Blaze (50 page)

She called Belinda. ‘No more dates in the diary, I'm going to New York.'

‘Oh. Which airline and hotel do I book?'

‘It's being taken care of, Belinda. It's business. I'm meeting with Baron Triton.'

Lucien's encounter with the hotel manager had proved another dead end. The man claimed to know nothing of Nina's whereabouts and said the hotel was happy to hold the room for madame while monsieur was staying.

Lucien made his next move. The Australian Consul had been sympathetic and concerned, and he'd recommended that they consult the American Consul as well, because of Nina's long-standing business interests in that country. The more help, the better, he told Lucien. They rang and were told the consul was at a trade presentation in a country town. An appointment was arranged at the US consulate the next morning. Time, Lucien realised, ran very slowly in Zagreb, even where Westerners were concerned.

After they were ushered into his office next day, the young American listened to Lucien's story and shook his head. ‘It's a bit vague. If it were anyone else, I would say wait and see. But Nina Jansous . . . I had no idea she was visiting here. I would have organised a welcome for her, a cocktail party . . . We would have rolled out the proverbial red carpet for her.'

‘She wanted her visit to be low key. Just a family affair. She was hoping to find some link to her grandparents . . . property, personal belongings . . . But after all these years . . .'

The consul held up his pen. ‘No, wait. That could be very dangerous. If she was discovered with family documents that were . . . sensitive . . . and that's very possible with Croatia's recent history, she could well have been detained by security officials for questioning about espionage activities. The authorities would not want such documents to leave Croatia.'

‘Nina Jansous hardly falls into that category,' said Lucien.

‘Maybe . . .' mused the consul. ‘If she has been detained, it could also cause internal troubles here and these things usually take ages to resolve. The more progressive leaders have done a couple of very big deals with the US recently. A powerplant, telecommunications setup, a highway between here and Dubrovnik, the Sports Recreation Centre, which is a big up-market tourist complex of hotels, a marina, sports facilities, that kind of thing. A lot of US money is backing the rejuvenation of tourism here. I doubt some in the government would want to upset a top US publisher, especially someone as well known as Nina Jansous. But, as in all countries, authorities don't always communicate, you know.'

‘They should be claiming her as a wonderful expatriate. These security people, if they have her for questioning, they won't harm her, will they?' worried Lucien, thinking of how the nearby Serbs had treated a number of international aid workers during the recent Kosovo conflict.

The consul shrugged. ‘I doubt it. I can't imagine she'd have serious information they'd want. Unless you know anything else about her family?' He raised his eyebrows, inviting Lucien to reveal anything else he might not have mentioned.

‘I really can't say. She told me she was planning to visit her grandparents' old home. Then she left me a message that she'd found something, but didn't say what. And she said she was leaving the country . . . and she wanted to come back here again, with me.'

‘Why leave the country then come back?' asked the consul.

Lucien had no answer and the question alarmed him. Nina must have found something important for her to want to leave the country so fast. ‘What do we do now?'

‘I'll brief our embassy on what you've told me, you'll no doubt be briefing yours,' he said to the Australian Consul. ‘We'll work together on this since Mrs Jansous is a resident of both our countries. But I'll have to warn you, Monsieur Artiem, these things take time, sometimes weeks, sometimes months. We will talk again as soon as I have news.'

The American Consul's casual attitude had changed to a serious and slightly concerned manner when Lucien and the Australian returned.

‘I've spoken with the ambassador who has just been informed of Mrs Jansous' whereabouts. The people holding Mrs Jansous have made contact with the US Embassy . . .' he held up a restraining hand as Lucien almost leapt from his chair. ‘She is, unfortunately, being held by the special investigation unit of the Security Department, who stopped her leaving for the airport with potentially incriminating wartime documents. Those documents, I'm told unofficially, could also be very embarrassing to a certain local official today.'

‘What! That sounds like a trumped-up charge,' exclaimed Lucien.

‘It seemed the same to us. However, our embassy and the Australian Embassy have just recently been made aware of Mrs Jansous' detention and the contents of the documents. Mrs Jansous could be facing very serious charges. Both embassies have advised that no information about this very delicate matter should be released publicly. It would seem that we must make some agreement with these people. It is therefore my task to act as intermediary and negotiate the compromise.'

‘Can I see her?' asked Lucien. ‘Where is she?'

‘That we're not sure about. We have asked that she be released into our custody. They now realise they have a rather valuable person on their hands, so I'm sure they'll milk it for all it's worth. They can delay her release while the everlasting paperwork is being prepared – a form of blackmail over us, and over Mrs Jansous.'

‘Money? Can we pay them money to release her earlier?' Lucien figured if he couldn't supply enough, Oscar Triton would contribute to whatever the price on Nina's head. But he wouldn't contact him yet. Better to play it quiet, Lucien decided. It would give him more control in the negotiations for Nina's release.

‘In these cases a payment of some kind is generally extracted,' commented the American with a wry grimace.

Lucien studied the classic Ivy League young man opposite. Button-down Brooks Brothers shirt, plaid jacket, navy tie, an air of having grown up on the East Coast among political and intellectual heavyweights. He'd do things by the book. It was his job.

‘Listen, these people are outsiders, rebels, people with a cause – they're not going to play by the rules,' said Lucien. ‘Why don't I step in as negotiator? Then we could be a little more, er, flexible. Then the embassy is saved any embarrassment.'

‘I'd have to speak to the ambassador . . .' the consul looked unsure.

Lucien pressed the point. ‘I am sure I could at least sound matters out, before it all became too official. Please, let me step in. It can't hurt at this early stage. This woman is the love of my life, I will do anything to help her.'

‘A cool head, not emotional involvement, is called for in these circumstances . . .' began the consul, but Lucien cut him off.

‘I'm here, I have access to all Mrs Jansous' friends, she will do as I advise. Please, tell me where she is. Help me to see her. Tell these people holding her that I'm your representative.'

The consul rose, speaking in a brisk voice. ‘I'll contact you at your hotel when I've spoken to the embassy.'

Lucien paced his hotel room, tried to sleep, picked at room-service food and counted the hours until the consul called the next day.

‘Very well. One meeting initially. You are an independent negotiator familiar with the situation. Do not make any promises on behalf of the Australian or American governments, try to ascertain what the detaining officers want in return for releasing Mrs Jansous immediately, and find out anything she has on them. Okay?'

Nina was tense but hopeful. Molnar and Puskar had finally allowed her to make one phone call – and only to the US Embassy. Her conversation with the American official was at least a big step forward. They'd told her someone would visit her at the security headquarters as quickly as it could be arranged.

Nina wished someone would turn off the overhead light. She'd lost track of the time she'd been trapped in this awful room. The clean but utility-type clothing she'd been offered, when her clothes needed changing, did nothing to raise her spirits. She'd been taken once a day for a shower by a surly woman who spoke no English and wouldn't make eye contact. She'd come to dread the rattle of the door handle, whether it was Molnar and Puskar, the woman or the silent man with her tray of plain food.

The door rattled again, but she didn't bother to lift her head, and sat on the edge of her bed with eyes closed, resting for a minute from the bright light.

‘Mrs Jansous, I am from the American Embassy.'

The voice! She must be dreaming. Her eyes flew open and there was Lucien standing in the doorway looking . . . subdued.

She jumped up, but he quickly stepped through the door, putting himself between her and the guard behind him. Lucien was frowning and sending signals to her. She caught his message and said nothing.

Lucien continued, ‘I'm here to advise you on behalf of the embassy.'

Nina sat back down, letting Lucien lead. He glanced back at the man.

‘Leave us, please.'

Nina repeated the request in Croatian and the man withdrew, closing the door. ‘They can watch us, be careful.' She pointed up at the tinted mirror on the wall.

Lucien sat and put his briefcase on the table. Nina rose and sat opposite him.

‘I want to kiss and hold you,' said Lucien in a low voice while opening his briefcase, not looking at her.

‘Me too. How on earth did you find me?'

‘Through the embassy. Be careful. What the hell did you find?'

Nina quickly filled him in.

‘Do you want to keep this journal, do anything with it?'

‘Only to find out about my grandfather . . . they've taken it, anyway.'

‘They might want more to release you quickly, rather than drag out the paperwork, which they can do. A bribe. If I can't raise enough, would the Baron help us?'

‘I'm sure he would. But hopefully that won't be necessary. I have . . . saleable pieces in my room . . . I told them I'd write something positive. Trade off in a PR sense.'

‘Good thinking.
Où sont-ils, ces objets?'

She answered quickly in rapid French in a low voice. ‘In my hotel room. In the ornamental vase. Pieces of fine old jewellery. And there's a jeweller who I met that could help us, I'm sure. His shop is opposite an antiquarian bookshop. Just a few blocks from my hotel.'

‘You're willing to part with the pieces and the journal? Then no more hassle, no bad news, just tell the good news?'

‘I suppose there is some,' she said ruefully.

‘We'll find it. Let me strike a deal. Sit tight.'

‘Tell Ali and the Baron what's going on.'

‘I certainly will. Don't worry, darling. Everything will be fine.'

‘I don't want any publicity. We'll decide what is released publicly. I might have more of a story than I thought.' She was feeling better and managed a stab at humour.

‘Leave it with me. I love you.'

‘Bless you, darling Lucien.'

He asked her a few more questions and made notes in case they were being observed, squeezed her hand, both resisting the yearning to cling to each other, and banged on the door, which was immediately opened. He struggled not to turn and look back at his beloved Nina as he left her.

Nina sat on her bed, relief rushing through her. She was about to wake up from this unreal dream. Poor Opa, did he ever imagine what problems his journal might cause? He must have, to be so meticulous in the notations and to bury it so secretly. What good had he hoped the revelations might bring? Now the war seemed so futile, it was all so long ago. But for many people, the pain and anguish and fear persisted, overshadowing the present, restraining the future. Learn from the past by all means, but some things, no matter how painful, had to be cast aside. While she was curious about the full contents of her grandfather's journal and wanted to keep this precious document that he'd felt obliged to record, at risk to his own safety, she had little choice but to leave it behind. She hoped it wouldn't be destroyed. She would never know. Now all that mattered was leaving this awful place. Seeing sunlight, being with Lucien, enjoying life. She realised her priorities had shifted. Loving, living life fully, appreciating the freedom of every day, that's what mattered.

Miche and Larissa were lingering over their dinner at the long pine table in the country kitchen of the small terrace house.

‘I'm so concerned about Sally. She's taken up with Jacques' crowd and I know she's doing heavy drugs.'

‘It's difficult to know how to help her,' agreed Larissa. ‘You seem to have avoided that crowd. I heard a whisper that Jacques and Tony were courting you.'

Miche shrugged. ‘Sort of. They're not my type. I can hear sirens going off all over the place. I liked seeing Jacques on his own a couple of times, but he's not comfortable unless he's surrounded by sycophants like Tony. I was hoping I'd catch up with Jeremy, a nice guy I met in France, but I think he's a bit afraid of Sally's crowd. He's never showed up to parties she's asked him to,' said Miche.

‘So why don't you ring him yourself?' said Larissa. ‘You have a connection outside of Sally, it seems.'

Miche thought back to her moonlight walk in the vineyard with Jeremy, their long talks, and their discovery and subsequent rescue of Sally in the old wine vat. ‘Yeah, we have a lot in common, including Sally. Maybe I will. I doubt he even knows where I am. If Sally mentioned me, he's never called.'

‘Men never make the first move. Call him,' advised Larissa. ‘And speaking of men . . . how's the father hunt going?' she asked lightly, not sure if she was straying into forbidden territory.

Miche toyed with her fork. ‘I've put it on the back burner. I took my father's birth certificate and my parents' marriage certificate into the Registry of Births, Deaths and Marriages in Haymarket. They wouldn't tell me anything because of the
Privacy Act
. They told me to go to the Salvation Army, the same thing Bob told me.'