There are no guarantees in life. Sometimes you have to make a choice and take the leap.

“How much of the story do you know?” I asked.

Cabral said, “I have a copy of the story you and Ramona told at the embassy when you arrived. I have a copy of Cumming’s report of the fight on your boat. I have Hayden’s report of driving you to Nimes to put you on a train for Paris. Ed and I have read and discussed them at length.”

“When I say ‘Davis’, you know that I mean the heavier of the two attackers?”

Cabral nodded. Wilkes was leaning back in recording mode again.

“Two nights ago, in Venice, I killed Davis.”

*       *       *

The whole story took a while to tell, even though Cabral and Wilkes resisted the temptation to interrupt. When it was finished, the Senator said, “Ed, route this through the embassy and keep our names out of it. Suspicions that Davis and his partner may have gone to Venice. Give a good description. Maybe the embassy will use Interpol to send the message. We are to hear as soon as the embassy knows anything. No mention of Davis’ death.”

“Got it.”

While Wilkes was on the phone, Cabral turned back to me and said, “Thank you. Really thank you, this time. I said it before as a gesture, but I didn’t mean it. Since I didn’t know about the Fletcher woman, your actions had seemed foolish and destructive. Now I know better.”

I said, “I only had your daughter’s interest in mind. With maybe a bit of wounded pride as an added incentive.”

“Wounding people is Ramona’s special gift. You look tired.”

“In the last two days, I have only had a nap on the train. But, more than that, I need a shower.”

Cabral smiled. He said, “Now that I’ve heard your story, I will make some inquiries that may help make sense of things. One thing first: describe Susyn Fletcher.”

“About five feet one, bleached blonde hair cut shoulder length. Slim, attractive. Not beautiful, but the kind whose vivacity makes up for it. Face rather triangular. Her most prominent features – if they weren’t contact lenses – were her eyes. Violet. A most remarkable color.”

Cabral was lost in thought for a minute, then he said,  “Maybe. I may know her after all, under another name. I’ll call my staff to check. Meanwhile, make free use of the suite. Ed and I will both be out. You will be here when we get back?”

It was more an order than a question. I said, “Don’t knock when you get return; unlock the door yourself. I’ll be asleep on the couch.” more tomorrow

The blonde had been sitting at the other end of the couch, leaning back as if he were half asleep, but he was hearing, cataloging, and analyzing every word.

We were cutting close to the bone now. I had done nothing illegal, by American laws, and nothing I was ashamed of. But there was a body in Venice with smashed-in head that probably had my fingerprints on its throat where I had taken its pulse. At best, it could spell the end of my diplomatic career before it ever started. At worst, it might mean thirty years in an Italian prison. I had to be very careful in choosing how much to tell.

“How did this woman approach you?”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I said, “Introduce me to your friend.”

Cabral’s eyes opened wider. There was a tightness in his eyebrows that said he didn’t like to be balked. He said, “Why?”

“Because I don’t feel comfortable telling my story in front of him.”

Cabral grunted and gestured, “Ian Gunn, meet Edward Wilkes. Ed, Ian Gunn.”

“Is he your secretary?”

“He is an old friend.”

I turned to Wilkes. He was surveying me openly now out of icy, blue eyes. I asked, “CIA?”

He smiled tightly, and shook his head.

“How much do you know about me?”

The smile became a lazy grin and he said, “Everything.”

“You have the face of a narc.”

“That’s because I used to be one.”

“Ed.” Cabral’s voice was low, but commanding.

Wilkes sat up and sloughed off his guise of disinterest. “Forget it, Daniel. This one is not going to be fooled or pushed, so don’t waste your time trying.”

After a moment, Daniel Cabral gave a sharp nod of assent. He said, “Ed is an old friend, from my days at the FBI. He is doing me a favor, strictly unofficial. He came along to see if we could straighten this mess out ourselves.”

“I’m on vacation,” Wilkes interjected.

“FBI in Europe? Won’t the CIA be jealous? Not to mention the French.”

“I really am on vacation. If I get in trouble, I’ll be on my own.”

I looked at the Senator and said, “Perhaps not completely. But your superiors at the Bureau might not be so happy with you.”

“Now that,” Wilkes grinned, “is the gospel truth.”

Cabral asked, “Why are you so worried about who hears your story?”

I had a decision to make. If I trusted Cabral with the truth, my life would be simpler. I would not have to worry about tripping myself up later over any lies or evasions I told now. But I would also be giving him a sword to hold over my head. On the other hand, if my fingerprints were on Davis’ body – or if anything else led these people to know of him later – I could be in worse trouble for keeping quiet now.

Cabral’s eyes told me nothing; but, of course they wouldn’t. He was a consummate politician. I could only go by what Raven had told me about him.

There are no guarantees in life. Sometimes you have to make a choice and take the leap. more tomorrow

I was feeling grubby. I had not showered for two days, and the only sleep I had had in those days was a much broken nap on last night’s train.

I sat on the arm of the sofa. If I sank into its overstuffed embrace, I might never get up again. The blonde gestured toward the bar and said, “You want a drink?” I probably looked like I needed one.

“Do you have coffee?”

He spoke into the phone briefly, paused to look at me and asked, “Food, too?” I nodded.

Then I waited.

A couple of minutes later, the phone rang. The blonde answered, covered the receiver, and shouted, “Senator? California.” Daniel Cabral came out of the back room to take the call.

His white shirt was open at the neck and his necktie hung loosely. He was lean and athletic, about five ten with black hair swept back, and blow dried. Dark skinned, of course, but not so dark as many Mexican-Americans. More cafe-au-lait, like Raven. I knew he was over fifty, but I would have guessed his age at ten years younger.

While he talked, I revised my first impression of the blonde.  He was no hired bodyguard. His attention was on the wrong things. He was a partner of some kind.

Room service came. I took coffee with sugar and cream, wolfed a croissant and began to nibble on a second. Finally the senator finished his phone call and turned to me. He had a politician’s handshake, a quick and vigorous double pump. Take command, impress, release, and be ready for the next voter in line.

He sank into one of the chairs, regarding me. “I owe you a debt, it seems,” he said, “for saving my daughter’s life. But it also seems that you took her into new danger and then abandoned her.”

“No.”

“No? Explain, please.”

“I took her out of danger, and was protecting her by keeping her hidden when she abandoned me.”

“Why?”

“Why what? Why did I take her away, or why did she abandon me?”

“Both.”

I sighed. The tension of the last days was draining away, leaving me numb. How to explain a relationship that I did not understand myself? Simply would be best. Tell the core and let the details follow.

“I took her with me because I loved her, and she finally left me because she did not love me. Or at least, not enough to tolerate my feelings for her.”

Cabral’s eyes were riveted on me, but now there was some sympathy in them. And some old pain. “In what manner, exactly,” he asked, clipping off the words, “did she abandon you?”

“I woke up one morning to find her gone.”

The eyes never wavered. He said, “Go on.”

“That’s all.”

“She is my daughter, Mr. Gunn. I know her well. Tell the rest.”

“She was gone with another man named Eric Sangøy.”

Cabral closed his eyes then and sighed. Then he opened them again and made a pushing-away gesture. Set that aside. He said,  “According to what you told Mr. Hayden, this happened thirteen days ago.”

“That seems right. I’d have to count up the days to be sure. I’ve been searching for her since then.”

“With some female who claims to be my secretary? That’s what Hayden said.”

“She called herself Susyn Fletcher.”

Cabral slowly shook his head. “I don’t know her.” more tomorrow

My heart stopped. I thought Davis’ body had been connected to me. But it was something else.

“That woman Fletcher. She isn’t Senator Cabral’s secretary.”

“I know.”

“You know. How?”

“Later, Will. It’s a long story.” Self preservation is the first instinct. I wasn’t about to tell Will about a death in Venice.

“The senator called here a few hours after I talked to you in Paris. I called the embassy, but no one had seen Fletcher. And they said you never came in.”

“By then I had come and gone.”

“Then why don’t they have a record of you?”

That was easy. I had been checked by the French guard at the entrance, but he had not written down my name. Susyn was waiting for me when I walked in and had hustled me out immediately. I had never talked to any actual embassy personnel.

“Where is she now?” Will asked.

“I don’t know. We parted unfriendly.”

“Where is Raven?”

“I don’t know that, either. Fletcher and I searched for her until I found out Fletcher was a fake, but we had no luck.”

Thank God!

I could hear Will muttering under his breath. He went on, “Senator Cabral flew in four days ago. He stopped at the consulate here first, and then went on to Paris. He’s still there.”

“Angry?”

“Oh, yes.”

Sometimes, something gets you by the throat, and the only way to get loose is straight ahead. I said, “There’s no point in telling you my story. Call the Senator and tell him I’m coming to Paris to report directly to him.” 

The Alps lay between Milan and Paris. An end around proved faster, since the TVG was available for a part of the trip. Nineteen hours later, I was there.

Chapter Twenty-five

The senator was staying in an old style hotel three blocks from the embassy. There was a fruit market on one side and a pharmacy on the other, but once past the plain facade, the waiting room was elegant. I took a creaking, open cage elevator to the second floor.

The door was opened by a short, athletic looking man with a blonde brush cut. He looked to be about forty and he appraised me swiftly with the eyes of a bodyguard. He said, “Gunn?” and I nodded. He stepped aside and said, “Sit down.” Not exactly a threat, not exactly an invitation, but his tone left no doubt that he expected to be obeyed.

I stepped inside and slipped out of my pack while he closed the door. The room was narrow and long, with a couch and a couple of heavy chairs. There was a mini-bar at the far end, end tables with heavy, ugly lamps. A door led to inner rooms and the single narrow window was hidden by drawn curtains. The blonde went to the inner door and said something softly into the room beyond. more tomorrow

“Jeeze, you don’t know a lot.”

“Today I don’t know as much as I knew yesterday. Anyway, one story is that the P. I. turned in a report saying this person was clean, when he wasn’t. When he or she wasn’t. Then went out and sold the truth to a heavy, and later on tried to up the ante and got killed. The name I was given for the heavy is Adrian Brock, Sacramento contractor and distributor on the side for local pot farmers. But the person who gave me that name is a liar who tried to have me killed, so it’s probably a blind alley. The rest of the story comes from a reliable source, Raven Cabral herself.”

“Did you say ‘tried to have you killed’?” Joe asked mildly.

“Last night.”

“Didn’t succeed?”

“I’m not much in the mood for jokes this morning, Joe.”

“Sorry, Son. I thought when you left me that you were giving up the profession?”

“This one fell into my lap. If I told you how it all began, you just wouldn’t believe it. What I want is for you to find out how much of this is true, and follow any side issues that come up. I’m up to my ass in alligators and I don’t even know the name of the swamp. But I can’t pay you.”

“Consider it a favor. I owe you a couple. I can tell you part of the story right off. Harvey Jacks is a P. I. out of San Francisco. Was, I mean. They pulled him out of the bay about six months ago. The sharks had been at him, but he never felt it because there was a 9 mm. hole in the back of his head. He wasn’t any more honest than he had to be. A blackmail scam would be right up his alley, and getting in over his head would match his intelligence. Not too bright.”

“Thanks, Joe. Keep the file close at hand and expect another collect call.”

“Give me a couple of days, Boy. The investigation I can afford, but these overseas calls are going to break me.”

I hung up and closed my eyes. There have been few men in my life who have meant much to me, but Joe Dias was one. When I was going to college in San Francisco and I didn’t have any skills to sell but a strong body and an ability with weapons, Joe Dias had taken me under his wing. In a profession noted for sleaze and dishonesty, Joe Dias was a gentleman. I had run errands, questioned people, and done stakeouts, squeezing them in between classes. Occasionally I had found myself in the thick of some heavy action. Joe had called me three-quarters of a P. I.

I stayed with it several years because it was good money for the hours, and because of Joe. And, I had a knack for it. But I had wanted a wider world and a better class of associates.

I called Marseille and waited for Will to come to the phone.

“Ian?” Will was breathless, “Am I glad to hear from you. Every piece of fecal matter in the universe has hit the fan.”

My heart stopped. I thought Davis’ body had been connected to me. more tomorrow