The Coin

By Maria Elena Alonso-Sierra

WHO EVER THOUGHT FINDING A COIN COULD GET YOU KILLED?
Set in the exotic French Riviera, The Coin is a story of hatred, betrayal, love and duty—of terrible and painful choices that, nonetheless, bring about personal triumph.

A DANGEROUS FIND
For artist Gabriela Martinez, life has become complicated: she suspects her mentor and friend wants her as his mistress, her husband is neglecting her, and her latest illustration is ruined. Seeking peace, she visits her favorite thinking spot in La Marbriére, the mountain overlooking her home in the Côte d’Azur, but winds up in an unfamiliar clearing. There, she discovers a 1945 French coin half-buried in the ground. Delighted with its beauty, she has it set on her favorite bracelet.
TREACHEROUS KNOWLEDGE
Richard Harrison, an American intelligence officer, is livid. A simple favor for his boss has turned his vacation in the French Riviera into a hellish assignment. Now, not only does he learn the truth about the coin, but he must also protect Gabriela from a cunning killer who will stop at nothing.
TIME IS RUNNING OUT
Together with Maurice Nôret, from French intelligence, Richard attempts to discover the madman’s identity, except his budding love for the beautiful artist is turning into a dangerous handicap. Every one of his moves is thwarted with brutal countermoves. Soon, the psychological games to terrorize Gabriela escalate beyond his control. If Richard doesn’t find a solution, it may be too late for them both.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maria Elena Alonso-Sierra
• Release date: Aug 17, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311054913

Maria Elena Alonso-Sierra

Maria Elena Alonso-Sierra is an award-winning author with a unique point of view: to give her readers and fans thrills and kills, with a twist. Her characters are placed in danger in ingenuous ways while, at the same time, her novels are set in locales across Europe and the United States, reflecting her international upbringing and extensive time as a Cuban exile and global traveler.The author’s writing career began circa age thirteen with a very juvenile science fiction short story; but the writing bug hit, and she has been writing, in one capacity or another, ever since. She has worked as a professional dancer, singer, journalist, and literature teacher in both the university and middle school levels (and not necessarily in that order) and holds a Masters in English literature. All her novels have received different accolades, including gold, silver and bronze medals, as well as honorary mentions from respected book award institutions.Ms. Alonso-Sierra is currently writing full-time and loves to hear from her fans and readers. When not writing, she roams around to discover new places to set her novels.

Book preview

Prologue

France, May 1993

He was safe.

The man surveyed the clearing, inspecting the rearranged landscape for the last time. The mounds of rock and dirt surrounding him dropped unevenly, pock-marking the ground in no visible pattern. Nature had spread her hand, healing the upheaval she’d caused a year ago by covering the ground with short-cropped grass, dehydrated moss, bramble, lavender, thyme and the local version of oregano bushes. There was no evidence anywhere of his search, past or present, nor did the metal detector sound any signal of Nature regurgitating the remaining strongbox it had so callously devoured.

The man’s hands curled around the plastic bar of the metal detector, tightening into a fist so fierce his forearms vibrated. Years of planning, of careful manipulation, of evidence gathering, of assuring no one could trace the puppeteer pulling the strings of mayhem, had been nullified without trace by the whim of a capricious mountain. Even when luck had remained stubbornly by his side, helping him recuperate many of his records and videotapes, he’d only gathered a pittance of the arsenal he’d had. If Nature had been a real woman standing before him, he thought, he would have relished killing her.

He skimmed the area once again, his eyes methodically covering more ground, his features darkened by the approaching twilight. His job here was almost over. After this final sweep, he could finally disappear and begin to plot again.

"Oh, danke Gott."

The strange voice caught him by surprise. He whirled around to face the intruder, his body rigid. A wiry young man, looking tired and terribly frustrated, now stood a few paces into the clearing. The man watched as the hiker shrugged off his bulky backpack, grabbed his knees for support, and gulped down several cool breaths of mountain air, grateful for the respite and his luck.

Please forgive me, the hiker said, his French atrocious. I’ve been roaming this godforsaken mountain for hours and can’t seem to get back on the trail. His gaze turned hopeful. Can you help me?

The man nodded, but his eyes narrowed, intent on this intruder, this new threat to his carefully plotted safety net. He began to close in slowly.

The hiker visibly relaxed. Thank God. I thought I’d be forced to camp out tonight.

The mouth and eyes that smiled back at the hiker chilled the surrounding air. The man loved fools such as this hiker, blind idiots who never suspected a normal façade could harbor the blackest of souls. Such naïveté always delighted him, made his hands itch with the anticipation of the kill. But for now, he gestured to his left, toward a dirt path barely visible through the trees.

As expected, the hiker turned, eager for directions. The man’s smile widened. He lifted the metal detector.

The calculated blow to the head was swift, but not lethal. The hiker stumbled, caught off guard. The man waited patiently for his victim to recognize the danger, for the eyes to widen with dawning horror, and for the futile attempt to flee. Staggering, disoriented, the hiker backed away from what he now realized was a man gone mad. Smiling, the man lifted and struck again, this time on the upper arm. A whimper rose to a wail that bounced over the mountain. The man closed in once more, considering several options. With calculating precision, he aimed at the hiker’s left thigh, reveled as he felt the femur collapse with a soft, moist crack. The hiker screamed, tumbling into a wriggling heap on the ground. The man swung again and struck his victim’s abdomen. He watched the hiker painfully inch backward. Such foolishness, the man thought. Escape was impossible. No amount of begging, sobbing, or sniveling would stop him—had ever stopped him. The laughter he’d held back bubbled and spewed forth, noxious, tainting the surrounding air. He lifted the metal detector and struck again, and again, and again, calculating the most effective areas to hit, watching his victim with a chilling, benign emptiness. The macabre choreography increased the man’s joy as each blow landed. By the time the man was satisfied, the hiker’s agony had shifted from screams, to supplications, and finally to barely audible moans, twitches, and sobs.

The man paused, evaluating his handiwork. Bruises and hematomas discolored the exposed skin on the hiker’s body. Perfection, he thought. Utter perfection. Later, under cover of darkness, he would take his burden and toss him down the ravine underneath the village of Gourdon. He chuckled. The stupid gendarmes would label the death a hiking accident. His only concern was that dead men didn’t talk, or point accusing fingers at anyone.

His cold eyes swept over the hiker. Yes, he would do. He dropped the metal detector and stretched, ignoring the pathetic twitching and sobbing of the young man at his feet. He inhaled deeply, reveling in the pungent perfume of the pine trees mixed with that of human fear and excrement. Yes, everything was in order, he thought, pleased, as he knelt beside his victim. With strong arms, he captured the hiker’s head in a chokehold. He caressed the hiker’s face, grabbed his chin, and gave the head a vicious twist. The neck snapped like a soda cracker.

Oblivious now to the lifeless heap at his feet, the man examined the clearing in the rapidly fading light. He reached into his pocket and retrieved a ten franc 1945 French coin, no longer in circulation. His fingers lovingly caressed the etched image of Napoleon, and thought that his only regret was not finding the coins, his unique password. He’d keep this last one as his lucky charm, and start over again.

But that was for the future. For now, he was safe.

Chapter 1

June 1993

Gabriela Martinez arrived at Les Clos ten minutes later than planned. She jerked open the heavy door of the restaurant—a 13th century monastery converted into a lucrative four-star gastronomic heaven ten years ago—and figured her day was developing into an exact replica of yesterday’s chaos. Actually, for the sake of accuracy, today was the postscript resolving yesterday’s mess of broken answering machines, canceled appointments, and ruined illustrations. The saving grace in her muddled schedule was the coin she’d found in the middle of La Marbriére yesterday. She smiled in recollection. She had been frustrated, lost somewhere in the middle of the mountain, not at all where she had wanted to go. The coin, half-buried in a magnificent clearing cocooned in gray cliffs, emerald forest and sheer ravines, would have remained undiscovered if the afternoon sunlight had not bounced off its surface, making it wink at her. She had been delighted with her discovery, amused that even though she was lost in the middle of nowhere, she continued finding money in the most unusual places. This latest find would raise her loot to about ten dollars, give or take a few French centimes.

She stepped into the blessedly cool interior of the restaurant and shook off the oppressive heat sticking to her. Well, there was nothing she could do now about her tardiness. It had been her idea, after all, to have the coin added to the collection already gracing her great-grandmother’s bracelet. If it hadn’t been for Michel, her jeweler, and his love of political debates, she would have arrived sooner and been prepared to face Albert today.

Gabriela sighed and rushed in the direction of the dining room, wondering how she would discuss unwelcome sexual overtures with a man who had been her mentor and friend for the past three years. She simply couldn’t hurl accusations at Albert’s face—not arrogant and powerful Albert. She wasn’t even sure she wasn’t misconstruing things herself. Her logic told her she was being a fool. After all, didn’t Albert have Silvie by his side? With a mistress so absolutely ravishing, why would Albert have an interest in plain old Gabriela? It was stupid. And yet, there was that ineffable something that kept jabbing at her subconscious, making her now uncomfortable whenever Albert was around. And, if her suspicions proved true, she would then need a good dose of diplomacy to resolve things. If not, she risked losing an influential adviser and a friend.

She paused behind a tall floral arrangement, just short of the arched entrance into the spacious, elegant dining room. Please, please, don’t let him be here, she whispered, crossing her fingers. Her hazel eyes quickly scanned the lunch crowd. Hopefully he would be late, giving her the needed time to calm down and think through her approach. Albert’s suggestion yesterday to meet for lunch had been providential, and the opportunity to meet with him in a neutral place had also been ideal. He was always mellower during a meal and, even if he reacted strongly to her subtle reproach, at least it would be less unpleasant in a restaurant full of people.

Albert’s autocratic silver head came into view, towering above the rest of the diners. Damn. Jean-Louis, Albert’s art gallery manager, was also at the table. Well, she thought ruefully, scrap the tête-à-tête. She would have to confront him without rehearsal or a plan. Her stomach suddenly heaved as if she had swallowed a rock. She knew that whatever she did, Albert’s reaction to her candidness would be very unpleasant. The results could possibly be catastrophic…for her.

She strode casually toward the men, and Albert rose to courteously slide back her seat as she approached the table.

"Bonjour, ma belle." Jean-Louis planted a feathery kiss on both her cheeks. Gabriela greeted him fondly, always a little sorry for womankind by the loss of such a handsome man.

In the lull after ordering their drinks, she glanced from one man to the other. Albert’s eyes held a satisfied gleam in his usually impassive glance, while Jean-Louis’s face could barely contain showing his excitement.

You two seem to be in an especially good mood, gentlemen, she commented, closely studying Albert’s smug face.

Albert squeezed her hand, lifted it to his lips, and planted what Gabriela thought was an overly fond kiss on it. His smile crinkled his eyes.

Gabriela’s cheeks turned an embarrassed pink.

Jean-Louis leaned across the table, eyes wide, hands clasped in his usual manner. Gabriela. You’ll never, ever, guess.

Kindly curb your womanly excitement, Albert stated calmly as he sipped his recently arrived Talisker. Gabriela needs to hear an objective, unflowered account of events.

What that really means, Jean-Louis said, is that he wants to personally handle everything concerning you and your work, even the breaking of important news. Selfish beast. He winked.

Gabriela laughed, her dimples showing. Okay. So… She nodded playfully in Albert’s direction.

A little more respect, please. Especially for the man who achieved an exhibition at the Cercles Club in the Casino.

As in Monte Carlo, Jean-Louis added.

Gabriela’s entire body suddenly froze. You’re serious? she whispered.

Albert smiled, his face acquiring a sensuous look. Absolutely. Tomorrow, I’ll close the deal over lunch. We’ve agreed to make it an informal affair, lasting, oh, four, five days. Enough to create an appetite for your works, but not enough to be tiresome. I want you there with me tomorrow when I meet the director of the club.

Seeing you in person will definitely clinch it, Jean-Louis said, bobbing his head in approval.

Gabriela shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. Jesus. Was this really happening to her? With this prestigious showing, her reputation in Europe would really skyrocket. She shook her head again, incredulous, cautiously excited. In nervous reflex, her hand went to twirl her great-grandmother’s bracelet, but quickly aborted the movement. She’d left the bracelet at the jeweler’s. She fidgeted awkwardly with the tablecloth instead.

Jean-Louis clapped his hands, amused. "Look at her, mon Dieu. Your face is so expressive, Gabriela. He turned to Albert. I told you she’d be shocked."

Gabriela’s cheeks reddened even further. It’s so incredible.

But soooo exciting! Think of all the people who’ll finally get to know your works. The attention. Fame. Glory. Jean-Louis wiggled a finger at her. I’m envious.

Enough of your blabbering, Albert interrupted. We need to get down to business, Jean-Louis. Where’s Julien? I specifically demanded he be here at noon.

Jean-Louis had worked for this dictatorial man for over ten years, and he recognized the underlying anger in his voice. Suspecting an imminent explosion, and always one to avoid them, Jean-Louis quickly scrambled to his feet. I’ll call the gallery. I’m sure he’s only delayed in traffic.

Gabriela waited until he was out of earshot, then surprised herself by asking, Why, Albert?

Why what?

Gabriela held his questioning green stare. Calm down, she told herself. Be cool. Unemotional. Logical. Oh, God. How was she going to get through this? She went for the missing bracelet again, cursed her forgetfulness, and grabbed her wrist to keep her hand still.

You’ve been going more than out of your way to promote my works lately. I just wondered — She swallowed nervously. This was definitely not going the way she wanted. She gripped her wrist until her knuckles turned white. Honestly, Albert, she blurted suddenly. You’re an important business man. Men in your position just don’t spend so much of their precious time promoting an unknown artist’s illustrations—mentor or no mentor. I would have expected you to hire a manager, not personally handle the tedious, day-to-day marketing. Her cheeks turned an even stronger hue of rose. I just hope it’s not…you know… Heck, she finished lamely.

Albert studied her blushing profile, amused at her obvious embarrassment. He knew why she’d been skittish these past two months, but also understood he had to allay her suspicions if his plan to make her his mistress was to succeed. After all, he had rushed things. It was a mistake, a rare one for him, but he could excuse his faux pas simply because of her illustration. He had not been prepared for the rush of emotion, or the impact Gabriela’s powerfully ferocious drawing had had on him. He had lost control, plain and simple, and had instinctively reached for her, placing in that kiss all his appreciation, his pride, his possessiveness, and his lust for her.

Albert took a sip of his scotch, rolling it over his tongue before letting it slide down his throat like velvet. Does this outburst have anything to do with my kiss?

Gabriela thought her face would vaporize from the heat in her cheeks. Her hand was like a tourniquet on her wrist.

"Ma belle," Albert smiled. "Don’t be so prudish. It was the excitement of the moment. You have to agree that your St. George shocked me."

It left you speechless, she admitted.

Albert chuckled. "A first for me, n’est-ce pas?"

Definitely, she said, and took a sip from her drink. The cool liquid didn’t alleviate the dryness in her throat. It still doesn’t clarify things.

Then let’s, Albert said, suddenly serious. No one can do a better job of promoting your works than I. I have the good taste, the influence, the connections, and the advantage of knowing you personally. That gives me insight to choose the right places to exhibit, places where you will feel comfortable. Apart from that, your talent is extraordinary, my dear, but you are too timid to promote yourself.

Gabriela sniffed. You sound like Roberto.

But unlike your husband, I’m not glued to the computer screen, working non-stop on a pet project, oblivious to anything or anyone. Catching her expression, Albert changed the subject. But we digress. You are a friend, Gabriela. You’re unselfish and not mercenary. Who better than I to do this small service for you, who never abuses our professional partnership, nor our friendship?

Gabriela searched his face for signs of deceit, but found none. In nervous reflex, she went to twirl the bracelet again. Just as long as it’s done in friendship, she said.

Why else? he told her blandly. Besides, I owe you.

Albert, Gabriela shrugged. You don’t owe me anything. Anyone would have done what I did.

Dry humor laced his eyes. I didn’t see anyone stampeding to help me when I slipped and cracked my head. Not even Silvie. As a matter of fact, his mistress had taken one look at his head that, by then, was bleeding all over Gabriela’s lap, had gagged, and had quickly exited the room without even asking if he were alive.

He took Gabriela’s hand in his and rubbed it sensuously. You took over like a sergeant-at-arms, making sure that I didn’t bleed out. I still owe you a dinner dress, by the way.

Yes, he did. There had been so much blood on her dress that she had simply thrown it out. But, she was not the type to demand it. She squeezed his hand, ending the contact. It was making her nervous once more.

By habit, she twisted her wrist like a dog flinging off water.

Is something wrong with your arm? Albert asked, pointing at her wrist.

She smiled self-consciously. I miss my bracelet. I dropped it off at the jeweler’s this morning.

Now that she mentioned it, Albert hadn’t heard the musical tinkling that was an intrinsic part of Gabriela’s wardrobe. Damaged?

She leaned forward, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Guess what? I found another coin yesterday—in La Marbriére, no less. Michel is mounting it on my bracelet. I think it’ll look good within the collection."

"Dieu. Another coin? Albert laughed at her expression of delight. How many does this make?"

Fifteen. Roberto is already calling me Midas.

Maybe I should stop investing on the stock market and go treasure hunting with you, Albert said.

If I were you, I wouldn’t fire my financial consultants just yet.

Albert’s delighted laughter filled the room. Now it’s a given. I’m accompanying you on your future jaunts. Treasures are guaranteed.

Gabriela shook a finger at him. Dream on, my friend. If I find treasure, it’s going to be all mine. Besides, you don’t need any more money. You’re already swimming in it.

Albert bowed his head in regal acknowledgment of the truth, but his eyes brimmed with laughter. And so will you. After this exhibition, the party to unveil your drawing will clinch it.

Gabriela laughed in delight. Party? It’s not a party, Albert. It’s a war campaign.

Albert shook his head. No, my dear. It’s only the final skirmish to win the war. He caught sight of Jean-Louis. Ah, finally.

Gabriela turned and saw Jean-Louis dragging Julien by the hand, while a sparkling Silvie made her usual entrance, sensuously weaving her way toward them. As usual, her saunter made heads turn and mouths gape.

Noisily, the newcomers settled into their seats, with Albert regally presiding over the chaos. Gabriela gaily entered the fray.

At the end of an unusually busy day, Michel’s little jewelry shop closed its doors to the public. Inside the shop, Michel gave the last instructions to his grandson. And after you clean up the coin Madame Martinez brought in today, don’t forget to take photos of both sides. Remember what happened to you last time. Tomorrow, I’ll do the rest.

David nodded glumly, the thousand rebellious thoughts crossing his mind unexpressed. He remembered, all right. There was no way he would ever forget. The last time another favorite customer had requested her jewelry be cleaned, there had been a bracelet not unlike that of Madame Martinez’s. David had only been working in the shop for a few weeks and had not thought it necessary to photograph both sides of all the coins embellishing Madame Bouvet’s gaudy bracelet. When his grandfather had discovered this, he had been furious, slapping him so hard he had carried the bruises for days. In punishment, he had been left without pay for two weeks and had had to go through the embarrassment of retrieving the bracelet from Madame Bouvet. To top it off, when his father had found out about the incident, he had confiscated his scooter, his only means of transportation, for a week.

Life wasn’t fair.

He still didn’t know what was so important about the coins anyway, or why the damn things needed to be cleaned and photographed. It was all so stupid. If it weren’t for the fact that he needed the extra pocket money while he studied for his BAC, he wouldn’t put up with this nonsense. Unfortunately, he had no choice, and this mysterious routine had to be perpetuated until his grandfather told him otherwise. He didn’t particularly care what became of those photos after he mailed them, but he suspected it had something to do with the strange visitor a few months ago.

With past events still rancorously boiling in his mind, he diligently cleaned the coin, prepared the ancient camera equipment, and took close-ups of both sides of the small coin. He gave a small snort of derision as he rolled in the film. Why didn’t the old man get one of those instant cameras that cluttered the market nowadays? It was more modern, practical, and wouldn’t keep wasting his time. But like everything else that pertained to these coins, David knew it was futile to complain.

As night closed in, David set about finishing his other tasks as quickly as possible. Once finished, he placed the photo roll inside a padded, stamped envelope, and meticulously closed the shop. On his way home, he dropped it off at La Poste and forgot about it. Little did he know a discreet worldwide alert would be issued barely two weeks later.

Chapter 2

Richard Harrison was going on a well-deserved vacation and not a moment too soon. Lately, restlessness had settled over him, unbidden and unwelcome—a bad sign. The following stage would be worse—boredom, plain and simple. If that happened, Jack Seldon wouldn’t be pleased, and Richard would be out of a job.

Not that Richard needed it much. Losing it wouldn’t weigh too much on his mind, or dig a hole in his pocket. What mattered most now were the thoughts that revolved around two weeks of doing nothing but whatever pleased him. Every synapse in his brain pulsated, focusing his mind on the place he’d been hungering to go back to as a civilian. It would be a refreshing change, something different from the habitual ugliness of his job.

The papers on his desk stared blankly at him. He grunted. A wandering mind would only delay him further, and he had a plane to catch. So, he mustered what little remained of his patience and set out to finish quickly.

Thirty minutes later, he scribbled a final correction and placed his bold signature on the corner with a satisfied smile. He threw the pen aside and was about to leave when Virginia, Jack’s assistant, poked her head through the doorway.

Sorry, handsome. Boss needs you.

What the hell did Jack want now? He glanced at his watch, cursed, and walked the short distance between their offices. His plane would leave in less than five hours. He barely had time enough to pack a few things and arrange his personal affairs.

He walked into Seldon’s office without bothering to knock and came to a halt in front of a man with deceptively soft features and hair the color of snow. Seldon’s seemingly mild, uninterested manner did not fool Richard. He was one shrewd son of a bitch, invisibly extending deadly tentacles from behind his unimpressive, brown oak desk. Rumors about him always abounded, circulating around government circles and the firm like vultures over dead meat. Richard smiled nastily. Actually, the rumors didn’t do Seldon justice, falling short of what he was capable. Richard knew. He’d seen Seldon in action, before a promotion had forced him out of fieldwork six years ago. That had placed Seldon in charge of a department that oversaw thirty field agents, Richard being one of them. Their expertise was to harvest sensitive material in hot spots around the world, and to trouble-shoot when necessary, often averting potentially dangerous diplomatic fiascoes and embarrassments to the governments involved.

Jack Seldon kept editing a message as if no one had arrived. Richard watched his boss with growing indignation. Damn the bastard. Seldon knew he didn’t have much time to spare. He cleared his throat noisily. Seldon paid no attention. Richard’s steel-gray eyes narrowed, not in the mood to sacrifice any of his time, especially not for his boss.

Jack. If—

Sit down, will you? Seldon answered phlegmatically. Simmering like a volcano will get you nowhere. Let me finish this fax. You still have plenty of time before your flight.

Richard grabbed the nearest chair and folded his well-trained, lean, six-foot-four frame onto it. Virginia, patiently waiting for the fax, didn’t hide her amused smile. Richard resembled a frisky horse with its rein held tightly in check, quite unlike the image he portrayed in the field. She held back her laughter. It might be amusing to have the Fourth of July fireworks early.

Seldon understood the restlessness of the man sitting across his desk, but took his time finishing the message. Satisfied, he handed it to Virginia and lounged back on his chair, regarding him lazily. One of his best agents—meticulous, calculating, and deadly in his purpose. Jack could take personal pride in Richard. He had trained him.

Now—

Don’t give me any bullshit. I am not going to cancel my vacation, is that understood? Not for you, God Almighty, or the President.

In that order, huh? Seldon chuckled. The man had his priorities in place. Who said anything about canceling your trip? he countered. I certainly haven’t, and I doubt if Virginia has either.

Richard’s eyes narrowed. When Jack was so inoffensive it was when he was at his most dangerous. Then what the hell am I doing here?

I need a favor.

Richard groaned. Forget it. The last time I did you a favor, I almost got blown apart by that diplomat’s mistress in Paris. Remembering the outcome, an unpleasant smile curved Richard’s lips. Unlimited gratification had been his reward when he had set fire under that nest of vipers. Literally. Who said revenge didn’t have its rewards?

This is different. A small problem with one of our citizens abroad, continued Seldon. The Israelis are very keen on knowing how she obtained a particular coin.

Another woman?

Jack smiled. Women always interested Richard Harrison, if only for a moment.

Woman by the name of Gabriela Martinez. Cuban born. Naturalized July 1970. Married. Two children. Husband works for a subsidiary of an American firm. Since I knew you were going to be in the vicinity where they live—

Hell, no. Richard couldn’t keep the annoyance out of his voice.

—around the outskirts of Grasse I’m told, only forty minutes from Nice by autoroute. Beautiful area. Her husband was transferred there six years ago with a two-year contract. It seems he had the option to extend it and he did, indefinitely.

How convenient. So, let me get this straight. I will be Nice-bound tonight, on my vacation, may I add, and you thought nothing of it and volunteered my services. Richard was having difficulty trying to control his anger. No.

Jack Seldon didn’t bat an eye. He continued as if Richard had said nothing. You speak Spanish and French fluently, will be in the area tomorrow, and inspire confidence. This woman’s dossier appears to be clean. Shows her to be well educated.

Richard mumbled a rude remark. Who wants to know about this coin, and why don’t they ask themselves?

Israeli Special Task Force. Mrs. Martinez found a coin about three weeks ago. She took it to a small Jewish jeweler who’s reputed to be an honest man and a good craftsman—

Spare me the character development, Richard cut it. I’m in a rush.

For several years now, jewelers throughout Europe have been requested by their governments to report unusual coins. Mrs. Martinez’s coin caught the attention of the Israelis.

A stolen antique?

That’s what they’re hinting at, Seldon answered. And since they understand any harassment of our citizens overseas is severely frowned upon, they’ve requested one of our agents to do the questioning for them. They don’t want to step on anyone’s toes.

More like they don’t want to step on yours, Richard said. No, Jack. No more favors. Send someone else. I’m out of here.

Richard, it’s really a routine questioning. Trust me. This won’t interrupt your vacation but for a couple of hours.

You want me to waste a couple of hours of my time so that the Israelis, the department, and the President will be happy?

No. Seldon smiled. Just me.

Shit. Richard speared his hair with impatient fingers.

I’ve arranged car transportation for you. You can pick it up at the consulate.

How magnanimous of you.

Richard’s sarcasm was not lost on his boss. I’ll send the consulate a complete dossier to brief you, Seldon said. Your contact at the consulate will be a Denis Ford. He’s arranging a meeting tomorrow in his office with the Israelis, so call to set up the time.

Richard jerked as if hit. Damn it, Jack. I’ll be severely jet-lagged tomorrow. Give me a couple of days to rest.

And spoil your time off with this hanging over your head? Get the questioning out of the way. That way, you can go back to the wonderful beaches of the French Riviera and ogle the bare-chested beauties there.

Richard’s eyes crinkled up in amusement. Jealous?

Seldon ignored the quip. You’ve been as jumpy as a cat, even though no one could tell from looking at you. But I could. I need my agents in top form, with their minds sharp and clear, not befuddled from burnout. That affects your work. I can’t afford to retire a good man. You need to have some good, unadulterated fun.

By your standards?

Seldon laughed. By any standard. So get your ass out of my office now, have plenty of rest, and lots of sex—carefully, mind you. That should unwind you for a while.

Richard stood. And if that doesn’t work?

Seldon returned his look soberly. Then, my dear boy, it means you’d have to be put out to pasture. Which would be just a damn shame. You’d then have to get a decent, boring job, not that you need one, and maybe a woman to tie you down.

Yeah. My ass, he said and walked out.

Bring me back a case of good Bordeaux, will you? Seldon said loud enough to be heard. He leafed through a report on his desk. Preferably a 1982.

Venal bastard, murmured Richard. Then, louder, This is absolutely the last time I’ll be doing you any damn favors, Jack.

Seldon’s sharp blue eyes followed Richard’s receding form, wondering about the gamble he had just taken. He knew he risked losing heavily if it went wrong.

He’s going to be real pissed at you when he finds out the truth, Virginia said from the doorway. Her worried eyes watched Richard as he practically ran out of the office.

Had no choice, Seldon replied. He’s my best man, the only one who might prevent the checkmate to this queen, if my suspicions prove true.

Virginia turned to her boss. She’d rarely heard any emotion filter through his voice, unlike now. You don’t sound very confident.

There are too many variables on the table. Seldon tapped on a blown-up photograph of a smiling woman, vivacious, with intelligent eyes and a look of vulnerability about her. The queen in this game might be in jeopardy, and he had sent out his best knight to prevent any possible checkmate. But in the horseman’s current vulnerable position, the proximity to this queen might prove devastating. And if she turned out to be colluding with the enemy. . . .

Let’s hope I don’t lose him, he said, reclining back in his chair. In more ways than one.

The game had to be played out, regardless of the consequences. Seldon knew the risks. Time would determine the outcome.

The 747 began its slow, casual descent while the captain announced time of arrival, temperature, and if they all looked to their left, they would see a splendid view of the Alps directly below.

Richard listened, eyes closed, uninterested. He had flown this route before, and the novelty had long worn off. Come to think of it, it had never been there. Sitting relaxed for the first time in three years was a better pastime. He was enjoying the complete absence of tension for a change.

A young flight attendant appeared at his shoulder. Before she touched him, he looked up at her with enigmatic eyes.

Sorry to bother you, sir, she said in apology. We’re landing soon and your seat has to be in a vertical position.

Richard complied quickly, giving the woman a disarming smile. She blushed. The man was an attractive brute, she thought. If she weren’t happily married, she’d make sure to discover the wonders of the Riviera very intimately with this man. Feeling suddenly embarrassed, she thanked him and scurried away quickly.

Richard watched her retreating form, his lip curled in a bored, cynical smirk. Always the same, he thought. It was getting tiresome, however useful it was in his line of work.

Ever since he’d turned sixteen and his aunt’s neighbor had willingly enlightened him about his sensual magnetism, it had always been so. He remembered the interludes with the woman had been a pleasant and welcome distraction during those first months of living within the sterile walls of his new home. Not that the ambiance before, in his parent’s house, had been any different. The only contrast had been his aunt Sarah had chosen to love her career to the exclusion of everything else. His parents, each other. From birth, Richard had been treated as an unplanned acquisition, placed among his parent’s precious antiques, and occasionally fussed over, admired, and lightly caressed. His father had followed his passion for antiques, converting a hobby into a lucrative career, and his mother had followed her husband. Theirs was consistent behavior, even in death. Very convenient, he thought. Richard never blamed them for their lack of interest in him, but had not felt obliged to mourn them when they had died. There had never been any closeness between them. No love lost.

Upon their death, his unmarried aunt, who hadn’t wanted to be saddled with an adolescent, had scooped him up simply because she felt family duty couldn’t be shirked. She offered him a roof over his head. She also bluntly advised him to mind his own business, to follow the rules of her house, and not to be a nuisance, conspicuous, or demanding. He could be all those after inheriting the business and fortune set up in trust by his father, outside her home.

It was then he had met Grace, a practical, pretty woman in her late forties, whose sexual appetites matched her husband’s workaholism. She had pointed out the unexploited power Richard wielded, her squeaky voice saying, You have the eyes of a faun and the body of Adonis. You’ll get anything you want from any woman if you play your cards right, my boy.

Slapping his naked butt, she would continue babbling. And don’t worry about being unscrupulous, honey. We’re all users, one way or another. No woman, or man for that matter, sacrifices anything for anyone unless it’s to his advantage. We’re all mercenaries and you won’t break anyone’s heart, believe you me. The women who were claiming undying love for you the week before will be wetting their panties for someone else the week after. It’s just a matter of who offers the most.

Givers and takers, Richard thought. He had learned early in life to be the user, discarding the unnecessary or burdensome.

The plane dipped, forcing his thoughts to the present. He opened his eyes and glanced out the window. The ocean, as blue-green as aquamarine, was replaced almost instantly by stained concrete. The plane landed with a thump, the pull of the retros pushing his body forward from the comfortable first-class seat.

When they came to a full stop, he waited patiently for the crowd to disperse. He removed his light