Nick Nolan

by Double Bound (Sequel To Strings)

  "Comin' right up."

  "Arthur?"

  He stopped.

  "I am doing the right thing, am I not?"

  She looked worried, and it made him feel unsteady. "I'd die myself before I let anything happen to him or Carlo," he told her in his most reassuring voice. "You can count on that."

  Chapter 11

  The location is magnificent! " she exclaimed as her eyes swept over the array of oversized glossy photographs displayed on the easels. Then she focused on the elaborate architectural model consuming the immense conference table in the center of the room. "And the resort--it looks simply amazing!"

  Arthur had to agree; the pictures of the croissant-shaped island revealed a verdant paradise. The western side, where the triple resorts would stand, showed ivory-sand beaches and rocky hillsides with meandering streams and waterfalls, while the east end was covered with a dense rainforest. At the northern and southern tips the island curled toward its center to form a nearly symmetrical bay, in which guests would enjoy sailing and riding Jet Skis, water skiing or snorkeling, and in the center of the island a great rock rose up, like a huge potato set on end.

  "Castle Mountain is where we're building the condominiums," Mr. Flores, the lead designer, told them. "They'll encircle the peak--like a crown. You can see it over here." He motioned to the miniature resort on the table and picked up a section laid off to the side that was the size of a chef's mold for a gelatin ring. This he placed onto the apex of the plaster hill.

  It fit snugly, like a headband.

  "What about the other side," Jeremy asked, "where the rainforest is?"

  "The vegetation there is extremely dense, and much will be cleared for the bigger airport and the fuel tanks," Flores explained. "We need at least three thousand feet of runway to accommodate the blended-wing aircrafts that CanAire has ordered for its flights to the resort, because this newest design is the strongest and most fuel-efficient aircraft ever built. And the safest."

  "Can you tell us more about the differing theme of each resort?" Katharine asked.

  "I was just getting to that. The most economical complex will be the Amazonia; it's modeled after the Hawaiian resorts of the 1960s, with vintage bamboo décor and pools like lagoons. It'll also have luaus and Polynesian shows, palapa roofs and staff dressed in tropical wear. The midrange resort, Espanha, will carry the flavor of fine hotels on the Mexican Riviera and the Costa Brava in Spain, with cobblestone streets and tiled-roof townhomes, and open-air restaurants with strolling vendors and trios. our research indicates that these two themes are the most preferred by Western travelers."

  "And what about the more sophisticated guest?" she asked.

  "Our luxury-class resort will echo the amazing architecture of Brasilia, as we've been fortunate enough to secure, as head architect, one of Oscar Niemeyer's former apprentices. Brasiliana has the quiet sophistication of a classic midcentury utopia, and its lush setting will make it a favorite with jet-setters from around the world."

  Arthur saw that Katharine was beaming.

  "I love it," she declared. "It reminds me of the glory days of Disneyland, before they obliterated its charm."

  "It does kind of remind me of Adventureland, New Orleans Square and Tomorrowland," Arthur added.

  "Exactly," Mr. Flores agreed. "It's the same formula used by the hoteliers in Las Vegas, because different resort themes attract a wider range of visitors. Which leads us to the casinos--each resort will have three."

  "Why three?" Arthur asked.

  "Because gamblers are superstitious, and three is lucky. And if someone feels they are having bad luck at one casino, they'll have two more to try before their vacation ends."

  "Something for everybody, and as safe as a bank vault," Katharine noted happily.

  "I cannot see it failing!"

  "But how do you make an island safe?" Jeremy blurted. "I mean, couldn't anyone just drive up in a boat and blow everything up?"

  Flores smiled. "That is a concern, young man, but think of the ocean surrounding the island as the ultimate buffer zone. And with the technology we have in place--

  above and underwater radar, motion sensors, infrared cameras, twenty-four-hour surveillance on all fronts-- we could count the fish in the sea if we needed to. And we'll have our own security force, as well as a fleet of guard boats; it'll be small but extremely efficient...and very deadly if the need arises. We call this extremely comprehensive system the world's first twenty -five-hour security."

  "But won't that freak people out, seeing guys with guns everywhere?" asked Jeremy.

  "They won't be detected by the visitors. no one will even know when a guard is standing next to them."

  Arthur smiled. Clearly, they had been studying the cloaking methodology of the FBI. But then a disturbing thought occurred to him. "If this resort is being billed as having 'guaranteed security,' won't that just serve as a challenge to every antiAmerican militia group and professional thief in the world?"

  "Of course," Katharine agreed. "We understand that we're taunting a pack of hyenas with a very large slab of zebra."

  "And you've prepared for an air attack, I hope?" Arthur asked.

  "We've arranged with the Brazilian government to have a nofly zone around the island, and we've partnered with the Força Aérea Brasileira--the Brazilian Air Force--and its new fleet of Northrop F5EMs to handle that end of the security; there's no feasible way for even this very wealthy investment consortium to provide air patrols, especially over international waters."

  "It sounds as though you've thought of everything," said Katharine. "Do you have the latest round of paperwork ready for us, with the changes we've discussed?"

  "Not quite yet. We're still gathering documents and estimates for the additional building materials and contractors' bids, but we'll have it ready for you before your party leaves."

  "That's good," she replied, "because I'd like as much time as possible to examine them."

  "You should have them by the close of business tomorrow. And now, if you don't have any further questions, I have a videoconference with Dom Fabiano in a few minutes, so I need to gather my files."

  She held out her hand. "Thank you, Mr. Flores, for doing such an excellent job. I must say that I am as pleased about your firm's designs as I am excited about this project moving forward."

  He shook her hand, and then shook Arthur's and finally Jeremy's. "What you're doing here is providing something that's missing from today's world: absolute safety and security, combined with freedom, fun and luxury. The world will be clamoring to spend its money with you."

  Jeremy and Arthur exchanged wide-eyed glances.

  * * *

  "I don't know," said Arthur as the elevator doors closed them in. "The first thing I learned in the bureau is there's no system that can't be hacked."

  Jeremy nodded. "I think it sounds too good to be true."

  "Nonsense," said Katharine as the elevator began descending. "I may be ignorant when it comes to some things, but this project looks to me as though we have a winner on our hands. It'll be...our own little Masada."

  "What's a Masada?" Jeremy asked.

  Arthur cringed. "It was an 'impenetrable' fortress on the top of a high mountain, where the Jews kept the Roman army at bay during, I think it was, the first Jewish-Roman war."

  "So they--the Jews, I mean--won?" Jeremy asked, then reached for the handrail as the elevator's descent ended and the door dinged off-key.

  "No, the Romans did," Arthur said, watching the twin doors slide apart.

  "I'd forgotten about that," Katharine admitted. "But as I recall now, the Jews still triumphed... by default."

  Arthur humphed. "I guess you could say that."

  "What do you mean?" Jeremy asked as they made their way across the lobby.

  "The Jews killed themselves instead of becoming enslaved by the Romans," Arthur said, pushing open the glass door. "Actually, they killed one another, because suicide was against Jewish law."

 
"Yikes," said Jeremy.

  "Well, our Masada will be different," Katharine suggested as she jingled her keys.

  "How?" the men asked.

  "Because this time, it'll be the Romans who are inside the fort."

  Chapter 12

  "What'm I supposed to pack?" Carlo asked, staring at his deflated suitcase on the floor. "I mean, the weather there is supposed to be incredibly humid, but then we're supposed to have some kind o f business meetings, too."

  "Take your funeral suit and those new black shoes," Carmen answered, pointing into his closet, "and then just take stuff you're comfortable in... shorts, T-shirts, chanklas. How long are you gonna be gone, again?"

  "A few days, maybe a week at the most. Jeremy doesn't really know." He pulled a heap of clean laundry from the blue plastic basket on the chair beside his bed and began folding his clothes and stacking them in piles. "It all depends on how things go there, and whether or not Jeremy and Sergeant Arthur are happy with the progress."

  "Have you seen any pictures of this place?"

  "No. Jeremy says it looks a lot like Hawaii--but not as modern."

  "Are you really gonna have time to look for Babalu?" she asked.

  "God, I'd forgotten about his nickname." He laughed. "Where'd that come from?"

  She shrugged. "Maybe he played the bongos, like in the I Love Lucy show. But that's what I remember him as--Babalu, not Afonso. Were you old enough to remember him visiting us?"

  "No. Kind of. It's like I have this fuzzy picture in my head of him. All I remember is that he was really nice to me--he must've been in his twenties or something when they came here."

  "That sounds about right." She nodded. "So now he'd be about forty or so, huh?"

  "I guess."

  "He might be hard to find, mijo. Should you even try to look for him?"

  He stopped folding and looked at her. "When are any of us ever gonna be down there again? I feel bad about someone in our family being down there. He lives in one of those nasty favelas, and those are dangerous."

  "Then you shouldn't go," she told him. "What's the point?"

  "Because he's our cousin and he's gay and sick, so he probably needs help. It's not like they have Medi-Cal to help people like him." He picked up a pair of jeans, considered them, then put them aside. "I know you don't want me to try and find him, but just think: How'd you feel if we had a female cousin down there dying of breast cancer? Wouldn't you want to help?"

  "You can't catch breast cancer," she said. "A long time ago, before my mom died, I overheard her telling my dad he's a puto."

  "Well, maybe I'd be one, too, if I had to live there. The poor guy, I mean...if you're gay and poor, what kind of life is there for you down there?"

  "Probably a better one than if you're gay and sick," she said. "It's not like twenty years ago when people didn't know as much about sexually transmitted diseases.

  He should've been more careful."

  "You sound like Mom right now," he told her, then resumed his folding. "And you don't even know what he's sick with. You're assuming a lot."

  "Do you even know what he looks like?"

  "I'm bringing the only picture"--he bent over and dug into the pocket of his suitcase--"we have of him, but it's from a long time ago." He handed her a dog-eared photograph whose colors had faded into various shades of orange and green.

  "He's guapo," she said. "Or at least he used to be." She turned the photo slightly, to catch the light better. "He looks a little like you."

  Carlo leaned over to examine the picture. "I guess." He took it from her and tucked it back into his suitcase. "So how do you think you're gonna help?"

  "Any way we can. Do you like this with my suit?" he asked, holding up a black long-sleeve shirt.

  She wrinkled her nose. "Too gangster-ish. Wear a white one--and don't forget a tie.

  So how're things with your man?"

  He grinned. "Great."

  "You guys had fun in Hawaii?"

  "Oh, my God," he began, sitting down on the edge of the bed, "we had the best time--went to parties and bars and the beach and stayed in this gorgeous high-rise suite right on Waikiki. And the sex?" He rubbed his face. "My lips are still numb."

  "Now who's the puto? " She laughed, then sat down next to him. "So how do you feel about having Arthur come along?"

  "It's OK." He shrugged. "Actually, I feel safer--like having a big gay G.I. Joe around."

  "Not jealous?"

  "What should I be jealous about?" He pushed some folded shorts inside the bag.

  "He's hot, Carlito, and I've seen the way he looks at Jeremy."

  He shook his head. "He's old, Carmen. Old enough to be his dad-- and they have this really cute father-son thing going; they totally adore each other that way.

  Arthur's probably the one thing I don't have to worry about on this trip."

  "I don't know, mijo. If I were you, I'd watch that white boy. He's a beauty, and he's rich."

  "Are you saying I should be worried about Arthur, or about other guys, too?"

  She threw an arm around his shoulder. "I don't know what I'm talking about, baby brother." She kissed him on the cheek. "Any guy would be so lucky to be with you.

  I'm sure Jeremy knows that."

  He leaned into her and put his hand on her knee. "Carmen, if he's gonna cheat on me, there's nothing I can do about it. He's a great guy and we love each other, but there's still gonna be some shit up the road for us, just like for everyone. You know?"

  "I just don't want to see you hurt, Carlito." She held out her arms, and they hugged.

  "You've been through a whole lot."

  He smiled. "I know. I don't want to get hurt, either. All I know is that when you love each other, you make it work."

  "You're absolutely right, mijo." She squeezed his hands. "But still, I want you to be careful."

  Chapter 13

  Dinnertime was still about two hours away, and within the last hour, a bank of fog had begun swirling its smoky tendrils onshore, so he resigned himself to his exhaustion and decided to nap.

  He'd just shucked most of his clothes, slid beneath the covers and hugged his pillow under his cheek when he heard a familiar rhythmic tapping on his door.

  Jeremy.

  "Just a minute." He swung his legs over the side of his bed, then wriggled into his jeans and pulled a sweatshirt over his T-shirt. Then he opened the door. "Hi."

  "You busy?" he asked.

  "Nope." He smiled in spite of his fatigue; he hadn't slept more than four hours each night for the past week. "Just gettin' some rest. What's up?"

  "Should I come back?"

  "It's OK. I can sleep on the plane tomorrow." He opened the door wider and threw a nod toward the veranda. "It's all cool and foggy right now--almost like fall.

  Wanna sit outside?"

  "Sure." Jeremy made his way across the room toward the balcony, while Arthur threw his door open wider; he didn't want Katharine marching by and thinking he was up to anything unseemly with her darling nephew.

  They each took a chair by the round table, whose glass top was now slick with mist. Arthur sat back, while Jeremy leaned forward, his eyes shifting nervously.

  "Everything OK?" Arthur asked.

  "Yeah, I guess so."

  "So what's on your mind?"

  Jeremy settled back into his chair. "It's Carlo," he said, grimacing. "We're having some troubles."

  "Hmm. like what?"

  "It's like he wants different things than I do," Jeremy told him as he rubbed the crease between his eyebrows. "I mean, I still love him and everything, but he's starting to bug me. It's all about what he wants sometimes, and he doesn't really care about what I want. And he gets all bossy, like Katharine."

  Arthur chuckled. "That's probably the biggest problem in any relationship, Jeremy.

  Finding, and then balancing, conflicting desires is an art that few couples ever master."

  "I know, and we've talked about it, and it gets better--he does try. Reall
y he does."

  Arthur saw that Jeremy was shivering. "Sorry to interrupt, but you look cold. Want something to wear?"

  He nodded.

  He pulled off his sweatshirt and handed it over.

  "But you'll be cold."

  "I run hot. Don't worry."

  He pulled on the sleeves, then pushed his head up through the opening. "It smells like you," he said, grinning.

  "Sorry about that. So you were saying?"

  "There's something more," he said, his knees jiggling.

  "Would it make you feel better to tell me?" Arthur asked blithely, although he was dying to know.

  "Think so."

  "I'm all ears," he said, then waited for Jeremy to speak. But instead of continuing, the young man only looked out toward the ocean, and appeared to be assessing the pervasive gray gloom beyond the railing as if it were some complex math problem.

  "It's other guys," he muttered finally.

  "You're worried about your feelings for other guys?" Arthur laughed. "Baby, that's the most natural thing in the world. Everyone gets attracted to people other than who they're with. It's human nature."

  "I know that," he said. "But it's more than that sometimes."

  "How?"

  "He's not as much of a guy as I'd like, and he complains a lot." He paused. "It's like he's more bitch than butch."

  "Very clever." Arthur chuckled. "Just try to remember that everyone takes the bad with the good. Nobody gets to marry their ideal--it just doesn't exist."

  "I know, I know. And that's what I've been trying to tell myself, even from the beginning."

  "But then you got over that pretty quickly, if I remember." Jeremy shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at him. "But then, it's like maybe I'm not as in love with him anymore."

  "And why," he asked gently, "do you think that is?"

  "It's like...he wants to spend all his time with me, and sometimes I want to do things with other guys, you know? And he doesn't really have any other friends, so now it's like I'm his whole life and I'm only eighteen and he's just too needy."