Chapter Eleven

By the time Will came back, it was past midnight. There was a flight from Paris, with connections for New York and then San Francisco, leaving at one PM. “There is a train leaving for Paris in an hour,” Will added. “You could make it easily.”

I said to Raven, “It’s up to you, but either way, there is no turning back.”

She smiled. “I’m staying. I’m not finished with Europe yet, or with you.”

“What are you two talking about?”

I said I would explain in the car. Will carried my pack; Raven carried her own along with the cardboard box holding holster and ammunition. I walked with my arms crossed, ostentatiously carrying my injured hand across my chest so I could conceal my left hand and the .45. The gear went into the boot, Raven rode shotgun, and I squeezed into the back to watch behind us as Will pulled away.

“Where to?”

“The train station,” I said and explained what we had in mind. Will did not agree. He thought Raven should head home. He and Raven argued while I kept a watch out the back window.

Midweek and past midnight, Marseille was still alive. The drive up la Canebiere and Blvd. D’Athenes was a kaleidoscope of images; great trees black above the street lights, revelers, streetwalkers, and an occasional tourist looking nervous, Disneyesque, and out of place. A dangerous city at night, I had been told. It had certainly proved so for Raven and me, but I was unhappy to be leaving it before I had really had time to know it.

Kids with their backpacks were sprawled on their sleeping bags on the high steps outside Gare St. Charles as Will circled up to the parking lot. Raven and I waited in the car. Three other cars had rolled into the parking lot with us. I watched the two that had parked and worried about the one that had circled and exited again. It might have parked down below out of sight. I didn’t like being caught in the cramped back seat, but I could hardly lean up against the fender in the parking lot of a busy train station with a gun in my hand.

Eventually, Will came back with a handful of train schedules.  He pulled out and I watched to see if anyone was following. We soon had a half dozen new sets of headlights behind us. I gave up. In the darkness, I couldn’t tell one car from another. I used a flashlight to study the schedules while I devised a plan of action.

Will drove skillfully through the streets of Marseille. Soon we were out of the city and crossing the marshy delta of the Rhone. He headed down the shoreline road past la Couronne before heading up to Martigues and the Barre Lagoon. We had all four windows open, and the warm, moist, Mediterranean air swirled through the car. Raven and Will were silent. There was no sound but the wind, the motor humming, and the occasional swish of a passing car. I leaned against the right hand door and watched out the back and side windows with the automatic cradled in my lap. I might have been lulled to sleep if it had not been for the throbbing in my hand.

There is a feeling in a night drive that is like no other feeling. The sound of humming tires induces it; the warm heaviness of the air, the darkness beyond the car, and the tiny, friendly lights from the dash make it complete. It is a child’s feeling. Drivers catch the edge of it, but to know it fully you have to be in the back seat, insulated from responsibility. It is a form of time travel. It will send you back to those days when your rode home, half asleep, stretched out in the back seat while your parents conversation dwindled to a meaningless buzz and the thickness of the air was so palpable that it slid in and out of your throat like oil.

My eyes were growing heavy. The pain was receding. I was going back to those long rides home from St. Cloud.

Then the scene changed to nightmare. more tomorrow

It was a new idea for Raven. She asked the obvious questions.  “What makes you think they can’t trace me here in Europe. I can’t even go to the police for help anywhere but Spain or England because I don’t speak the languages. I would be more helpless than ever.”

“No. Take my word for it, because I’ve done it. Once you leave Marseille you can go anywhere in Europe without leaving a trail. Border crossings are no problem. They just look at your passport and hand it back to you. They don’t even attempt to record the millions of people who go from country to country every day. If you pay with cash, there is no record of where you have gone or what you have done. Stay away from the Holiday Inn. Live in youth hostels, small cheap hotels, or campgrounds, and you can go underground easily. I think it is the safest thing for you to do.”

She smiled slowly. “With you?”

“With me.”

“Ulterior motives?”

“Tons of them.”

“Then I’ll do it!”

#          #          #

My hand was beginning to throb. If Skinny had cut a little deeper, he would have severed all those tendons and I would be heading for a hospital and reconstructive surgery. It was not a pleasant thought.

I said, “You’ll have to pack for me,” and sent Raven forward.  Beyond the main cabin was the door to the W.C., and beyond that was the forecastle. Will and I had completed it with two pipe bunks, but we never slept there. It was packed full of personal gear and boxes of canned goods. Raven brought back the cardboard box marked camping.

“Get out both packs.” They were internal frame rucksacks, sturdy and small enough to squeeze overhead in a train or bus. In went two down sleeping bags stuffed inside rolled up Ensolite pads, a tent, two rain parkas, a spare pair of jeans, shirt, underwear, and socks for me, a packet of maps and guidebooks, a tiny packet with soap and razor, a coil of nylon line and packet of miniature clothespins, and two small towels.

When Raven had finished, the packs were still half empty. She said, “Is that all?”

“We need to buy you one more pair of jeans and shirt, and maybe replace those sandals with something more sturdy. Other than that, this is all we’ll be carrying.”

I had her slip into Will’s pack and adjusted the straps to her. Then I showed her how to remove the backrest above the port transom. There was a locked secret compartment; I gave her the combination and she pulled out a slim money belt.

“Raven,” I said as I zipped it open and counted the contents, “you have to understand the ground rules. I have three thousand dollars American. By hitchhiking, staying in youth hostels and campgrounds, and never eating in restaurants I had planned to stretch that over several months. A typical pair of tourists would go through it in less than a week. You have to be willing to do things my way or we will run out of money.”

“I can do that.”

“You say you can, but I saw what you paid for those clothes.”

“They were reasonably priced.”

“To you; by the standards you are used to. Not by the new standards you have to learn. For the next few weeks, you are going to deliberately become a street person. Are you ready for that?”

She thought about it. “I guess so. I have to be.”

“No, you don’t. You can fly home.”

” ‘Into the lion’s mouth.’ Quoting you.”

“I think you are safer with me. But if you go with me and can’t live like I live, you won’t be able to back out. There won’t be enough money to get home. You’ll have to go to another consulate, call home, and wait for money to be sent. If you are going to back out, it had better be now.”

She answered by leaning over and kissing me lightly on the lips. more tomorrow

“Ms. Cabral could move into the consulate.”
Raven shook her head. “Prison, you mean.”

“As you will. It is your life.”

I didn’t say anything else. Cummings argued for an immediate flight home. I couldn’t make up my mind if he thought that was better for Raven, or better for the consulate. Probably both. I had ideas of my own, but I didn’t plan to bring them up until later. Raven kept looking at me, as if for advice. I ignored her. Raven seemed hurt and Will looked troubled.

Eventually, as I had thought he would, Evan talked Raven into leaving immediately. I said, “Why don’t we do it this way. It’s nearly eleven. Will can take Evan home. Those two won’t be back tonight, and we can bolt the hatch. Will can call the airport at Paris for flight information, then come back and pick us up. Raven can probably be out of France by morning.”

“Money?”

“I’m bankrolled for a couple of months of hitchhiking around Europe. I’ll loan Raven the price of the ticket and she can wire my repayment as soon as she gets home.”

“That would work. Is that all right with you, Ms. Cabral?”

“Yes.” She didn’t sound enthusiastic.

After they were gone, I bolted the hatch and squeezed into the engine room. It was a tiny cubicle with an air cooled Petter engine and a forty gallon tank of diesel. By lying back against the engine, I could reach a combination padlock on a door set in the front bulkhead. It was our bonded stores locker. Many things are illegal in many places, but not always the same things. You can’t bring handguns into Canada or liquor into Egypt, so you need a place for port authorities to put them under seal until you leave. I pulled out a small cardboard box and relocked the door.

“Raven,” I said as I sat down on the transom, “I wasn’t straight with you while Evan was here. I wanted to talk to you in private instead.”

“All right.”

I fumbled my jackknife out with my left hand and slit the tape on the box. Inside was a .45 caliber Colt automatic, two fifty round boxes of ammunition, two spare clips, both full, and a holster. Raven’s eyes had gotten big again, so I explained, “This isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about. I used this in the Army, and later when I worked as a guard, so I brought it along. I thought I might need it if I got posted someplace like Lebanon or Nicaragua.”

“It didn’t do you much good tonight.”

“That’s the trouble with handguns; they’re never there when you need them. Look, I don’t think going home to California is the best way out for you.”

“Why didn’t you say so earlier.”

“I thought it best for Evan to think you were leaving. If you go back, you will be a sitting duck for an enemy you don’t know.”

“I know them.”

“You only know the henchmen, not whoever is behind them. Whoever hired them could hire someone else. Probably will, now that you know their faces. If you go back, you won’t know who to trust, but they will know where you are.”

“I can’t run forever.”

“No one said you should, but there is no reason you can’t run for a while. Let your father call on his FBI connections and use his clout as Senator. Let him find out who is behind these attacks. You stay out of it.”

“Where?”

“With me. Call your father. Tell him what happened, and tell him that you will stay in touch. Assume his phone is tapped and don’t tell him where you are. Call back once a week. When things are safe again, then you can go home.” more tomorrow

Chapter Ten

The American consulate in Marseille deals mostly with stranded sailors, lost passports, and with keeping track of seamen who are jailed for fighting, petty theft, or public drunkenness. There is no ambassador in residence – that is what makes the difference between a consulate and an embassy. No treaties are negotiated there and there is little espionage. Occasionally a tourist gets robbed and needs help getting more money from home, but excitement is not a normal state of affairs.

It must have been something of a break in the boredom for the staff to find that Raven’s attackers had followed her to Marseille and tried again.

I had left Raven under the protection of the fishermen while I went to a pay phone. I hid my sliced and quickly bandaged hand inside my shirt. The bloody rag would have brought police inquiries that my limited French could not have coped with. The duty officer was Malcolm Hamlin, called Maui. He called the consul, probably because a state senator’s daughter was involved, and then called Will and Evan Cummings.

Will and Evan showed up together in Will’s Renault, with a French doctor squeezed into the back seat. He took one look at the bloody bandage, shook his head, and went to work. It was an ugly wound, cutting clear across the back of my right hand. He told me to move my fingers. I could see the tendons working like little hard white snakes in an oozing pool of red. He led me to the sink and poured half a bottle of Betadine over the wound. Sweat popped out on my face and my legs got rubbery. Then he slipped on rubber gloves, took out some forceps, and broke open a prepackaged needle-and-thread.

Maybe medical customs are different in France and maybe he just forgot. Or thought I was tough. He didn’t use anesthetic. I sat chewing on my lip while he took three dozen neat little stitches.

Raven watched it all. She sat pale and stiff with one hand folded in her lap and the other holding my left one in a death grip. She looked scared and sickened, but she never turned away. I was proud of her.

The doctor stripped off his gloves and packed his gear. I could hear soft voices beyond the hatch conversing in French, and saw the vague silhouette of a uniformed figure on the deck. The doctor went up and the police came down. There were two of them. They sat on opposite transoms. Evan Cummings stood in the hatch to translate. There wasn’t room below for Will.

It took nearly an hour to satisfy them. I would not have wanted to tell that story without Will and Evan standing by for support. I don’t think they completely believed us, but they agreed to circulate a description of Davis and his partner.

After they left, Will joined us in the cabin. Evan said, “I have two questions, one major and one minor. The minor first:  how did those two know Raven had survived, and how did they know where she was? Who knew?”

Raven said, “I told my father and his secretary, but I didn’t swear anyone to secrecy. Chances are everyone in my father’s office knew in ten minutes, and one of them could easily have leaked it to the news media. Sacramento is like a little Washington; everybody knows everybody, and a favor today is an investment against tomorrow. Anyone wanting to get in good with the media would see this as juicy and harmless. They could leak it without feeling disloyal. Stan Atkinson probably read it on the six o’clock news.”

Evan shook his head, but did not voice his disappointment or disapproval. Appropriately diplomatic, as a foreign service officer should be. He said, “Question two – the big one. Wouldn’t you be safer if you got on the next plane for Sacramento?”

“Would she?” I asked. “If we can assume anything from what we know, it would be that the attack was ordered from there. She would be sticking her head back into the lion’s mouth.”

“The other alternative would be for Ms. Cabral to move into the consulate where she could have a Marine guard.”

Raven shook her head. “Prison, you mean.” more tomorrow

I looked around, depressed by what had happened. One of the parked cars caught my eye momentarily. It had been sitting with no lights on. Now both doors opened and two men got out; one was heavy and muscular, the other was skinny and short. They leaned against the hood and looked at the boats.

I walked Raven down to the Wahini. I had repaired the hatch; it was secured now with a hasp and padlock. I got out my key, and as I was bending over I caught sight of the two men again, standing casually beneath the bow of the fishing boat that was moored beside us.

Satori is a Zen Buddhist concept. At a moment of satori, one suddenly sees in a flash of insight things that were always there, but were hidden by one’s preconceived picture of the world. I had a satori at that moment, a black satori. The men suddenly ceased to be two strangers and I knew them to be Raven’s attackers.

I slid the hatch back hurriedly and motioned Raven inside. As I followed her, the two men moved toward the Wahini.

It never occurred to me to secure the hatch. Since I picked Raven out of the ocean, her attackers had been a cloud on her mind. Appearing again, they instantly became an intolerable threat. I wanted to get my hands on them and end that threat. I thought of the fear Raven had endured as she watched the cruise ship pull away, leaving her alone in mid-ocean, and I wanted blood.

I caught Raven’s shoulder and spun her around. Gesturing forward, I snapped, “Get back and stay back!” She shrank away from me. I flipped open the engine room door and snatched up a 12 inch Crescent wrench.

Wahini shifted slightly as they came aboard. She was a heavy craft; I would never have felt her move if I had not been keyed up. I faced the closed hatch, balancing in the narrow aisle way between the transom seats. Behind me, Raven gasped as she heard their soft footsteps on the deck.

My breath came short and my ears were ringing, but I was ready.

The hatch slammed back and the larger man came in feet first.  I swung the wrench. I had been ready to hit his right wrist, expecting a weapon. But when he landed he dropped into a crouch to catch himself, and the wrench popped him smartly on the side of the head. He collapsed like a marionette with the strings cut.

Then his partner gave me a faceful of feet. It slammed me back against Raven. She cried out in pain as I smashed her against the bulkhead. Then the second attacker went down. He had landed on his partner and lost his balance.

It was a confusing fight, with three men struggling and one girl dodging in a space not much bigger than a bathroom. I swung at Skinny’s head and missed. He scored the back of my hand with a knife and I lost the wrench. I kicked at his crotch. He sideslipped and I caught Davis in the face instead, just as he was trying to struggle to his feet. He went back down and Skinny caught me in the throat with a fist. I fell back, gasping for air, as Skinny took another swing with the knife. More by luck than skill, I dodged it. As he was sideways to me, with his arm up and extended, I hit him hard with a braced finger knuckle in the nerve center at the top of his ribs. He screamed like a stepped-on cat and lost his knife.

Our fishermen friends next door came alive then. They had heard Raven’s screams.

Skinny heard them shouting and jerked Davis to his feet. They went up the ladder and out the hatch. I followed. They went overboard on the side opposite the fishing boat, and ran for the quai, sheltered by the bulk of Wahini. The fishermen were lining the rail of their boat. I pointed and tried to shout, but Skinny’s blow had stopped my voice.

Raven explained in rapid Spanish, and her friend translated. By that time, Davis and his skinny companion were just a squeal of tires and a flash of taillights on the boulevard. more tomorrow

Such violent passion could not be sustained. It was over in minutes, and it left me with no desire to prolong it. I rolled off and sat up, reaching for my clothing. Then I thought, “Why bother.” The other sunbathers were studiously not looking in our direction. Will was out among the breakers, looking seaward. Gulls were cutting circles against the high, faint clouds.

My passion had spent itself, but the anger and resentment remained. Raven looked up from where she sprawled, half dazed, and said, “What’s wrong.”

“That is the second time you have manipulated me. I don’t like it!”

“It seemed to me that you did.”

I looked hard at her. I said, “I won’t be used by anyone.”

“Men use women all the time. Why shouldn’t I have the same privilege?”

“I am not men! I am not a category; I am not generic; I am singular, unique, myself only. I don’t give a damn what men do. I don’t use; I don’t manipulate. Not men, not women, and particularly not friends. And I won’t tolerate being used! Not by anyone!”

I was shouting at the last. Raven backed away from me. I took my rage in both hands and forced it back into the little room at the bottom of my soul where it hides, never asleep and never forgotten.

“I was only trying to arouse you,” she said.

“Bullshit!”

Her face froze in anger, then slowly relaxed. Tears formed and trickled down her cheeks.

“Bullshit,” I repeated softly. “It was touch and go. You might just as easily have ended up under Will. Or both of us.”

“Would that have been so bad?”

“That’s not the point. Life is complicated. It isn’t just a fuck on the beach. Every act has consequences. What you did today jeopardized my friendship with Will, and Will may be the only real friend I have.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

I pulled on my bathing suit and reached for my jeans. Will was coming back up the beach. I turned to Raven and said, “Twice you’ve manipulated me. But never again!”

And I waited. If she had said anything, a cutting remark or an offhand attempt to make the situation seem smaller than it was, I would have used my last dollar to put her on a plane back to California.

Four people, now dead, would still be alive if I had.

#          #          #

The ride back to Marseille was silent and strained. Will did not ask what had happened between Raven and me, and I did not volunteer any information. He dropped us off at the quai and said that he would see us in the morning.

The sun had set already. The boulevard was alive with cars and the sidewalks were alive with people. I said, “What do you want to do now? Walk around or go to bed?”

Raven shrugged. She looked very unhappy.

“Do you want to be alone?”

“Yes. For a while.”

“Marseille isn’t safe at night. If I left you on the Wahini, you could bolt the hatch. I would like to walk around for an hour or so, anyway.”

“All right.”

“We have to talk about this some more, you know. Unless you are just going to get on a plane and fly out of my life. If we stay together, we can’t let this lie.”

“I know. But not now. Please.” more tomorrow

“Well,” Raven said, “what do you think?”

“Jesus Christ!”

“What about you, Ian?”

“I’ve made my opinion clear plenty of times,” I growled. “But should strip teases be performed in pubic?”

“Don’t be silly. Look at those girls over there. This is a topless beach.”

Will looked at me in confusion, but I just shook my head. This Raven was new to me, too. She had my blood boiling, but I would have preferred to see the show in private.

“Are you two going to sit there dressed like this was a garden party, or are you going to join me?”

I shrugged and pulled my shirt over my head. Will hesitated.  When Raven gave him a scornful look, he said, “If I take my slacks off after that show, it could be embarrassing.”

“Not to me,” she replied. She sat back on her heels, with her spread knees dug into the sand. She sipped her wine and watched while we slipped off our clothes. Will wore baggy trunks that hid any evidence of his feelings. My bathing suit was smaller. Raven laughed and said, “I see you still love me.”

“I always did wear my feelings on my sleeve.”

“Sleeve?”

“Whatever.”

Will looked embarrassed. He was too good a friend to try to cut me out, but Raven seemed as interested in him as in me. Did she want us both? At once? He had to be thinking that. I know I was. And I didn’t like it.

She said, “I’ve always wanted to try a topless beach,” and reached behind her back to untie her bikini top. The strings fell to her sides and she reached up behind her neck. The loosened bra rose with the motion and revealed the smooth curves at the bottoms of her breasts.  There was just a hint of rosy aureole peeking out. She fumbled with the upper string, frowned prettily, and said, “It’s stuck. I’ve snarled the knot.”

“That would be a terrible disappointment,” Will said. His voice was rough and he seemed to be having a hard time breathing.

Raven stopped dead, frozen motionless with her arms uplifted, and stared at me. Then she seemed to make up her mind suddenly. She moved sideways in one fluid motion and planted herself in front of Will with her nearly bare rump almost in his lap, and said, “Undo me, Will.” While Will struggled with the knot, she put her hands on his knees and arched her back. The bikini top fell into her lap. Still with her back to him, she rose gracefully and made a slow turn, pushing back her hair with her hands.

I thought his heart would stop.

A storm was building inside of me. I was hurt, burning with lust, and filled up with a primeval desire to lash out.

Raven glanced at me out of the side of her eyes. It was a look of pure challenge. It was the kind of look that said, Raise, or get out of the game.

I hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my bathing suit and skinned out of it. Now there was no question about my passion. Vaguely, I heard Will mutter something coarse.

Raven smiled a slow smile, like coming home after a long absence. She said, “Goody. Bottomless. Even better.” She stripped off her bikini bottom, tossed it aside, and posed, naked, feet spread wide apart in the sand and quite unabashed by Will or the other sunbathers who had turned to watch.

Will lurched to his feet and said, “I’m going for a cold swim.” It didn’t matter. What had been a game for three, had suddenly become a game for two. I was hardly aware when he loped away toward the water.

It was a public beach, and there was no cover anywhere. It didn’t matter.

It was savage lovemaking. There was little tenderness involved, little carefulness, no caresses. Our foreplay had been her challenge and my response. When I first drew her down to the towel beside me, she was ready and I plunged in without preamble, oblivious of the other sunbathers. They turned away, too full of French savoire faire to stare; but they watched covertly. more tomorrow

We walked up to Notre-Dame de la Garde to enjoy the view of Marseille, then worked our way down through the maze of twisting streets and back to the consulate. We were scheduled to have lunch with Will. He came out dressed in pale slacks, a loose white shirt and loafers, and led us immediately to his small Renault. He said, “I’ve been working extra this last month, helping out after hours with backed up paperwork so I could take some time off when Ian arrived. Do you have bathing suits on board the Wahini?”

I nodded and Raven giggled. Will didn’t get it; he would when he saw his gag-gift string bikini put to good use. Will double parked at the quai. Raven and I went below to change and get towels while Will inspected the Wahini.

Will took us south and east along the coast. It was a land of deep green dusty trees and bare red earth, twisted and hilly. The coast was indented with calanques with narrow strips of sand or gravel at their bases. Raven rode silently, curled up in the tiny back seat while Will and I talked about the Wahini and the crossing. She remained quiet while Will parked at the roadside, pulled a backpack out of the trunk, and took us on a narrow, dusty footpath that led by many twists and diversions down to a small, sandy beach. A dozen sunbathers were already there, scattered in twos and threes around the hidden cove, enjoying the sun without the crowds of tourists that flooded the more accessible beaches.

We spread our towels and Will opened the backpack. He spread a tablecloth on the sand and produced a bottle of Bandol, glasses, Perrier for me, cheese, bread rolls, half a dozen kinds of cold meats, melon slices, grapes, and chutneys. He split one of the rolls, made and handed Raven a sandwich. She said, “Yum.”

“Do I have to make my own,” I asked.

“Of course.”

I did. Raven said, “You may put food before beauty, but I’m not going to waste any of this sun.” She reached up to unbutton her blouse. She had locked eyes with Will and he stopped chewing to watch her fingers flipping buttons with casual efficiency. She shed the blouse with a twist of her shoulders. As she folded it and set it aside, she asked Will, “Does anything look familiar?”

“My heart’s desire? All my dreams made flesh?”

Devil lights were in Raven’s eyes. She had Will in the palm of her hand, and she was enjoying it. “No, silly,” she giggled. “I meant the bra.”

Will looked blank. And smitten. The bikini top consisted of two spaghetti straps, one around her body and the other tied behind her neck, with minimal triangles of red nylon.

“He never saw it out of its egg,” I said. I tried to keep my voice light, but I didn’t like the way things were developing.

“Then I’ll have to show him.” She took the cuff of her jeans and pulled the little zipper that closed it tight around her ankle. It made a crisp rasping sound that send chills up my back. Again for the other cuff, then she stood up in one fluid motion. Her hair was a black mass, her skin was flawless, her waist was slender, and her navel played peek-a-boo above the waistband of her jeans. She untied the sash and pulled it through the belt loops in a smooth motion and dropped it to the sand. She turned away and again the rasp of a zipper sent chills. Swiveling her hips she forced the jeans down past her thighs. The string bikini left her buttocks quite bare, and in delicious motion.

When she bent over to recover her jeans, the illusion of nakedness was complete.

She stood facing us, folding the jeans, with her legs a little apart, and her eyes on Will. “Well,” she said, “what do you think?”

“Jesus Christ! more tomorrow