by Peter Darley
After a few moments, he stood and cast off his pants. He knelt down again and rested his elbows on either side of her, his torso inches above hers.
She cried out as they became as one for the first time. For Brandon, it was a moment of wonder. The tenderness he felt for her was so real, he had difficulty imagining they’d ever been anything other than lovers. The sensation of her body was beyond his most vivid fantasy.
He’d heard of how men usually finished far too early on their first time, but he was determined not to disgrace himself in that way. Control. Stay in control.
For long, exquisite minutes, they drowned in one another’s eyes as he took her breath away with each gentle stroke of his pelvis. It was an agony of ecstasy for him as he was repeatedly forced to slow down and resume, determined to keep going for however long he needed to.
After a seeming eternity of surfing the line between sensual torment and delight, the cabin came alive as they climaxed together. Intensity appeared in her eyes, signaling her release. His own came in time with hers as he joined his mouth to hers.
Eventually, he gently rested beside her. She returned his embrace, capturing his breath with her own.
Belinda held him tightly as they lay together. A tranquil peace filled the room, with the fire blazing beside them, and the snow falling gently outside. She considered how his strength and gentleness had ignited her passions. Her emotions had taken her by surprise. This ran far deeper than what she usually felt when she was with a man. He’d made love to her in a way she’d never known before. She had an empathetic connection with Brandon, a remarkable human being who had come into her life under circumstances so unlikely they seemed almost fated.
“By the way,” she said, breaking the silence. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
Twelve
APB
Brandon and Belinda spent the next four hours walking the cerebral high of taking their relationship to the next level. Eventually, reality began to rear its ugly head. Sitting together in silence, he pondered their earlier discussion about the conspiracy.
Brandon tried to figure out his place in all of the turmoil. He’d always wanted to do the right thing, but he’d never been able to decide whether it was out of honest morality, or rebellion. He remembered despising his father for being an unpleasant authoritarian, who had bullied him into serving an even darker authority. He recalled the times they’d fought over their countless differences of opinion, but he’d never been given the chance to resolve his issues with the man. His father had died of a heart attack leaving Brandon’s own heart filled with resentment, further fueled by a life of being oppressed by others.
Fortunately, he’d had the nurturing, moral guidance of a loving mother who’d taught him right from wrong. His father had treated her with cold, loveless disregard, as though she had been his servant.
Belinda enabled him to analyze his motives in a way he’d never considered before, and the true appeal of doing the right thing. She was alive only because of what he’d done on his own initiative, not under the command of others. She was reliant on him for her survival. It wasn’t a desire to control her in the least. Her need for him gave him a sense of worth and purpose. She validated his existence. In so doing, she held a place in his heart so precious, he would’ve gladly laid down his life for her. It was the feeling she had inspired in him from the outset, but he hadn’t been able to positively identify it. Now he realized, and it gave him a deeper understanding of himself than ever before.
He picked up the TV remote with trepidation. It would all be over by now, and he was stricken with the paranoia that Belinda’s phone call hadn’t worked. After considerable procrastination, he switched the TV on, and flicked through the news channels. It wasn’t long before he discovered the primary news report.
“. . . attack against the Colton Ranch munitions plant in Salt Lake is a mystery.” The female commentator said as she stood against a backdrop of fire.
Brandon’s heart came into his throat at what he saw.
Belinda lurched toward screen. “Oh, my God. Is this it?”
“Yes.”
“An anonymous call to the Salt Lake Tribune preceded the event,” the newscaster continued. “At this time, the reason behind these attacks against government facilities is unknown, and no one has, as yet, claimed responsibility. All personnel at Colton Ranch were liberated in time, but the explosive devices were detonated, nonetheless.”
Brandon’s hand came across his chest in an attempt to still his pounding heart, his relief and sense of freedom from guilt beyond his ability to contain. He watched Belinda chewing her hair as she watched, engrossed. God, I love you.
“I can’t get over it,” she said joyously. “I’ve just saved lives with a mere phone call. I mean, how do you figure that? It’s like . . . I don’t know. The finest moment of my life. It’s the most worthwhile thing I’ve ever done.”
He smiled. He couldn’t forget his fears on the night of the Carringby attack, and the fact that so many lives had been lost. But neither could he deny the rush that had gone through him when he’d glided Belinda off the rooftop.
“What did you mean when you said the attackers were inside the munitions plant?” she said.
“Infiltration. They would have been posing as employees, setting this up for months, otherwise getting in from the outside would have been virtually impossible. It looks like they detonated the explosives from a remote location.”
“It’s believed,” the reporter continued, “that this attack is directly related to the attacks on Carringby Industries in Denver a week ago, and the Everidge Corporation in Dallas five weeks ago. All personnel who died in the Carringby attack have now been identified, and the families of all concerned have been notified.”
Brandon moved across to Belinda and held her as her head bowed, clearly in silent grieving for her deceased colleagues.
“The mystery of Belinda Carolyn Reese, the personal secretary of the late Barton Carringby, who was not found among the dead, deepens further.” Belinda’s college graduation photo appeared on the screen. “One week after she disappeared, the destiny of Ms. Reese has become the subject of numerous internet forums.”
Belinda’s jaw dropped in amazement at seeing her own face on the screen.
Brandon became ashen and his forehead fell into his hands. “Oh, no.”
“What?”
“This is what I was afraid of,” he said ominously. “I have a really bad feeling about this.”
***
Agent Martyn McKay approached Senator Treadwell’s office grasping a folder. He knocked on the door with his usual apprehension.
“Come in.”
“Senator Treadwell?”
The senator didn’t look at him, his attention fixed upon his widescreen television screen. The image of Belinda Reese’s photograph was set in freeze-frame. “What is it?”
“I have the NSA report with the details of where the call to the Salt Lake Tribune originated, as you requested.”
Treadwell turned to his subordinate with a persistently contemptuous demeanor. “And where would that be?”
“Johannesburg, South Africa.”
The senator shook his head, despondently.
“Sir?”
“Is every operative straight out of the academy these days?”
“Sir, I’m not quite sure I follow you.”
Treadwell stood and made a move toward McKay with his usual slow, imposing steps. “None of you have done your homework on this one,” he said angrily. “Drake stole an experimental sat-scrambler phone from the Arlington lab. That call came from nowhere near South Africa.”
“I don’t understand, sir. If Drake is with the terrorists, why would he be trying to stop them?”
“I didn’t say he was with those terrorists. Drake is an interesting boy. Don’t let him fool you.”
“Interesting, sir?”
“He’s young, virile, handsome, appealing to the majority of young ladies, I wo
uld imagine. How would you feel if you were totally innocent in such matters?”
McKay sighed with frustration. It was yet another of Treadwell’s infamous riddles. “I don’t follow you, sir.”
“No, you wouldn’t, would you.” Treadwell gestured to the image on the TV screen. “A beautiful young woman unaccounted for after the Carringby attack, and a young woman’s voice was recorded warning the Salt Lake Tribune.”
“Yes?”
“Try to imagine. Hypothetically, you have no intimate experience with women. Totally alone, you decide to interfere with a well-planned terrorist operation, and in the process, you decide to save a woman’s life.” The senator grinned. “Imagine the boon to your ego and sense of masculinity, knowing she is completely depending on you. Surely, you would now do anything to protect her.”
McKay nodded uncertainly. What Treadwell was saying made perfect sense, but the relevance was still lost on him. “What do you want me to do, sir?”
“If we can’t locate Drake, we must strive to draw him to us.” He moved closer and positioned his nose inches away from McKay’s. “Arrange for a nationwide APB on Belinda Reese. Top priority.”
Thirteen
Goodbyes
Belinda shuddered as she sat astride Brandon. “Just try to relax,” she said breathlessly.
He gazed lovingly upon her passionate expression, consumed by the experience. This time, he wasn’t in control of himself. “I’m tryin’, I’m tryin’.” He gripped her fingers as she moved up and down upon him.
Belinda giggled as she sensed he was about to unleash himself. “You are so beautiful.”
“No, stop.”
“Let go.”
She quivered as Brandon climaxed to the accompaniment of a tormented cry of release.
She looked at him, concerned. “Brandon? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Just a little disappointed.”
“Excuse me?”
“My pride. I wish I could have lasted a little bit longer.”
She quickly succumbed to contented laughter. “Don’t worry, you were great. It takes practice.”
He looked at her as though unconvinced. “But you didn’t . . . you know.”
She stroked his cheek tenderly, realizing his primary concern was still for her well-being. “Sometimes it’s better when I don’t. I feel like I’m still going through it, rather than it being all over.”
She pulled herself off and lay down beside him. He held her as she rested her head on his chest. With his free hand he pulled the sheets over them. Before long, the safety and quietude of the cabin drew them into slumber.
Belinda awoke before dawn to find herself alone. Alarmed, she threw the sheets off, took one of Brandon’s t-shirts from the top of the dresser, and put it on.
She entered the living room and saw him in his robe studying his laptop screen. “What are you doing up at this hour?” she said.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“You’re not watching porn, are you?” she half-teased.
He gave her a sly grin. “I didn’t want to waken you, so I did the next best thing.”
She hadn’t expected that answer, but recovered quickly. “Oh. OK. I don’t really mind.”
He turned the laptop around to show her. “I’m working on something for us.”
She saw an image of snow-covered mountains on the screen, and a promo for what looked like some kind of resort. “Where’s that? Somewhere else in Aspen?”
He shook his head. “Switzerland.”
“Switzerland?” she almost shouted.
“It’s the best place I could think of.”
“For what?”
“We need to get out of the country pretty quick.”
“Wanna tell me what’s on your mind?”
He placed the laptop to one side, moved toward her, and gently rested his palms on her shoulders. “If we stay here, the fun could soon wear off. It’ll be like living in a prison. Every time we do anything, even shop for essentials, we’ll have to be in disguise, and we’re not gonna be able to get away with that forever.”
“Does this have something to do with my picture being all over the TV?”
“Yes. Here’s what I have in mind.” He turned back to the laptop. “If we can make it to Canada, we may be able to get a flight out to Switzerland.”
“OK, but why Canada? And why Switzerland?”
“Take a shower and get dressed,” he said with a grin. “There’s something I want to show you.”
Belinda climbed into the back of the van behind Brandon and waited for him to open the Turbo Swan. After a few moments, the seats folded forward with the electronic motor. He reached into the back and partially unzipped the leather sack. “Take a look.”
She squeezed past him and peered inside, open-jawed at the money. “Wow. Where on earth did you get all that?”
“It was all filtered away by my grandfather from his unscrupulous dealings in the seventies. It’s been hidden away in the basement since he died,” he said.
“Do you know how much is there?”
“One million, two-hundred-thousand dollars. Well, minus a few grand I took out to buy the two vans and for a few living expenses.”
“Oh. My. God.”
“I want to try to get us to Italy,” he said. “Airport security isn’t quite as tight there. We should be able to get fake passports for the right price. We’re fugitives, remember? My plan is to drive the cash through Lombardy and get to a Swiss bank where no questions will be asked.”
She gasped, her voice muffled through her fingers. “Are you serious? We’re really moving to Switzerland?”
He grinned at the excitement she exuded. “It doesn’t take a genius to realize how much you love this place. I figured a Swiss bank account to invest the money, and the perfect place to find another cabin in the snow, would be just what you wanted. But it’ll be a place where we could go out in public more freely.” He then added coyly, “That is, if you’re sure you really wanna do this”
She stood up, her eyes beaming with excitement, and hugged him tightly.
He knew there were risks with what he was planning. He wanted to be with her so passionately, but didn’t relish the idea of endangering her. However, if what he suspected was true, she would be in even greater danger if she was to return to Denver alone.
She crouched low again, glanced back at the sack, and then pointed to the two attaché cases beside it. “What are they?”
“They’re filled with some pretty sophisticated tech I took from the facility I used to work at.”
“Like the stuff you used at Carringby Tower?”
“Yeah. Anyway, we’d better get packing. We’ve got one hell of a long drive ahead of us.”
“Couldn’t we just fly to Canada in the Turbo Swan?” she said. “It’d be a lot faster, surely.”
“Not a chance. We’ve got to look as inconspicuous as possible. We’re gonna be walking on dangerous ground as it is, without drawing attention to ourselves in what looks like a flying Ferrari. I just want to get near the Canadian border and then leave the Turbo Swan someplace where they won’t find it until we’re long gone.”
“Good point,” she said, and followed him back inside. “But how will we get across the border?”
“I’ll rent a car, put the money and our essentials in it, and leave the Turbo Swan and the attaché cases. They’re army property, so the authorities can take it from there.”
Their packing was sparse at best. Belinda had the clothes she’d arrived at the cabin with and the few extras Brandon had bought for her in Aspen. He threw three pairs of jeans into a suitcase, a handful of shirts, tank-tops, bathroom essentials, and a backpack.
All the time he was packing, Brandon second-guessed himself about leaving the government property. He couldn’t shake the feeling that between now and when they arrived at their destination, he was going to find himself in dire need of them.
He took a fresh bowl of fruit, nuts, and
the jar of honey around to the back of the cabin for Snooky. The little bear was already waiting for him. Sadness pierced his heart, along with the feeling he was betraying the only friend he’d had before Belinda came into his life.
His history with the bear flashed before him. It had only been five weeks, but it seemed so long ago since they first met. He remembered how he’d paced the cabin living room for days after he’d cracked the code for the Everidge attack in Dallas. He’d used the sat-scrambler phone to call the corporation on the afternoon before the incident, and pleaded with the CEO’s secretary to believe him. She’d responded with contempt, hostility, and threatened him with the police.
That night, he sat watching the news and learned of the death toll. It had crushed him. The guilt tore at him, rendering him unable to sleep. He tortured himself with the knowledge that he should have intervened personally, and vowed not to take the easy way out the next time. The following morning, at dawn, he’d scaled the ridge harder than ever before, punishing himself for his failure. Upon his return, he’d rested on the bench beneath the kitchen window. That was the first time he saw the bear cub. It had come toward him, lost, alone, and hungry. But it gave him just enough to keep him motivated.
It needed him.
He stroked the creature’s forehead as it ate. “I’m so sorry I’ve got to go, Snooky. I really wish you could understand what I’m saying to you. I have no choice. But I’m really gonna miss you, bud.”
He heard Belinda’s footsteps coming up behind him, but they stopped. He knew she was watching him, although he felt she wanted him to have a last moment with his friend in private.
Snooky looked up into Brandon’s eyes as he petted its brow. He had no idea how saying goodbye to his wild pet would affect him, and fought back his tears. “Who’s gonna take care of you now?”
Finally, he pulled it together and turned away to join Belinda, not daring to look back. The scene had affected her too, as was apparent from her moistened eyes.
