had nodded.
“I admit to being a compulsive tinkerer,” he’d said.
“All the work is done at our own armoring plant on the mainland. And with an open-ended budget, which is far too great a temptation.” Beauchart had smiled. “The first question I’ll ask myself about a vehicle is,
‘Would I be at ease having a Forbes Top Ten business leader ride in it?’ Then I ask, ‘What about the American president?’ Last, I ask, ‘What about the bloody
He had eagerly compared notes about specific shielding materials, and Nimec had found his preferences not unlike UpLink’s standard high-sec configuration, a multilayered system of ballistic laminate inserts and flexible nylon floor armor, coupled with steel panels and anti-explosive engine, radiator, and fuel tank wraps. Beauchart had also gone on to mention loading his VIP sedans with options such as automatic fire controls, run-flat tires, hidden ram bumpers… and real-time satellite tracking units with remote door lock and ignition disconnects.
Now Nimec couldn’t help but look at the Mustang and wonder. A sports convertible was too light to be armored without having its balance thrown dangerously out of whack. But there wasn’t much of a trick to putting in
