By Anne Fraser and Barbara Zuchegna
With assistance from Sharon Pickrel and Jean Lamb
Copyright 1999

Chapter Seven

When Adrian returned from his photograph session with Eisenberg, Richard summoned him with a look and a gesture. The actor joined the king at one of the couch and table combinations in this flying conference room.

"You do, I trust," Richard said, "understand why this disguise is necessary."

"Yes," Adrian admitted. "But that doesn't mean I have to like it."

"No, it doesn't. But I would ask of you to play your role well, Adrian; for all our lives depend on it. This is not Hamlet, I know; but far more than good reviews depend on you."

"I know," replied the actor, brushing the additional hair he'd acquired away from his face. "You can depend on me, Richard. I want to rescue T'Beth, no matter what it takes." He shot a look in Jake's direction. "Just some people are having a little too much fun with this."

"If he continues to annoy you, Adrian, I will have him forcibly separated and kept silent," Richard offered. "We cannot afford discord among ourselves. But this isn't really why I wish to speak to you. I already know your weaknesses, Adrian. I need to know your strengths, other than your acting ability. Gabriel," he nearly spat the name, "is far stronger than a mortal man. Are you?"

"Considerably," Adrian replied. "Gabe and I never tested our relative strengths, but I'm a stronger than I look." He nodded at Will. "I could take him out, with no trouble, if I wanted to."

"What are your powers? I need to know all the weapons in our arsenal, Adrian. Please don't keep secrets from me."

"Well, not about this, at any rate," the actor replied with a grin that wasn't echoed. "All right, I'll be serious, promise. I can move more quickly than the human eye can follow, and silently. I can't fly, or levitate, or turn into a bat or mist, or control the weather. But I can mesmerize people, make them forget what they've seen, or believe whatever I tell them happened ... as you saw with Professor Smith. I have pretty considerable mind powers, if I may say so. But the drawback to those is that they're pretty much one-to-one. I can move through a room and make everyone think they didn't see me, what we call invisibility; that's standard vampire fare. But I can't make a whole room full of people forget something that happened that they witnessed. Moving through a room without being seen is one thing, wiping the minds of all those people of, say, a murder or something like that is something else. That's why the feeding always has to be private."

"Can you make time stand still?"

Adrian blinked. "Certainly not," he replied. "Like everyone else, I've had moments where it seems to stand still, but I'm not a time magician. I have no control over it." He shrugged. "I'm immortal already. Why would I want to make time stand still?"

"Gabriel," Richard said, with extreme distaste, "found it to his advantage." But he turned his head away, and offered nothing further. The conversation seemed to be over.

Just what in the hell really had happened at the Refuge? Adrian found himself wondering again, and very deliberately pushed the thought away. He didn't want to know. But he was getting the feeling that Gabe had made a complete asshole of himself in one way or another.

Jake put down the study material with a sigh. He'd graduated, darn it, he shouldn't have to study anymore. But he was on his way to Iran, a culture he knew little about. And he was going to be expected to act like the well-trained employee of a rug merchant.

"Just a carpet under Richard's feet," he muttered. "Now I've got two of them walking all over me!"

Will Scrope, that enigmatic man, sent him a sympathetic look. "The King's Grace means no disrespect, my friend," he said. "But he has been a prince and a military commander all of his life. He can be ... autocratic, I know. So, I suspect, can Adrian."

"How do you stand it, Will?" Jake asked. "I want to kill Adrian half the time."

"He is my liege lord," Will replied. "The station I was born to obliged me to serve one great lord or another. This one, I serve willingly." He smiled, a little slyly. "I see that Adrian has not been killed."

"He's already dead," Jake grunted.

"No," Will shook his head. "That is not the reason. Did you truly wish him dead, I think he would be, no matter what sort of creature he is."

"Shit," said Jake. He sighed again. "No, I couldn't kill him. You couldn't kill Richard, either, and don't give me that liege lord crap. Lots of people have killed their liege lords."

"I will admit that it is not always an easy thing," Will conceded, "to serve the King's Grace."

"He's an arrogant bastard. Look at them," a head jerk in the direction of Adrian and Richard, dark heads bent over something they were examining, "two of a kind. And we just let them pull the strings." Jake shook himself angrily. "I am not a Renfield!"

"What is a Renfield?" Will asked.

"A vampire's servant," Jake replied. "Someone who does their bidding, jumps when they say jump, looks after them, cleans up their messes, and has no will of their own." He grimaced. "And eats bugs."

"You have a will of your own, Jake," Will said, smiling again. "You do not always jump when Adrian says to, do you?"

"No, of course not. Sometimes I tell him to go jump."

"Then you are not a Renfield. I, on the other hand, am obliged by my oath to obey the King's Grace." He paused, considering. In time, Jake would learn that Will was very careful with words, and often thought about them at length before speaking. Finally, he said, "I have found, at times, that he does not always act in his own best interest. I cannot advise; but occasionally there are ways to bend his intent in less dangerous directions. But Adrian listens to your advice, doesn't he?"

"Well, yeah..."

"Then it is the same thing. So we are not Renfields, but we are not our own masters, either. You do serve Adrian, as much as it galls you. Why do you not leave him, if life in his service is so unbearable?"

Jake studied Will's expression, judging how much to tell this man. He decided against revealing his changed blood, his ultimate bond to Adrian. "I don't know," he finally admitted. "Despite everything, I like the son of a bitch. Sometimes, he can be really good company. He's witty, intelligent, he's seen and done a lot, he knows some great stories ... and he's saved my bacon a couple of times, like I've saved his. I guess I'm stuck with him. My life would be a lot safer without him, mind you..."

"Safer?" Will pressed. "Or boring?"

"Boring as all hell." Jake sighed. "And he needs me. Under that bravado, he's really lonely."

"Exactly. Another quality they share." Will hesitated a moment, thinking, and then said, with curiosity, "'Eats bugs?'"

He had to get himself under control. Richard Plantagenet was well aware that his mind kept going back to his battle with Gabriel Tallant, and that when it did, he was saying things that must be giving Adrian Talbot more information about that incident than Richard wanted anyone to know. It was because he was reaching the point of exhaustion, now, where thinking clearly was becoming difficult. He had slept far too little for far too long, and that was something else over which he must manage to gain control. He wasn't a child, to be afraid of dreams.

At least things seemed to going smoothly with his companions now. Or, perhaps, they had just tired of their irritation with each other. Jake had dozed off, sprawled comfortably across one of the small couches, his feet hanging off one end, the open book he'd been reading lying on his chest. One arm rested across his eyes, and he snored softly. Will, too large to find any of the seats comfortable, was stretched out on the floor, his head on several pillows the cabin stewards had provided. Ed Perry was alert, but concentrating on something he was reading. He had had little to say since their takeoff from Toronto. The little man, Saul Eisenberg, his work finished, slept soundly in a chair across the cabin, a blanket pulled up over his slight form. All his equipment that could safely be taken through French customs had been removed from the cabin in the rear of the plane and was in the soft-sided bag on the floor beside him; the rest had been stowed and would be returned to him, Perry said, by other means. Richard was content to leave those means to Perry.

Adrian was the problem.

Ever since leaving Toronto, they had been flying toward the rising sun. Full daylight had come, long since, and it had been necessary to closely cover all the windows for Adrian's benefit. He seemed comfortable enough, and had spent the hours reading the material Perry provided on the Baluchis among whom they would soon find themselves. He even, at one point or another, found something amusing in what he read, and chuckled softly. But now, at what would be very early morning in Toronto, but was approaching midday by local time as they neared the French coast, Adrian was clearly getting sleepy ... and what might well be his most critical performance was fast approaching. It was also the part he was most definitely going to like least, and the part Richard had not chosen to tell him about earlier. But he would have to know about it now.

Richard raised his hand and motioned with two fingers, and one of the cabin stewards came quickly to his side, listened to his brief instructions, and went as quickly away. When he returned, he was carrying a small carry-on case. Richard took it with a nod, and got up and walked over to take a seat beside Adrian.

Adrian eyed the case apprehensively, but took it readily enough, and pulled the zippered top open. One look inside, and his eyes came back up to Richard's, oddly resigned. "I should have guessed," he said wearily, "that this would be necessary."

"Adrian," Richard said, "can you be alert enough for this? We have arranged that it will not be necessary to leave the plane in France, but French officials will be coming aboard to check our documents. The chador would attract too much notice there, and if they ask to see anything of our baggage, it was necessary to have available what my 'wife' might have carried."

"Yes, I understand," Adrian said, annoyed. He did, but he didn't like it. "And yes, I can remain alert."

"Our pilot has asked already to be allowed hangar facilities in Paris to check on some mechanical malfunction, and this has been granted. So the plane will be in the hangar when the French come aboard, and no direct sunlight will come through the opened door. Will you be comfortable enough with this?"

Daylight. Sunlight, even distant sunlight. Adrian grimaced. "Comfortable, no. But I will survive."

Richard nodded, and then said, regretfully, "Then there is little time to prepare. We will land in not more than half an hour."

Adrian sighed, and then stood and, taking the case, made his way toward the rear of the plane. There was something infinitely forlorn about the set of his shoulders and Richard had to forcibly repress his sympathy. It was necessary. More, it was critical. Once beyond France, their way would be much more secure. But Perry had told him that French customs officials could not be bribed, and must be deceived.

Richard got up and went over to shake Will awake, then stepped over him to do the same with Jake. As Jake jerked awake, his book tumbling off onto the floor, Richard said, "Jake, wake up. You must listen for a moment."

Actually, Jake awoke with remarkable ease and completeness. Of course, Richard could have no way of knowing that Jake had found sleeping at night, and by his body's clock this was still night, somewhat difficult for some time now. But he sat up, his eyes clear, to listen.

"We will be landing in France shortly," Richard said firmly. "While we are there, this game you are playing with Adrian must stop. The French officials who will board the plane must receive no smallest hint from your behavior that Adrian is not a woman, and not my wife. Do you understand?"

Quick resentment flared in Jake's eyes. "Hell, yes, I understand. I'm not an idiot, Richard."

Richard wasn't impressed. "Remember," he said. "Or you will be reminded." He turned and walked away.

Damn the man! Jake watched him go with fury building inside him. He was no damned king anymore, and yet he acted like he owned the whole world and everyone in it. All right, maybe he had damned near pulled off a miracle getting all the arrangements for this little venture in place in one day, but that didn't give him the right to order everyone around as if they were all servants, like Will. Jake looked over at Will, who had taken a seat in a nearby chair, and found the big man smiling benignly at him.

"The King's Grace," Will said, "is not always tactful."

"The King's Grace," Jake said, "is a king-sized pain in the ass."

Will nodded equably. "He can be so. But he is right, Jake. It is necessary that your taunting of Adrian cease while we are in France. And the King's Grace does not know you well enough to be certain that you would understand this."

"I'm not an kid, Will."

"No. But your behavior toward Adrian has not made this evident. What Adrian must do is difficult ... and you have increased the level of that difficulty for your own amusement, very cruelly."

Oh. Well, all right. Maybe he had. Jake swallowed what he had been about to say and subsided into sullen silence. Moments later, the real reason for Richard's warning came slinking out of the head ... Adrian Talbot, in full drag and looking absolutely gorgeous.

He fixed his eyes, distinctly glowing red, on Jake and dared him to say one word. Adrian was wearing a simple, very expensive-looking dress of some draped silken fabric that almost exactly matched the color of his extraordinary eyes, with discreet gold jewelry at his earlobes and a simple gold bracelet on one slender wrist. He was also wearing sheer stockings and narrow-toed pumps that looked as if they probably hurt like all hell. On his left hand was an impressive set of gem-encrusted wedding rings. The most noticeable of his new acquisitions, however, was a dramatically elegant set of female breasts. He looked like exactly what he was supposed to be: the pampered and stylish Middle Eastern wife of a wealthy European merchant. And he really was astonishingly beautiful.

But Jake couldn't resist. After all, what Richard couldn't hear, he couldn't very well bitch about. ‘I hope you don't have to give the boobs back,’ his thoughts sent to Adrian. ‘If they ever do a Miss Drag Canada, you've got a lock on First Prize.’

‘Thank you, Jake.’ Adrian was having to work at controlling the red tinge flaring in his eyes. But then he smiled with quite astonishing sweetness. ‘If you like it that much,’...his own thoughts were a lazy purr in Jake's mind, ‘you might want to re-think certain decisions you've made in the past, hmmm?’ With that disturbing idea firmly planted in unwilling soil, Adrian turned and slithered past him, so blatantly female, and so overwhelmingly sexual, that he could have turned on a marble statue.

On the ground, in France, he toned it down for the covey of bustling French officials who made their way onto the plane, once it had pulled into the hangar there. The cockpit crew had gone out, conferring with French mechanics over some imagined problem they hadn't bothered their passengers with, so what little daylight came into the cabin through the now-opened door was not enough to greatly bother Adrian. What was much harder was that he would normally be sound asleep by now, and maintaining the performance as Richard's stylish and sophisticated wife took all his concentration. But he must have pulled it off adequately; the French were so openly admiring of Richard's good marital fortune that they spent little time examining papers and luggage. And their tour of the plane was cursory, at best. Bowing in turn over Adrian's languidly offered hand, each of them shook Richard's hand briefly and exited with no problem. With them went little Saul Eisenberg, and his ever-present bag, and he, too, bowed over Adrian's hand and kissed it with admiration and a whimsical twinkle in his eyes. "Madame," he said with genuine appreciation, "it has been an experience, yes? I am your stunned admirer."

As soon as they were gone, and the door closed behind them, Adrian kicked the narrow pumps off his feet. "God," he said mournfully, "the things I do for my art."

"Your performance was excellent," Richard said sincerely. "It was absolutely critical to the success of our venture, Adrian, and you have my thanks for succeeding so well. The cabin on the right, in the rear of the plane, has been blacked out for your use. You will be safe there throughout the day, and arrangements have already been made at our next stop, in Bahrain. You will not be asked to appear there." He leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice. "The cabin steward will bring what you need for nourishment. It would be better if Mr. Perry remained unaware of this."

Adrian was starving, but he had been reluctant to bring the subject up. He was astonished, again, that Richard seemed to have thought of everything. "I'll retire then," he said, and paused. "Richard, I may not always show it, but I want you to know that I really do greatly appreciate all you've done."

"Tell me," Richard said grimly, "when we are back in Toronto, with T'beth safe among us."

Dinah finally left her in peace.

It was a glorious feeling, lying the sun, soaking up its warmth like a cat, listening to the surf and feeling the breeze, salt laden and moist, on her skin. She leaned back on the lounge chair, trying to relax and just rest for a few minutes, and she found her mind returning, as it always did, at every opportunity, to Richard, to her memories of him ... the different cadences of his voice, in all the different times she’d heard it ... hoarse with passion, tender with love, laughing and teasing her, or quiet and peaceful. The changing light in his eyes at different times from different angles, or the feel of his body, the changing textures of the skin that was always warm to her touch. Or the taste of him, changing as the passion between them ebbed and flowed, as different over all his body as the scent of him was ... and ... oh God, she was doing it again...

She gathered herself together, all her memories, trying to find a way to contain them. Stephen had told her, as upset as she'd ever seen him, that that was all she could do ... refine her own control of her mind so that even sleeping it was contained by her will. The only alternative, he'd said, because the bond between her and Richard was so entangled with her gift of empathy, was to remove the empathy itself. To, in effect, strip her of all her Listener Gifts, an action he'd flatly refused to even consider performing himself, and promised, without waiting for her to ask, to do whatever was necessary to prevent anyone else from doing, either ... because he'd seen the look of despair on her face...

Now, she was tired and the sun was warm against her, as he'd been warm against her, and she was sleepy and missed him so much ... and so she just gave in to it, the need to sleep and the unvoiced hope that she could at least find him in her dreams, have him that way ... even if there was never any other way.

Her mind, delighted to oblige, found him for her without any trouble ... sleeping. Once again it wrapped itself around him...

She moved gently next to him, relishing the sight of him, and fitted herself to the sleeping length of him, her head tucked into the space between his neck and shoulder, her hair tickling his chin, her small hand resting lightly on his chest, and her leg curving over his. Snuggling as close as she could to the warmth of him, his scent in her nostrils, his breathing stirring her curls lightly, his body a lure of warmth and rest and security … all of it leading her into sleep, relaxed and comforted, at ease for the first time in so long...

With France safely behind them, and several hours before they would touch down again in Bahrain, Richard Plantagenet at last forced himself to attempt to sleep. He would be of little use in Pakistan or Iran if he did not get some rest soon. If dreams came, he would have to endure them.

Adrian was secure in one of the two small staterooms at the rear of the plane. Richard took the other, threw his clothes off, and stretched out on the surprisingly roomy and comfortable bed. And slept.

It was her scent that came to him first, again. Asleep, so deeply relaxed by his physical exhaustion that he had no power to resist his dreams, with each indrawn breath he took in the heady fragrance of her, hungry for it now, breathing slower, deeper, savoring it. He was aware of tiny currents of air moving rhythmically across his naked chest, and then of the light touch of her hair, tickling at his chin ... and of her slender hand resting lightly on his flesh, a small island of warmth and comfort in the void of his isolation. And just that suddenly, she was with him.

She was lying beside him, fitted close against him, so that no part of her body was separated from his by the smallest emptiness. He opened his eyes, in his dream, and raised his head, carefully, to look down at her. She was profoundly asleep, utterly relaxed and content, exactly as she had been when he would wake during their long nights together in Maine. She was with him, as close to him as she could find a way to be, and in that closeness she was happily secure.

Mercy of God, he loved her. He could not tell her; she was not his, and had told him she would not ever be so. She had a husband, a life separate from him, and she had gone back to it. But she was not the manipulative creature he had accused her of being. That was the pain of his loss, and his damnable pride talking, and a wounded child's desire to inflict wounds as deep as those he suffered.

But in his dream he could not believe that the joy in him she'd shown him so vividly was not genuine. He remembered it all now ... the touch of her hands, of her lips, cherishing him, lavishing her love on him, giving to him of all the warmth and generosity of spirit that was so especially hers. No woman in all his experience had ever looked at him in quite that way ... with that total acceptance of everything that he was, and with loving delight in his body, in his mind, in all the experiences of his life that had made of him what he was now. For it was all that he was that she loved ... not what he could be, not what he must strive to be, not what another's vision of him was. He could not have been so deceived. She loved him ... as totally as he loved her.

Dreams defy logic. They don't need it and reject it joyously. So his dreaming mind did now. She had left him to return to her husband, but in this moment he would not allow that to intrude on the love for him in which he had luxuriated when her eyes rested on him, when her hands touched him, when her body arched so passionately against his. His arm tightened, drawing her closer; his free hand tilted her chin, and he kissed her with all the love and gratitude in his heart. Her lips stirred under his, parted, allowed his tongue entry, and met it with lazy gentleness.

He pushed her back and rolled over, looking down at her as her eyes drifted open slowly, still dazed with sleep ... and then lit with quiet joy as deep as his own. She whispered his name, smiling. Her hands came up to cradle his face, to brush his hair back, to stroke lightly at the unshaven stubble on his chin, and the tiny frown line appeared between her eyebrows. He had always been careful to be clean-shaven when he made love to her, and she was unsure...

He kissed her again, carefully. He did not want to scratch the delicate skin of her face, her throat...

He moved over her as she opened for him, into her, and watched her frown vanish in the quick, indrawn breath of her welcome. They were both tired, too tired for passion. This was the slowest, most comfortable and comforting kind of lovemaking. He barely moved inside her, and her body did not lift to him but twisted slowly, gently, against his. Sensation came drifting slowly, luxuriously ... pure pleasure, with no element of urgency or need. And when it ended, her long sigh against his ear was all loving contentment.

He raised his head to kiss her gently, and said against her lips, "Forgive me ... forgive me, Liliana ... I love you..."

Her arms came up to pull his head down against her, and he lay still, at peace with her hands moving slowly over his back ... and slept.

There were no problems in Bahrain. The Switzerland of the Middle East might take its banking procedures seriously, but its customs procedures remained ... well, Middle Eastern. Bribery was a way of life. The appropriate palms were greased, the plane was refueled, the one Bahraini official who came aboard only pretended to examine documents, and Adrian was not asked to put in an appearance. They were in the air again as soon as their fuel tanks had been filled.

Hours later, descending to Karachi at last, it was full dark once again, the middle of the night, local time, and Adrian was once more among the ... sort of ... living. The cabin steward had seen to delivering his breakfast to his cabin before he was required to put in an appearance. He was still in drag, except that he had replaced the high-heeled pumps with something more casual and obviously more comfortable. The rest of it would disappear under the chador when they were on the ground, which wasn't as necessary in Karachi as it would be out in the countryside, but was common enough there to arouse no comment. It would not be necessary to veil his face, thankfully, and Alexis could be trusted to remember the problem with mirrors. He did not expect to be exposed to them between the plane and the train they would board soon after landing. The worst of their travelling problems seemed to be behind them.

But when they were on the ground and taxi-ing toward the main terminal, the plane suddenly ground to a halt and one of the cabin stewards came quickly over to speak to Richard and Ed Perry. Concern was evident on all faces involved. Richard got up and came over to Adrian. "Put on the chador now," he said quickly. "Something unexpected is happening. We are being directed to a different terminal than we had anticipated."

Uh-oh. Adrian dug the damned thing out and disappeared under its enveloping black folds. The windows were uncovered now, and everyone was looking out, as the plane turned and taxi-ed off to one side, following the signal lights waved before it by ground crew members. Perry was looking especially hair-triggered. Something in his meticulous arrangements here had gone wrong, and he had no idea what it was.

The plane came to a halt in a darkened area, much like that from which it had begun this journey. There was no sign of activity anywhere around it, and no overhead lights on at all. Perry went to the door and opened it, looking out, as the rolling stairway was pushed up to the side of the plane. And running lightly up it, smiling, obviously greatly pleased with herself, was Alexis Colby.

Alexis, in deference to the Moslem country, was conservatively dressed ... for her, in a mid-length dress that covered her knees and had sleeves that reached her slender wrists. She was also wearing a silk scarf over her head and around her neck, its loose ends tossed back over her shoulders. But she was still every inch Alexis.

"Gentlemen," she said brightly, bestowing an especially warm smile on Richard, "we thought it best if Dex didn't come with me ... too much attention from the wrong people, perhaps ... but he asked me to wish you well in our little enterprise. And Ed..." She turned to Perry, with a cautioning expression. "...he said to tell you he hasn't forgotten about that episode in Kabul, and you still owe him that fifth of Scotch. Adrian, dear one, the makeup is superb ... and the figure, even in that shroud, is to die for. Richard..." She paused, for effect, Adrian thought, and wondered just which of them was the better actor. "Richard," she purred, "I'm delighted to see you looking so rested. There is a little man waiting by the cars who will pretend to look at your papers, but nothing else, and they're even holding the train for us. Wasn't that accommodating of them? But then, they have so many reasons to want to keep Dex happy, and he's sweet enough to want me to be happy, too. Shall we go?"

There were baggage handlers who came aboard to cart everything to the cars, and quick handshakes between Perry, Richard, and the plane's crew, and then they were all down the stairs, loaded into two cars, and quickly whisked away from the airport. At this hour, almost one-thirty in the morning in Karachi, the streets were very nearly deserted and poorly lit in those sections through which they traveled. What few robed and turbaned wanderers were about paid them no attention at all.

At the train station, they were met by a uniformed Pakistani who bowed, his heels audibly clicking together, over Alexis's hand, and again to Richard and to Ed Perry. He spoke with Perry briefly in Arabic and Perry turned to Richard to say, "They're bringing electric carts to take us to the train. It will only be a minute."

These duly arrived, baggage carts, on which it was necessary to stand, holding on for dear life ... except for Alexis and Adrian, who were given seats beside the drivers ... and they were swiftly trundled through the more well-lighted sections of the station to the tracks, and to the compartment they would occupy for the next part of their journey.

The train had seen better days, and had begun its life as a commuter local in England long ago. Compartments all had doors to the platform, which would be convenient for their departure later, and two long seats. Their carefully-packed baggage went into overhead racks. They were no sooner settled on the seats, three to each side, than the train hooted deafeningly and began to roll.

"Well," Alexis said brightly, "I think that went rather well, don't you?"

The question was directed at Richard, who sat on one side of her. Ed Perry was on the other side, with Adrian sandwiched between Will and Jake, across from them. Richard had not objected to the seating arrangements, even when Perry said something, under his breath, about having his 'wife' closer at hand. "If needed," Richard said. He was smiling, now, at Alexis. "I must extend my compliments," he said with genuine admiration. "Your arrangements could not have been excelled."

"Thank you." She reached out with one slim hand to pat his knee. "You must learn to trust me, Richard. I really do know exactly what I'm doing, most of the time."

His hand covered hers briefly, before she pulled it back. "But perhaps, not always?" he said softly. Adrian, watching them, could almost see the fangs being bared on both sides as two predators circled, looking for an opening. Sooner or later, he thought...

Alexis smiled prettily. "Well, sometimes it's a relief, isn't it, to just let oneself go? But not usually advisable."

"I," Richard said, in what Will, listening, thought one of the major understatements of this or any other year, "do not always find it acceptable to follow advice."

Alexis's lashes could have fanned a spark to a consuming conflagration. "Neither do I," she said. "But I do try to choose my ... lapses with discretion."

"I would have expected nothing less," Richard agreed, and fell into silence, his eyes directed now, out the window.

Outside, the moonlit Pakistani landscape had begun to whip by with satisfying speed. North, and west, Iran waited.