A few minutes later I was back at the Helio. Without me and the flight plan, Mueller hadn't been able to clear police and customs. There was no sign of Drucker or the other passenger. I got Mueller processed through the formalities and together we pushed the Helio out of the hangar. After refueling but with still no sign of the Frenchman, I went back into the Flight Briefing office, hoping to find him. Drucker was there.

"She just arrived," he told me. "She’s in the ladies’ room."

"Did you tell her about the change in plans?"

"Yes."

"She agreed to go with me?"

"Elle s'en fout."

"Then let’s get her."

We walked into the hall. Drucker went to the ladies' room door, and knocked three times. We waited a moment, then the door opened and a woman stepped out. It was Jeanne.

She was as stunned as I. We stood staring at each other. "Have you already met?" Drucker asked in surprise.

Jeanne turned to him. "You didn't tell me it was this person," she said. She looked at me. "I should have guessed, but I didn’t see the plane outside."

"It was in the hangar," I apologized. "I didn't know it was you either. I thought you'd left for Beirut in that airliner."

"I thought you had," said Jeanne.

"So," said Drucker nervously, "what are we doing? Are you going with him or not?"

I told Drucker to take a walk for a minute. "Listen, darling," I said when the Frenchman had moved away, "don't go to Beirut. I'll change the flight plan and we'll head back to France right now. By tonight everything will be over. We'll be out of here."

She looked at me and smiled sadly. "Do you think it's as simple as that?"

"I know it is."

"You're not surprised to find me alive?"

"I've known for a couple of days. I was on Io Sirena. Terry Rolland hired me to find Louise and Heidi. But it was really to find you. I'm traveling with a German called Mueller. I think he’s looking for you to kill you, but he doesn't know what you look like. I think he's already killed Heidi."

"Heidi's dead?"

"Yes."

"That poor kid. What a shame. I thought she'd be safer staying on the island."

"Since leaving Io Sirena we've had our share of getting shot at. Ali and Mrs. Koundiotes have been gunning for Mueller and me. Yesterday we shot down their Jet Ranger."

"Good God. Was it you? That's the reason Drucker was called in."

"But who are they? Why are they shooting at us?"

"It's not surprising if you’re both working for the other side."

"The other side of what? For chrissake, what's this thing you're involved in? Jeanne, darling, I've just found you again. I don't want to lose you a second time. Come back to France with me before it's too late."

She looked at me in surprise. "No, Chet. I'm going to Beirut."

"And what about Mueller? If I bump him from the Helio he'll guess who you are. He'll take the afternoon plane to Beirut and be there when we arrive. He's set on killing you, I'm sure of it. Tell me at least why?''

"Let's hope he doesn't guess who I am." Reaching into her bag she brought out a pair of dark glasses. With her hair now grown long and the glasses, she didn't look at all like the smiling girl in the photograph.

I knew when I was beaten. There was no way I was going to persuade her, at least not now. I'd have to play along for the time being and watch for my chance.

"When you meet Mueller," I warned her, "don't smile."

"There's little possibility of that," she said, smiling.

I called Drucker over to tell him it was okay. He looked grateful and handed me a bulky envelope. "I deducted my own expenses," he told me.

The envelope contained eight hundred dollars in fifties. "Do you need any cash?" I asked Jeanne. It was like old times, as if she was on her way to do some shopping.

"Not really," she said with a small look of amusement.

Removing the bills from the envelope, I stuck the wad in my back pocket. "Let’s go."

During the passport formalities I learned my wife was traveling under the name Carol Benson. She had no problem going through the security check; no bells went off as she walked through the metal detector, a search of her handbag turned up no gun. It puzzled me that she was traveling without luggage, but when we got to the Helio, Drucker was there with her bags, having carried them through the crew exit. Amusing. After loading them into the luggage compartment he disappeared toward the hangar to brood over his Jodel.

Mueller, who'd been waiting in the Helio, climbed down. I introduced him to Miss Benson. Although Mueller looked at her very hard, I saw no lightbulb of recognition flash on above his head. Worried I'd accidentally call her Jeanne, I suggested she sit in the rear.

"Fine," she agreed immediately.

No doubt Jeanne preferred sitting behind, rather than in front of, the man hired to kill her.

As we taxied toward the runway I was still debating with myself whether, once airborne, I should just head back toward France. One slight problem with this plan was that it would involve having to kill Mueller immediately after takeoff. Furthermore, I knew that wherever we landed, Jeanne would find a way to get to Beirut. She was that kind of woman. It was better that I went along and kept an eye on her. The main thing was that we were together. If and when the time came, I could take care of Mueller.

During the engine run-up I was glad to see everything in the green. The new battery was right down the middle. I couldn't help wondering how it grabbed Jeanne to be back in the Helio. We'd spent a lot of hours in this aircraft in California and France. She'd never been interested herself in learning to fly, but I'd made her learn the basics in case something should ever happen to me – a heart attack or such – while we were up.

The engine sounded fine as we climbed to cruising altitude. I was glad to know we’d disabled the Jet Ranger and hoped no other chopper lurked along the route gunning for us. Our main insurance now was that we had Jeanne on board. They wouldn't want to harm her. I thought to myself I'd like to see Ali's face when Drucker told him he’d turned Jeanne over to me.

"Everything all right, Miss Benson?" I shouted over my shoulder. Instead of replying she put her hand forward and held up her thumb. I managed to hide my amusement. In our halcyon days, because of the Helio's noise, Jeanne and I often used hand signals to communicate. Or would write things down. On long trips my kneeboard writing pad, supposedly there for noting down air traffic clearances and weather reports, would gradually be covered over with brief messages and drawings, some decent, some wildly vulgar.

In spite of the delicate situation we were in and the further dangers awaiting us at journey's end, it was a beautiful day. Having left Athens to stew in her own haze, the visibility was unlimited, the sea sparkling. The islands of the Cyclades lay on the surface of the Aegean like meringue puffs on an azure pudding.

How I wanted to hold Jeanne in my arms. It seemed impossible that Mueller wouldn't sense the vibrations passing between us. Perhaps for now the Helio's own vibrations masked ours, but what about when we landed on Cyprus? Mueller was no ninny. One of the qualities they paid him for was a sixth sense.

To be on the safe side I decided to pretend to Mueller that I found our fellow traveler attractive and seductive, thus disguising our former relationship in a new one. In fact, instead of flying on to Beirut this afternoon from Cyprus, why not fake some trouble with the Helio that would make an overnight stay in Cyprus necessary? It would give me time to talk to Jeanne and try and convince her to return to France with me. Perhaps we could spend the night together. Even if Mueller found out, he wouldn’t necessarily suspect that Miss Benson was more than a casual affair.

Taking a pencil I drew an hourglass caricature of a woman on my kneeboard. I tapped Mueller’s arm. He looked and nodded, then turned back to gaze out the window. As he did so, a chill went through me. Unconsciously his hand had gone to his side to ascertain that his gun was in its shoulder holster.

That did it. No chance l’d be taking off from Nicosia with Mueller. I'd talk to Jeanne tonight. If I couldn't persuade her to come home with me, I'd find a way to bring her back by force.

In the last minute my perception of the day had changed from one of optimism to an ache in my gut. I recalled telling Richards on the phone that I planned to play it by ear. Well, the ears had it, but the music wasn't sweet.

For the moment there were only two things I could do. Try and warn Jeanne that Mueller was probably on to her. And two, not let Mueller suspect that I was on to him. It might only provoke him into hasty action. He wouldn't try anything as long as we were in the Helio, and if he killed her on an island like Cyprus, he'd have to kill me, too, or he'd never get away with it. If we didn’t alarm him he’d probably be happy to wait until he got to Beirut where he'd have contacts and a means of escaping after the act.

So for the moment there was a kind of stalemate. As long as everyone stayed calm and didn't blow his – or her – cool we might all survive to lead long, productive lives. Suddenly Mueller turned toward me, stabbing his fat finger at the map. "Mykonos," he shouted, then pointed at an island up ahead.

From this height one could see two features clearly, the small whitewashed harbor town and a black line on a pale smudge which seemed to take up about a quarter of the island: the airfield. I held up my thumb to tell Mueller he'd picked a winner.

"Very delicious lobsters!" he shouted. "I was here with my family two years ago."

His words got to me. It was already well into lunchtime. How great if we could forget everything for a few hours, call a truce, fly down and have a nice lobster meal like three friends. Only one problem; with no customs available on Mykonos we'd have to notify the police of our arrival. Then we'd have to make another stop in Rhodes and go through the whole official Greek rigmarole over again.

Well, I thought, so much for the joys of unfettered flight. Leaving fantasy land I returned to my ruminations about Mueller. How might he have guessed about Jeanne? Then it struck me. Of course. He could have recognized Drucker. An adventurer, a mercenary the same as Mueller, they might have run into each other before. Or if not, Drucker’s name and photograph were probably in the files of every sub rosa organization from one end of the Mediterranean to the other. Seeing him with Jeanne could have put the idea in Mueller’s head.

Whether right or not, it was time to prepare the way for our overnight stay on Cyprus. Pretending to adjust the navcoms, I unobtrusively turned off the master switch. Every instrument on the panel immediately dropped dead. Mueller noticed nothing. Tapping him on the arm I pointed at the gauges. His eyes grew round and he looked at me.

"Must be something with the electric circuits," I shrugged. "Nothing serious. Probably a loose connection."

We flew on a ways while Mueller regarded the instrument panel thoughtfully. "No radio?" he asked after a few minutes.

"No radio. No nav. Nothing."

"The engine. Will it stop?"

I shook my head. "Magnetos."

He seemed to relax at this. A few minutes later I turned the master switch back on and the alternator off. A red light came on, indicating that the alternator wasn't working. Nudging Mueller I pointed out the light. "Just lost our alternator," I told him cheerfully. He turned pale. "Nothing serious," I assured him. "I'll have it fixed on Cyprus." Leaning back, I pointed out the warning light to Jeanne. If she made a comment I was glad I couldn't hear it.

I turned the switches back on as we approached Rhodes and gave a position report before heading out over the empty sea in the direction of Cyprus. Another couple of hours and if all went well I'd never see Mueller again. He'd learn about it tomorrow morning, when he'd awaken to find Jeanne and me gone.

Cyprus is a fritter-shaped island. My own guess on its origins is that billions of years ago it was dropped from a ladle into the boiling hot sea. Judging from the irregularities of its coastline and the relief, I'd hazard the opinion that it was a corn or apple fritter. As the planet cooled, the fritter got older and harder and dustier until it became the island of Cyprus as we know it today.

"Larnaca Tower, this is three eight niner. I have your airfield in sight." And so I did, except it looked more like a construction site than an international airfield.

Warning me about work-in-progress on the field, the Tower cleared us to downwind. Ten minutes later we were on the ground taxiing past bulldozers and laborers on our way to the parking area.

"End of the line, folks," I told my passengers. "Departure time tomorrow morning."

There was a moan from both Mueller and Jeanne. "How long will it take to have it fixed?" asked the German.

"Depends on what's wrong."

Jeanne, climbing down, looked at me suspiciously. "We don't need the alternator to fly," she told me. "And anyway, it's only intermittent. Each time it goes back on the battery charges again."

I felt really proud of her. My lessons had paid off. "You're right," I told her. "If it was daytime I'd take the chance. But it's getting late. We wouldn't reach Beirut until after dark. We’d be needing lights and nav equipment and the radios for night flying. All this would draw heavily on the battery. With the alternator malfunctioning it would be too risky, especially heading into a war zone."

There was nothing they could do but accept the situation. While going through the formalities I had a chance to speak alone for a moment with Jeanne. I warned her that Mueller might be on to her true identity. "Jeanne," I said, "as long as we’re stuck here for the night, why not at least enjoy it. I'll get out the Honda and we'll ditch Mueller and have some fun. How about it?"

Jeanne looked at me and I could read in her eyes and the lines in her face the strain she was under. I wasn't making things easier for her by keeping her here overnight. I hadn’t even taken into account what this delay might be costing her. And now I was asking her to forget everything and laugh it up with me. But there was the chance, the barest chance, that she'd welcome the opportunity to relax for a while and damn the rest.

"All right, Chet," she said softly. "But will Mueller buy it?"

"He'll have to." The German was coming toward us. "Herr Mueller," I greeted him gaily, "Miss Benson has agreed to go riding with me on the Honda. Why don't you go ahead and have a good night's sleep and we'll meet you here at ten tomorrow morning."

Now it was Mueller’s turn to study my face carefully. "And if tomorrow I come here and you have already left?"

"A good question. I could ask you the same thing."

I looked blandly at him. It was pure bluff on my part, but it seemed to work. Obviously he wasn't absolutely sure it was Jeanne.

"All right," he agreed. "At ten o'clock. Will they repair your plane?"

"They have no facilities here for that. As long as we fly during daylight hours we'll make it all right."

I went to unload and fuel up the Honda. When I arrived in front of the terminal a few minutes later, Jeanne was there with her bags. As the Honda couldn't accommodate her suitcase, she left it in an airport locker and rejoined me, her flight bag slung over her shoulder.

As usual, Jeanne had certain difficulties climbing aboard the Honda because she always wore skirts, not pants. Holding the bike steady I felt the familiar sensations, so long missed, of Jeanne arranging herself on the seat behind me, pulling up her feet, covering her knees with her skirt. Her hands held to my waist. "Okay," she said, just like I'd heard her say it a hundred times before.

It was a balmy evening and I was seized with a terrific desire to get away from civilization, to get lost with her, to find ourselves in the middle of nature. I wanted to drive away until we found an untraveled country road with no noise except the birds and bees. We'd leave the Honda and walk far from the road and lie down in the grass. I'd take her in my arms and never move again.

"Where are we going?" asked Jeanne after we'd traveled a few minutes.

"I don't know."

"I've got some phone calls to make. I was supposed to be in Beirut by now."

"Forget the phone calls. Forget Beirut."

"Chet...." Her voice sounded like a threat was to follow. I braced myself. But when she spoke next there was no threat. "Please, Chet," she said with an exhaustion that I'd never heard before. "Please."

Stopping the Honda I turned and kissed her gently on the cheek. "Will the local Hilton be all right?" She nodded, half smiling, trying not to cry. "Then let’s see what Larnaca has to offer." Turning the bike in the direction of the coast, we were soon in the town.

Where armies have passed and governments have changed and new rulers installed by force, the hotel trade is bound to suffer. What saved Larnaca was that it had been a simple place to begin with. We were the only guests in the best hotel in town which was nothing to write home about even before the Greco-Turkish war. Halfway across the island in Nicosia, according to the waiter who served us dinner, we'd have had the entire Hilton to ourselves.

During dinner I had a hard time getting Jeanne to look at me. She must have known that if our eyes met she'd read in mine things she didn’t want to see. At least for the immediate present I could tell she didn't want me to reopen any claim on her.

The meal seemed to last a thousand years, but at last we were alone together in our room. Without pausing, Jeanne went into the bathroom and turned on the bath. Coming out she still didn't look at me. I hadn't felt more awkward and ill at ease since I was a teenager, before ever making love to a woman.

She removed her jacket, then her shoes. Since I couldn't just stand there staring at her, I took off my windbreaker and hung it in the closet. She pulled her woolen sweater off over her head. Beneath it she wore a beige-colored silk shirt. The silk clung to her breasts and I could make out the outline of her bra.

"Jeanne?"

"What?" Her voice was low, almost inaudible.

I went over and took her in my arms. At my touch she seemed to stiffen. I tried to kiss her mouth but she turned her head away. I took her by the hair and gently forced her face toward me. As she tried to resist I kissed her cheeks, her eyes, her hair, her lips, pressing her body against mine.

Suddenly her resistance was gone. Her body seemed to fuse with mine, burning, hungry. "Chet." Embracing, kissing wildly, we fell upon the bed. By the time we returned to our senses the bathtub, too, had overflowed.

We lay naked in the darkness, my arm around her, her head on my shoulder. With my other hand I got reacquainted with my wife's body, the curve of her breasts and nipples, the swell of her thighs, the soft dark mound of Venus which I'd visited again after so long with so much accumulated love and desire. Unable to get near enough I squeezed her and hugged her and ran my fingers over her hair and face, yelping as she bit them playfully.

"You never were the sort of guy who rolls over and falls asleep," she remarked dryly.

"How would you know about those jokers?" I asked, biting her nipple.

She laughed. "From books."

Jeanne, Jeanne, if only she'd come back with me. We could leave tomorrow in the Helio. No one could stop us. We'd leave at the crack of dawn, before Mueller was even awake. But I didn't have the courage to ask her, afraid that if I proposed it outright she'd give me an outright rejection. Somehow I'd have to work up to the subject gradually.

"What did you think this morning when you saw me in the elevator at Athens?"

Jeanne chuckled. "You were the last person in the world I expected to see. I was on my way to Control looking for Drucker. When I saw you I panicked."

"You'd have panicked more if you knew who was standing next to me bristling with guns."

"I'm glad I didn't. I didn't know you'd gotten involved. Anyway, I think you're wrong. I don’t think Mueller suspects who I am."

"Why not?"

"Well, for one thing he wouldn't have let us out of his sight a minute."

"Have you looked out through the keyhole lately?"

"Maybe." Jeanne laughed. "Second of all, how could he imagine you'd carry it off so coolly, learning I was alive one minute and taking off with both of us for Beirut in the next."

"You could be right. If I'd first learned you were alive just then I couldn't have done it. Wouldn't have. In fact, now that I think of it, Mueller doesn't even know I suspect him of gunning for you. So as far as he's concerned there’d really have been no reason for me not to introduce you as my wife."

"Except insofar as I'm traveling incognito and might have asked you not to."

"Jeanne," I said, "come back with me. Now. Tomorrow. I don’t know what you're involved in and I don't care. I just don't want to lose you again. It could be forever the next time. I wouldn’t be able to stand it."

We lay in silence. A minute passed, then two. I realized Jeanne didn't intend to reply. A sick feeling of anger and dread started to fill me. Finally she spoke. "Chet, I have to make a couple of phone calls. They're kind of private. Would you mind?"

I got up without a word and went into the bathroom. The water in the tub was still warm. I drained some out and got in. Not wanting to intrude on Jeanne’s goddamn privacy I took my time. Too bad the hotel didn’t supply the guests with plastic ducks. I could have used one to pass the time.

Some minutes later, while drying myself, my eye fell on Jeanne's overnight bag. I unzipped it and looked inside. Most of the space was filled with yards of pale pink nylon gauze. I pulled it out and held it up, recognizing the nightgown I'd given her for her birthday a year ago. I buried my face in the filmy material. It smelled of Jeanne, the familiar perfume of my wife who never used perfume. My beard stubble caught at the delicate fabric. I could hear her complaining, Hey, ouch.

There was no gun, just a flowered plastic envelope containing the only two cosmetics Jeanne ever used, lipstick and nail polish. The lashes around her green eyes were too dark and thick to need mascara.

How old was she now? How well I knew. Just two months ago, thinking her dead, I'd celebrated her thirtieth birthday. I'd celebrated it alone with a whiskey bottle in a London hotel where I'd been on a job. She was five years younger than I, But she wasn't looking good. She wasn't looking good at all. I had to get her home and feed her up and get her to take some rest.

Hearing no noise on the other side of the door, I opened it and looked into the bedroom. Jeanne wasn't there.

I dressed as fast as I could and headed down to the lobby. The place was empty except for a man behind the reception desk. I asked him if he'd seen my wife go out. He shook his head and pointed across the lobby. I turned. Jeanne was waving at me from a telephone booth.

"J'arrive," she called, and the glass door shut. I sat down in one of the armchairs to wait and a few minutes later she joined me. "Didn't you see my note?"

I admitted I hadn't looked for a note. "I'd have come looking for you anyway," I told her.

"You don't trust me," she pouted.

"No way."

Jeanne laughed. Just then the phone in the booth rang. Giving my hand a quick squeeze, she hurried to answer it.

When Jeanne returned after her telephone call she seemed tense. We went back up to the room and got into bed, but this time she pushed me away when I tried to hold her. Even so I could tell her heart was beating faster than usual. Not inclined to talk, she asked me to turn out the light.

"Not just yet. I want to show you something. Taking out a photograph of Louise, I showed it to her.

"Do you know this woman?"

"Yes."

"I was hired to find her and Mueller was probably hired to kill her. And to kill you."

"It won't be easy finding Louise."

"He seems to know where she is. At least he knows she's in Beirut, which is why he and I were going there."

"I doubt she's in Beirut. Anyway, her job is done. If she's gone to Beirut it's for her own personal reasons, because she likes it there."

"She'll like it a lot less when Mueller arrives. I'd like to know how we can reach her and warn her."

"I'll find her and tell her," said Jeanne.

"He'll kill you both. Two birds with one ball."

"What difference?" Jeanne sighed. "My job will be over soon anyway."

I could hardly believe my ears. "Jeanne," I said, "I’ll make a deal with you. I'll come and help you finish up whatever you're doing in Beirut, adopt any cause you're involved in. Or I won’t interfere at all if you don't want me to. Just let me stay near to protect you. But you have to promise that when it’s over you'll come home. Back to France."

Turning on my side I put my arms around her and tried to draw her close. But her body didn’t yield. Her expression was like stone.

"Okay," I said. "No deals. Just promise me that whatever happens in the next few days we're going to spend the rest of our lives together."

I waited for her reply. One minute went by. Then two. I lay back on my pillow. "Lights out?" I said, switching them off. In the darkness I heard her head turn, felt the kiss on my naked shoulder. When I awoke the next morning, Jeanne had disappeared.