by Pat Bertram
“I heard Harrison tell the story many times.”
“Well, this guy said that when he was stationed at the hospital, he heard rumors the freak died there. That’s about all he remembered, except that after the war when the hospital closed, one of the doctors stayed behind and opened a clinic in the slums of Manila. Four, five years ago when I was in the Philippines I checked it out. What a shithole.”
“Do you know the doctor’s name?”
“Brewer. I remember because me and my charter joked about it being a better name for a bartender than a doctor.”
Bob leaned forward. “What’s the address of the clinic?”
“I don’t know exactly, but I can draw you a map like I did for Harrison.” He scribbled a few lines on a piece of paper then pushed it across the desk. “Don’t blame me if you wind up dead.”
Chapter 22
The skies were deep gunmetal gray, but it did not rain.
Bob perched on a stone bench in the courtyard, a tablet of 12x18 ready-to-paint canvases steadied in one hand, a brush tipped with forest green acrylic paint in the other. He dabbed paint on the canvas, then cocked his head, listening for Kerry’s return.
Telling himself she was safe—she had to be—he dabbed another bit of green onto the canvas.
Knowing Kerry’s tour would last most of the day, he’d bought the painting supplies as a way of passing the time, but he couldn’t seem to get into it. His depiction of the courtyard seemed lifeless and dis-jointed.
With a forearm, he wiped away the sweat trickling into his eyes and continued to dab color onto the canvas. He had almost finished with his painting when he heard the door bang open, Kerry’s voice call out his name, and the sound of her quick footsteps.
“There you are,” she said, entering the court-yard. “I wish you could have come with me. It was so much fun. I got to see the gold Buddha! It’s nine meters tall—I didn’t realize it would be so big. We also saw the marble temple, Chinatown, and all sorts of fascinating places. We even had lunch at the terrace restaurant at the Oriental Hotel where Somerset Maugham used to stay.” She wrinkled her nose. “You were right about the smog. I’m surprised you don’t have emphysema or something after so many years of living here. All the times I dreamt of having adventures, I never considered that the places might smell terrible. What are you working on?”
She leaned on Bob’s shoulder. “Oh.” She spoke the word in a flat tone. “What happened? It looks like one of those paint-by-number things my grandmother used to do.”
“I tried to stay focused in the present.”
She moved in front of him and put an index finger to her chin as she studied him. “You’re afraid,” she said softly. “You’re afraid if you let go you might get lost in your own picture and not be able to find your way out.”
A denial formed in his mind, but before he could voice it, he realized she was right.
“How do you know so much about people?” he asked.
She smiled, but he thought he detected a hint of sadness in her expression.
“Not people,” she said. “Just you.” Then her smile broadened, and the dancing light returned to her eyes. “Feed me. I’m starving.”
“Do you want to go out?”
“I’ve been out.”
“Room service it is. Let me put away my paints first.”
She gestured to the picture with her chin. “What are you going to do with that?”
He glanced at it with a feeling of distaste. “Paint over it.”
“Good choice. I’m sure Hsiang-li would agree.”
***
They feasted on lemon chicken soup, spinach salad with peanuts and shredded carrots, grilled chicken and shrimp dipped into a sweet-and-sour sauce, stir-fried vegetables, and a coconut and squash custard for desert. To drink they had tead ice: tea that had been frozen then crushed and served in a glass.
Listening to Kerry rhapsodize about the sights she had seen and watching her attack the exotic food with enthusiasm, Bob found himself wondering what his life would be like if he could spend it with her. He pushed the thought away, knowing all he had to offer was an uncertain future filled with unknown dangers, but it left him with a dull ache in the vicinity of his heart.
When they consumed the last of the food, she took his hand. “Tell me.”
Obediently, he repeated everything Donald McCray had said. As he spoke, he saw her eyes grow dark, and the dull ache expanded until it choked him. She might not regret having become involved in his affairs, but he regretted it on her behalf, wishing he could have spared her this knowledge of human perfidy.
“I try and try to figure it out.” She touched her temple. “I understand here that they’re doing all these things you’re telling me about, but I don’t understand it here.” She touched the left side of her chest.
He hunched his shoulders. “I don’t know how to explain it to you.”
Her chin jutted out. “Why? Because I’m just a waitress?”
“No. Because you’re a good person. You care about others. You empathize.”
“And the experimenters don’t?”
“They care about their own interests. They do these things to learn, but more than that, they do them because they can. Human interaction is all about power, and those who have it use it. Power is like money. Everyone wants it. No one ever has enough. And the more one has, the more one needs.”
“Not everyone. I don’t want power. You don’t either, do you?”
“I want the power to live my life without interference, and sometimes I think that’s the hardest thing of all to achieve. If you’re not out there trying to grab power, you’re perceived as weak, and that makes you fair game.”
“It doesn’t make it right.”
“No. It doesn’t.”
“What comes next? Where do we go from here?”
“Tomorrow I have to see Harrison’s lawyer, also stop by O’Riley’s to say goodbye to Hamburger Dan, then we fly to Manila.”
She gave a shiver. “To talk to that doctor.”
He nodded.
She cuddled next to him and said defiantly, “At least we have tonight.”
Twining her arms around his neck, she brought his mouth to hers. The kiss was hard and short, but immediately her lips sought his again.
He gathered her closer. Their kiss deepened.
All at once she pulled away and hopped out of bed. “Omigosh!”
“What?”
“I forgot. I have a present for you.” She flashed an impish smile and darted into the bathroom. She emerged a few minutes later wearing a dark rose cheongsam that accented the swell of her breasts and the taper of her waist. “I bought it in Chinatown. What do you think?”
He couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. She looked flushed, radiant, beautiful.
She jutted out a hip. The side slit parted, giving him a glimpse of shapely leg.
He felt a shock that started in his groin and radiated upward. From the glint in her eyes, he knew she was aware of the effect she had on him.
He slid off the bed and moved toward her, stepping slowly and carefully as if he were in danger of falling off a precipice. As he neared her, he smelled her new perfume—frangipani. From now on, he knew, whenever he caught a whiff of that scent, it would remind him of this moment, of her, of the teasing look in her eyes.
He knelt on one knee in front of her and skimmed his hand along her bare leg. It was as if he had touched fire. Heat surged through him.
He rose. Reverently, his hands moved over her, exploring her breasts, her back, the slope of her shoulders. He could feel the warmth of her through the cool silk.
He kissed the hollow of her throat. She let out a soft gasp, and her back arched. He kissed her breasts, first one, then the other. She trembled. He laid his hands on her hips and drew her closer. She stopped him with a palm on his chest and unbuttoned his shirt. The blood ran faster in his veins.
When he was naked, she wiggled out of the dress and leaned against him. He he
ld her gently, wanting nothing more for the moment than to be close to her, smell her, feel her breath against his skin. She lifted her head, and her mouth took his.
In a single fluid motion, he scooped her up and laid her on the bed, their mouths still locked together. He was aware of hot little jolts sweeping through him, of the feel of her in his arms, then his body became fire, consuming all thought.
***
They lay in each other’s arms, a sheen of perspiration on their bodies. Bob ran his fingers through Kerry’s hair. It was as soft as the silk of her cheongsam.
“This is all so new to me,” he said.
She looked at him with laughing eyes, as if they shared a private joke. “What? Sex?”
“No. Making love. Being in love.”
She grew still.
He touched her cheek with the back of a hand. “I worry about you all the time.”
“My grandmother always said that was the price you had to pay for love.”
“Now you tell me.”
“Anyway, you don’t have to worry. I can take care of myself. I had two brothers, you know.” She leaned close, her lips a whisper from his. “You love me?”
“Very much. I’ve never loved anyone before. I don’t know how to deal with it.”
Her lips brushed his. “I’ve never loved anyone either, not the way I love you.”
His heart seemed to thrust in his throat, beating there with such force he had trouble swallowing. He wanted to remind her of the differences in their ages, of the problems that dogged him, but when he saw the joy reflected in her smile, he held his tongue.
***
“Here, put this on.” Bob held out a brown two-inch-wide belt.
Kerry lifted her shirt and showed him the waistband of her dark cotton slacks. “It’s elastic, see? I don’t need a belt.”
“It’s a money-belt. I got two of them yesterday, one for me and one for you. There’s ninety-five hundred dollars in each of them—”
“Ninety-five hundred dollars?” Her eyes grew round. “In cash?”
“Yes. I would have liked to get more, but that’s all we’re allowed to bring into the United States without having to fill out forms, and in our situation, that can get sticky.”
“What would happen if we brought in more than that and didn’t declare it?”
“Maybe nothing unless we got caught, but since we’re traveling with fake IDs, I’d prefer not to complicate matters. When the problem with ISI goes away, I can have some of my money wired to an account in Colorado or wherever.”
“Just some? Not all?”
“It’s safe where it is.” When she gave him a narrow-eyed look, he laughed. “I don’t seem to be able to keep anything from you. It’s in a private bank in Chinatown. Hsiang-li sponsored me, otherwise I’d have to use the same banks as everyone else, and ISI would probably have found my account by now.”
“Wouldn’t ISI have already traced the bank through your traveler’s checks?”
“My bank doesn’t offer that service. I paid cash for them at another bank that does, and since they don’t know me, that’s a dead end for ISI.”
Becoming aware he still held out the money-belt, he said, “Well, are you going to put it on?”
She took it from him, fastened it around her waist, and smoothed her shirt over it. Turning sideways to look in the mirror, she asked, “Does it make me look fat?”
“I don’t even notice it.”
She gave him a laughing glance. “Aren’t you afraid I’m going to run off with your money?”
“No. In fact, you can have it.”
She looked at him aghast. “I can’t take your money.” Reaching under her shirt, she started to remove the belt.
He put a hand on her arm. “Keep it for now. If we get separated, or if anything happens to me, you’ll need it to get back home.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” she said fiercely.
He nodded as if he agreed and did not mention the sense of foreboding that made his shoulder blades itch.
Chapter 23
They found Bernard Goldman’s office in a glass, steel, and concrete building. It was furnished with towering mahogany shelves full of law books from the United States, Thailand, China, and several others in languages Bob did not recognize. Behind the massive mahogany desk, a window overlooked the Chao Phraya River.
Bob and Kerry perched on uncomfortable seats, while Harrison’s attorney lounged in his well-padded burgundy leather chair.
“You’re a hard man to get hold of,” Goldman said, huffing and puffing and sweating profusely in the air-conditioned room. Though he was heavy, his skin hung loosely as if he had recently lost a lot of weight.
He took a monogrammed handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and mopped his face. “Most people come running when they think there might be an inheritance.” He stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket. “Let’s get to business, shall we?” He seized a thick sheaf of papers and began to read Harrison’s will.
Bob cleared his throat to catch the lawyer’s attention. “A brief summary will be fine.”
“In short, you inherit William Henry Harrison’s estate, but you won’t see a penny for years. Harrison’s will is very extensive—he mentioned more than a hundred people—and you inherit after all the other bequests have been made. As things stand now, by the time everything has been distributed, all that will be left for you are Harrison’s New York brownstone and fu-ture royalties from his books, but—”
Goldman shuffled through the will. “Yes, here it is. Dave and Kalia Marconi have the use of the brown-stone for as long as they are going to school. Since the estate is paying for their tuition, they will probably be going to graduate school, also. So you can see, it will be years before you can sell the place. With the state of the New York housing market, however, when you do sell it, you will be a very rich man.”
Bob closed his eyes. A rich man? Harrison him-self had enriched his life. No amount of money could ever make up for his loss. Besides, he was already rich.
He felt Kerry’s fingers touch his hand. He opened his eyes and smiled at her. She gave him an inquiring glance; he nodded to let her know he felt okay.
Goldman looked from Bob to Kerry. “If we may continue?”
Kerry folded her hands primly in her lap, but her body seemed to vibrate with suppressed excitement.
“Mr. Harrison left you one other bequest, Mr. Stark,” Goldman continued. “Because he gave it to me before he died, there’s no need to wait for probate. Unfortunately, it’s in a safety deposit box in New York. I’ll be there in a few days. Perhaps I could send it to you. Do you have a business card?”
Bob shook his head.
Goldman waved a hand toward the door. “Leave your address with my secretary.” He hunted through the accumulation on his desk, obviously signaling their dismissal.
Bob remained seated. “What did Harrison want me to have?”
Goldman looked up. The expression on his face clearly said, “Are you still here?”
He mopped his brow. “He left you a satchel. He called me from the hospital and told me they were after his papers. He said he made Dave bring them to him for safekeeping. He wanted me to come get them. I was in New York at the time, so I agreed. When I got to the hospital, he gave me the satchel, said it contained notes for his work in progress, and told me to protect it until I could give it to you.
“I don’t imagine it will come as any great surprise when I tell you I tried to talk him into donating the papers to a library or a university. I’m sure you know the papers of such a great man are valuable and not to be treated lightly, but he wanted you to have them. When I asked him why, he said, ‘Because if I ever get well, he will immediately return them to me, and if I don’t, he will know what to do with them.’ Anything else, Mr. Stark?”
Bob shook his head, wondering what Harrison meant. He didn’t expect him to finish writing the book, did he?
Bob left the office and headed f
or the elevator. Realizing Kerry wasn’t with him, he retraced his steps. He found her talking to Goldman’s secretary.
“What was that about?” he asked as they waited for the elevator.
“I gave her my address so the lawyer could send you the satchel. You do want it, don’t you?”
“Yes, but not at any risk to you.”
She held up her palms. “Don’t worry. I didn’t give her the address of the house where I’m staying. When I decided to leave Pete’s Porches, I got a box at one of those mail outlets. I planned to have my mail forwarded there since I didn’t know where I was going to be living and I didn’t trust the cheat to save it for me. I never got around to sending the change of address card to the post office, so no one knows about the box.” She finished the last few words in a rush as the elevator doors opened.
Three people stood in the elevator when they entered. By the time it reached the main floor, four more had joined them. Bob waited until he and Kerry left the building before responding.
“I appreciate your letting me use your address.”
“I wanted to make sure you got Harrison’s papers.” She stopped short and had to run a few steps to catch up to him. “Harrison’s papers! That’s what those guys were looking for at your boardinghouse.”
“You could be right.”
She elbowed him. “‘Could be’? All I get is ‘could be’? No ‘That’s a brilliant deduction, Kerry’? Or what about ‘I don’t know what I’d ever do without you, Kerry’?”
“I don’t know what I’d ever do without you, Kerry,” Bob said.
A blare of horns drowned out the quietly spoken words, but she must have understood because he saw her nod in satisfaction.
A taxi pulled out of traffic and discharged a young couple. Bob and Kerry dashed for the vehicle. Climbing inside, Bob gave the address for O’Riley’s Bar.
***
Bob stood under the green domed canopy, a hand on the brass doorknob. He tried to peer in through the diamond-shaped stained glass window, but all he could see were vague shadows.
“What’s wrong?” Kerry asked.
