Heaven Is High (25 page)

The ocean was too big, too incomprehensible, untamable. She couldn't put it in human terms that made sense to her. It seemed that one direction was as good as any other, since all directions were the same. It would be easy to sail endlessly in a great circle.

She frowned as it occurred to her that it was only her own thoughts that circled endlessly, a loop that had no exit, no entrance, only the loop. “In the end is my beginning,” she thought. Exactly so. She had joined the loop the day Binnie and Martin appeared on her doorstep and she had taken their problem as her own because she had seen Binnie's hand reach for his as if reflexively. Because they were so very much in love, and she had lost her lover.

Since she had said yes to them, she had been like chaff on the wind, blown here, there, onward irresistibly, and she was still being taken here, there, onward, not by her choice, but the choice of others, nameless, faceless others. Another pawn in a game she had not chosen to play, a deadly game into which she had been drawn by an irrational act of her own, taking on a case for which she had not been qualified.

She walked the length of the boat again, rounded the corner, and saw Gabe descending the steps from the upper deck.

“Barbara, come sit down,” he said. “You've been walking for over an hour. You'll exhaust yourself.” He indicated the upper deck. “It's a pleasant place to sit and watch a spectacular sunset while sipping a glass of wine.”

She nodded. Her bruised feet hurt, she was tired, and no amount of thinking seemed to lead anywhere. She didn't know what awaited her in Eugene, what the next play must be, or who the players would be.

Gabe stepped aside to allow her to precede him up the stairs, where he or someone had placed lounge chairs with thick cushions on the west side of the boat. A table between the chairs held a tray with wine in a bucket, a bottle of red wine, glasses, and a plate of snacks. It was like being in the Beast's castle with invisible hands tending to the needs of those inside. She had no idea how many crew members there were, or where they kept themselves. The only one she had seen had been Franklin. But it was good to sit down, she admitted as she lowered herself into one of the chairs, which proved to be as comfortable as a mother's lap.

“My inertia button jams,” she said. “There are times when whatever I'm doing, I tend to keep doing until someone says stop.”

Gabe nodded as if in understanding. “This is a dry Lambec from Chile,” he said, holding up the red wine. “Or do you prefer the white we had at lunch?”

“The red, please.” He poured and handed a glass to her, and she found it as fantastic as she had expected it to be. “Wonderful,” she murmured. “Just what I needed.”

“I like it,” he said. “Now this,” he said, pointing to the plate, “is ham from Holland. You know that ham? Big slices, as big as dinner plates, almost as thin as paper, and delicious. Franklin likes to roll various things in it and cut it into bite-sized pieces. I think the pink toothpicks indicate a sharp cheese, yellow a mild Edam, and only God and Franklin know what the miscellaneous ones are.”

“You seem to have a way with waiters,” she commented, and took a pink toothpick-secured piece.

“I guess,” he said. “Working people, like me. I had my first job when I was fourteen, paperboy. Up at four thirty, picked up my bundle of newspapers, rolled them, biked my route, tossing them on people's porches, quick breakfast, and on to school by eight thirty. I think I've worked ever since, until my heart attack.”

“You quit cold turkey, but you then went back to work. Couldn't you stand the life of ease?”

He was silent long enough for her to assume that she had stepped into his do-not-enter zone. She picked up one of the miscellaneous ham tidbits and found it to be filled with a sharp, savory mushroom filling.

“I imagine you're had to deal with some addicts as a defense attorney,” Gabe said at length.

“I have.”

“My Bettina was a beautiful young woman when we met,” he said. “Not a novelty in Hollywood, of course. Beauty is the standard, but Bettina was different. She could also act. One of the best in the business. I was an addict, addicted to work, and she discovered heroin and became an addict. Our fifth picture,
Roller Coaster,
was a nightmare from start to finish. It was our last together. Her last, period. When I began casting
Tripoli
I used Sandi O'Brian, and Bettina said I did it on purpose, to cheat her of the Oscar she had coming. Two nominations under her belt, she was due an Oscar, and that picture might have given it to her, but she was an addict. It isn't pretty watching that happen, that slide into the abyss by someone you've loved. La dolce vita, for a while, then Dante's
Inferno
.”

When he paused, Barbara said, “That movie won you an Oscar for director, didn't it?”

“Yes. It made matters worse somehow. I'll never know if I could have helped her if I had tried harder.”

“You couldn't,” Barbara said. “No one outside can help. It has to come from the inside.”

“Funny thing is, I know that intellectually, but I'll never really know it. Anyway, there was the blowup and divorce, and a few months later, heart attack. I went to a place up in Big Sur to recuperate, took a bunch of scripts with me and thought I'd get a lot of reading done but, instead, I sat and looked at the ocean, forever rolling in and out. And I knew I was done, finished, tired of it all. I wanted a boat. I told my attorney to sell everything, told my manager to start notifying people to look for other work—gardeners, house staff, secretary, personal assistant. My God, I was keeping a dozen people employed full-time!”

He gave her an appraising look and said, “I guess you don't follow celebrity news, read the tabloids, keep up with the antics of the rich and famous.”

“Good guess,” she said.

“Right. So there were rumors. Bettina had broken my heart. I had incurable cancer or something like that. I'd had a disabling stroke and couldn't cut it anymore. I was shacked up with a new sweetie half my age. Actually, I went shopping for a boat as soon as I could move without doubling over because it hurt.” He laughed. “And I found one, this one.
My Bettina
. One of the best days of my life, having a crew who could run her and teach me how. We took her out on her maiden voyage, and afterward we fixed a few things, made a few changes, and went out again. It was grand, exhilarating, liberating. Then, back onshore I had a visitor. David came calling.”

He stopped there, and Barbara thought he was finished. He poured wine for both of them, ate a little ham roll, and sipped his wine before he spoke again. “I'd known David, correction, I had thought I knew him. He'd done some still work for me three or four years earlier and we had a number of good conversations. He can be misleading because he's fairly quiet, but there's a lot to him that doesn't meet the eye, as I was about to find out. I invited him to a cruise, and he went out with us the next week.” He laughed a low rumble of amusement. “I should say rather that he permitted me to invite him for a cruise. We were sitting here, where we are now, when I began to really know him. I had a seagoing yacht, I was unattached, I was of a political persuasion that was acceptable, and so on. Did I want to help a good cause? Not quite that raw, but that was the gist of our conversation that night sitting here. It took more than one conversation, of course, but in the end, I said yes. And here I am, with a new crew, some new equipment on board, and now and then a new assignment.”

He finished the wine in his glass in one long drink and refilled it. He said with an intensity she had not heard before, “Barbara, if there is any way on earth that I can help smash a drug cartel, I'm in all the way. I'm being used, of course, and I completely accept that. Aren't we all to some extent? I know if there's a vacuum created in the drug business, there will be others to step in to fill it, but meanwhile I'll do what I can with the ones at hand.”

He had found purpose for his life, Barbara thought when he became silent. He had a need to avenge the loss of his loved one, a need to assuage the guilt he suffered for not saving her. That mission, others like it, would never free him from those dual needs that would spur him relentlessly onward, forever on his own loop without an exit.

*   *   *

While Gabe was talking, the sun had slid behind the clouds in the west, turning them into ghostly white glowing mountains in the sky. Abruptly an eruption of brilliant scarlet flared, followed by green and gold bands that shot sideways, and the sky mountains came alive with dazzling colors. Barbara caught her breath as the eruption of brilliance ballooned and grew even brighter with new colors. Pink and coral, gold and green, aquamarine, violet …

Neither spoke until the clouds faded, leaving bands of dark blue and purple that gradually merged into darkness, and the sky overhead turned into a blue-black velvet studded with diamonds.

“Once a scientist started to talk about prismatic effects, refractions and such,” Gabe said softly. “I excused myself and left him talking to the air. There are some things I really don't want to know.”

“Good for you,” Barbara said. “Thank you for bringing me up here, Gabe.”

“You're welcome. I wanted you to see that.” A pale boat light had come on with sunset and now was the only light. “I'm afraid we won't be able to tell one toothpick from another any longer,” Gabe said. “Running lights, required at sea, or you might get rammed by something bigger than you are. We take our chances with the snacks.” He picked up another tidbit, then said, “Good draw. I like the mushroom ones best. Barbara, do you think you could take a nap, rest a little? You're in for a long night, I'm afraid.”

“I'm fine,” she said. “And no, I couldn't nap now. I was thinking while I took my walk. Thinking about the man who called himself Nicholson, not likely his real name, but it will do. If what you say about Santos is right, it seems that he doesn't have the organization or the power to have people in the States working for him. Perhaps he thinks Nicholson is his man, but he isn't, is he?”

“As I said before, Barbara, you are a scary woman. No. Nicholson is most likely working for the same people Santos is primed to join, regardless of what they've let him think.”

She sipped her wine. That meant that even if Gabe's outfit took Santos down, others might well remain in place, including Nicholson. Mentally she rounded another curve in the loop.

“One more thing,” she said. “If Nicholson is their man, chances are good that Emerson and Marcos are also. They are the import shop partners. Their Eugene connection. Who needs the French connection?” she added bitterly.

“Barbara, you can tie Nicholson to Santos, and it appears that you also can tie him to a possible link in the chain, completing the triangle.”

“Let me guess how good a position that puts me in,” she said, and drained her glass.

Neither spoke again for a time until Gabe said, “Barbara, please excuse me for a few minutes. I won't be long.” He rose from his chair.

“And I hadn't even mentioned light refraction,” she murmured.

He laughed. “You're a rare woman, Barbara. You have no need to fill every moment of silence with mindless chatter. That's an admirable quality. Back soon.” He walked away.

All right, she told herself, first order of business: Find out if the extension was granted, and if so until when. They could have ordered Binnie to report in on Wednesday, nine sharp, and she, Barbara, might be in New Orleans, or forty thousand feet up, flying north. Or somewhere else. Nothing she could do about that. Next order of business: Meet with Binnie and Martin and fill them in on events. Hey, Binnie, you have a new mother, and you're something of an heiress. Oh, incidentally, you're also on the hit list of a drug cartel.

First, second, third, ad infinitum, she told herself: Keep out of the gun sights of Nicholson, and any other goons who might also have guns.

Next: Make a plan to get Binnie to and from a meeting with immigration, in spite of what seemed to be true, that Nicholson was aware of what was going on in immigration. She was back to the place in the loop where she wondered if Santos had real information concerning Binnie's appearance, if it had been scheduled and Barbara had missed being there, throwing Binnie to the wolves. He had been wrong about knowing where Anaia was hiding, he could have been just as wrong about Binnie's scheduled appearance. But if that turned out to be true, it probably was over already.

If he had been lying, the date changed to one she and Binnie could make, there could be a hit man at the entrance to the federal building, ready to spray everyone in sight with lead, but especially Binnie and her attorney, and escape in the ensuing panic and confusion.

So, don't take Binnie to a meeting. Demand to represent her alone. She shook her head in derision. Reason with immigration officials when they believed they had netted one they considered to be an illegal immigrant? Deprive them of a deportation that would be high-profile, involving a rich and powerful man? She was aware of the fact that if an immigrant failed to show up for a hearing, they would instantly declare her a fugitive. In that event, they were likely to seize her and ship her, incommunicado, to an unknown holding facility to wait for a flight. Then, in due time, let an attorney plead her case.

Overriding all other orders of business: Keep Martin from using the gun she was certain he possessed.

She closed her eyes and tried to find a different starting place, or a different set of priorities altogether.

Sokolosky, she thought then, apparently in charge of immigration statewide, superior to the Eugene official Dennis Linfield, and either of them might have been given the tip by Nicholson. Or someone further down the chain of command, she added tiredly. Or Sokolosky and Linfield might both be in on it. Two feathers, two caps. Unknown players, all of them. But, damn it, Nicholson had given the tip about Binnie to someone in immigration, that much alone she felt certain about. And it was the only thing she felt she knew.