A Present For Santa

by James Burke

  "Did L.L. cool off?"

  "Thank God, no."

  "Okay. And then?"

  "B.B. proposed the exchange and they agreed to go along."

  ''When?''

  "Not set yet. I'd guess about a month."

  "And then?"

  "Then B.B. and L.L. go in peace, never to fight again with the heavies."

  "You really believe B.B. can swing it?"

  "Yes. B.B. has a couple aces up his ying yang that provide a kind of life insurance these guys understand. Still, it's a little dicey."

  "What about little L.L? Do they know she's with B.B.?"

  "Oh sure, they figure she has to be. They may even figure she's waiting for her big moment to help."

  "They're wrong! B.B. knows that, doesn't he?"

  "Of course he does."

  "So meanwhile?"

  "Meanwhile B.B. and L.L. live it up and make love and things like that."

  "Does the story have a happy ending?"

  "Of course. All stories do."

  "Can L.L. help B.B. in any way?"

  "She is, already, just being with him. But on the deal with the heavies? No. No way. B.B. wants her to stay out of sight. Hopefully the heavies won't know exactly where to look or have time to hunt. If she stays low profile they won't see her. He hopes.''

  "So no more secrets."

  "Not really."

  "What's that mean?"

  "There are a few details, but better you don't know them. On my honor they in no way affect you and me, our relationship."

  "Okay. And what is our relationship?"

  "Why Signora, look at your finger."

  "Oh yes, Signor, my rings. I sometimes forget." Then she stopped to look more closely. . She got serious. "They are beautiful, Pat. I just love 'em. I wish they were for real. I mean for me, and that they meant what they should. Oh, crap, you know what I mean. I'm repeating myself."

  "Honey, those are yours, honest. You earned them putting up with me. And if you're good, I'll get you another set, bigger and better, that says Ann and Pat instead of those crazy names.''

  "I’ll be good. Try me." Her eyes were large, unblinking dark pools as she sat up and the flimsy cover-up fell back on both sides. Morley got that old tingly feeling and felt his heart begin to race as his eyes traveled down the smooth, unrestrained satin of the beautiful body he knew so well. She reached for his head, pulling his face toward hers, and said in her soft throaty voice, "And now, my love, where were we be­ fore I so rudely interrupted?" Soft sighs of pleasure blended with the muted rustle and slap of the night surf and the gentle whirring of palm fronds outside the lanai. Soon there were no other sounds in the world. Just those.

  18

  The island was everything they'd dreamed it would be-and more. Days slipped by in a montage of sea, sky, sand, surf, jungle, and mountains. They stayed at the hotel for almost two weeks, letting Sam Kee's very fat and very talented chef try to shape them in his physical image, fighting back with calorie­ burning romps on the hotel's superb beach and its king-sized bed. Morley made a number of moves during this period. He bought a thirty-nine-foot Australian-made ketch with luxurious fittings and an oversized, over powerful inboard engine. He arranged the rental, for sixty days, of a small copra and vanilla plantation about ten miles from town, with a lovely, reasonably modern main villa and its own stretch of beach. And he sent that letter to Conners. Dana, Angela, Maria - he had compromised by calling her "honey" - was ecstatic about the boat, excited about the plantation, and excluded from any specific knowledge of the letter.

  The boat was an integral part of the plan Morley had formulated over the past weeks; in addition, it was the most fabulous toy he'd ever had. Dana/Angela loved it more than he did. He introduced her to deep-sea fishing, skin diving along the reefs, "sailmanship," and she ate it up, every minute. The plantation, too, was part of his plan. It had been arranged by his ubiquitous friend, Sam Kee, who had learned that the French planter-owner was returning to France for three or four months and wanted someone to live there while he was gone. The rent was less than nominal.

  The letter was delivered to Conners nine days after it was mailed, on the fourth of April. Unknown to the addressee, it had been mailed originally to an address in Zurich, where Willi had removed the outer envelope and posted the inner one, unopened, to the States. Conners noted the Swiss posting, but his preoccupation with the contents soon overwhelmed that as a matter of interest. He called Mr. Henry, and as expected, Mr. Henry suggested he fly in from Chicago "tomorrow."

  This time Conners arrived in mid morning. He'd spent the previous afternoon at a Chicago library, and the evening thinking, and he felt he was as ready as he'd ever be for his big chance. This time they had coffee in the old man's study. It was a miserably wet, gloomy day, and the "terrace" looked uninviting. Again the old man read with agonizing slowness, and again Conners sat nervously and watched. Again he remembered the letter's every line. It was dated March 26 and it read:

  Mr. Conners:

  I trust that you and your principals have had sufficient time for reflection and have found my proposal reasonable. I am sure that M. Latellier shares your view. Regarding the redemption of your materials, I must insist that you accept the procedures below.

  On the 25th of April at four P.M. you and M. Latellier will be in the main cocktail lounge of the Maeva Hotel, Papeete, Tahiti, French Polynesia. You will be allowed to bring to Tahiti and to have present at this meeting one other per son of your choosing - a total of three. My representative will meet you there shortly after four P.M. I have decided that M. Latellier must be there in person. It is not that I do not trust you to act as his agent, but for my own protection I must be assured that he is personally convinced of the authenticity of the material he receives and that there is no misunderstanding between us as to what has taken place. The third party on your "team" will serve exactly the same function vis-a-vis M r. Henry.

  You will understand, I am sure, the need for me to have prepared an insurance policy. It is very simple: the last existing copies of all these documents - both yours and M. Latellier' s - are at the moment sealed and safe in the hands of a friend. I f I make a coded phone call on the 25th of M ay these copies will be destroyed unopened by incineration; if I do not make this call they will be mailed on the 26th of M ay to interested and very powerful parties. I am as anxious as you are to avoid the latter contingency. The existence of these copies should neither surprise nor alarm you. I like life, and I realize its continuation will be dependent upon my keeping my part of our bargain. After all, I do have the money already, and am asking nothing additional for the return of the books-the ownership of which is a moot question-simply to assure that we can go our separate ways in peace.

  One last requirement. I must insist that you and your party arrive in Tahiti no earlier than the 24th of April and leave as soon as possible after the exchange on the 25th. I will consider any breach of this requirement a breach of our agreement and act accordingly. The same is true for the three person limit of your party.

  I will look forward to seeing you on the 25th.

  Ciao. Santa

  Mr. Henry finally put the letter down. He just sat there for a while, apparently deep in thought, tapping his fingers on the leather arm of his chair. After a time, he turned to face Conners. His eyes were hard, as hard as Conners had ever seen them. "Our friend, this Santa man, is worse than a smart-ass. I don't think I like him even a little bit." Then he relaxed his face into a near smile. "But you have a final proposal to take care of that for me, do you not, Dennis?"

  "Yes, sir, I do. I have a basic plan but I need some more details, local things, to fill it in. Things I can't get until I arrive in Tahiti - assuming, sir, that you agree I should go."

  "Oh, yes, Dennis, you must go. We have no choice. We must have those books and I see no way of getting them other than playing this Santa man's game. You must go!"

  "Exactly my idea, sir. We must appear to be playing
Santa's game until the final moment."

  "Now after this final moment, Dennis. What about this 'insurance policy' business?"

  "Frankly sir, I don't believe him. I mean the 'insurance policy' business I believe is a bluff."

  "That's a rather significant point. Why do you think so?"

  "I think there's no logical place for Santa to send those documents. Not us, not the Corse, not the U.S. government, not the French government, surely not the Palestinians. So where?"

  "Hmmm. Interesting. But why not Washington?"

  "Sir, Santa is a fugitive in every sense of the word. Why should he make things worse and just get more people looking for him, with no extra monetary gain? And why banish himself from the States forever, at least with all that money. Re­member, sir, we have concluded his motivation has to be greed. There isn't any other motive or plan of action for him that makes sense.''

  "You should have finished the law school, Dennis, you have a persuasive tongue. I am convinced. So what can we do?"

  "I need two men. I have them selected, subject to your approval.''

  "Who are they?"

  "The Professor and a young fellow from Los Angeles named Lee Alakaua."

  "The Samoan kid."

  "Yes sir."

  "And the Professor?"

  "Yes, I have definite reasons for wanting both of them."

  "I’m beginning to get the drift. I think I like it. So you'll be going into Tahiti early, too." The old man nodded knowingly. "Of course, if this Santa man is bluffing on the big matter he's also bluffing on the small ones."

  "Exactly, sir."

  "And why did he choose this place, this Tahiti? So far away."

  "Several reasons I can think of. It's out of our bailiwick, unfamiliar territory to us but not to him. He's part of the scene there by now. I assume he's living around there somewhere, though probably not right on Tahiti - somewhere he can control better.

  The old man interrupted. "What about the girl? Nothing? She could tell us."

  "That's another reason for thinking he's off on some smaller island. You see, she hasn't been able to get word out to us. I'm sure that too was part of his scheme: he's neutralized our operator by cutting off her communications."

  "Have you heard from her at all?"

  "No sir." Conners hesitated a fraction of a moment, then went on. "But that was the arrangement. She was not to risk anything enroute. Now she can't do anything about it."

  "You think she's still with us?"

  Conners spoke quickly and convincingly. 'Tm sure of it, sir, but I'm not sure it'll do us any good. I think Santa is on to her."

  "What will you do with her?"

  "Bring her back."

  "Okay. That'll be interesting. So you and the Professor and the Samoan will arrive early."

  "Yes sir, and we'll make our final plans. Then I'll slip out to 'arrive' with Latellier and the third man."

  ''I've decided to send Savilli."

  "Fine. We'll arrive together - that is, the same day, different planes, and make the meeting."

  "Frankie hasn't said he'd come yet."

  "He will, sir. He has to, to get his papers. And now Santa has removed the last stumbling block. You see, Tahiti is French territory, and you can get there from France without ever touching U.S. territory, so Latellier should have no problem. Even if they knew he was coming, which I can't imagine, the U.S. officials couldn't do anything about it on foreign territory. The British or Australians, or Mexicans, whatever, are not going to antagonize the French by arresting or detaining a French citizen in transit because the U.S. may or may not want to extradite him. Latellier has to come, and now he can do it safely. I suppose, sir, that that is one of the principal reasons Santa selected Tahiti."

  "You've done your homework, Dennis. Yes, I see. And now, about that plan to relieve me of all this trouble?"

  Conners smiled quickly, then began a surprisingly detailed recital of his proposal for the final hours in the life of St. Patrick Morley.

  19

  The rainy season with its sudden torrential downpours, its steamy respites, and its drippingly humid days, had all but passed. The flora on their little island was an eye-bombarding gamut of bright colors, complemented and softened but never overpowered by the ever-present shadings of green. At the moment, the white sand and the aquamarine water contrasted with the naked brown woman standing at the edge of the surf.

  Morley watched as he always did, tirelessly, while she poked at something in the water with a thin driftwood stick. She looked like a native. Her black hair had grown longer and all these days of the beach had given her a deep golden tan all over, unmarred any longer by the lighter shadings of the bikini she had eschewed after the first couple of days. She'd even developed a walk a bit like that of the native girls, with that uniquely Polynesian stride-erect, proud, fluid, and yet very saucily feminine.

  The plantation was comfortable and always interesting, even if there was no work to do at this time of year, when the place practically ran itself. And there were so many fascinating, exotic, and exciting non work things to do that there never seemed to be enough time as the days melted one into the next. They had boated, in the big one, in canoes, in outriggers, and in an ancient motorboat belonging to the plantation. They had fished, day, night, with lines, with spears, with traps, and with nets. They had explored-jungles, rivers, mountains, shores, lagoons, and reefs. They had swum in pools fed by waterfalls; climbed partway up green, then jagged, volcanic peaks; and visited native villages so remote and untouched that they be­ came the curiosity. But most of all, they had talked and laughed and enjoyed being together.

  He looked at her standing there, surf lapping at her knees, queen of a South Sea island in every sense of the word. He watched as she walked slowly toward him, scuffing the sand with her heels as she moved. She'd stayed so slender, and he thought to himself, "she'll always be that way," and then the word "always" caught in his throat. This was their last swim together before he left for Papeete and his rendezvous with the Corporation. Whether he'd return to her or not depended on whether or not he'd guessed right on one hell of a lot of important points and on how badly they wanted to kill him. In any event he was worried about her. He didn't think they'd really bother with her, and he'd made a number of arrangements to provide for her if he had guessed wrong; nevertheless, he was worried for her. "For" was a much better word; he'd long ago quit worrying "about" her.

  She sat down next to him on the grass beach mat, droplets of water still sparkling on her skin. She turned to face him. The face was sad, and he knew what was coming.

  "Don't go! We don't need that damn money," she said. "Just send it to them. I don't trust those people at all. Just stay here with me - we'll never let strangers on our island. Never!" Her cheeks were wet with more than seawater now, belying the smile she was trying to manage.

  Morley put his arm around the brown shoulders, drawing her closer, then kissed the line of her brow. "I know, sweetheart, but it's too late. I passed that corner a long time ago and there's no reverse in the wagon. I only wish I hadn't got you into it."

  "Don't say that. I'm here because I want to be here. I got myself into it, and I've got no regrets. I met you, I love you, I want to be with you - always. It's that simple."

  "I know. I know. But like you say, I don't trust these people either. I'd be happier if you were sitting in Sydney under a phony name.''

  "Instead of Vera Ti under a phony name?"

  "Yeah. I guess." He laughed, and this time she was able to squeeze out a real smile. Then he spoiled it all. "It's been the most wonderful time of my life, and I really don't wish you or I'd been anywhere else for even a minute."

  "Don't say 'it's been wonderful,' dammit! That sounds like good-bye, or it's all over, or something like that, and it isn't. It isn't over. I won't let it be. I know, dammit, I know you'll be back here tomorrow night and it'll be the same again."

  "That's right, honey. Believe it."

  "Y
ou don't sound very convincing."

  "I don't?" He still looked serious. "Maybe it's because I worry too much."

  "About what? Tomorrow? Not beyond that, I hope."

  "Yeah - tomorrow. If tomorrow works out, then the rest of the days should be fine."

  "Not the days, our days."

  "Right. Our days. Yours and mine." "So why worry?"

  "Oh, the usual. You know, 'best laid plans,' and all that. These people are not like your neighborhood grocer, and trust - in either direction - isn't one of their stocks in trade. They like to play with long odds in their favor, and I don't know what they've been doing to promote that situation."

  "But you told me it makes sense for them to take your deal. You said they should jump at it."

  "Yes, it does. Of course it does. But who's to say these hoods are sensible people?"

  "Well, Conners always seemed sensible."

  "Believe me, honey, I hope to God he is sensible. But sometimes even sensible people see things differently if their objectives are different."

  "I’m not sure I like that. You mean they might have objectives other than getting their dough and those papers back?"

  "Something like that, but I've been preparing for just that kind of situation. I just hope I've covered all the loopholes."

  "And what if you haven't?"

  "Then I gotta be quick, believe me."

  "And I can't help you be quick, or sneaky, or anything?"

  "No, hon. I know you could, but I don't want to expose you."

  This did get a smile as she raised her eyebrows and gestured at her totally exposed body. She returned to seriousness quickly. "Where are the papers and everything? Do you have them ready?"

  "They're in Papeete. All ready."

  "Sammy Kee?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "Just you and Sammy against the world?"

  "Not exactly. We've each got a friend, too."

  "Four of you. That's a little better. You said there'd be only three of them."