“Doctor? There’s a Dr. Gandahar here to see you. Shall I show
him in?”
Quest looked up from his computer notepad and smiled gently
at his assistant. “Show her in, would you Jenny?”
“It’s a gentleman who’s come to see you, sir. Were you
expecting a woman? Shall I call Security?”
His smile deepened to a grin. Those original, paranoid security
protocols, put in place so long ago, instructed them to call
Security at any discrepancy, no matter how minor. It gave him a
secret thrill to ignore them at whim now. “No, Jenny. Show the
doctor in and ask Mark to bring some tea, would you?”
His assistant’s disapproving frown make him laugh out loud,
once she was gone. He had no doubt that she would contact
Security, just in case and on her own initiative. Let her - he had
hired independent intelligent staff, not automatons, for a reason.
Jenny returned with a somewhat elderly Indian gentleman in
tow. She courteously conducted him into the office, then silently
withdrew. He was somewhat stooped and had to look up into
Dr. Quest’s face as he bowed, then shook hands. His skin was
nut-brown and papery-dry, bespeaking his age. His smooth
dark hair was liberally sprinkled with gray and gave him a most
distinguished appearance.
“It is kind of you to see me on such short notice, Dr. Quest. It is
on a matter of the gravest nature that I come to you now.” His
voice was the querulous voice of an old man, but the accent was
pure Oxonian.
“How can I help you, Dr. Gandahar?” He gestured courteously
toward a comfortable chair.
“I need a place to hide, Ben.” The voice had suddenly
deepened and the accent had relaxed into its natural Southern
drawl, overlaid with unknown traces of many places.
As Quest stared in shock, his visitor straightened up, becoming
taller than he by several inches and mysteriously broadening
into a muscular and vigorous man in his middle forties.
“Don’t you know me, Ben?”
“Race!” He caught both of the other man’s hands, then after an
awkward pause, he clasped him in a clumsy hug. “It’s been a
year! I thought you might be dead; where have you been?”
“It’s a long story. But the most important part is that I’ve found
Jessie. I found my daughter, Ben. She’s here with me. And we
need a place to go to ground.”
Quest said nothing for a moment. “I…I’m glad for you, Race.”
Then he visibly shook himself. “You’d better come to the
Compound with me. It’s the safest place I know.”
The other man’s mouth quirked. “I know. I designed it to be.”
The door opened and Mark entered with a tea service on
floaters. Instantaneously, the elderly Dr. Gandahar was back,
slowly lowering himself into the comfortable chair that his host
was suddenly gesturing toward. A sparkle in both their eyes
would have told the quick observer that they were momentarily
enjoying themselves and their play-acting.
“Perhaps we could invite my grandson in for a cup, Dr. Quest? I
left him outside with your excellent assistant.” Quest nodded
once to Mark who silently withdrew and conducted a youngster,
who might have been the twin to Dr. Quest’s teen-aged ward
Hadji, back into the inner office. The young man set down the
black suitcase he had been carrying, executed a polite low bow
toward his host, but seemed too oppressed by his surroundings
to speak. The orderly left, sealing the door behind him. Once
again Dr. Quest was fascinated by the way the elderly Dr.
Gandahar seemed to melt into Race Bannon. The young man
immediately relaxed into a sullen-mouthed teenaged girl,
impatient with this game of her father’s. He wondered how
neither Mark nor Jenny had seen through those disguises. Of
course, Race knew his business and the girl was undoubtedly
the daughter of one of the best spies and adventuresses he had
ever met, the passionately amoral Jade.
“Jessie, this is Dr. Benton Quest. Ben, this is my daughter.”
Race’s eyes met Quest’s for a long moment, before the scientist
moved forward to shake the girl’s hand and tried to smile in
welcome.
“I’m glad to meet you, Jessie. I knew your mother.”
“Dr. Quest,” the girl acknowledged him without enthusiasm,
barely touching his out-stretched hand before dropping it. It was
hard to tell what she actually looked like, under all of the
skin-dye, the wig and the unisex suit and the turban she was
sporting. But he could see that she had inherited her mother’s
emerald green eyes and her father’s decisive jaw.
“I think we’d better get home to the compound. We have a lot to
talk about.” Meeting Bannon’s eyes over his daughter’s head,
Dr. Quest grimaced as he remembered how much they had to
talk about - and words they both needed to forget.
They left his office by the private exit to the roof. Race never
once dropped out of his character as Dr. Gandahar, allowing
himself to be solicitously helped into the mini-jet’s front seat by
his “grandson” and host. Only once they were air-borne and
Quest had videoed his assistant with some end-of-the-day
instructions, did he allow himself to relax again. Turning in his
seat, he winked at his daughter and knocked her turban off.
With a sigh of relief, she dragged the black wig off her head and
shook out long, light-brown tresses, combing her hands through
them luxuriously. The effect of her brown-dyed skin with her
light-colored hair made her appear even more exotic and, for a
moment, Race thought he caught a glimpse of her mother in her
expression. Then the girl frowned at him and turned away to
stare out of the window at the ocean passing below.
Dr. Quest piloted the jet with quiet confidence and efficiency, but
Bannon still itched to take the controls. No one could ever fly to
his satisfaction. He distracted himself by trying to trace the
changes of a year’s separation in his friend’s face. His hair and
beard were still auburn, still neatly clipped in a style that hadn’t
changed in 25 years. There were a few tell-tale gray hairs
among the red and a few more wrinkles around the bright blue
eyes, but he looked much as he always had, a little too dreamy
to be a man of action, a little too muscular to be a simple
scientist.
Quest caught his scrutiny. “Well, what do you think?”
“You look good, Ben.”
“So do you.”
When they landed in Maine, Race obviously felt no more need
to stay in character, jumping down from the jet and striding
across the landing square in his old way. Two boys came
jogging toward the jet to meet them, bursting into wild shouts as
they recognized Bannon. Jonny and Hadji careened into him,
babbling greetings and hugging him. Race couldn’t speak for a
moment; he hadn’t realized how much he had missed both of
them, companions of a hundred adventures, the de facto sons
whose childhoods he had shared with Benton Quest.
“Boys - this is my daughter, Jessie. Jessie, this is Jonny and
this is Hadji.” The two boys stammered shy hello’s, which
seemed to give Jessie the confidence she needed to greet them
in the regal manner teen-aged girls usually adopt around
teen-aged boys. The boys took refuge in bombarding him with
questions. “Are you staying?” “Where’ve you been?” “Why are
you dressed like that?”
Neither of them asked the only two questions that mattered.
Why did you leave? What daughter?
He laughed and steered them toward the house, leaving Jessie
and Ben to follow behind. Quest tried to carry the heavy
suitcase for her, but she had pulled away with a jerk, muttering,
“I can do it.”
They entered the large, airy foyer and Race felt a lightening of
the tense watchfulness he had carried for months. Now they
were safe. His daughter was safe. He could really sleep
tonight, he could afford hours of complete insensibility to
night-noises, daytime passers-by, incongruities and suspicious
occurrences.
He took the suitcase from Jessie, opened it and extracted two
plastic squeeze-bottles full of an unappetizing-looking purple
liquid. He handed one to his daughter, saying, “Ok, Panchita.
Work this into your skin and rinse off under a cool shower and
all of that skin-dye should come off. Boys, why don’t you show
Jessie to a guest-room so she can shower and change. Ben…”
“Your room is still the way you left it. I think you even have
some clothes left here.” Race smiled, that same slow, private
grin that used to call Ben into collaboration without thought. The
grin faded as Quest blankly turned away and went to inform the
housekeeper, Mrs. Lee, of her new guests.
Benton knew how she would react to the news that Race had
returned - the way everyone did - with wild joy and eagerness to
do anything he asked from her. He found himself resenting
Bannon; and he had only been home a few minutes. What was
wrong with him? Couldn’t he just accept his incredible good luck
and welcome his friend home and not poison it with the
resentments of the past?
Race found him in the library, just finishing pouring two
scotches. He came padding in barefoot, dressed in jeans and a
purple polo shirt. Without the skin dye, it became obvious that
he had seen some heavy action recently. He was suddenly
sporting a split eyebrow and a heavily purpled cheek. There
were various darkenings that might have been bruises up and
down his forearms. Benton handed him one glass and they
silently toasted one another and drank. Race put down his
glass and ran a hand through his still-damp hair. Benton had
always thought that it was absurd that anything should be as fair
as that without actually being colorless. It made a startling
contrast to his tanned skin and blue eyes. That was Race -
always startling, disturbing, challenging.
“Well?”
“Jade is dead, Ben.”
Quest was startled at the grief he felt. Amoral, undependable
and governed wholly by her own ends, Jade had still proved to
be a friend to him and his in some damn tight places. And - she
had been exciting to be around. Dangerous, but never boring.
And Race had loved her, once.
“I’m sorry, Race. What happened?”
“She was murdered, Ben. Right in front of Jessie.” He ignored
Ben’s wordless sound of horror. “Jessie saw who did it and
they’re gunning for her. That’s why I brought her here. We’ve
been tailed and attacked twice since we left Singapore.”
“Singapore? I thought Jade was living in Paris.”
“She had been. When she first told me about Jessie, I went to
meet her there. But she had already moved on. I tracked them
halfway around the world before I caught up with them. And
then …” he swallowed another gulp of scotch. “I finally met
Jade in a bar down on the waterfront. She took me back to
meet Jessie. They had a little house in the hills.” He stopped a
moment, remembering that rainy evening when he had first met
his daughter. “We had dinner. When I left that evening, we had
made plans to meet the next morning. But they attacked the
house right after I left. Jessie barely got out and came running
to my hotel room.
“Ben … I must have led them right to her.” His head bowed with
grief.
Quest laid a hand on his friend’s arm. “It’s not your fault, Race.
Jade had made enemies in every country in the world.”
“I know that. But none of them had found her until I showed up.”
They sat in silence for a time. Then Benton asked, “When did
this happen, Race?”
“About two and a half months ago, I guess. It took me nearly six
months to track her down after she sent me that note from
Paris.”
“And those lab reports.”
“Trust Jade to be thorough. Without proof that Jessie was my
daughter, she knew I had damn little reason to come at her beck
and call. But I would have helped her, if she’d just told me she
was in trouble.”
“A year, Race. Where have you been? Why didn’t you call?”
Quest hated the plaintive tone that had crept into his voice. He
removed his hand. “I would have helped you.”
“Don’t you think I knew that? That’s why I came to you now.”
“Why not then?”
“I couldn’t lead them back here, Ben. I didn’t know who was
after us, or how much they knew.”
“And now you know?”
Race nodded, but said nothing.
“Well, you made it back; you’re home.”
“Am I?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do I have my old job back?”
“Of course.”
“Jessie?”
“She’s as welcome as you are. She can take lessons with the
boys, have the run of the place, go to private school, whatever
she wants.”
“What about us?”
Silence. The two men stared at one another, neither able to
answer.
Jonny and Hadji had shown Jessie to a ground-floor room
across the hall from their own. Somehow, Hadji had quietly
assumed the weight of her suitcase, she didn’t remember when.
Quest’s blond son had self-consciously held the door to usher
her into the large and airy room.
It charmed her immediately. Decorated in sea-tones, it was full
of peaceful blues and greens and the white walls caught and
threw back the late afternoon sunlight glinting from the pool.
Beyond the pool was a low sea-wall and the ocean stretching
out to blend into the sky. It even had its own glass door right out
to the lawn surrounding the pool.
“I love it! Do you think I can stay here?”
“Of course. It’s your room, if you want it. There are others, if
you wish.” Hadji said.
“We’re across the hall, Hadji’s is on the right, my door is the one
on the left. We share a bathroom, but you get your own.” Jonny
gestured self-consciously toward its door, uncertain about
whether it was rude to talk about bathrooms with a girl. Since
she didn’t seem particularly upset by his mentioning it, he went
on. “We could take you on a tour later, if you wanted. I mean,
after you wash up, like Race - uh, your father, said to.” Her
expression hardened when he mentioned her father.
“That would be very nice,” she answered mechanically and
reached for the suitcase, forgotten in Hadji’s hand.
“Hey - what’s in that thing?” Hadji asked. “It weighs quite a bit.”
“Oh. Just some clothes and stuff. My rock collection. You
know, stuff.”
“I’ve got a rock collection, too. Let’s see yours,” Jonny
suggested.
“No!” She backed away, clutching the suitcase to her chest. At
their odd looks, she relaxed a little and smiles tentatively. “I’m
sorry. It’s just…”
“We understand. It’s been a long day. Perhaps you’ll show us
them some other time?” Hadji said smoothly, grabbing his friend
by the elbow and hustling him toward the door.
They left her, promising to return in an hour to show her the way
to dinner.
“I never knew Race had a daughter.”
“I suspect Race never did, either, Jonny.”
“Do you think that’s why he went away? To go find her? How
old do you think she is?”
“Maybe our age, or a little younger. She’s awfully pretty.”
“No she isn’t. She’s - - I don’t know, she looks like Race, I
guess. Not pretty, but not too forgettable, either.
“I wonder if she’s going to like it here?”
“I wonder if we’re going to like having her here?” was Hadji’s
prophetic question.
Dinner was long over. It had been a cheerful, boisterous affair.
As Quest had predicted, Mrs. Lee had fallen upon Race as a
long-lost son. The resulting meal was nothing short of a feast.
Benton watched as his friend leisurely consumed a meal large
enough for two men. But he had always eaten like that and
never gained or lost a pound. Which Quest had always
resented. His own more sedentary lifestyle made it very difficult
to maintain a reasonable weight in the face of Mrs. Lee’s
culinary genius.
Sullen Jessie had relaxed enough to show some interest in her
surroundings and was chatting genially with Jonny and Hadji.
She was still shy around Dr. Quest, but was polite enough when
asked direct questions. He noticed that she did not speak to her
father unless he spoke to her directly.
After dinner, they had sent the kids off to feed the dolphins in the
moon pool, a treat Jonny and Hadji had begged for Jessie.
Benton and Race had moved to the back deck to sip brandy
and watch the stars swirl over the ocean.
Giggles and splashes came filtering up from the dolphin pool.
Race had lit a thin cigar and its aroma touched Benton’s
memories like a cat-burglar. “I haven’t smelled one of those
since you went away.”
Without a word, Race took the cigar from his mouth and handed
it over to him. Benton held it for a moment, then slowly put it to
his lips. The end was damp from Race’s mouth. He drew the
smoke into his mouth, then slowly down into his lungs. Its rich,
smooth flavor rolled around his mouth, unfolding new shades of
taste as he exhaled slowly. He handed it back and watched the
tip flare as Race put it back in his mouth and drew on it.
“About us… It can’t be like it was.”
“Why?”
“You can’t drop out of sight for an entire year and expect
everything to be normal when you suddenly show up again. Try
to understand this, Race. I was pretty sure that you were dead;
I did my grieving. I’ve moved on. ”
“Then there’s nothing to say. I understand,” Race said flatly. “I’ve moved on, too.”
They turned back toward the ocean and listened to the soft
whisper of the surf, each locked in his private thoughts.
At some point, Race had melted into the night. Benton hadn’t
even heard him stand. Lights began to go out around the
compound and in the house as the computer scanned and found
no movement or life-signs in the public rooms and
passage-ways. The kids had long since gone to bed, calling
cheerful “goodnights” from the gardens below. Still Quest sat,
anchored by a nameless sorrow.
Alone in his room, Bannon prowled around, unable to fall into
the exhausted sleep he had planned. He had secured the
house and grounds, then reactivated the security panel and
computer terminal which allowed him to monitor every inch of
the compound from his room. It was those old, familiar tasks
that convinced him, more than anything else, that he was home.
The room itself hadn’t changed. Spare white walls, a
dark-patterned carpet and windows that opened onto a balcony
overlooking the sea. The bookcases, armoire, a weapons rack
and gun-case were arranged around the room with more
precision than decorative sense. The same wine-dark comforter
was spread on the king-sized bed; his clothes hung in the closet
and were folded in the drawers as if he had just left.
The one difference was a full-length dressing mirror that now
stood in one corner of the room. It had been placed squarely in
front of the door that connected with Benton Quest’s room. As
clear as a traffic sign - Do Not Enter.
Why hadn’t he protested when Ben told him they were through?
A dozen different exclamations had risen to his lips - why had he
simply shrugged it off, as though it were of no importance?
What did the man mean, he had ‘moved on’? Did he have
someone else now? Perhaps the beautiful young assistant he
had met earlier; what was her name, Jenny? He felt stifled. He
crossed to the windows and stepped out onto the balcony to
breathe the now-chilly sea air. He stood at the railing, searching
blindly for the surf which muttered and whispered below.
Motionless for so long, the lights in his room were turned off
automatically. In the darkness, the pale white line of the waves
lapping the shore below became visible.
A rectangle of light appeared on the floor of the next balcony
-the lights in Ben’s room. A shadow moved across the light and
his eyes were drawn to its pantomimed floor-show. It crossed
the room several times; probably laying out his clothes for the
morning. Ben was always methodical. The shadow figure
stopped in the center of the light; he was taking off his clothes.
First, the bulky sweater he had put on as the evening cooled,
then the shirt beneath it. The clean outline of his torso held
Race mesmerized. Then the shadow pantomimed taking off his
belt; his trousers slid off his hips and were folded and tossed
onto a chair. He remembered how smooth, nearly silken, Ben’s
skin had been beneath his hands. His fingers curled,
remembering the crisp texture of the scientist’s hair and beard.
Suddenly, he could smell Ben, taste him as if he had just left
him. Race felt his desire shock through him as it had not in
years, since long before he had left this place in search of his
daughter.
He turned away from the light to slam his fists on the iron railing.
What a bitter joke. Only now to discover how deep his desire,
his feelings, for his friend were, only now, when all hope was
gone, the friend turned away, he, himself too wounded.
“Race?” The ringing blow he had dealt to the railing had brought
Ben out onto his own balcony, wrapping a robe around himself.
“It’s nothing, Ben. Go to bed.”
Ben hesitated a moment, then said, “Good night,” and went back
inside.
(end chapter one)
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