David Dun - Unacceptable Risk

When Michael was nine, his mother died and he returned to Ithaca to live with his father. From talking with Michael, Sam had discerned that most of Michael's memories of the Finger Lakes region were indistinct, as though earlier memories were crowded out of his mind by Amazonia. For an eleven-year-old boy the culture shock of the deep jungle must have been incredible.

Michael gaped at the sheer number and enormity of the buildings, the volume of vertical concrete and brick placed on more concrete and steel.

"Amazing, huh?" Grady said.

"If there is some evolutionary advantage to all of this, it escapes me. Unlike the ants or the bees, it seems to me that all this jamming-people-together in buildings would in crease danger to the individual. The benefits of commerce obviously outweigh the hazards."

"We Americans are in a frenzy to do something. When we don't know what to do, we work. I guess this is the re sult," Sam said.

Michael found the Gramercy Park bed-and-breakfast oddly cluttered with knickknacks seemingly placed with great care. There were cookies and tea, silver urns, hushed silence-or at most half-whispered tones-and fabrics that all seemed to sleep. The place offered little for a man accus tomed to trekking in the jungle, fishing catfish for dinner, and having a good chew of coca before hitting the ham mock.

He did notice an unusual brightness in Grady's eyes when she looked at him. He couldn't recall ever seeing a woman with a better body. But he was confused at her relationship with Sam. (Robert had explained that his nickname was Sam and Michael was only now getting used to the new name.) He was also bewildered now that he had seen Sam with Anna. Obviously, Michael's place was in the Amazon and a woman like Grady would not last there, so any alliance would probably be temporary and he wasn't sure how she might feel about a short-term romance. Much less himself. He still was not over the shock of losing Eden and then Marita.

Still, Grady was long-legged and blond, with a narrow waist and high, firm bust. Her eyes shone with such a striking shade of azure that Michael wondered if it was some modern contrivance. But it was her glances, and her strong Slavic face, the high cheekbones, and especially the expressive lips, neither full nor thin, that piqued his desire. From the moment he had seen her in the jungle, he had concluded that she was an astonishment as females go. Even when he was half sick, he had wanted to grab her and plaster his lips to hers. He suspected that this uncommon rage to copulate was due in part to all the carnage he had just left-a coping mechanism that would enable the mind to let go of the pain and depression of death.

The desire remained in him here, but he kept it behind a controlled and seemingly placid exterior. Michael determined that in the fashion of a civilized man, this desire was best ignored, at least for the moment.

After Sam advised the proprietor that they wished to ex tend their stay, they made their way upstairs. Anna went with Sam, although Michael understood that she was staying at her own apartment. At the second floor Sam paused and gathered them around. They stood in a mezzaninelike area the size of the parlor with a well-furnished library. Behind a balustrade, which made a large oval around the staircase, were the doors to various rooms. Fresh flowers stood under a gilt-framed mirror.

"I'd suggest you stay around here. Let people come to you."

Michael appreciated Sam's concern but bridled at it just the same. "I have no problem with your bodyguards if they have the courage to go with me. But I will do my work. And that is the end of the discussion."

"But, Michael, we talked…" Grady began.

"I said I would be careful. That is all I said." He paused. "I don't mean to be rude."

She nodded and turned toward her room.

As Michael entered his, he turned and his eyes found Grady's across the way. It pleased him to see her eyes search ing for his. They both closed their doors in a slow, synchro nous movement, accompanied by an unmistakable smile. But he hadn't missed the worry behind the smile.

Benoit sat at her desk in the government lab approving invoices from suppliers and coordinating the delivery of lab supplies, as well as supervising all of the clerical help. It was growing to be a substantial job and she had only been at it for eleven days, but her mind wasn't in it.

Unlike other lab offices, hers came equipped with a couple of guards, although the real security lay in the fact that there were only two exits in the whole building and she was not allowed through either without a full escort, and she had to be in shackles.

Her phone rang. The admiral.

"I have grown to anticipate your calls," she began. "Have you considered my suggestion that we meet for tea?"

"I am considering it. Baptiste certainly thinks it would be counterproductive."

"Yes. Well, you will have to consider whether that is how you want to run your agency-always relying on secondhand information."

"It seems I'm getting it firsthand over the phone."

"You know what they say about looking into a person's eyes."

"I know what they say about looking into your eyes," Larive parried.

"What do they say?"

"They say that you are bewitching."

"That would be my ass, not my eyes. But, of course, you have never seen my ass."

"Perhaps one day we will remedy that."

"Not as long as you are too politic to meet me for tea."

"What can you tell me to encourage me about the pro ject?" Larive cut to the point.

"I can tell you that if you do some hard and daring things, you will win the vector technology and Chaperone for France. I have been telling you this for some time."

"Yes, and you want to meet with me to explain it."

"That is right," Benoit acknowledged.

"And you do not want to tell Baptiste."

"That is right because he cannot approve what needs to be done. We must contact people that I can best contact. We must make deals. You will need to let me out of here in order to accomplish what you want."

"That would be extraordinary," Larive remarked.

"It would be temporary, only until I have earned a pardon from the French government."

"Tell me more of what you would do."

"With all due respect, I could think better and be much more forthcoming if we were speaking in private and I could see you and be assured that you have my interests in mind."

"In other words you once again request a personal meeting."

Benoit smiled.

Admiral Larive attempted to suck in his gut with mar ginal results. He was standing sideways to a full-size mirror in his office that he used to judge his suits. Unfortunately, he had quit the hard workouts and his belly sagged over his belt. Off and on throughout the morning he had imagined what it would be like to take tea with Benoit Moreau.

Five minutes before the appointed time he arrived at the hotel. That morning he had put on new boxer shorts and under shirt. Although he had wanted a haircut, there hadn't been time. He had taken extra pains shaving and cut the hair out of his ears and he had vigorously gone after his long, dark nose hairs. Outside the door there were guards and they opened it to reveal Benoit Moreau in chains with another guard.

"You may take off the chains, for God's sake, we're hav ing tea."

"Sorry, sir, but it's regulation. We never take the chains off unless ordered, so I gather you're giving me that order."

"Yes, yes. Come on, man, she works in an office."

"Begging your pardon, sir, but it is a very secure office, much more secure than this hotel room."

They removed the chains and handed him a key, then left to take up positions in the hallway outside the room.