Force of Fire (The Kane Legacy) (18 page)

She was happy to indulge him
with tales of the old days. He already seemed to know so much of the story and
Maria was proud her Ana had taken the time to share the details of her
heritage. It was painfully obvious she knew nothing of Ana's disappearance,
and, after seeing the way her eyes lit up at the thought of her granddaughter's
many successes, Joe couldn’t bring himself to burden her with the unhappy news.

He rose to leave, thanking her
for her hospitality, promising to share the details of their congenial visit
with Ana when next he saw her. As he passed through the foyer something odd
struck him from the collection of photographs arranged on the low marble table
by the door.

'Con
permiso
?'
he asked, requesting permission to examine the photos more closely.

'Como no?'
Maria
answered, flashing him a feeble smile.

He was drawn to one picture in
particular. It was an old black and white photograph, probably taken during the
late nineteen- forties, of a handsome U.S. Army officer and his stunning
Spanish bride. The woman Joe recognized immediately as Ana's mother. Ana and
the young Isabel shared an uncanny resemblance. But the soldier, the young
light-eyed American...

What was it about those eyes?
Oh my God. And then Joe knew. Ana's father, Albert Kane, was none other than
the very much
alive
George Cromwell.

Albert Kane poured himself
another drink from the bottle of bourbon on his kitchen table, and tilted the
blinds. He studied the black waters of the Potomac from his fourteenth story
window. If the builders had been honest about it, they would have labeled this
floor number thirteen, he thought. Now that would have been appropriate. He
downed his liquor, then reached for the bottle a second time. What a sham his
life had been. Pretending to be dead, for Christ's sake...

When the DOS slipped him into
their Witness Displacement Program, they’d promised him all sorts of great
things, including protection for his family and a limited term to his
sequestering. But even after four years, there still seemed little hope of
getting out.

Carnova's
men had been onto him, threatened to expose his double life. This would have
jeopardized several top-secret operations in progress at the time. It was
critical, the DOS told him, that his pivotal role in covert US operations not
be revealed. The only way to ensure this would be to remove the threat of his
exposure by having him 'die.' He would then be off the LPP's hook, and the DOS
could redistribute his assignments before any security leaks gave way. It was
the perfect solution.

Perfect for everyone, that is,
except for Albert Kane and his bereaved family. It had been an agonizing
decision, and yet he knew what was expected. It was a question of
self-sacrifice for the greater good.

But what
about his wife and two girls?
Ana was barely out of college and just
getting a promising start on a career in Washington. Emi, in grad school at
Isa's old alma mater, George Washington, had recently wed a fine young man from
the Midwest and was already expecting twins. Albert had been so proud of the
two of them. Such smart, determined young women. Ana, he thought with a
melancholy smile, was the image of her mother at that age, only taller.

He had followed the lives of
the Kane women from his hidden post within DOS. Once Kane became George
Cromwell, his lifestyle changed dramatically. He was no longer allowed to
travel or engage directly in covert operations. His role became that of a
supervisor, overseeing the younger, more agile agents and analysts on their
various missions. The post was interesting
but,
for a
man used to being at the center of the action, restrictive. Still, being a
Division Chief did have its perks, not the least of which was his ability to
keep detailed track of his family's activities.

The promised security for his
family that had been part of the original deal was only kept up for the first
year after Albert changed roles. Afterwards, the DOS determined his family was
no longer in danger. It was a waste of taxpayer money to keep up the
surveillance.

He shook his head and swirled
the melting cubes in his glass, rubbing his reddened eyes with the backs of his
hands. Thank God Neal had agreed to handle the case for him. Of course, Mark
probably didn't believe he had any choice, and Albert, as Cromwell, had decided
to make no noises to the contrary.

Mark was a sharp analyst with a
keen sixth sense. Albert could think of no one he trusted more.

He’d received word Mark had
made contact in Madrid and was headed south to Jerez.

Albert thought of Maria. Surely
they won't consider...? No,
I gave Mark strict orders
,
he tried to reassure himself
.

At least Isa didn't know about
Ana. Poor Isabel, it would just be too much. Albert knew she was strong enough
to handle anything, anything but this. No, there was no point in telling Isa;
she’d already suffered enough.

Albert recalled the serious,
inquisitive girl Tom had persuaded him to meet.

'She's perfect for you, Al,'
Tom insisted. 'Beauty with brains to boot, just your style.'

Albert hadn't been sure.
For a young man of twenty-three, he hadn't dated much before the
War.
Romance was not in his nature. Books and intrigue were more his
calling. But when he first met Isabel Delgado in that smoky Georgetown bar, he
was immediately captivated by her intensity of spirit, her strong and
challenging mind, her alluring Spanish smile. He remembered with fondness that
silly way she insisted on calling him Lieutenant, despite the fact the War had
ended and he had returned to his civilian uniform.

'Please, Miss Delgado, call me
Albert.'

She looked at him with those
big dark eyes catching the glow from the candle beside them. 'Of course,' she
said shyly. So, proper and yet...

'I think I need some air.'

He leapt at the chance to get
her alone. What he would do, he didn’t know. He was totally unprepared. He
thought it over as they walked down Connecticut Avenue. She had her arm linked
through his. There was a sweet perfume in her hair.

Tom and Peggy were just ahead.
He should lose them, he thought, inhaling the soft early morning air. This
night was meant for two.

Somehow they found themselves
walking down a side street to a little bridge overlooking the canal. He was
grateful for the cool mist blowing off the water. It dusted their faces and hid
the perspiration on his brow. If only she knew how nervous he was, how badly he
wanted to kiss her.

The moonlight was dancing on
her shoulders, shoulders begging for an embrace. He’d never felt so ill at
ease, and yet so completely comfortable. He knew if he wrapped his arms around
her, they’d find a place there, a place around her body where they belonged.

He took her in his arms and
kissed her then, awkwardly at first, but something came over him.
Something that seized him from the inside out and poured every
ounce of his being into his kiss.
He was entirely hers.

She pulled back in shock.
'Albert!'

Indeed. What had gotten into
him? The first woman in his life he could actually envision... But, wait. That
wasn’t distress written in her eyes, nor was it anger. It was an
invitation,
a subtle beckoning that belied her words.

He was apologizing still in
spite of himself. 'If you can ever find it in your heart...'

She reached her slender arms
around his neck, stretching her slight body to meet the length of his own.
Their lips met in a way that was impossible to tell who was at fault. This was
one guilty pleasure Albert could savor the rest of his life.

He started to pour himself
another drink, then stood, abruptly changing his mind.

All this
time.
All this time and there was still only one other person who knew.

'Damn you!' he roared, slamming
his short glass tumbler into the linoleum floor. 'Damn you, Albert Kane, and
what you’ve become!'

Tom undid the top button on his
pleated cotton shirt as he walked down the hall to the water cooler. He hadn’t
wanted to bother the secretary.

He filled a paper cup and
leaned into the wall thinking. He’d stay a moment, just in case he wanted more.
It was so damn hot in the tropics. He knew he should be used to it by now. But
the humidity still made him sweat like a pig. It was embarrassing. He wished he
could get by without an undershirt, but it would be unseemly for a man of his
stature.

He wondered how it was going in
Washington. Knew it must be hell on old Al. It was a dangerous game of cat and
mouse.
Carnova
was dragging it out – toying
with Albert, hedging his bets Kane was still out there. And, even if he wasn’t,
Carnova
figured the people at DOS owed Kane a
reasonable allegiance. For all Kane had done, all he’d sacrificed, surely the
Defense Department could muster a bit of compassion for his daughter. Perhaps
it was worth something, something the LPP could use. That was the twisted
reasoning.

Al was steady, a seasoned pro.
Tom had seen him finesse many an operation, even the sticky ones, with
impeccable cool. But this one was different. It was personal. And one never
could tell exactly how an operator would react when he was hit below the belt.

Tom remembered the girls when
they were young. They were beautiful children, with delightful manners and
compelling smiles. Although the younger one, Ana, never smiled at him. He had a
sense she didn’t trust him, although he’d never given her reason. It was like
she had a sixth sense about his relationship with her father.

Al had been so proud of her
when she’d gone into international development. He and Tom had talked about the
danger of Ana’s and Tom’s paths crossing some day, and Tom had gone to great
lengths to prevent that from happening. Even after so many years, she might recognize
him, and start to put things together.

It had been a real stroke of
luck when he’d been assigned the Ambassadorship in Ecuador. He’d been able to
arrange it so Ana had to be in country throughout the Easter holiday. Al hadn’t
wanted her there when the DOS subterfuge went down. She’s too smart to have in
the house, he said.
Just one more complication.
Emi
was married and living on her own. And Isa, well, she was simple enough to take
care of.

Tom remembered the first time
he had seen Isabel Delgado. He’d gone to pick Peggy up for a date. The two
girls were hurrying through the lobby of their dorm, their arms loaded with
books.

'Tommy!' Peggy said,
breathless. 'I’m sorry. We lost track of time at the library. Here,' she said,
taking Isabel by the elbow and shoving her in Tom’s direction, 'get acquainted
with my roommate, I'll be down in a jiff.'

Isabel smiled politely
.

'How do you do?' she asked in flawless
English.
She was a polished girl, modestly dressed, but still beautiful
in an understated way. If it hadn’t been for Peggy...


Tom knew within minutes of
talking to her that she was a gem.
Intelligent, witty –
with just enough sass in her eyes to make things interesting.
He thought
of Al, and all the Latin girls who’d been after him in the Caribbean. Not a one
had turned his head. But Isabel Delgado had potential.

'And where are you from,
Lieutenant?' she asked.

All the appropriate questions
.

'South Carolina.'

'Ah, Charleston is beautiful,'
she said with a look of fond remembrance.

'Yes, and the coast, the region
I’m from, is grand. You’ll have to come visit–'

She looked at him in a queer
sort of way
.

'– with Peggy, of course,' he
said.


'Of course.
I’d love to.'


Just then, Peggy appeared in
the doorway, all dolled up to go. Tom stood and took Isabel’s hand.

'It’s been a real pleasure,
Miss Delgado. I hope we’ll have the opportunity again.'

As he and Peggy headed out the
door, Tom turned to his date. 'You know, I never got the chance to ask your
charming roommate where she’s from.'

Peggy playfully poked him in
the ribs
.

'Now Tommy, you’re not getting any
ideas?'


He stopped and spun her around,
kissing her firmly on the lips. After a long, lingering moment, he pulled back.
'Just one –'

She laughed, and snuggled into
his arm as they headed downtown. 'She’s from Spain, you big lug. Little town.
Somewhere near Seville.'

Joe led Neal through the
cobblestone streets of Seville's old Jewish Quarter, the Barrio de Santa Cruz,
asking directions as he went. They paused for a moment before the large wrought
iron crucifix gracing the oddly shaped Plaza de Santa Cruz, where the uneven
corners of the square met at strange angles. Joe took in the deep aroma of
jasmine, the tiny white buds weeping through the cracks of the
stone wall
just ahead. What was it about that tantalizing
smell?
Of course – Ana.
It was always in her
perfume.

Joe loved the smell of her,
that delicious inviting spot just behind her ear. Why had it taken him so long
to put it all together?

They strode through the winding
streets, geraniums from the balconies above bleeding color onto whitewashed
stucco walls. To their left sat a modest outdoor bar with a smattering of low
wooden tables. Joe was about to suggest they grab a drink, when he heard the
low rumbling behind him.