Reap the Wind

by Iris Johansen

  His eyes closed again, and in another moment he was sleeping soundly.

  Caitlin leaned back in the chair and studied his face.

  His world. Her world. The two seemed to be merging, becoming one. She didn’t know anymore where she belonged. What had seemed clear and absolute in the desolation and anger following her mother’s death now seemed to be fading in and out of focus. She was no longer the naive woman Alex had met when he first came to Vasaro, but she was also not the woman who had stood on the hill looking out over the ruins of Vasaro. She was changing, evolving, becoming . . .

  Merde, she didn’t know what she was becoming. She was a mass of bewildering and conflicting emotions and only God knew what alchemy those emotions would produce when they were resolved.

  But she had found out one unequivocal truth when she saw Alex lying bleeding on the streets of that bazaar, a truth with which she must now face and come to grips.

  17

  “Ferrazo.”

  Ferrazo awoke with a start, his eyes unadapted to the darkness of the hotel room. He had double-locked the door, yet the whisper of sound seemed not to come from the hall but within the room.

  He heard something, a sound, a rustle, a movement.

  Something.

  His hand slid beneath his pillow and closed on the butt of his pistol.

  “Ferrazo.”

  Ferrazo rolled off the bed, hitting the floor hard, his eyes straining to pierce the darkness.

  A shadow to the left of the drapes at the window.

  He got to his knees and crawled around the foot of the bed.

  “You used me, Ferrazo.”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “I hate to be used.”

  The words came not from the window but the opposite corner of the room. How had he gotten over there? Ferrazo swiveled to face the corner.

  No one was there.

  “I think a man should know why he’s going to die.”

  The voice came from the direction of the window again, but there was nothing there, dammit.

  “Die? No way, you son of a bitch.”

  “Alex Karazov is my friend.”

  Keep him talking. He’d get a fix on him soon. “I didn’t mean to take out Karazov. It was a mistake. I was after the Vasaro woman.”

  “But you still used me to find them.”

  Christ, it was only that cocky kid who had led him to Karazov and the woman. Ferrazo felt a rush of relief as he cautiously rose to a half crouch. No danger. He could handle the boy with no problem. There was no way a smart-ass kid could—

  A flashlight flicked on and out of nowhere the heel of Kemal’s hand crashed upward under Ferrazo’s nose with faultless precision, splintering the bones and pushing them backward into his brain.

  He was dead in two seconds.

  “You shouldn’t be out of bed.” Caitlin looked up with a frown from her magazine as she saw Alex standing fully clothed in the doorway of his bedroom. “You know the doctor said bed rest for a week. It’s been only four days.”

  “I’m well enough. I couldn’t stay in that damn bed for another minute.” He wandered toward her across the living room. “What are you reading?”

  “Newsweek. There’s an article about Krakow.”

  “What about the journal?”

  “I’ve already read it four times. I need time to think about it. Kemal brought me an armload of books and magazines from the international bookstore in town.” She watched as Alex bent down to pick up a copy of Paris-Match. The late afternoon sunlight pouring into the room burnished the top layer of his dark hair and revealed the stark white square bandage on his temple. “And you can’t read. That’s against doctor’s orders too.”

  “Nonsense.” He began to gather the magazines into a haphazard pile on the coffee table. “I can’t lie there and vegetate. I’ll just take these and look through them.”

  Caitlin felt a reminiscent pang when she recalled that night in the perfumery when he had looked at her holding an armful of books. It was the only time she had seen him as restless and moody as he obviously was now. “No.” She stood up and took the magazines away from him. “Maybe tomorrow. The doctor will be back tomorrow morning and I’ll ask him if you can do a little reading.”

  He scowled at her. “I have to call Jonathan. That damn machine should have arrived by now.”

  “It did arrive. Kemal brought it from the American Express office two days ago. I had him put it in the study.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I knew you’d be in there setting it up. Now, sit down and I’ll make you a cup of tea.” She moved toward the kitchenette. “And after you drink it, you can go back to bed.”

  “This wound is nothing. In the Spetznez it wouldn’t have warranted more than a half day in bed.”

  “Then they all must have been incredibly stupid.”

  Alex still stood watching her.

  “Will you sit down?” she asked, exasperated. “You’re not playing macho games with your little soldier friends now. You’re supposed to be an intelligent man with a modicum of good sense.”

  A flicker of surprise crossed his face before he smiled grudgingly and dropped down on the easy chair she had indicated.

  “That’s better.” The teakettle began to whistle, and she took it off the flame and made the tea. “Why were you in the Spetznez?”

  “My father wanted it.”

  “I would have thought he’d realize you’d be wasted in the military.”

  He didn’t answer, and when she looked up it was to see him staring at her with narrowed eyes.

  “You’re different,” he said slowly. “You’ve changed.”

  “Have I?” She carried the tea tray around the breakfast bar and to the coffee table. “Why did your father want you to be a soldier?”

  “He had been a soldier all his life. He had no use for anyone in any other profession.” His tone was abstracted as he watched her pour the tea into the two cups. “The edge is gone. You’re not cutting at me.”

  She merely looked at him.

  “Why?”

  “I didn’t realize I was blaming you for Vasaro.”

  “You should have blamed me.”

  She shook her head.

  “A clean slate?”

  “As clean as it can be with all that’s been between us.”

  He picked up his cup, and a silence stretched between them as he sipped his tea. “We’ll have to keep you too busy with the present to remember the past.” He set the cup on the coffee table, leaned back in his chair, and stretched his legs out before him. Alex was suddenly vibrantly alive, his restlessness and moodiness gone and that innate overpowering confidence in full rein—a confidence that made Caitlin uneasy.

  “If you’ve finished your tea,” she said, “you should go back to bed.”

  “In a few minutes.”

  “It’s starting to get dark. I’d better turn on the lights.”

  “Leave them off. It’s not dark yet.”

  No, it was only twilight wrapping the room in intimacy. She leaned back in the shadow.

  The golden light mellowed. “Why the Spetznez?” she asked suddenly.

  “Are we back to that?” He shrugged. “Because it was the elite corps and I wanted my father to be proud of me.”

  “And was he?”

  “Yes, for a while. It was a feather in his cap having a son in the Spetznez. It added to his luster. Then the KGB tapped me and I went to Moscow.” His tone was totally without expression. “In my father’s eyes there was no glory to be had from me any longer, so he severed our connection.”

  “Were you hurt?”

  “I don’t remember. I guess I was hurt and angry at the time. I should have known how it would end. He made it clear when he took me from school what he expected of me.”

  “School?”

  “I was in a state school in Bucharest. My mother died when I was five, but by that time I had demonstrated unusual intellectua
l potential, so they kept me around to show off to the visiting party bureaucrats. Then, when I was sixteen, my father came back to Bucharest and they were forced to give me up to him. He took me back to Russia with him.”

  “Did you want to go with him?”

  “Oh, yes. I had the usual illusions about home and family.”

  “Where did you meet Pavel?”

  “In the Spetznez. We went through training together.” He paused. “I’ll answer all your other questions, but I’d rather not talk about Pavel.”

  “Why?”

  “I cared about him. He was my friend. It’s hard for me to talk about people I care about.” He went on quickly. “I promise, anything else.”

  “You don’t have to answer any of my questions.”

  “Yes, I do. You said I knew everything about you, and that made you vulnerable. I’m trying to be fair.” He smiled faintly. “Now that I’m sure you’re not going to use it to skewer me. What else do you want to know?”

  She shook her head as she rose to her feet. “It’s none of my business.”

  “You asked me once why I defected from Russia. I was tired of being used. I thought in America I’d be able to live my own life.” He grimaced. “It didn’t work out that way. I merely changed one master for another.”

  No wonder Alex believed everyone used everyone else in the real world. From childhood he had been used by parents, schools, governments—and with total ruthlessness. Even she had tried to use him, Caitlin realized. She had been angry with him for manipulating her for his own purpose, but hadn’t she used both his money and intelligence to gain what she wanted for Vasaro?

  She picked up the tray and carried it back to the kitchen. “Go to bed. You don’t have to tell me any more.”

  Alex rose. “If you change your mind, let me know.”

  “I won’t change my mind.”

  He bent and picked up two magazines from the coffee table.

  “No.” She glanced back over her shoulder. “Drop them.”

  He smiled and dropped the magazines. “Just testing.”

  “Kemal is going to come by later. He can play cards with you.”

  “You could play with me now.”

  “No.” He was coming closer with every word, every gesture, and she had to distance herself. Hell, she didn’t even know if what he felt for her wasn’t just a mixture of lust and obligation. “You’ll have to wait for Kemal.”

  He studied her, and she was glad the room was now edged with shadows and he couldn’t see her expression. “I can wait.” His voice was soft as he turned away.

  And she knew he was not talking about waiting for the arrival of Kemal.

  Kemal drew a card and smiled gleefully. “Ah, I’m going to slaughter you again. You might as well fold right now.”

  “I’ll stick it out.” Alex looked down at his hand. “I called McMillan this evening to make sure Ferrazo wouldn’t be around to be a danger to Caitlin any longer.”

  Kemal discarded a deuce of spades. “And how is the charming Mr. McMillan?”

  “Puzzled.”

  “That’s the fate of men of little vision.”

  “The night I was shot, Ferrazo was killed in his hotel room.”

  “Isn’t that what you wanted? Now Caitlin is safe.”

  “McMillan’s man didn’t do it.”

  “No?”

  “I need to find out who did.”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “I don’t like the idea of a new element appearing on the scene.”

  Kemal chuckled and shook his head. “I did it.”

  Alex went still. “You killed Ferrazo?”

  Kemal shrugged. “I was afraid McMillan’s man wouldn’t act quickly enough.”

  Alex studied him shrewdly. “But that wasn’t all.”

  “He used me to get to you,” Kemal said simply. “I hate to be used. I think you are much the same, are you not?”

  Alex was silent a moment. “Yes.” He looked down at his cards again. “You took a lot on yourself. McMillan could have been displeased. He likes to run the show.”

  “It was only an isolated case and will not happen again. I do not like to kill. I have a gentle soul.” He spread out three kings. “Match that.”

  Alex threw in his hand. “Gentle as a tiger.”

  “Only when necessary.” Kemal’s expression was suddenly grave. “None of us are without a touch of the savage. That is why we were given a mind with which to choose. Every day we must make the choice whether to hate or to love, whether to be good or evil.”

  “And which choice do you make?”

  “It depends on what the stakes are. Sometimes we want to be good, but we must compromise.”

  “And was Ferrazo a compromise?”

  “No.” Kemal smiled gently. “No compromise was necessary. He used me and he hurt my friend.”

  “Your friend?”

  “You are my friend,” Kemal said. “Do you not know that?”

  Alex gazed at him without speaking.

  Kemal said, “You don’t have to answer. I know it is difficult for you.”

  “What’s difficult for me?”

  “Trusting anyone enough to call them friend. I have such a problem myself.” Kemal’s black eyes suddenly sparkled with mischief. “Of course, I have the comfort of knowing everyone in the world is eager to have a friend with such remarkable qualities as I possess.”

  “Remarkable isn’t quite the word I’d use.”

  “Fascinating, brilliant, ingenious?”

  “You’re still not quite there.”

  “Handsome, talented, articu—”

  “I can’t stand any more. The air is getting thick in here.”

  “I’m merely being honest.” Kemal sat back in his chair. “But are you being honest with me?”

  “About your remarkable qualities?”

  “No.” Kemal gestured to the deck of cards on the counterpane of the bed. “I’ve won the last three hands. With a photographic memory you should be able to remember what cards have been played. Are you letting me win?”

  “No.” Alex’s gaze slid away and back to the cards. “Memory used to be a wild talent, but I’ve learned to block it.”

  “Why would you want to?”

  “It makes the game more interesting. I’m not that competitive.”

  Kemal sat looking at him, his lips curved in a knowing smile.

  “And besides, it’s the kind of adjustment one makes.” Alex looked up and suddenly smiled as he added quietly, “With a friend.”

  “Wake up, Caitlin.”

  Caitlin sat up in bed, her heart pounding wildly. Lamplight revealed Alex as a solid silhouette in the doorway. “What is it? Ledford?”

  “No. Nothing’s wrong. I couldn’t sleep and decided we need to talk. I want to show you something.”

  She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. “At four-thirty in the morning?”

  “Will you get dressed and come with me?”

  Caitlin wiped the sleep from her eyes. “Can’t we wait? Is it important?”

  “It is to me.”

  Caitlin hesitated for an instant and then tossed aside the covers. “Give me fifteen minutes.”

  Alex turned away from the doorway. “Wear a coat or jacket. It’s not cold, but there’s a nip in the air.”

  “Galatea Bridge? Alex, you got me up in the middle of the night to see the Galatea Bridge? Kemal has already shown it to me. It was one of the first places on his list.”

  “At dawn?”

  “No, it was light.”

  “Most of the tourists come at night, but I think it’s best at dawn.” Alex took her arm and pushed her gently forward. “When the sun comes up, it’s a new beginning . . . like dawn at Vasaro.”

  She stiffened. “I can’t imagine anything less similar than Istanbul and Vasaro.”

  “Now, don’t tense up on me. We’re doing fine.” Alex didn’t look at her as they stopped at the black iron rail and looked
out over the waters of the Golden Horn. “I need to talk to you about Vasaro.”

  “I don’t want to talk about Vasaro.”

  “I know,” Alex said quietly. “And that’s why we have to do it. You’re burying Vasaro before it’s dead. I’ve been in contact with Jacques, and he has enough cuttings and slips from the original flowers to start again.”

  “It will never be the same.”

  “No, it will never be the same.” Alex’s hands reached out and grasped the railing. “But does it have to be? You know I’ve been confused as hell about your attitude about this. You’re a fighter, and it puzzled me that you gave up so easily on Vasaro.” She started to protest, but he forestalled her. “Oh, I know it was a shock, but why didn’t you dig in like Jacques and start again? Then last night I figured it out. It was your mind-set.”

  “Mind-set?”

  He nodded. “I remembered you told me once that you’d known from childhood it was your duty to preserve and guard Vasaro. You’ve always been the guardian of Vasaro, only the caretaker of what past generations have developed and initiated. Through no fault of your own, you failed to guard what they created.” He turned to look at her. “But don’t you see? Now you can become more than a guardian. You can mold Vasaro and shape it to what you want it to be.”

  His tone vibrated with such intensity, Caitlin felt a stirring of answering emotion. “That all sounds very hopeful.”

  “There is hope, Caitlin. We can make Vasaro live again.”

  “We?”

  “I can help you. Let me help you.”

  Caitlin stared at the pencil-slim minarets in the distance. “You may be right about all this, but it’s still too soon for me to grasp it. It hurts too much to think about Vasaro right now.”

  “All right. Forget about Vasaro. Let’s talk about the perfume.”

  She laughed shakily. “My God, don’t you ever give up? The perfume is dead in the water.”

  “I can’t give up,” Alex said. “Not until I make it right.”

  “Alex, we have only a thirteen-month supply of perfume. You can’t launch a perfume if you can’t supply the orders.”

  “The hell we can’t. I’ve been thinking about it.” Alex’s forehead wrinkled with concentration. “If we work it right, we can make Vasaro the premier perfume in the world.”