The young senator stared straight ahead as they flew over the Dead Lakes region. It was almost nightfall. “If that’s what you want to believe, Matthew, go right ahead. I suppose we all have to have our delusions.”

And none is bigger than yours, Sam, Matthew thought. But he didn’t pursue the subject. In a way, it was his own fault Ryder had never owned up to what he’d done. The commission that investigated the death of Senator Samuel Ryder, Sr., during a fact-finding mission to Vietnam had pinned the blame squarely on the shoulders of the helicopter pilot who had “stumbled” into the hot LZ, resulting in the deaths of the senator and one copilot, Jake MacIntyre, and one crew chief, and the wounding of one door gunner, Otis Raymond, and of himself. What should have been a routine VIP tour, a cushy mission for a top-notch pilot like Stark, had turned into a disaster.

Stark, Otis Raymond, and Phil Bloch had all kept their mouths shut about what they knew: that the senator’s son and namesake had wanted to impress his father so much he’d deliberately lied about the area where his company was on patrol. Nothing bad was supposed to have happened. Matt Stark was supposed to be a good enough pilot to pull them out in case they were fired on. For his part, the senior Ryder had demanded that Stark go into his son’s landing zone if at all possible, telling the young pilot he’d fought in the Pacific during World War II, which had been a real war, and he wasn’t afraid.

At the time, Matthew had tried to spare the green lieutenant any further suffering. His father was dead. It seemed like enough. But by taking the blame himself, Matthew had helped Sam Ryder, Jr., convince himself that he hadn’t been in any way responsible.

“Okay, Sam,” he said, “have it your way. Just tell me one more thing: do you know how she-” he nodded to Juliana “-found her way down here?”

“Well, I…” Ryder sputtered, lifting his shoulders helplessly.

“You told her.” Matthew didn’t raise his voice; there was no point. “You figured you could throw her to Bloch, which he would see as a gesture of good faith on your part-and the hell with what happened to her?”

“That’s not true. I don’t want anything to happen to her!”

“Let’s put it this way, Sam,” Stark said, turning around and looking not at Ryder, but at Juliana. He’d never known anyone like her. Never. “Nothing had better happen to her.”

The one part of him that had never failed Hendrik de Geer were his eyes, and yet now he could not believe them. From his position in the fishing boat, he saw two things happen almost simultaneously. One, a helicopter kicked up dust and wind as it came down for a landing behind the lodge, creating a good deal of excitement among Bloch’s men. Two, Wilhelmina and Catharina had surprised their guard as he went in to check on them while the helicopter was landing and had battled him out onto the porch with what even from a distance looked suspiciously like kitchen knives.

Hendrik quickly started the engine of the boat. It would have been simple-and very wise-for him just to get out of there as quickly as possible. In all the chaos, no one would even notice.

You’re a coward, he told himself silently.

Yes, and cowards often died fools’ deaths.

He gunned the engine and sped toward the dock. Another man had seen the difficulties the guard was in and was moving toward his aid. Hendrik leaped from the boat with the assault rifle he’d stashed outside the camp, when he’d first started dealing with Bloch. He’d picked it up after stealing the boat.

“Good evening, Michael,” he said calmly. “I wouldn’t go any further if I were you.”

“De Geer.” The boy eyed the rifle. He was no more than twenty-one, lured into this life by false tales of adventure and romance. All he’d experienced so far, Hendrik knew, were the bites of insects and the discipline of a man he could neither respect nor admire. “What’re you doing?”

“If you’re going to stay in this business and live, you’re going to have to learn to cut your losses, Michael. Bloch has tread where he never should have. He’s abandoning camp, but it’ll be too late. He’s not a hero, Michael. He’s a murderer.”

“You’re crazy, de Geer. Bloch’ll kill you.”

The Dutchman shrugged, impassive. “In this life, death is always a possibility. Drop your weapon, Michael-or we can begin the evening’s body count with yours.”

Michael paled, eyeing the rifle, and nodded, slowly dropping his automatic.

“Get out,” Hendrik said. “This isn’t your fight. If you have a buddy, take him with you. Take as many as you can.”

The boy just swallowed and began to run, and Hendrik picked up the automatic and moved quickly toward the shack. Catharina had been thrown to the ground and was awkwardly climbing to her feet, holding her injured arm, her color terrible. Wilhelmina held a paring knife to the throat of the now very still, very terrified guard. She was bleeding and winded, but undaunted.

“Ahh, Willie,” Hendrik said, laughing in spite of himself. He took Catharina by the shoulder, steadying her. She smelled of sweat and dirt and a light, fading perfume, none of which, he thought, he would ever forget. “Are you all right, Catharina?”

She nodded. “Hendrik-I didn’t think…”

“You didn’t think I’d come? Neither did I, I suppose. Forty years ago I wouldn’t have. Make no mistake about that, my sweet Catharina.” But he didn’t waste time on sentiment. Pointing his rifle at the man on the porch, whose name he’d forgotten, he said, “Come, Willie, you and Catharina have done your job. He won’t move-will you, my friend?”

The guard seemed almost pleased to be held off by an FN NATO assault rifle rather than an old woman’s kitchen knife. A man’s pride, Hendrik thought, disgusted and amused.

Wilhelmina climbed stiffly down from the porch, ruing the loss of her youth. When one reached the age of seventy, she thought, one should plant begonias. She gave Hendrik de Geer a stony look. “Did you forget something? Is that why you returned?”

“Yes,” he said. “I forgot how much I care about you two. Now come, both of you. There’s a fishing boat down at the dock. It’s a simple engine, you can manage it. I’ll get you to it. Then take it and get out of here. Look for another fishing camp; get help.”

“What about you?” Catharina asked.

Hendrik let his gaze linger on her soft green eyes. “I have always been good at taking care of myself, Catharina.”

“No question of that,” Wilhelmina muttered.

He gave her a thin smile, remembering how they’d always sparred with each other, even when they were teenagers and Catharina was still but a baby. “Mind the alligators, Willie.”

“I’m not afraid of alligators.”

“No,” he said, “but they may be afraid of you.”

Twenty-Five

“W ait for me if you can,” Stark told the pilot. “If you can’t, get the hell out.” He nodded to Juliana and Ryder. “Take these two with you.”

“Will do.”

Matthew turned to Ryder. “Keep her here. Understood?”

He was half-waiting for Ryder to tell him Juliana could stay with the pilot, that he was a veteran combat soldier and would be willing to help Matthew with Bloch. But the senator from Florida only nodded, white-faced.

Juliana was closer to purple-faced. “What if ‘her’ doesn’t want to stay here?” she demanded, her tone scathing as strands of pale blond hair flew across her face. Stark thought she looked gorgeous.

“Look,” he said, “you know Eric Shuji Shizumi. I know Phillip Bloch. I won’t interfere with you and Shuji; you don’t interfere with me and Bloch. Okay?”

“He’s got my mother and my aunt.”

Stark hadn’t thought his logic would work with her. “Here.” He pulled back the slide on the Colt, lowered the hammer, and handed it over. “It’s an automatic. To shoot someone just flip off the safety, cock it, point and pull the trigger. It’s an old Army gun. Ryder knows all about it, but I think right now I trust you more.” Then he leaned over and kissed her hard. “Be good.”