The Music Trilogy (51 page)

It was the only hope, as remote as it seemed, but it was still hope. Eleni and Melina spent the evening on telephones, with the Coast Guards of the U.S., Cuba, the Bahamas, even Bermuda. They were on the phone with Stefanos, Penelope and their aides for hours. Koulouris Enterprises put out an all points bulletin to all its ships in the Atlantic and extended the bulletin to every maritime line and navy in those waters. All vessels, from the smallest pleasure boat to the largest container ship in the area would pick it up on their radios. Stefanos and Melina tried to get the heads of state and the admirals of surrounding countries they knew or at least were acquainted with—in Cuba, Haiti, the Dominican Republic, Bermuda, the Bahamas, and the United States. Everyone they spoke to at least listened, some with more compassion than others. But almost none of them had any hope.

It was after midnight when Eleni and Melina put down the telephone receivers for the last time. They were both exhausted and emotionally drained from the hours of questioning and pleading, and of being told, again and again that it had been six days since Alejandro’s plane went down and that the odds of him being alive were not good, not at all good.

Eleni was up before the others that morning. She wore a muumuu with an African pattern of dancing zebras splashed over a sea of browns and greens. She wrapped her hair in a kerchief, tied at the back. Sunglasses in hand, she told the policeman who seemed to be in charge of the guards at the villa that she would be leaving to do some errands and she was not about to be seen with a man in uniform following her around. The policeman said he would be glad to supply her with a guard in civilian clothes. So it was that a young man in a suit and tie accompanied Eleni to
Los Pollos
(The Chickens), where Sergeant Martinez said Jean worked.

Eleni’s handsome young police escort convinced her to let him drive. Why should they take two cars? She graciously agreed. She did not mention that she in fact could not drive. She had never driven a car in her life. She never had a need to. In Europe, Melina or William drove when they were together and required an automobile. Or her lovers drove. And when she became successful in her career, there were enough chauffeurs.

Los Pollos was not among the more fashionable eateries in Miami Beach. It was near the boardwalk, next to one of those souvenir shops that cater to tourists everywhere. Inside Los Pollos, Eleni was greeted with the smells of Cuba—cumin and roasted coffee beans, onions frying and chorizo. The sounds of salsa and merengue filled the place.

Eleni sat in a back booth. The officer sat at the bar. Eleni kept her sunglasses on. Jean, wearing an apron, came to her table. Eleni peeked up at her from over the menu.

Jean looked tired, very tired.

“How are you, Jean?”

♫

CHAPTER 38

Melina woke Davina with a glass of orange juice. “I’m going to bring you something to eat, and I don’t want to hear any complaints. You must eat or you will stay weak, and that is not like you.”

“Alright, Mother, whatever you say.”

“So, what would you like?”

“How about some of that
pastichio
.”

“For
breakfast
?”

“Why not?”

Yes, of course why not. Not wanting to give Davina a chance to change her mind, Melina hurried to the kitchen and heated up a portion of the ground meat, cheese and pasta. She placed it before her daughter on a tray. “Now promise me that you will eat every little bite.”

“
All
of this?”

“All of it.”

“But, Mother, this is enough for an entire army!”

“I know you can eat all of it. You used to eat more than that when you were just a child.”

“Those were wonderful years, weren’t they, Mommy?”

“The best, my darling, the best. Now eat.”

Melina’s
pastichio
was also the dinner that evening, enjoyed by Jacques and Monique, and Eleni and Melina, and even Davina enjoyed another piece. Davina’s appetite was coming back. She had more life in her voice. They felt a renewed sense of hope for her. Not wanting to dampen that in any way, they stayed clear of any talk of Alejandro. Life must go on. Eleni was confident that the visitor she expected that night would only help matters.

They were all still seated around the table at the patio when that visitor arrived. Only Eleni was not surprised.

Jean was as beautiful as ever, clad in jeans and a loose blouse.

“Jean!” Melina exclaimed. “My dear, how are you?”

“Very well, thank you, Melina,” she said quietly

Davina was happy to see her. “Jean, where have you been?”

Jean slowly turned to Davina but she would not meet her eyes. “How are you?” She made no attempt to move. Her tone of voice made it sound as if as if her presence here was a burden she really did not want after all.

Davina’s elation turned to confusion.

Jacques stood up. “Hello Jean,” he said. “May I introduce you to my wife Monique.”

“How do you do,” Jean said.

Monique wondered if this was the same Jean Conrad she had heard so many wonderful things about. Why was this woman so uncomfortable here among friends? She seemed almost morose.

“Eleni convinced me to come,” Jean said almost in a monotone. “But it was a mistake. It’s not safe.”

“You cannot hide forever in a hole,” Eleni said, trying to reason with her as she had that morning at Los Pollos.

Jean shook her head and studied her shoes. “It’s not safe, Eleni. I’m putting you all in danger, my being here.”

“Listen, Jean,” Jacques tried, “we have to get this all behind us.”

Jean looked up abruptly and stared at Jacques. Her eyes seemed to penetrate him. “Easy for you to say, Jacques,” she snapped. “The only man I ever loved is dead. How do I put
that
behind me, I’d like to know.”

“Children, children, it is over,” Melina said, her voice rising. “Whatever happened happened.”

“It wouldn’t have happened if there hadn’t been a concert,” Jean said quietly, tears now on her face.

“If you’re trying to tell me it was my fault, Jean, you’re right,” Davina said quietly. “I should have listened to you and to Jacques and cancelled the concert.”

“That is nonsense!” Jacques said.

“I have to go,” Jean said and began to walk across the patio.

“Just a minute!” Jacques said, catching up with her and grabbing her arm. “What is wrong with you? What are you trying to do to Davina?”

“To Davina? Don’t make me laugh, Jacques. Let me go,” she said, pulling her arm free.

“No!” Jacques hollered and grabbed her arm again. “Maybe you have nothing to say, but I do.”

“Jacques, please let her go,” Davina said.

He ignored her. “I didn’t hear you blame yourself for any of this, Jean. And we
all
know that if Davina hadn’t rescued you from Simon Grady at the airport, you would have been dead by now. If she hadn’t, none of this would have happened! Would it?”

Jean tried to get away but Jacques held both her arms firmly.

“Davina’s first mistake was to help you at the airport. Her second was trusting you!”

“Jacques, stop it!” Davina yelled.

“Jean,” he said looking at her straight in the eyes, “I hope none of us ever sees you again.” He let go of her arms.

Jean, sobbing, rushed to the gate.

Davina called after her. “Jean, please! Don’t go!”

Jean didn’t turn back. She ran out of the villa grounds and didn’t stop until she reached the security gates. “Goodbye, my great friend,” Jean whispered. “I shall never forget you and your heart of gold.” Her chest and her throat tightened. She would have to forget all those wonderful people. She knew the road ahead would be difficult and lonely. She would have to work much harder and save up so that she wouldn’t have too many financial problems once the baby started to show.

Raindrops began to drip down the large glass balcony doors off Davina’s bedroom. She wiped the glass with her sleeve. It was raining inside. But no, it was not raining. The only water that was falling was from her eyes. “They have done everything possible to find you, Alejandro,” Davina said. “Even if you had survived the crash, you couldn’t live without food and water. Maybe it would have been better if I had died as well,
mi amor
, we’d be together now.”

♫

CHAPTER 39

If only they could suspend the poor bugger in mid-air, Captain Christian Nelson thought staring at the man. He could almost cry, something his crew would never expect from him. The big rugged Bahamian was known for his strictness and perfectionism and he expected nothing less from his men. Standing six-feet-five and weighing close to three hundred pounds, the man was an impressive figure and many feared him. But the Captain could have cried as he watched his crew move the man in the rescue launch. No human being should have to endure what this man had been through. The Captain shuddered at the idea of his pain. Like being burned alive but without the hope of dying, just slow excruciating torture.

“Doctor, will he make it?”

“Fortunately or unfortunately, yes, Captain. In his place I would not want to. We have to get him to Miami, to the burn center there.”

“I will alert Nassau. We should be there in two hours. Have you been able to find out who he is yet?”

“No, but I think he is Spanish or South American. He mumbled something. The only words that were clear to me were “Davina, Davina.” That was the only thing I could distinguish. Does that make any sense to you?”

“Davina?” the Captain repeated. “No. Well, I’ll be on the bridge should you need anything, or if our friend tells you anything else,” he said turning to the door. “Wait. That singer, Davina, Davina Walters. That’s the only Davina I know of.”

The Captain had seen footage on the news of the Orange Bowl explosion the week before. And now he remembered an all-points bulletin via ship’s radio about a downed plane and the Spanish diplomat Alejandro Del Valle. Could it be? But what was he doing in the middle of the ocean adrift?

Captain Nelson went to the bridge. He radioed Miami Police. He was put through to Sergeant Ernesto Martinez.

Martinez almost choked on his Cuban coffee. “Captain, would you please repeat that,” he said rising out of his seat.

“We have a man on board we rescued from a raft. I believe he is Mister del Valle, Davina Walters’ fiancé.”

“Are you sure it’s him?”

“Perhaps. He is not in good shape. Our doctor on board says he must get to your burn center immediately. We will be in Nassau in two hours and he should be in flight in less than three. It is quite beyond me how this man survived. Judging from his beard growth, he must have been at sea about seven or eight days.”

“Captain Nelson, I commend you.”

The Bahamian was pleased. “I thank you, Sergeant.”

Martinez immediately called the Spanish Ambassador.

“
Buenos dias, Sargento
, how are you?”

“I’m fine sir, how are you and your lovely wife?”

“Most bruises have healed.” The Ambassador and his wife had been at the concert and both of them had been trampled by spectators.

“I’m very glad to hear that, sir,” Martinez said and then he got to the point. “I am calling about Alejandro del Valle.”

“I see,” the Ambassador said, although he didn’t, and he wondered what the detective really wanted. He knew too much already. “What about him, Sergeant?”

“He was found about an hour ago by a Bahamian coast guard. He’s being flown to Miami Burn Center as soon as they reach Nassau, which will be in approximately two hours. I am told he’s in bad shape.”

“I see. When you say bad shape, do you mean mentally or physically?”

“Physically for sure, mentally I don’t know.”

“I see. Will you be meeting the plane?”

“Yes. It’s landing at Opa Locka.”

“Sergeant, this matter is of the utmost secrecy.”

“Is it alright for me to inform his family?”

“No. No, no, definitely not. Nobody can know. We must wait and learn more about his condition and what exactly happened that night on the plane.”

“Very well.”

Martinez knew that it was appropriate, professionally at least, to respect the ambassador’s wish for secrecy. But he was not entirely comfortable with it. If Davina knew about Alejandro, it could only help her. She would recuperate faster. He dwelled on his thoughts for a while and then picked up the phone. He called Jacques Laffitte.

“Jacques, this is Ernesto. Can you meet me in a couple of hours at the Opa Locka airport? Six o’clock? I can’t tell you why.”

“Alright. I’ll just call Monique and let her know that I’ll be late.”

“Don’t tell Monique where you’re going.”

“Is this pertaining to Simon Grady?”

“Not exactly. I’m sorry but I can’t discuss this right now over the telephone.”

“I will meet you at six then.”

“I’ll have one of my men pick you up half an hour before.”

“I shall be waiting.”

Jacques and the plainclothes police officer drove to the airport north of Miami in an unmarked police car. Jacques had an odd feeling, but he couldn’t place it. His stomach was in knots and he couldn’t comprehend why he was so uneasy. They drove through security and parked alongside Martinez’s car.

“Ernesto, what is going on?” Jacques asked as they shook hands. An ambulance came through the gates and turned toward the airfield. “Are we waiting for someone?”

“Yes, Jacques, as a matter of fact, we are.”

“Who? Why all this secrecy?”

“There is a plane due in from Nassau at six. They are transporting a man. No one is supposed to know.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“Even you, Jacques, are not supposed to know.”

The Frenchman looked blankly at the policeman.

“I am under strict orders, but the case is exceptional so I decided to let you know. I’ve got to let someone know! Maybe you can be of some help, but please, you must not mention to anyone what we’re doing here. I am going against the rules.”

“I understand. No, no I don’t understand. Who are we expecting in that plane from Nassau?”

“They rescued him a few hours ago.”

“Alejandro…” Jacques whispered.

Martinez nodded. “A Bahamian boat found him, and he is pretty sure that it is Alejandro.”

“But not certain.”

“Certain enough. Jacques, he’s in pretty bad shape. The captain seemed to think that Alejandro’s survival was a miracle in itself.”

They watched the plane land. Jacques could feel his heart pounding. He climbed the portable stairs behind Martinez, but he was not prepared for what he saw. He cringed at the sight of the man being loosened from the safety straps. A light sheet covered him but did not touch his naked body. His wounds were bleeding from open sores where his skin and flesh had peeled off. Intravenous bottles hung from oddly shaped hooks above his frail frame. Jacques had to look twice to make sure it was Alejandro. The once handsome face reminded him of a skull in a bad horror movie. He had lost an enormous amount of weight and he was in a great deal of pain. The slightest touch made him scream. Jacques’ eyes filled with tears.

Martinez put a hand on Jacques’ shoulder. “You’ve got to be strong, for both of you. It will be a long road to his recovery.”

Jacques nodded. He could not speak. He was thankful that Alejandro was alive but at what cost? He accompanied Alejandro in the ambulance to the hospital. The Frenchman caressed the top of Alejandro’s head, all the while murmuring words of hope and praying that his friend would be able to return to a normal life.

Martinez met them at the burn center. “Take it easy,” he told Jacques.

“I keep wondering if he wouldn’t be better off if Davina was made aware.”

“I know. I’ve thought of that too. But we can’t, Jacques. We can’t say anything until we get an okay from the Spanish embassy. An envoy is on his way. I’ll ask him as soon as he arrives.”

Jacques nodded. He would wait, despite his growing depression. His patience had worn thin. Time was a healer, everyone said, and as with Monique and Davina, Jacques now had to deal with yet another wait, this one for Alejandro.

The envoy from the Spanish Embassy, when he arrived, was adamant that no one know about Alejandro’s rescue or his whereabouts, not even the fact of his existence. Even the hospital staff could not know.

“Apparently, Alejandro was on a delicate mission,” Martinez tried to explain to Jacques, although he himself did not understand the need for such secrecy. “It’s a direct order from the Spanish Ambassador. Alejandro has been registered incognito.”

“But what happens when he wakes up? Surely Alejandro will want to see Davina and possibly myself as well. What do we do then?”

“Davina doesn’t know and you don’t know anything either. For now we leave it at that. You may not speak to the doctor. If you have any questions, I’ll be more than happy to ask them for you.”

Martinez could see that Jacques was irritated. “Please, my friend, I know this is difficult for you but he is a Spanish subject and we must abide by Spain’s wishes.”

“What do they know about a man’s feelings? About his personal life? Why don’t they just leave him alone! He’s been through hell! And if I know Alejandro, the best thing for him now is to call Davina and tell the poor woman that her fiancé is alive and he needs her!”

“I’m sure you’re right, but let’s at least see what happens when he comes around. I spoke to the doctor. Alejandro is under heavy sedation. They’ll be removing the dead skin and treating his wounds. It’ll take several hours and then they’ll give him antibiotics, painkillers and something to make him sleep. He probably won’t wake up until tomorrow. So the doctor suggests we go home. I told him about you and he swore not to tell anyone from the embassy. If you want to call in, ask for the condition of Alejandro Garcia.”

“Garcia?”

“Yes. Garcia. Very common name. But we keep his first name in case he wakes up.

Jacques mouthed Martinez’s last words …
In case he wakes up.

Monique greeted her husband with an affectionate kiss. She saw immediately that he was troubled, but she made no mention of this. She knew he would tell her what it was in due time. “
Bonsoir, chéri
, how did it go today?”

“More or less the usual,” Jacques said, hating his lie. “Where is Davina?”

“She turned in early. She said she had a headache. I didn’t quite believe her. I think she just wants to be alone.”

“That’s not like her. She hates being alone. She always wants people around her.”

“Yes,
chérie
, but that is the way Davina is now. I think maybe this entire ordeal has become quite a mountain and she can’t seem to reach the peak. Maybe we should move out for a while and leave her alone. Maybe that would do her some good.”

“You really think so? I thought the best medicine for her was company and friends, and the two of you are so close. Why do you think it would be better?”

“I’m not exactly sure. I have this feeling that maybe we are a burden, maybe she wants to do things and she can’t because we are present, maybe she just wants to scream and shout and let her pain out and she doesn’t because we’re here. She wouldn’t want to upset us or her mother or Eleni.”

“Monique, do you think that if Alejandro were alive, Davina would come out of this?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Is this what troubles him now? Monique wondered. But of course Jacques knows what Alejandro means to Davina. “Why do you ask?”

“I was just wondering what we could do, I guess. Anyway. How is Melina? And Eleni?”

“Jacques, are you alright? I know you are tired, but I fear it is more than fatigue. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,
chérie
, I’m just tired.” He knew she was bound to see through him. “Would you make me a quick snack? I just realized that I’m a little hungry.”

“Of course, I’ll go make something right away.”

“Thank you,” he said, reaching for the telephone. He dialed Martinez. “Ernesto, I have a problem.”

“Is Davina alright?”

“Yes, I think so. I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to her. Everyone is fine. Except me.”

“You?”

“I don’t think I can keep this secret from Monique. She knows me too well. She’s too perceptive. One way or another, she is bound to find out.”

“I was afraid of this.”

“I’m sorry but I just do not know what to do. Ernesto, I must tell her. In the long run, it might be better for all, especially Davina and Alejandro.”

“Alright, Jacques, I know wives are intuitive. Let Monique know, but no one else. No one, not Melina or Eleni and not Davina. Do I have your word on it?”

“You have my word, and Monique’s as well. I guarantee it.”

“Good, because as far as I’m concerned, I never told you or anyone else.”

“I understand,” Jacques said. “Good night Ernesto.”

“Good night, a
migo.
Get some rest.”

When Monique walked back into the room with a sandwich for her husband, he seemed somehow different. It was too subtle for Monique to discern more. “Jacques, what have you done?”