A Present For Santa

by James Burke

  Four days, two jet flights, and two feeder hops later, the couple arrived at the island. Their first view of it was eye-boggling. They came in from the southeast just before sunset, and it seemed to pop up suddenly on the horizon like a dark green emerald, gleaming and sparkling as the sun's flattened rays lit, shadowed, and bounced off the mountains and trees and sand. As they came closer they could see the town as it spread back into the jungle and along the lagoon from the harbor, pictur­esque but busy with people and various types of vehicles. They made their final approach over the lagoon and the bride was speechless as she looked down from several hundred feet and saw the multicolored coral sea bottom through the crystal clear water. She clutched the groom's arm in delight, and he smiled broadly at her. The airport looked adequate, but they could see why this last hop was handled by that two-engine piston plane of World War Two vintage. The packed crushed­ coral strip looked tiny compared to the major airports they'd visited lately. They swished in over the trees, fast turning dark in the first moments of the short tropical dusk, and then bounded and rolled to a stop in front of the small wood and metal terminal. A small plaque over the main door said "Vera Ti"

  There were only three other passengers on this final hop: a dour, fat Dutchman and his fat and ever-smiling wife, who said their name was Voors, and a young-twentyish, thirtyish, but how can you tell? - Chinese man. Voors said he sold heavy equipment, not further defined, to the plantations; the young Chinese-friendly, loquacious, personable - said he was returning from his studies in Hawaii to assist his uncle in the operation of the town's "best" hotel. His name was Sam Kee, and his English was excellent - he explained he'd lived ten years in Hawaii - and he insisted that his new Italian friends receive the best suite in the hotel at a reduced rate. The Italian couple also spoke excellent English, having lived in the States for several years with their respective parents and later for university schooling. Nobody seemed to think it was unusual that an obviously rich, newly married Italian couple were coming to Vera Ti for part of their honeymoon.

  Dana Kelly, alias Signora Maria Vitali, alias several other names and nationalities, was lounging on a comfortably padded bamboo setee on the lanai of their "deluxe bungalow." Sam Kee had been as good as his word. The bungalows, set out along the white sand beach on either side of the hotel's main building, were positively luxurious, and theirs was undoubtedly the best, being larger and at the end of the row so that their lanai, bounded by the ocean and the shrubbery wall of the hotel, was like a private backyard patio. In fact, it was even better, since they stepped down from it to the soft white sand of their own private beach. Dana was luxuriating in the satin warmth of the tropical night, having showered and slipped on a light beach cover-up. The night was truly out of the travel folders - balmy, star-filled, with an almost full moon sending sparkling lasers thousands and thousands of miles down and across the water until they seemed to be aimed directly at her. The surf slapped gently at the sand a short stone's throw away, and the sound of soft music and the tinkle of glasses and dishes drifted over from the hotel dining room and lounge. There were even occasional giggles, musical and foreign, from the dark area back of the hotel where some of its servants were quartered. It was all fairy-tale stuff; but then, the whole trip had been so. She'd loved it. Every minute. And Pat really had been like a bridegroom: attentive, flattering, always there, al­ ways looking for ways to make the trip more pleasurable for her. He'd hardly left her side day or night. Well, of course, never at night! She smiled pensively, remembering.

  They had left Morley's apartment casually, dressed as if they were going out for a very informal evening, but once in the elevator, everything had changed. He'd cut the power and let it sit between floors while he dumped a grocery sack's contents at their feet.

  "Here, put these on."

  "Good God, overalls. I see why you insisted on slacks. Oh well, I assume this change is necessary?"

  "You'll see, love, the worst is yet to come. Now the cap."

  "I look like a fugitive from a labor crew."

  "That's the idea."

  "I get it. You think somebody's watching for us to leave?"

  "I know they are."

  "And we're gonna walk past 'em like this?"

  "Wrong. We're gonna drive past 'em like this." "In a truck?"

  "Right."

  "Stolen?"

  "Borrowed - or I guess rented's a better word. I greased a palm and there it was. I mean, there it better be."

  Morley had taken a gray-black wig and mustache out of that seemingly bottomless bag, put them on, and restarted the elevator. Out a side door they went, into the building's maintenance garage and into a small truck. He handed her a pipe. "Here, keep this in your mouth - oh God, wipe the lipstick off - and pretend you're smoking it as we leave." He pulled out a fat cigar for himself and mouthed it.

  "Trade ya."

  "Just work on looking good with the pipe, love. The cigar'd make you sick."

  "Wanta bet?"

  "No. Now seriously, the next few minutes will be the most critical part of our trip, honey. Let's make it good."

  Out through the drive and right on the highway. Nobody seemed to be following them as they moved north up the island, Morley watching closely in the rearview mirror. After a mile he pulled into the driveway leading to a nonsecurity high rise, made a turn through the porte cochere, then, shielded from the road, pulled into a parking area. He started to get out. "Short trip. Why'd we need the passport?" she said.

  "Funny. C'mon move, lady, time for jokes later."

  "Okay, okay."

  Morley was already moving away, looking at parked cars. He called. "Here, this is it. "That's what?"

  "Our next steed, my dear." He was standing by a small light-colored car. He opened the hood, reached in, .and came out with a set of keys. "Here, open her up, get in the back, take off that crazy outfit, and sit on the floor."

  Dana did as she'd been directed while Morley got two small suitcases out of the truck bed where they'd been covered by a tarp. Then they were off again. She hadn't been able to follow their route for the next half hour but she knew without seeing that it had involved lots of stops and starts and turns and reverses. When he'd finally told her to crawl over and join him in the front seat, they were pulling into a turnpike toll­ booth. "Okay Patrick, what the hell gives? Enough is enough. Backseat driver, maybe I could be; but back floor rider? Never. C'mon, give!"

  He laughed. "You're cute when you're angry."

  "Yeah? I'm not even angry yet, but I will be if one uncute bastard doesn’t start leveling."

  "Awright, awright. I told you somebody was watching. I didn't want them to follow us."

  "That I figured out, pal. What I'm looking for is reason. Why so sudden? Why so secret? Who's watching? What horrible thing would happen if they did catch us? Those kinds of questions! How about some answers? Whether I like it or not" - her eyes softened -" and I do like it, I'm in this too, for keeps."

  He reached for her hand, got it, squeezed it, and answered. "Okay, you're right. You are in it for keeps and you are entitled to the facts-those I have, anyway."

  "Yeah?"

  "Well, I learned from a friend in my hometown that a snooper was around looking at city hall records about me and it didn't take much of a genius to figure out who and why, or to figure I might be about ready to be grabbed."

  "Grabbed? You're kidding."

  "Wish I were, honey, but I mean it. I don't know, of course, but I sure wouldn’t have bet against it."

  "Hmm. I thought you were just doing some of that, you know, contingency planning, when you got all this passport stuff."

  "Well, I was, really. Then I decided that this was a contingency."

  "When you say 'grabbed', you mean 'grabbed'?"

  "Exactly."

  "And then what? What would they do?"

  "Who knows? Maybe nothing, but then again, maybe something, in fact maybe something drastic."

  "And your angry, cute associate
- what about her?"

  "I hope she'll always be my cute associate, angry or not."

  "C'mon, c'mon.''

  "Well, I have never thought you were in danger, or I'd have played it very differently."

  "Like leaving me back there?"

  "Yeah. Like safe back there somewhere."

  "So?"

  "So this is the last chance to get off the Morley express to oblivion. You stay on, and you go all the way."

  She had giggled in spite of herself, never one to miss a potential double entendre. "My dear, whatever made you think I'd 'go all the way."'

  He patted a tender part and said, "Oh I dunno, just a feeling I had."

  "Watch the road, buster."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Go on."

  "Yes, ma'am. I suppose you want the 'who'?"

  "You suppose right."

  "Well I suppose it's gotta be Conners and company."

  "I figured that, too, but the 'why' still doesn't make much sense to me. I mean why do they insist you're their boy, while you tell me they're wrong? I still don't get it."

  "I can't answer that, love. I mean I would if I knew, but I just don't know. But this I do know - I once helped a guy out and it got a bit more complicated than I'd bargained for. Then Conners's guys came into the act. I think they assumed I was more involved than I was, but as I said before, I really don't blame them for making that assumption."

  "And as I said before, your story is confusing, and, I suspect, intentionally so."

  "I just don't want to overly worry you, love."

  "Sure. Sure. I understand." Her raised eyebrows belied the statement, but Morley was minding his driving and didn't appear to notice. She went on, this time in a lighter vein. "And what now?"

  "Well, we'll tum in this car at Orlando, and -" "Yeah, this car. Where'd it come from?"

  "I arranged to have it waiting there - at that condo."

  "You arranged?"

  "Yeah, thought we might need it."

  "Okay, go on." She was shaking her head in amused bewilderment.

  "We'll take a plane from Orlando to Atlanta, then to L.A., over the pole to London, and points east."

  "Now you're starting to sound like fun. That's all?"

  "Not quite. I still want to confuse anybody who follows us, asking questions at airline counters and so forth."

  "So?"

  "So I want you to wear a little disguise, and we'll take separate flights from Orlando to Atlanta. Then we'll meet in Atlanta and change disguises and identities for the rest of our trip."

  "Disguises? To go with those funny passports you got from Mr. Alvera."

  "Bingo!"

  "And when does this start?" "Before we split up at Orlando."

  "Sure we'll unsplit at Atlanta?"

  "Never been surer, my love."

  And it had worked just that way. She went to Atlanta as Helen Benson of Winter Haven, an attractive but mousy-looking woman with her hair in a severe dark bun. In a ladies’ room at the Atlanta airport she became Señorita Delores Madillo, a very Latin and attractive young lady from Bogota, Columbia. She met her "father", Señor Madillo, at the Delta information desk as arranged, and the two boarded a flight for Los Angeles. The Señor spent the early part of that hop briefing the Señorita on her cover story. She was an apt pupil. Overnight in a motel near the L.A. airport, and then on to London. The Madillos had two fun-filled days and nights covering all or most of the sights, smells, and sensations of London town, then on to Geneva.

  Switzerland had fascinated her from the air, with its white-tipped Alps and its valleys and picturesque chalets and it was even better close up. They breezed through the customs and immigration formalities, and then as she'd been instructed by Pat, she'd gone into the women's room and changed identity. A new wig, this one a modern, long, straight fall of black, her own eyebrows again, heavy eye shadow, and a small foam rubber pad high inside each cheek, and she'd become Maria Vitali, the distaff side of a young Italian honeymoon couple. She joined her "bridegroom," handsome Pasquale Vitali, in the waiting area. Pasquale was about the same height and weight as Señor Madillo, though he appeared a bit taller and more slender but it was the face that was so different. His hair was coal black and cut full like the sideburns. The pencil-thin mustache also made a difference, but Dana couldn't put her finger on what it was that really swung the change. She guessed maybe it was his whole personality. He acted, as well as looked, like a rich, young Italian honeymooner.

  Again they had all the necessary documentation, complete with "evidence" of a honeymoon ski week at a Swiss resort. Dana was finally impressed as well as amused by the "Mickey Mouse" routine of documents, disguises, and such. Had she been more knowledgeable, she'd have been amazed as well. The passports with all the visas were truly works of art. The ID was just as good.

  Shortly after they'd settled into their suite in a Geneva hotel Pat took all the Madillo disguise and documentation materials and went out to dispose of them. He was gone about an hour, returning with his small briefcase and a large smile. She'd spent the intervening time profitably by washing her real hair and then perfecting her Vitali disguise in front of the mirror, but mostly by looking, awestruck, at the view from the windows of their sitting room: the Rhone bubbling and rushing far below as it spilled from the magnificent lake and rushed enroute to its destiny in France against the background of medieval roofs and chimneys of the old town. She was disappointed when he said they'd have to leave the next day, but he explained that Switzerland was the most critical stop on their journey, because if he'd had the materials Conners's people thought he had, it would be logical that he'd have used a Swiss bank for a hiding place, so they'd have their best troops watching here. She wasn't sure she understood, but she agreed anyway. They went on another shopping spree, and when they got back she ripped out a number of the new clothes' labels and replaced them with labels from Milan and Rome that had appeared miraculously, along with a small sewing kit, out of Pat's cornucopian briefcase. Next morning the airport formalities went without a hitch and they were off for the Orient. And so here she was in paradise, the lady from Ventura, luxuriating on a beachfront lanai on her own South Pacific island. She stretched languorously, smiling to herself. Yeah, a gal could sure get used to this life. At least from the little she'd seen of it, she assumed she could.

  Inside the cottage, Morley was standing under the needles of a cool shower. Strangely enough, he too was recalling the excitement and the pleasures of their long journey to Vera Ti. He guessed maybe he'd been the happiest in Geneva - for two reasons. He and Dana had both passed their tests!

  He'd left her that first morning at the hotel and gone to see Lt. Jean Benet at a nearby unmarked government office. He told the receptionist who he was and was immediately led into the Lieutenant's office. He was a severe but good-looking blond man in his late thirties, and he stood to greet Morley. "Signor Vitali, it is indeed a pleasure." His Italian was very good, although heavily French accented.

  "It is my pleasure, Signor. Very kind of you to assist me."

  Benet's severe look slipped slightly as his eyes showed a trace of humor. "But of course, Signor, a good friend of Colonel Stehrli is, how you say, a good friend of mine."

  "Both you and the Colonel are too kind."

  "It is nothing, Signor." Then, the French amenities dispensed with, he had become all business. "The hotel switchboard and the floor concierge are in the charge of two of my trusted men, and I have arranged for the coverage you requested at the airport tomorrow."

  "Excellent! And most appreciated."

  "My pleasure, Signor. When you return to your hotel please contact M. Delon at the service desk on your floor. He will be expecting you, and he will give a report in full." He picked up the phone, speaking quickly in French, and shortly there was a knock on the door and two nicely dressed young men entered.

  Benet stood for the introductions, which he conducted in French, not even raising his eyebrows as Morley responded in
his near-perfect Parisian accent. The young men left and Benet switched back politely to Italian. "They will be available as you wish, Signor, from two hours before your departure time, at the airport. And now, if there is anything else, anything at all, Signor, that I can do to make your stay in our city more pleasant, I am at your service. And, oh yes, here is the package Colonel Stehrli asked me to give you."

  "You have been most kind, sir. There is nothing else. I am most grateful for your generous assistance."

  They had shaken hands and Morley left. He walked down the street still marveling at the ease and efficiency with which Willi had arranged things and chuckling at the savoir faire with which Lieutenant Benet had discussed with the Signor the arrangements for surveillance of the latter's bride. Those French! Even the Swiss version! And so he had returned to his "bride" an hour later, euphoric in the knowledge that she had made no attempt to contact anyone in person, by phone, or by mail, and that no one had contacted her either. He had silently begged her forgiveness, but had known it was a precaution he'd had to take. Switzerland was indeed the critical point in the journey.

  If he'd had any doubt of this, it would have been dispelled the next day at the airport. Some half hour before they left he'd spotted the well-dressed but tough-looking dark man who was so intently inspecting each of the passengers in the departure lounge. He had a magazine in one hand, and every so often he'd open it and look inside for a moment before resuming his scrutiny. He'd looked long and hard at the Vitalis, especially the woman, twice sneaking additional looks at whatever was in that magazine.

  Eventually, he seemed satisfied and resumed his inspection of the other passengers. Morley had signaled with his head and eyes to the two young men he'd met the day before at Benet's office. It had been unnecessary; they'd already zeroed in on the dark man and were moving closer as he left, apparently to visit another departure area. From then on, it had been a breeze.

  Morley came out onto the lanai, hair still wet, clad in a pair of white duck shorts. He walked to the edge of the porch, took a long look at the gorgeous tropical scene, then turned. He murmured, ·almost as if he were thinking aloud. "Beautiful. Spectacular.''