 
### NIGHTMARE IN NORWAY

A NOVEL BY DICK REYNOLDS

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Published by MilSpeak Books

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All other rights ©2011 Richard Reynolds

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Cover Art derived from "Tree-Man" by Hieronymus Bosch

****

Acknowledgments

A number of friends and colleagues have helped me write this book.

I'm particularly grateful to members of my writing group who reviewed and early draft and offered valued critiques: David Anderson, Frances Lumbers, Elizabeth Raby, Pat Sharpe, and Carol Smock.

I'm also indebted to Sally Drumm, Editor and Publisher of MilSpeak Books, and President of MilSpeak Foundation, for her inspiration, encouragement, and enthusiasm on behalf of my writing efforts.

Special thanks to Mike Freiermuth, Editor and Publisher of Timber Creek Review and Words of Wisdom, who has published many of my short stories. In particular, this novel contains material previously seen in "Oslo Encounter" which appeared in the Spring 2001 issue of Words of Wisdom.

Finally, my undying gratitude to the citizens of Norway for their friendship, hospitality, and good humor.

Skål and Det var hyggelig å treffe Dem!
Nightmare in Norway by Richard Reynolds
Chapter One

Sandy looked around the store and scratched his head. "You have any idea where the men's clothing section is?"

Cheryl pointed to the left rear corner. "I'm sure you'll find coats back there."

"Where will you be?"

"Oh, I don't know. Looking around. Maybe shoes. Maybe silk blouses for work."

Sandy grinned. "Don't forget the lingerie department. Something black and sexy would be nice."

Cheryl frowned. "You just worry about finding something warm enough for Norway. I'll do fine by myself, thank you very much."

"Well, don't go wandering all over. I want you to see what I get."

"Open your eyes and look around." Cheryl sighed. "Such a baby."

Sandy eventually found the men's outerwear department but was disappointed with the small variety and number of coats on display. After riffling through each rack, he found one that looked promising: a black trench coat with a fur lining already buttoned inside. As he put it on, he was impressed by the coat's substantial weight. He walked over to a three-panel mirror and checked himself out, already starting to feel warm. He turned one-way and then the other, observing the fit. When he noticed his bare legs and sneaker-clad feet, he had to chuckle at the unlikely costume. He was forty-five, five foot ten, three inches taller than Cheryl, and had a muscular build. He wasn't a physical fitness fanatic but kept in good shape by jogging and playing tennis as often as he could. Occasionally he hiked in the San Gabriel Mountains, an activity that Cheryl considered a huge waste of time.

Sandy studied himself in the mirror. He had coal black curly hair with a pronounced silver streak across his left temple. When it first appeared, he seriously considered dying it to blend in with the rest of his hair. Now, he was pleased with his striking looks and considered the streak a badge of middle-aged virility.

He felt certain that this was the coat for him, but still wanted Cheryl's approval before he bought it. He walked to the women's shoe department and then to the area selling women's blouses and sweaters. She was nowhere in sight.

Sandy attracted many stares wherever he went. One elderly woman dressed in a purple pants suit stopped suddenly. She covered her mouth with her hand in apparent shock at what she saw. Sandy smiled weakly at her and continued looking for his wayward wife.

He found her at the jewelry counter, closely inspecting gold earrings. "Finally," he groaned. "I've been looking all over for you."

Cheryl gave him a curious look and started giggling. "Looks good from the front. Turn around."

Sandy did an about face. "Hurry, I'm burning up in this thing."

"I think it will work just fine. Let me get these earrings and then we can go."

A young man rapidly approached Sandy, followed at some distance by the elderly woman in the purple pants suit. "Excuse me, sir, I'm Bill Ross, the manager on duty. Is that one of our coats you're wearing? Um . . . I mean . . . are you planning to buy it?"

Sandy quickly unbuttoned the front panel, removed the coat, and revealed his jogging outfit of white T-shirt and blue shorts. "See the tags? It's yours and I'm paying for it in a couple of minutes. Something wrong?"

Ross glanced nervously at the elderly woman who was now looking down and edging away from the confrontation. Ross smiled at Sandy. "No, everything's OK. Looks like a case of mistaken identity. Sorry to have bothered you."

Cheryl burst out laughing. "That woman thought you were a flasher."

Sandy turned a light shade of crimson as he folded up the coat. "Let's get the hell out of here. Now."

As they made their way to the checkout, Cheryl was still smiling. "Some advice, pal. When you wear that coat in Norway, be sure you've got pants on."

Sanford Clarke Gilmartin, or Sandy as he was known by almost everyone except his parents, worked as a communications engineer for an international defense electronics company based in Southern California's Orange County. He had been selected to be a member of a team that would visit numerous military installations in Norway. Following this six-week trip, the group would design a battle management information system for later installation in that nation's operation centers.

On the first Wednesday of January, four days after their coat shopping expedition, Sandy and Cheryl worked late at their respective offices. He was wrapping up loose ends before heading for Norway. Cheryl, a retail stockbroker with a nationally known firm located in Newport Beach, held longer than expected meetings with two clients.

It was just after ten o'clock when Sandy slid into their king-sized bed. Cheryl continued working on her computer in a guest bedroom they had converted into a shared office. While waiting for her, Sandy read from a Baldacci thriller.

Cheryl eventually came to their bedroom and began changing into her usual sleepwear of panties and a large white T-shirt. As she stripped, Sandy eyeballed her streamlined body, hoping that she would be in the mood for making love.

He had always admired her dark brown hair with its reddish cast, the way it hung straight down and touched her shoulders. She had a slim physique and worked hard to keep her weight down, mostly by dieting sensibly and swimming at their club pool while Sandy played tennis.

After a quick tooth brushing, Cheryl came to bed and immediately turned on her side, facing away from Sandy. He wanted to reach over and touch her, possibly give her a goodnight kiss, but concluded it would be an unwelcome intrusion. Instead, he switched off his bedside lamp and pulled up the sheet.

In just a few minutes, she threw aside the sheet, bolted from bed, and turned on her own table lamp. A startled Sandy sat upright. "What's wrong? Did something bite you?"

"Damn straight, I'm burning up." She fanned herself with a woman's wear catalogue and rippled her T-shirt in and out by pulling at the hem.

This was nothing new for Sandy. He had witnessed her hot flashes many times. She would be turning forty-eight soon and he was well aware that some tough times lay ahead for both of them.

Cheryl padded over to the window and turned on the air conditioner. She closed another window and turned on the ceiling fan so that it rotated at top speed.

"Dammit, Cheryl, you're going to have this room like a meat locker."

"I can't help it. I need to cool off or I won't be able to sleep." She climbed back into bed and turned off the light.

"What about me? I'll be freezing my ass off."

She barked a muffled laugh into her pillow. "Too bad. Why don't you put on your new coat? That'll keep you warm."

Sandy leapt out of bed and yelled, "You should be the one going to Norway, not me." He slammed the bedroom door and made his way to the guest bedroom where he resigned himself to spending the rest of the night. He was now so agitated that he decided to take a shower, a proven device for easing his tension and getting a good night's sleep.

As the hot pellets pummeled his body, he thought about the earlier days of their relationship, especially the happy and romantic ones. They had met four years earlier when he decided to open a brokerage account at her firm. He recalled her sultry statement that she would take good care of him.

Both were married to other spouses at the time. Cheryl's husband, Scott Evans, was an airline pilot who flew out of Orange County to Denver and Seattle. Sandy and his wife, Gail, had a daughter named Julie who was now thirteen. Perhaps it was boredom, indifference, or just the excitement generated by the potential for some extramarital sex that led to Sandy and Cheryl's liaison. They initially had frequent business meetings in her office, and then talks over candlelight dinners at cozy restaurants, all of which quickly morphed into a full-blown affair. She had indeed taken good care of him.

Cheryl's financial acumen was so sharp that she helped Sandy structure his portfolio in such a way that when the inevitable divorce arrived, he emerged from it in pretty good shape. Gail continually raged over her financial predicament and took every opportunity to make life miserable for Sandy. Her tactics even included a poorly disguised campaign to discredit him in Julie's eyes.

Sandy began soaping himself all over. He closed his eyes and recalled one of the early times when he and Cheryl had made love; the very first time they had simultaneously achieved orgasm with mutual shouts of joyful release.

A sudden temperature change knocked Sandy out of his sexual reminiscence. He turned off the cold water, stepped out of the shower, and toweled off. Despite his earlier argument with her, he thought he'd sleep well.

Neither Sandy nor Cheryl possessed a talent for cooking. Since each had an excellent income, they often patronized Orange County's finer restaurants. The few meals prepared at home were simple, items that could be grilled, baked, or tossed with little fanfare or creative thought.

On Friday, the day before Sandy's departure for Norway, they decided to meet for dinner at one of the classier restaurants in Irvine's Spectrum complex. Sandy arrived first and ordered a vodka martini, straight up. He soon became engrossed in people watching, while waiting for Cheryl to show.

She was unmistakable walking toward him through the crowd. She was stunning in a dark blue suit, a cream colored silk blouse, and a single strand of pearls. A short skirt and heels enhanced her shapely legs.

Spotting him, she smiled broadly. Fairly bubbling with excitement, she rushed up, hugged him tightly, and gave him a firm kiss. "Hello, darling. Sorry for the delay. Hope I haven't kept you waiting too long."

Her good mood was contagious and Sandy grinned back at her. "Not too long. I've only been here a few minutes."

When their server appeared, Cheryl ordered a glass of Chardonnay. Sandy was ready for a second martini.

"All set for the big trip?" she asked.

"Pretty much. Got my tickets and traveler's checks this afternoon. My briefcase won't hold one more sheet of paper."

"What time are you leaving?"

"The van's picking me up at five-thirty."

"Good God. Try not to make a lot of noise, OK?"

After the waitress brought their drinks, Sandy said, "You seem pretty excited about something. Have a good day at work?"

"Well, yes. Travis called me into his office this afternoon." Travis Nugent was the firm's local manager. "Remember me telling you about the big position opening up? The one handling institutional clients?"

A shiver ran through his body. "You mean the job in San Francisco?"

"Yes, that's the one. You know, I've been one of the front runners, along with that bitch, Rochelle Compton."

Sandy flinched at the reference to her colleague but remained silent.

"I edged her out of the picture, just like I knew I could. Travis said he'd recommend me for the slot. It's mine if I want it."

"Do you?"

"Hell yes! This is my big break. The one I've been working so hard for."

"Then you'd have to move to the Bay Area."

"Well, sure. I couldn't do it from Orange County."

"What about me? I'd have to find another job up there."

"Not necessarily. We could have a long distance marriage. You come to San Francisco on the weekends or I come home to Irvine. Plenty of couples do that."

Sandy twiddled his martini glass and stared at the single olive left on the toothpick, hoping to receive some kind of Delphic message. "I'm not comfortable with this, Cheryl. Seems like a bad situation, one that would allow us to drift further apart."

"Then you need to look at it in a positive light. We'll have every weekend to get reacquainted with each other." She gave him a lewd grin and ran her tongue around her index finger. "Get those romantic juices flowing again."

They picked at their dinners in relative silence. Over coffee, she steered the conversation back to her potential move. "You know, Sandy, I've never asked you to make any sacrifices for me."

"Until now, that is."

Her face turned a light shade of red and tears formed in her eyes. "Dammit, that's totally unfair. We can make it work if you give it a chance."

"I have some serious doubts. It's got disaster written all over it."

She rose and threw her napkin down hard on the table. "I'm going home. You can stay as long as you like. I suggest you think about this. Think hard about me and our relationship. Does it mean anything to you? And while you're in Norway, think about it some more. And if I'm not at home when you get back, you might try the Golden Gate Bridge, Fisherman's Wharf or the Top of the Mark."

After she stormed off, Sandy ordered a brandy and mulled over the situation. Maybe this trip will be a good cooling off period. To be fair, I probably shouldn't have been so quick to discourage her ambitions. But living apart like that can't be good for a marriage, especially one that's as shaky as ours.

Just before Saturday's sunrise, Sandy turned out the house lights and piled into the airport van with his briefcase and new coat. The driver had picked up Sandy's two suitcases sitting on the front steps and was smoking a cigarette. Cheryl was still asleep; Sandy hadn't bothered waking her to say goodbye.

"Looks like you're heading for cold weather," said the driver.

"That's what they tell me," replied Sandy.

The driver noticed Sandy's mood and got his talk fix by turning up the radio volume. He was listening to an all-night show where listeners call in and vent their frustrations on politicians, mean bosses, or unfaithful lovers. The rest of his ride to LAX passed in silence.

Sandy's check-in went smoothly. On this early Saturday morning, the airport was barely awake. His nonstop flight to JFK lifted off only ten minutes late. A good omen, he thought, according to his business travel experiences. He hoped the next leg from JFK to London Heathrow went as well.

Sandy had happily accepted this new assignment. He was excited about the prospect of traveling in a country where he'd never been before, meeting new people, and observing an unfamiliar but friendly culture. His work, if done well, could also be a stepping stone to a promotion, an event that would further support his long term goal of becoming his division's Chief Scientist. Even better, it would provide some time away from Cheryl, a respite from their current problems.

He thought she had a valid point. Cheryl deserves a chance to further her career by accepting this new position. But he wondered if they could make a long distance marriage work. He knew that couples in the entertainment industry commuted often between the coasts. Does absence make the heart grow fonder?

Whatever happens will be better than ending the marriage. Sandy was sure that he didn't want to go through that again. Staying married and geographically separated would still be less painful than a divorce.

Chapter Two

On Monday morning, Sandy emerged from the elevator into the lobby of Oslo's Viking Hotel and immediately spotted the towering bulk of Norm Riley, anxiously pacing up and down. Riley was the company's manager for the operation centers automation project.

"Morning, Norm. Thanks for picking me up."

Norm stuck out his hand and gave him a firm grip. "Welcome to Norway, Sandy. Have a good night's rest?"

"I did. Crashed right after I talked to you."

They stepped outside and walked briskly to a car whose engine was still running. Sandy noticed a marquee above the train station flashing time and temperature, the latter at minus six degrees C, or about twenty degrees F. Although it was almost 8:30, the sun had yet to make its appearance.

Riley drove cautiously through Oslo's streets, covered with a light dusting of snow that had fallen the night before. The city was coming alive with people heading for work. They arrived at the suburb of Kolsaas thirty minutes later and followed a narrow two-lane road to a security gate. Soldiers clad in huge fur-lined parkas stood on each side of the gate. They held submachine guns.

"We have to get you checked in first," said Norm. "They'll give you a badge so you won't have to be escorted everywhere."

After Sandy's security clearance had been verified, the sentries looked inside, all around and under their car, and waved them through.

Sandy followed Norm to the company's onsite office, located in a long wooden two-story building inside the compound. The walk from the parking lot was bitterly cold because the wind had picked up. Sandy felt it and snugged his coat closer around his neck. Once inside, they removed their outer clothes and thawed out. Sandy sipped hot coffee while Norm flipped through a stack of faxes which had arrived from Fullerton over the weekend.

"Nothing terribly important here," said Norm. "Let's go meet the customer, Sandy. You can leave your briefcase here."

They walked to the other end of the building and entered the office of Jan Orfeldt, a captain in the Danish Navy. Orfeldt, a robust and ruddy faced man of six feet, two inches, greeted them warmly. Norm introduced Sandy and then left.

Both sat down while Captain Orfeldt gave Sandy a broad overview of the command's mission. The Headquarters was staffed with male and female personnel, officers and enlisted, mainly from Norway and Denmark. There was also a smaller contingent from the U. S., Canada, U. K., and Germany, the last because the NATO Northern Region included a small portion of Germany. Orfeldt summarized the role of his small project team. "We represent the users and we want to be sure that your system accommodates all our needs."

Orfeldt tried to conclude the meeting by giving Sandy his next appointment. "I've arranged for your contact to come down and meet you at ten o'clock. He's Lieutenant Commander Vigo Franzen of the Norwegian Navy. Like yourself, he's a communicator. He'll take you into the bunker, show you your office, and everything there is to see, especially the communications spaces."

"Before I go, I'm curious about something."

"Yes, of course. How can I help?"

"What's your perception of the threat? Don't get me wrong, captain. I've read the classified documents but do you really believe the Northern Region will be subjected to large scale land battles?"

Orfeldt chuckled. "Good point, Sandy. You know, it was only several years ago we felt the hot breath of the Soviet bear breathing down our necks."

Sandy nodded but said nothing.

"Yes, it was very real for us in northern Norway where the country borders Russia and Finland. Quite active up there and we kept a sharp eye, but it's been rather quiet for some time. The Russians have many problems to deal with in other parts of the world, including their homelands."

"Are you concerned about any other nations?"

"Some of the newly independent republics could be a problem some day. And there's always Germany, God forbid. My parents and grandparents suffered through Hitler's atrocities during his occupation of Denmark in World War Two." Orfeldt's face reddened and his voice grew louder. "The resurgence of the Boche after World War One. Ach, it wasn't supposed to happen again. Will we ever learn how to deal with these petty dictators and tyrants?"

Sandy shifted in his chair. "I was thinking more along the lines of terrorism. How is the region prepared to deal with such attacks?"

Orfeldt relaxed slightly. "Ah, here I think we're on much firmer ground. We have excellent physical security, here at Kolsaas and all the other command centers that will receive the automated system."

"I noticed the sentries at the main gate when I arrived this morning."

"Only the tip of the iceberg, Sandy. When you've been here a while, you'll learn more about our security measures and appreciate all the work we've done." Orfeldt was now warming to his subject. "I'm glad you brought this up. Here is an area that you should pay close attention to. Terrorists could try to disrupt communications between Kolsaas and our subordinate commands. Your work should take note of this potential problem. Our computer systems will also be susceptible to hackers' mischief, trying to steal sensitive data and other damage they can inflict on us. You and your design team can make a significant contribution toward minimizing the threat."

He smiled, thinking that Orfeldt had cleverly shifted responsibility for system security from the military to Sandy's employer. "We'll do our best, captain."

Orfeldt stood and shook hands, signaling the end of their meeting. "We don't stand on ceremony, Sandy. We do want you to feel comfortable and we'll see that you get all the information you need to do your job well."

Sandy thanked him and returned to Norm's office where he began to get organized for the day's work ahead.

Sandy's company paid for only one overseas phone call during his trip, a short 'safe arrival' call back to his home. Because of the different time zones, he waited until Tuesday afternoon in order to reach Cheryl at her office.

"This is Cheryl."

"Hi, honey. Just wanted you to know I got here safe and sound."

"That's wonderful. Did you have a good trip?"

"Not bad, all things considered. Hey, it's cold here. Very little sun during the day but my new coat is keeping me warm. Lot's of interesting things to tell you."

"Uh, Sandy . . . I really can't talk right now. The market's jumping and I've got tons of work to do."

"Yeah, I know how it is. But there's no really good time to talk, thanks to the nine hour time difference."

"Why don't you send me an e-mail? A long one with all the details."

"OK, I'll do that.

After she hung up, Sandy poured himself a stiff drink of scotch purchased at the London Heathrow duty-free shop. That was lots of fun, he thought. Guess I could have set my alarm for some ungodly hour and reached her at home. But why should I screw up my sleep?

On Saturday evening, Sandy sent Cheryl an e-mail.

Hi Sweetheart,

As I mentioned on the phone, I got to Oslo Sunday afternoon, their time of course. The flight over the Atlantic was bumpy so I didn't get much sleep. London Heathrow was cold and damp. Sure glad I had that new coat handy to keep me warm. Had to take a bus to get from one terminal to the next. Snow all around Oslo with temperatures never getting above freezing. Of course all my sleep patterns are screwed up. I've been waking up in the middle of the night, ready for work, then having trouble getting back to sleep.

Today was a day off so I did my usual tourist bit. This morning I took a bus to Bygdøy Island to see the Kon Tiki. Thor Heyerdahl sailed this balsa wood raft with five other people from Peru to Polynesia, an amazing 4800 miles. In the same museum, I also checked out a smaller raft he called the RA II. Heyerdahl drifted on this one across the Atlantic in 1970. I've been on rough seas when I was in the Navy, but I'd be terrified sitting on one of these rafts in the middle of the ocean.

This afternoon I took a bus back to Oslo and browsed around an art gallery for a while. The most famous painting on display was The Scream by Edvard Munch. You probably remember reading about it. Some amateur crooks stole it but now it's back again, The museum's security seems much better after that incident. I saw another painting that was more interesting, something that appealed more to my taste. Although nobody would ever accuse me of being an art critic. This other painting is called Nøkken. The picture shows the top half of a black head emerging from a swampy lagoon, its large eyes shining an iridescent green. The woman at the visitor's desk told me that this monster is the Norwegian boogeyman, often invoked by desperate parents trying to discipline their misbehaving children.

Tonight I'm having dinner with Vigo Franzen and his family. He's a Navy officer assigned to the NATO headquarters out at Kolsaas where I've been working. It should be really interesting. Vigo speaks excellent English and he told me his sons also know the language well and want to get some practice by talking with me about the good old U. S. of A. Hey, I can tell them all about Disneyland. Ha!

Have to run. By the way, I'm staying at the Viking Hotel in room 1208. If you want to call me, the number is 47-1-473-0738. Remember to dial 011 first for an overseas call.

Love, Sandy

P. S. What's the latest news on the San Francisco job?

On Sunday morning, Sandy decided he needed some physical exercise. Vigo had recommend cross-country skiing, a sport that Sandy had never tried. Vigo said he could rent skis, boots, and poles by the day and, if necessary, take a lesson or two before heading out. Being the athlete he thought he was, Sandy believed that he could experiment with the equipment and pick it up on his own. If that didn't work out, he could always swallow his pride and take a lesson.

Sandy boarded a two-car electric train, or 'tric' as the locals called it, and headed for the wooded suburb of Frognerseteren at the north end of the city. He wore wool trousers, a Polartec jacket, and a wool ski cap. He didn't look Norwegian but he didn't care. He just wanted to be warm.

He found the rental shop and got outfitted with ski equipment. He was pleasantly surprised at the low cost of renting all this gear. It was the biggest bargain he would encounter during his six-week visit to Norway.

The Norwegians he encountered witnessed Sandy's initial foray into the Nordmarka with great amusement. Although he had a muscular build and was an active tennis player and jogger, he was surprised at the challenge presented by these long and slender slats. His first problem was just standing upright and then, once that was mastered, finding the right sequence of kicks and glides that would propel him forward. Getting up after a fall was even more difficult. He fell a half dozen times but still enjoyed the exercise, the biting fresh air, and the snow-clumped blue spruce flanking the ski tracks.

He discovered that after moving only several hundred yards, he was no longer cold. In fact, he was soon sweating profusely and had to loosen several buttons and zippers to cool off. He was warm as long as he kept moving; when he stopped to rest, he rapidly became chilled and had to zip up again.

After several hours of vigorous exercise, he decided to call it a day. Back in his hotel room, he filled the tub with hot water and took a long soak. He was sore and aching, with exercised muscles that he hadn't used for a hell of a long time. After a nice dinner, he decided, it's early to bed for me.

Chapter Three

The next four weeks passed quickly. During his free time, Sandy visited more tourist attractions and went cross-country skiing at least once each weekend. He also took Lieutenant Olav Torgeson and his fiancé, Birgett, to dinner one evening. Torgeson worked as an engineer with the Norwegian Air Material Command, the organization that managed the contract for Sandy's project. Birgett, a tall, beautiful young woman with waist-length reddish brown hair, was a practicing nurse in Oslo's largest hospital. During dinner, Sandy learned that she and Olav planned to live in Saudi Arabia for several years after his military obligations were satisfied. As a married couple, both would be able to find employment at generous salaries and build a solid financial foundation for their future.

There was still one dark spot, a black cloud looming over Sandy during this period; his relationship with Cheryl had worsened steadily. She had sent him only a few angry e-mails concerning her employment situation. The last such message, received after his being in Norway for four weeks, announced that she had taken the new job and was moving to San Francisco. She promised to write again, but only after finding a place to live, and would give him a mailing address and telephone numbers for her home and office.

This news both disappointed and pleased him. He was not surprised that she had made this decision but he felt rejected because she had not made any more efforts to win his approval, or at least gain his best wishes for success in the new position. He also dreaded coming home to an empty house. On the other hand, he was relieved that this unpleasantness was now behind them. Now the hard work would begin of trying to make the marriage work despite the geographical separation.

On his fifth Friday in Norway, Sandy realized he hadn't seen the sun in twenty-two freezing days. But the very next day, the third Saturday of February, the clouds disappeared and the sun returned to a national welcome. A quest for light pulled him to the rooftop lounge of the Radisson SAS Scandinavia Hotel. Here in the center of Oslo he could observe the day's sunset in warm comfort.

On entering the lounge that afternoon, he made his way to the bar and picked out an empty stool. The friendly bartender placed a small bowl of peanuts in front of him and returned quickly with a chilled glass and bottle of Heineken beer that cost the equivalent of ten U. S. dollars. Even though he could afford it, he still flinched when he had to pay such prices.

Sandy savored his beer, gazing at a reddish sun just above the southwestern horizon. He thought of Cheryl, somewhere in San Francisco. Is the sun shining there or is it cool and overcast? Would she be outside or holed up in her office, cramming to learn everything about her new job? Perhaps she had found a nice apartment and was busy decorating it.

Taking in his immediate surroundings, he glanced to his right and muttered hello to a gray-haired man sipping a glass of red wine. The stool on his left was empty, but a woman wearing a red cashmere sweater, a short black wool skirt, black hose, and black leather boots occupied the one to its left.

Sandy recalled his morning at Frognerseteren, working on his cross-country techniques. He now considered himself a barely competent skier. He rarely fell anymore and could negotiate steep uphill and downhill segments, the former with laborious sidestep movements and the latter with a cautious snowplow position.

He continued nibbling his peanuts and sipping his beer, glancing occasionally at the woman to his left, not because she was attractive but because there was something about her appearance that was not quite right. He knew his limitations as an arbiter of women's fashion, but he was certain she was too old for blond hair that long and was wearing too much makeup.

The woman stood up and lurched to her right, clumsily sitting down on the empty bar stool next to him. When she rose to her full height, Sandy had to look upward just to get a good look at her. In that brief moment, he was pleasantly surprised to discover a full-bosomed, narrow-waisted, moderately attractive woman. Still, he was uneasy, wondering what spurious body signals had given her the encouragement to move closer.

"Anna Lise is my name," she said, extending her right hand.

"I'm Sandy," he replied, giving her a firm handshake.

"You are American. What part are you from?"

"Southern California. Just south of Los Angeles near Disneyland."

"Would that be Orange County?"

"Yeah, that's right." Sandy was surprised that she knew. "Have you been there?"

"No, but I have friends who are now living there...near the ocean. Someday I may go myself."

"Are you from Oslo?"

"I live here now, but I was raised in Trondheim. I attended university here in Oslo where I met my husband."

"You're married?"

"I am a widow. My husband died two years ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

She looked down into her tumbler of Scotch. "I have a son so I am not alone."

Sandy quickly changed the subject and spent several minutes telling her of his earlier skiing adventures, a safe conversation topic that allowed both to relax. At the end of his tale, Anna Lise sought to console him. "There is an old saying that all Norwegians are born with skis strapped to their feet. Of course, this makes birth a very difficult experience for the mother." When he laughed heartily at her joke, she couldn't resist another observation. "This also explains why Norwegian women have few children."

The conversation continued with generally pleasant subjects. Sandy deflected her questions about the nature of his work because it involved classified information. Even though he would have enjoyed telling her about his job, he bypassed it, all in the name of caution and common sense. He did, however, speak of his visits to see Thor Heyerdahl's creations, the Sonja Henie Museum, and Gustav Vigeland's lifelike statues in Frogner Park. She reciprocated by regaling him with interesting and sometimes explicitly sordid details about the personal lives of these same national celebrities.

It was tough sledding for Sandy. Anna Lise's accent was thick and the accumulation of drinks slurred her speech. Her voice also had that singsong cadence that all Scandinavians have, but deny, and she sucked in her breath when she said, "Yes." The gauzy alcoholic haze about her was made even worse by her stinky Turkish cigarettes.

Sandy's bladder was now sending a message so he excused himself. As he stood in front of the urinal, he silently rehearsed a speech that would allow him to make a graceful exit. However, when he returned to the bar, he was startled to see a fresh Heineken at his place and another tumbler of whiskey in front of Anna Lise.

"Thanks for the beer," he said. "But I have to be going soon."

She swiveled her stool to the right and gained a direct look at him. "I want to pose a question," she said. "Do you think Jesus had a penis?"

"What?" His head snapped to face her.

She repeated the question but this confused him more.

"PENS? What's a PENS?" he asked.

"No, a pee-nuss . . . pee-nuss," she answered.

"Of course he did. He was a man, wasn't he?"

"But he did not need it," she countered. "They say he never had a woman. Of course, we do not know that for sure." Then she made a coarse giggle. "There are stories about him sleeping with Mary Magdalene and fathering a child. But those could be only rumors."

This talk of the Lord's private parts and sex life made Sandy nervous. He took bigger sips of beer and glanced at his watch several times.

"Do you have some opinions?" she persisted.

"The only thing I can tell you is that he must have had one to pee through."

She laughed raucously. "You Americans act so innocent. So we cannot be sure of Jesus, but we do know about your former President Clinton. His penis became a national obsession in your country."

Sandy took another long sip of beer and checked his watch again.

She lowered her voice and spoke softly, her drooping eyelids almost covering her sad blue eyes. "I would like to make you an invitation. I live alone here in the hotel. Would you join me for dinner in my suite?"

He paused before answering, taking in the sadness etched into her face. "I'm really sorry, but I do have another commitment. Maybe some other time."

"Then perhaps next week? Wednesday or Thursday would suit me."

The next few seconds seemed like an eternity as a quiet battle took place in his heart. After much emotional turmoil, loneliness and curiosity defeated independence. "I have to spend several days in Bodø," he said. "But I'll be back by Thursday."

"Then come to my suite at seven o'clock. Room 2304. Is that convenient?"

"Seven o'clock it is," he replied.

She turned back to face the bar and lit up another cigarette, staring ahead at the black night and sparkling city lights. The conversation had ended.

Sandy quietly left the lounge, took the elevator down to the lobby, and walked briskly into the frigid night air.

Sandy and Lieutenant Torgeson boarded a dark green C-130 transport on Monday morning. They took their seats on canvas webbing in the front section of the plane.

After passing through Gardermoen Airport's deicing station, the plane took off for Vaernes, an air force base near Trondheim. The plane carried a dozen other passengers, all army and air force personnel, plus numerous cargo pallets destined for remote locations in Northern Norway.

The plane landed at Vaernes, discharged people and cargo, took on more people, taxied to the deicing station, and was soon airborne again. Just before noon, they landed at the Bodø air base. Sandy and Torgeson deplaned and were met by Major Hvedding, an army staff officer assigned to the Northern Norway Headquarters at Reitan, a few miles away.

The quaint fishing village of Bodø reminded Sandy of small coastal towns in Maine he'd visited during his college years at MIT. The only major difference was the glow. The diffused sun struggled to send light through a heavy cloud layer, casting a sickly orange pallor over everything. Torgeson informed him in a loud joking voice, "You won't be able to work on your California tan, Sandy. It will be dark again in just a few hours."

Major Hvedding drove a large military van equipped with snow tires and a multitude of ancillary equipment in back: chains, rope, tool boxes, and several bags of sand. "Have to be ready for anything up here," he said.

The road out of Bodø narrowed into a highway that seemed less than two lanes wide. Snow was piled high on both sides and a fierce wind blew crosswise, sending plumes of fine ice particles along the windshield.

Suddenly they came up behind another military vehicle, a jeep that had apparently slid off the road and embedded its nose in a snow bank. The jeep's two male passengers stood on the highway and waved at Major Hvedding to slow down. After stopping, Hvedding and Torgeson immediately got out to see if they could help. Sandy hesitated for a few moments before putting on his gloves, turning up his coat collar, and joining the group.

Hvedding had surveyed the scene and decided they could connect a chain to both vehicles and attempt an extraction. One of the jeep's passengers, assisted by Torgeson and Sandy, would push the jeep while the driver steered. Hvedding would back up the van and try to pull the jeep out of the snow bank.

Sandy soon found himself at the left nose of the jeep, standing knee-deep in snow. Because of Hvedding's customary military efficiency making assignments and coordinating movements, the jeep was soon pulled out and on the road again. The jeep's passengers thanked the heroes for their help and were on their way.

Back in the van, Torgeson clapped his hands together vigorously and laughed heartily. "Well done, Sandy. I think we should swear you in as a Native Norwegian. I'll bet you never thought you'd be doing anything like this."

Sandy smiled. "You're absolutely right. It's the first time on the job that I ever got a hundred pounds of snow in my shoes."

The remainder of Sandy's visit passed uneventfully until the last day. After Wednesday's lunch in the canteen, he had an unexpected meeting. The headquarters' commanding officer presented Sandy with a signed certificate, framed in a sturdy plastic envelope with a brass hook on top, attesting to his visit within the Arctic Circle. Sandy was touched by this gesture and promised everyone that he would display it proudly in his California office.

On Thursday morning, Major Hvedding took Sandy and Torgeson back to the Bodø air base. They boarded another C-130 transport for their return to Oslo by the reverse route they had flown on Monday. As the aircraft passed over Trondheim, Sandy suddenly recalled his conversation with Anna Lise last Saturday.

This is where she grew up. And I have a dinner date with her tomorrow night in her suite. Is this really a wise thing to do? Should I keep this date? Is there any way I can gracefully get out of it? Probably not. Guess I'll just have to keep my promise and hope for the best. Maybe I can bug out before the evening gets too late.

Chapter Four

Sandy was last to enter the SAS Hotel's elevator and found himself surrounded by four men dressed in dark suits. As the elevator moved slowly upward, he began to feel self-conscious. Each man held a briefcase while Sandy clutched a bouquet of miniature pink roses to his chest, flowers he had just purchased at a kiosk outside the Viking Hotel.

The other men smirked at Sandy's discomfort. At least that's the way it seemed to him. He was the only passenger left when the elevator reached the twenty-third floor. He felt like the survivor of a mortifying experience, made more uncomfortable by his guilty conscience.

He paused in front of a full-length mirror to check his appearance and adjust his tie. He rubbed a hand over his freshly shaved chin and patted down a cowlick. He turned his head to inspect the silver streak along his left temple, thinking he might have it colored.

After rapping on the door of room 2304, he looked down at the roses and almost panicked, looking nervously to his left and right for a wastebasket. He feared his impulsive gesture might be misinterpreted.

But nothing could have been further from the truth, as he discovered when Anna Lise opened the door. "Oh Sandy," she said, "The roses are just beautiful. Thank you so much for your thoughtfulness."

He received another pleasant surprise when he walked into her suite and got a better view of her. Anna Lise was wearing royal blue silk pants and a matching top that fit loosely, but could not disguise her alluring figure. She wore sandals that made her appear shorter than at their first meeting.

There were more surprises. Her blonde hair seemed shorter and was woven into two thick braids, one over the front of each shoulder. The girlish hairstyle, along with much less makeup, made her look considerably younger than she had appeared last Saturday.

The living room was larger than he expected, about twenty feet on each side. She took his topcoat and blue blazer and hung them in her closet. He walked straight to the window on the far side and looked out over the brightly lit city. Anna Lise joined him. "The view breathtaking, is it not? I never tire of it."

"It certainly is," he said. "Absolutely gorgeous."

"May I offer you a drink, Sandy? Do you like whiskey?"

"Yes, that would be fine. With an ice cube, if you have one."

"Oh yes, I have some ice. I know Americans like to dilute their alcohol."

She poured a whiskey for him and made herself a Campari and orange juice. They sat down on opposite ends of her sofa, "Skål, Sandy," she said, lifting her glass to her lips and holding his eyes firmly with her own for quite a long time.

"Skål to you," he replied, taking a long sip of a very smooth Scotch.

The conversation began cautiously, but soon became more animated. Sandy realized that Anna Lise's voice had none of the qualities that were a problem several nights ago. Instead, he not only understood her very well, but was charmed by the musical rhythm of her speech.

"Tell me, Sandy. How was your trip to Bodø?"

He laughed and asked her to say it again. She laughed as well and repeated "Bodø" several times, her voice falling on "boo" and rising on "duh."

"It was very successful. I accomplished a lot. In spite of the bad weather."

"What do you call bad weather?"

"I know the overnight temperature went below zero. That's Fahrenheit, not Celsius. The wind was blowing so hard, the snow fell horizontally."

She laughed. "But you visited several military installations. Is that correct?"

"Yes, I had meetings at the air base. And the command center near Reitan. But that's boring business."

Anna Lise took his almost empty tumbler and made him another drink, this time with two ice cubes and a lot more whiskey.

"Tell me about yourself," he said. "I've never met anyone who actually lives in a hotel."

She took this opportunity to talk about her late husband. Jacob had started a catering business that served most of the commercial airlines operating out of Gardermoen. A year before he died, the business was bought by his largest customer, Scandinavian Airlines System, and he was able to cash out with a small fortune. They sold their house in suburban Oslo and traveled the world free of charge, thanks to a perk he'd negotiated in the sale of his business. After his fatal heart attack, Anna Lise moved into the hotel, also owned by SAS and Radisson.

"I have a very comfortable life," she said. "I come and go as I please. I have maid service and the hotel chef keeps an excellent kitchen, as you will see."

Sandy loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar.

"Ja, but I am lonely at times," she continued. "A widow's social life is not very interesting. And the men seem to have only money and sex on their minds."

The conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door. She opened it and a tuxedo-clad waiter wheeled in a cart with bowls, platters, and covered trays of hot food. The tantalizing aromas almost overwhelmed a very hungry Sandy.

She motioned the waiter to a small table in a corner of the room that had been set with a white linen table cloth, a vase containing the pink roses, two candles, a bottle of wine, and wine glasses. He placed the dishes on the table and quietly left the suite with the cart. Sandy opened the vintage Bordeaux and filled their glasses as she lit the candles. She raised the serving platter's lid. "I know you would prefer hamburger, but I am afraid you will have to be content with reindeer steak."

Sandy laughed. "I think you enjoy making jokes about Americans."

"Of course," she sang out. "In Norway, it is one of our major sports."

She served him one of the reindeer steaks and invited him to help himself to wild cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, and Brussels sprouts.

During dinner, they discussed countries that each had visited. Sandy had made business trips to Egypt, Italy, and Greece. She had vacationed in the same places with her husband. They agreed that Italy and Greece had the best food and most enjoyable people and would merit another visit.

Anna Lise steered the talk back to his business. "Just what is it you do?"

He laughed nervously and said, "Well, it's pretty technical stuff. I'm a communications engineer, making sure the computers at each location can exchange data with computers at other places. Radio and telephone as well so command staffs can talk to each other."

"Ah yes," she said. "I think your position is very important. Good communications are vital to so many things, especially between a man and a woman. Would you agree?"

He stopped eating, raised his wine glass, and fixed his eyes on hers. "You are a very wise woman. I agree with you completely." He thought that if Cheryl was here now, she'd be pounding the table in loud affirmation.

Made more talkative by the drinks and an attentive dinner partner, Sandy rambled on about the project and his role in it. Emptying a bottle of wine was followed by coffee and a rich napoleon pastry. She turned on the stereo and played a CD of romantic orchestral music.

"Do you dance?" she asked.

"It's been a while, but I'm willing to try it."

He held her lightly and cautiously at first, but as they moved slowly to the music and he breathed her perfume, he drew her closer. He welcomed the warmth and fullness of her body, now pressing eagerly and firmly against his. She put her hand behind his head, pulled him closer, and gave him a brief kiss.

"Thank you for accepting my invitation. This is lovely."

"I almost didn't make it," he said. "But now I'm glad I did. Something's puzzling me though. It's like you're a completely different person from the woman I met last Saturday. What happened?"

She looked into his eyes. "When I got up the next morning, I felt terrible. Too much drinking and smoking. Then I saw myself in the mirror and decided I had to take control of my life. So, you are seeing the birth of a new Anna Lise. Or maybe the woman I used to be."

"If it means anything, I like tonight's woman much better."

"It means a great deal. More than you could know." She kissed him again, harder and longer. He responded with a strong embrace, slid his hands up and down her back, and finally settled them lightly on her bottom.

They continued dancing and touching, pausing occasionally for a lingering kiss. When the stereo had played the last CD selection, she stepped back and brushed her hand across the bulge at the front of his trousers. "Let us continue this in my bed," she said, leading him to another room.

The bedroom had a large window. A sheer white curtain diffused the city lights, but not enough to obscure their vision as they undressed each other.

They slid under the covers, embracing each other eagerly and without any embarrassment, as if they had been lovers for years. Lying face to face with Sandy, Anna Lise was the more aggressive one, playfully touching him everywhere, while delighting in his soft moans of pleasure. She pushed his chest, rolled him over on his back, and knelt over him. She took hold of him again more firmly this time and placed him inside her.

Sandy looked up to see her silhouetted by the soft light seeping through the window's curtains. He stroked her thighs, stomach, and felt her nipples harden while her braids softly whipped his face. She bent forward several times, allowing her breasts to touch his lips. He tried to raise himself into a sitting position, but she placed her hands firmly on his shoulders. "Relax, Sandy, and enjoy it. Let me do this for you."

He promptly forgot about sitting up but did move his pelvis up and down to the rhythm of her motion until he came in a sudden, body convulsing rush that sucked all the air out of his lungs with a passionate cry of release.

The lovers lay side by side, kissing and stroking, enjoying the intimacy. Sandy was the first to break the silence. "You know I'm married, don't you?"

"I supposed that you might be."

"Then it doesn't bother you?"

She rolled over and propped herself up on one elbow, playing with the hairs on his chest. "It does not concern me," she said. "I do not see myself being a threat to your marriage."

"Maybe I'm the major threat to my marriage."

"What do you mean?"

"It's a long story. Not worth telling right now."

"Tell me anyway."

"My wife Cheryl recently moved to San Francisco. She's a stockbroker and got promoted. But I don't want to give up my job. I've worked too long and too hard to get where I am today. So we'll be living apart for a while, trying to manage a long distance marriage."

Anna Lise sighed sympathetically. "Maybe you are taking more than your share of the blame. She is the one who left you. And just to make more money?"

"That's only part of it. We're both pretty ambitious. And stubborn, too."

They talked for a few more minutes and fell silent, willing to relax and drift off to sleep nestled in each other's arms.

Sometime before dawn, Sandy pulled up the comforter and turned toward Anna Lise, facing her back, his knees tucked behind hers. He placed his hand in the fold between her breasts and lay still, content to listen to her soft breathing. The aroma of her perfume and the touch of her soft smooth body aroused him.

After a few minutes, his close presence brought her into a semi-awake state and she started humming a tune that he didn't recognize. She took his hand and pulled him on top of her.

He moved slowly, wanting to enjoy this as long as possible, delighting in her moans and sighs. He could tell that she was close to reaching a climax when her movements and sounds came faster. "Ja, Ja! Hurtig, hurtig," she responded.

He paused. "Am I hurting you?"

"Nei, nei," she cried. "Skynd Dem. Keep moving!"

When they had regained their breath and lay next to each other, he asked, "What were you saying just then?"

She giggled. "It was Norwegian. Telling you to hurry up. Do it faster."

"I got the message. That was fantastic."

"Yes, it was," she said. "We are very good together."

After a few minutes of cuddling, Sandy peeked at her bedside clock and noticed it was close to 5:00 A.M. "I hate to end this, but I have to leave."

"Oh, please don't go. Stay and have breakfast."

"I'd really love to, but I have meetings this morning."

He found his clothes and dressed easily in the diffused light. Anna Lise had propped herself up on several pillows and watched him. As he finished, she asked, "Are you coming back to Oslo soon?"

"Oh, maybe in six months. August or September."

"Then I will come to California in a month or two. I would like to see you again, if you have no objections."

Sandy didn't answer right away, but when he was ready to leave, he pulled one of his business cards from his wallet, wrote something on it, and placed it on the bedside table. "My office number is there on the card, and my home phone's on the back. Call me when your plans are firm." He sat down on the bed and kissed her softly.

"I will call you," she promised.

Sandy walked briskly from the elevator but slowed down as he passed the only person in the hotel lobby, someone sitting and reading a newspaper. The gray-haired man lowered the paper just enough to make eye contact, but raised it again as Sandy sped up and emerged from the hotel into a dark, freezing dawn.

While Sandy tromped through the snow to the taxi stand, an unsettled feeling came over him. He was certain he knew the man in the lobby, but couldn't place the face or come up with a name. Halfway to his hotel, he remembered; this man had sat to his right in the hotel lounge last Saturday, the afternoon he met Anna Lise. What was he doing in the lobby, reading a newspaper at this ungodly hour? Was this second sighting important? What does it mean?

By the time he reached his hotel, he decided that it was just another coincidence.

Chapter Five

On Saturday morning, Sandy arrived at Gardermoen Airport about two hours before his scheduled departure. He checked his luggage, bought an International Herald Tribune, and headed to the cafeteria for a pastry and coffee. He tried reading the newspaper but couldn't finish any article he started. Instead, his mind kept drifting back to Thursday evening with Anna Lise.

He tried to understand what made her seem so special – why she was unlike any woman he'd known before. In all of his sexual experiences, she was the only woman who had given herself so completely, without any nervousness or reservation, the first time they had made love. He found her totally comfortable with her own body, delighting in being the sexual aggressor. A minor detail was that Anna Lise had to be the largest woman, in both height and weight, whom he'd ever slept with. In Sandy's eyes, this made her even more desirable.

By now, Sandy was fully aroused. He looked around the cafeteria, searching for a telephone. He still had time to call her and say goodbye. If he was lucky, they would have a verbal review of Thursday evening's carnal coupling.

His erection instantly shriveled when he saw two men in trench coats heading his way. He recognized the limping one as Karl Hoegberg, contract manager for Sandy's project. The other man was around sixty, tall and stocky, and had a disfigured face. Sandy thought this guy would be right at home in the bell towers of Notre Dame.

"Good morning, Karl. Isn't this above and beyond the call of duty? Coming to the airport to see me off?"

"Good morning to you, Sandy," said a grim faced Karl. "May we sit down?"

By the time Sandy had spoken some kind of agreement, both men had pulled out chairs, sat down, and rested their hands on the small circular table.

Karl glanced at the other man but spoke to Sandy. "This is Willy Gunderson from our Defense Intelligence Service."

Sandy started to offer a handshake, but when he saw that Willy's hand would not be returned, he quietly retrieved his own. "All right, gentlemen. I get the feeling that this is not exactly a social call. What's going on?"

"It is like this, Mr. Gilmartin," said Willy. "We have been observing a woman named Stensrud. Anna Lise Stensrud. It has come to our attention that you have—how shall I put it?—made the acquaintance of this woman."

Sandy's stomach rumbled, accompanied by a sharp chest pain when he took a breath. An image of the gray-haired man in the SAS Hotel lobby yesterday morning flashed through his mind. "Yes, I know her. Anything wrong with that?"

"Perhaps not," continued Willy. "But the point is this. We believe her son is affiliated with a group of politically active radicals. An organization with a record of committing violent acts. You may recall an incident, the murder of Anna Lindh, the Swedish Prime Minister. We think this group may have had a hand in it."

By now, Sandy felt dizzy and nauseous, but willed himself to concentrate.

"We think it possible," Willy said, "the Stensrud woman may be helping her son in some manner. Perhaps gathering information to pass back to him and ultimately this group."

After an awkward silence, Karl looked at Sandy and said, "I know this must be difficult, but I have to ask. Have you discussed the project with her?"

"Only in the most general terms," he replied. "I wouldn't be giving her any classified information, Karl. You know me better than that."

Sandy felt the sweat rolling from his armpits. He looked anxiously at his watch, wishing that his flight would be called.

"Are you planning to see this woman again?" asked Willy, drumming his fingers on the table as Sandy took a sip of his now tepid coffee.

Sandy thought, oh yeah, here comes the pitch. "She may be coming to California soon," he said. "I suppose there may be an opportunity to see her again."

"Very well then," said Willy. "We would like you to meet with Fru Stensrud and find out everything you can; her relationship with her son, his activities."

"There's one small problem," said Sandy. "My wife is already upset because of my long business trips. How am I going to find any time to spend with Anna Lise?" Sandy felt pleased with the way he brought Cheryl into the conversation. Being married would be a convenient excuse for not cooperating. These men surely couldn't know that she had moved to San Francisco.

"You're a clever man," said Karl. "I am sure you'll be able to manage it."

"And if I don't?"

Karl and Willy exchanged furtive glances. "I am afraid you have no choice," said Willy.

"What do you mean?" Sandy's voice became louder and strained.

Karl made an evil chuckle. "Perhaps we could enlist the aid of your project leader, Mr. Riley. Or maybe your division manager back in Fullerton."

"Are you trying to blackmail me?"

After a moment of silence, Karl said softly, "Well?"

Sandy stood up and pushed his chair back. "Sorry, gentlemen, but I don't respond well to threats. You're putting me in a risky situation. You're asking me to jeopardize my marriage and my position in the company. If this thing blows up in my face, I'm the one left holding the bag."

Karl managed a snarky grin. "You have only yourself to blame for the situation you're in."

Sandy shot back the glance, picked up his newspaper, and stuffed it into his briefcase. "Then it's my problem and I'll deal with it. I can't help. Find yourselves another spy."

Both Norwegians stood and Willy said, "Then I am afraid you leave us no choice. You must come down to my office for further questioning."

"I've got a plane to catch," Sandy matter-of-factly stated.

"If you get on that plane, we have the authority to keep it from leaving," Willy countered. "We are prepared to use force if necessary."

"What about my luggage?"

"We will have the airline remove it from the plane."

Sandy dropped back into his chair. He had handled this confrontation badly but resigned himself to cooperating with them. He had to if he expected to leave this country quickly with the least amount of counterspy work expected of him.

While Sandy was being escorted from the terminal, his flight was in the final boarding process. The last passenger to enter the Airbus was a woman wearing sunglasses, a full-length mink coat, with blond hair piled high atop her head.

She took her seat on the aisle in the business class cabin and noticed with alarm that the window seat next to her was empty. She stood and looked worriedly about the cabin and sat back down. After several minutes had passed, she removed her coat and pushed her call button.

A flight attendant promptly responded and smiled when she recognized the woman passenger. "Welcome aboard, Fru Stensrud. What can I do for you?"

Anna Lise pointed to the empty seat. "I understood that a Mr. Gilmartin would be sitting here. He is a friend and my being here was to be a surprise. Why is he not here?"

The flight attendant checked a sheaf of papers on her clipboard. "You are correct. That is his seat, but it seems he didn't check in at the departure gate."

The Airbus had taxied to the end of the runway. "We're going to take off shortly, Fru Stensrud. Please fasten your seat belt."

The two government men took Sandy to Gunderson's office on the fourth floor of a modern office building in downtown Oslo. Willy sat behind his desk and invited Sandy to sit in the chair opposite him. Karl took a chair off to the side.

"Would you like a coffee?" asked Willy.

"No thanks."

"Some water, perhaps? A Fanta?"

"Can we just get on with this?"

"Very well, Mr. Gilmartin. Let us start from the beginning. When did you first meet Fru Stensrud?"

"Last Saturday, in the bar at the top of the SAS Hotel. Sometime in the early afternoon. I went up there to watch the sunset."

"And how did it happen that you became acquainted with her?"

Sandy told him all he could remember about their meeting and conversation. He left nothing out. Karl and Willy both smiled when he mentioned her rhetorical question about Jesus's reproductive organs.

"So it was Fru Stensrud who made the first move?"

Sandy brightened. "That's correct."

"And she was the one who suggested having dinner in her suite?"

"Right again."

"Tell us everything you can remember about your time with her Thursday evening. Don't leave anything out, especially the conversations you had during . . . um, any intimate moments."

Sandy took a deep breath and recounted all the events transpiring that evening and early the next morning. He did not go into specifics about their sexual activities, but let them fill in the gaps.

Both Karl and Willy had been taking notes during the interrogation. At the end of Sandy's story, a long silence followed. Willy looked at Karl and back to Sandy. "I would like you to reconsider your position. You are our best opportunity to learn more about this woman, but even more important, to find out what her son is doing, who he is working with."

"I'm an engineer, not some kind of secret agent. I still don't see how I can help you."

"It is not that difficult," interjected Karl. "All you need to do is cultivate your relationship with her. Talk to her. Make love to her, if that suits you. Find out more about her, about her son. And send this information back to us. That is all we are asking you to do."

Sandy squirmed in his seat. "I don't think so. My marriage is already in big trouble and I'm trying hard to keep it together. Having some kind of relationship with that woman won't do my career any good either. I'd have to spend a lot more time in Norway when I should be working in Fullerton."

"Then you are turning us down?"

"Yes, that's it. The answer is still no."

Willy stood and glanced at Karl. "Then our meeting for today is finished."

Sandy looked up at him hopefully. "You mean that's it? No glaring lights and rubber hoses?"

"Karl will take you back to the Viking. We have contacted the hotel manager and you will get your old room back again."

Sandy stood. "Why are you holding me? When can I go home?"

"You are still free to move about Oslo as you please, but you cannot leave the country just yet. We will hold your passport for safekeeping."

Sandy practically shouted, "How long is this going to go on?"

Instead of answering his question, Willy wrote something on the back of a card and handed it to him. "Call me when you have changed your mind. Any time, day or night. My home telephone number is on the back."

Sandy tossed and turned that night, agonizing about his predicament. He finally fell into a deep sleep about sunrise and woke up later that morning.

While picking at breakfast in the hotel's coffee shop, he contemplated his next move. He had a couple of traveler's checks left and could use plastic if the money ran out. He thought he should send an e-mail to Cheryl and let her know he'd been arrested. He changed his mind and would tell her only that he was 'detained.' He would also send one to Audrey, his secretary, telling her that he had some unfinished business to take care of.

Sandy wondered for a moment why he ever got involved with Anna Lise. But he already knew the answer. He was lonely and feeling sorry for himself. He wanted some female companionship and he got it, in spades. Forced to be honest with himself, he admitted he thoroughly enjoyed bedding her and would probably do the same thing all over again, given half the chance. He was so easy. She plucked him off the tree like low hanging fruit.

He went back to his room, dialed the number of the SAS Hotel, and asked the operator for room 2304.

"I'm sorry, sir, but Fru Stensrud is not available to take your call."

"What does that mean?"

"She is traveling and will not return for several weeks."

"Really? Where did she go?"

"I am not sure I can give you that information."

"This is Sandy Gilmartin and I'm a good friend. It's urgent that I know where she went. Extremely urgent."

The phone went silent for a several long seconds. "I believe she went to the United States. She left the hotel early yesterday morning."

"Thank you very much, operator. You've been very helpful." After hanging up, Sandy continued staring at the phone. A smile crept slowly across his face. "I'll be damned. I'll be double goddamned."

He went over to the room's sole window and looked down at the scene below. Only a few people moved in the parking lot next to the railroad station. The sky had turned dark and heavy snowflakes were falling.

He found the business card on his dresser and dialed the number scribbled on the back. "Mr. Gunderson? Sandy Gilmartin here. I've changed my mind. I'm ready to help. How soon can we have another meeting?"

Chapter Six

Anna Lise arrived in Los Angeles late Saturday afternoon. She cleared customs and immigration quickly, then hailed a curbside van displaying the legend ORANGE COUNTY above the windshield. She instructed the driver to take her to the Westin in South Coast Plaza, a hotel recommended by one of the flight attendants.

An hour later, the desk clerk was only too happy to give her a suite on the top floor for at least a two-week stay. The suite cost three hundred dollars per night, even with her professional courtesy discount, but it didn't matter. She was tired, jet-lagged, and too anxious about Sandy's whereabouts to care about money.

Once in her room, she called Sandy's home. When his answering machine came on, she left a message, asking him to call her as soon as possible, at any time of the day or night. She sat at the desk for several moments before starting to unpack her luggage, thinking about her new lover. He missed his flight, that much she knew. Because of the few overseas flights leaving Oslo each day, it would be very difficult for him to make the right connections and be here later today. At best, he would not arrive until about this time tomorrow.

Anna Lise started the hot water running into the bathtub, then unpacked both of her large suitcases. She took a long soak and followed it with a club sandwich and French fries from room service. She was asleep by nine o'clock.

On Sunday, she spent the day exploring the sprawling two-story shopping mall next to the hotel, then visited friends in Huntington Beach. Kjell and Inga Aardahl had emigrated from Oslo eight years ago. She called Sandy's home in the morning and again in the evening, leaving brief messages both times.

Anna Lise's sleep Sunday night was restless because of her concern for Sandy. She tried reading a novel but couldn't concentrate long enough to get interested. She surfed the television and thought the jewelry advertised on the shopping channels was tacky, the religious channels were sanctimonious, and the cartoon channels too juvenile. The only program that held her interest was an old black-and-white French movie with English subtitles.

The next morning, Anna Lise called Sandy's office. Audrey, his secretary, came on the line. "He is not in at the moment. May I take a message?"

"This is Anna Lise Stensrud. A friend of Mr. Gilmartin. Are you expecting him to be in his office today?"

The line went silent....

"Who did you say this was?"

"Stensrud. Anna Lise Stensrud." She paused to gather her wits and put together a bold yet credible story. "We were supposed to fly from Oslo to Los Angeles together on Saturday. The same flight. But he never checked in. His seat on the plane remained empty. I am very concerned about him. I am worried he had an accident or some other misfortune."

"I have received a message, Miss Stensrud. He's been held up."

"Held up? Where? By whom? What does that mean?"

"All I can tell you is that he had to remain in Oslo for a few more days. On business. The message said he'd be leaving Oslo today and should be in the office tomorrow morning."

Anna Lise breathed a heavy sigh. "Will you please tell him I called? I would like him to call me at the Westin Hotel." She gave Audrey her room number and allowed herself the widest smile she'd had in the last three days.

Sandy arrived in Los Angeles late Monday afternoon, approximately forty-eight hours after Anna Lise. He flagged a shuttle van and arrived at his Irvine home at 6:30, exhausted and emotionally strung-out. His biggest concern was Anna Lise. Would she try to contact him? If not, how would he find her and satisfy his distant blackmailer, the menacing Willy Gunderson?

Once inside his house, he opened a cold bottle of Moosehead Lager and took a large gulp. Then he went about the house opening doors and windows to remove the musty smell. He riffled through the white plastic tub of mail left by the postman but found nothing urgent. He checked his telephone and found twenty-seven messages waiting. The blinking red number sent him into a slight depression.

Most of the messages were hang-ups, probably from telemarketing agents using automated dialing. When he heard Anna Lise's first message, his mood brightened. She sounded eager to see him, with a quality in her voice that not only bolstered his male ego but made him less apprehensive about how to deal with her.

Cheryl had called, sounding lonely. Sandy also imagined the low and sultry tones in her voice betrayed a strong desire for male companionship. It's been over six weeks. She must be pretty horny by now.

There was also a call from Gail, Sandy's first wife, who lived in San Diego with their thirteen-year-old daughter, Julie. Gail was clearly in a foul mood. She ranted and raved about not receiving her child support check last month. Sandy cursed silently, realizing that he had forgotten to arrange for the money to be transferred while he was in Norway.

It suddenly occurred to him that he now had three anxious women to deal with and wondered if his luck could get any worse.

Sandy took a long hot shower, put on a sweat suit, and opened a second beer. He rummaged around the refrigerator, not expecting to find much, but was delighted to find some decent ham, Swiss cheese, and rye bread. Cheryl must have bought food before she moved. After wolfing down a sandwich, he felt rejuvenated enough to call the Westin. Anna Lise was not in her room so he left a message that he had called. He didn't feel he could handle either Cheryl or Gail right now so he decided to call them later, maybe tomorrow.

After unpacking his suitcases, he had a sinking spell, prompting him to lie down and unplug the phone next to his bed. He easily dropped off into sleep but woke around midnight. He padded to the kitchen, looking for ice cream, and noticed a blinking red number one on his answering machine. It was Anna Lise, begging him to call her back as soon as possible. Might as well get this over with, he thought, as he dialed the Westin.

"Sandy," she said. "It is so good to hear your voice. I have been worried sick. Are you well?"

"Sure, I'm OK. Just got up from a nap. Sorry for calling so late."

"You missed your flight on Saturday. I booked the same flight and had the seat next to yours. It was going to be a big surprise."

"You did that for me? Then I'm sorry I missed you. It would have made the trip home 1000% more enjoyable."

"Your secretary said you had been held up. What happened to you?"

Sandy thought about this for a moment, annoyed that Audrey had given her too much information. "Nothing serious, really. Just some unfinished business on the project. Had to be completed before I could leave the country." That's a pretty smooth answer, he thought. Even honest.

"I would like to see you, Sandy. When can we meet?"

"Are you free Friday evening?

"Friday? That is so far away. How about tomorrow?"

Sandy hesitated, feeling pleasantly pressured. "I can do that. How about seven o'clock?"

"That sounds lovely. I will be waiting for you in the hotel lobby."

Sandy reached his office at 6:00 a.m. and went right to work. Audrey had separated the routine from the urgent, the latter placed in the center of his desk, each document with a bright red tag clipped to its corner. Everything else occupied his IN Basket, a stack easily over a foot high. Sandy groaned when he saw the volume of work waiting for him.

Audrey, an attractive Hawaiian woman about Sandy's age, arrived at 7:30. She flashed him a warm smile. "Welcome home, boss man. We were getting a little concerned. How are you feeling?"

"Warmer." Sandy grinned back at her. "I nearly froze my tushee over there. Good to be home again, in the land of swaying palms."

Audrey went to her desk and came back with a handful of yellow message notes. "You received several interesting calls. The head of plant security wants a meeting with you. Said it was urgent but wouldn't say what it was about." Then she lowered the tone and volume of her voice. "A woman called, too."

"A woman?"

"Said her name was Stensrud. She sounded like a foreigner but spoke pretty good English." Audrey knew that Sandy was married; she had attended his wedding three years ago. But he had not told her of Cheryl's move to San Francisco.

Sandy felt an embarrassing tremor as he took the messages. "Thanks, Audrey. I'll call her later." He handed her a stack of urgent documents with his notes attached to each one.

Audrey started to leave. "Can I start on your expense report?"

Sandy dug into his briefcase and handed her a large brown envelope. "All my receipts are inside. My daily log's in there so you should be able to figure it all out. If you have any questions, let me know."

"Good thing you're so organized." She went back to her desk.

Sandy called the head of security, Larry McAfee, and arranged a meeting for two o'clock. McAfee would not divulge the subject to be discussed, only allowing that it was very important and he would understand everything at that time. Sandy felt it probably had something to do with Anna Lise and his detention in Norway.

Sandy next went into an office in an adjacent hallway and had a thirty-minute session with his department manager and immediate supervisor, Bill Ludwig. Sandy gave him a summary of his work while in Norway. Ludwig was quite pleased with his progress, noting that favorable comments from Karl Hoegberg and Captain Orfeldt had made their way back to the plant through Norm Riley. Ludwig also assured him that his delay returning to work was not a problem.

Once back at his desk, Sandy attacked the IN Basket. His progress was slow because of frequent interruptions by other engineers working on the same project, wanting to discuss a number of technical issues.

Late in the morning, he received a telephone call from Cheryl. "When did you get back, sweetheart?"

Sandy cringed on hearing the last word. "Last night. I got your message but was exhausted from the trip. I went right to bed."

"Poor baby. You sound pretty good this morning, though."

"Chalk it up to a good night's sleep."

"I miss you, Sandy. I need to see you. Can you come up for the weekend?"

Sandy hesitated, thinking about Anna Lise, her long trip to California, and how she might react to his absence over the weekend. But if he had to see his wife, it would be better if he went to San Francisco rather than her coming back to Irvine. "I don't know, honey. I'm awfully behind in my work right now."

Cheryl's voice hardened ever so slightly. "Think about working late every night this week so you can get caught up. After all, you don't have a wife to come home to each night."

"Yep, that would do it."

"I'll treat you to a wonderful dinner at Fisherman's Wharf. Get those juices stoked up with some oysters. You must be ready for some action. It's been almost two months. You know what I'm saying?"

Sandy felt beads of perspiration forming under his armpits. "How could I turn down an invitation like that? Let me get back to you, OK?"

"All right, but you better not let me down. Get me your flight number and arrival time. I'll pick you up at the airport."

"Gotta run, honey. Talk to you later." Sandy got up from his desk, went out to Audrey's office, and poured himself a cup of coffee. He wondered how he got himself into such a pickle and went back to his desk, not wanting to dwell on it.

After only a few minutes of trying to pick up the threads of his work, he received another call. This time it was Gail.

"When did you get back?"

"Late last night."

"Didn't you get my message?"

"Yes, I got your message. I didn't think it was necessary to return your call."

"You never think anything is necessary." Sandy had to hold the handset well away from his ear because of her increased volume. "We're not exactly living in the lap of luxury here, you know."

"Relax, will you? I put a check in the mail this morning. It covers both February and March child support."

"Why don't you get your bank to handle this? They'll send the money to me automatically, every month, whether you're at home or out of town."

Sandy thought about it. He was sure to be traveling more to Norway in his new role. "That's a good idea, Gail. I'll see to it right away."

His uncharacteristically rapid and docile agreement stunned her. "Well, OK then." She paused once more. "I also wanted to talk to you about Julie."

"Is she all right?"

"She misses you. If you want to call that all right."

"Now, Gail."

"She wants to come up for the weekend. Your Norway trip kind of messed up our visitation arrangement."

"You know, this weekend is not so good. I have to go out of town."

"Again? You just got home."

"I know, but it's personal business. Something I have to take care of." Sandy didn't want to reveal Cheryl's move to San Francisco. That would only prolong the call and give Gail a lot more ammunition to use in her continual vendetta.

"You're running out of time, big shot. She'll be in high school this fall and you know how that goes. She just may forget she has a father."

"The weekend after next. Will that work?"

"Sounds a lot better. I'll put her on the train Friday afternoon at the usual time. You can send her back Sunday evening."

After hanging up, Sandy bolted from his office. He called over his shoulder to Audrey, saying he was taking an early lunch.

Chapter Seven

The plant security chief greeted Sandy with a bone crushing handshake. "Have a seat, Mr. Gilmartin. I'll be right with you." McAfee handed a folder to his secretary who was standing next to his desk.

Sandy had to look up at the man who towered several inches over six feet and weighed more than two hundred pounds. After sitting down, Sandy looked around the office, noting memorabilia pertaining from an earlier military career: a photo of the Iwo Jima Memorial, a Marine Corps flag, and knickknacks on his desk and bookcase, each displaying the familiar eagle, globe and anchor.

After his secretary had left, McAfee closed the door and sat behind his desk. "You probably have a good idea why I asked for this meeting."

"Something to do with the Norwegian project I'm working on, I guess."

"I've been contacted by a man named Gunderson of their defense Intel. He says you've agreed to help with some kind of security matter. Is that correct?"

"Reluctantly, but true."

"He also said you've been approached by a woman named Stensrud. They suspect her son of having ties to some kind of terrorist organization."

"Gunderson told me the same thing."

"So your mission is to maintain contact with this woman. Try to find out more about her son and feed this info back to Gunderson. Does that track?"

"So far, so good."

McAfee grabbed a piece of paper from a manila folder and handed it to Sandy. "Got this fax from Gunderson this morning. Seems the Stensrud woman left Oslo Saturday morning, headed for Los Angeles. Know anything about this?"

Sandy cleared his throat nervously. "She's in Orange County. I talked to her last night."

McAfee smiled, leaning back in his chair. "How well do you know her?"

"I met her in a hotel bar one night. Then another night, just before I left Oslo, we had dinner in her hotel suite."

"And?"

"And what?" Sandy felt himself turning red.

"Why do you think she came to California?"

"Maybe the Norwegians were right or maybe she just wants to see me."

"And you're going to see her."

"We're having dinner tonight."

"You're married, aren't you?"

"Yes, but my wife is in San Francisco. She got promoted into a bigger job and moved up there a month ago."

McAfee grinned. "Well now, isn't this is a nice setup? A little nookie on the side, all in the name of defense security and international good will."

Sandy bristled and started to rise. "I didn't ask for this."

"Sit down, Mr. Gilmartin. Maybe you didn't ask for it. I didn't ask for it, either. But we need to cooperate, get the mission accomplished. Comprende?"

Sandy slumped back into his chair. "Where do we go from here?"

"You write up periodic reports and I fax them to Gunderson."

"Who else will know about this?"

"I'll have to brief your project manager. That should be enough for now. You planning on returning to Norway soon?"

"Probably. I don't seem to have much choice."

"You may have to feed this woman some data about the project. Just to get her to spill the beans about her son."

"Wouldn't that be a security violation?"

"It'll be phony stuff. Bogus info that looks good enough to pass for the real thing. You'll have to fiddle with it, work on the changes."

"Good grief."

"Something else we have to think about. Based on the historical pattern of these deals, a small activity like this could mushroom into something bigger. Something more complicated."

Sandy became even more alarmed. "What do you mean?"

"You may have to hook up with her son. Listen to his spiel and find out who his people are, who is bankrolling him. I can spin you a scenario where you have to act like a very dissatisfied employee, overworked and underpaid, one who's lost faith in our president and his international policies. Think about it."

Sandy bubbled inside with anger. "Why should I continue being a party to this? What if I bailed out?"

McAfee stroked his chin. "Oh, they'd probably rat to your wife, tell her about your affair with this woman. Your security clearance would be revoked. You'd be demoted and transferred to another project."

"OK, OK. I get the picture."

"I'm just saying it could turn ugly. Best you be prepared."

"But I'm an engineer. I wasn't trained to be a secret agent."

McAfee got up and opened his door. "You'll do fine. Keep in touch."

Sandy dashed into the Westin over ten minutes late. He paused in the lobby and looked anxiously to the left and right for any trace of Anna Lise. A sudden tapping on his shoulder made him jump and turn around.

"Hello, Sandy," she said. "I was beginning to worry about you."

Sandy moved away slightly to get a better look. Her long blonde hair was pulled back and tied into a ponytail. She wore black sandals, black jeans, a white polo shirt, and a faded blue denim jacket that couldn't conceal a bosom made even more prominent by a push-up bra.

She smiled and waved her hand in front of his face. "Are you going to give me a proper welcome?"

Sandy hesitated while she moved closer and gave him a warm hug. "I didn't recognize you," he said. "I expected a more . . . um . . . European look."

She pulled away. "My new outfit does not please you? I bought these clothes at the mall yesterday. So I could look more like a native instead of a tourist."

Sandy cocked his head. "You look . . . nice."

She stroked his cheek with her palm. "I have missed you, Sandy."

"But I saw you last week. Five days ago, wasn't it?"

"It seems more like five weeks."

Sandy backed away. "I'm hungry, are you? Let's head out. We can make up for lost time over dinner."

They drove in Sandy's SUV to Newport Beach. He pulled into a popular restaurant next to the harbor and let a young, muscular valet take over. He had chosen this restaurant intentionally; he and Cheryl had never eaten there. It gave him a secure feeling that he wouldn't be seen by anyone who knew that he was married to a woman other than his companion.

Sandy and Anna Lise were seated at a table next to a large glass panel. They had excellent views of a calm marina illuminated by a full moon.

She took his hand and smiled warmly. "This is so lovely. And such a change in climate from last week. I feel like celebrating."

Sandy ordered a bottle of Chardonnay. When it arrived, he offered a toast. "Here's wishing you an enjoyable visit to California."

They clinked glasses. "A good beginning like this will make it so."

Over a main course of red snapper, they talked about her recent experiences. When the conversation began to falter, Sandy put on his counterespionage act. "In Oslo, you mentioned a son. Tell me something about him."

"Torre? Why do you want to know about him?"

"Because he's part of you. I want to know more about you."

"He works with computers at a small company near the airport. He has been with them almost two years. He joined them after receiving his technical degree."

"Does he live near your hotel?"

"Not far away. In a small apartment near the eastern rail terminal."

"Do you see him often?"

"Not as often as I would like. He travels a lot on business, much like you."

"Out of the country?"

A sad look came over her face. "Yes, unfortunately, to Middle Eastern countries. Syria, Egypt and Israel, to name a few. I worry about his safety."

"Have you told him about me?"

"Yes, I have mentioned your name."

"Have you told him about my work?"

"Only in general terms. He asked about the locations where your company will be installing equipment and your schedule for doing it."

"That's interesting. What did you tell him?"

"Nothing. I have no answers." Anna Lise shrugged her shoulders and turned to stare at the ocean.

Sandy touched her hand. "I could meet him when I come back to Oslo."

She turned back to look in his eyes. "That could be a problem. You would find much to talk about concerning your work, but his political views would make you angry."

"Why is that?"

"He hates the United States, despises Americans. He believes your president is a warmonger, personally responsible for all the deaths in countries like Iraq and Afghanistan. I think it best that you two do not meet."

"Don't be so quick to judge me. You don't know how I really feel about those same subjects. If I told you the truth, you might be very surprised."

She smiled feebly, squeezed his hand, but remained silent.

They had coffee and cognac after dinner, electing to save dessert for another time. "No more," said Anna Lise. "American restaurants give you too much food. In Europe, the portions are much smaller."

"How long will you stay in California?" Sandy asked.

"I am not sure. Possibly several weeks. There is so much to see and do. Tomorrow I will rent a car and do some explorations."

"Sounds like fun. You can go north or south along the coast or east to the mountain resorts like Big Bear or Lake Arrowhead. If I didn't have so much work to do, I'd take a day off and show you around."

"That would be lovely, but I understand. At least we will have the nights together. Isn't that so?"

"Maybe not every night, but we still have the rest of tonight. I'd like to show you my home. How does that sound?"

She frowned. "You are a married man, Sandy."

"But Cheryl's not living there now. She's in San Francisco."

"You told me that when you were in Oslo."

"Then why can't you come to my house?"

"Because I have values."

Some set of values, he thought. She won't come to my house but she'll sleep with a married man and play the espionage game for her son.

"We should go back to my hotel. We can have all the privacy we need."

When they entered her suite, Anna Lise asked, "Would you like another cognac, Sandy? I believe there is some in the mini-bar."

"I've had enough for tonight. How about you?"

"I'm content." She removed her denim jacket and hung it up, along with his sport jacket. Sandy sat in the center of a dark brown leather couch, his arms extended and resting along its top.

Anna Lise slipped out of her sandals. She eased herself directly onto Sandy's lap, placed both arms around his neck, and planted a long kiss on his lips, all in a single fluid motion. "I have been wanting to do this all evening," she sighed.

Sandy pulled her T-shirt bottom free of her black jeans and slipped his hands along her back. "Your skin is so smooth, soft as velvet."

She kissed him again, harder, her tongue insistently prying open his lips. "I love it when you touch me, wherever you do it." She pulled her head back and grinned. "I feel the electricity in your hands."

Sandy snickered. "110 or 220 volts?"

"Much more," she said, unbuttoning his shirt, and sliding her hand under the front of his undershirt. "You make me come alive, do you know that?"

Sandy's other hand traced her stomach and moved upward along the tops of her breasts. "And you make me feel like a teenager again."

They hugged and kissed for several more minutes. He fiddled with different parts of her bra. Anna Lise said, "Let me help you." She pulled off her polo shirt, unhooked her white bra, and tossed it to the end of the couch.

Sandy lowered his head and kissed each of her lush breasts.

She took his hand and laughed. "You are so foolish. Come to my bed."

A pale blue stained glass lamp on the nightstand faintly illuminated her bedroom. Sandy undressed in the shadows. Anna Lise, watching him, untied her ponytail and yanked the bed covers back. Soon the lovers were lying on their sides, communicating wordlessly through joined lips and hungry hands, their bodies pressing hard against each other while time faded into infinity. Nothing separated them – everything except feeling each other ceased to exist. Time and space became the ebb and flow of their blood rushing together, their hearts beating as one.

She sighed deeply, sensually whispering, "This is so wonderful, Sandy. Never has a man made love to me like you do."

In a few seconds, the entire focus of his heart, mind, and soul was concentrated on that small zone where the two were joined. As he came, feeling life-giving fluids leaving in a rush, he surrendered everything without any sense of vulnerability. At the same time, he was acutely aware of her sounds: an increased volume of soft moans, panting, and finally, the squeal of joyous release.

Sandy rolled back onto his side. Anna Lise moved with him so that they faced each other. He kissed her, ran his fingers through her hair, and noticed the front of their bodies were wet. "My god, we're sweating like pigs."

She laughed. "I am not surprised. Very strenuous comings and goings."

They were silent for several minutes, content to dry off, catch their breath, and savor the relaxed intimacy. He was surprised by her continuing affection; she kissed him over and over, as if another session of foreplay had begun.

Sandy said, "I need to ask you something. Why did you come here?"

She drew her head up sharply. "Why am I in bed with you?"

"No, not that. How come you made the trip to California?"

She flopped down on her back. "A number of reasons, I suppose. To see my friends, spend some time in a warmer climate. And see you again, of course."

"Any other reasons?"

"None that come into my head."

A flimsy filament of thought passed through his brain. The defense intelligence people know where her son lives and where he works. They should also be able to track his movements in those hot spot countries when he travels out of Norway. So why in the hell do they need me to play this game with her?

He ran his hand along her stomach and down the outside of one leg. "Over the next two weekends, I have some family obligations to take care of."

She kissed him again. "Does that mean we cannot see each other?"

"I'm afraid so. Next weekend, I'm flying to San Francisco. Have to spend some time with my wife. The weekend after that, my daughter is coming up from San Diego. She's thirteen now and I haven't seen her since Christmas."

She drew away from him. "Then I will keep busy with other activities." The tone of her voice betrayed the disappointment she wanted to conceal. "What about evenings during the week? Will we be able to see each other then?"

"I can't promise anything. You have to realize that I'm pretty far behind in my work. Nobody was taking care of it while I was in Norway for six weeks."

"Of course. I understand fully." Now she was pouting.

"I'll do whatever I can," he said, squeezing her thigh.

She pulled him closer with one hand, kissed him tenderly, and began stroking him with the other hand. Sandy raised his head, shot a glance at the clock, and decided to ignore it.

Chapter Eight

Sandy saw Anna Lise again on Thursday evening. After picking her up at the Westin, and without telling her their destination, he drove east through a quiet residential area of Irvine.

He slowed his SUV and pulled into the driveway of an attractive two-story home, built with generous amounts of cedar siding and beautifully landscaped with eucalyptus and Italian cypress trees.

Anna Lise looked puzzled. "Where are we, Sandy? Are we visiting some of your friends?"

Sandy grinned. "This is my home. I want to show it to you."

Her expression changed into a scowl. "I have already told you that I would not be comfortable here."

"Don't worry. We'll be here just a few minutes."

"Why are you doing this? I do not understand."

"I want you to see where I live, how I live. I saw your home in Oslo. Seems to me this is the fair thing to do. Turn about. Fair play and all."

She relaxed visibly. "Very well, then. Lead the way."

He gave her a quick but complete tour of the house including its tiny back yard. He could tell that she liked what she saw.

They moved on to a local restaurant, decorated as a Route 66 diner from the 1950s. It was at the opposite end of the dining spectrum from the ocean front restaurant where they had eaten on Tuesday evening. It was also a place where Cheryl refused to go; she hated both the food and the ambiance, or, to her mind, lack of the latter and unhealthy fact of the former. After a delicious meal of cheeseburgers, French fries and Michelob beer, Sandy and Anna Lise went immediately back to her suite, jumped into bed, and enjoyed each other's company for several hours.

Before Sandy finally left, he gave Anna Lise the details of his weekend travel plans: a late Friday afternoon flight from John Wayne airport to San Francisco, and a late afternoon return on Sunday. He promised to call her Sunday evening when he got back.

Though he was physically exhausted from the week's activities, he got little sleep that night. He had mixed emotions about his ongoing affair with Anna Lise. He was enjoying it but worried that it would go on for too long, given the precious little intelligence data he'd collected so far.

He also thought about Cheryl and the looming weekend with her. Could he get Anna Lise out of his mind for forty-eight hours? Could he give Cheryl the love and attention that a wife deserved after being without her husband for two months? If she found out about Anna Lise, would she believe that he was seeing her only because he'd been caught, backed into a corner, and had no other choices?

Sometime between midnight and dawn his body surrendered to a light and fitful sleep.

Sandy's flight landed in San Francisco just before eight o'clock. When he entered the terminal, he looked around for Cheryl, searching for a woman dressed in a power financial outfit. Spotting her among the waiting crowd, he was surprised by what she wore: tennis shoes, faded blue jeans and a black leather jacket over a red turtleneck sweater.

She gave him a long kiss, her body pressed close to his in a strong embrace. "Hi there, stranger," she purred in his ear. "I missed you a lot."

"Missed you too, honey." He hoped it sounded sincere.

"Did you check any luggage?"

"Nope." He lifted a small black bag. "Just my carry-on and this," referring to a garment bag slung over his shoulder.

"Let's get going then. Did you have anything to eat?"

Sandy laughed. "Not unless you count the peanuts I had on the plane."

"Good. I found a great little Italian place near my apartment."

Their conversation was guarded during the drive into the city. Over dinner, Cheryl raved about her new job and the apartment, while Sandy was slightly more subdued, relating his adventures in Norway. He downplayed the aspects of his engineering work; Cheryl had never tried to understand the technical aspects of his profession. Lately, she didn't even bother to fake any interest in his job. Instead, he elaborated on the tourist attractions he had seen and the interesting Norwegians he had met.

"That delay at the end of your trip," said Cheryl. "What was that all about?"

Sandy shifted nervously in his chair. "Oh, just some unfinished business. The customer didn't want me to leave until I took care of it."

Cheryl smiled. "Doesn't sound like you. Changing your schedule at the last minute. I would have thought you'd planned everything down to the last nit."

He shrugged again. "I've had enough to eat. Let's check out this fantastic apartment you scored."

They drove a short distance to the Embarcadero, a waterfront district populated by piers and seafood restaurants. A small group of bleached gray wooden buildings near the water held condos and apartments.

Cheryl's ground floor unit appeared larger than it actually was, mainly because of her minimalist decorating taste and the prudent use of large mirrors placed in strategic locations.

"Care for a nightcap, sweetheart?"

"No thanks," replied Sandy. "I've had enough to drink for one night." He looked around the living room, the kitchen, and the dining nook, admiring the view of pier-mounted lights and a darkened San Francisco Bay. "This is beautiful. I can see why you love it."

"Big enough for two, darling."

Sandy hung his garment bag in the closet. "Which way is the bedroom?"

"I'm ready, too. Follow me."

The bedroom's centerpiece was a queen-size bed covered with a pastel southwestern print comforter. Decorative pillows in navy and crimson were scattered near the headboard. Two small pine tables, each with four drawers, flanked the bed. Wall-mounted reading lamps swung away from over the pillows.

Sandy dropped his black bag, retrieved his toilet articles, and went into the adjoining bathroom. While brushing his teeth, he could see Cheryl's reflection in a full-length mirror mounted on the bathroom door. She scurried about the bedroom, turning off the lamp on her side of the bed, removing all her clothes, and slipping under the bed covers.

Sandy draped his shirt and trousers over a chair, got into bed, and turned out his light. Cheryl immediately slid into his tentative embrace. The room remained silent for a seemingly long time, the quiet punctuated only by a distant foghorn and the hoarse hum of a passing boat's diesel engine.

Cheryl tugged at the elastic waistband of his briefs. "Why don't you take these off? You'd be a lot more comfortable."

Sandy yawned and stretched. "I'm OK."

"Let me help," she said, slipping them off.

She reached down and stroked him. "Damn. He doesn't seem very glad to see me."

"It's been a long day, honey. I'm exhausted. It's been a tough week, too."

She reached into a drawer of her bedside table, removed a small plastic bottle of lubricant, and applied several drops to her fingertips. "Maybe this will get you into the right mood."

Sandy moaned while she applied the cool liquid but he remained flaccid.

"My God, Sandy, it's been two whole months since we've seen each other. I thought you'd be horny as a Billy goat right now."

"Yeah, I know. It's pretty sad." He gave her an indifferent kiss and casually touched her breast. "Maybe in the morning, after I get some sleep."

She rolled out of his embrace and faced away from him. "Promises, promises," she pouted.

Sandy lay awake for a while, staring at the darkened ceiling. What the hell can I do to get myself jazzed up for her? I'd better make love to her in the morning, really good, or I'm in big trouble.

Sandy awoke slowly the next morning as sunlight streamed through louvered blinds. Like Oslo, a sunny day in this town was a rare event. The room had cooled considerably during the night; he snuggled under the covers.

Emerging further from his sleep, he spotted Cheryl standing in the doorway, holding a loaded breakfast tray. She wore a black satin robe that fell to mid-calf. He raised his head to get a better look. Nice legs and nothing underneath that robe.

She smiled warmly. "Good morning, sleepy head. Didn't think you were ever going to rise and shine."

He grinned and glanced at the bedside clock. 8:43. "I'll rise but it's too early to shine." He propped up some pillows and sat upright. Cheryl placed the tray on his lap, positioned her own pillows, and got under the covers.

Sandy took a gulp of orange juice, then buttered a large croissant. Its flakes scattered all over the tray. "This is nice. Reminds me of our weekends in Irvine, just after we got married."

She grinned. "And don't forget the après-petit déjeuner action."

Sandy squirmed slightly, munching on the croissant. "You really enjoying your job, eh? Better than Newport Beach?"

"Definitely. There's hardly a comparison. Down south, those assholes in my office made me feel like a second-class citizen, just because I'm a woman. I don't get that kind of treatment up here. I get lots of respect for the work I do with none of that dog-eat-dog knife-in-the-back competition."

"Why do you think that is?"

She thought for a moment. "There's a certain advantage in the position I have now. I'm really working just for a few large institutions. There's not a whole lot of pressure for me to bring in new business. The focus is on taking good care of the clients that I have now."

"We have the same ethic in my company. Keep the customer sold."

"Exactly. The other difference I've noticed is subtler. I don't feel like any of the men up here are sexually interested in me. There were a couple of guys in Newport who would've jumped at the chance to have me. I told you about that. Not so in my new digs."

Sandy chuckled. "Maybe they're all gay."

Cheryl smiled and punched his upper arm, causing several drops of Sandy's coffee to fall on the comforter. "Careful. I don't want to mess up your linen."

She took his empty tray and set it on the floor in the corner of the room. "I think it's high time WE messed up this bed real good."

He jumped out of bed and faced her. "I have to go to the bathroom first."

She slid over to his side of the bed and grabbed his jutting member. "My, my, that looks interesting. Why don't you just get back into bed?"

"I have to pee first."

"Please make it quick."

While he was in the bathroom, she removed her robe and black panties. He returned shortly, now also naked, and slid into bed. He locked her in a warm hug.

"God, I've missed you, Sandy."

An image of Anna Lise's face flashed through his mind. "Me, too," he lied.

She looped one arm around his chest, scratched his back with her fingernails, and massaged his neck and shoulder. He fondled her smooth behind and nibbled at her breasts. After a few minutes, he moved his hand around to her belly, played with her wiry pubic hairs, and placed his finger inside.

"I'm ready," she whispered. "Are you ready?"

"I am. Let's do it."

She rolled over on her back and he followed. She took him in her hand and guided his entry. "Oh, this is soooo good, so nice," she moaned. "I could stay like this all day."

He moved in and out slowly. She helped by grabbing his butt with both hands, pulling him even closer. He was actually enjoying this until an uninvited image of Anna Lise came to him: the way she looked in her Oslo hotel suite, the first time he'd made love to her. He started to go limp as a twinge of guilt wormed its way into his conscience.

"Keep going," she cried. "Don't stop."

He resumed his pelvic gyrations but sensed he was losing the battle. Suddenly she brought her hand around, placed it near the spot where they were joined, and began massaging herself. Passionate sighs, moans, increased heavy breathing, and a sound that didn't fit any category he'd ever known accompanied her movement.

By now, he was totally limp. He pulled away from her and rolled over. "I don't know what the hell you need me for."

Cheryl propped herself up on one elbow and glared at him. "Goddamn you, I was just about to come. Do you ever think about anybody but yourself?" Then she fell back on the bed and uttered a single cry of frustration. "Shit!"

Sandy turned to face her. "That's a new trick you have, rubbing your . . . button like that. While we're doing it."

"Nothing new, really. Comes in handy, though, when you're off on one of your long business trips."

"Sorry." He wanted to say more but was afraid he'd only make matters worse. He moved closer to her, placed his hand over her navel and rested it there.

She stroked his cheek with an open palm. "We need to get used to each other all over again. Could be too much, too soon. Let's do it later."

Sandy squeezed her arm softly but didn't respond to her invitation.

After several minutes of silence, Cheryl bounded out of bed. "I'll take a shower first. Have to wash my hair. Then it's your turn."

When he heard the water running, Sandy got out of bed, found his shorts, and slipped on his bathrobe. He strolled out to the kitchen, poured himself another cup of coffee, and began reading the San Francisco Chronicle. Cheryl eventually joined him, now fully dressed. Her outfit was similar to yesterday's, only this morning her turtleneck was black instead of red.

"You look great," said Sandy, "all set for a day of sightseeing. Your wardrobe is a good fit for this city. Or maybe the other way around."

She sat down next to him, placed a hand on his knee, and looked earnestly into his eyes. "I have to go into the office, something I've got to take care of."

"On Saturday? You have some kind of deadline?"

"Some unfinished business has been bugging the hell out of me. Let me take care of it. Then I can relax and enjoy the rest of the weekend with you. OK?"

"Sure, I understand. How long will you be gone?"

"Two hours, max. When I get back, we'll walk to Fisherman's Wharf for lunch."

After she left, he went outside and stood on her patio deck overlooking the bay. The sun was out but the stiff breeze blowing his way chilled him. He turned up his collar and drew the robe tighter around him. He reviewed the entire time he'd spent with his wife, moment by moment, from last night's meeting at the airport to her departure minutes ago. He shivered, partly from the cold but mostly from dread and a sudden loneliness which surprised him.

He went back inside, showered, dressed, and packed his garment bag and carry-on. Then he called for a taxi.

While waiting for the cab, he wrote Cheryl a short note, telling her goodbye in ambiguous and mysterious terms, promising her a complete explanation later. He had no idea what he'd say, but would surely think of something.

He glanced periodically at his watch, wondering if he should call Anna Lise. No, it's probably too early. I'll give her a ring from the airport when I know what flight I'm on and what my arrival time will be.

The taxi arrived. As they moved through a relatively quiet city, Sandy felt a curious mix of emotions: mostly joy and relief intertwined with lesser amounts of guilt and regret. Anna Lise was right. She's not a threat to my marriage. I'm the big threat to my marriage.

At the airport, waiting to board his flight, he had second thoughts. I'm not going to call Anna Lise. I need to think hard about her, Cheryl and Julie. I need to get my priorities straightened out and my life back on the right track. I'll drive over to Idyllwild tomorrow and do some hiking around Taquitz and San Jacinto Peaks. The cold clear air at ten thousand feet is always a sure tonic for making some good decisions.

Chapter Nine

Sandy arrived home in mid-afternoon. He noticed four messages on his answering machine but decided to ignore them for the moment. At least one of them will be Cheryl, he thought. Chewing my butt real good.

He opened up the house, unpacked, and changed into T-shirt, running shorts and tennis shoes. He went out to the mailbox and picked up the accumulation of two days mail. Half junk; half bills.

Sandy reluctantly played the four messages and was surprised but at the same time disappointed. The first three were hang-ups and the fourth was a long commercial for a debt consolidation company. Maybe one of the hang-ups was Cheryl. I can't believe she would be satisfied with that fuzzy note I left her. No matter, I'll have to talk to her soon.

He switched mental gears and thought about Anna Lise. No, I'm not going to call her now. She'll get the wrong impression...like I'm getting dependent on her. I'll just stick to my original plan.

Sandy decided to jog, one of his proven techniques for working off tension and clearing the mind. When he returned, he put a frozen chicken potpie and a potato in the oven, poured a generous measure of vodka into an ice-filled tumbler, and took it with him to the shower.

After his shower, he busied himself during dinner watching TV, switching frequently between a tennis match and a golf tournament. This gave him a perverse pleasure; Cheryl hated to let him have the remote because he was constantly changing channels.

After cleaning up his dinner debris, he decided he'd better call Cheryl and try to smooth over the rough edges. To his chagrin, she didn't answer the phone. When her answering machine came on, he was too flustered to leave a message. He guessed she was either out to dinner or screening her calls.

Soon afterward, Sandy went to bed. He entertained himself by watching a mystery program on BBC America, a show that was part of a series. It featured a great deal of sex but that held little interest for him. Before falling asleep, he unplugged the bedside phone. If any of my women call later tonight, they'll just have to be satisfied with the machine.

The next day, Sandy left home before dawn. He arrived at the trailhead near Idyllwild as the sun began its climb. He put on his hiking boots, daypack, and practically jogged up the wide trail toward Mount San Jacinto.

The air was cool and the sky clear. The trail was well traveled by other hikers, many of them with dogs. But there were moments of solitude when he pondered his current romantic entanglements. The only firm conclusion he reached concerned Anna Lise. He would become more direct and find out exactly what she wanted from him.

Sandy returned home in late afternoon, showered, and shaved. He called the Westin but Anna Lise didn't answer her phone. As a precaution, he checked with the hotel's operator and verified that she was still a registered guest. He decided to drive over and wait for her.

Sandy arrived at the Westin shortly before seven o'clock. He sat in a plush chair at the front of the lobby, a location that gave him an unobstructed view of people moving between the front doors and the elevators. While waiting for Anna Lise to show, he worked on the crossword in that day's Los Angeles Times.

"Mr. Gilmartin? We'd like to talk with you for a moment."

Sandy looked up and saw two men standing before him. They were dressed in dark suits, white shirts, and plain dark ties. "Me? What for?"

The man on the left, a tall fellow with a pencil-thin mustache and the long face of a funeral director, opened his wallet. He flashed an ID card and quickly stuck it back into his pocket. "Special Agent Tom Ness, FBI." He pointed to the other man who was a head shorter and many pounds heavier. "This is my partner, Special Agent John Elliot. A few words, if you don't mind."

Sandy's heartbeat increased. "What do you want?"

"Can we go somewhere more private?" Ness pointed to a far corner of the lobby. "We can be comfortable over there and nobody should bother us."

Sandy got up slowly and followed the two men. Sandy sat down in the center of a couch while the two agents sat opposite him, each in his own chair. As the shorter agent sat down, he unbuttoned his coat. Sandy could see a brown leather holster holding a pistol tucked under one of his arms.

"We'll get right to the point, Mr. Gilmartin," said Ness. "It's about you and a woman staying at this hotel. Anna Lise Stensrud."

Sandy started to get up but Elliot reached over and touched him firmly on the shoulder. "Relax, Mr. Gilmartin. Hear us out."

Sandy slumped backward. "OK, I'm listening. What about her?"

"We know you met this woman recently in Norway," said Ness. "Then she came here and you've been seeing her since she arrived. You and Mrs. Stensrud have gotten pretty cozy with each other. And I'll bet you're waiting for her right now, for some kind of date tonight. Am I right so far?"

Sandy bristled. "You seem pretty well informed, but there's nothing wrong with what I'm doing."

"That may be so, but we're very interested in this woman. Just like you. Only for different reasons."

"And what would they be?"

Elliot spoke up. "You don't need to know. What you should be concerned about is your own health and welfare. You're in way over your head, Mr. Gilmartin." He turned to his partner.

"Yeah, way over your head," said Ness.

Elliot continued. "This woman and her son are mixed up with some pretty nasty characters. While she's here in the States, we're keeping close tabs on her. What she does, who she sees. That sort of thing."

"I know a little about that."

"Yeah, but you don't know the whole story."

Sandy breathed heavily, his mind now racing. He was nervous and dreaded what might come next. "What do you want from me?"

Ness smiled. "Back off, Mr. Gilmartin. Leave this woman alone. We'll keep an eye on her for as long as she's on our turf. Sooner or later, she'll get bored and go back to Norway. Then we can all relax and get on with our lives."

Elliot leaned forward and whispered hoarsely, "And you can get things patched up with your wife."

"Son of a bitch!"

"Strong words, Mr. Gilmartin," said a leering Ness. "Very strong words." Both men left as suddenly as they had appeared.

Sandy was enraged but also composed enough to replay the entire conversation in his head several times. He abruptly decided to head for home without leaving a message for Anna Lise.

Back in his kitchen again, he poured a double vodka and thought about his options. On one hand, he was disappointed at not being able to see Anna Lise. On the other, he was relieved. The FBI was now on the scene and he could jump off this whirling merry-go-round. He should probably give McAfee a call tomorrow and let him know what happened.

He made himself a sandwich and surfed the TV. Nothing he saw interested him so he decided to try Cheryl again. When her answering machine came on, Sandy slammed the phone down. "Damn it, where the hell is she?"

He called her back and left a message. "Hello, sweetheart. Sorry I left in such a rush but I had to get back here and take care of some really crazy business. The story's so bizarre I don't know where to start. Well, this is way too long for a message on your machine.... Anyhow, I'll try and fill you in the next time we talk. Love you. Bye."

When he finally went to bed, he left the phone plugged in. He thought Anna Lise might call; he hoped she would. But she didn't and neither did Cheryl.

The next morning, Sandy called Larry McAfee from his office. "A couple of FBI agents collared me. Thought you should know about it."

"Is this some kind of engineer joke?"

"No, it's true. Yesterday evening, at the Westin hotel. I was waiting for Anna Lise and these two guys came up and wanted to talk. We went off to a corner and they told me to back off. Leave Anna Lise alone. Said I was in over my head. Said she was mixed up with some bad people. That I'd better cooperate. Or my wife might get dragged into this mess."

"OK, Mr. Gilmartin. Slow down now and start from the beginning. Did these guys show you any ID?"

"One of them did. A tall guy with a thin mustache. The other guy was short and stocky. He was carrying a weapon, too. I saw it when he sat down."

"What did they look like?"

"Like IBM salesmen." Sandy laughed nervously but McAfee said nothing. "You know, dark suits, white shirts, plain ties."

"That tracks. They usually dress like that. Did you get their names?"

"I was pretty rattled at the time but I remember the tall guy told me his name was Tom Ness. Said his partner was John Elliot."

The line went quiet for a moment. Sandy thought he could hear McAfee writing something on paper.

"Jesus H. Christ," yelled McAfee.

"What's wrong?"

McAfee laughed. "Elliot and Ness, huh? What do you think the odds are that those guys are the real McCoy? Did either one look like an Untouchable?"

Sandy slammed his forehead with his palm, embarrassed that he'd been so easily duped. "Hey, they seemed legitimate."

"OK, Mr. G. I want you to start over and tell me everything these guys said to you. What you said to them."

Sandy slowly reviewed the entire meeting while McAfee took notes. Before the call ended, McAfee suggested that Sandy do nothing about this matter until he called him back.

The rest of Sandy's morning was taken up by a long meeting with other engineers on his project. When the group adjourned, he went directly to the plant's cafeteria for lunch, followed by a long walk. He had two telephone messages waiting for him on his return to the office. One was from Anna Lise and the other from McAfee. He called McAfee first.

"Some very interesting news, Mr. G. I checked with my FBI contacts. Those guys you met are definitely bogus, twenty-four carat phonies. There are no agents by those names anywhere in Southern California."

Sandy's palms turned sweaty. "Then who are those guys?"

"I have no idea. But it's safe to assume they don't want you poking into that woman's background or her connections."

"So where does that leave me?"

"Right back where you were before. Stay the course. Turn up the heat on this Stensrud woman. Get tough and find out what she wants."

"But I'm a sitting duck for these goons. They'll be watching me, waiting for me to make a false move."

"Those goons are also taking a big chance. You know, it's a felony to impersonate an FBI agent."

Sandy grunted. "Somehow, that doesn't make me feel any better. Got any other ideas?"

"I'll have a real FBI agent contact you. A buddy of mine, name's Don Chenault. Carry your cell phone at all times. If these guys show up again, give Don a jingle. He'll know what to do."

After the call ended, Sandy sat at his desk, deep in thought. He felt trapped, not knowing what to do next. For the first time since meeting Anna Lise, he feared for his own safety.

Finally, after much agonizing, he decided to call her and arrange to meet her tonight. A safe place away from prying eyes. But the phone rang first. It was Anna Lise.

"Sandy, where have you been? I am so worried about you. I thought you were coming back last night. Did I misunderstand?"

"No, you got it right. But something unexpected happened. A little emergency I had to take care of."

"I hope it was not serious. Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine." Sandy paused to clear his throat. "I'd like to see you tonight. Say about seven o'clock. Is that OK with you?"

"Absolutely. I would be very disappointed if we could not be together. Will you come to the hotel and pick me up?"

"Uh . . . no. I have a suggestion, if you don't mind."

"Certainly. Should I meet you somewhere?"

"There's a restaurant in Laguna, right on the ocean. It's called The Beach House. I'll make a reservation for seven. The hostess will take you to a table in a secluded corner. Somewhere private where we won't be noticed."

"Oh Sandy," she gushed. "That sounds so romantic. And mysterious, too."

"I may get there a little late. If I do, don't worry."

"I do have a question for you."

"Go ahead."

"Are you going to explain all this to me? It is exciting but confusing."

"We'll have plenty to talk about. See you tonight."

Chapter Ten

Sandy worked in his office until 6:30 P.M. He drove cautiously down Interstate 5 and exited at Laguna Canyon. When he got closer to Laguna Beach, he took side streets, pretending to search for a particular address, while looking in his rear view mirror. Satisfied he wasn't being followed, he pulled into the restaurant's parking lot just before 7:30.

The hostess escorted Sandy to a dark corner. A flickering candle in a red glass enhanced Anna Lise's glowing face. Before sitting down, he leaned over for a hello kiss. But she pulled him closer and gave him a passionate one. "I am so happy to see you, Sandy. This is a charming restaurant you picked."

Sandy glanced around the dimly lit dining room, trying to act casual. The phony FBI agents were not there. He took Anna Lise's hand. "Sorry I'm late. Traffic between Fullerton and Irvine was a bitch."

A concerned look came over her face. "Are you all right? You seem upset about something."

He smiled faintly. "First, let's have a drink. I have lots of news for you."

The waitress brought Sandy a vodka martini on the rocks and a glass of Chardonnay for Anna Lise. When he raised his glass in a toast, he paused to look her over more closely. She's not making this job any easier for me.

"Skål," she murmured softly, holding his gaze with her shining blue eyes.

"Skål," he replied. He tried to sound casual but was starting to feel horny.

"How was your trip to San Francisco?" she asked coyly. "Did you have a pleasant reunion with your wife?"

Sandy felt a twinge of annoyance. "It was OK, nothing special. She's found a very nice apartment, right on the waterfront."

"You have not seen her for several months. I think it would have been enjoyable to be close to each other again."

"Turns out we weren't together that much after all. She had plenty of work to catch up on. Getting up to speed with her new job."

"That is a pity," she said. "If I were your wife, I would not be spending our precious time in my office."

"Let's not talk about last weekend. I owe you an explanation about tonight. Why we're meeting like this. Why I was late."

Anna Lise squeezed his hand and smiled. "I do not mind this arrangement. In fact, it is quite exciting. I am anxious to hear all about it."

"I came to your hotel last night about seven o'clock. You were out so I decided to wait in the lobby. I wanted to surprise you, then take you out to dinner."

"I spent the afternoon with my Norwegian friends and got back to the hotel about eight. I knew I should have come back earlier." She frowned. "You did not wait for me. And you did not call."

"I know. I'm sorry about that but there's a good reason."

"I certainly hope so."

Sandy ignored her wife-sounding statement. "While I was sitting there in the lobby, two men came up to me. Said they were FBI agents. One of them had a pistol under his jacket. They wanted to talk."

"This sounds terrible. Are you in some kind of trouble, Sandy?"

He laughed. "Not me. They wanted to talk about you."

She recoiled slightly. "Me? Why would they be concerned about me? I am only a tourist, coming here for a short holiday, wanting to be with you."

"They didn't go into detail, except to say that you are mixed up with some bad people. They warned me not to see you again. Said they would be watching you closely while you're in America."

Anna Lise became visibly upset. "This is awful. Those men are wrong. I have done nothing illegal and I am certainly no criminal. Do you believe me?"

"There's more. Next morning, I reported this incident to our company's security officer. He did some checking and found out that those men are not FBI agents at all." He kept silent, letting it sink in.

On the verge of tears, she gripped his hand. "You did not answer my question, Sandy. Do you believe I am telling you the truth?"

He stared into her eyes for several seconds. "I'd like to believe you, but I just don't know what to think."

The waitress interrupted their conversation and took their dinner orders. After she left, Sandy decided he'd have to get tougher if he hoped to learn what was really going on. "I think you came to California for other reasons. I believe you want something from me but haven't gotten around to telling me just what it is. Am I making any sense?"

She pulled back her hand and looked down, pausing for a moment, refusing to meet his eyes. "You are a wise man and I have been a foolish woman, thinking I could deceive you."

Sandy waited.

"But you must realize that I care for you and that only complicates matters."

"I don't understand."

"There are actually two subjects for discussion and they have nothing to do with our relationship. First, I told you about my son, Torre. He works for a small software firm in Oslo. He has an idea that might be interesting to you and your project. He has asked me to find out more."

"What's his idea about?"

"It has something to do with security inside your computers. I am not able to tell you any of the technical details. Perhaps you can meet with him when you come back to Norway."

"I thought you didn't want us to meet."

She smiled sickly. "I have changed my mind. A woman's prerogative, no?"

"Software security is not my area of expertise but I'm sure our people would like to hear his ideas. What's your number two item?"

"A business idea. I have money to invest and I would like to start a commercial venture of my own. Providing physical security for the command centers and air bases being equipped with your computer systems."

Sandy leaned back sharply. "Security? How on earth did you ever come up with an idea like that?"

"I have a good friend in Norway, a woman who is married to a retired Army officer. He is not happy with his life of leisure and would like to be active in a business venture. We have discussed this idea of security and he is interested in taking it further. He has many contacts among other retired military, men who are eager to perform some valuable service and supplement their small pension."

"Sounds like you've done some research already. But I don't see why I should be involved in your business."

"I need information from you, Sandy. Preferably papers telling how and where your computer systems are to be installed."

"Why can't your military friends get you this data?"

"They could certainly help, but they no longer have access to the most current information like you do."

"OK, maybe I can provide some documents. But you have to understand that it's all very general and preliminary right now. The specifics won't be known until much later when the facility engineers complete their installation designs. I also have to get approval from my boss."

Anna Lise smiled and gave him a kiss. "Thank you, Sandy, for helping me. Whatever you have will get me off to a good start."

"You're welcome." He hoped he was doing the right thing.

"After you give me the documents, I will probably go back to Oslo right away and have a meeting with my colleague. We will need to make plans on how to move our venture ahead."

"I'll see about getting you the data as soon as possible."

Their conversation over dinner was light, animated and pleasant. Anna Lise did most of the talking, telling Sandy about her shopping adventures, tourist expeditions, and pungent observations of the American cultural psyche.

While they shared a piece of key lime pie, Sandy asked for more information about her son's employer.

"It's not a big company, about thirty or so employees. They have been very successful working with geologists."

"Like monitoring earthquake activity or tsunamis?"

"Actually, they help to find oil and gas fields, processing data that will tell the engineers where to drill."

"A very important activity these days. Oil and gas prices are going up again. I suppose that's why he travels so much to the Middle East."

"I think so, but he has been in the northern part of our country as well. Up in the Finnmark region, what you would call Lapland, where they herd reindeer."

"I don't envy him. It's probably a desolate place, bitterly cold in the winter."

She laughed. "But he loves it up there. He claims the solitude helps him think more clearly." She flashed a sexy grin. "Perhaps he has a Lap girlfriend to keep him warm at night."

They were finishing up their dinner with last sips of coffee when she moved closer and put a hand on his thigh. "I would like us to spend tonight together," she whispered in his ear.

He became aroused but sinister images flashed through his mind. "I would love to sleep with you, but those phony FBI goons could be watching us. Maybe we should just call it a night."

Her face betrayed disappointment. She sighed as she pulled her hand away. "Promise that we can be together once more before I go back to Oslo."

"OK, we'll have another night together. I'll figure something out."

Anna Lise kissed him long and hard before getting up and leaving the restaurant. Sandy watched her depart with mixed emotions. He wanted to make love but admitted this was the most prudent way to end the evening.

It was about ten o'clock when Sandy pulled into his driveway. He was sure that nobody had followed him. He also felt very tired and yearned for the cool comfort of his bed.

The telephone answering machine interrupted his plan; he had a single message waiting to be heard.

Cheryl's voice boomed out of the speaker. "Where in the hell are you? Call me when you get in. I don't give a damn what time it is."

For a few moments he was inclined to ignore her message. But he decided to call her and get it over with. He would never be able to sleep if he didn't.

Cheryl answered after only two rings.

"I got your message," he said. "What's up?"

"What's her name?" she hissed.

"Who?"

"Don't give me this who shit," she snarled. "The name of the woman you're seeing."

Sandy had to back the telephone away from his ear because she was so loud. He wondered if all women had this kind of radar? "Now calm down, Cheryl. I'm ready to answer all your questions, but it's not like you think."

She laughed sarcastically. "Oh yeah, right. It never is. I would like some straight talk from you, Mr. Sanford Clarke Gilmartin. None of this bull shit you've been giving me for the last couple of weeks."

Sandy took a couple of deep breaths. "Her name is Stensrud and she's a widow. I met her at the end of my trip to Norway."

"Is she with you now?"

"Of course not. I'm calling from home. Can I get on with this?"

"Keep going."

"Remember that business about me getting delayed in Oslo? Turns out the Norwegian authorities have been keeping close tabs on her. They say her son is mixed up with some terrorists and she's helping him get some classified information about our project."

"I don't understand how this affects you."

"Their defense intelligence people wouldn't let me leave the country until I agreed to help them. I have to maintain contact with her, find out what she's doing, who her son is working for. Then I feed this information back to the Norwegians, through our company's security office."

"Why should you do this? You're an engineer, not a spy."

"Blackmail, pure and simple. They were going to leak this to you if I didn't cooperate." Sandy relaxed and managed a weak laugh. "So now you know all about it. Water under the bridge, so to speak."

"Have you been to bed with this woman?"

Sandy hesitated and took another deep breath. "Yes."

"I thought so. Actually, it doesn't surprise me. You've been acting like you did when you and I started our affair."

"I didn't have a choice. They backed me into a corner."

"How did this woman find you?"

"I met her in the bar on top of the SAS Hotel. She was drunk and . . ."

"That's it. I want this woman out of your life. Now."

"Well . . . um . . . it's not that simple."

"Oh yes it is! You just cut off all contact with her. If necessary, tell your boss you can't travel to Norway again."

"She's here in Orange County. I have to see her one more time."

"What the hell is she doing there?"

"She flew to L. A. while I was being held in Oslo. She's starting up a business to provide security for the ops centers and wants some information about the places we're installing the computer systems."

"I suppose you agreed to give her what she wants."

"Yes, I did. But there's a good reason for it."

"I can hardly wait to hear it."

"I ran into a couple of guys last night who claimed to be FBI agents. They told me to stop seeing her. They'll be watching her until she leaves the country. This afternoon I found out they're not FBI agents at all. They're phonies."

"Then who are they?"

"I have no idea. But I do know they're dangerous, they're carrying guns. So the sooner she leaves California, the safer I'll feel about the entire situation."

"How soon can you get her the papers she wants?"

"Probably by the end of tomorrow. With any luck, she should be on her way back to Oslo before the weekend."

"Make it happen," she commanded. "Then I want you up here for the weekend. We need to spend some serious time together, just you and me. You'll have plenty of time to tell me all the juicy details of your counterspy caper."

"Um . . . I'd like to, but I can't make it."

"The hell you can't. Just get on a plane and do it."

"Julie's coming up for the weekend. I haven't seen her for a long time."

"Damn you, I'm sick and tired of playing second fiddle or third string to all these other women in your life. You can just go to hell."

The phone went dead. "Shit," he cried out.

It took him a long time to fall asleep as many unanswered questions swirled inside his head. Is Anna Lise being honest about this new business? What about her son and his trips to Lapland? What does Willy Gunderson know that he hasn't told me? And who are Elliot and Ness working for? This whole mess makes less and less sense.

Chapter Eleven

The next morning, Sandy met with Norm Riley and Larry McAfee in Riley's office. Both men listened closely as Sandy reported his conversation with Anna Lise during last night's dinner.

Riley chuckled softly as the story concluded but McAfee's reaction was more vocal. "Damnedest thing I ever heard of," he said. "The woman has cajones, if you'll pardon my French."

Sandy shot him a pained look but said nothing.

"Of course, I'm no expert on software security," McAfee went on, "but it does strike me as suspicious." McAfee turned to Riley. "What do you think, Norm?"

Riley had been thoughtfully massaging his chin. "Fascinating. Sure, it sounds crazy on the surface, but the idea does have some merit."

"It does?" wondered Sandy.

"If this company does have expertise in software security, we'd be foolish not to investigate. Suppose for a minute they do. We could buy their product or give them a chunk of work. And if we're smart enough, we might even save the company some money in the process."

"The bean counters would love that," said Sandy.

"Another benefit would be more in-country content," Riley continued. "Karl Hoegberg has been pestering me about this. He wants us to subcontract more technical work to Norwegian companies."

"Providing they're qualified," added Sandy. "And cost effective, too."

Riley nodded. "Larry, what about Gunderson? Do you think we can get him to sprinkle holy water on it?"

"I can send him a FAX this afternoon and tell him what we have in mind. If we couch it in the right language, he should go for it. I can play up the positives, how we're getting closer to young Stensrud, checking out his connections, all that sort of business. If we play our cards right, it should earn us some Brownie points with the customer community."

"Sounds like a plan," said Norm. "Do it."

"What's the next step?" ventured Sandy.

Norm grinned. "That's where you come in."

Sandy groaned. "I'm so glad I asked."

"You can handle it, Sandy. Tell this woman you want to meet with her son and any of his multilevel security gurus. Plan on another Oslo trip in several weeks. Work it in with whatever communication issues you need to resolve."

"But I'm not that savvy on software security."

"Doesn't matter. I just want you to take their pulse and see if they have anything to offer. If they do, I'll have Doctor Jeanne get over there. She can dig into all the gory details."

Sandy grimaced and reflected on Riley's reference to Jeanne Maloney, a member of his project's team. He considered her a colossal pain in the ass.

Riley picked up on Sandy's reaction. "Yes, I know she can be difficult at times, but she knows the subject inside-out, backwards and forwards."

"Don't worry about it, Norm," said Sandy. "We'll get the job done."

Riley gave him an exaggerated smile, nodded his head, but said nothing.

"What about the facility documents?" asked McAfee.

"Nothing classified in them, as far as I know," said Riley. "Right, Sandy?"

"True."

"Then give her a set to take back on the plane. Larry, be sure Gunderson knows that we're doing this."

"I'll add it to my afternoon FAX."

Riley continued, "Touch base with Tom Herron, Sandy. Tell him I gave you the go ahead."

"When are you seeing the Stensrud woman again?" asked McAfee.

"Probably tomorrow or Thursday night. Once she gets the package, I'm hoping she'll go back to Oslo ASAP."

Riley had already got up from his chair, empty coffee cup in hand. McAfee looked at Sandy and winked. "Won't you get lonely without your Scandinavian girlfriend to play around with?"

Sandy shot him an annoyed look. "Not so much. She'll be out of the country and my life can get back to normal. Quiet and boring."

McAfee left the room but Sandy remained in his chair. Riley came back and seemed surprised to see him still seated. "Anything else you want to talk about?"

"Something's bothering me about this deal. Suppose we give this Norwegian company a contract. If they have a malicious bent, like Gunderson seems to think, they could do some serious damage."

Instead of the serious reaction he expected, Riley wore an inscrutable smile. "I think you read my mind, Sandy. Continue."

"Well, for starters, they could plant a virus somewhere in the system. A bug that would explode on a specific date and clobber the system."

"Yes, they could," said Riley. "What else?"

"A Trojan Horse. They could stick in a block of code, one that only they knew how to reach. Then gain easy access to the classified database. The damage would be catastrophic."

"Right on target," said Riley. "These are the very same risks that I was thinking of."

"Excuse me? And you still want to go down this path?"

"Reluctantly, but true. We'd have to do this with any software sub."

"Then how are we going to protect the system? Our customer? And our company's reputation?"

"I'll talk with Maloney. Have her do a risk analysis and a plan to eliminate such threats. Like they say, forewarned is forearmed."

Sandy quietly left Riley's office. He felt apprehensive about what might happen because of this latest decision by the project's management. He prayed that Norm knew what he was doing.

That evening, Sandy called Anna Lise from home.

"I almost called you," she said. "I have missed you so much, I need to be with you. Will I see you tomorrow?"

"I don't think so. But I do have some good news. I'm getting all the facility installation drawings you asked for."

"Then when will I see you again?" She sounded petulant.

"My secretary is copying a set. Some papers and a computer disk. You'll be able to put them in your luggage."

"That is wonderful, but you did not answer my question."

"They won't be ready until Thursday. I can give them to you then."

"And you will stay with me that night? You promised."

"Of course I'll stay with you. Now here's my plan. We'll have dinner at Cano's, the restaurant in Newport Beach where we went before. Take a taxi and meet me there about seven o'clock. Is that all right so far?"

"Of course, that will be easy. And after dinner?"

"We'll go to the Sandpiper, a motel also on Pacific Coast Highway, not far from the restaurant. I'll make all the reservations."

"It should be a delightful and romantic evening. I'm anxious to have you in bed again, holding me close, touching my body in all those special places."

Her words and the tone of her voice aroused him. 'Me too' were the only words escaping from his constricted throat.

"Are you still planning to have your daughter visit this weekend?"

"Yes, I am. Julie's coming up on the train Friday afternoon, back home on Sunday afternoon."

"Then I will book my return flight for Friday morning. I would like to stay longer, but I must get back and see to my business."

Sandy was relieved to hear her plans but didn't let on. "I can understand how you feel. It's probably the wise thing to do."

"Then it will be your turn to visit me. Can you say when you will be coming back to Oslo?"

"Let's talk about that Thursday evening."

Sandy's routine on Thursday evening was similar to Monday's. He drove to Cano's from work, arriving shortly after seven. The hostess took him to the same table they'd had before where he discovered a radiant Anna Lise sipping a flute of champagne. He was so happy to see her that he gave her an unusually warm kiss.

"Please forgive me for drinking without you," she said.

"Are you celebrating something?"

"On the contrary. After tomorrow, we will be separated by thousands of miles. But let us not think of that tonight. Will you have a glass of champagne?"

He readily agreed and promised they would have an enjoyable evening with minimal discussion of the future. He also complimented her appearance, how beautiful she looked in a low cut black dress, and how attractive her new hairstyle appeared, cut shorter so the ends fell just above her shoulders.

Sandy was not very hungry and apparently Anna Lise felt the same. They skipped the appetizer, had fish for the main course, and thirstily downed a bottle of Napa Valley Chardonnay. Without actual words being spoken, they agreed to bypass dessert and make a quick getaway to the motel.

They left the restaurant holding hands. When they reached the sidewalk, Sandy turned. "Wait here while I get the Blazer. I'll come around and get you."

"Where did you park?"

He nodded to the right. "Way in the back. I won't be long."

He sprinted across the parking lot to a distant corner where he'd parked earlier. It was now dark and he had difficulty spotting his dark red SUV. He pressed the UNLOCK button on his key chain and saw the flashing brake lights.

He opened the door but didn't make it all the way inside. Someone grabbed him by the collar, yanked him outside, and threw him on the ground. Sandy was stunned but managed to say, "What the hell is this? Who are you?"

A tall man in a dark suit bent over to look more closely at Sandy's face. "You've forgotten me already?"

A short stocky man came around the front of the SUV and joined them. "Our boy here has a very bad memory. We need to remind him of a few things."

Sandy's heart raced when he recognized the two phony FBI agents. The shorter man was carrying something in his hand that resembled a golf club.

The taller one grabbed Sandy by his jacket's lapels. "Get up and don't give me any crap. My patience with you is running very thin."

Sandy tried to push him away but the man spun him around, twisted Sandy's right hand up against the back of his shoulder, and slammed him against the side of his SUV.

"What do you want from me?" said Sandy.

"Seems like you have a problem taking our advice. Like we told you before, stay away from the Stensrud woman. It's best for your health, you know. Maybe this little meeting will be a good lesson for you."

Sandy didn't answer but only moaned in pain. The man kept pressure on his right arm and, with his free hand, grabbed Sandy's hair and beat his head against the vehicle's window several times. "Are you getting the message now?"

"Yes, I hear you," Sandy groaned. "Loud and clear."

The man backed away. "Want to give him an adios, partner?"

"Why not?" asked the short stocky man. He wound up with a full golf swing and hit Sandy across the ankles with the club.

Before they disappeared, Sandy heard the tall man say, "Remember, stay away from that woman and we won't bother you again."

Sandy slid down the side of his SUV and collapsed. His head throbbed, his lips and nose were bleeding, and his feet were numb. He tried to remain motionless in hopes the pain would subside.

He remained on the ground, curled up in a semi-fetal position, and lost track of time. Suddenly, he remembered Anna Lise. I have to get back there.

But before he could get up, he heard a familiar voice call out, "Sandy, where are you? Can you hear me?"

"Anna Lise," he moaned. "I'm over here, next to my truck."

He heard the click-clack of her sandals, then smelled her perfume, and at last felt the light touch of her hair on his face when she knelt down. "Oh my God, what happened? Did somebody rob you?"

"Help me up, please. We've got to get out of here."

"But you are hurt. And your face is bleeding."

"Those two FBI gangsters roughed me up a little. That's all."

"We need to get you to a hospital."

"Naw, it's not that bad. Let's go to the Sandpiper. You drive."

Anna Lise helped Sandy get comfortable in the passenger seat. She had to search for the keys and eventually found them on the floorboard. Within minutes, they were heading north on Pacific Coast Highway.

"I owe you big time," said Sandy. "What made you come looking for me?"

"You were taking so long. I had a strange feeling that something bad had happened."

They soon arrived at the Sandpiper. Anna Lise went inside and registered. They were given the room at the back Sandy had reserved where it would be quiet and private. She parked the SUV next to the room and looked at Sandy. "We need to get you cleaned up. Take care of those cuts on your face."

"Grab my day pack, will you? It's in the back, next to your package of papers. I've got a first aid kit inside the pack."

Once inside the room, Anna Lise hung his jacket, shirt, and trousers in the closet, dusting them off lightly with her hand to remove the dirt picked up from the parking lot. Sandy sat on the toilet while she cleaned his face and applied an antiseptic to his cuts. She gave him three ibuprofen tablets.

"Feeling any better?" she asked softly.

"Much better, thanks." He kissed the top of her hand, then looked down. His right ankle had absorbed most of the blow from the golf club and was swollen black, blue, and purple. "A couple of days and the ankles should be OK."

"What did they do to you?"

"One of those goons had a golf club. Teed off rather smartly with his three wood, I'd say."

"I just fail to understand all this, Sandy. Did they say anything?"

"Just a reminder. Stay away from you and I won't be hurt again." He looked directly into her eyes and held her gaze. "Which brings us back to where we started. Why shouldn't we see each other? Give me a clue. Please."

She rose from a kneeling position. "I am very sorry to be the cause of your troubles, but I have not the slightest idea."

"And you've told me everything? You're not keeping any secrets from me, are you?"

She took his hand and pulled him out of the bathroom. She pulled down the bed covers and smiled. "Climb into bed and get comfortable. You need to rest."

He fell into bed and stretched out on his back.

Anna Lise removed her clothes and jewelry. She slid under the covers close to Sandy and kissed him on the cheek. "I am not keeping any secrets from you," she whispered. "Except, perhaps, to confess that I love you."

Sandy turned slightly to face her, placed his hand behind her head, and pulled her closer. "I have a confession to make as well. I have feelings for you, too, and they're getting stronger. But I can't say for sure that I love you. Hell, I don't know what love is anymore."

He kissed her and let his hand slide down her back. "Anyway, I want to be with you for as long as possible. And it will take a lot more than tonight's rough stuff to keep me away from you."

She cuddled closer. "I am so happy, Sandy. We belong together."

Sandy felt he'd said enough so he remained silent.

Anna Lise slipped her hand inside his undershirt and touched his chest. "Forgive me for asking again, but do you have any idea when you will be coming back to Oslo?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. It will be soon, probably within a week or two. My boss wants me to meet with your son and some of the other technical people in his company. When you get back home, think about setting it up."

"I will do that for you. Now stop talking about work and get some rest."

They were content lying in each other's arms for several minutes without the need for any conversation. When Sandy became drowsy, Anna Lise switched off the lights. Both were soon asleep.

Chapter Twelve

Sandy and Anna Lise left the Sandpiper shortly after 6:00 a.m. and drove directly to the Westin. They remained in the hotel parking lot for several minutes, both reluctant to say goodbye.

"What's your schedule?" asked Sandy.

"I will clean up a bit, then check out. I did most of my packing yesterday. Drive to the airport and give back my rental car. And then, a long, long time before I finally get back to Oslo."

"Do me a favor," he said. "Call me tomorrow when you get there. At my home or the office."

She smiled feebly. "Of course. But it will be so lonely without you."

He kissed her and held her tight for several seconds. "I sure hate goodbyes."

"So do I. Perhaps a day will come when goodbyes are unnecessary."

He got out of the SUV, grabbed the package of documents, and led her to the hotel's front entrance. She put down her overnight bag and they embraced one more time.

A bellboy took her things and was instructed to deposit them in her room. Anna Lise remained motionless while Sandy walked back to his SUV. As he drove from the parking lot, he blew her a kiss which she returned.

When Sandy got home, he took a hot shower. He looked in the mirror, saw his bruised face and decided not to shave or go to work. He would call Audrey and tell her to charge him for a day of sick leave.

He sipped orange juice and munched an English muffin, thoughts racing through his mind. Should I call McAfee? Probably not. He doesn't need to know that I got beat up last night. Why didn't I just have the valet park my car? Then those assholes wouldn't have been able to mug me. Would they have tried to nail me somewhere else? Maybe hurt Anna Lise at the same time?

Sandy reached for his cell phone and called the real FBI agent.

The man answered promptly. "Don Chenault."

"Uh . . . Mr. Chenault. This is Sandy Gilmartin. My company security chief, Larry McAfee, gave me your number."

"Yes, I remember the name. You're the man who had the encounter with two guys claiming to be FBI agents."

Sandy felt slightly relieved. "That's me, all right. I'm calling to report another incident, and this time it wasn't so pleasant."

"Really? Let me get something to write with." He paused. "OK, shoot."

Sandy described last night's incident.

Chenault asked, "How come you waited so long to call me?"

The question irritated Sandy. "This is the first chance I've had."

"OK. Now think back. Did you notice anything that would help me find out who these guys are? Like maybe the license plate on their car?"

"No, they disappeared too fast. I don't know what the hell they were driving. Except for the short guy with the golf club."

"Is that a joke? Never mind." Sandy heard some movement and another sound like drumming of fingers on a tabletop. "OK, Mr. Gilmartin. I guess that's it. I'll write up a report. Call me ASAP the next time those guys show up. Day or night. Got that?"

"Yes, I've got it."

Sandy cleaned up the breakfast debris, went to bed, and was soon asleep.

Several hours later, Sandy awoke from his nap. He stretched hard, recalling his time with Anna Lise, when the phone rang.

"Sandy, I am so glad I reached you."

He sat up, startled and confused. "Anna Lise? Where are you?"

"At the airport, in the departure terminal. My flight will board soon so I have only a few minutes."

"You don't sound right. Is something wrong?"

She paused. "Those men who attacked you last night, the ones who claimed to be FBI agents. I may have seen them just now."

"What? Where was this?" By now, he was up and standing next to the bed.

"When I checked my luggage at the ticket counter. I saw two men standing nearby. They were not doing anything, but they seemed to be watching everyone, looking for something."

"Tell me what they looked like."

"They both wore dark suits, white shirts and dark red ties. One of them was tall and had a mustache. The other man was short and much heavier. That is all I can remember about them."

"Damn! Sounds like the same guys. Are they in the terminal now?"

"I have gone through security check. They could not follow me without having some kind of boarding ticket."

"Honey, please try to relax. If they were the same two men, they may have shown up just to make sure you're leaving the country."

"This is not good, Sandy."

"I'm going to hang up now and call a real FBI agent. If those guys are still around the airport, maybe he can nab them. In the meantime, try not to worry."

Sandy hung up and called Chenault. "I just talked to my Norwegian friend. She's at the airport. Says she spotted the two fake agents."

"I'm on the 405 right now, not too far from LAX. Is she coming or going?"

"She's just about to board a flight for Oslo."

"That's the international terminal. I'll check it out and get back to you."

Sandy paced around the house while waiting for Chenault's call. But after an hour had passed with no word, he got busy straightening up the kitchen, paying bills, and gardening in his much-neglected back yard.

Chenault eventually did phone Sandy. He thought the dark-suited men had probably left the terminal right after Anna Lise went through the security checkpoint. He agreed with Sandy's theory that the bogus agents were at LAX to make sure she left the country.

Sandy left his home around five o'clock for Santa Ana. He only had to wait five minutes before the northbound Amtrak pulled into the station. Dozens of passengers spilled out of the cars. Sandy craned his neck looking for Julie, wondering if she had missed the train.

He finally spotted her and was taken aback by her appearance. She wore a very short white polo shirt, cut just above the navel, and faded low-riding blue jeans held fast by a white rhinestone-studded belt. Her light brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail. A black guitar case was slung over one shoulder and she carried a small canvas gym bag in the opposite hand. That's my daughter? My god, she's turned into a young woman while I wasn't looking. And that outfit she's wearing shows way too much skin.

She waved when she spotted him. He waved back and edged slowly toward her. He hugged her tentatively as they stood next to a set of empty railroad tracks.

"Hi, honey. For a minute, I thought you'd missed your train."

"Daddy, what happened to your face?"

"Oh that? An accident last night. Slipped and hit the side of my Blazer."

"Doesn't it hurt?"

"Only when I laugh."

She shot him a stern look. "That joke is so old."

He laughed. "Consider it retired. You hungry?"

"I could eat."

He took her guitar case and led the way to the parking lot. They drove toward Irvine and stopped at a family style cafe revered by locals for its generous portions at reasonable prices. The only negatives today were the admiring stares trained on Julie's developing figure by two teen boys.

Sandy ordered iced tea and meat loaf with garlic mashed potatoes. Julie decided on a diet cola and a Cobb salad.

"Is that all you're having?"

"That'll be plenty for me, Daddy."

"You've grown a lot since the last time I saw you."

"You're absolutely right, I'm growing out of all my clothes. Bad, very bad. Can we go shopping while I'm here?"

"Sure, we can do that." That damned Gail, he thought, making me spend my money on our daughter's wardrobe instead of using the child support dough. "We can check out South Coast Plaza or hit Fashion Island."

"Cool."

"Anything else you'd like to do?"

"Can we play some tennis at your club? Maybe have a swim after?"

Sandy grinned. "I would really enjoy that. Are you sure your game is up to my high caliber Wimbledon standards?"

Julie chuckled. "Well, Mr. Federer, we'll just have to wait and see."

While they ate dinner, Julie had still another idea. "Now don't laugh, but if we have the time, there's something else I'd like to do."

"What's that?"

"Hit some golf balls. Is there a driving range near your house?"

"Golf balls? That's a surprise. What got you interested in golf?"

"A boy at school. Justin goes out with his dad sometimes and plays nine holes. He says it's lots of fun."

Sandy thought about the implications of her statement; the conjunction of male school chum with grand old game of golf. "It is wonderful, as long as it doesn't get you frustrated. I've got a bunch of clubs tucked away in the garage. It'll be good to limber up and see if I can still hit a ball."

"You think Cheryl might want to join us?"

Sandy stopped eating and stared at her.

"Did I say something wrong?" asked Julie.

"No, honey, you didn't. Fact is, we're not living together right now. She got a big promotion and moved up to Frisco."

"When did this happen?"

"While I was in Norway. But I went up to see her last weekend. She's got a beautiful place on the water near Fisherman's Wharf and loves her new job."

"And this is OK with you?"

"Not entirely, but we're trying to make it work."

"Aren't you lonely?"

"A little bit. To tell you the truth, I've been so busy since I got back, I haven't had the time to think much about it."

"I'm sorry, Daddy. Mom never told me."

"She couldn't because she doesn't know. I haven't told her."

Julie sat up ramrod straight, tossed her ponytail and smiled. "Well now. Looks like I've got you all to myself this weekend. And that can't be all bad."

Sandy patted her hand. "Not bad at all."

While Sandy and Julie were finishing their meal, the men who called themselves Tom Ness and John Elliot cruised through a section of Los Angeles inhabited mostly by Koreans. Signs with oriental characters arranged vertically announced the presence of butchers, produce markets, and apothecaries. The streets and sidewalks were crowded with people heading home after a day's work.

Ness was driving, finally relieved to find a parking space in front of a market. Along the sidewalk, fresh fruit and vegetables were on display, stacked on waist-high wooden counters.

As the two men entered the store, they encountered an elderly Asian woman sweeping the floor, her frame stooped over. Elliot tapped her on the shoulder. "Is Mr. Huong here?"

The old woman kept working and did not look at either man. "Mr. Huong in back room. He wait for you."

"Thank you," replied Elliot as they made their way to the back.

Ness pushed aside a loose curtain of hanging beads. They entered a dingy room, lit only by fading sunlight streaming through a single side window.

A bald heavyset Asian man sitting behind a decrepit desk waved them forward. He smoked a short fat cigar and wore tinted horn-rimmed glasses planted firmly on his bulbous nose.

Ness exchanged brief glances with his partner. He sensed Elliot shared the same uneasy feeling when meeting Huong and coping with the foul odors of his stogie.

The man carefully placed his cigar in an ashtray and smiled. "Welcome, gentlemen. Please sit down. I am eager to hear your report."

There were no other chairs in the room so they pulled up empty apple crates. "Mrs. Stensrud has left the country," began Ness. "We stayed at the airport until her flight took off."

"Fine, fine. And what about Mr. Gilmartin?"

"He hasn't been very cooperative," said Elliot. "We told him clearly that he was to have no further contact with the woman but he chose to ignore our advice. So we had another meeting. A little physical persuasion this time to let him know we mean business."

"And were you successful?"

"It's difficult to say but we're very confident. The meeting occurred just last night. The woman went back to Norway this morning."

Huong returned the cigar to his mouth, slammed both palms on the desk, and spewed a smoky cloud. "Splendid" escaped from the side of his mouth.

Elliot looked at his partner, wanting to get a reaction that would help end this meeting. Ness obliged. "Is that it, Mr. Huong?"

Huong replaced the cigar in the ashtray, pulled a brown envelope from a drawer, and slid it across the desk. "For your excellent services. But your work is not over. I want you to continue watching this man. Keep the pressure on him. If and when he returns to Norway, we want to be certain that he and the Stensrud woman do not come together again."

Ness felt a bit alarmed. "Are you suggesting we'll have to go to Norway?"

"Not at all. I have other sources in Oslo to keep us informed." Huong removed his glasses and stared at Elliot and Ness through hooded slits. "I cannot stress too strongly how crucial this matter is. Everyone must do their part and do it well. And this includes each one of us. Do I make myself clear, gentlemen?"

Both men managed to croak an affirmative reply.

Huong swiftly left the room through a back door. He took his cigar but left a stinking residue in the ashtray.

Once outside and driving away, Ness relaxed. "I'm sure glad to be out of there. That guy gives me the creeps."

Elliot was smiling, counting a wad of crisp 100-dollar bills taken from the brown envelope. "Maybe so, partner, but he sure pays good."

Chapter Thirteen

Sandy was already awake when Anna Lise called on Saturday morning.

"Well, here I am, back in my home." She sounded tired.

"How was your trip?"

"Long and boring. It is gloomy here. Cold and overcast. I miss California."

"And you don't miss me?"

She laughed. "Of course I do. It is lonely without you."

"I called the real FBI agent after I talked to you yesterday. He went straight to your terminal, but didn't see those two men. He thinks they left right after your flight took off. They probably wanted to be sure you'd left the country."

"I feel bad about this, Sandy. Perhaps they will leave you alone now that I am unavailable."

"I guess they will, but I'm not going to worry about it."

"Is your daughter with you now?"

Sandy felt relieved by the welcome change of subject. "Yes, she is. How she's grown in the last three months! She's thirteen, going on twenty. Do you know that expression?"

"Yes, I understand what you mean. They grow up so fast. What are your plans for the weekend?"

"A full schedule. Tennis, swimming, and hitting golf balls today. Shopping for new clothes tomorrow. We may see a movie, if we can squeeze it in."

"That will be good for both of you. You will be so busy that you won't have time to miss me. Or even think about me."

Sandy chuckled. "Not true, my friend. Not at all true."

Anna Lise yawned and then sighed. "I will say goodbye now. I must unpack and take a bath."

"I'd sure like to join you in the tub."

She giggled. "Next time you come to Oslo, we shall bathe together."

"Then I'll hop the next plane."

"I think you should have a cold shower instead."

"What a killjoy. I'll call you early next week."

Sandy was first to arise on Sunday morning. He made his way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee to clear the cranial cobwebs. He began frying bacon and gathered up eggs, orange juice, English muffins, pineapple chunks, and strawberries for his trademark weekend breakfast.

He thought about last night's movie experience. At Julie's request, they had seen a film with an "R" rating, a romantic comedy that featured, in Sandy's opinion, too much sex and foul language. He thought he would have been more comfortable if he'd been with Cheryl instead of his daughter.

Julie had taken it all in stride, however, remarking after the movie was over that the male and female leads had good chemistry. Despite a few awkward moments during the film, Sandy enjoyed the outing.

The cooking aromas eventually brought a half-awake Julie to the kitchen. She wore loose flip-flops that slapped the tile floor, signaling her presence before she appeared. She had dressed herself in khaki hiking shorts and a dark blue warm-up jacket over a sleep shirt.

Sandy greeted her. "Morning, sleepy head. Ready for breakfast?"

Julie sat down at the breakfast nook table, facing her father, and yawned. "Eventually," was all she could manage.

"Want some juice?"

"Do you have any tea? A hot cup would be nice."

"When did you start having tea in the morning?"

"Can't remember. Hasn't been too long."

"I'll put the kettle on. Bacon's almost ready. Eggs over easy OK for you?"

"Fine." She pulled over a thick Los Angeles Times from the far side of the table and took out the comics section.

Sandy had both breakfast plates ready at the same time. He sat down across from her and they dove in, eating the food with little conversation. Only after most of the meal had been disappeared did they talk again.

"Your tennis game has improved a lot," he said.

"Yes, but you still beat me, two out of three sets."

"I was getting bushed in that third set. You've got the edge on me, more energy than your tired old dad."

"Oh no you don't. You can't use that as an excuse."

"It was a good workout. Lord knows I need the exercise."

"Thanks for taking me to the driving range. Hitting golf balls was fun, too."

"You've got quite a swing there, young lady. You didn't inherit any natural ability from me. Where did you pick that up?"

"I haven't a clue."

"I'd like to see you work on it. Golf is a game you can play all your life."

Julie smiled. "Maybe we can play nine holes next time I come up. Or when you come down to San Diego."

"Tell you what. I'll do better than that. I'll get you your own set of clubs. But you have to promise that you'll practice. As often as possible. Get your mom to go out with you, if that's what it takes."

Julie gave him a high five and slapped his palm. "It's a deal."

A short while later, they cleaned up the breakfast dishes and drove to Fashion Island in Newport Beach. They entered the large Neiman Marcus store just after noon and strolled through the aisles. A young man stationed near the escalators played classical show tunes on a grand piano. This extra touch by the management was meant to put the multitude of shoppers in a good mood, presumably one for spending lots of money.

Sandy was a shopping veteran, having accompanied two wives and several girlfriends on numerous department store expeditions. He was patient and showed his sense of humor with funny, but not insensitive, comments on Julie's selections. He realized he was enjoying himself.

She scored big, thanks to Sandy's loving but guilt-ridden generosity. He bought her two pairs of jeans, one blue and the other tan, with white butterflies embroidered on each leg. She also got pink and white denim jackets, and several tank tops in matching colors.

After a solid hour of shopping and now carrying two bulging shopping bags, they decided to take a break at an outdoor coffee shop next to the store. Julie had a diet cola, Sandy had coffee, and they shared a huge fudge brownie.

"Had enough shopping for today?" asked Sandy.

"Almost. There's a shoe store over there I want to check out. I need some sandals. Is that OK?"

"Sure. Go ahead and look around. Take your time and try them on. I'll join you in a bit." He was starting to get tired but didn't want to admit it.

A few minutes later, as he headed toward the shoe store, he happened to glance backward in the direction of Neiman Marcus. There, standing next to a huge potted palm tree, were the two FBI impostors.

Sandy halted in his tracks and stared at them. The two men smiled, waved at Sandy, and turned in the opposite direction.

Sandy pulled out his cell phone, called Chenault, and left a message. Then he went searching for Julie. He found her in the back of the shoe store.

She saw him approaching and started to say something but stared at him for a few seconds. "You OK, Daddy?"

Sandy put an arm around her shoulder. "Yeah, I'm fine."

She held up a pair of black boots. "What do you think of these?"

"Pretty classy, but when and where would you wear them? Doesn't snow much in San Diego, does it."

"Oh Daddy, what has that got to do with it?"

Sandy was flustered. He remembered that Cheryl had worn boots as a fashion statement in the middle of summer. "OK, like maybe in seven or eight years."

Julie gave him a stern look, one he knew was more in jest than seriousness. "No more fudge brownies for you, Mr. Gilmartin."

After they returned to Sandy's house, Julie tried on every piece of clothing she had bought. She was in such a joyful mood that she made a fashion show out of it, parading around the living room, seeking Sandy's admiration and approval. They were having such an enjoyable time that they lost track of time.

Late in the afternoon, they scurried around the house and gathered up all Julie's treasures. Sandy had to loan her one of his own pieces of luggage to get all her clothing packed up for the trip home. Then they made a quick drive to the Santa Ana train station.

They talked little while waiting in the terminal. When her train finally arrived, he walked Julie out to the tracks, stopping at the open door of a car.

Sandy gave his daughter a big hug and kissed her on the cheek. "Thanks for coming up, honey. I had a wonderful weekend."

"So did I. And thank you, for everything. Especially the clothes."

"You're very welcome. Try not to grow out of them so soon. OK?"

Julie gave him a curious look. With her finger, she traced a droplet from the corner of his eye and kissed him. "I'll call you tonight. Will you be home?"

"I'll be home."

Sandy watched her climb aboard, guitar slung across her back and a bulging canvas bag in each hand. He waved as the train pulled out. He couldn't see her and wasn't sure that she could see him.

He stood on the wooden platform next to the tracks for several minutes. He was in no hurry to go back to an empty house and was already thinking about his next trip to San Diego.

In his office the next morning, Sandy sipped tepid coffee and thought about his weekend with Julie. He enjoyed practically every minute of it and promised himself that he would make an effort to be a greater presence in her life.

He had talked with Chenault the night before and given him a detailed report on the incident at Fashion Island involving Elliot and Ness. To Sandy's irritation, Chenault minimized the danger to both Sandy and Julie, theorizing that the two men only wanted to reinforce their earlier message, that he should avoid further contact with Anna Lise. Chenault reminded Sandy to keep in touch and report any sightings, then ended the call abruptly.

At about eleven o'clock, Audrey reminded Sandy that he was due at a meeting with Norm Riley. When Sandy arrived at Riley's office, he noticed that McAfee was also present.

Norm called out in a jovial voice, "Good morning, Sandy. Have a pleasant weekend?"

McAfee was reading something and didn't bother to look up.

"A great weekend," he replied. "Had my daughter up from San Diego. Did a lot of fun things together."

"I've got a proposition for you, Sandy. Listen to it before you say anything."

"OK, I'm all ears."

"I want you to move to Norway. Be the onsite manager for the project at Kolsaas. It'll be a great career move, give you the right kind of experience for a promotion into our division's management structure. And the financial package will be more than generous. You'll be able to build a nice retirement nest egg."

Sandy's brain whirled with all the positive and negative aspects associated with Norm's request. He was speechless for several moments. McAfee looked neutral but Riley's face betrayed a hopeful benevolence, as if he were under some kind of pressure.

"I thought Andy Nadeau was slated for that job," said Sandy.

"He was, but I learned late Friday that he's seriously ill. Has a kidney problem and needs dialysis twice a week. So he turned the job down. He needs to stay here with his doctor, his family, in case something happens."

"Why me?" asked Sandy. "My experience has been mostly engineering."

"You're a good fit," said Norm. "You know all about the project, the people on our team. You made some solid friends in the customer community on your last trip. And you're available. You should be able to pick up and move pretty quickly. I assume your wife will want to stay in San Francisco with her new job."

"How do you know about Cheryl?"

Riley and McAfee exchanged nervous glances. "I think Larry here mentioned it during one of our meetings."

"Don't get me wrong, Norm. I appreciate this opportunity and your confidence in me. But there's something wrong here, a black cloud hanging over my head that won't go away."

Riley gave him a puzzled look. "What are you talking about?"

"My personal safety. It's a big concern. And now my daughter's." Sandy gave them the details of his attack by the bogus FBI agents and yesterday's sighting at the Fashion Island mall.

Riley was speechless and shook his head in disbelief. McAfee, however, had a question. "How come you waited until now to tell us about this?"

"What good would it have done? Besides, I did call your FBI buddy and told him about it. Big deal. He's not helping much either."

"Don't be so sure about that," said McAfee. "He's probably working to get a line on those guys, but he needs to keep you in the loop."

Riley clasped his hands together and alternately looked at Sandy and McAfee. "Let me pose a hypothetical. Suppose you accept this assignment, Sandy. Do you think those men would follow you to Norway?"

"I have no idea," replied Sandy.

McAfee picked up on where this was heading. "They'd stand out like a couple of sore thumbs. We could have Gunderson's people pick them up if they even tried entering the country."

"That's my point," said Riley. "Gunderson owes us a favor, thanks to your cooperation, Sandy. We should be able to have him guarantee your safety while you're in country."

"And what about my daughter?"

McAfee said, "Maybe Norm would spring for a part-time bodyguard."

"Her mother would never go along with that and it would probably upset Julie. That's not good enough."

"They would never have to know," said McAfee. "There are people who are really good at this kind of work. They'd be invisible."

Sandy felt better but had some practical concerns. "What about my house?"

"We'll pay a professional house-sitting company to look after it," said Riley. "They'll be responsible for security and will take care of the landscaping. You'll be able to ship some furniture to Oslo and put your automobile into storage. We'll pay for your stay in a hotel for thirty days, then pay your rent for a house near Kolsaas. Oh yes, we'll also provide a rental car for the length of your assignment."

"That all sounds very attractive, like you've thought of everything."

"There are some more details, like cost of living allowances and tax equalization. And, as long as your daughter's a full-time student, we'll fly her over to Oslo twice a year for visits. But we can talk about all that later."

Sandy pictured the black boots. She could wear them in Oslo at Christmas.

Riley applied more pressure. "So, what do you think? Do we have a deal?"

"I'd like to give it some thought. Can I get back to you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow is good."

McAfee waved the paper he'd been reading. "Before you go, Sandy. I got a fax from Gunderson this morning. He's asking to you come back to Oslo ASAP. Says there's been a new development in the Stensrud situation."

"Now what?" said an exasperated Sandy.

"He doesn't give any details. Wants to brief you personally, face-to-face, when you get there."

Sandy left Riley's office and headed back to his own. The meeting had blunted his appetite so he decided to forego lunch and take a hike around the plant. During his brisk jaunt, he had thoughts about Gunderson's fax. Pressure from a different part of the world to get over there quickly. Why? What the hell's going on over there? Is Anna Lise in some kind of danger?

Chapter Fourteen

Eating dinner at home alone that evening, Sandy thought about the phone calls he needed to make to the three women in his life. He decided on Gail first, believing it would be his easiest call.

He caught her in a good mood. "That was some weekend you and Julie had. She hasn't stopped talking about it since she got home last night."

"We had a great time," he said. "I never knew our daughter had so much talent. She has a beautiful voice but her guitar could stand a new set of strings."

"Thanks for telling me. I'll take her to the music store at the mall."

"Did she mention golf?"

"Did she ever. What's this about getting her a set of clubs?"

"Julie has a fantastic swing and hits the ball farther than I do. She's a natural, another Michelle Wie. I'd like to see her develop that talent."

"Before I forget, thanks for taking her shopping. I appreciate that."

"I had no idea what kind of clothes teen-age girls are wearing these days. But I do now."

Gail paused. "Was there some reason for your call?"

"Actually, yes. You know I've been working on a project involving Norway and Denmark. The company has made me a very attractive offer. Being the onsite manager at NATO headquarters in Oslo. It means I'd be living there, for a couple of years at least." Sandy waited a moment, hoping for some kind of reaction, but encountered only silence. "Are you there?"

"Yes, I'm here." Sandy could hear her trying to catch her breath. "Wow, this is so sudden. But you'll be thousands of miles away, not able to spend any time with Julie. What a shame, after the weekend you just had together. I don't think she'll be too happy about that."

Sandy's guilt quotient started rising. "The company makes allowances for parents taking overseas assignments. For as long as she's a student, they'll fly her to Oslo twice a year. She can stay as long as she wants each time."

"Twice a year? When?"

"I'm thinking of the summer. Maybe have her stay for two months or more. Then in the winter, over Thanksgiving or Christmas. What do you think?"

"Thanksgiving's not good because of school. But she has almost two weeks of vacation around Christmas. I kind of like the idea of her spending the summer with you. It would be good for her. Meeting new people, learning a new language, being exposed to a different culture. And, getting closer to her father, the most important thing of all."

"What about Julie? Do you think she'll go for it?"

"A fair question. She's not here right now or I'd put her on. I can tell her about it when she gets home. Or should I have her call you?"

"Have her call me. I can give her all the details about Norway. Are you OK with this? It's a big change to our visitation agreement."

"Yes, I'm OK with it. In fact, there's a benefit for me. I've met someone and we're dating on a regular basis. With Julie in Norway for a couple of months this summer, I'll be able to figure out whether the relationship is going anywhere."

Sandy experienced a momentary pang of jealousy. "You've got a boyfriend? Julie never mentioned it. Does he treat her right?"

"Yes, they get along quite well together. Of course, he'll never take the place of her father. I asked her not to mention him to you. Let that be my job."

"Do I know this guy?"

"I'm sure you don't. He's a landscape architect and a member of our book discussion club. That's where I met him. And he's totally unlike you."

Sandy detected a note of sarcasm in her voice but let it slide. "I'm happy for you. I'm sure you deserve it. I mean him."

"I just had a thought about child support. Even though you'll be looking after her for most of the summer, I'll still expect money for those months."

Sandy's fading guilt was instantly replaced by simmering anger. "Did I say anything about skipping payments?"

"No, you didn't. I just want to be up front with it."

"I'll bet if we ran this by a judge . . . "

"Don't even think about it. You'd be throwing bad money after good."

"I never knew you could be so greedy."

"Damn it, Sandy, it's not greed. It's just a fact of life. I'll be using that money for Julie's golf lessons, tennis gear, maybe a new guitar. And don't forget her clothes. She'll need a whole new wardrobe before she sets one foot on that plane this summer. And another one for Christmas. She has no winter clothes, you know."

Sandy's stomach did several rumbles while he paused and let Gail's comments sink in. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. Just tell Julie to call me when she gets home."

"Fine," she said, then hung up the phone.

Sandy felt much worse. He pulled a tall bottle of scotch from a cupboard and poured a generous amount over several ice cubes.

Sandy phoned Cheryl's home and then her office. There was no answer at either place but he didn't leave a message. He had second thoughts and called her home again, leaving a message that he had some important news. He would send her a comprehensive e-mail instead of recording a long voice memo.

He turned on his computer and thought for a few minutes about what to write and what the overall tone should be.

This overseas assignment will be a good experience for me and a plus for my career. It will be a great adventure for Julie and help us get closer, but that won't mean much to Cheryl. The financial benefits of the job are considerable. I'll be able to salt away a lot of money for retirement. The move shouldn't have an adverse impact on our marriage since we're already living apart. She made a move to another city to further her own career, so why shouldn't I be able to do the same?

He typed the e-mail quickly and was pleased that it flowed so easily. He looked it over, made a few corrections, and sent it.

By now, the sun had set and Sandy was tired. He again thought about calling Anna Lise. It's almost six o'clock in the morning over there and she's probably still sleeping. Besides, I don't have anything definite to tell her right now, except that I'm thinking seriously about Norm's offer. I can easily guess what her reaction will be. She'll want me over there ASAP. I'll just wait a couple of days and then call.

Julie called Sandy later that evening. "Daddy, you're moving to Norway? You never said anything about it when I was up."

"It's a possibility. I didn't know about it when you were here or I would have told you. The man who was supposed to have the job can't do it so the boss asked me to go instead. I haven't told him yes or no. I'm still thinking about it."

"When would you have to leave?"

"They want me to go as soon as I can. But I have to tie up a lot of loose ends here, like storing my SUV, deciding what furniture to ship, what to do with my house. I'd say three to four weeks, maybe the end of April would be a good target."

"Oh good, then we still have some time." She giggled. "I was hoping we could look for those golf clubs next time you come down."

"That's my girl. We'll definitely do that before I make the move."

"What's it like in Norway? I don't know anything about the country except that it's pretty far away and up in the north."

"It's a beautiful place and the people are very friendly. They start learning English in the sixth grade so you'll have no problem talking with Norwegians."

"Mom said that you want me to come over during the summer for a couple of months."

"That's right. The company will fly you over and you can stay for your entire vacation. Christmas, too. You can wear those black boots we saw at Fashion Island."

Julie was silent for a few seconds. "Please don't be upset, but I think one month would be about right for the summer."

"Only a month? How come?"

"I want to spend some time here with my friends. We're making plans for some short trips together, things we can't do during the school year."

"I can understand that."

"And won't you be working during the summer?"

"Yes, I will. But I'd take some vacation days while you're here."

"So, what do people do over there?"

"In the winter, everybody skis. I don't know about summer. I'll have to check it out when I get there. I'm sure we can play golf, tennis, swim, bike, sail a boat in the Oslofjorden."

"What about movies?"

"What about them?"

"Are any of them in English?"

"Don't know, sweetheart, but I'll find out and let you know."

"Don't worry, Daddy. I'll still come and stay with you. I'm just curious, that's all. So, is a month OK with you then?"

"Sure, that's fine. And you can always stay longer if you change your mind."

Sandy and Julie talked for another ten minutes. He tried hard to convince her that she wouldn't get bored during her visits and there would be many opportunities to make friends with boys and girls her age.

Sandy had a restless night. More than once, he awoke and thought about Cheryl's likely response to his e-mail. Each time, he got up and went to the toilet, but resisted the temptation to turn on his computer. When the alarm went off at six o'clock, he made coffee and checked his e-mail. There was no reply.

Sandy's workday was routine. Norm Riley passed him in the hallway that afternoon and asked Sandy if he'd made a decision about the Oslo job. Sandy told him he was still thinking about it and would give him an answer soon.

That evening after dinner, he went to his office, turned on his computer, and checked his e-mail. There was nothing from Cheryl. He pulled up his earlier message to her and read it over twice, wondering why she hadn't answered him yet. He thought about calling her again but decided to wait a little longer.

Several hours later, while Sandy was watching David Letterman, the phone rang. It was Cheryl. "Where have you been?" he asked. "Did you get my message?"

"Mostly at my office, then at home. Yes, I got your message."

"Did you read my e-mail about the overseas job?"

"Sure did, lots of times. I wasn't too surprised. Had a hunch that something like this would eventually happen. But I'd like you to be honest with me, and yourself, for once in your life. Did this opening just pop up out of the blue and fall into your lap? Or did you hear about the job and volunteer for it? You said it was being the onsite manager. You're an engineer, not a manager. What the hell is going on here? Don't give me any bullshit. Tell me straight away, yes or no."

Sandy tried to remain calm. "No, it's the truth. The guy who was supposed to go has a serious medical problem so Norm wants me to take it. I didn't ask for this and that's the straight scoop. Hey, it'll be a boost to my career, providing I do a good job, of course. Something nice for the old resume, too."

"You painted a pretty picture about this move, all the benefits that would come to you. But you were noticeably silent about one minor detail, that woman who followed you half way across the world to Orange County. Not very typical of you, my covering-all-the-details engineer."

"She just happens to live in the same town. I can't help that."

Cheryl laughed sarcastically. "Do you hear what you're saying? You are so full of crap. By the way, you never really explained your sudden departure that weekend. The note you wrote me just confused things and only raised more questions. When are you going to tell me the whole story?"

"I don't know. I may never understand the big picture myself. All I know is that this new job will be a good thing for me. We're already living hundreds of miles apart anyway. Making the distance several thousands of miles won't really change things between us."

"You're running away from me, from us. This is so typical of you, not wanting to face up to a problem and try to work things out. Have you ever thought of seeing a shrink and getting some counseling? It sure couldn't do any harm."

"Damn it, Cheryl, you ran away first. I'm not running away from anything. If I was, I'd just make the move and send you an e-mail from Oslo."

Cheryl sighed. "All right, go for it. Don't let me hold you back, if that's what you really want. I'll survive . . . no, I'll do even better than that. I'll thrive without you, just like I've been doing ever since I got here. And that's a promise I'll be able to keep. Not like the ones you made me."

"What about the house? In the e-mail, I asked what I should do with it."

"Don't sell it under any circumstances. Get a property management company to handle it. The rent should more than cover all the expenses. It will also appreciate nicely in the meantime. Orange County real estate is always a good investment. And when you come back, you'll have a place to live."

"That's a good point. I can visualize a scenario where I couldn't afford to buy back our own house."

"Let me know when you get to Oslo and get settled in."

Sandy stared at the telephone handset, surprised at how soft and mellow her voice had become. "It'll be a good three or four weeks before I can wrap up all my personal business here. But I'll let you know my new address. That's a promise." After the call, Sandy couldn't get back to sleep. He decided to have another scotch and mull over everything that Cheryl had said. He felt irritated by her reaction; not the part about Anna Lise, but her claim that he was being dishonest and running away like a coward. He was tempted to send her a blistering e-mail, but experience had taught him that an angry response was foolhardy at best, something that he might have cause to later regret.

He sipped the whiskey and thought about the situation. I might as well take the job. I'll let Norm know first thing tomorrow. Interesting what Cheryl said about the house. Wanting me to hold on to it. I don't think she'd ever live in it again. Or would she? She gave me no hints about getting a divorce. I kind of thought that would be the next step. I wonder if she thinks we may get back together again some day. It must suit her plans, whatever they may be, for us to remain married. Would her marital status have some bearing on her professional career?

Sandy again thought of Anna Lise and changed his mind. He decided to call her tomorrow when he had some solid news.

Chapter Fifteen

Audrey came to work thirty minutes after Sandy. "Morning, boss. You look pretty cheerful this morning. Anything you need?"

Sandy looked up from his papers. "Morning to you. When you get a minute, call Norm Riley's secretary and ask for a meeting as soon as he's available."

"Then you've made your decision."

"My decision?"

"Sure, on the Norway job."

"You know about that?"

She smiled. "Yes, I know. Word gets around."

"Well, I might as well tell you then. I'm taking it. Norm and I have a lot of details to work out before I make the move."

"Need someone to carry your bags?"

Sandy laughed. "Sure, I could use a little help."

Still smiling, Audrey wailed an artificial sob. "You men are all alike. Leaving a girl behind for greener pastures."

Sandy knew her comment was an attempt at humor, but he felt a sudden surge of guilt. He hadn't considered Audrey's reaction to his decision. He put down his pen and pushed away from his desk. "Some kind of boss I am, not thinking about you and your job situation."

"Don't worry about it, Sandy. There's an opening upstairs in customer relations that I should be able to land. Good timing, I'd say." She turned around and went back into her own office.

Sandy thought he'd take her to lunch before leaving and get some flowers for her office. And a small gift for all her good work over the last two years. But would all that really be enough?

An hour later, Norm welcomed Sandy into his office. "Have a seat and tell me some good news."

Sandy sat down across from Norm. "You're reading my mind again."

Norm smiled broadly. "Then you've decided to take the Oslo job?"

"Yep, if you still want me."

"I sure do. Now I hope you're ready to move fast because there's plenty to get done. I'd like to see you on site by the first of April."

Sandy shifted nervously. "My god, Norm. That gives me only two weeks."

"You can do it and I'm going to make sure everyone here gives you all the help you want."

"Good. I'm sure I'll need it."

"OK. First, Pete Feygas will be taking over your slot on the project. I've already given Ludwig a heads up."

"Good choice. He'll be able to come up to speed real quick."

"Next, call Joan Renaldi in HR. She's expecting to hear from you. She'll make the arrangements for shipping your furniture, storing your car and a meeting with Deloitte, Touche."

"Deloitte who?"

"High price financial wizards. They help administer the company's tax equalization policy. And, they'll be doing your tax returns every year. Federal, state and Norway."

"I can hardly wait."

Norm laughed. "Courage, my friend. It's not that complicated."

"What else should I be doing?"

"I want you to attend my staff meetings. I'll introduce you to everyone as the new onsite manager. You know most of them already."

"When are your meetings?"

"Tomorrow morning at eight o'clock in the project's conference room. My secretary will put you on the alert list for all future meetings."

"Got it."

"After the meeting, I want you to touch base with all the project's key people. Hardware, software, facilities, test, logistics, contracts, and marketing." Norm paused to chuckle. "You'll have to know a little bit about everything."

"And a lot about nothing." Sandy shook his head. "April first, huh?"

"Just focus on what you'll be doing after you get to Oslo. Dump all your communications stuff on Feygas."

Sandy stood. "Guess I'd better get busy."

"What about your wife? What does she think about all this?"

"I talked with her last night. She gave me the green light. And my daughter's excited about coming over this summer."

Norm came around his desk, put his arm on Sandy's shoulder, and nudged him towards the door. "Off you go, then. Let me know if you need anything." Before Sandy left, Norm added a comment. "I'll call McAfee and let him know you're taking the job. He can fax Gunderson the news."

Head spinning, Sandy walked out of Norm's office. He had serious doubts that he could get everything done in time.

Sandy worked steadily throughout the day. He talked with the hardware section leader and arranged for meetings with key logistics and software people.

He left his office shortly after seven o'clock and picked up a freshly made pizza. When he got home, he opened a beer and changed into tennis shoes and a warm-up suit. He ate half the pizza while reading his mail, then had a second beer.

Sandy glanced at his watch. It was almost nine o'clock, nearly 6:00 a.m. in Oslo. Anna Lise is probably sleeping but he decided to wake her anyway.

She answered after two rings. "It is so wonderful to hear your voice."

"You sound pretty chipper. I was afraid you might be sleeping."

"I have been awake for some time. Thinking about you, my dear man."

"How are you? Over the jet lag yet?"

"That problem was over in a few days. Now I am frustrated."

"Why is that?"

"My business colleague, the man I told you about. He is on holiday in the Algarve with his wife. They will not be back for several weeks so my discussions with him have not even started."

"That's too bad, but you still have plenty of time. Our project isn't moving that fast anyway."

"And my son is not available either. I was hoping to talk with him about your proposal for a meeting, but that will also be delayed."

"How come he's not available?"

"He is up in Lapland again, working with some geologists, no doubt looking for oil. I learned this from someone at his company. She was not even certain when he would be back in Oslo. It is all very mysterious with those people, like they are trying to hide something."

With Gunderson's fax in mind, Sandy decided to probe. "That sounds natural for any sensitive project. But how are you doing personally? Anything new or unusual happening with you?"

There was a long pause before she answered. "Do you think I am crazy?"

"What? No, you're not crazy. Where did that idea come from?"

"My imagination seems to be working overtime. I think I may be seeing things. Ever since those terrible men attacked you, I have not felt comfortable."

"Whoa, slow down. What kind of things are you seeing?"

"I believe someone is watching me. Just yesterday, I had an encounter with a young man at the Aker Brygge department store. An Asian man who seemed to be shopping for the same items I was looking for. Can you imagine a young man interested in women's cosmetics and shoes? Anyway, he left the store when I did and walked behind me until I found a taxi and jumped inside."

"I don't know what to say. Is there anybody who can help you? How about contacting the police?"

"What would I tell them? They would think I am a foolish woman with delusions of insecurity and paranoia."

"Then hire a bodyguard. He doesn't have to be on duty twenty-four hours. Just when you leave the hotel."

"I do not know about such services."

"Then check with the person at the hotel in charge of security. He'll surely know how you can find someone."

"That is a wonderful idea. I will do it this morning."

"You'll feel much better and so will I, knowing you're safe."

"I miss you, Sandy, and I wish you were here. I am so glad you called. How selfish of me, not to ask how you are."

Sandy smiled. "I called because I have some news. I'm coming back to Norway. This time I'll be staying much longer. Like a couple of years."

Sandy heard her sitting up in bed. "This is wonderful news. When will you be here?"

"It will take a couple of weeks to get organized. I'll be shipping some of my furniture, putting my SUV into storage."

"Then you will be living here?" Her voice was louder; its pitch approached a squeal. "How silly of me. Of course you will, if you stay for years."

"The company is making me the onsite manager for the project so I'll be working in Kolsaas. I'll be looking for a house or apartment nearby to rent."

"This is so exciting. I have a friend in real estate. I will contact her today and see what is available. What would you prefer?"

"I haven't thought much about it. I just decided to take the job. A small house would be nice. It will be just me, living there by myself."

Anna Lise giggled. "Except when I come to stay overnight."

"Right. I need a nice place to entertain beautiful Norwegian women."

"I hope you meant to say woman."

Sandy laughed. "Yes, one is more than enough."

"Have you discussed this move with your wife?"

"Yes, I have. She's not very happy with me, but she said I should take the job. I don't think she'll be flying all the way to Norway for a conjugal visit."

"When you do come, will you stay with me until your house is ready?"

Sandy paused and thought about the implications of her question. "I don't think so. I'll probably get a room at the Viking again."

"That is so very far away." He detected a note of disappointment.

"We can see each other often," he said, "but it wouldn't look right if I moved in with you. The customer's staff and my company's people will be expecting me to live alone. And there's still the matter of personal security. According to those FBI phonies, we're not supposed to be seeing each other."

"Yes, of course. I understand completely. Do you think those men will follow you to Oslo?"

"I don't think so, but I can't be sure. We should still be careful about being seen together in public. I'm going to talk with the customer's security officer when I get there and see if he can help." He was actually thinking about Gunderson.

"Will we ever be out from under this dark cloud of danger?"

"We will," said Sandy. "It will all work out for the best."

"I will not believe it until we are together again."

Chapter Sixteen

Torre Stensrud had been in Finnmark three weeks and was sick of it: the windswept tundra, the bone-chilling cold at night, and the boring petroleum engineers he worked with. He missed Gerd, his steady girlfriend of one year, and eagerly looked forward to an anniversary celebration with her tomorrow night in his Oslo apartment. She had promised to spend the entire weekend with him. He had it all worked out. They would spend their time in bed with occasional breaks for smoking marijuana, eating meals and sleeping.

Torre strode briskly through the crisp night air from his small hotel in Kirkenes, a town next to the Russian border and near the Barents Sea, to the Movenpick Hotel three blocks away. He clutched a bulging briefcase under his arm, his coat collar turned up and a wool balaclava pulled down over his head.

After entering the Movenpick, he headed straight for the bar. A tall burly man about twice Torre's age sat in a corner with a bottle of vodka and two small glasses. He glanced up and waved Torre over to his table. He didn't rise but poured vodka into both glasses. "Drink, my friend, and banish the frigid night air." Then he offered his hand for a shake.

Torre shook his hand, dropped the briefcase, and removed his coat and hat. "Your liquor gives me trouble," he said, "but I would enjoy a beer."

The man waved to a waiter and asked for a beer while Torre sat down. "I brought the computer data, Alexi. It is all in the briefcase with a CD."

Alexi downed one of the vodka drinks and smiled. "Excellent. And your data confirms our most recent telephone discussions?"

"Yes, we have discovered a huge field. I think it will prove larger than the Ekofisk and Statfjord fields combined. Lucky for you that the edges of this field are close to the border. Drilling from your side will be difficult but it can be done."

"My associates believe that nearly horizontal drilling is feasible. Your data will help convince them that our venture can now move forward."

The waiter brought Torre's beer. He took a long pull and toasted the man. "Skål, Alexi."

"Nah zdahrovyeh," he replied. "What about your Statoil colleagues? What did you tell them?"

"I gave them data from another project. It showed the presence of oil but not enough to justify drilling."

Alexi guffawed, his laughter startling an otherwise sedate clientele. "What was their reaction?"

"They were disappointed but not surprised. Their team leader thought we were on a wild goose chase anyway. So they packed up and left yesterday. For me, I have booked a flight out tomorrow. I believe our business is concluded, for now at least. Is that correct?"

"We have only two items to finish up." Alexi reached over to his coat, pulled out a large brown envelope, and handed it to Torre. "Here you are, my friend. Your bonus. In American dollars, as you requested."

Torre peeked inside the envelope and saw thick wads of fifties and hundreds. "Thank you," he murmured. Alexi chugged the other vodka while Torre had another slug of beer. "You said there were two items."

Alexi looked away and flicked his hand back and forth. "A delicate matter involving someone very close to you. Your mother."

"My mother? Why is she any concern of yours?"

"She has met an American engineer, a man who works for an electronics company that has a large contract with NATO. This company will be upgrading your country's military installations with computers and communications."

"I already know this. You should understand that my mother is a romantic old fool. She even traveled to America to spend time with this man but she has since returned to Oslo."

"We know this, too. Now try to see the problem from our point of view. Your mother is a link between you and me on the one side, and between the American and the Norwegian military on the other side. If the Norwegian authorities learn even the smallest piece of information about our venture, it could be disastrous. There is much more at stake here than you realize."

Torre leaned forward. "Do you think I would tell her anything about our project? Do you consider me stupid?"

"Of course not. I trust you completely. But there is always the risk of an accidental leak, some innocent comment, a passing observation."

Torre threw up his hands and edged away from the table. His chair scraping loudly against the floor. "What do you want me to do?"

"Be very careful. Tell her nothing. If she asks about your activities here in Finnmark, lie to her. Do we understand each other?"

Torre looked away. "Yes, I understand."

Alexi rose, put on his coat, and tucked the bottle of vodka into an inside pocket. He grabbed the briefcase, came around to Torre's side of the table, and pulled Torre's blond goatee with his other hand. "Do not lose faith my friend. We have begun a glorious venture with potentially immense rewards for all."

Torre shook his head to break Alexi's grip on his beard, but the man held on.

Alexi leaned over and put his face close to Torre's. "If we fail, my associates will be quite unhappy. I would not be able to guarantee your personal safety. Keep that in mind." Alexi let go and marched out of the bar.

Torre remained at the table and rubbed his smarting chin. You are not a clever man. You should have never promised your mother you would meet the American engineer. If Alexi finds out, serious trouble will find you. Make the meeting short and unproductive, even unpleasant for him. Then he will have no further interest in the company.

Sandy worked long hours over the next ten days, accomplishing all of Norm's assignments. The property management company found suitable tenants for his house, a married couple without children.

On Thursday, the last day of March, an overseas moving company picked up the little bit of furniture he was shipping to Oslo: his bed, his office, a small breakfast table with two chairs and all of his kitchenware. The rest of his furnishings went into the same company's warehouse. On Friday afternoon after work, Sandy drove his SUV to an auto storage facility in Long Beach. A man from the facility dropped him off at his Irvine home.

The next morning, a van picked Sandy up at his house and took him to LAX for a nonstop flight to Minneapolis. He had an anxious moment in the terminal, thinking he had seen the two bogus FBI agents, but they turned out to be innocent look-alikes. Late that afternoon, he boarded a 747 for Oslo. He had only a single vodka tonic before dinner and relaxed completely, the first time he'd been able to do so in the past two weeks.

Nearly nine hours later, as the 747 made its approach to Gardermoen Airport, Sandy saw only low thick clouds for miles in all directions. The plane descended through them, encountered only a few mild bumps, and landed in a light rain.

When Sandy saw Anna Lise waiting for him in the terminal, he forgot to breathe for a few seconds. She wore spike heels and a full-length mink coat, open to reveal her alluring figure in a white cashmere turtleneck and black wool slacks.

She gave him a strong hug and a long passionate kiss. "I thought this moment would never come," she whispered in his ear. She tilted her head and gave him a huge smile. "Are you happy to see me?"

He gave her a lingering kiss accompanied by a firm hug. "Positively, absolutely, yes."

"Did you have a pleasant flight?"

"Yes, I did. Much shorter, too, not having to go through London."

"Let me help you with your luggage," she said.

Sandy had brought two large suitcases, one stacked on top of the other, a garment bag, and a carryon that probably violated a half dozen airline regulations because of its size and weight. They divided his belongings, made their way to the parking lot, and fit everything neatly into the trunk of her Mercedes sedan.

Sandy was impressed by the way she handled the car, moving rapidly along the rain-soaked highway from the airport to downtown Oslo. He thought she would be right at home cruising the Indy brickyard.

She parked beneath the Viking Hotel. They brought Sandy's luggage up the elevator to the lobby where Sandy checked in. "You have one message, Mr. Gilmartin," said the desk clerk, handing him a small envelope.

Sandy opened the envelope and read the message. Gunderson wanted a meeting tomorrow at nine o'clock. No need to call him unless it's a problem.

Anna Lise seemed concerned. "Is anything wrong?"

Sandy returned the message to the envelope and stuffed it into his pocket. "No, just some business matter. I have a meeting tomorrow morning."

Anna Lise sighed. "I hoped we would have some free time before you start working again. Is your new position always going to be this demanding?"

Sandy grinned. "I certainly hope not. Let's take my bags up to the room and relax for a while. I think we need to get reacquainted with each other."

Anna Lise laughed and rolled two pieces of luggage to the elevator. In the room, Sandy unpacked a few items while Anna Lise hung her coat and his clothes from the garment bag in the room's small closet. After brushing his teeth, he fell into bed and beckoned her to lie next to him.

She removed her shoes and lay down, kissing him softly and running her hand through his hair. His hand slipped under her sweater and touched the soft skin of her back. "You look tired, Sandy. Did you get any sleep on the plane?"

"A little, but I usually can't sleep on a packed noisy plane. Besides, I was thinking about you all the time. That kept me from sleeping."

"Why don't you take a nap?"

"Are you leaving me?"

"I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere."

She got up and drew heavy blackout drapes across the windows, plunging the room into almost total darkness. She turned on a floor lamp next to an overstuffed chair while Sandy hung his shirt and trousers in the closet. Anna Lise turned down the covers and Sandy slid under the duvet.

She pulled reading glasses and a paperback from her purse, sat in the overstuffed chair, and opened the book. "You look so beautiful right now," he said, admiring her profile. "Those glasses make you look very sexy."

She laughed. "Thank you, darling. Now go to sleep."

"Come get in bed with me. There's plenty of room for both of us."

She lowered the book to her lap and gave him a stern look. "If I did that, neither one of us would get any rest."

Sandy laughed. "You're no fun." He turned over and was snoring in less than two minutes.

Sandy woke up and, for a few moments, forgot where he was. The room was totally dark but the presence of Anna Lise in bed next to him brought it all back. He rolled to his right, snuggled against her back, and slipped his arm around her waist. He could tell she was sleeping lightly and he was content, for the moment, to enjoy the fragrance of her perfume and the softness of that spot on her neck where women love to be kissed.

She began to wake up. She took his hand and guided it to her bare breasts. Sandy tucked his knees behind hers and felt the swelling of a monumental erection, something he hadn't experienced since the last time they had made love.

Anna Lise rolled to her left and faced Sandy. Simultaneously, both placed an arm around the other and pulled closer. Anna Lise giggled. "It seems we both have the same idea."

"My father once said great minds run in the same channel. He also said that fools think alike."

Underwear flew and the lovers came together again. They kissed and fondled each other, seeking to prolong the physical pleasure for as long as possible.

Still on their sides, Sandy entered her and slowly moved his hips.

"I love having you inside me, Sandy. I have been wanting this for a long time, ever since I left California."

Sandy continued to pleasure her but the passion was too intense and he came quickly. He was delighted when Anna Lise seemed to match his orgasm.

"Sorry to be so fast. It's been a while since the last time."

"Do not apologize. I was ready."

They talked casually for several minutes, cooling off and letting their heartbeats subside. "I've been meaning to ask," said Sandy. "Did you look into my idea of getting a bodyguard?"

"Yes, I did. I hired a man who has experience in these matters."

"You did? Where is he? Is he close by?"

"You might say he is invisible. He watches me when I go out but I never see him. So I do not know exactly where he is right now. Maybe outside of the hotel."

"How do you know he's doing a good job?"

"I thought about that. He calls me every night and reports what happened that day. He knows everywhere I go, what I have done. But I never see him. That is what I mean by his being invisible."

"Did he see the Asian man who was following you?"

"Only once, two days after I saw him in the department store. The bodyguard says he has not been around me since then."

Sandy thought about this for several moments. "Now that I'm in Oslo, are you going to keep this fellow on?"

"Perhaps. It is not expensive."

"It would give me some peace of mind, especially when you're out of the hotel by yourself."

"Then I will do it. Maybe you can meet him sometime." Sandy's stomach made a loud rumble. "Sounds like someone is getting hungry."

"What time is it?" he asked. "I have no idea. Those blackout curtains make it seem like midnight in the black hole of Calcutta."

Anna Lise scooted out of bed. "Never mind the clock. I am treating you to a nice dinner at the Bella Napoli. Only a few blocks from the hotel so we can walk."

Sandy came around to her side of the bed and pulled her into the bathroom. "Let's take a shower first."

Chapter Seventeen

Anna Lise and Sandy held hands during their short walk to the Bella Napoli. Light rain had fallen while the lovers rested, but the sidewalks had dried. Crisp evening air sharpened Sandy's senses.

The restaurant entrance was inside a shopping arcade below street level and not well advertised. Sandy was pleasantly surprised, not only by the restaurant's ambiance, but by its mere existence. He wondered how he could have missed it during his previous trip.

The dining area was a small room, not yet filled because they were early for dinner. The aromas coming from the kitchen were tantalizing. Anna Lise suggested a shared order of deep-fried calamari for an appetizer along with a bottle of the restaurant's best Chianti. The small stocky waiter bustled around their table, bringing bread, olive oil, the wine, and finally the calamari. Sandy and Anna Lise were unusually quiet as they ate.

Sandy was first to speak. "How is your business venture going? Did you ever have a meeting with your colleague?"

Anna Lise looked up from her plate and smiled. "He and his wife returned to Oslo just yesterday from their holiday in Portugal. I believe we shall have our first meeting in a few days. I told him about the documents you gave me and he seems very anxious to get started."

"About those documents," he said.

"Yes?"

"Please treat them discretely."

"I do not understand."

"Make no copies, please. They should only be shown to the people who have a legitimate need to see them."

"I had planned to share them only with my friend. They are really just for background. Enough to draft a credible proposal. You can trust me."

Sandy squeezed her hand. "Thanks."

The waiter took away the empty appetizer plate. He soon returned with their main courses: lasagna for Anna Lise and chicken Parmigiana for Sandy.

"How is your son?" asked Sandy.

"Torre? He is still in Finnmark but should be coming home soon."

"Have you talked with him about our meeting?"

"Yes, last week. He is very eager to meet with you."

"Do you have a date and time for it?"

"Not yet, but I will call him tomorrow. He should be in his office by then. I think your meeting will take place later, perhaps Thursday or Friday."

"The first meeting is preliminary. If it works out, I'll call my boss and he'll send over an expert. A woman who knows all the details about computer security."

Anna Lisa laughed softly. "I think it is very exciting that you and my son will be working together." She paused for a sip of wine. "It is even more interesting that your security expert is a woman. Perhaps I should meet with her."

Sandy laughed sharply. "That's probably not a good idea. She's totally unlike you. I don't think you'd like her very much."

"Do you like her?"

"Me? I can't stand her. But she's very competent; I'll give her that. And if she does come over alone, I may have to escort her while she's here."

Anna Lise smiled and took his hand. "I am beginning to see the light. You are afraid that you will have to spend time with her instead of me. That maybe I will be jealous of her. Am I close?"

Sandy blushed. "How about some dessert and coffee?"

She withdrew her hand and laughed. "I thought so. Coffee and gelato would be nice."

Sandy ordered for them as the waiter cleared the table. "Next week, I should start looking for a place to live," he said.

Anna Lise brightened. "I am happy you mentioned that. I have talked with a good friend who knows real estate around the Kolsaas area. She is ready to help you with your search. Do you have any preferences?"

"I have no idea what's available. But I would like a house rather than an apartment. It doesn't have to be a big place. Two bedrooms would be about right."

Anna Lise looked puzzled. "Two bedrooms?"

"Yes, my daughter. She'll be coming over this summer for a month."

"I would not enjoy hiding from you and your daughter for a month."

"Don't worry. I'll figure out a way to introduce her to you."

Her facial expression showed relief. "It should be an interesting summer."

After the gelato had come and gone, they had cognac and coffee. The conversation turned quiet and intimate as each told the other how special their reunion at the airport was, how enjoyable their tryst in the dark hotel room.

Anna Lise began fidgeting. "Should we say goodnight now, Sandy?"

"I was hoping you'd return to the hotel with me."

"And stay with you tonight?"

"Would you like that?" he asked.

"Is it safe for us to be together?"

Sandy looked around the dining room. "I don't see any suspicious looking people here."

"Then you have not noticed my bodyguard?"

"What? Is he in this room?"

She laughed. "Never mind him. I do want to be with you tonight. I don't want to be alone."

"Then stay with me." He grinned. "I can't promise we'll get much sleep."

Anna Lise giggled and shook her head. "You are a deliciously evil man." She took paper Kroner from her wallet and left them on the table. "I would like to walk some more with you, Sandy, before we turn in. Are you game?"

"I'm proud to be your escort."

Sandy woke up early the next morning. Anna Lise was sleeping soundly when he went down to the coffee shop for breakfast. When he returned, she was just beginning to stir.

Anna Lise ordered breakfast from room service while Sandy showered and shaved. Her food arrived as he was getting dressed in a new pin striped suit.

Sandy bent over the bed and kissed her. "Sorry to leave you, but I have to make some courtesy calls."

Anna Lise got out of bed and gave him a close embrace and a warm kiss. "You will call me later?"

"I'll check in with you this afternoon."

She went over to the table where the waiter had left the breakfast tray. "It all looks so good. Mmmmmm . . . where shall I begin?"

Sandy laughed as he left the room, realizing that food had temporarily taken his place as the object of her affection.

He took a taxi and arrived at Defense Intelligence Headquarters just before nine o'clock. A jovial Willy Gunderson welcomed Sandy. "How about some coffee, Mr. Gilmartin?"

Sandy was taken aback by his warm welcome. Gunderson didn't look as sinister as he did the last time Sandy was here. After a moment, he said, "Yes, black with a small sugar cube, please."

Gunderson's secretary brought coffee as the two men settled into soft red leather chairs, positioned to share a small table away from Willy's desk.

Gunderson spoke first, "You are no doubt wondering why I asked for this meeting. I will tell you. But first, I would like to thank you for being so cooperative with us, maintaining contact with Fru Stensrud and keeping us informed."

"Did I really have a choice?"

Gunderson chuckled. "I suppose Karl and I applied a great deal of pressure. But it was all for the best."

Sandy recalled his beating at the hands of Elliot and Ness. "If you say so," he remarked drily.

"And since you helped us, I would like to return the favor. I have some information to share with you."

"What is it?"

Gunderson shifted in his seat. "This is rather embarrassing, but I am afraid we have been wrong about Fru Stensrud's son."

"What do you mean?"

"It seems he no longer has ties to the terrorists we have been watching."

"How do you know that?"

"I cannot reveal our methods or sources, but I can tell you this. Torre Stensrud is busy with other activities. He spends a great deal of time in the Finnmark region, working with petroleum engineers. Looking for oil and gas."

"His mother told me. Is there anything wrong with that?"

"Did she also tell you he made a trip to China?"

"No, she didn't. I'm not sure she even knows about it."

"It was a brief trip to the city of Shenyang in the northeast part of the country. It happened while Fru Stensrud was visiting you in California. Frankly, we are puzzled why he would travel to such a remote place."

Sandy sat up. "And you think I might know something?" Suddenly something clicked. "I don't know if this means anything, but Anna Lise said she was being watched by a young Asian man after returning to Oslo from America. It frightened her so much that she hired a bodyguard. Do you think there could be some kind of connection?"

"Possibly. But we know about this Asian as well. Our own man who was monitoring Fru Stensrud also noticed his presence. He seems to have vanished. For the moment, at least."

Sandy finished his coffee. "Anna Lise plans to keep the bodyguard on for a while longer. As a precaution."

"Yes, yes. That would be a prudent thing to do."

"Is that it then?" Sandy thought this would be a good exit point.

"I received a long message from Mr. McAfee last week. He mentioned that you will be meeting with Torre Stensrud soon. Discussing computer security for your project."

"Correct. We'll probably get together on Thursday or Friday."

"Please be cautious. We do not have the complete picture on him yet."

"I'll be very careful. The integrity of our company, not to mention the system we build for Norway's command centers, is at stake. We can't afford to take risks."

"Will you keep me informed?" asked Gunderson.

Sandy grinned. "Sounds like a request. Not a demand?"

Gunderson made a crooked smile. "You understand the situation. It is definitely a request."

"Who knows? It may be the start of a beautiful friendship."

Gunderson laughed and squinted at Sandy. "You must be watching too many old movies." Then he shifted gears. "Have you thought about where you might live in the Oslo area?"

"Not really. Anna Lise has a friend in real estate. I'll be checking different places near Kolsaas, hunting for a small house to rent. Meanwhile, my company allows me to stay at the Viking Hotel for up to thirty days while I'm looking."

"I understand you and Fru Stensrud had dinner together last night."

Sandy bristled. "Is there anything you don't know?"

Gunderson chuckled. "Oh yes, many things. Did you happen to discuss her business venture?"

"You know about that, too?"

"Of course. Mr. McAfee wrote me that you gave her a CD and documents concerning our command centers. General installation data where you will provide the computer and communications systems."

"She hasn't got started with it. Her business partner just returned from a vacation. They should be meeting sometime later this week."

"Are you concerned about her having all this information?"

"Yes, I am. But nothing in the data is classified so I don't see much risk. However, just to be on the safe side, I asked her to make sure that only the people who have a real need get to see these documents."

"Thereby excluding her son."

Sandy grinned. "Amazing how well you read my mind."

Gunderson stood, signaling the end of their meeting. They shook hands and Sandy started to leave. Before he got to the door, Willy had a final request. "About Torre's trip to China. That is very sensitive information."

"I understand," replied Sandy. "I won't mention it to anyone."

Chapter Eighteen

Sandy established himself in Norm Riley's office at the AFNORTH Headquarters and made a list of things he needed to accomplish. So far, it included leasing a car, interviewing candidate secretaries, and making visits to potential subcontractors.

The phone rang a few minutes after five. It was Norm. "Good morning," answered Sandy. "I was just about to call you."

"Larry McAfee's here with me. I'm putting you on the speaker phone."

"Hi there, Mr. G. You behaving yourself?"

Sandy was mildly irritated at McAfee's remark. "Haven't been able to get into any trouble yet. Been too busy taking care of company business."

"Have a good trip?" asked Norm.

"A very good trip. Hardly any bad effects from jet lag. And I've managed to get a lot done already."

"Keep talking."

"When I checked in last night at the Viking, I had a message from Willy Gunderson. He wanted a meeting so I dropped by his office this morning."

"That's a surprise," said McAfee. "How did it go?"

"Very well. He wanted to talk about Torre Stensrud. Seems like he's not tied up with terrorists, but he's still under suspicion. Gunderson's people are watching him closely. Anna Lise, too."

"Are you meeting with Stensrud later this week?"

"Yes, probably on Thursday or Friday. I'm expecting a call from Anna Lise, confirming the time and place."

"Have you seen her yet?"

"Yes, we had dinner last evening." Sandy had a sudden image of a soapy Anna Lise in the shower last night.

Norm apparently thought the conversation was getting sidetracked. "How about Captain Orfeldt, Sandy? Have you checked in with him?"

"We had a long lunch at the O-Club. Vigo Franzen was with us. I don't want to brag, but they're delighted I'm here on a permanent basis. Especially Orfeldt."

"Enjoy it while you can. If and when things start going wrong, Orfeldt will be on you like stink on horse turds. Now, what about Hoegberg?"

"I called him this morning but he's out of the office today. I did talk with Lieutenant Torgeson though. I should be able to get over to the AMC soon."

"Sounds good. What else have you got?"

"Not much else. I'll try to get out to Kongsberg Weapon Factory and Norsk Data next week. See how their work is going."

McAfee interrupted with some news. "Got a call from Don Chenault last night. The real FBI guys have a lead on your buddies, Ness and Elliot."

Sandy perked up. "Really? What did they find out?"

"Those guys are professionals. Guns for hire. Blackmail, extortion, breaking and entering. General all-around thuggery."

"So who are they working for?"

"Not sure about that. Chenault says they're keeping their distance, doing some undercover probing. Don't want to scare them off. The two phonies do spend lots of time in Little Saigon and Koreatown."

Sandy let this sink in. "The Asian connection again."

"That's what I was thinking. Probably not an accident."

"Anyway," inserted Norm, "be careful, Sandy, and keep us posted."

That evening, Sandy took a taxi from the Viking Hotel to the SAS. Light snow began falling when he was just a few blocks from his destination.

"Hey, it's early April," he said to the driver. "Spring's around the corner. Not a time for snow."

The driver laughed. "It is never too late for snow in Norway. I have seen ten centimeters covering the ground in the middle of May."

Sandy strode into the SAS lobby with a jubilant gait. He stopped when he saw the familiar face of the gray-haired man, the one who sat next to him in the rooftop lounge the night he met Anna Lise. He was reading a newspaper and trying not to be noticed.

Feeling mischievous, Sandy made eye contact with the gray-haired man. Sandy grinned widely and gave him a wave, the way Dave Lettermen does when greeting his late show audience.

The gray-haired man looked to his left and right, apparently flustered by this unwanted attention. Sandy repeated the smile and wave. The gray-haired man folded his newspaper and stormed out of the lobby into the falling snow.

Sandy whistled while riding the elevator to the twenty-third floor. His mood was contagious; his fellow passengers smiled at him.

Sandy's elation fell several notches when Anna Lise opened her door and gave him a perfunctory kiss. "Come in, Sandy. Please make yourself comfortable. Would you like a drink?"

"Are you all right? Something bothering you?"

"My son. He can be so . . ." She threw up her hands. "But we must not let him spoil our evening. May I take your coat?"

After hanging his coat in the closet, she mixed two drinks. When she handed him a tumbler of whiskey over two ice cubes, he pulled her closer with his free hand and kissed her. "Come sit on the couch with me. Tell me about it."

They sat close to each other and Anna Lise relaxed. "Your meeting with Torre is at five o'clock on Friday."

"Really? Don't think I'm ungrateful, but that's unusual. Nobody in my company would agree to a late Friday meeting. That's prime getaway time."

Anna Lise sipped her Campari and orange juice. "He did not want even that. It was a very unpleasant conversation. Not like him at all."

"I thought he was agreeable to a meeting."

"So did I. None of his excuses made sense. Finally, I reminded him that he had promised to see you. I urged him to find out what you had to say."

Sandy smiled. "And you pressured him. In a motherly sort of way."

"I am sorry he acts like this." She clinked her glass against his. "By Friday he may have a change of heart. Perhaps you will have a successful meeting after all."

Sandy sipped his whiskey. "Let's expect the worst and hope for the best." When she frowned, he added, "That's an old medical expression. Forget it."

Anna Lise rubbed Sandy's knee. "I have forgotten it already."

"Good. And I'm happy that your son and I will finally meet." Sandy thought that Torre was acting strangely, wanting a meeting and then not wanting one. He also wondered about the secretive China trip and his work in Finnmark.

Anna Lise glanced at her watch. "I have already ordered our dinner. It should be arriving soon. Do you mind?"

"I don't mind at all. You know it's snowing outside? It's a good night to stay in and get cozy with you."

She looked into his eyes, an embarrassed expression coming over her face. "Oh Sandy, I have been so forgetful. How was the first day of your new job?"

"It went very well. The customer was happy to see me and I received some good news from my security chief back in Fullerton. The FBI found the two gangsters who beat me up that night."

She smiled. "That is wonderful. Have they been arrested?"

"I'm afraid not. The FBI is watching them closely. They want to find out who they're working for."

A knock on the door interrupted him. "That must be the waiter," she said.

Sandy drained his whiskey. "Good, I'm hungry. I'll tell you about the rest of my day over dinner and you can tell me all about yours."

Alexi Antipovich left his Moscow apartment shortly after six o'clock and drove south. A light snow had begun falling in early afternoon but was now coming down much heavier.

He drove for almost an hour in the fading sunlight to the city's edge, past dairy farms and through dense forests. Just before sunset, he turned onto a gravel road and pulled into the driveway of a small dacha. A long black sedan, covered with a dusting of snow, was parked at the driveway's end.

Alexi entered the dacha's side door without knocking. He saw a middle-aged woman dressed in black trousers and a black leather jacket, sitting on a couch, sipping a steaming liquid from a white cup. She pointed to the rear of the dacha. "Your visitor is waiting in the kitchen."

Alexi smiled. "Good evening, Laryssa. His company is not to your liking?"

"The air is poisoned by his cigar."

Alexi laughed. He stomped his boots to remove snow and mud, then turned and clomped off to the kitchen.

The man sitting at the table looked up and took the cigar from his mouth. "You are late. Sit down and do not waste any more of my time."

Alexi pulled up a wooden chair and sat down across from him. "My apologies, Mr. Huong. The heavy snow delayed my arrival."

"Yes, yes. I'm sure you have no experience driving in such conditions." Huong took a long pull on the cigar and blew a dark smoke cloud into Alexi's face. "What do you have for me?"

Alexi coughed, pushed his chair back, and opened his briefcase. He removed a stack of papers and a CD and handed them across the table.

Huong glanced at the CD, then began studying the papers. Alexi got up and searched for vodka and a glass. He found both and poured himself a large drink. "Would you like some vodka?" he asked.

"I do not care for your poison." He tapped a ceramic mug next to his ashtray. "I am satisfied with my tea."

Alexi took a healthy slug of vodka. He remained standing next to the sink, watching Huong pore over the computer printouts.

"What is this? What am I looking at?" asked Huong.

"Test data, gathered and compiled by our Norwegian colleague. Conclusive proof that there are large deposits of oil under the Finnmark tundra, waiting only for our harvest."

"This doesn't tell me anything," snarled Huong. "I am not a geologist or engineer. How am I supposed to understand this data?"

Alexi grinned. "I could ask you to trust me."

Huong laughed derisively. "I trust no one. I must have proof."

"The proof is there. Take it all with you. Have your own experts review the data. They will reach the same conclusions." Alexi took another drink and raised his glass. "You will have your proof and our venture will finally begin."

"It seems I have little choice." Huong gathered up the papers and CD and stuffed them into a small suitcase. "It will be priority number one." He removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and restored the thick lenses to his face. "Now I would like you to brief me on your plans."

Alexi smiled. "With pleasure." He pulled a map from his briefcase and spread it out on the table, oriented to Huong's advantage. "We shall position oil drilling equipment on our side of the border near Kirkenes. More equipment will be placed in Finland." Alexi pointed to the northern part of Finland next to Norway. "I already have agreements with key men in the Finnish government."

Huong nodded his head. "Good."

"Then we shall employ directional drilling using the latest technology, going almost horizontal, to reach the underground regions of Finnmark."

"How will you move the oil?"

"We will build a pipeline to Murmansk. But not a long one. I estimate about 200 kilometers from the farthest point in Finland."

"Murmansk is your port."

"Precisely. Then we move the oil by tankers through the Barents, the Kara, and finally the Laptev Sea to the port of Bykovsky."

"I see." Huong slapped the table. "Access to the Siberian-China pipeline, of course. But where are you finding these tankers?"

"From a Greek shipping company. They were not built to carry oil, but they can be easily retrofitted to meet our needs. That will cost money."

"Will you buy these ships or lease them?"

"Neither. My Greek associates will lend us the ships but will get a small percentage of the profits."

Huong scowled. "A very small share. For that, they should pay for the retrofitting."

"Leave those details to me. Now, once the oil is in the Chinese pipeline, it will be your responsibility."

"Of course," growled Huong. "I have made arrangements with necessary businessmen and government leaders."

"When I have your approval, I will begin buying equipment and making plans for hiring drillers, engineers, and other workers. There is a ready pool of labor that I can use. Former employees of Yukos. However, all of this activity will require money. A great deal of it."

"You will have it, once the decision is made to proceed."

Alexi rubbed his chin and his stomach growled. "A project like this will require large sums. Once begun, there is no turning back."

Huong raised his voice. "Do not insult my intelligence. I am aware of the risks but the rewards for all will be substantial. We must succeed. The stakes are enormous."

"Da, Da. Where will all this money come from?"

Huong smiled faintly and took a sip of tea. A long silence followed.

Alexi suddenly realized that the bastard actually smiled. He'd never smiled before. "Sorry, I was just curious."

"Let me say this, Alexi Antipovich. Knowing the source of our funds would not be in your best interests. It would seriously jeopardize your health." Huong laughed heartily, then stuck his cigar in his mouth. Alexi went over to the sink and poured himself another glass of vodka.

"One other detail," said Alexi. "This will take some time. Hiring reliable men. Transporting equipment to the drilling sites. We must be cautious and not draw attention to our work."

"Yes, yes. I naturally assumed that you would manage all these activities with great speed, efficiency, security, and at the lowest possible costs."

Alexi took another slug of vodka. "You have my word." And you'll have my balls if I fail.

Huong stood and stretched his arms high above his head. He lifted his small suitcase to the tabletop, placed Alexi's map inside, and locked it. "I have one nagging concern," he said. "Your Norwegian colleague."

"Torre Stensrud?"

"He has performed a valuable service. And paid well. Is that correct?"

"I believe so."

"Is there any reason for him to continue participating in our project?"

Alexi paused to consider his answer. "We might retain him as a consultant. In case problems arise. Why do you ask?"

"We know about his mother and the American engineer. Stensrud is a risk to our venture. He is a weak link. He may have to be eliminated so the Norwegians do not discover what is happening."

"But wouldn't that arouse their suspicions?"

"You are so naive, Alexi Antipovich. We could have him visit China again and arrange for his disappearance. His body would never be found."

Alexi chuckled nervously. "I continually underestimate you, Mr. Huong."

"Please summon my driver. I must be leaving."

Alexi called out to Laryssa and she appeared promptly. Within minutes, she and Huong had left the dacha and were on their way back to Moscow.

Chapter Nineteen

Sandy left Kolsaas just after four o'clock and drove toward Gardermoen Airport for his meeting with Torre Stensrud. He allowed himself plenty of time in case he couldn't find the right place.

The directions he'd received from the company's receptionist proved accurate but the company's facility wasn't well marked. After cruising around an office park, he found a modern two-story office building with a small sign identifying the tenant as Software Solutions.

Inside the lobby, a young woman seated at a desk was staring at a small mirror and applying lipstick. She looked up and said, "Good afternoon. May I help you?"

"I'm Sandy Gilmartin. I have a five o'clock with Mr. Stensrud." A digital wall clock behind her read 4:56.

"He is expecting you." She stood and moved toward a side door. "Please follow me to our conference room."

Sandy took a chair at the long side of an oval-shaped mahogany table.

"Would you like a coffee?" she asked.

"Yes, please. Black. With a sugar cube, please."

Sandy opened his briefcase and pulled out a tablet and several folders. The receptionist returned with his coffee. "Mr. Stensrud will be with you soon."

While Sandy waited, he studied several documents and finished his coffee. He waited some more, taking in the ambiance of the conference room and the view of the practically empty parking lot through large windows. He glanced at his watch and disgustedly noted the time. It was 5:15. He put everything back in his briefcase and started to leave.

Just then, the door opened and a young man sauntered in. Sandy took several seconds to look him over. He wore scuffed tennis shoes, frayed blue jeans, and a light blue sweatshirt with UCLA blazoned across the front in gold letters.

"I am Torre Stensrud. You must be Mr. Gilmartin." Both hands remained firmly tucked into his jeans' pockets.

"I thought our meeting was supposed to be at five o'clock."

"I was on the telephone with another client. Please have a seat."

Sandy returned to his seat and emptied his briefcase again. As Torre sat down across from him, Sandy took another look at his lover's son. His long, reddish blonde hair was gathered into a ponytail and secured with a green rubber band. Torre sported a mustache and goatee of thin blonde hair, several shades lighter than the hair on his head. The silver earring on his right ear was definitely over the top.

Heavy silence filled the room like dense fog until Sandy made a move. "Your building was hard to find. It isn't well marked."

"Our management is very security conscious. We have clients whose business is sensitive. We respect their wishes to remain out of the public eye as much as possible. Does your company have similar policies?"

"We have customers who won't even let us reveal their identities. But all of our facilities are well marked. It's the American way." Sandy smiled but got no response.

"Tell me about your project.," said Torre.

"For security reasons, I can only talk in general terms. But I was under the impression that your mother has already told you something about it."

"She has been quite vague. Any details would have to come from you."

Sandy wondered if he was being clever, pretending not to know anything. "We'll be installing computer and communications equipment in the major NATO command centers at Kolsaas, Holmenkallen, and Reitan. Air stations will get smaller systems. We're just about to start the system design. It's a good time to consider what products or expertise your company can offer our project team."

"What capabilities will these large centers have after receiving your system?"

"I can't talk about that. If our companies sign a contract and nondisclosure agreements, you'll get enough information to do your job."

"It will be difficult for us to cooperate unless we have more information. So we can make a good decision about whether to sign a contract or not."

Torre turned his head away. "Let's talk about multilevel security," said Sandy. "I understand your company has something to offer. A product? Some software people who have this kind of expertise?"

"That is correct. But not in my department."

"Is there anyone I can talk to? Can you invite them into our meeting?"

"The appropriate personnel are not available this afternoon. They have left for a long holiday."

Sandy pushed pack from the table, crossed his legs, leaned back, and contemplated why he had bothered to come. "Could you arrange a meeting with your security experts? How about next week? Or the week after?"

"It may be possible. I will check with them, but they are very busy with current work."

Sandy handed him a business card. "I'll meet with them whenever you can arrange it. My schedule is flexible."

Torre tucked the card into his jeans without looking at it. "Is that all?"

Torre was obviously trying to end the meeting. However, if the two companies were ever to have some kind of business arrangement, Sandy felt he would have to have a better personal relationship with Torre. "Your mother tells me that you've been spending lots of time up north. In the Finnmark Region."

Torre looked away briefly and folded his hands together as if he was going to pray. "Yes, I have been working up there, but it is finished."

"How is it up there? Pretty cold in winter, I'll bet."

"It is barren but not much colder than Oslo."

"She said you were looking for oil and gas."

"I was working with Statoil geologists and engineers. We have application software that processes data from their sensor equipment."

"Did you find anything?"

Torre clenched his fists. "Why do you ask these questions? It has nothing to do with your project."

"Hey, don't get mad. I was just curious. I'm interested in many things. After all, I'll be living here for several years. I may even study your language."

Torre stood up. "My work in Finnmark is over so I won't be going up there again. I have many other things to do here in Oslo."

Sandy stared hard at his face. He's lying!

"Goodbye, Mr. Gilmartin."

Sandy stood and reached across the table for a handshake but withdrew it quickly when he saw it wouldn't be returned. For some reason that he would never be able to explain, he blurted out, "I understand you've also traveled to China. What's going on there?"

Torre almost shouted, "Who told you that? My mother doesn't even know."

Sandy grinned and shrugged his shoulders.

Torre turned and slammed the door as he left the conference room.

Sandy gathered up his papers and tossed them into his briefcase. He muttered to himself, "Guess the meeting's over."

After leaving the building, Sandy sat in his car, thinking about his abortive meeting with Torre Stensrud. He probably shouldn't have mentioned the trip to China, but he sure struck a nerve.

He drove straight to the Viking and sent Norm Riley a long e-mail. Sandy listed several things he'd recently accomplished at Kolsaas but gave a more detailed report on his meeting with Torre Stensrud. He concluded that they might never do any business with Software Solutions. Norm would probably do well to search elsewhere for multilevel security expertise.

It was late. Sandy decided to order a light meal from room service and get some much needed sleep. He wanted to be fresh for tomorrow.

Sandy met Anna Lise in the SAS Lobby the next morning at nine o'clock. Because the room was relatively crowded with strangers, they gave each other a friendly hug without the usual lovers' kiss.

"My friend is not here yet," she said. "Let us sit and talk for a while. I am anxious to hear about your meeting." She led him to a corner couch.

They sat side-by-side but Sandy looked straight ahead when he spoke. "It didn't go very well. He was late coming to the conference room and didn't talk much about his company. Then the security people weren't available. Not too surprising since it was after quitting time. So I tried to steer the conversation to something neutral. His work in Finnmark. But he got defensive and walked out."

Anna Lise put her hand on his. "I am so sorry, Sandy. I should not have pushed him so hard to do this. Please forgive me."

He turned to look at her. "It's not your fault. He could have handled it better than he did. There's no need for you to feel guilty."

"But I had high hopes that you and my son would get along well, in spite of his anti-American political views."

Sandy chuckled. "None of that came up during our meeting. It would have caused a terrible argument. Much worse than what actually happened. Anyway, I don't want him to hurt our relationship."

Anna Lise gave him a wan smile. "I will do my best to see that it does not."

Sandy squeezed her hand. "And I'll do all I can to help."

"You could help by giving me a kiss."

Sandy thought her flirting made her very desirable. He leaned over, slipped his hand around her waist, and pulled her closer. "Do we have time for some privacy up in your suite?"

Anna Lise kissed him and giggled when she spotted someone heading in their direction. "Excuse me, Sandy. Here she is."

Anna Lise broke free from Sandy's embrace. She stood and hugged a well-dressed woman who was tall and thin. Sandy rose and watched them greet each other warmly in Norwegian before Anna Lise introduced her. "Sandy, this is my friend, Inga Sandnes. She will be showing you rental possibilities today."

Inga extended her hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gilmartin. Welcome to Norway. Anna Lise has told me wonderful things about you."

"The pleasure is mine," he said. "I'm excited about looking for a new home."

"I have several excellent properties to show you, all available now." She glanced at Anna Lise and back to Sandy "Are you ready to go? My car is parked next to the hotel's entrance."

"Let's do it," he said.

At Inga's insistence, Sandy sat in the front seat while Anna Lise relaxed in the rear. They drove west, out of the city limits, to the town of Baerum, about midway between Oslo and Kolsaas.

Inga pulled the car into the parking lot of an apartment complex. The single brick building was three stories high and housed six apartments, two on each floor divided by a center stairway. "The one for rent is on the top floor. There is no elevator so we must climb the stairs."

Anna Lise asked, "Is a garage available?"

"Each unit has a single garage. They are together behind the building. When you park your car, you must walk to the back door of the center entrance."

Sandy picked up on this, realizing it could be a bitterly cold walk in the winter from the garage up to a third floor apartment on exposed stairs.

The apartment had a nice view of the Oslofjorden but the inside seemed too small for Sandy. After she closed up the apartment, they again piled into Inga's car and drove in a northwestern direction to the town of Sandvika. Sandy believed they were now much closer to Kolsaas than before.

They pulled into a gravel driveway and parked in front of a one-car garage attached to a single story house. As they got out of the car, Sandy took in the surrounding area. The house was located on a large corner lot with numerous mature trees.

"A nice quiet neighborhood," said Sandy.

Anna Lise pointed at the garage. "After parking your car, you could step right into the house without going outside."

Inga unlocked the front door and showed them throughout the inside. It had three bedrooms, two baths, a living room, and a kitchen with a breakfast nook. She took special pride in the bathrooms. "You can heat the floors in the winter, just by flipping a wall switch."

As they moved about, Sandy began visualizing how his furniture could be placed in each room. His office would fit nicely in the smallest bedroom and from it he would have a good view of the front yard.

After showing them around, Inga asked, "It is a lovely home, yes?"

"I like it a lot," replied Sandy. "Who and where is the owner?"

"He is a career diplomat, currently posted to Greece for at least three years. We can offer you a lease for that period of time."

"Sounds good. How much is the rent?"

"Four hundred and fifteen Kroner per month, plus a nominal damage deposit."

Sandy did some mental arithmetic and figured it was just over 2400 dollars, less than the company had agreed to pay. "Fine, I'll take it."

Anna Lise beamed a huge smile at him and pursed her lips in a mock kiss.

"Excellent choice," said Inga. "I know you will be very happy living here. May I have a deposit today to hold it for you? Say five thousand Kroner?"

Sandy pulled a checkbook from his jacket. "A good thing I got some Euro Checks from the bank. Who shall I make it out to?"

"Sandnes Property Management." After Sandy handed her the check she said, "I will have the lease papers drawn up and ready for you next week. And I will also help you get the electricity, water and telephone services put in your name."

While Sandy and Inga were talking over details, Anna Lise made another complete tour of the house, inspecting the closets, kitchen cabinets, and appliances. When she rejoined them, she had a buoyant look on her face. "This house is very clean and in good condition, Sandy. You made a fine choice."

Sandy told Inga that he wanted to look at the house from the front yard. Anna Lise walked with him to the edge of the bordering street. They stood there for a few minutes, admiring the well tended grounds.

"I'll need help," said Sandy, "moving and getting settled."

Anna Lise put her arm around his waist. "I was hoping you would ask. I will treat it like I would my own home."

As they turned to leave, a passing car slowed down to look at them and then moved on. Anna Lise said, "Sandy, did you see that man?"

"What man?"

"The driver of that car. He was staring at us, like he knew us."

"I didn't notice."

"How could you not notice him? Especially his face. It was frightening."

"We'd best be moving on. Inga's waiting for us."

On the way back to the SAS Hotel, Sandy was preoccupied with this latest incident and spoke little to the women. Gunderson seemed to be everywhere, watching everyone and everything.

Chapter Twenty

Saturday afternoon, Torre Stensrud sat alone at his kitchen table, sipping beer. He had slept poorly the night before and was now in a highly anxious mood. He knew that he'd acted suspiciously with Sandy and deeply regretted ever agreeing to see him at all.

Torre jumped when the phone rang. He'd been expecting the call but was startled because of his jangled nerves. "Hello," he said hoarsely.

"You asked me to call."

"Yes, I did." Though the caller didn't give his name, Torre recognized Alexi's voice immediately. It was one of their private agreements that names would never be mentioned on the phone.

"Your e-mail was rather cryptic. Is something wrong?"

"I met the American engineer yesterday afternoon. In our company's conference room. I did not want this meeting but I was forced into it."

There was a long pause. "What do you mean you were forced into it? When we last saw each other, I thought we understood each other perfectly. Having any contact with this man jeopardizes our project. Please explain."

Torre took a deep breath. "Some time ago, I thought that his company and mine could do business with each other. That we might provide a product or software services for his project. I could get more information on the automated systems being provided to NATO and Norway's bases. Anything obtained I would turn over to you. For the benefit of our own project."

"I can see the advantages but I never asked you to do that. We agreed there are huge risks for you to have any contact with him."

"I understand," said Torre. "That is why I wanted to cancel the meeting. But it was too late. I had to go through with it."

"Tell me what happened."

"I arranged the meeting for five o'clock when none of our technical personnel would be available. I was very rude to him and told him little. I answered none of his questions. He left disappointed with me and my company. We will surely not have any more meetings." Torre started to feel better, being able to cast the results in a positive light.

"What kind of questions did he ask?"

Torre felt nervous again. "He asked about my work in Finnmark. Apparently, my mother told him something about it."

"That doesn't seem out of line. What did you tell him?"

"I told him how harsh the climate was. How boring was the job. I also told him we were not successful. My work up there was finished."

"Did he believe you?"

"I am certain he did."

Alexi chuckled softly. "I am pleased that you have come forward with this. Perhaps we can put it behind us and move on." Torre began to relax.

"Unfortunately, there is one more thing to tell. At the very end of our meeting, he asked about my trip to China. How he knew — "

Alexi interrupted, "What did you say to him?"

"Nothing. I just left the room."

"Did you ever tell your mother about that trip?"

"Never. I told her I went to the Middle East. I told no one about China."

Another long pause followed. "This is most disturbing," said Alexi. "The fact that he would even ask such a question indicates a breach of security somewhere."

"What should I do?" pleaded Torre.

"Nothing. Talk to nobody about this. I will call you in a few days."

The line went dead. Torre replaced the handset in the telephone cradle and noticed it was moist with sweat.

After their lunch, Inga, Sandy and Anna Lise each went in separate directions. Anna Lise was meeting her business partner while Sandy had some personal matters to take care of. Sandy promised to pick up Anna Lise later in the day for drinks and dinner.

Sandy went directly to his hotel room and phoned Gunderson. Willy answered after two rings.

"Mr. Gunderson? Sandy Gilmartin calling."

"I thought I might be hearing from you." Sandy detected a jovial tone in Gunderson's voice.

"That was you, driving by us in Sandvika."

"I did pass you earlier today. You and a woman were standing in a front yard next to the road. The Stensrud woman, I presume. She is very pretty."

"Is there a problem? Are you following her? Or me?"

"The home you were looking at. I know the owner, a fine fellow. I hear it is for rent. Is that true?"

"You didn't answer my question."

"It is a beautiful home, not very old. The neighborhood is quiet and your drive to Kolsaas would be convenient."

"What's going on here, Mr. Gunderson?"

Willy laughed. "It was an innocent coincidence. I live up the street near that house. If you rent it, we shall be neighbors."

Sandy felt a bit foolish but decided to play along. "I think you enjoy tormenting me. So if I do rent that house, would you object to me throwing a wild California-type party once in a while?"

"Not in the least. Providing you invite me, of course."

Sandy tried to picture Gunderson with a drink in his hand, dancing alone to an American rock-and-roll number, but the image wouldn't come.

Sandy chuckled. "I have already decided to rent that house. And yes, that was Mrs. Stensrud standing next to me. She's going to help me decorate. I should be able to move in soon, right after my furniture arrives."

"You've made a good decision."

Sandy paused. "Now that that's out of the way, I've a confession to make."

"I'm listening."

"I finally had that meeting with Torre Stensrud. Yesterday afternoon."

"Was it productive?"

"Far from it. In fact, it was a disaster. He was uncooperative and practically hostile toward me."

"Then why did he agree to see you?"

"A while back he was going to meet me. Then he changed his mind. Why, I don't know. But his mother made him keep his promise."

"That is most curious," said Gunderson. "Not a way to conduct business."

"The entire incident made no sense at all. He was evasive and I'm sure he was lying when I asked him a few simple questions. I don't understand that guy."

"Is that what you wanted to confess?"

"No." Sandy paused to clear his throat. "I asked about his work up in Finnmark. He flew off the handle and resented me even asking. Got very defensive." He paused to catch his breath. "He was getting ready to leave and I was furious by then. That's when I made my mistake. I asked about his trip to China." Sandy moved the handset away from his ear, expecting Gunderson to explode with anger, but there was only silence. "Are you there?"

Gunderson made a low rumbling sound. "Yes, yes, I am here. What was his reaction?"

"He turned a couple of shades of purple and stormed out of the conference room. Slammed the door."

"Why did you bring up his China trip when I asked you not to?"

"I'm sorry, but it just came out. He really pissed me off. I guess I just wanted to get back at him some way."

"Well, it is done. The cat is out of the sack, as you Americans say."

"I'm very sorry," pleaded Sandy. "I hope it doesn't cause you any problems."

"Do you expect to have any further contact with him?"

"No way. I'll avoid him. He'll avoid me."

"Then try to forget about this unpleasantness. Let us watch and see what happens. And call me if you receive any further information."

After the call, Sandy was puzzled. The call went a lot smoother than he expected. Gunderson didn't seem to be very upset at all. Not like he should have been. Sandy wondered why didn't he chew him out.

Sandy napped for almost an hour. He awoke feeling stale and thought he'd first take a shower before leaving the hotel again. On a sudden impulse, he decided to check his e-mail. He was surprised to hear from Cheryl.

Dear Sandy,

Thanks for your e-mail. I was happy to hear you'd arrived safely in Oslo after a pleasant trip. So you're back at the Viking again? Have you started looking for a place to live? Is the new job everything you expected and hoped for?

I need your advice about something. There's something peculiar going on in my office. The other day I happened to overhear two men talking. It sounded very fishy. One of the guys is a department manager and the other one is an associate broker, one of our biggest revenue producers. It sounded like they're involved in some kind of scam, ripping off well-heeled clients and splitting the money.

Now here's the weird part. These men made no effort to hide their talking, like maybe they were thinking I wouldn't catch on because I'm a woman. Is that incredibly stupid or what? (Please - no cracks about paranoia or feminism!)

Anyway, I don't think I can just stand aside and watch our clients being cheated. I'm thinking of having a private talk with my boss, but I could lose my job in the process. Whistle blowers or snitches are never very popular, are they? Besides, I'm the new kid on the block here and my boss could be a long time buddy with these two sleaze balls. Then it would be the word of 3 men against 1 newly hired woman.

Any ideas or suggestions would be much appreciated.

Love you, Cheryl

Sandy read her message three times. He thought about her predicament some more while taking his shower. After drying off and getting partially dressed, he sat down at his computer and wrote a reply:

Hi Cheryl,

That's a sticky and tricky situation you described. My first bit of advice is to keep your eyes and ears open and maintain a LOW profile. Try to gather as much information as possible on what these two men might be doing without exposing yourself.

Does your company have any channels or procedures for dealing with stuff like this? Maybe an ombudsman? How about your HR people?

One thing I think you should do right away is consult an attorney. One who deals in matters like these. A firm that is also independent of the legal beagles who work for your company. Everything you tell them will be protected by attorney-client privilege. You might ask them about contacting the FBI or the SEC.

I guess the bottom line is to do right and protect yourself at the same time. You shouldn't suffer for doing the correct moral and ethical thing. You've worked damned hard to get where you are now. I'd sure hate to see you lose that.

Please let me know how this goes. If I can come up with any more ideas, I'll pass them along.

Love, Sandy

P. S. I found a nice house to rent in Sandvika, a town near my office. I'll sign the lease next week and move in after my furniture gets here. I'll let you know the address and phone number.

Sandy sent the e-mail. While his computer was logged in, another e-mail appeared in his IN box. It was a short one from Julie, sent from Gail's home computer. She seemed pleased with herself at being able to send her father a message half way around the world. She asked how Sandy was adapting to living permanently in Norway and clearly expected a long and prompt reply.

Sandy glanced at his watch. He thought it was wonderful to receive an e-mail from his daughter but he was running late. He had to finish getting dressed and dash off to pick up Anna Lise. He promised himself that he would write Julie a long response later.

Chapter Twenty-One

While Sandy and Anna Lise were having drinks in the SAS Hotel's rooftop lounge, another scene was unfolding in the Moscow apartment of Alexi Antipovich. He'd been upset ever since his talk with Torre Stensrud and was now wracking his brain, trying to figure out how to break the distasteful news to Huong.

He had a bowl of soup and a chunk of rye bread for dinner, washed down with a great deal of vodka. He tried to nap but his brain wouldn't shut down, continually thinking of how his potential fortune was slipping away. He tried watching TV but found nothing of that could take his mind off the latest problem. Finally, after much agonizing and more vodka, he decided to call Huong and take the tongue-lashing that would surely be delivered. It was midnight in Moscow and six o'clock the next morning where Huong lived.

Huong answered the phone with a grunt.

"Good morning," said Alexi. "I hope I didn't wake you."

Huong recognized his voice. "I've been awake for some time. What do you want?"

"I had a conversation with our Norwegian colleague this afternoon. He was quite agitated. Business is not going well for him."

"Why is that?"

"He had a meeting Friday afternoon with the American engineer."

"I am aware of that. Please continue."

"You know about their meeting? How?"

"Never mind. What did they talk about?"

Alexi paused, then plunged into a report of their discussions concerning computer security for the NATO project.

"That does not sound unusual," said Huong.

"The American asked about his work up north. Our colleague said his work was finished. His project was not successful."

"Good. Is that all?"

"I'm afraid not. The American asked about his trip to the Far East." Alexi waited for the eruption but it didn't come.

After a long pause, Huong spoke in a restrained but clearly angry voice. "What was his answer? But more to the point, how did the American know to ask such a thing?"

"I can't answer your second question, but our colleague didn't answer the first one. He left the meeting without speaking further."

"This American is not stupid. He will now think that something is not right. I am more concerned about what the American knows about our business venture than I am about this idiot we are dealing with. I am also worried about how such information found its way to the American. There is obviously a weak point in our security. It must be found and corrected."

"I agree," said Alexis. "What can I do to help?"

"I think you should arrange for our colleague to make another trip to the Far East and very soon."

Alexi allowed himself to relax. "As we discussed in our last meeting."

"Precisely. Tell him our experts have examined his data and have many questions only he can answer. They need his help interpreting certain test results."

"That sounds like a good excuse."

Huong grew angry again. "It is not an excuse. It happens to be true. And after that is finished...."

"I understand. I shall arrange it and let you know when to expect his arrival."

"Make his travel arrangements for a round trip. A one-way ticket would arouse suspicions."

"Of course. But I am equally concerned about the American. What can we do about him? I think he needs to be discouraged."

"Leave that to me," said Huong. "He will receive another message from us. I will contact my man in Oslo immediately after this call."

Alexi heard an ominous laugh before the line went dead. He sat quietly next to the phone for several minutes, reflecting on his conversation with Huong. He rose, put on a light jacket, and went outside for some fresh air.

Alexi smoked a cigarette as he made his way through dark and deserted streets. It was cool and he smelled rain in the air. He wondered if the Norwegians still believed Torre was connected to that gang of terrorists. He thought it was a colossal mistake, recruiting him away from that group. Huong was right. This was a serious matter. They, whoever they are, must be stopped.

On Sunday morning, Sandy awoke and rolled to his right. Anna Lise seemed to be sleeping. Last night, they had walked to the Viking Hotel from the Bella Napoli and had made love before falling asleep.

Anna Lise stirred and Sandy slid over to cuddle up with her. "Hey there, sunshine," he said. "Time to rise and shine."

She opened one eye and kissed him. "Why do you have this need to get up so early? It is nice just lying here with you. No demands, no schedules."

"But the day's getting away from us. Things to do, people to see."

She raised her head and shoulders. "And you are a crazy man."

Sandy laughed. "I'm happy. And crazy about you, that's all."

Anna Lise got up and went into the bathroom. Sandy admired her naked body from the back and then from the front when she returned. "I need coffee and I am hungry," she said. "Let us have a meal here in bed. Surely we have time for that, no?"

Sandy laughed again. "Sure we do." He called room service and ordered two large breakfasts plus newspapers, one Norwegian and the other in English.

They spent the next three hours together, mostly in bed, initially devouring their meals. Sandy read almost every page of The Sunday Telegraph from London while Anna Lise was totally engrossed in the Aftenposten.

As noon approached, Anna Lise decided to leave. "I am going back to my hotel, freshen up, and get ready for our day. What shall we do?"

"There's a new movie opening downtown. Let's see it and have dinner after. Anything in particular you'd like to do?"

"You know, there is something. I would like to drive out to Sandvika and see your house again."

"Really? OK, we'll do that. I'll pick you up in a couple of hours."

She dressed and kissed him goodbye. "I will take a taxi. Will you call me before coming over?"

"I will." He gave her a strong hug and a long kiss before she left.

Sandy took a quick shower, shaved, and dressed. He sat at his computer and began typing an e-mail to Julie but was interrupted by the telephone. It was Anna Lise and she sounded almost hysterical.

"Slow down, I can't understand you. What's wrong?"

"My suite," she wailed, "it is ruined. Everything is torn and scattered. Cushions slashed, things pulled from drawers and thrown about." She lapsed into Norwegian and cried some more. "When I got here and opened the door, I could not believe what I saw. I have been robbed, I know. Who would do such a terrible thing?" She paused to catch her breath, allowing Sandy to finally speak.

"Where are you calling from? Are you in your suite?"

"Oh no, I was afraid. I turned and ran down the hallway. Someone may still be in my rooms."

"Are you still in the hotel?"

"Yes, I am calling from a friend's room. On the same floor."

"Have you called the police?"

"No, only you. What should I do, Sandy? I am so frightened. Can you come over here now? Please, I need you."

"I'll be right over. In the meantime, call the police. And hotel security, too. What room are you in?"

"2315, down the hall from my suite. Hurry, please."

"I'm on the way. And don't go back to your place without the police."

Sandy shut down his computer, put on his coat, and took an elevator to the hotel's underground parking area. He halted abruptly when he got to within several paces of his car. Both tires on the driver's side were flat. He circled the car and discovered the two tires on the passenger side were also flat. All four tires had been slashed.

Sandy raced up the stairway to the lobby, found a phone on the concierge's desk, and called room 2315 at the SAS Hotel. An elderly woman told him that Anna Lise had gone back to her suite.

Sandy called her suite. After many rings, a man answered. "Hello?"

"This is Sandy Gilmartin. I'm calling for Mrs. Stensrud."

"One moment, please."

Anna Lise eventually came on. "Sandy, where are you?"

"I'm still at the Viking. Who was that man?"

"He is the security officer for the hotel. Are you coming?"

"I am, but there's a problem with my car. I'll grab a taxi and be there as soon as I can." He hung up abruptly and hoped Anna Lise wouldn't be too angry. He would explain it all to her later. Telling her about the tires now would only make matters worse.

The concierge had been looking at Sandy during his call. She had evidently detected that something was wrong. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"As a matter of fact," he said, "there is. All the tires on my car have been cut. Could you notify the police for me? And your security person? I'll meet them in the basement next to my car."

"That is terrible. Are you a guest in our hotel?"

"Yeah, Gilmartin. Room 711."

"I'll notify them immediately, Mr. Gilmartin."

Sandy went back down to his car and pulled some papers from the glove compartment. He folded a copy of the leasing agreement, stuck it in his pocket, and made a mental note to call the leasing company. They should be able to replace the tires right away.

He paced up and down the concrete parking deck, partly to keep warm but also to get his brain activated and thinking about these latest events. Was this another message from the Norwegian branch of The Untouchables? They obviously don't want us being together. But what triggered this latest attack? His session with Gunderson? Anna Lise's security business? His meeting with Torre Stensrud?

The police arrived a few minutes later, followed by the Viking's security chief. They inspected the damage and took notes. All the while, Sandy acted indignant and innocent, as though he didn't have any idea why someone would commit such an awful crime.

One of the police officers gave Sandy his business card and told him an official report for his insurance company would be available in about five business days. Everyone seemed to realize there were no clues left behind about the vandals' identity. Sandy suspected there would be no further efforts on the part of the police to apprehend the criminals.

After they left, Sandy locked the car. He went outside to a nearby taxi stand and took a cab to the SAS Hotel. When he came out of the elevator on the twenty-third floor, he noticed an elderly couple standing at the entrance to Anna Lise's suite, peering through the open door.

"Excuse me," Sandy said. "I'm a friend of Mrs. Stensrud."

The old man shook his head but the woman, obviously disturbed by the commotion, wanted to vent her feelings. "I cannot understand how something like this could happen. We have a right to feel safe in our beds. Do we have to buy a gun to protect ourselves? The hotel must do a better job with security."

"I'm sure this incident will get their attention," said Sandy as he passed through the door. He stopped after taking a few steps to survey the damage. It seemed worse than Anna Lise had described. A tornado couldn't have caused a bigger mess. He picked up a gold sofa cushion and noticed a gash in its side. It could have been done with the same knife used on his tires.

Sandy wondered if Anna Lise was in the suite. "Hello?" he called out. "Anybody here?"

She came running from the bedroom, flew into Sandy's arms, and almost knocked him over. "Thank god, you're here. What took you so long? You said something about a car problem."

"I'll tell you later. You didn't come down here alone, I hope?"

She hugged him tightly, not wanting to let go. "The police and security officer are in the bedroom, looking over all the damage."

"Have they found anything?"

"They asked if anything was missing. It looks like a burglary to them."

"Can you tell if anything was taken?"

"It is very strange. I have several pieces of valuable jewelry but they are still here. I do not keep much money, but what I have is where I always put it."

"Then it wasn't a robbery."

Anna Lise broke from his embrace and took his hand. "Come with me. I want to show you something."

They went into the bedroom. All her dresser drawers had been pulled out, their contents dumped on the floor. One of the policemen was in the closet. The other policeman and the security officer had moved on to her bathroom.

Anna Lise pointed at her bed. The covers had been pulled back and a dark thick liquid had been poured all over the white sheets. Sandy went over, put two fingers in the goo and brought them up to his nose. "Smells like oil. Motor oil, like the kind you put in your car."

"That is what the policeman said. The bed linen and mattress are ruined. I will have to replace everything."

Sandy thought about the first time he'd slept with her in this bed. Who would have thought that their meeting would lead to something like this?

Sandy and Anna Lise drifted back to the living room. The policemen and the security officer soon joined them. One of the policemen gave her a business card. "Do you have insurance for this, Mrs. Stensrud?"

"I must call my agent in the morning and report it. He will want to see the damage for himself."

"Tell him to contact me," said the policeman. "I will provide him with a copy of my report."

After the police left, the security officer shook hands with Anna Lise. "I will meet with the manager on duty immediately and give him a complete report. I am sure he will want to have all your furniture replaced as soon as possible. After all, it is the property of the hotel so it is only fair that we should do this for you. We have our own insurance for such matters."

"That is very kind," she said.

"And you need not be here," he continued, waving his hand about. "I will personally see to it that all this is straightened up."

After the security officer left, Anna Lise collapsed on a chair that still had a cushion. Sandy knelt beside her and took her hand. "Are you OK?"

She turned toward him and smiled faintly. "Not entirely, but give me some time. I am still very frightened, Sandy. Of course I cannot stay here."

"You can stay with me for as long as you like."

She pulled his head closer and kissed him. "Thank you. Let me pack a small suitcase and then we can go. I will not be long."

While Anna Lise was in the bedroom packing, Sandy moved about her suite inspecting the shambles. He took a few minutes to examine the door to her suite. He couldn't find any damage to the doorknob or the locks; the vandals were professionals.

He closed the door and had a sudden thought. It was kind of ironic. These people are trying to drive us apart. Only they're just making us get closer. At least for the next day or two.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Sandy and Anna Lise left the hotel, she in the lead while he followed, pulling a large black suitcase on wheels. The jovial cab driver at the taxi stand got out and opened the trunk. "To the airport?" he asked.

"No," replied Sandy. "The Viking Hotel."

The driver tossed Anna Lise's bag into the trunk and got back in his cab. His scowl betrayed serious disappointment in getting a short trip instead of the longer and more expensive drive to Gardermoen.

Sandy took charge of Anna Lise's luggage when they arrived at the Viking. As they entered the elevator, Sandy noticed the concierge, previously seated at her desk, standing to get a better look at the woman he was moving into his room. He wondered if she would call security. He hoped she did call security.

Once in his room, Sandy sensed Anna Lise's unhappiness and gave her a big hug. They stood silently for several moments, enjoying the loving security of each other's body.

Anna Lise kissed him and broke free. "I would like a bath now, a long hot soak. And then some clean clothes."

"Good idea. Take as long as you want. I've got some phone calls to make."

When he was satisfied that Anna Lise was fully enveloped by bath oil bubbles, Sandy called Willy Gunderson's home. He answered after two rings.

"Sorry to bother you at home, Mr. Gunderson, but it's important."

Gunderson recognized Sandy's voice. "You sound troubled, Mr. Gilmartin. What's wrong?"

Sandy told him about his tires being slashed, the ransacking of Anna Lise's suite, and his conversations with the Oslo police at the Viking and SAS Hotels. He emphasized that nothing had been stolen in either act of vandalism.

Gunderson listened to Sandy's report and made only a few grunting noises. At the end, he said, "It has been a terrible day for you and Fru Stensrud."

"Have you heard anything about all this?"

"Oh no, it would not come to my attention until much later. And maybe not even then. But I will contact the police and ask for copies of their reports."

"Mrs. Stensrud and I are very concerned about our personal safety. The people behind these attacks may not be satisfied with just damaging our property. Next time, they might come after us with guns or knives. I think you should give us some protection. Physical safety in and around Oslo."

"I share your concern, Mr. Gilmartin, but I don't have assets of that kind. Physical protection is a matter for the police. You must talk to them."

"But they don't understand the situation like you do. You know all the background, the history."

"What about that bodyguard?" said Gunderson. "You once told me that Fru Stensrud had hired one."

"She still has him, I think. He sure wasn't very effective today."

"Perhaps not, but he can still provide some physical security. Backing up the Oslo police." Gunderson cleared his throat. "Do you have any ideas about who may have done this damage?"

"Are you kidding? I think it's pretty obvious."

"Is it now?"

"Sure. The people who don't want Mrs. Stensrud and me together. The people who hired the phony FBI agents in California to beat me up. And don't forget Torre Stensrud and his trip to China. Oh yeah, that Asian man who was keeping tabs on her. He must tie into this mess some way. I just can't put it all together right now. I need help. That's why I'm talking to you."

"What you are saying is very relevant, Mr. Gilmartin. I am not ruling anything out but I do have some questions."

"Like what?"

"Your wife. She is living and working in San Francisco. Does she know about your relationship with Fru Stensrud?"

"Yes."

"And she approves?"

"Hell no. But I told her all about you getting me into this deal. Having to maintain contact with Mrs. Stensrud. Trying to find out what her son was doing. She was OK about me moving to Norway and working here."

"Is your wife a jealous woman, Mr. Gilmartin? Vindictive?"

"You think she's behind these incidents?"

"It is just another option to consider."

Sandy was pissed. "It's possible, but she would have given me a pretty strong warning before doing something this drastic."

Gunderson continued in his best avuncular tone. "It would seem that there is an obvious short term solution to your predicament. Consider putting some distance between you and Fru Stensrud."

"I was afraid you'd say that."

"It may be unpleasant, but would be one way to guarantee your personal safety. Without dragging uniformed policemen into your lives."

Sandy sighed. "I see your point."

"Please give it some serious thought. That is all I am asking."

"I'll do that," said Sandy.

"Good. Thank you for calling. I will notify you if anything new occurs."

Sandy said good-bye, hung up the phone, and stretched. He heard water draining from the bathtub and figured Anna Lise was drying off. He glanced at his watch and did some mental arithmetic. It was too early to call California. He would phone the rental car outfit next. And he needed to finish that e-mail to Julie.

He was about to make the call when Anna Lise came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a large bath towel. She rushed across the room and began rooting around in her suitcase.

Sandy looked her over. "You don't have to dress up for me. What you're wearing looks just fine."

She found a bathrobe and held it up. "This will be more comfortable." As she walked into the bathroom, she added, "And warmer than only a towel."

Sandy laughed. He pulled the leasing agreement from his pocket and dialed the car rental company. "This is Sandy Gilmartin calling. I leased a car from you last week and now I have a problem with it."

"One moment, please." After several seconds, the woman continued, "I have it on my screen now. Is the car not running well?"

"The car works fine. Unfortunately, someone slashed all four tires."

"What? The tires have been cut?"

"That's right. While it was parked in the basement here at the Viking. I called the police about noon today and they came right over."

"Do you have a name and telephone? I'd like to make a note."

"Yes, it's Officer Trigstad." Sandy gave her the number from the policeman's card. "So I'll need four new tires. When can you replace them?"

"Just a moment, Mr. Gilmartin." The woman put Sandy on hold and came back shortly. "We do not have any replacements available until tomorrow. But we can provide you with another car today. It would be a different model than you have now, but I think you will be pleased."

"Fine, let's do it that way."

"We will deliver it to you at the Viking. Our driver will call you when he arrives. Within the next two hours, I estimate. Will you be there?"

"I'll be waiting. Thanks much for your help."

After hanging up, he started to feel better. He would be able to get to work tomorrow morning. And with a different car, the slashing vandals might have a harder time keeping tabs on him.

Sandy glanced at his watch. It was time for his coworkers in California to be up and about. He dialed Norm Riley's home number and tapped his fingers on the desk as he waited for an answer. The answer machine came on after five rings. Sandy hung up, thinking Norm must unplug the phone at night.

Next he tried McAfee. Larry answered quickly with a muffled sound.

"Good morning, Larry. Greetings from tropical Norway."

"Huh? What the hell! Do you know what time it is?"

"I don't care. I've got news."

"This better be good," McAfee grumbled.

"It's better than good. It's off the page." Sandy gave him condensed reports about his slashed tires and Anna Lise's ransacked suite.

"You called the police?"

"In both cases," said Sandy. "They'll go through the motions, writing up their reports. I don't expect them to catch the guys who did it."

"No clues, eh?"

"Right. They were pros. The leasing company is giving me another car and the SAS Hotel is replacing all of Anna Lise's furniture."

"Did they take anything? It might have been a burglary."

"Nothing was stolen. This was another message."

McAfee paused. "Maybe you should call Gunderson."

"I did. He wasn't much help, but he came up with an angle I hadn't thought of. That Cheryl put out some kind of contract on us. The jealous wife routine."

"Would she do anything like that?"

"I don't think so, but you never know. Anyway, the reason for my call is Julie, my daughter. I tried calling Norm Riley just now but couldn't get him."

"You think she's in danger?"

"I'm sure of it. These people have seen her with me and I'm certain they know where she lives. You once said that Norm would provide for her security. An inducement for me taking this job here in Oslo. You need to follow through on it. I want you to call Norm. Make it happen."

"OK, I'll do that. But you were also worried about whether her mother would go along with it."

"She doesn't have much choice. Let me deal with her. She'll understand."

Sandy heard a clicking sound. "Hold on, Sandy. I've got another call coming in." The line went quiet for almost a minute. "I'm back. That was Chenault. Can I call you back? Where are you calling from?"

"The Viking. Room 711."

"Call you back right away." McAfee hung up.

As if on cue, Anna Lise came out of the bathroom wearing her robe. She had brushed her hair and put on makeup. "You look beautiful," said Sandy. "Just like a new woman."

She propped up the bed pillows and sat down. She patted the mattress and said, "Come over and keep me company."

He fell into bed beside her. "How could I refuse such a kind invitation?"

They kissed and he put his head on her chest. "Did you make all your telephone calls?" she asked.

"Almost. I'm waiting for a call back from my company's security chief."

"How about your car? Will they fix the tires?"

"Better than that. They're giving me a new car. It should be delivered here in a couple of hours."

"I know it has been a bad day, but I would still like to make a drive. If you are willing, of course."

"We can do that," said Sandy. "But we have to be very careful. I think we're in greater danger now than ever before."

"I understand. We can go out later when it is dark. Perhaps we can wear disguises. Make believe it is Halloween."

Sandy was not amused but decided to play along. "I could dress up like a devil or a ghost. Maybe Spiderman. What about you?"

"I would like to be Elvira, that woman on your California TV. I would need a wig with long black hair and a long black dress, cut down the middle."

Sandy thought about it and tried to visualize her as Elvira. "Hmmm, yes. Very sexy, my friend."

The telephone rang before they could get any cozier.

"Are you sitting down, Sandy?" It was McAfee.

"Am I about to get some more bad news?"

"I'm not sure whether it's good or bad. Depends."

"Then what the hell is it?"

"That call from Chenault. Wanted to let me know that one of your buddies turned up. Very dead."

"Excuse me?"

"Those phony FBI agents who roughed you up? It was the short fat guy. The one you called Elliot."

Sandy's brain raced and he forgot to breathe for a moment. "I don't understand any of this. What else did Chenault tell you?"

"The guy's real name was Ellis Hoover. They found him in a Koreatown alley, a wad of counterfeit hundred dollar bills tucked in his jacket. Took a bullet through the back of the head. Execution style, very professional job. They ID'd him by his fingerprints."

"Why? Why would somebody do that?"

"Chenault says they're still trying to figure out a motive. They're also looking for his partner but it's a long shot. He's either gone under deep cover or left the country. Don't know which at this point."

"How does this affect me? I can't even think clearly right now."

"A good question," said McAfee. "I don't have an answer."

Sandy paused to catch his breath. He glanced over at Anna Lise but she was intently reading a magazine. "Maybe Gunderson should know about this."

"My thinking exactly. I'll give him a call."

"Let me know if you hear anything, OK?"

"For sure," said McAfee. "Take care, Sandy. Watch your six o'clock."

Chapter Twenty-Three

Sandy stared at the phone for a time after hanging up. He rose, edged over to the window and gazed absently at the street traffic below.

Anna Lise looked up from her magazine. "Is something wrong?"

He turned to look at her and sighed. "Oh, just the usual garbage."

"Your telephone call. More bad news?"

"I'll tell you about it over dinner." He glanced at his watch. "It's almost dark. Why don't you get changed? We'll go when the car gets here."

She went into the closet. "I will not be long."

While she was getting dressed, Sandy turned on his computer and finished his e-mail to Julie. He made sure the tone of his message was upbeat.

The driver from the rental car company called. He had parked the replacement car in the garage and asked to meet Sandy at his damaged auto. He and Anna Lise went to the hotel's basement. When Sandy saw the car, a sleek, turbocharged silver blue Porsche, he had misgivings. Too much car, he thought, too easy to spot. He should have gone to the rental company and picked out something less noticeable; an older, black Toyota with a few scratches would have worked.

Sandy received the keys from the driver and signed a new leasing agreement. He asked the driver, "Do you need a ride back to your office?"

"It is not necessary. Someone from the company will come soon."

As they headed west out of the city, Anna Lise finally broke the heavy silence. "Where are we going?"

"To Sandvika. My future home. To make sure it's still standing."

Anna Lise smiled and squeezed his hand. "I was hoping we could look at it again. After today's events, the house will make us safer."

Sandy glanced at her. He felt uncomfortable with her use of the word 'us' but didn't say anything.

They parked in the driveway and walked around the grounds. The cool night air was still and there was no traffic on the bordering streets. "It is so peaceful out here," she said. "Not like the city."

"That it is. Doesn't look like the bad guys have been nosing around."

Anna Lise stopped suddenly and faced him. "Do you realize we have not had any food since breakfast?"

"You're absolutely right. Now I know what those signals are that my stomach has been sending me. Where can we go?"

"I know a small restaurant. It is out of the way so we should not attract much attention."

"Good idea," he said. "We've had enough excitement for one day."

Anna Lise guided him to a small inn near the Holmenkallen ski jump. It was almost eight o'clock by the time they were seated at a table in a dark corner of the quaint restaurant. Sandy felt relieved, certain they had not been followed. The few diners in the restaurant looked like locals out for an evening meal.

Sandy and Anna Lise each had vegetable soup for a first course along with chunks of hot bread. After the waitress took away their bowls, Anna Lise reminded Sandy of his earlier pledge. "Tell me about your telephone call."

Sandy took her hand. "It was McAfee, my security chief. He had just talked to his FBI contact. They've been watching those two guys who beat me up that night in Newport Beach. Remember them?"

"How could I forget? Finding you in that dark parking lot. Cleaning up your cuts after we got to the motel. I hope to never do anything like that again." She smiled and her eyes widened. "Have the FBI arrested them?"

"Don't I wish. No, it's nothing like that. They found one of the guys, the short fat one. He won't be bothering anybody with his golf club again."

"What do you mean?"

"He's dead. They found him in an alley."

She took her hand away as alarm spread across her face. "How did it happen? Do they know who . . . "

"They're still investigating. It was a professional job, that much they know. His partner has disappeared and they don't have a clue where he went."

Anna Lise took a cellophane package from her purse and began dabbing her eyes with a tissue, struggling to maintain her composure. "The slashing of your tires, the destruction of my suite, and now this. I do not understand why this is happening. It cannot be explained away by saying it is just bad luck. What do you think, Sandy? Are you afraid, just a tiny bit?"

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't. But I'm also worried about my daughter. Those two guys saw her with me when we were shopping at Fashion Island. They could have found out where she lives."

"But what about us? We seem to be targets for somebody."

"I agree," he said. "I think it's part of the same old story. The slashed tires, your suite devastated. Another message that says we don't belong together."

She lowered her eyes. "Then we must do something to protect ourselves."

"I'm glad to hear you say that. It makes my next statement a little easier."

"I think I know what you have in mind. We should not see each other for a time."

Sandy smiled and retrieved her hand. "It's only temporary. Until this trouble blows over and we feel safe again. We can still talk to each other on the phone. Often, too. Morning, noon, and night. How does that sound?"

She sniffled. "It is not the same as being able to have a meal together, see a film, share a bed with you. But we will just have to make the best of it."

"It won't be forever. Things will work out."

"I wish I could be as optimistic," she said. "So I will call my hotel in the morning and find out when my suite will be ready."

"Tomorrow, it is. While I'm at work."

She smiled weakly and squeezed his hand. "Then we shall make the most of our last night together. Whatever you would enjoy doing."

Sandy grinned. "I can probably think of something."

In another part of the city, Torre Stensrud and his girlfriend, Gerd, were sitting up in his bed smoking pot. They had had sex several hours earlier and were getting themselves in the mood for more.

Torre's bedside telephone jangled sharply. Torre ignored it, moving his hand along Gerd's thigh. After several rings, she jumped out of bed and headed for the bathroom. "I think you should answer that," she called out over her shoulder. "It could be important."

Torre grumbled. "Nothing is that important." He picked up the phone in resignation. "Ja?"

"You are a sound sleeper." It was Alexi Antipovich. He sounded jovial and was probably very drunk.

"Do you have any idea of the time?"

"Do you think I conduct my affairs according to the clock? I have learned that success is not a function of time. Dedication and perseverance win the race."

The man is insane. "What do you want from me?"

"I have been in touch with our client. He tells me that his experts have been analyzing the data you collected. They find it very interesting but they also have a number of questions. Explanations that only you can provide."

Torre swung his legs around and dangled his feet over the side of the bed. "How could they not understand? The test results are fully documented. Everything is laid out in the papers I gave you. There should be no confusion."

"My friend. I can only report what they tell me."

Torre paused to consider his options. "Perhaps you could send me a list of the experts' questions. I will review them, write up the answers, and send them back to you. I think that would satisfy them."

"That is possible, but it would take too much time. They want a meeting as soon as possible. You can walk them through the data, explain the details and answer all their questions."

"I am very busy in my office right now, catching up on my work with other projects. It is not a good time to be away."

"It will not take that much time," said Alexi. "Next Saturday and Sunday would be good. You could also take a day or two of holiday time following the weekend. Of course, I will arrange all your travel and pay your expenses. And best of all, you will receive a significant bonus for your most excellent work."

Torre got out of bed and stood next to the phone table. "I am not promising anything but I will talk to my department manager in the morning."

"I shall expect to hear some good news," said Alexi. "Don't disappoint me." The line went dead.

Gerd soon returned from the bathroom and slid under the bed covers. She rolled over onto her side and watched Torre pace along side of the bed. "You seem upset about something," she said. "Was the call bad news?"

Torre got back into bed and lay flat on his back, his hands clasped behind his head. "It is only a business matter. Something I must see about tomorrow."

"Only business? Someone calls you at midnight about business? You are a strange man, Torre Stensrud."

Torre rolled over, reached out, and pulled her closer. "It seems I must travel again. Next weekend, possibly for several days after that."

"Next weekend?" she wailed. "We are going to Geilo for a ski trip next weekend. It may be the last time the snow is any good."

"I will make it up to you when I return. We will do something special."

She giggled. "A holiday in Majorca?"

"Not that special."

Sandy awoke early the next morning. He showered, shaved, and dressed quietly so he wouldn't awake a dead-to-the-world Anna Lise. Before leaving the room, he gave her a soft goodbye kiss.

Sandy had a light breakfast in the hotel's coffee shop. There was little traffic on the way to Kolsaas, mainly because he was early by Norwegian standards. An hour later, the roads would be chockablock with cars.

Sandy rarely gave any thought to his past. But because of all the turmoil he experienced during the last three months, his earlier life came into sharp focus.

He thought about his boyhood, his college education, and the life choices which had brought him to this point. He had been raised a Catholic in Rye, New York, along with two younger sisters. Walter was a distant father, a legend among investment bankers on Wall Street. Sandy's mother, Edith, had been a model before giving up her career to marry Walter and play the role of dedicated homemaker and prominent socialite. She had even converted to Catholicism to become Walter's wife. She doted on Sandy and became the heart and soul of their home.

When the time came for Sandy to think about college, it was expected that he would attend Fordham University in the Bronx, take classes in business, economics, and finance, and follow in his father's footsteps. Sandy, however, wanted no part of his father's world and yearned to be an engineer. With his mother's considerable influence and the generous backing of her own money, he went to MIT and graduated with a degree in electrical engineering. He received a Navy commission and, after six months of officer training, was assigned to a destroyer operating in the north Atlantic. Walter was openly critical of Sandy's choices, ignoring the fact that Sandy had military obligations to satisfy. In Walter's insular world of moneyed influence, Sandy could have managed to avoid military service altogether if he had really wanted to.

Sandy actually enjoyed his tour of sea duty. After two years, he went to Washington, D.C. and worked in a command responsible for acquisition of electronic systems and components. He was able to use his MIT education to great advantage. Two years later, he was transferred to a troop transport based in San Diego. He spent the next two years hauling Marines and their gear from California to Hawaii to Okinawa and back again. During one of the periods when his ship was in its homeport, he met Gail and they began dating.

Nearing the end of this duty tour, Sandy seriously considered making a career of the Navy. However, the prospect of a lot more time at sea didn't fit with his plans for a home on land, a wife, and possibly several children. He resigned his commission, took an engineering job with his present employer in Fullerton, and married Gail soon thereafter.

At the first Christmas after their wedding, Sandy took Gail back to New York to meet his family. They knew that Sandy and Gail were very much in love but didn't know that they had already married during a quick trip to Las Vegas. Edith was easily won over by Gail's intelligence, vivacious personality, and warm sense of humor, but Walter had a different reaction. He was cold and indifferent to the newlyweds. Walter later told Edith that Sandy had made still another poor choice and had married beneath his station. Sandy heard about this from one of his sisters and spoke little to his father after that. The lack of contact didn't seem to make any difference to Walter.

On the morning of September 11, 2001, Walter left his home for his daily commute to the World Trade Center. For reasons Walter could never fully explain, his car's electrical system failed completely while driving on one of Rye's surface streets. He called AAA and the attending mechanic discovered a disconnected battery cable and a dead battery.

Walter and Edith considered the tragic events of that day a clear message from The Almighty. He took early retirement, sold their home, and moved with Edith to Florida. They made many friends in their exclusive community and filled their days with golf, tennis, bridge, or lunch served with huge portions of gossip.

Edith had visited Sandy and Gail numerous times in California before their divorce but she always traveled alone. Walter's standing excuse was that he had too many things to do at home and didn't feel well enough to make the long trip.

Sandy snapped out of his reverie when he pulled up to the Kolsaas gate. He showed his ID, his car was checked, and he drove to his parking slot next to his office. He sat in his car for a few moments to finish his daydream and prepare himself mentally for the day's work. What if he'd gone to Fordham and worked with his dad on Wall Street? Would he have been killed on 9/11? Would he have ever met Gail, had Julie, married Cheryl or known Anna Lise?

Few people were about the building when Sandy entered his office. He dropped his briefcase and made a fresh pot of coffee, mentally noting to hire an administrative assistant by the end of the week.

Sandy picked up several sheets of paper in the FAX machine tray and took them to his desk. He sipped his coffee and read this one from Norm Riley, sent last evening California time:

For Sandy Gilmartin,

I've talked to Larry McAfee and the FBI a couple of times today. Larry told me about the damage to your car and your friend's hotel suite. Very sorry to hear about that.

The FBI got a warrant and searched Robert Sanford's apartment in Torrance. (He's the other half of the pair that mugged you. You called him Ness.) According to the FBI, Sanford is long gone. Don't know how they found out, but he flew to Mexico City on Saturday, probably just after his partner was shot. Chenault thinks these two were trying to pressure somebody for something (more money?) and it backfired on them.

I know you are very concerned about your daughter's safety and I understand your feelings completely. However, since "Elliot" is dead and "Ness" is now out of the country (and not likely to return anytime soon), it looks to me like the danger to her is minimal. That's the way the FBI sees it. Larry and I agree with them as well. Based on recent events in Oslo, it looks like you and your friend are in far greater jeopardy.

I'll still arrange for a bodyguard if you want. Think about it. We can talk Monday evening your time.

Regards,

Norm

Sandy read the FAX twice, then finished his coffee. Julie will be safe and he didn't have to call Gail and explain the whole mess. He hoped he was doing the right thing.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Anna Lise moved back to the SAS Monday afternoon. The hotel had performed a miraculous recovery job on her suite's contents. She took advantage of the opportunity by having two staff members move her furniture around for a different look.

On Tuesday, Sandy had a meeting with real estate agent Inga Sandnes and signed a three-year lease on the Sandvika house. He agreed to take possession of the house at the end of April, certain that his furniture shipment would have arrived by then. That afternoon, he interviewed a young Norwegian man named Hakkon for the administrative assistant job. Sandy was so favorably impressed with his language and business skills that he hired him on the spot, to begin work on the following Monday.

That same morning, Anna Lise, her business partner and other team members brainstormed the structure and content of their proposal for security services. Their central theme was the cost effectiveness of out-sourcing security functions to trusted and experienced former military personnel. This would free up active military for assignment to more crucial tasks.

Sandy spent Wednesday at Kongsberg Vappenfabrik, the weapons factory in Kongsberg, a city to the west of Oslo. He met with the project manager and operations analysts who were writing the detailed specifications for some of the application software, computer programs that would perform military analysis and decision functions used by the system's human operators. On Thursday, he spent a full day at Norsk Data in Oslo. This company had signed on to provide the hardware and resident operating systems for the system's computers to be located at the various sites.

He and Anna Lise remained apart but talked daily on the phone, usually in the morning and several times each night. The morning conversations were brief and upbeat but the evening talks were longer and sometimes so intimate they put commercial phone sex to shame.

Sandy called Anna Lise on Thursday evening from his hotel room after dinner. She was not in a good mood. "What's wrong?" he said.

"I just talked with my son. He called me, something he rarely does. I am the one who usually calls him."

"It didn't go well?"

"I wanted to hear about his meeting with you. Why he treated you so terrible."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing. He offered no excuses, no apologies. It was like speaking to one of Vigeland's statues." Sandy couldn't help but chuckle. "Are you laughing at me?"

He became serious again. "Not at you. Your reference to Vigeland. It's good to see you haven't lost your sense of humor."

"I was not trying to be funny."

"Sounds like the conversation with your son was all in one direction," he said. "He probably regrets having called you after you lit into him."

"Lit into him?"

"You know. Chewed him out. Raked him across the coals. Sorry, that was some American slang. Anyway, I'm sorry he aggravates you so much. All because of our disastrous meeting."

"It is not your fault," she said. "I am the one who forced him to see you. I should have never insisted that he do it."

"Did he ever get around to telling you why he called? Surely not to get a tongue lashing from his mother."

"He wanted to tell me about his trip. He is leaving the country again on business for a few days."

Sandy became alert. "Leaving the country? When is he going? Did he say where?"

"Tomorrow afternoon, but he would not tell me his destination. Something about a client having a secret identity. He could not say any more than that."

"Did he say anything else?"

"Only that he did not want to go. That is not like him because he enjoys travel to different places in the world. Like me."

"He's probably tired of traveling. Sometimes I feel like that. Or maybe he's busy at work and doesn't want to neglect it."

"But he's flying over the weekend. He will not miss much time from work."

They talked more about other subjects including what they had done earlier that day. As the conversation drew to a close, she became wistfully romantic. "Is there a place where we could meet later tonight?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"A secret rendezvous around midnight. Somewhere dark and remote. Just the two of us, talking and holding each other close."

"There is nothing I'd enjoy more," he said, "but it's not a safe thing to do. I'm sure we'd both be followed. And we'd be sitting ducks."

"Will this turmoil ever end, Sandy?"

"It will, but we must be careful. Tell you what. I'll see you in my dreams."

"And I may just see you in a nightmare." Sandy heard the Norwegian equivalent of the Bronx cheer before the line went dead. He laughed a bit and decided to call her back later to smooth things over.

Sandy spent the next hour reading technical documents from Norsk Data. He took a break, reflected on his conversation with Anna Lise, and decided to make another call. Only this one was to Willy Gunderson. It took many rings before he finally answered.

"Mr. Gunderson? Sandy Gilmartin calling. Hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Gunderson groaned. "Nothing important. I was only sleeping."

"I'm very sorry. I should have called earlier or waited until morning."

"Do not be concerned. I needed to get up anyway. I have more work to finish before tomorrow morning."

"You must have a very understanding wife."

"I live alone, Mr. Gilmartin. So, why did you call me? More messages from those who would harm you and Fru Stensrud?"

"Nothing like that. I've taken your advice. I'm keeping my distance from her. Neither of us has been bothered since last Sunday."

"Then what do you have for me?" asked Gunderson.

"I talked with Mrs. Stensrud earlier tonight. She heard from her son. Torre's taking another trip, outside the country. She asked where he was going but he wouldn't tell her. Only that his client's identity was a secret."

"That is most interesting."

"Then you don't know about this?" Sandy was elated. He knew something that Gunderson didn't.

"That's correct," said Gunderson. "It is new information. Did she say when her son was leaving?"

"Tomorrow afternoon." Sandy paused but there was no reaction from Gunderson. "I don't know if this news means anything or not but I thought you'd like to hear about it."

"You did the correct thing. Let me take it from this point."

Sandy couldn't think of anything to add. "Again, I'm sorry I woke you."

"Thank you for calling," said Gunderson, "and good evening."

Sandy was ready to call it a night. He called Anna Lise again. They talked briefly and wished each other a good night's rest.

Sandy didn't fall asleep immediately but thought about Anna Lise. Since he'd returned to Oslo, he found her mere presence comforting; he seemed to sleep much better when she was there with him.

Sandy was awakened by the telephone. His bedside clock read 2:15 a.m. "Hello," he mumbled into the handset.

"Good morning, Mr. Gilmartin." It was Willy Gunderson, far too ebullient for this time of day.

"Do you know what time it is? Of course you do. It may be prime time for you but not for me."

"Turnabout is fair play, Mr. Gilmartin."

"Touché." Sandy sat up in bed. "This had better be good."

"You can be the judge. Now here is what I have learned. Torre Stensrud is booked on an Air France flight from Gardermoen this afternoon. He will arrive in Beijing about eleven o'clock Saturday morning. Later the same day, he will fly from Beijing to Shenyang on China Southern Airlines, arriving shortly after six o'clock. He also has reservations on flights that will return him to Oslo next Wednesday afternoon."

"What do you make of all this?"

"He will have three full days for more travel and meetings with his client."

"Somewhere in Shenyang," said Sandy.

"Not necessarily. He could rent a car but that could be awkward. I suspect his client will arrange for land transport. Be met by someone and then taken somewhere else. Thereby avoiding the local government's attention." Gunderson laughed raucously. "That is what I would do."

Sandy paused. "I'm wondering why you are telling me all this."

"You have helped me considerably," said Gunderson. "You have also been beaten up by two police impostors and your tires were slashed. I think you deserve to know what is happening. You have a vested interest in our enterprise."

"I'm not sure I need one. Or even want one."

"Like it or not, someone believes your connection to Torre Stensrud through his mother is a threat. So we must keep talking to each other."

Sandy thought about this for a moment and realized that Gunderson needed him as an information source. "OK, I understand. What's next?"

"I have a Chinese associate. Because of your timely report, I can alert him to Stensrud's arrival. And gain more information about his contacts and activities."

"I'm glad I could finally help."

"I will ring off now," said Gunderson. "You can go back to sleep."

"Yeah, right. Easy for you to say."

"And Mr. Gilmartin. This time, I am counting on you not to tell anyone about our conversation. Do you understand?"

"I do and that's a promise."

Chapter Twenty-Five

Early Saturday afternoon, Tan Li Hsing boarded a China Southern Airlines plane in Beijing. During the short flight to Shenyang, he reviewed the latest material received from Willy Gunderson. His folder held a recent photo of Torre Stensrud with an update on his activities. Tan thought he'd have no trouble spotting Stensrud when he arrived in Shenyang later that day.

To any casual observer, Tan looked like a typical government office worker. He was 42 with average height, wore wire-rimmed glasses, and parted his shiny black hair in the middle. His scholarly appearance conveniently masked his real occupation, an experienced and ruthless member of the national secret police. Many criminals now in prison had witnessed his prowess at hand-to-hand combat.

Tan had met Gunderson seven years before in New York at a three-week symposium sponsored by the United Nations on national security and international counter-terrorism operations. Tan took an immediate liking to Gunderson and viewed him as a father figure. When Tan was still a boy, his father had been attacked by bandits while traveling in the mountain wilderness of Liaoning Province, of which Shenyang was the capitol. Tan's father had been severely beaten and his face brutally disfigured, hence the sympathy Tan felt for Gunderson's similar appearance. Gunderson, having no children of his own, was pleased to assume a paternal role to his Asian protégé. They often met again at conferences and kept in touch with e-mails. When contacted recently, Tan was eager to help his Norwegian mentor.

Tan's plane landed at 1:45 p.m. He went directly to the arrivals section of the terminal and made telephone calls to several hotels in Shenyang. Even though the population of Shenyang was nearly five million, few hotels in the city met the standards of western businessmen. He learned that Stensrud had a reservation at the Traders Hotel in the city's center, a thirty-minute ride from the airport. Tan booked a room for himself at the same hotel.

Tan thought about taking a taxi to the hotel and waiting for Stensrud there, but he reconsidered. The reservation at the Traders Hotel might be a trick, placed so that Stensrud could go somewhere else and shake off a surveillance operator like himself. He decided to wait for Stensrud at the airport terminal and follow him to the hotel, or somewhere else, in a taxi.

Tan found a comfortable seat near the baggage claim area, took a paperback out of his carryon luggage, and settled in for a long wait.

Sandy felt depressed when he awoke on Saturday morning. He had no e-mails to answer, no work to catch up on, and wondered how he would fill up the day. He would have liked to see Anna Lise, but had to stick to their agreement.

He dressed casually, had a leisurely breakfast in the hotel coffee shop, and read the International Herald Tribune from front to back. While having a third cup of coffee and gazing out the window at passing traffic, he had an idea. He'd go skiing. There should be enough snow left. And some strenuous exercise would shake him out of this blue funk.

He dressed in ski clothes and took the 'tric' up to Frognerseteren where he rented cross-country skis at Thom Murstad's shop. He strapped everything on and was soon heading north on well-groomed tracks. He could tell from the amount of snow on the ground that unless another good storm came along, there wouldn't be many opportunities left for skiing until winter.

After forty-five minutes of steady progress, he found himself in a large valley. The terrain was flat and the only trees were large blue spruce that bordered the valley at least a mile away on all sides. The sun was out and the snow glistened, making it difficult to see without strong sunglasses. Scores of Norwegians sped by as Sandy plodded along.

He spotted a building at the far end of the valley and glided to a combination restaurant and warming hut. He bought a cup of hot tea and carried it out to a sunlit porch where he relaxed and watched the hubbub around him. A man and woman skied by, each towing a pulka. Inside each small sled was a child, protected from the elements by a thick plastic bubble.

Sandy spotted an attractive woman skier heading his way. She wore heavily tinted goggles and a bright red cap which almost covered her blonde hair. Sandy was entranced by her rhythm and grace as she sailed across the snow without any perceptible effort. Her hands gripped ski poles that swung back and forth as she glided in front of him, a veritable snow goddess of the north.

She altered course slightly and headed for the restaurant. As she came closer, Sandy bolted upward in his seat. I'll be damned, he thought. It's Anna Lise. He took a sip of tea and partially covered his face with his hand. I'll reveal myself in a second. She'll be so surprised.

She skied right up to the porch, flung her poles over the railing, and smiled at Sandy. "Hello, Mr. Gilmartin. Are you having a nice outing today?"

Sandy went over and gave her a kiss. Anna Lise removed her goggles and kissed him back with greater force. "You knew it was me?" he asked.

She laughed. "I have been following you for the last fifteen minutes. You were so intent on your skiing that you failed to notice me."

"How could I? You're camouflaged in that outfit. Hey, want a cup of tea?"

"Please," she said.

He came back soon with two fresh cups. They sat side-by-side on the porch, looking out at the many skiers moving in various directions.

"You never called me this morning," she said.

"Sorry about that. I was feeling way down and didn't want to make you feel as bad as I did."

She reached over and held his hand. "I was lonely, wanting to be with you. Coming out to ski was good for me. I had no idea that I would meet you."

"A stroke of good luck," he said, squeezing her hand. "You're a beautiful skier. I watched you coming up to the hut."

She shrugged her shoulders. "I learned when I was nine. It comes naturally." She sipped her tea. "Sandy, do you think we are in danger now? Being together in this place?"

"I don't think so. Anybody following us would be pretty obvious out here in the center of this meadow."

"Then we should take advantage of this opportunity. We can ski together. I know a beautiful place nearby. Very secluded, too."

Sandy had a momentary fantasy about some sexual mischief they could get into but dismissed it as impractical and uncomfortably cold. "Did your son leave on his trip?"

"He did. I learned this from Gerd, his girlfriend."

"You talked to her?"

"She called me. She is worried about him. He did not want to go. She thinks he is in some kind of danger."

"Did she give any details? About why she feels that way?"

"She has no information. It is only a feeling she has. What you would call a woman's intuition."

"What do you think?" he asked.

"I have a similar feeling but there is little we can do about it. Except to pray for his safety."

"It couldn't do any harm."

They finished their tea in silence. "We should go," said Anna Lise. "I am getting cold."

Sandy took her hand. "So am I. Let's check out this romantic place you want me to see."

They put on their skis. "I will go slow for you, Sandy."

He chuckled. "You just never mind. I'll ski along side of you. We'll find this place together."

Anna Lise gave him a taunting laugh before she sprinted ahead. "You men are all alike. So competitive. Afraid to let a woman lead anywhere."

Torre Stensrud's plane landed at Shenyang ten minutes late. Tan spotted him as he came through the exit next to the baggage claim area. Tan thought that Torre looked tired and stressed out; he'd probably had little sleep during his long day's journey from Oslo.

Torre carried a large canvas bag. He bypassed the carousels and walked directly to a taxi stand outside. Tan followed him and hailed the taxi behind Torre's.

City traffic was moderate. Tan's driver had no difficulty following Torre's taxi as they made their way directly to the Traders Hotel. Tan went into the lobby behind Torre but took a seat so he could observe the check-in process.

Before Torre left the front desk, the woman clerk gave him a small piece of paper, one that Tan believed might be some kind of message. He thought Torre wouldn't be going anywhere except directly to bed for some sleep.

Tan approached the same desk clerk after Torre had left. The woman asked him in Chinese, "May I help you, sir?"

"Yes, I have a reservation. Tan Li Hsing."

She looked at her computer screen and found his name. "I have it, Mr. Tan. A very nice room for one night."

"That is correct."

After the woman registered Tan, he showed her his credentials and her face became serious. "Is something wrong, Mr. Tan?"

"I am interested in the man before me. The one you just checked in."

"Yes, Mr. Stensrud from Norway."

"You gave him a piece of paper. A message perhaps?"

"That is correct," she said.

"Can you recall what was on the paper?"

"One moment, please." She went into a room behind the desk and returned with a spiral bound notebook. She smiled and showed him a carbon copy of the message given to Torre, still attached to the book's spiral.

Tan read the message slowly and memorized it:

Torre - I will meet you tomorrow at nine o'clock in the lobby. We will ride together to Dandong for our meetings. A. A.

"Is this helpful to you, Mr. Tan?"

"It is very helpful. Thank you very much."

After getting settled in his room, Tan wrote a short FAX to Gunderson. His report was brief and used coded language to say that Torre had arrived, would be picked up tomorrow, then transported to another city. Tan also noted that he would follow "the subject" to the new locale.

Tan's next action was to place a phone call to his local police contact. He needed a driver with an inconspicuous vehicle in the morning for an urgent assignment. His contact assured him that the driver would report to him promptly at 8:45 A.M.

While getting his bed ready, Tan reflected on these latest developments. Stensrud and his associate are going to Dandong. He thought the assignment was becoming more interesting. It was a strange place for a Norwegian to visit, this city on the Yalu River, a gateway to North Korea.

Tan's driver turned out to be a woman named Zhang Yan. She appeared to be in her late twenties and was dressed in black trousers and white shirt with a black tie. Her long brown hair hung loosely down to her waist. Although she wore no makeup, he was impressed by her natural beauty and an attractive figure her uniform failed to disguise. But he quickly pushed it from his mind; there was a mission to perform.

"Good morning, Mr. Tan," she said. "Where do you wish to go today?"

"We are going to follow several people. To Dandong, I think. Is your vehicle ready for the trip?"

"I have a full tank of gas and I am parked near the front entrance. It is a two door black sedan. Not a new car but in very good condition."

"Excellent. I would like you to sit in the car while I wait here in the lobby. When I come out, start your engine. I will come to you and point out the vehicle to be followed."

Zhang left the hotel and Tan took a seat in the lobby. Just before nine o'clock, Torre Stensrud came out of an elevator, black canvas bag in hand, and strode briskly to the front desk. After checking out, he moved toward the hotel entrance but stopped short of the doors in a spot close to Tan. In a few minutes, a burly Caucasian with black curly hair and a black beard and mustache came through the door and gave Torre a bear hug greeting. He must be the A. A. in the message.

The man chatted with Torre for a few minutes before they left the lobby. Their nearby conversation conveniently allowed Tan to take several pictures with a miniature digital camera. Gunderson would be pleased to receive the photos.

Tan left the lobby, found Zhang behind the wheel of her idling car, and pointed out a metallic blue sedan carrying Torre and his associate. "Give them enough space," said Tan. "We don't want them to suspect anything."

"I know my job, Mr. Tan."

They traveled in a southeastern direction and made the 140-mile trip to Dandong in two and one-half hours with little talking. As they approached the city's outskirts, the traffic became more congested. "I will close the gap," said Zhang, "so we don't lose them."

Tan smiled and nodded.

Torre's car made its way to the city center and turned into the parking lot of the twelve story Zhonglian Hotel, a four star establishment overlooking the Yalu River. Tan instructed Zhang to circle around and pass through the driveway next to the main entrance. Tan spotted Torre and his contact walking into the hotel's lobby, each carrying a single piece of luggage.

"Please park the car, Miss Zhang." She drove back to the lot and found a space near Torre's car. "I will make inquiries," said Tan. "Please wait and be alert. I shall return soon."

"As you wish, Mr. Tan."

He came back in fifteen minutes. "This is what I have learned," he said. "The young Norwegian called Stensrud has booked a room for three nights. His colleague, a Russian named Alexi Antipovich, also has a room. I have reserved accommodations for us at this same hotel, also for three nights."

Zhang looked alarmed.

"We will have separate but adjoining rooms," Tan added quickly. Her face relaxed in relief. "I may need your help with this mission because I do not know what is going to happen. Except that these men are having meetings with other people. I must learn more about their business here."

Zhang smiled. "I will do my best to be of service, Mr. Tan."

"It is time for a meal," said Tan. "Let us have lunch in the hotel and discuss how we will work together."

"Are you buying, Mr. Tan?"

Tan was momentarily speechless. He stared at her grinning face but then he laughed. "Yes, Miss Zhang, anything you want. Hearty food for the hard work ahead."

Chapter Twenty-Six

Willy Gunderson played a Beatles CD as he drove to his office on Sunday morning and sang along loudly with the choruses of "Yellow Submarine." The night before, the duty clerk in the Defense Intelligence Communications Center had called him about a fax received from Tan Li Hsing. It was Tan's initial report, sent from the Traders Hotel. The duty clerk read the coded report to him over the phone and Gunderson welcomed the news.

Gunderson parked his car and hurried to the communications center. The duty clerk handed him two faxes, the second considerably longer and containing both text and photographs. Gunderson took the package to his desk and reviewed Tan's latest work. Very interesting, he thought. Torre Stensrud consorting with a Russian and traveling to a Chinese city on the border of North Korea. Tan does excellent work. I must commend him to his supervisors.

Gunderson read the report again and studied the pictures. He filled his pipe with aromatic tobacco, lighted it, and began pacing around his office. He suddenly had an idea. He went back to his desk and flipped through his folder on Torre Stensrud, noting the period when Torre had last worked in the Finnmark region.

Gunderson decided to check with the hotels in Kirkenes. After only a few phone calls, he learned that Torre Stensrud had stayed in one hotel for almost three weeks while Alexi had stayed at another one for a much shorter period, during the time that Torre was in Kirkenes.

He knew it would be convenient for Antipovich to enter Norway at the Russian border without attracting attention. He wondered about the nature of Stensrud's work and asked himself why would Antipovich come to Kirkenes?

Gunderson now wanted to know more about Alexi Antipovich. He turned on his computer and established a secure connection to the Interpol database and learned that Alexi had a checkered career. He had served as an officer in the Russian Army during the occupation of Afghanistan but was cashiered for being involved in drug and black market activities.

Upon his return to Moscow, according to the database, Alexi became an entrepreneur, engaging in several quasi-legal ventures which landed him on Interpol's and Russian security's radar screens. Two years ago, he'd been arrested and briefly jailed for extortion and embezzlement in connection with Iraq's Oil for Food program. That is strange, thought Gunderson. Why couldn't he bribe his way out of that situation? Perhaps he became greedy.

Alexi continued to maintain and cultivate new associations with former KGB agents and ex-employees of Yukos, the previously state-owned oil company. The current consensus among international police agencies was that Antipovich could be on the verge of working another illegal operation.

Clearly, oil was the common element within the Stensrud-Antipovich relationship. Gunderson noted that Stensrud's work in Finnmark involved technical support of Statoil petroleum engineers. He decided to call Stensrud's supervisor in the morning to get the names of his engineer contacts. Perhaps he'd turn up some useful information.

Tan marveled at Zhang's prodigious appetite. She consumed huge portions of fried rice with pork, chicken with cashews and two egg rolls. Tan was content to have egg drop soup and a bowl of noodles.

"We should use the afternoon to gain more information about our two subjects," Tan suggested.

"I agree," said Zhang. "How do you wish to proceed?"

"I am interested in the other people these two men will be meeting. But I would also like more data about the Russian."

"Let me take care of that," she said. "I will investigate him."

Tan gave her a curious look. "Are you sure you can handle it?"

Zhang scowled as she folded her arms across her chest. "Mr. Tan. I am more than a driver. I am also a police officer."

"I am sorry. I was not aware."

"My supervisor thought you might need some special assistance. I am also training to be a detective so my assignment will give me valuable experience."

Tan smiled. "Very well, Miss Zhang. Let us meet again for dinner at six o'clock and exchange information. But this time, come to the Golden Dragon. It is only a kilometer from this hotel in the center of town. A small place, one that doesn't attract western tourists or businessmen."

Zhang got up. "Six o'clock, then, at the Golden Dragon."

Tan looked out the restaurant window and checked his watch frequently, wondering why Zhang had not arrived. Could she have gotten lost? What if she had an accident?

About ten minutes after six, he spotted her sprinting across the street, hair flying in the breeze. She bounded into the restaurant in a flurry of excitement.

"You are late," he said.

She pulled out a chair and sat down "A thousand apologies, Mr. Tan. It has been a very busy afternoon. Were you successful?"

"In some ways, yes. And you?"

"I think so. I hardly know where to start." An elderly waiter interrupted them with a pot of tea and two small cups. Zhang pulled a notebook from her purse and flipped it open. She took a deep breath and gave Tan a huge grin before speaking. "Alexi Antipovich flew business class from Sheremetyevo Airport near Moscow on Thursday. He took Aeroflot 599 to Inchon, departing at 2135, and arrived at 1110 on Friday. At 1305, he flew China Southern 124 from Inchon to Beijing, arriving at 1405. After another short layover, he flew from Beijing to Shenyan on China Southern, the same flight as Torre Stensrud."

Zhang paused as Tan held up his hand. "Stensrud arrived in Shenyang yesterday," he said. "But Antipovich came the day before."

"Precisely, Mr. Tan."

"Interesting. And so is Antipovich's two-hour stop in South Korea. Did he meet with anyone during that time?"

"I have no information about that."

"Please continue," he said.

"Antipovich took a taxi from the Shenyang Airport to the Sheraton Lido Hotel. Not the Traders where he and Stensrud spent last night. That evening, he met a woman in one of the hotel's restaurants where they had drinks and dinner."

"Did you get the woman's name?"

"I have her name but it seems unimportant."

"Why do you say that, Miss Zhang?"

"She is . . . how do you say it? A lady of the evening?"

"A prostitute then. But why do you believe she is unimportant?"

"The woman is a professional. She entertains only foreign businessmen for large fees. It if becomes necessary, we can question her later."

"Very well. Go on."

"Saturday afternoon, Antipovich returned to the airport and rented an automobile. The same one we followed to Dandong. He checked into the Traders Hotel and gave a message for Stensrud, the one you have read. That evening, he entertained another prostitute with drinks and dinner at a restaurant in the Traders Hotel. But not the same woman as before."

"And you know this woman's name as well?"

"Yes, Mr. Tan."

Tan smiled. "Mister Antipovich seems to have a healthy appetite for food as well as other attractions."

Zhang handed Tan several folded pages that had been tucked into her notebook. "This is what I have discovered about Antipovich. What he does when not visiting with loose women."

Tan read her computer printout with interest, occasionally nodding his head and making sounds of approval. The information was the same data that Willy Gunderson had obtained independently from the Interpol database.

"Antipovich is more a criminal than a businessman," said Tan. "He appears to be dangerous. So we must be careful with him."

"I agree," said Zhang.

Tan looked up and smiled. "You have done well, Miss Zhang. I think you will make an excellent detective someday."

Zhang blushed. "Thank you, Mr. Tan. It is a pleasure to be of service." She paused. "Did you learn anything about tomorrow's meeting?"

"The meeting is to start at half past nine. Antipovich has reserved a private room in a small building at the rear of the hotel. He has also arranged for the hotel kitchen to deliver a luncheon meal at 12:30. The only unusual part of all this is that the hotel security chief will provide a sentry at the room's entrance, presumably to ensure that the participants are not disturbed."

"Do you know the identity of the others who are coming to the meeting?"

"Nobody at the hotel has any ideas about this. We shall have to wait and see for ourselves."

They were silent for several moments until Zhang remarked. "You look disappointed, Mr. Tan."

"I am wondering if we are on a wild goose chase. Perhaps this meeting is just a normal discussion of sensitive business matters."

"But your instincts?"

"My instincts say that something is wrong. Something dangerous and probably illegal is happening here."

"Then we must learn what is discussed at the meeting."

"Do you have any suggestions, Miss Zhang?"

She sat up and grinned. "Perhaps we could serve them lunch?"

Tan gave her a puzzled look. "Excuse me?"

"We could take the place of the hotel's kitchen staff and deliver the meal. While we are in the room, each of us would listen and watch sharply. Later we could compare notes on what we have learned."

Tan thought about this as he sipped his tea. "A bold move, Miss Zhang. I admire your style. I will speak to the head of the kitchen and make the necessary arrangements." Tan laughed. "You will have to dress as a waitress and I as a waiter. It has been many years since I have served food to anyone."

"I have been a waitress before," she said, "when I attended the university." She smiled broadly. "I am confident we will give our guests excellent service. We may even earn ourselves a generous tip."

Tan waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. "I will be pleased just to learn what is going on with these people."

Sandy went cross-country skiing again on Sunday. Early that afternoon, he stopped at the same valley restaurant where he had met Anna Lise the day before. He had a light lunch, concluded that he wouldn't 'accidentally' meet her again, and skied for another hour.

Back in his hotel room, he showered and shaved, took a nap, and checked his e-mail. He had a message from Cheryl:

Dear Sandy,

How are you? I hope you are fine and your project is going well. Any word on when you'll move into your new house?

In my last e-mail, I told you about a strange situation here in my office. Something happened last week that makes me even more nervous. A bunch of buy and sell orders crossed my desk, copies of stock transactions that had me listed as the principal broker. As you know, my work here is with institutional clients. I don't have any retail customers so giving me credit for those trades was clearly a mistake. I brought this to the attention of the office manager and he assured me it was an admin error. He corrected it, as promised, but the whole deal smells fishy. So I did some checking. Those trades were actually done by the broker I told you about before, the guy who I think is cheating his clients. I have a feeling that he is behind this "admin error" and trying to set me up for something.

I've made copies of all this stuff and put them in a CYA folder. I've also talked with an attorney, a very sharp woman who has experience in our business. In the meantime, I'll be watching these guys like a hawk.

Love you, Cheryl

Sandy fired off a short reply without giving it a great deal of thought:

Hi Cheryl,

Thanks for the update on your work situation. A good thing you noticed the mistake on those buy and sell orders. I suspect those guys won't try that trick again. Sounds very amateurish. I was happy to hear that you've retained a lawyer as I suggested. As they say, forewarned is forearmed.

I've signed the lease papers for my house and the agent is getting the utilities activated under my name. I'll be able to move in once my furniture arrives, probably in a couple of weeks or so.

I'm keeping very busy at work. I've hired a secretary, a young Norwegian MALE named Hakkon. I'm also traveling a lot around Oslo, talking to subcontractors and potential vendors. Getting lots of exercise, too. Went skiing yesterday and today.

Keep me posted on your office situation.

Love, Sandy

P. S. Remember those two phony FBI agents who tried to shake me down? The real FBI has been watching them. One of the phony agents turned up dead and the other guy has left the country. I think this is good news but you never know. At least I don't have to worry about THEM anymore.

Sandy read it over before sending it. He considered telling her about the damage to his rental car but decided against it. It would be difficult to explain and, because of the implicit connection to Anna Lise, would only upset her.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Tan and Zhang met the next morning in the lobby of the Zhonglian Hotel. They greeted each other warmly but politely. Tan suggested that they move to a couch which had a good view of the entry doors.

Zhang inquired, "Did you have a pleasant evening, Mr. Tan?"

"I did." Tan nodded. "Thank you for asking. I was able to finish some work I brought from my office. And you?"

"I watched a wonderful movie about the life of a Japanese geisha. It was unusual because several Chinese actresses played the major roles. Then I caught up on my sleep. What are your plans for this morning, Mr. Tan?"

"I am hoping our subjects will first meet here in the lobby before going to the meeting room. It will give us an opportunity to see them and refine our plan for their luncheon."

"Is there anything you wish me to do?"

"Yes. Please take a seat on the other side of the lobby. A place with another good view of the entrance."

Zhang got up and moved to a chair next to the front doors. She could look through glass panels and see people approaching the hotel. Tan opened a newspaper and began to read.

Alexi and Torre soon came to the lobby from different directions. They talked briefly, then looked around the lobby as if searching for somebody. Tan was pleased to see that his hunch was about to pay off. Alexi and Torre were obviously waiting for their guests to arrive.

About ten minutes later, four young men came through the front door in single file. They wore similar brown suits, white shirts and red ties, and carried briefcases. Alexi and Torre greeted them warmly with lots of bowing and handshaking. Without further preamble, Alexi led them off in the direction of the meeting room.

Zhang waited about five minutes before rejoining Tan on the couch. "You were correct, Mr. Tan."

"Fortune smiles on us today, Miss Zhang." He smiled and showed her a camera that had been hidden behind his newspaper. "I was able to take pictures of these men."

"That is wonderful. Let us look at them."

Tan turned the camera over and cycled through the three images he'd captured. "Two of these pictures are quite good," he said. "They should be useful."

"What do you think of these men?" she asked.

"They act like soldiers, all dressed the same. Their suits could be uniforms and they are not Chinese."

"They are Korean," said Zhang. "I would guess they are engineers."

"South Korean?"

"North Korean," she said. "People from the south would be dressed much better. Those brown suits are out of style and they have been worn far too long."

Tan looked at her for a few moments, gaining further respect for his newly-assigned partner. "You are very observant, Miss Zhang. I am now thinking that our mission may not be a wild goose chase after all."

Willy Gunderson called Software Solutions on Monday morning and asked for Torre Stensrud, knowing that he was out of the country. The receptionist said that Torre was not available so Gunderson was put through to Stensrud's supervisor, Halvar Berge. Instead of broaching the matter over the phone, Gunderson identified himself as a government official and asked for an immediate appointment. Berge agreed to an eleven o'clock meeting in his office.

At the designated hour, Berge welcomed Gunderson to Software Solutions. Gunderson showed his credentials and Berge invited him to take a seat.

"This is all very mysterious," said Berge. "I trust that we have not broken any laws or violated government regulations."

Gunderson smiled, trying to put Berge at ease. "Nothing like that. I am interested in one of your employees, Torre Stensrud."

"What exactly do you want to know about him."

"The work he did in Finnmark for Statoil."

"He was supporting geologists and engineers who were performing a series of tests. Seismic exploration before doing any actual drilling. It is more cost effective that way because it yields a greater probability of success."

"I was told that Stensrud has taken a holiday," said Gunderson. "Do you know where he went?"

"Torre didn't tell me but he is scheduled back in his office on Thursday. If it is important, you might contact his mother. She should be able to tell you."

Gunderson smiled. "Yes, I could do that."

"Is Torre in some kind of trouble?"

Gunderson gave Berge a shrug of his shoulders to imply that he didn't have the answer to his question. "Tell me about the exploration work in Finnmark. Were they successful in finding any evidence of oil or gas deposits?"

"It was disappointing," said Berge. "They spent weeks up there but came away with nothing."

"How did they go about doing the tests?"

"This could get rather technical." Berge picked up his telephone handset and dialed some numbers. "I will try to get the project manager on the line."

A man answered after three rings. "Sven Aarhuis speaking."

"Good morning, Sven. Halvar Berge calling. How are you today?"

"Just fine, Halvar. How may I help you?"

"I have you on the speaker. Mr. Willy Gunderson is here in my office. He is from the Defense Department and is interested in the Finnmark project."

"Good morning, Mister Aarhuis," said Gunderson. "I wonder how you go about doing this kind of work. I don't have an engineering or geology background, so I ask you to keep it simple for me."

"I understand," said Aarhuis. "Well now. First, we clear a long linear corridor about five meters wide using a bulldozer. Then we drill holes in the ground along this corridor. These holes are a precise distance apart. We place dynamite in the holes and explode the charges in a timed sequence. The reflected sound waves are then recorded at the surface with portable electronic equipment."

"And these sound waves tell you something?"

"Yes, but there is more," said Aarhuis. "We make many corridors over the ground and place them in parallel about 500 meters apart. Then more explosions and more recording of sound waves."

"What was Mr. Stensrud's role in this work?" asked Gunderson.

"Good question," said Aarhuis. "All of the data from the recorders were given to him for input to his computer. His application software processed this data to develop a cross-sectional representation of the subsurface."

Berge became animated. "Software Solutions is a world leader in this area. Our analysts, including Torre Stensrud, have developed an extensive set of algorithms for this work. We use a technique called syntactic pattern recognition. The pictures we generate help define the subsurface as rock, sand, oil, gas, or something else. We are quite proud of it."

"Very impressive," said Gunderson. "I think I understand. And I certainly appreciate your patience."

Harald Berge ended the call with Aarhuis. "Well, Mr. Gunderson. Do you have any more questions?"

Gunderson pondered the situation for a few moments. "It seems the success or failure of an oil exploration effort depends heavily on the results given by your computer program. How it processes the sound wave data from the explosions. Is that a fair conclusion?"

"Yes, I think so," replied Berge.

"Do you think Statoil has the Finnmark data?"

"Yes, of course. They paid us for it."

"And would the data still be available in Mr. Stensrud's computer?"

"Perhaps not on his computer, but it would be backed up on a CD, at least. Would you like to see it?"

"Perhaps. But I may not understand what I am looking at."

"If you wish, I can arrange a demonstration when Mr. Stensrud returns."

Gunderson stood and shook hands with Berge. "Let me think about it. Thank you again for your cooperation on such short notice. You have helped me a great deal."

At noon, after Tan and Zhang had dressed, they met again in the hotel's kitchen. Tan wore black trousers, a white shirt with black bow tie, and a black vest. Zhang had pulled her hair back into a ponytail and had found similar clothes that fit her snugly. She had also put on some makeup.

Tan eyed her figure and suddenly realized she was extremely attractive. He also noticed that she had left the top three buttons of her shirt open, exposing a hint of small but well-formed breasts.

"You look very credible in your uniform, Mr. Tan. They will not suspect your true identity."

"And you look . . . "

She posed coyly and smiled. "I hoped you would say I look very nice."

"You do look nice, but your appearance may prove to be a distraction."

"Exactly, Mr. Tan. While the men are looking at me, you can be observing them. Perhaps you can then learn the nature of their business."

"Just be careful, Miss Zhang."

The catering manager interrupted them. He showed them two carts that were being filled with covered platters of food: chicken, pork, bowls of rice, and fresh litchi, water, orange juice, hot tea and lemon cake. It seemed more than enough for the six men in the meeting room. The manager gave Tan and Zhang a brief review of how and when to serve the meals.

The wait staff impostors wheeled the food carts from the kitchen, down a long corridor to the rear of the hotel, and outside to the doors of the meeting room. They encountered a man wearing a blue suit, sitting in a chair next to the door, and scanning a porno magazine. He opened the doors and they wheeled in their carts.

The room was divided into two areas. On the right, the men sat around an oval mahogany table. Torre and the four Koreans huddled at one end, with computer printouts and numerous other documents scattered about. Alexi sat at the other end of the table, apparently watching the discussions but not taking an active role. On the left side of the room stood an identical mahogany table with eight chairs placed around its perimeter.

Tan whispered to Zhang, "Let us put the food on the empty table so they will have to move. Zhang nodded and began pushing her cart in that direction.

Alexi's attention to the discussions faltered as Zhang's movements caught his eye. After a few moments, he went over to her. "Let me help you," he said. "Their talk is much too boring for me."

Zhang looked at him and smiled. "Oh thank you, sir, but it is not necessary."

Tan quickly transferred everything from his cart to one end of the table. Then he moved the cart closer to Torre and the Koreans.

Disregarding her protest, Alexi helped Zhang set six places for lunch at the empty table while talking casually with her. Zhang brushed against him several times and once put her hand playfully on his chest. Tan watched her flirting with considerable discomfort but kept silent.

When the table was finally set, Zhang made an inviting gesture to Tan with her hands. Tan turned to Torre and said, "Excuse me, sir, but your luncheon is now ready. Please enjoy your meal while the food is still warm."

Torre said to the Koreans, "A good time for a break. We can continue our work later." The five men got up and shuffled toward the waiting feast.

Suddenly, a loud shriek and the sound of a slap filled the room. A red-faced Zhang pointed a finger at Alexi. "You filthy dog," she wailed, "do not touch me like that. And your suggestions are insulting. I have never been treated so badly in all my life. I demand an apology."

Alexi backed away from her in confusion. "I did nothing," he said. "I am a gentleman and would never do anything improper." He looked about the room for help. "It is the truth. The woman imagines things."

Torre and the Koreans moved closer. Torre took Alexi by the arm and steered him off to one side. The Koreans focused on Zhang and tried to calm her. Finally, Tan moved his cart toward the exit. He stopped next to Zhang and put out his hand. "Come with me," he said. "This is no place for a lady. I will come back later and remove the dishes."

Tan quickly pushed his cart from the room with Zhang close on his heels. They were silent until they were back in the kitchen. Zhang propped herself against a wall and took deep breaths.

"That was quite a performance you gave," said Tan. "You caused me a few anxious moments."

"I had some anxious moments of my own." She took a few more deep breaths. "Were you able to get any clues about their business? I was not able. I was too busy creating a distraction." Then she giggled in relief.

Tan held up a finger, smiled, and went to his serving cart. He bent over, picked up a cloth napkin spread out on the cart's lower level, and brought out a small stack of documents. "Thanks to your diversion, Miss Zhang, I was able to remove these papers from the conference table."

Zhang laughed and gave him a hug. "That is wonderful indeed. We are a formidable team." Tan was silent and did not return the embrace. Zhang broke free and her face grew somber. "I am sorry, Mr. Tan. I was not acting in a professional way just now."

Tan smiled and slowly buttoned up her shirt. "We must change our clothes and then have lunch at the Golden Dragon. I want to examine these papers before writing our report to Mr. Gunderson. We should also discuss our next moves."

"The papers, Mr. Tan. What if those men notice they are missing?"

"It is a necessary risk. Tonight I will return the papers to the meeting room. In a location that suggests one of their group misplaced them." He grinned broadly. "After I make copies, of course."

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Willy Gunderson stopped for lunch after leaving Software Solutions and was back in his office by one o'clock. He was glad to find another report from Tan Li Hsing on his desk.

The photos of Torre Stensrud and Alexi Antipovich meeting together in the hotel lobby immediately caught Gunderson's eye. He agreed with Tan's assessment of the four men's identity, but the big question in Gunderson's mind was why Torre and Alexi were meeting with North Koreans. What possible business venture could they be planning? Tan had offered no opinion.

Gunderson reviewed the pages of technical data that Tan had "borrowed" from the meeting room. Tan had no ideas about the meaning of these data either. But after looking over many spreadsheets and complicated diagrams, and thanks to his earlier meeting with Halvar Berge, Gunderson made a guess: the data pertained to oil exploration. He also noted the absence of any annotation that might identify the date and source.

Gunderson considered his next step. He felt a sense of urgency and didn't want to wait until Torre's return to work on Thursday so he decided to call Sven Aarhuis. Besides, he didn't want to risk a confrontation with Torre and Berge until he had conclusive information.

"Hello, Mr. Gunderson," said Aarhuis. "I take it you have some more questions for me."

"I do, indeed. I have some papers that I would like you to examine. Can we have a meeting very soon?"

"I am just about to leave my office for the afternoon. But I can see you tomorrow morning. Is nine o'clock satisfactory?"

"It is," said Gunderson. "I will see you then."

Tan arrived in the hotel lobby about 8:30 a.m. on Tuesday, dressed in faded jeans, a maroon sweatshirt, and a dark blue baseball cap. He paced back and forth, looking for Zhang. She had not yet arrived. Finally, he took a seat near the door and began reading his newspaper.

Tan's attention was drawn to an elderly woman moving away from the reception desk. She had unkempt gray hair and wore a long shabby dress and scuffed slippers. She supported herself on a dark wooden cane and moved slowly and with difficulty toward the entry doors.

Tan felt sorry for the woman. She reminded him of his own mother during her final days. He was about to get up and help her when he noticed she had altered course and was heading straight in his direction.

The woman stopped about two paces in front of Tan and stared down at him. "How do you like it?" she asked. It was Zhang.

Tan's mouth fell open but he couldn't say anything.

"You do not have to speak, Mr. Tan. I have my answer in your face."

Tan gave her a faint smile. "An excellent disguise, Miss Zhang. I must confess that you had me completely fooled."

"You look different as well, Mr. Tan. However, if you wore a pair of sunglasses, your transition would be perfect."

Tan pulled a pair of dark glasses from the camera case fastened to his belt and put them on. He grinned widely. "Is this better?"

"Perfect," she said. "Before I take my watching post, I have some information to share. This morning, Mr. Antipovich checked out of his room. But Mr. Stensrud has not."

"How did you learn this?"

"From the desk clerk. Sunday afternoon, I asked her to alert me if anything unusual happened to Antipovich or Stensrud. She just informed me of Antipovich's change of plans."

Tan thought for a few moments. "This is interesting news. I had assumed they would return to Shenyang early tomorrow morning. That the Russian would take Stensrud to the airport for his flight to Oslo."

"I had thought the same thing," said Zhang.

"Nevertheless, they are using the meeting room again today." He smiled. "But their lunch will be served by authentic hotel staff."

"Then it will be a most boring meal for them."

The sudden appearance of Torre and Alexi interrupted their conversation. Zhang shuffled off to the chair she had occupied yesterday morning.

Several minutes later, the same four Korean men came through the front entrance. This time, however, a fifth Korean accompanied them. He was short and heavyset, wore thick glasses with black frames, and carried a smoldering cigar in one hand. Torre and Alexi greeted this newcomer formally and with great deference. He was clearly an important man and immediately took charge of the group. After perfunctory greetings between Torre and the four technical men, the entire group scurried off toward the meeting room.

A good five minutes later, Zhang hobbled over to Tan's chair. "I see another man has joined the meetings," she said. "What do you make of him?"

"He appears to be a person of high position with considerable power. Not an engineer like the others."

"I have a similar feeling," she said. "But I also think I have seen him before. Perhaps a picture. But my memory is faulty. I cannot put a name on him."

"I was able to take a few pictures. Let us go to the business center where I can print them and see what we have."

"I have a friend here in Dandong whom you might call a mentor. A senior police officer who may have information about this man."

"Assuming my pictures are good, I would like you to call your friend and arrange a meeting as soon as possible."

On Tuesday morning, Gunderson drove directly to his meeting. Sven Aarhuis greeted him courteously. Before talking business, they helped themselves to coffee from a small kitchen. The two men sat down at a small round table in a corner of Sven's office.

"So, Mr. Gunderson, what is this all about?"

"I want to learn more about oil exploration. How you can determine whether there is oil in the ground, based only on data from your tests."

Aarhuis looked puzzled. "We spend years at the university studying geology and all manner of related subjects. Then more years of training and work experience, often under extreme climatic conditions."

"I am not saying it very well." Gunderson opened his briefcase and pulled out the sheets of paper sent by Tan. "I would like you to examine this data and give me your opinions."

Aarhuis spread the papers out on the table. He nodded and made approving sounds as he studied the spreadsheets and diagrams.

"Well?" said Gunderson. "Does all this say anything about oil deposits?"

"This is quite interesting. And yes, there are strong indications of oil presence. But the data is not complete. Where did it come from? Where in the world were these tests done?"

Gunderson looked away for a moment. "I am sorry, but I do not yet have all the facts. It is a complicated matter. And a sensitive one."

Aarhuis backed away from the table and folded his arms across his chest. "I am beginning to understand. Our telephone conversation yesterday, when you were meeting with Halvar Berge. This is about our work in Finnmark. Torre Stensrud's application software and the test results. You have suspicions about the validity of the results. Am I getting close?"

Gunderson nodded. "Yes, but I need more facts before I can proceed. You have a business relationship with Berge and a contract. Money was paid for his company's services and products such as the test data. It is possible that Stensrud may be in serious trouble but here again I will need some hard evidence."

"Halvar Berge and I have been friends and business colleagues for years. I would not like to see his company or his professional reputation ruined because of one of his employee's actions."

Gunderson went over to a large wall-mounted map of northern Norway and its surroundings. Aarhuis joined him as Gunderson pointed to the Finnmark area. "Suppose there was a large oil deposit here, deep down under the earth's surface. How would you harvest it?"

"Probably by conventional drilling methods. Depending on its depth and exact location, of course."

Gunderson traced the Finnish and Russian borders with his finger. "Could the drilling take place in these regions? Would that be feasible?"

Aarhuis gave Gunderson a puzzled look. "It is technically possible but I think it would be very difficult. We would have to use a technique called directional drilling and employ special equipment for this purpose. But why should we resort to such a thing?"

Gunderson smiled and continue studying the map.

Aarhuis fidgeted. "Do you think someone else would actually attempt such a project? It would be the same as stealing our country's oil."

Gunderson gathered up his papers and returned them to his briefcase. "I have a hunch that this business will soon reach a conclusion and then we'll know much more."

Aarhuis smiled. "I once had a hunch as well. That there is oil below the Finnmark tundra. And that hunch has not gone away."

Gunderson shook his hand. "I will be in touch. But in the meantime, please do not discuss the subject of our conversation with anyone."

Gunderson returned directly to his office where another fax waited for his attention. Tan's latest report included a photograph of Torre Stensrud and Alexi Antipovich meeting the five men in the Zhonglian Hotel's lobby. Gunderson was intrigued by the group's newcomer, a fat balding man smoking a cigar, and eagerly read Tan's report.

Because of my partner's local connections, we were able to learn more about the man in the picture wearing glasses. His name is Huong Pak Chol and he is a very highly-placed official in the North Korean government. His professional expertise concerns international finance and he is supposed to be very close to the country's leader. He has a reputation of being a ruthless businessman and a tough negotiator, one who will destroy anyone who gets in his way. Most recently, he has been involved in North Korea's distribution of counterfeit American currency and the sale of narcotics abroad to raise funds for his nation's badly depleted treasury.

The meetings appear to be drawing to a close. We will continue observing these men and will report any further information as it become available.

Respectfully, TLH

Gunderson believed that most of the puzzle pieces were falling into place. The presence of Huong convinced him that these were no ordinary business discussions; some type of high stakes financial crime was being planned.

He thought for a few moments and composed a fax reply to Tan. He used intentionally vague language for security reasons; the fax would be sent to the Zhonglian Hotel where any number of people might read it.

My dear Mr. Tan,

I have received your latest news and am delighted with the progress you and your partner have made. Congratulations on a job well done!

If possible, I would like you both to continue on this until the others have dispersed.

Warm regards, WG

Chapter Twenty-Nine

About five o'clock Tuesday afternoon, Tan and Zhang met in the hotel's parking lot. They got into Zhang's car and she moved it closer to the main entrance. Without any further ideas, they decided to wait until today's meeting broke up and see what would happen.

Zhang had changed back into the same clothes she had worn when Tan first met her. He, however, still wore his disguise of jeans, maroon sweatshirt, blue baseball cap, and sunglasses.

After nearly thirty minutes, Tan got out of the car. "I'll be in the lobby to see if our subjects do anything unusual. Be ready in case we must follow someone."

"I understand," she said. "I will be ready."

Tan took a seat in the lobby where he could see anyone approaching the doors and began reading a newspaper. Fifteen minutes later, he noticed two vehicles pulling up to the main entrance: a long black limousine and a light brown Land Rover. The black limo was the same car that had dropped off Huong and the four other North Koreans that morning. The Land Rover was an older vehicle, rusty and dented, and carried two men who seemed to be Chinese. Their appearance gave Tan an uneasy feeling; they were large and looked like prizefighters.

Several minutes later, Torre, Alexi, and the five North Koreans came to the lobby and went outside through the main entrance. One of the men from the Land Rover joined the group.

After considerable bowing and handshaking, the group began to disperse. Alexi came back inside the hotel and the five North Koreans got into the black limo. Torre was escorted to the Land Rover and took the front passenger seat as his companion got into the back seat directly behind him.

The black limo was first to move. After it had pulled about fifty meters away, Tan sprinted outside and hopped into Zhang's car. The engine was running. The Land Rover was already heading away from the hotel. "What now, Mr. Tan?"

"Follow the Land Rover," he said. "The Koreans are no doubt heading home. It would be very difficult for us to get into their country."

Zhang handled the car smoothly and took a position about 200 meters behind the Land Rover. They drove out of Dandong in a northeasterly direction, generally following the Yalu River.

Zhang turned to her partner. "You look troubled, Mr. Tan."

"This situation doesn't seem right. I don't understand why the Russian man is not traveling with his colleague. And why has he checked out of his room when Stensrud has not?"

"Perhaps Stensrud is being treated to a scenic tour of our country. One that Antipovich has experienced before. And perhaps Antipovich has a meeting tonight with a lady and doesn't wish to share her company with the Norwegian."

"If that is so, wouldn't he want to keep his room?"

"He may be returning to Shenyang. Where the ladies are more professional."

"Then Mr. Stensrud will have to make his own way to Shenyang."

"He could catch an early train. Or maybe he has changed his travel plans."

Tan sighed heavily. "You could be right, Miss Zhang. And our ride in the country could be another wild goose chase."

The highway gradually angled toward the north, away from the Yalu and into rugged terrain. The sun was hidden by mountains, an orange twilight filtering through dense forests.

Just after seven o'clock, the Land Rover turned off the main highway onto a gravel road. Zhang intentionally passed it, then doubled back to the turnoff so the Land Rover occupants would not realize they were being followed.

Zhang stopped at the gravel road so they could read a large wooden sign. It was an advertisement for The Inn of Serene Sunset and Glorious Sunrise, about twelve miles ahead. The inn's restaurant was open daily from 1100 to 2300.

Tan turned to Zhang. "Here is our answer. They are taking Stensrud to the inn for a nice dinner."

"Then we can have our dinner as well," she said. "This time, it is my treat."

Zhang drove slowly up the gravel road, expertly handling hairpin turns and sections of narrow road whose unguarded edges dropped precipitously into gaping ravines. She could have driven faster but didn't want to risk a sudden confrontation with the Land Rover.

After traveling about five miles, they were startled when a large vehicle approached, traveling at high speed. Zhang barely had time to edge the car over to the right and let the oncoming behemoth thunder by in a cloud of dust. At the moment when the vehicles were next to each other, Tan recognized it. It was the Land Rover. The two Chinese men were riding in the front seats. The driver gave Zhang an angry look as they sped by.

"What the hell?" yelled Tan. "They could have killed us."

Zhang's white knuckled hands gripped the steering wheel. "We will lose them now. There is no place to turn around."

"Keep going, there must be a place up ahead." Tan gripped a handle above the side window. "Damn it, I should have made a note of their license plate."

"No problem, Mr. Tan. I wrote it down when they arrived at the hotel. I also made notes about the black limousine."

"Excellent work, Miss Zhang. All is not lost."

About three miles farther, they came to a scenic viewpoint on the right. The road branched off in a loop that allowed several cars to park. At the moment, the entire area was deserted.

Zhang turned into the parking loop and stopped the car. "They must have turned around here," she said.

Tan leaped out of the car, looked around quickly, then came back to the driver's side. Zhang rolled down her window.

"The Land Rover," he said, "did you notice?"

"I saw it, but I was paying too much attention to my driving to notice anything unusual."

"Mr. Stensrud was not inside. I am sure of it."

Zhang gave him a stricken look. "Clearly those men did not intend to buy him dinner."

"I have a bad feeling about this place. Please help me look around."

Zhang shut off the engine and asked, "What are we looking for, Mr. Tan?"

"Anything that does not belong."

The vantage point observation area had been cleared of low brush and rock, leaving a smooth hard pack of dark soil. At the edge of the hard pack, a low rock wall had been constructed of loose stones to mark the edge of a sharp drop off.

Tan took the left portion of the area and Zhang took the right. After only a few minutes, she called out. "Over here. I found something."

Tan ran over. She had placed her hand into a dark wet area on the ground and showed him her wet fingertips. "Definitely fresh blood," he said.

They followed a barely discernible trail of scarlet droplets to the protective rock wall. Tan climbed over and said, "I'm going down. Stay here."

"Be careful, Li. Please."

He gave her a surprised glance before descending the steep slope, occasionally dislodging small rocks and large amounts of dirt. Suddenly he came upon a man's body, spread-eagled and face up over a large jutting boulder that had stopped his fall. It was Torre Stensrud. Tan's police instincts kicked in; he paused and approached the body slowly, trying not to disturb the obvious crime scene any further.

Tan came around, bent over and looked at Torre's eyes and mouth that remained open in shock. His face was scratched and his clothing was torn in several places. Tan placed his finger on Torre's neck, found the carotid artery and checked for a pulse. There was none. Tan methodically examined other parts of the body and found a large patch of blood starting to cake on the left side of Torre's jacket.

Tan carefully made his way back to the viewpoint. Zhang was looking over the stonewall, a concerned look on her face, as he crawled up the steep slope.

"Stensrud, I am afraid. I found his body."

Zhang covered her mouth. "Those men in the Land Rover!"

"I have no doubt that it happened very quickly. There appears to be little struggle. They shot him in the chest and tossed his body over the wall."

"We must get help, Mr. Tan."

"Correct. Use your cell phone."

She flipped it open. "I don't have coverage here."

"Then drive up to the inn and call the police in Dandong. Ask them to send assistance immediately. And a coroner's representative to remove the body."

"I will also give them the license number of the Land Rover," she said. "They can broadcast a bulletin throughout the province. Those men will be shocked when they learn that they have not gotten away with this crime."

"I will look over the scene again. Make your calls and come back quickly."

While Zhang was gone, Tan had time to examine the area more thoroughly. It appeared certain that Stensrud's murder had been planned and that Huong and Antipovich were accomplices. Stopping to catch his breath, he sat on a large rock and marveled at the natural beauty of the view. He could see traces of the Yalu in the distance and the twinkling lights of a city that was probably Dandong. He also thought of the work that lay ahead. He and Zhang would have to gather up Stensrud's personal belongings when they returned to their hotel. He would also have to send a summary fax to Willy Gunderson.

Two hours later, after Torre's corpse had been placed in a white body bag and laboriously hauled up the slope by Tan and three others, the scenic vantage point area was quiet once again. The coroner's representative told Tan that an autopsy would be performed in the morning and his report would be available shortly thereafter. The Dandong police promised to notify the Norwegian embassy in Beijing and help the coroner arrange for transporting Torre's remains to Oslo.

Zhang and Tan arrived back at the hotel at 10:30 p.m. Tan showed the desk clerk his identification and explained to her why they needed access to Torre's room. She gave Tan a key and said that she would call the hotel's security man who would meet them at the room.

Tan unlocked the door and Zhang followed him inside. They were surprised to find the room in total disarray. The bed had been stripped, the mattress overturned, and all the bureau drawers pulled out and turned upside down. Torre's clothes had been yanked out of the closet and tossed on the floor.

Zhang sucked in her breath sharply. "He's been robbed."

"Perhaps," said Tan. "Or someone was looking for something."

"Someone like Antipovich."

Tan smiled. "Which would explain why he stayed behind and did not accompany Stensrud on his tour of the countryside."

"Shall we pack up everything?"

"Not yet. There may be clues he left behind. And the local police with have to conduct their own examination."

The security man who had been watching while they continued their careful inspection eventually joined them. Zhang and Tan went back to the reception desk while the security man locked the room. Tan gave the room key to the desk clerk.

They stepped away from the reception desk and stood close together in the empty lobby. Tan studied her face. "You look tired, Yan. It has been a long day."

"I am tired, but I am also very hungry," she said. "Do you realize we have not eaten anything since noon?"

"I lost my appetite when we found the body, but I could eat something now. But you, you must be starving."

Before she could answer, the desk clerk approached them. "I have something for you, Mr. Tan. Excuse me for not remembering." She handed him a sheet of paper and a sealed letter-size envelope. The paper was a fax from Gunderson, the one he'd sent earlier from Oslo. Tan passed it to Zhang without comment.

Tan stared at the envelope. It was from the hotel with the name 'Gerd' written on the outside. "What is this?" he asked.

"It came from one of our safe deposit boxes," replied the clerk. "Mr. Stensrud placed it there this morning. I thought you should have it."

Tan opened the envelope and withdrew three pages of hotel stationery. "What do you have there?" asked Zhang.

"I cannot read it. It seems to be Norwegian. Probably something written by Stensrud."

Zhang's eyes lit up. "This could be what Antipovich was looking for."

Tan glanced at his watch. "I believe the restaurant here is still open. Let us first have a drink and then dinner. We can review what is on these pages. Perhaps something may be learned by us working together."

Chapter Thirty

Tuesday evening about midnight, a drowsy Alexi rolled over in bed and caressed the warm skin of a young Chinese woman. He had returned to Shenyang from Dandong, taken a room at the Trader's Hotel for one night, and placed a call to Huong immediately after checking in. Huong was not available so Alexi left a message, asking him to call back.

The woman responded to Alexi's overtures. She was now lying on top of him, his hands stroking her body, when the telephone rang. "Sorry, my dear, but I must take this call." After a slight nudge by Alexi, she slid out of bed and went into the bathroom.

"I received your message," said Huong. "I trust you have good news."

Alexi could barely suppress his excitement. "The mission was successful. My colleagues who performed the task have reported. Our business associate will not contact us again nor will he return to his own country. I can say with great confidence that any efforts to locate him will be futile."

"Excellent. And the men who did this job? What about them?"

"They are hundreds of miles away by now. They cannot be traced."

"What of our business associate's personal effects?"

"I searched his room thoroughly. He left nothing behind that could connect him to either one of us or our business venture."

"You are sure of that?"

"Absolutely," said Alexi. "You have nothing to worry about."

"I always worry about the small details. It is the only formula that guarantees total success." Huong paused. "I believe we are ready to move forward. My experts are fully convinced that the test results are valid. I want you to begin the next phase of our project."

"And the money?"

"The money will come." Huong sounded irritated. "We shall triumph because nothing will stop us now."

The woman came back to bed. She slid into Alexi's one-armed embrace, making a purring musical sound.

"You are not alone?" said Huong.

Alexi laughed. "A beautiful woman has consented to be my guest tonight." He kissed her. "She thinks I am a god come down to earth."

"You are a consummate fool," snarled Huong. "See how much she would care for you if your money was gone."

"Not to worry, my friend. Tomorrow, this god returns to his heaven."

"And not a day too soon. Contact me as soon as you return to your home."

Huong hung up and Alexi again gave full attention to his amorous and anxious-to-please bed partner.

Wednesday morning found Gunderson in a good mood. He anticipated another report from Tan, one that would enlighten him further on what kind of business Stensrud, Antipovich and Huong were conducting. On arrival at his office, Gunderson first poured himself a cup of coffee, then read the latest fax from Tan.

Good morning, Mr. Gunderson,

I am writing to you from the office of my excellent partner, Miss Zhang Yan, at Shenyang police headquarters. We came back here this morning from Dandong. I believe our business there is completed.

I regret to inform you of the death of your countryman, Torre Stensrud. It is clear to us that he was murdered by two Chinese men who were probably paid to end his life.

A heavy burning lump formed somewhere between Gunderson's neck and stomach; he had difficulty breathing. He turned away from his desk and stared out the office window, pondering this latest news. He had misjudged the situation and felt partially responsible for Torre's death. After a long pause to calm down, he continued reading.

The meetings concluded yesterday about 1800. Huong and the other North Koreans left in a car and probably returned to their own country. Stensrud went with the two Chinese men in a Land Rover. Miss Zhang noted the license number of the Land Rover but we have learned that the plates were stolen from another vehicle.

We followed the Land Rover into the countryside. For a time, we thought they were going to have dinner at a mountain inn. Once in the mountains, we soon discovered what they were doing. Stensrud was shot through the heart and his body tossed into a steep ravine. We found his body and called for police assistance from Dandong. An autopsy will be performed today.

Gunderson paused again. He thought of Anna Lise and what a terrible blow this news would be to her; a widow who had lost her only son.

Miss Zhang and I returned to the hotel and conducted a search of Stensrud's room. It was in total disarray when we entered. We suspect it was ransacked by Antipovich before he left Dandong. We have collected all of Stensrud's clothing and personal items and have packed them into his suitcase. It will accompany his body back to Oslo.

Before leaving the hotel, we were given a letter by a member of the hotel's staff. Stensrud had placed it in a safe deposit box. We have looked at it but could not understand it. It appears to be in Norwegian and was probably written by Stensrud. You will find a copy of it at the end of my report. We hope it proves useful to you.

It is unlikely that we will catch the two men who killed Stensrud. However, if some piece of luck comes our way, I will be the first to let you know.

Respectfully,

Tan Li Hsing

Gunderson flipped over the last page of Tan's report, eager to read what Torre Stensrud had left behind in the way of last words.

Dearest Gerd,

I am writing tonight from my hotel room in Dandong, China while looking at my favorite picture of you. The one I have framed and have with me whenever I must travel. If you are reading this, I will not be returning to Oslo.

The last time we were together, we talked about my most recent business trip. I did not want to make this trip. I felt it was unnecessary because the people I was dealing with had all the data they needed to move ahead.

In time, you will see what this project is all about. While working in Finnmark, I suspected there was a great deal of oil under the ground. An associate named Alexi had promised me a great deal of money if I ever came across evidence of such deposits. I discovered this and gave the test results to Alexi in exchange for this money. Alexi has connections with North Korea. His people will be able to drill and harvest this oil from outside of Norway and transport it to those in Southeast Asia who so desperately need it. Our own country has no need for more oil. There are millions of excess Kroner sitting in our treasury, thanks to earlier discoveries under the North Sea. This new oil find will disrupt the Americans' quest for power and their subjugation of the economically enslaved people of North Korea. With the money gained by selling the oil they cannot use, the Koreans will be able to feed millions of their starving people without being blackmailed by the United States.

The money I was given remains unspent. If you look in the top shelf over the stove in my kitchen, there is a red coffee can tucked away in the back. You will find a substantial amount inside. It is all yours now. I hope you will get some enjoyment from it. Perhaps an extended holiday in Greece or Italy.

I have a favor to ask. Please help my mother as much as you are able. Do not tell her about my involvement in the oil drilling business because that will upset her much more than necessary.

Finally, know that I love you with all my heart. There has never been anyone in my life like you.

Torre

Gunderson placed Tan's fax on his desk top next to a manila folder. He opened the folder and quickly scanned the top pages, consisting of correspondence from Tan and his notes from the meeting with Halvar Berge and Sven Aarhuis.

It was all falling into place. Torre's self-incrimination in his letter to Gerd was the last piece of evidence he needed. He would now be intensely occupied with preparations for briefing the Chief of Defense and surely the Prime Minister. What then? Would Norway prosecute the criminals through the UN or NATO? Military action was certainly out of the question. Forces could not be deployed to either Russia or Finland without the serious risk of protracted combat in the northern sectors of those countries. The oil thieves were very clever indeed.

He reflected for a moment on Torre's political naiveté. Sometime during the last few years, he had evidently abandoned the idea of participating in terrorist activities against the U. S. in favor of an economic coup. But in aiding North Korea, he would not only be striking a blow against America, but also damaging the well- being of thousands in his own native country. Monies earned by the theft of Norway's oil would surely not be used to feed the millions of starving North Koreans. More likely, the funds would find their way into the pockets of wheeler-dealers like Huong, his fellow high-level functionaries, and even The Dear Leader.

Before starting to work on his briefing materials, Gunderson called Sandy's office in Kolsaas.

Sandy answered right away. "Good morning, Mr. Gunderson. This is an unexpected pleasure." Gunderson detected a note of sarcasm in Sandy's voice.

"I must see you as soon as possible."

Sandy's voice became more businesslike. "Sounds serious."

"It is very serious." Gunderson looked at Torre's travel schedule. He was supposed to arrive in Oslo at 7:35 this evening.

"Can you give me a clue what this is about?"

"It is too sensitive to mention on the phone. Better to have a meeting."

"At the Viking about seven?" said Sandy. "Is that soon enough?"

"Seven o'clock it is then. I will meet you in the bar."

Chapter Thirty-One

Sandy worked later than usual so he could drive directly from his office to the Viking Hotel. He arrived just before seven o'clock and found Gunderson in the bar at a secluded table. A waiter stood nearby.

"A whiskey, please," said Gunderson to the waiter.

"The same for me," said Sandy, "with two ice cubes." Sandy shook Gunderson's hand and sat down. "How are you?"

"I have been better."

Sandy took in Gunderson's serious demeanor. "I've got a feeling that you have some bad news for me."

Gunderson sighed and his shoulders slumped. "I am afraid you are correct. Torre Stensrud is dead."

Sandy felt like he'd been punched in the gut; his brain swirled with jumbled emotions. "Oh my god! Does his mother know about this?"

"Not yet, but the news should reach her soon."

The waiter came back with their drinks. Both men took healthy gulps.

"What happened?" demanded Sandy. "Did he have an accident? How come Anna Lise doesn't know and you do?"

"Slow down, Mr. Gilmartin. I will tell you everything I can. But you must be patient with me. It is a very sensitive matter dealing with matters of national security. The circumstances are -- "

"What the hell is going on? You keep hiding behind this national security crap whenever it suits you. My friend's son is dead and I'm supposed to keep calm and collected?"

Gunderson digested the reprimand. "Torre Stensrud's death was no accident. He was murdered, in a remote mountain area of southeast China."

Gunderson's announcement calmed him. "Go on," said a quieter Sandy.

"As you know, we have been watching Stensrud for months. Thanks to you, we were aware that he made this latest trip to China. First to Shenyang and then to Dandong, a small town on the Yalu River. My colleague is a police officer in Beijing. He agreed to investigate Stensrud for me. He and his partner were the ones who found his body."

"Who killed him?"

"They don't know, but they are still looking. It appears to be a professional job."

"Because he knew something?"

"That and probably because he was no longer useful to those who ordered it. He left a letter to a woman named Gerd, probably his girlfriend. It fills in the picture for us. He had a premonition that he might not be coming back home. That he was in grave danger."

"And you have this letter?"

"My Chinese colleague faxed me a copy. There is a problem here because the letter contains some very sensitive information. We may have to withhold it from this woman until it becomes prudent to release it."

"Do you know when his body will be returned to Oslo?"

"In several days, I should imagine. There are many international formalities that must be observed, including the notification of Fru Stensrud."

"Was Torre engaged in some type of criminal activity?"

"He most certainly was. With some unsavory men from several countries. The international implications are far reaching and involve rogue regimes as well as friendly border countries."

Sandy paused to unbutton his collar and loosen his tie. "I'm wondering why you're telling me all this."

Gunderson gave him a pained smile. "I feel sympathy for Fru Stensrud. First a widow, then losing her only son this way. On a personal note, I must take some responsibility for Torre's death. Pushing him too hard, through you, to make something happen."

"I get the picture. You want me to help Anna Lise get through this trauma. Give her some strong shoulders to cry on. You're a romantic old coot, Gunderson."

Gunderson turned red, averted his eyes, and took another sip of his whiskey. "Will that be difficult for you?"

"Not at all. I'd do it for her even if you hadn't asked. But it helps to know what's coming. Do you think it's safe for Anna Lise and me to be seen together again?"

"Yes, I think so. The details of this matter will become public knowledge soon enough. You will surely be able to read about it in the newspapers."

"So, where do we go from here?" asked Sandy.

"I will brief the Chief of Defense tomorrow morning. The complete story on Torre Stensrud and his accomplices. After that, we shall certainly have to brief the Prime Minister. She will decide on what actions will be taken."

"Do you think the military will get involved?"

"Military force should not even be considered."

Sandy felt mildly reprimanded and decided to change the subject. "Will you join me for dinner?"

"Another time." Gunderson finished his drink and stood. "I have to put my briefing together."

Sandy watched him lumber slowly from the bar, his shoulders sagging, his large frame bent over. Sandy was thankful that his own job was much less stressful than Gunderson's. That was the upside; the downside was the grief that would soon envelop Anna Lise.

Gerd Fjelvard peered nervously at the ARRIVAL display in the Gardermoen Airport terminal waiting area. The inbound KLM flight from Beijing was supposed to arrive at 7:35 P.M. but had been delayed. A new arrival time of 8:30 had just been posted. She sighed and resigned herself to this news. Another hour of waiting wouldn't be so bad, all things considered.

She decided to kill time in the cafe bar. There might be something interesting to watch on TV.

She sat at the bar, nursing a glass of beer, trying to ignore the friendly looks of an older man sitting at the end of the bar. She figured he was trying to pick her up, but she wasn't interested. Instead, she tried to imagine Torre's reaction when she told him her news. She hoped he would be as happy and proud as she was.

Gerd had not had a period for two months and was certain that she was pregnant, though she had not yet seen her doctor. Ever since she started having periods, she was as regular as sunrise and sunset. She had not been eating well but her jeans were still getting tight around the waist. She stared at the glass of beer before her; perhaps it was not a good thing to do, jeopardizing her baby's health.

She smoked two cigarettes before finishing her beer. When the older man at the bar offered to buy her a drink, she glanced at her watch and decided to leave. She moved to the reception area where arriving passengers could be met after passing through customs and immigration control.

About 8:40, passengers from the KLM flight began streaming into the reception area. She anxiously searched for Torre but couldn't see him. Twenty minutes later, the passenger exodus was complete; nobody was coming through the gate. Gerd felt confused and agitated. She was sure that this was the flight he was supposed to be on. Where was he?

She found a KLM agent sitting behind a counter. "Excuse me," said Gerd, "but my friend was supposed to be on your flight from Beijing that just landed. I am worried about him. Can you tell me what happened?"

The agent, an older woman with short gray hair, pushed aside a stack of used boarding passes. "I will try," she said. "What is your friend's name?"

"Torre Stensrud." Gerd spelled both names for her.

The agent called up the flight's passenger manifest and typed in Torre's name. Another display came up and the agent looked at it for a time. "Mister Stensrud was not on this flight. He had a connection to make. Let me check that one."

"He missed the flight? How could that happen?"

"Yes, here we are," said the agent. "He was supposed to fly from Shenyang to Beijing and make the connection but he was not on that flight either."

"Why is that?" said an exasperated Gerd.

"I am sorry, miss, but I don't know. Perhaps his travel plans changed."

"But he would have let me know."

"Perhaps he called your home."

Gerd felt slightly relieved. "I suppose that is possible. I have not been at home since early this morning. I came directly to the airport from work." The agent smiled. "I guess the only thing to do is go home and wait to hear from him."

When she arrived at her apartment, she went directly to her telephone and found a single message waiting on the answering machine. Her spirits rose until she heard the voice of her sister on the machine. "Damn," she said aloud. "Where is that man?"

She decided not to return her sister's call immediately, wanting instead to keep the line open in case Torre called. But she remembered the time difference. It would be early morning in eastern China and Torre would still be asleep, if he was still there.

Gerd fixed herself a cup of tea, hoping it would calm her, but it didn't. Finally, she decided to call Anna Lise, thinking that she might have some late information about her son's whereabouts. It was ten o'clock when a drowsy Anna Lise answered the phone.

"Fru Stensrud, this is Gerd Fjelvard calling. Torre's friend. I hope I didn't wake you."

"I am in bed, but not sleeping. I was reading a book when you called. How can I help you?"

"Have you heard from Torre?"

"No, not since last week. He called and said he was making a business trip to China. Why do you ask?"

"He was supposed to return this evening at half past seven. I went to the airport to pick him up but he did not come. The KLM agent looked him up on her computer but he wasn't on the flights he should have been on. They didn't know why and he hasn't called me. I am very worried about him. He would let me know if something happened."

"I don't know what to say," offered Anna Lise. "He didn't tell me when he was coming back to Oslo. He would not give me his client's name or what type of business he was doing in China."

"He did not want to make this trip," said Gerd. "He told me many times."

"I got the same impression. It was not like him. He enjoys traveling to foreign countries."

"I think he was afraid that something bad might happen. He despised the people he was dealing with, but he would never tell me who they were."

"Then I suppose both of us must remain in the dark until he returns."

Gerd sighed. "I will say goodnight, Fru Stensrud. Sleep well."

"It will be all right. And after he does return, the three of us should have dinner together some evening. I would like to meet you."

"I would like that very much." Gerd thought she sounded quite pleasant. She wondered what Anna Lise looked like and how she would take the news about becoming a grandmother.

Anna Lise awoke suddenly, sat up in bed, and glanced at her bedside clock. It was just after midnight. She went to her small kitchen, made a cup of tea, and came back to bed. She tried reading more of her book but couldn't concentrate.

Some aspect of Gerd's telephone call nagged at her brain. It was definitely unlike Torre to miss his flight connections and not tell anyone. Especially a young woman friend waiting for him at the airport.

She wanted to talk so she called her best friend at the Viking Hotel. The phone rang for a short time before Sandy answered.

"You are awake?"

"Yeah, I'm awake."

"I thought you might be sleeping."

"Are you all right? Is something wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong, except that I cannot sleep. I had a strange telephone call earlier tonight. A young woman named Gerd. She was supposed to meet Torre at the airport but he never came. She said he was not on the flights he was supposed to be on."

Sandy didn't speak, prompting her to ask, "Are you still there?"

"Yes, I'm here." He paused again. "Why did she call you?"

"She thought I might know something. Why he missed his flights."

"What did you tell her?"

"Nothing. I have no information about him." She paused for a few moments while both were silent. "But I have this feeling," she continued, "woman's intuition as you might call it, that something is wrong. That Torre may be in some kind of trouble and needs help."

"Would you mind if I came over?" asked Sandy.

"Now? Of course not. But is it safe for us to be together?"

"I think so. Maybe if we're in bed together, we'll be able to get some sleep."

"That would be so nice, Sandy. I will wait up for you."

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

Chapter Thirty-Two

On Thursday morning, Willy Gunderson took the elevator up to his boss's office. He carried a laptop computer and copies of a summary report that covered the main points of his briefing.

Magnus Huseby, the Chief of Defense, welcomed him. "Good morning, Mr. Gunderson. I am anxious to hear more about your latest discoveries." Huseby was tall and lanky, blessed with the photogenic good looks of a rugged Scandinavian, and a good ten years younger than Gunderson.

Huseby's aide took Gunderson's laptop and hooked it up to a projection system near a conference table. Gunderson called up the first Power Point slide from his presentation; the aide adjusted the projector's focus to gain a sharp picture on the screen.

"Ah, I believe we are ready, Mr. Huseby," said the aide.

Huseby took a seat at the center of the conference table directly in front of the screen. Gunderson was on his right, operating the laptop, and the aide was on Huseby's left, taking notes. Huseby had received a short oral brief the day before so he was aware of the subject matter to be discussed.

Gunderson covered the situation thoroughly. He discussed Torre Stensrud's background, Sandy Gilmartin's cooperation, the work of Tan and Zhang, interviews with Berge and Aarhuis, and finally, Torre's murder.

Gunderson took just forty minutes. He shut down his computer and turned to Huseby who had been quiet. "Do you have any further questions?"

"This is a sinister situation," replied Huseby, "a very nasty business. You have done excellent work, Mr. Gunderson."

"Thank you, sir. But we are not finished."

"Very true. These criminals must be stopped immediately."

"I agree. Overt political action is called for." Gunderson smiled. "Perhaps some covert activity as well."

Huseby looked surprised. "I will not rule it out, but it is not my decision to make." He glanced at his watch. "I anticipated your conclusions and made an appointment with the Prime Minister. She has consented to give us an hour this afternoon at two o'clock."

"One hour? Is that enough time?"

"It will have to do. Meet me at the Stortinget just before two and be sure to bring your computer."

About midmorning on Thursday, while Anna Lise was reviewing a proposal from her business colleagues, her telephone rang. A woman with a low soft voice asked, "Are you Anna Lise Stensrud?"

"I am," she replied.

"Good morning, Fru Stensrud. I am Sigrid Evjen of the Foreign Affairs Office."

Anna Lise was instantly on guard, wondering why such a government official would call her. "What is it you want?"

"Are you free this afternoon for a meeting?"

"Yes, but why should we have a meeting?"

"We must discuss an urgent personal matter."

"What is this about? Can you give me a hint?"

"It is quite sensitive. I would prefer that we have a private talk where we can be comfortable and speak freely."

"I can see you at two o'clock," said Anna Lise. "Can you come to my suite?"

"Yes, I will be there at two."

Gunderson waited in the Stortinget's lobby for Huseby. Gunderson was nervous, never having met the prime minister before. He had seen her picture in the paper many times and knew a great deal about her background.

Now in her late fifties, she had been appointed prime minister by King Harald V when she was only forty-one, the youngest person in Norwegian history to hold that key position. Representing the nation's labor movement, she was in her third term of office and had already served for eight years.

When the prime minister was only ten years old, the family moved to New York where her father had been awarded a Rockefeller scholarship. When she was twenty-four, she returned to the United States a second time and won her Master of Public Health degree at Harvard University's School of Public Health.

Huseby came out of a door that led from underground parking and spotted Gunderson. Without any chitchat, Huseby led the way to the prime minister's office two floors above the lobby.

The petite Prime Minister came out from behind her desk and greeted both men warmly. Her smiling face and friendly demeanor surprised Gunderson. She acted like somebody's grandmother, which she actually was, instead of the country's first minister. Without further delay, Huseby and Gunderson sat down in red leather chairs as the prime minister resumed her seat. Gunderson looked around her office and was impressed by its elegant simplicity and lack of any dramatic views of the Oslofjorden from the windows. She was evidently a person who didn't feel a need to impress anyone.

Huseby handed her a document. "This is Mr. Gunderson's report. He has brought his computer and can conduct the briefing using slides, if you wish."

The prime minister put the report aside. "That will not be necessary. Just tell me in your own words. There is no need for a great deal of formality."

Huseby and Gunderson exchanged nervous glances. Gunderson blurted out, "They are planning to steal our oil, Prime Minister."

Her face became serious. "Under the North Sea? How is that possible?"

"Not there. The Finnmark Region, under the tundra."

"Remarkable," she said. "And just who are they?"

Gunderson relaxed and felt confident, now that he had her full attention. "They are the North Koreans, aided by Russians. They plan to drill along the Finnish and Russian borders."

"How is this possible?"

"I will explain, but let me go back to the beginning." Gunderson gave her a condensed version of his earlier briefing to Huseby.

When he finished, the prime minister clasped her hands and exclaimed, "A most audacious scheme. But of course they will not succeed. I am pleased for our country's economy about this discovery of oil, but I am equally sad that we have been betrayed by one of our own citizens. His mother will be devastated when she learns the truth behind his untimely death."

Huseby and Gunderson murmured sympathetic agreements while the prime minister pondered the situation.

"Gentlemen," she continued, "it is clear that we must act. Mr. Gunderson, you are to be commended for your excellent work. However, based on the evidence you have collected, it is unlikely we could achieve a conviction against the North Koreans in any international court of law. They have been much too clever to be implicated in this brazen scheme. They have covered their tracks very well and could conveniently deny everything."

Gunderson was disappointed and sensed Huseby felt the same way.

"But we have other options. I have good relations with the President of Finland and his prime minister. I will contact them shortly and discuss the problem with them. Surely they will not allow their country to be a platform for piracy."

Gunderson relaxed slightly and sensed the prime minister was just getting warmed up to the topic.

"I will also contact our NATO representative and the United Nations and give them advance notice of our plans. Forewarned is forearmed, as they say. I will also meet with the Chinese ambassador. I am sure he will appreciate knowing that his rogue neighbors want to use his country's oil pipeline."

"Excellent, Prime Minister," injected Huseby. "How may we be of service?"

"I think it advisable for Statoil to begin drilling as soon as possible."

"Really?" said Huseby. "It will be difficult for this type of activity to remain secret for long."

"Precisely." The prime minister looked irritated. "When the media learns of this huge oil field, it will become major news around the globe. World opinion will line up in our camp and the North Koreans will be exposed for the criminals they are." She steepled her hands and smiled. "Tusen Tak, gentlemen. Be sure to keep me informed."

Huseby and Gunderson stood. "Just one more thing," said Gunderson. "The Russian Antipovich remains at large. I am certain that he was instrumental in Stensrud's murder."

"What is your point, Mr. Gunderson?"

"He must answer for his actions. In the interest of justice."

She gave Gunderson a stern look. "Do as you wish, but remember I authorize nothing. In fact, we have never discussed it. Am I being clear enough?"

Gunderson smiled. "Yes, Prime Minister. Very clear."

When Anna Lise opened the door to her suite, she saw a smartly dressed young woman and a short elderly Chinese man in a dark business suit.

"Fru Stensrud? I am Sigrid Evjen and this is Mr. Ling of the Chinese embassy."

Anna Lise paused for what seemed to be an eternity. With her instincts on alert, she realized why these two people were paying her a visit. "Yes, please come in." She closed the door and invited them to take comfortable seats in her living room. "Would you care for some tea?"

"No, thank you," said Evjen. Ling also declined.

The two women sat side by side on the couch. Ling sat in an easy chair opposite them.

Anna Lise broke the ice, partly to relieve her own tension and get the talks started. "You have come to tell me about my son, Torre. Am I correct?"

Evjen reached over and took Anna Lise's hand. "I regret that we have some very sad news. Yes, it is about your son. Torre's body was found Tuesday afternoon in the mountain region of Liaoning Province near the city of Dandong."

Tears came to Anna Lise's eyes. "These places mean nothing to me. I only know he went to China for business and was to return last evening. His girlfriend went to Gardermoen to meet him but he never arrived."

Ling asked, "The woman named Gerd?"

"Yes, that is her name. How do you know about her?" Anna Lise turned back to Evjen. "How did he die? What happened?"

"He was a victim of foul play, of that we are certain. Police throughout the province are working hard to apprehend the criminals responsible for—"

"Are you telling me that somebody killed him? Why would they do such a thing? Torre was a gentle man and never harmed a soul." Anna Lise's voice was shrill and tears poured down her face.

"We don't have all the answers yet," said Ling, "but we shall continue hunting these men night and day."

"How—how was he killed? I must know."

Evjen look away for a moment. "He was shot. That is certain."

"His body," cried Anna Lise. "How shall he come home? When will he return to Norway?"

"Soon," said Ling. "The coroner in Dandong has performed an autopsy. This will give us more information to work with. Help us capture the killers. His body will be escorted to Shenyang and flown to Oslo by way of Beijing. If all goes according to plan, he will be returned on Saturday morning."

"Saturday morning," echoed the bereaved mother.

"We are so very sorry," offered Evjen. "Mister Ling and I will help with all the government formalities so as not to burden you in your time of grief."

Anna Lise dabbed her eyes with a tissue. "I had a premonition last night. Some terrible feeling that Torre was . . . "

Ling and Evjen were silent until Anna Lise's crying had subsided.

"There is the matter of your son's funeral," said Evjen. "I can help you with the arrangements, if you wish."

"Thank you, but I have a friend who will assist me." She was thinking of Sandy, how important he was to her, now that she had lost her only son.

Ling gave Anna Lise his business card as did Evjen. "We will keep you completely informed," said Evjen. "Please call either one of us if we can help."

After they left, Anna Lise collapsed on her couch and wept bitterly. When she could cry no more, she went over to her large picture window and stood there for a long time. She felt pangs of guilt as unsettling questions ran through her mind. Could she have been a better mother? What could she have done to prevent his untimely death?

She remembered the times the family went skiing together and Torre's fondness for making daring leaps off tall ski jumps. She was the proudest woman in the university auditorium when he received his degree.

When Torre was five, she took him shopping at a large toy store two weeks before Christmas. They became separated in the store and Anna Lise couldn't find him anywhere. She almost panicked until she spotted his bobbing head in the next aisle, blissfully inspecting the hundreds of toys he believed Saint Nicholas would soon bring him. In his wanderlust, he was totally unaware of the anxiety he had caused his mother. Anna Lise laughed about this incident but it came out as more like a whimper.

She picked up a tissue, wiped her eyes, and walked over to the telephone. She could barely see the dial through her tears but managed to call Sandy's office, praying he was there. Right now, she needed his arms holding her tight.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Gunderson phoned Aarhuis at Statoil as soon as he returned to his office.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Gunderson. Have there been any more developments since our last conversation?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. I have just returned from a meeting with the Prime Minister. She thinks you should begin drilling right away in Finnmark."

"Is that so? What do you think?"

"I agree. As you suspected, there is an immense oil deposit up there. Waiting to be harvested."

"Then Torre Stensrud gave us false data."

"Correct," said Gunderson. "I am certain the genuine test results are either on his computer or backed up on a CD."

"It would be most helpful if we had this. We could establish the drilling sites with greater precision."

"I will call Software Solutions and ask Halvar Berge to get you the data."

"And Torre Stensrud?" asked Aarhuis. "What will happen to him?"

Gunderson paused to consider the question. "It's a moot point."

"I don't understand."

"Stensrud was murdered while on a business trip to China."

"What? How did he die? Was it robbery?"

"No, not that," said Gunderson. "By hired gunmen."

"My god, that is terrible." Aarhuis paused. "I liked Torre. He was bright and a hard worker. But I had little patience with his politics. Always ranting about our government and how he hated Americans. A bit naive, I thought. But I believed he would grow out of it. I had no idea he was deceiving us. Do you have any idea why he was killed?"

"It is all very complicated. I cannot tell you any more than that."

"Very well. I suppose you have your reasons."

"Thank you," said Gunderson. "Now I want something. Do not publicize this latest discovery right now. The prime minister needs some time to contact the diplomats of several other countries involved. Can you do that?"

"Of course. We will do our best to carry on with as little attention as possible. But once the news media get a whiff of all this, everything will be immediately in the open."

"You are so right," said Gunderson. "Meanwhile, I do appreciate your cooperation."

Shortly after he hung up, Gunderson was handed a fax by a message center clerk. It was from Tan.

Good evening, Mr. Gunderson,

I am pleased to send greetings and good news from Shenyang police headquarters. The men who murdered Torre Stensrud have been captured and are safely locked away. It is because of excellent work by my partner, Miss Zhang Yan. She thought that Antipovich may have returned to Shenyang and he did stay at the Trader's Hotel on Tuesday evening before leaving the next day for Moscow. He also had the company of a certain woman named Song Ping that night. Zhang found this woman and questioned her. Because of the information she gave us, Zhang and I were able to find the two assassins and arrest them. These men are local to Shenyang and were very careless. One man resisted and made the mistake of trying to use physical force on Miss Zhang. He was shocked when she countered his efforts and overpowered him. The criminals have confessed to being hired by Antipovich but would not say more.

As always, please contact me if I can be of further service.

Most respectfully,

Tan Li Hsing

P. S. I have learned there is an opening in Shenyang for a high level official, Chief of Detectives. I am going to apply for this position. If successful, it will mean a promotion and a salary increase. Another benefit will be the opportunity to work again with Miss Zhang. We are a most effective team.

Gunderson smiled and muttered under his breath, "Damn fine work. Now all that remains is to trap the Russian."

He read again the postscript dealing with the open position in Shenyang. He vowed to write a commendation for Tan and Zhang and get the Prime Minister or Huseby to sign it.

But first, Gunderson had to call Halvar Berge to explain why Torre Stensrud hasn't show up for work.

Sandy responded immediately to Anna Lise's call for help and drove directly to the SAS Hotel. After opening her door, she collapsed into his arms.

"Oh Sandy . . . this has been the worst day of my life."

He broke free of her embrace, quickly closed the door against the world, and hugged her again.

"Just hold me for a minute." she said.

For a few long moments, she simply wept against his neck.

"He's dead. My only son . . . ."

Sandy kissed her eyes and tearstained cheeks, waiting for her to start telling him the story he knew would be grim. They sat on her couch, his arm around her back and her head on his shoulder.

Sandy held her close for a long time. "Are you up to talking about it?"

"A woman called . . . from our foreign office. She brought a man . . . from here . . . the Chinese embassy."

"What happened?"

"Torre was murdered. In the mountains somewhere in China. His body is coming back to Oslo and could arrive on Saturday." She halted and began weeping in convulsive sobs.

Sandy embraced her again. "Oh my God, I am so sorry. What did they say?"

"I cannot recall everything right now. I am having trouble even thinking straight. But there is something I must do soon. Make funeral arrangements."

"I can help you with that," he said.

"I was hoping, Sandy. Counting on you to be with me. Helping me get through all this."

"I wouldn't be much of a friend if I didn't."

"I must call my parents," she said. "It will be a very sad conversation, but it has to be done."

"Are they still in Trondheim?"

"Yes. Retired and in their early seventies. I do not know if they will come to Torre's funeral or not. They probably cannot afford to fly to Oslo and stay in a hotel so I will have to pay for that. Not that I mind, but they would not be a comfort to me. Somehow, they will find a way to blame me for his death."

"That is so unfair. I could talk to them and explain the situation."

She managed a weak smile. "Thank you, but no. They would not understand you."

"Because of the language difference?"

"No. Because you are a married man and a major presence in my life."

"Oh." He paused for several seconds. "How about your sister?"

"Marta? You can forget about her. She will send a card and flowers but would not fly here from Minnesota."

"You and Marta aren't close?"

"No."

Sandy was silent for a few moments. "The woman who called you last night. Torre's girlfriend. Have you talked to her?"

"Not yet."

"She's probably worried about him. Wondering why he didn't come home. Why he hasn't called."

"Could you call her? I cannot do it just now."

"Of course," he said.

Anna Lise sat up. "I need a drink. Something stronger than the tea I have been having all day."

"I could use one myself." Sandy went over to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of whiskey from a cabinet. He poured two double shots into small glasses and returned to the couch.

She looked at him through red tear-filled eyes. "I need you now, more than ever. I love you very much and I want us to be together."

Sandy paused to carefully consider his next words. "I understand how you feel, losing your husband and now your son. I'll be with you as long as--"

Their conversation was interrupted by the telephone. Anna Lise answered it and began another emotional dialogue, this one in Norwegian. Sandy took both glasses to the kitchen and poured two more drinks. He placed Anna Lise's glass into her hand and excused himself for a bathroom break. When he came back, she was still on the phone, drying her tears with a handkerchief.

Sandy stood next to her, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. After hanging up, she looked up at him with a bewildered look on her face.

"That was Gerd," she said. "She knows that Torre is dead."

"How did she find out?"

"A man named Gunderson. He wants to meet her and give her a letter from Torre."

Sandy's brain raced ahead. Gunderson had evidently decided to give Gerd the letter and explain a few things about Torre's business dealings in China.

"Is she going to meet him?" he asked.

"Yes. She wants to see this letter and find out more about what happened. I told her I had just learned about his death and was getting ready to call her."

"When is the meeting?"

"Tonight at seven o'clock. He is coming to her apartment. She asked me to be there."

"What did you tell her?"

"I agreed, if you could come with me. I would also like to see this letter. Please come."

Sandy felt a heavy weight of guilt. He picked up her drink from the telephone table and handed it to her. He took her free hand and led her back to the couch where they sat down.

"I've got a long story to tell you. About this Gunderson man. And after you hear it, if you still want me to, I'll go with you."

Chapter Thirty-Four

"It all started on my first trip to Oslo," Sandy began, "the morning after I said goodbye to you. Gunderson heads up the intelligence section of your defense department. He came to the airport with Karl Hoegberg, the government's manager for my project. They put pressure on me to find out what you and Torre were doing. They thought you were fishing for classified information to give Torre and his terrorist group."

Anna Lise looked alarmed. "What terrorist group?"

"I don't know but it turns out they were wrong."

"They were also wrong about me. I was not looking for any classified information. I have told you that already. Many times."

"I didn't want to go along with Gunderson's scheme but I had little choice. They wouldn't let me leave the country unless I agreed to help them. Remember when you flew to California and I was supposed to be in the seat next to you?"

"Yes, I remember. I was very worried about you."

"Well, I was practically a prisoner. Sitting around in my hotel room, waiting until I could get my passport back from Gunderson."

"So you agreed to help him?"

"Reluctantly, yes. Like I said, I didn't have much choice. It was blackmail, pure and simple. They threatened to expose me, to my company and my wife. My career and my marriage would be ruined if I didn't cooperate with them."

Anna Lise smiled sadly. "I made it so easy for you, coming to California. What a fool I was."

Sandy stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. "A very sweet and romantic move, but it only complicated things. Especially with my wife. That trip I made to San Francisco was a disaster, knowing that you were in Orange County and waiting for my return."

"Yes, waiting to enslave you in some bizarre sexual escapade to compromise NATO security and jeopardize world peace." She tried to make her statement sound funny but her voice had a hard and bitter edge.

"And don't forget those phony FBI agents, Elliot and Ness. That beating they gave me in the restaurant parking lot was not a part of all this. I still don't know what role those guys were playing."

Anna Lise suddenly remembered her glass of whiskey and took a drink. "Your wife knows about me, is that true?"

"Yes, she knows I'm seeing you."

"She has not asked for a divorce so she still wants to be married."

"So it seems."

"Then the blackmail issue goes away. You can't use that as an excuse."

It was Sandy's turn to take a sip of his drink. "That's true, but the situation has changed."

"Your company obviously knows about me and our relationship," she continued. "Didn't they approve the release of the facilities data for my proposal? Or is it false information because they don't trust me?"

"The drawings and everything else on that CD are genuine. My bosses decided that you could be trusted." He felt it was prudent not to mention that the information he gave her involved little risk.

"Well thank you very much." She was clearly angry.

"Hey, I meant that in a positive way," he whispered, trying to smooth the moment away.

"The way I see it, because your company has acted this way, there's no reason now why this Gunderson man can use it as a reason to blackmail you. Do you agree with me, Sandy?"

"Absolutely. That's what I'm trying to tell you. When I came back to Oslo, the whole situation was different. The morning after I returned, I had a meeting with Gunderson. He told me I didn't have to stay in contact with you anymore. But I have been seeing you because I wanted to. I want to keep on seeing you and be a part of your life. And that's the truth. In spite of my tires being slashed." The last statement sounded petty and he immediately regretted saying it.

"I appreciate that very much," she said.

"Gunderson knew that Torre and I would be having business discussions. The only restriction he placed on me concerned Torre's travel to China. He told me it was sensitive information and I was not to tell anyone about it. He was quite firm about that."

Anna Lise got up, took a couple of steps away from the couch, and turned abruptly to look down on Sandy. She waved her hands as she spoke. "This is a problem I am having right now. If I had known about his business in China, I would have talked to him and found out exactly what he was doing. I could have persuaded him not to go, to stay here in Oslo where he would be safe. Anything to avoid this . . . tragedy."

Sandy thought her attitude was naive but only commented, "I don't think so. Torre was dealing with unscrupulous people. He needed to follow through on what he had started. He had to make this trip."

Anna Lise sat back down on the couch but this time at a considerable distance from Sandy. "What really hurts," she said, "is that you kept all this information from me. You deceived me and—"

"I did not deceive you. I've been honest as I could be, given the restrictions that Gunderson placed on me."

Anna Lise became louder. "You should have told me. You should have trusted me. If you really do care for me, as you claim. Or perhaps I am just part of a fantasy . . . is this how you really feel about me? Am I just your Bond girl, your once is never enough?"

The pain in her eyes and in her voice was real.

"We both know this isn't the time to be talking about our relationship," he answered.

Anna Lise shouted something in Norwegian. From the look on her face, it was probably the Norsk equivalent of 'Bullshit' or 'You rotten bastard.' Sandy watched her walk to the sink, where she poured her drink in the drain.

She came back and stood in front of Sandy with her arms folded across her chest. "I will meet Mister Gunderson with Gerd and learn what he has to say. You do not have to come with me. I will also be thinking hard about all the things you have told me."

They had reached an impasse; Sandy recognized talk was useless. He got up and gave her a tentative kiss. "I'll be in my room at the Viking in case you need me. Can I call you later?"

He watched her silently walk away from him and enter her bedroom.

Sandy Gilmartin felt deeply depressed, and, for the first time in his life, totally alone.

Sandy's anger increased gradually on his way back to the Viking. By the time he reached his room, he was in high dudgeon.

He called Gunderson's office but he had left for the day. When he reached him at home, Sandy barged ahead without any preliminary courtesies. "What the hell are you doing, releasing that letter to Gerd?"

"Do not speak to me that way." Gunderson evidently recognized Sandy's voice. "We can talk if you calm down."

Sandy wiped his forehead and took a deep breath. "Sorry, but I just came from Mrs. Stensrud. She's unstrung, badly shaken and mad as hell."

"She has learned about her son?"

"Yes, and she got a call from Gerd. She's going to be with her when you deliver Torre's letter tonight. She's upset with me for not telling her about you and Torre's business deals in China. She's even got it in her head that she could have prevented his death had she known more. Needless to say, I'm number one on her shit list"

"You should not feel so bad. You were only doing as I asked, honoring a promise to respect the sensitivity of the information I gave you."

"I told her pretty much the same thing. That I really had no other alternative except to cooperate with you."

"This is a difficult time," said Gunderson, "but it will be over soon."

"I hope you're right." Sandy paused. "Now about that letter to Gerd."

"As you know, I gave my chief a briefing this morning. It went well so we had a follow-on meeting with the Prime Minister this afternoon. She is quite a brilliant person. Stateswoman would be an appropriate term. She made important decisions. I am certain this entire affair will soon become public knowledge."

"Are you able to tell me anything now?"

"I suppose so. The people at Statoil, aided by Torre's technical expertise, had discovered a large oil deposit under the Finnmark tundra. Statoil did not realize this at the time because Torre gave them false test results. He sold the real data to a Russian criminal, a front for some Asian people. They planned to drill along the Finnish and Russian borders and ship the oil to the Far East. One of the prime minister's decisions was to have Statoil begin drilling immediately. I passed this information to them this afternoon."

"That's a damned brazen scheme," said Sandy. "Stealing your country's oil. Wait until the newspapers find out about that."

"We are hoping that such news can be suppressed for a short time while the Prime Minister does her job. She must talk with our representatives in NATO, the UN, and the other nations involved."

"My God! There is more to this business than I realized."

"Which brings me back to Torre's letter," said Gunderson. "In a way, I am pleased that Fru Stensrud will also be there. It will give me the opportunity to give them both the background and answer their questions. This is the reason I decided to give the Fjelvard woman Torre's letter now. It is better that she learns about this from me in a private talk instead of reading some lurid story in a newspaper or seeing it on the television."

Sandy was silent for several seconds. "I underestimated you, Mr. Gunderson. Again. And I apologize for being so brusque with you earlier."

"Apology accepted. Now I must leave. We will talk again soon."

Sandy had dinner in the hotel's restaurant. When he returned to his room, he thought of calling Anna Lise but it was too early. She would not have returned from her meeting with Gerd and Gunderson.

He decided to catch up on his e-mail. He owed Julie a response to her latest. She had bragged about her golf game with Justin and his dad, and the forty-two she'd shot on a nine-hole course.

Sandy thought long and hard about what to write his daughter. He couldn't tell her about Torre's death or mention Anna Lise, so he settled for a brief message. He congratulated her on the golf results, wrote some bland words about the weather and his job, and a hopeful paragraph about his furniture arriving soon so he could move out of his small and gloomy hotel room.

He logged in, sent the e-mail, and received one from Cheryl.

Hi Sandy,

You just won't believe the crap going on in this office. Looks like I'm about to be suspended (with pay!) while the SEC cops are investigating the latest mess.

Somebody at one of my client companies has filed a complaint against me. On the surface, it looks pretty serious. But I know it's total BS and I've got the paper (I think) to prove it. On top of that, I'm also sure that the guy who filed the complaint is in cahoots with the two guys in my office who've been cheating their clients. Yep, it's the good old boys network taking care of their own.

I'm keeping mum to everyone in the office about this but I've given my attorney lots of paper plus a few jillion words to go along with it. She's going to follow up while I'm on suspension. I told her to hire a private eye, if that's what it takes, and I'll pay for it.

So here's what I'm thinking. Why don't I pop over to Oslo and spend my "vacation" with you. Hey, like the guy in the choo-choo song says, "I got my fare and just a trifle to spare." Maybe help you move into your new home, help you get settled in. What do you say? Shouldn't your furniture and stuff be there soon?

Let me know ASAP so I can get some plane tickets and buy some warm (and sexy!) clothes.

Love you,

Cheryl

Sandy's reaction was immediate and loud. "Shit! Shit, shit, shit!"

He bolted from his chair and thrashed around the room like a pig in a pagoda, searching for his bottle of duty-free whiskey. When he realized it was gone, he went downstairs to the bar and had a double.

How would he handle Cheryl? He couldn't just tell her not to come; that would make her suspicious and even more determined. Her presence would be a disaster, like the last time he saw her in San Francisco. And Anna Lise had enough to deal with right now without locking horns with a jealous wife.

After another double and a lot more thought, he decided to do nothing. He would read her e-mail again in the morning and think about it some more before answering.

He went back to his room and called Anna Lise's suite. She had returned.

"I am happy you called, Sandy. I was going to call you."

"How are you feeling? Are you all right?"

"It has been horrible. I have a headache and need to lie down, but I wanted to talk to you first. Mr. Gunderson was very kind, very thorough. He told us about the circumstances surrounding Torre's death and his business dealings. And the way he coerced you into being a presence in my life."

"I hope that makes you feel better, now that you've heard from Gunderson."

"It is all so overwhelming. I need time to think about it. Perhaps a brief holiday in another country."

Sandy recalled Cheryl's news; perhaps her trip to Oslo would work out after all. "A sojourn in Italy or Greece might be good."

"I did receive some good news tonight. Gerd is pregnant with Torre's child." She sounded excited. "I am going to be a grandmother. Can you picture that?"

"Really? No, I can't visualize you as a grandmother. You're much too young looking for that. Oh, never mind, you'll make a beautiful grand mama."

"Gerd is a lovely girl and her child will bring us closer together." Anna Lise started to cry. "And since I cannot have Torre anymore, at least I will have his child to love and hold."

"I'll let you go now," he said. Try to get some sleep. I'll call you tomorrow."

Chapter Thirty-Five

Anders Vardø stood next to his office window in the Gardermoen Airport control tower, enjoying his second cup of coffee. The local weather was good, most of his ground equipment was operational, and flights were arriving and departing on schedule. So far, he was having a stress-free workday.

His break was interrupted by a telephone call. "Mr. Vardø, this is Sigrid Evjen of the Foreign Affairs Office."

"Good morning," he replied. He was mildly surprised that someone from that part of the government would be calling him. "How can I help you?"

"You are the airport manager, is that correct?"

"The operations manager," he corrected her.

"Then perhaps you are the right one. The body of a Norwegian citizen is being returned to Oslo tomorrow morning. It should arrive at eleven o'clock on KLM and will be accompanied by a representative of the Chinese government."

"I am the right person."

"Good. The deceased was a young man named Torre Stensrud. His mother, Anna Lise Stensrud, will be present to identify and receive his body. I have already spoken with her this morning."

"How does the Chinese government fit in?"

"Mr. Stensrud died while in China."

"Did he contract swine flu? If so, this will cause complications."

"Not at all. He was murdered and that is all I can tell you."

"How terrible," he said. "What do you want me to do?"

"I would like you to brief the immigration officials prior to the plane's arrival so everything goes smoothly. A mortician will need access to the aircraft's unloading area. He will take possession of the body after Fru Stensrud has seen her son."

"I will take care of that. Will anyone else accompany Fru Stensrud?"

"I am glad you mentioned that," said Evjen. "The deceased's fiancé, Gerd Fjelvard, will also be present. And possibly an American male friend of Fru Stensrud."

"That sounds reasonable. Anyone else."

"Yes, myself and a gentleman from the Chinese ambassador's office here in Oslo. Mr. Ling."

"It would be helpful if you and everyone else could meet me in the arrivals area of the terminal. Say ten forty-five? Then I can escort you outside near the aircraft's assigned gate and wait for its arrival."

"An excellent idea, Mr. Vardø. I will mention it to Fru Stensrud."

After the call was over, Vardø called the KLM agent. She verified the information given him by Evjen was correct. He made a note on his calendar and called his contacts in security and immigration control. They agreed to assist Vardø during the reception and transfer of Torre Stensrud's remains.

Then he had an idea. Vardø had been pursuing Oline Wassmo, a reporter for Aftenposten. Perhaps she would be interested in this event and become more available to him because of the news tip. He called Oline's office.

"Good morning, Anders. How are things at the airport today?"

"They could not be better. I just heard something interesting and thought you would like to hear about it."

"A boat full of lost luggage has been found in the Oslofjorden."

Vardø laughed. "Much better than that."

She perked up. "Then tell me everything."

Vardø told her almost everything that Evjen had mentioned.

"Why is that so unusual?" wondered Wassmo. "People die in foreign countries every day. Maybe he had a heart attack or was in an automobile accident."

"No, it is quite mysterious. She said he was murdered but would not say any more than that."

Wassmo was silent for a few moments. "Please tell me all the names again, Anders. I would like to write them down." He repeated the names for her and she continued, "I would like to be at the airport tomorrow and watch this happen. Would that be a problem?"

"Not at all. I will arrange everything for you. Come about ten o'clock."

"I will see you then."

"And one other thing. No pictures, please."

"Anders? That seems a little heavy-handed."

"Sorry, but I'd be in trouble if somebody found out."

"Oh, well. I suppose you have to comply with airport regulations."

"Thank you." He paused. "While I have you on the line, would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?"

"Yes, I would enjoy it," she said. "Where shall we meet?"

"Come to my place about seven. I will cook a delicious meal for you."

"You can cook?"

"Is that so unusual?"

"I hope you won't be serving food from one of your airplanes."

"I promise that you will be delighted with my talents in the kitchen. And other rooms as well."

She laughed. "I can hardly wait."

After she hung up, Vardø's mind swirled with possibilities so he took a walk around the airport terminal. Perhaps Oline would spend the night with him.

Sandy waited until Friday noon to contact Anna Lise.

"Thank you for calling, Sandy. I have just talked with Miss Evjen at the Foreign Office. Torre is coming home tomorrow morning at eleven o'clock. She has arranged for us to be present when the aircraft is unloaded. I hope that you can be with me."

"Of course I will," he said. "I can pick you up at the hotel and we can drive out to the airport together."

"I have asked Gerd to be with us. We can pick her up on the way."

"I should be at your place about nine-thirty. How does that sound?"

"You are very kind and thoughtful, Sandy."

"What's going to happen after they unload the plane?"

"I have been asked to identify him as a security measure. Then the mortician will take over. Mr. Grønelv will have a hearse parked nearby and take Torre to the funeral home. It has all been arranged."

"Amazing, considering all the stress you're under. Let me take you out for dinner tonight."

"That would be lovely, but Gerd and I are having a meal in my suite. Now that our lives are connected, I want to learn more about her. She will need help during her pregnancy and even more after the baby arrives."

"I understand. See you tomorrow."

Sandy stayed in his office well after everyone else in the building had left at four o'clock. Since he had no plans for the evening, he would use the time to catch up on his work. Furthermore, he had not answered Cheryl's latest e-mail and was still grappling with the problem of what to tell her.

It was close to seven o'clock when he finally left Kolsaas and drove to the Viking. On the way, he made a decision. He would tell Cheryl to come, if she really wanted to, but that he would be busy at work and could not spend as much time with her as he liked. He would also mention the cost of the flight and the jet lag problem. Would she see through his lame excuses?

Once in his hotel room, he turned on his computer. But instead of sending a message to Cheryl, he first downloaded his incoming e-mails, another delaying tactic. He had another one from her in his inbox.

Dear Sandy,

I'm afraid my trip to Oslo is on hold for the moment. My attorney thinks I should stay put for a while in case I have to be deposed. She also thinks I would be sending the wrong message if I suddenly left the country.

Tell me how disappointed you are.

Love you,

Cheryl

Sandy felt enormous relief. He had dodged a bullet. He decided to head for the Bella Napoli and treat himself to a fine meal. After dinner, he would answer her e-mail in language that would pretend disappointment but would also say it was probably all for the best. He would then read for a while and get a good night's sleep in preparation for tomorrow's activities.

Oslo weather on Saturday was clear and calm with an expected high temperature of 75 degrees F, mild for late April in that region.

Sandy dropped Anna Lise and Gerd at the airport terminal and drove off to park his car. Anders Vardø was waiting for them, along with Sigrid Evjen and Mr. Ling. Even though Evjen had pointed the women out, Vardø had no trouble recognizing them because of the black dresses they wore.

Vardø stepped forward and took Anna Lise's hand. "My deepest sympathies for the loss of your son." He turned to Gerd and bowed slightly. "My sincerest condolences to you as well."

Vardø continued, "Mr. Grønelv has already arrived. We have positioned his vehicle next to the gate that has been assigned to the aircraft. Just before coming down, I checked on the KLM flight's progress. It is very close to being on schedule. We can proceed to the tarmac area whenever you are ready."

"My friend is parking his car," said Anna Lise. "He will be here soon." While they waited, Evjen introduced herself to Gerd and Ling made small talk in English with Anna Lise.

Sandy joined the group and was introduced to the three strangers. Vardø led them through the terminal to a locked door flanked by a man and a woman in dark blue suits. He explained that the two were from security and immigration control. They would accompany the group outside and make sure that all pertinent regulations were followed.

One of the security officials unlocked the door and led them down a long underground passageway, then up a flight of stairs to the tarmac. They moved toward a long black hearse parked nearby. Grønelv, a somber man in his late fifties, had one hand on a stainless steel collapsible gurney which he'd removed from the hearse. He was ready to receive this valued cargo.

The KLM airbus soon taxied up to the gate. Engines were shut down, power cables hooked up to the plane, and the debarkation process began. A young Chinese woman was one of the first persons to come down. She presented her credentials and several documents to Ling, who in turn passed them to Evjen. The woman then gave Anna Lise her son's suitcase and Gerd the envelope with Torre's letter.

A cargo hatch door at the rear of the plane was opened while the ground crew positioned a long mechanical conveyor belt next to the opening. A pine coffin was pushed out of the plane onto the conveyor belt and slowly made its way down to the gurney which Grønelv had placed at the end.

Anna Lise, who was standing next to Sandy, began trembling. Sandy offered his arm which she grasped firmly. Gerd took Anna Lise's other arm and the trio moved forward to the gurney.

Grønelv and two members of the ground crew placed the pine box on the gurney. They unfastened six heavy canvas straps, removed them from the box, and lifted the lid. Sandy felt queasy at this point, dreading the sight which Anna Lise and Gerd would find. He was relieved when he could see that Torre looked pretty good, all things considered. The people who had prepared his body had done an excellent job. Still, Anna Lise almost collapsed. Gerd broke free of Anna Lise's grip and bent over the makeshift coffin. She wept, stroked Torre's face, and consoled his lifeless body in soft Norwegian phrases of love and devotion.

Grønelv and the ground crew wheeled the loaded gurney to the hearse and placed it inside. Grønelv signed the Chinese woman's paperwork, which Evjen also signed, essentially identifying Torre as the deceased and officially taking possession of the remains.

Anna Lise and Gerd decided to ride to the mortuary in the hearse. Sandy said he would follow and meet them there later. With the mission successfully accomplished, the others paid their respects to Gerd and Anna Lise. Vardø led the rest of the group back through the terminal where they dispersed.

Vardø went to the point inside the terminal where the KLM plane was most visible. He had left Oline Wassmo there with a temporary security pass so she could observe the unloading process. She was packing up a black leather bag when he reached her.

"Were you able to see much?" he asked.

"Yes, this was an ideal location. I got some excellent pictures."

He frowned. "You took pictures? I thought we had an understanding. That you would not be taking any pictures."

"Anders, I am a reporter. It is part of my job." She gave him a flirtatious smile.

"What will you do with them?"

"It depends. A good one might go well with an article in the paper. I have some digging to do first. To see if there is any real news here."

"I still don't like this," he said.

She kissed him casually. "Please don't worry. I will be careful and not identify you." She slung the black bag over her shoulder. "Now I am off to play detective. We should have a lot to talk about tonight at dinner. Which I am looking forward to very much."

He waved as she turned away. "So am I," he called out.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Oline Wassmo went directly to her office from the airport. She connected her digital camera to her computer and looked at each of the twenty-four pictures she'd taken. She found a good one of Anna Lise, Gerd, and the American standing together, looking anxiously at the pine coffin on the end of the conveyor belt. This will be the perfect photo, she thought, to go with my article. She assigned an ID of TS1.jpg to the photo and printed two copies.

Wassmo thought for a few minutes about the possible content of her story and how to gather enough information. She decided to call Sigrid Evjen and see where it led. Evjen was not in her office but Wassmo was able to reach her at home.

"Good afternoon, Miss Evjen. This is Oline Wassmo calling."

Evjen hesitated for a moment. "Do I know you?"

"I am a reporter for Aftenposten and I would like to ask you a few questions. Do you have a minute?"

There was a longer hesitation this time. "What is this in reference to?"

"A young man named Torre Stensrud. His body was returned to Oslo this morning on a KLM flight."

"How do you know about that?"

"I have my sources, Miss Evjen. What can you tell me about his death?"

"It is a sensitive matter. I should not even be discussing it with you."

"I understand that Mr. Stensrud died in China while he was there on business. Is that correct?"

"Yes," replied Evjen icily.

"I hope it was not because of the swine flu."

"It was not swine flu."

Wassmo could tell that Evjen was agitated but she had to press on. "Then how did he die? Was it an accident?"

"I have given you all I can. Any further information would have to come from the Chinese government."

Wassmo thought this was about all she would get from Evjen. "Thank you very much for your time." She hung up.

Her next call would be to Mr. Ling of the Chinese embassy. This time, however, she would employ a different tactic. She found his home number in the telephone book and dialed it.

"Hello, Mr. Ling. This is Oline Wassmo calling. How are you?"

"I am fine, thank you."

"I have just spoken to Miss Evjen of the Foreign Affairs Office and she gave me your name. She was certain that you would be able to help me."

Ling paused. "What do you need?"

"It concerns the death of Mr. Torre Stensrud. His body was returned to Oslo this morning from China."

"What is your interest in this matter?" he asked.

"Excuse me, Mr. Ling. I should have identified myself. I am a reporter for the Aftenposten here in Oslo. I am writing an article about Mr. Stensrud."

"Ah yes, but it is a very sensitive matter."

"That is what Miss Evjen said. But she also told me that you would give me all the details about his death." Wassmo hoped that Ling would not pick up on her blatant lie.

"It is a tragic story," began Ling. "Mr. Stensrud was murdered while in a mountain resort area near Dandong, a city in the northeast part of China. His body was discovered by two police officers."

"How was he killed?"

"He was shot in the chest and his body was thrown into a ravine."

"Do the authorities have any clues about the killer?"

"The police have arrested two men. They are in a Shenyang jail."

"Why was he killed? Do the police know?"

"They are still investigating the crime. That is all I know."

Wassmo stopped writing and pondered the situation. "I understand he was in China on business matters. Can you tell me anything about it?"

"I am afraid not. Perhaps you should ask his employer."

"An excellent idea, Mr. Ling. Thank you so much for your cooperation."

After hanging up, she marveled at Ling's naiveté in dealing with the press. She moved to her computer, called up Google, and was pleasantly surprised when a recent article about Torre from a technical journal came up on her screen. The text featured Torre's company, Software Solutions, and described their software development work for various oil drilling ventures in different parts of the world. Torre received high praise for co-authoring an advanced computer application called syntactic pattern recognition for seismic oil exploration. A photo in the article showed Torre shaking hands with Halvar Berge, a manager at Software Solutions.

Wassmo printed a copy of the article and read it again. She made a note to call Berge on Monday and dig for more information. He would surely know more about Torre and his business in China.

She continued looking at more Google matches and found an obituary for a man named Jacob Stensrud. A quick read confirmed he was Torre's father.

Wassmo thought she had enough for a story. But her instincts told her that there was much more to it. She would eventually have to interview Torre's mother and fiancé but they would be more receptive after Torre's funeral. Wassmo also wondered about Anna Lise's American friend and how he fit into this story.

She began typing and had a first draft of the article in fifteen minutes. She read it over, changed a few words, and pasted the entire text into an e-mail for the copy editor. TS1.jpg was attached and she added a request for the story to appear prominently in tomorrow's edition. Before sending it, she added a promise to follow up on the story next week.

Wassmo shut down her computer and left the building. She was pleased with her achievement and eagerly anticipated her dinner date that evening with Anders Vardø. If all went according to plan, hers, and hopefully his too, they would enjoy reading her article in bed together in the morning.

Sandy awoke about seven o'clock on Sunday morning and looked over at Anna Lise. She was sleeping soundly, no doubt exhausted by yesterday's grueling events. They had not made love last night; she had fallen asleep in his arms.

Sandy, Anna Lise, and Gerd had spent several hours yesterday afternoon at the funeral home. Anna Lise selected a suit from Torre's suitcase and chose a casket for his final resting place. All three waited for Mister Grønelv to perform the dolorous tasks of his profession.

Sandy had taken Anna Lise and Gerd to a late restaurant dinner before dropping Gerd at Torre's apartment. She wanted to spend one last night in his bed, trying to evoke and retain as much of him as possible. She also planned to search for the red coffee can mentioned in Torre's letter. The money would be invested for her child's education, she said.

Sandy eased out of Anna Lise's bed quietly, got dressed, and went down to the lobby. He bought the International Herald Tribune and the Aftenposten, and took them to the hotel's coffee shop. Over coffee and an English muffin, a photo at the bottom of the Aftenposten caught his eye; it was Anna Lise, Gerd, and himself on the Gardermoen tarmac, looking at Torre's makeshift coffin.

"Good God," he exclaimed. "How in the hell did this happen?"

Sandy's Norwegian was not good enough to fully understand the text, but he felt he could catch its essence. His first thought was to throw the newspaper in the trashcan so that Anna Lise wouldn't see the story. She'd been hurt enough already and he didn't want her to suffer needlessly.

Then he had second thoughts. Somebody else would surely call it to her attention. Then she might realize that Sandy had seen the article and was trying to keep her from finding out. That would only generate more arguments.

He finished his coffee and took both papers back to her suite. Once she was fully awake, he would show her the article and ask her to translate it for him. Together, they would get through all the pain of this traumatic period.

It was Sunday evening in Pyongyang when Huong's telephone rang.

"Good evening, sir," came the respectful male greeting at the other end.

"Yes?" Huong recognized the voice. It was his agent in Oslo.

"I have just read an interesting article in this morning's newspaper. I will translate it and fax everything to you after we talk."

Huong had a feeling that he was going to get some unpleasant news. "Please summarize it for me."

"Stensrud's body was returned to Oslo yesterday morning. There is a photograph of his mother, his fiancé and the American at the airport, standing next to the plane as the coffin was being unloaded."

Huong dropped his smoldering cigar into an ashtray. "I do not understand how this could happen. Are you sure it is not some mistake?"

"They have positively identified the body. There is no mistake."

"What else do you have?"

"The article states that Stensrud was murdered by two Chinese men. They are being held in a Shenyang jail."

Huong was enraged and could hardly speak.

"Are you there?" the Oslo caller asked.

"This is a very serious matter," said Huong. "A member of our group has failed his mission. Immediate action is necessary."

"I am sorry to be a messenger with bad news."

"Do not concern yourself. You have performed an excellent service. I shall look forward to reading your fax."

Huong hung up and tried to think. Was the oil venture still feasible? What could he do to minimize the damage? What other information did the Norwegians have?

Huong soon had his fax from Oslo. He read it several times and put it aside. Clearly, he thought, the men who killed Torre Stensrud were incompetent. But the big question in Huong's mind concerned the paper's reporter. Knowing the competitiveness and drive of modern journalists, Wassmo would smell blood and keep digging until more dirt was uncovered.

Several hours later after repeated calling, Huong was able to reach Alexi. He had been drinking and seemed to be in a jovial mood.

"I have made excellent progress," said Alexi, "locating a reliable source for some heavy equipment."

"Never mind that," said Huong. "We have a problem."

"What is wrong?"

"Torre Stensrud returned to Oslo yesterday."

"It this some kind of joke? What you say is not possible."

"It is no joke. At this moment, I am looking at a picture of his mother, watching his coffin being unloaded from an airplane. The American is standing next to her."

Alexi coughed nervously. "Where did you get this picture?" he asked.

"From an article in today's Oslo paper. Would you like to hear more?"

"How could this be? His body was thrown into a deep mountain ravine. Years from now the wolves would find only a pile of bones."

"The news article confirms what you say, but you have been careless. The men you hired have been arrested and are being held in a Shenyang jail."

"Did they confess to anything?"

"The article infers they were hired by someone. Fortunately, your name is not mentioned."

"I never told them my name. I only gave them money." Alexi paused and added, "I can go back to Shenyang and take care of them. I will fix it so they will never talk to anyone again."

"Do not go back to China under any circumstances. You stand out and someone could identify you. I will take care of your incarcerated associates."

"What should I do?"

"I must know if Stensrud can be connected to our venture."

"I searched his room completely before leaving Dandong. There was nothing. Not a scrap of paper that would link him to us."

"But there may be something in Oslo," said Huong. "A diary in his apartment. Some notes on his computer."

"Then I shall go to Oslo immediately and investigate the situation."

"You should buy a copy of the Aftenposten as soon as possible. Note the name of the woman reporter who wrote the story."

"Yes, of course." Alexi even sounded relieved. "She must be watched closely. My charm may help to gain her confidence."

"Pay attention to business," said an irritated Huong. "Contact me right away after you arrive in Oslo."

After completing his call, Huong brewed a cup of tea. He felt proud of himself. Although he was furious with Antipovich, he had not lost his temper. What a fool! He is in greater jeopardy than ever and doesn't realize it. If he is as careless in Oslo as he was in China, he will be writing his own death warrant.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Willy Gunderson drove to his office on Monday morning through a cold wind-driven rain. The foul weather, which had hovered over Great Britain the day before, was uncharacteristically harsh for this last week of April. If the temperature had been slightly lower, Oslo would now be covered with snow.

Gunderson poured himself a cup of thick black coffee before settling down to work. He sipped while reading a fax that had arrived earlier.

For Mr. W. Gunderson:

There has been another development in the case of Torre Stensrud. The two men who murdered him are dead. They were found this morning in their individual cells. It appears that someone put poison in their breakfast meals. These men were closely guarded, yet somehow it was done.

All the jail guards have been questioned as well as cooks and helpers in the kitchen but we have no clues. I think the person who killed these men is the same one responsible for Stensrud's death. He is trying to destroy evidence which might connect all these deaths to him.

Mr. Tan and I send our grateful appreciation for the commendations on our work. Your kind regards for our humble achievements have elevated us in the professional esteem of our colleagues and supervisors.

Mr. Tan has returned to Beijing and I hope he returns soon to Shenyang. We both send you our most benevolent greetings.

Respectfully,

Police Officer Zhang Yan

Gunderson pondered Zhang's report. He agreed with her hunch that the double murder was linked to Antipovich and Huong and he would tell her so in his reply. He also thought that something must have happened to precipitate this latest action. Were they running scared?

Gunderson's deliberations were interrupted by a telephone call.

"Good morning. Who do I thank for this wonderful Monday weather?" It was Sandy Gilmartin.

Gunderson laughed. "Sorry, it is not my department. But I will forward your question to the king."

Sandy turned serious. "Did you see the article in yesterday's paper?"

"Yes."

"What was your reaction?"

"The reporter correctly stated the facts but I could not help but wonder how she learned about the return of Torre's body. And how did she get that picture?"

"Do you plan any action? Are you going to talk to her?"

"That would not be wise. She would want to know why my department is interested. I think she will probably pursue other sources until she has enough information for at least one more story."

"That's too bad. I hope the next one comes after the funeral."

"When is that to be?" asked Gunderson.

"Late tomorrow morning. God, I hope it stops raining."

"How is Fru Stensrud holding up? And the Fjelvard girl?"

"They are incredibly courageous women. We spent yesterday afternoon and evening at the funeral home. Many friends and business associates came by to pay their respects. It helped a lot."

"I am sure your presence was valuable as well." Gunderson paused to finger Zhang's fax. "I received a report this morning from my colleague in China. The two suspects who were arrested and jailed have been murdered. I believe the person who hired them wanted to make sure they wouldn't talk."

"Murdered? In jail? How could that happen?"

"Poison in their breakfast. The police have no clues but it points to the Russian or the North Korean we talked about. Their security was at risk as long as those two remained alive."

"Nasty people," said Sandy.

"And the danger is increasing. This may not be the last of it."

"I'm calling because of a report from my security chief."

"Mr. McAfee? What did he say?"

"Remember the two men who beat me up in California? The ones posing as FBI agents?"

"Yes, I remember," said Gunderson. "One of them was killed, correct?"

"That's right. Now the other one is dead. The one who called himself Ness."

"He is the man who fled to Mexico City."

"But he moved on to Mazatlan. They found him in a beach front hotel, shot in the head like Elliot."

Gunderson paused for a moment. "Perhaps there is a connection."

"Maybe, but it seems like a stretch."

"The two men in the Shenyang jail were linked to Torre's death. I wonder if your Elliot and Ness are with the same group of criminals."

"Trying to cover their tracks?"

"Precisely. I am less positive about your two attackers, but I think the article in yesterday's paper caused the death of the jailed Chinese."

"And if there is a follow-up article with more news . . . "

"Anything may happen. We will have to be very careful."

Oline Wassmo sipped hot tea, hoping to clear away the brain fuzz and get down to work. She ignored the foul weather outside her office, preferring instead to mentally relive her experience with Anders Vardø on Saturday evening and Sunday morning. They had enjoyed a delicious meal, followed by exquisite lovemaking that night and again the next morning. She wondered if it was proper to send flowers to his office. Then she snickered. What would his airport associates say about that?

Her romantic reverie was interrupted by the telephone. It was Halvar Berge.

"Thank you for returning my call, Mister Berge. I am writing a follow-up story on the death of your employee, Torre Stensrud."

"I read your article yesterday." His voice had sharp edge.

"Would you mind answering a few questions?"

"Actually, I am pressed for time. Several urgent matters to take care of. You know how Mondays can be."

"I understand and will not take much of your time."

"I think it better for us to have a meeting. Telephone interviews are so . . . impersonal."

"I am available whenever you are," she said.

"Excellent. If you will come to my office at six o'clock, we can have a quiet talk with no interruptions."

"That will be fine. Six o'clock it is."

Alexi Antipovich's flight landed in Oslo shortly after four o'clock. The rain had stopped but the residual turbulent air made for a white-knuckle landing. He took the Flytoget electric train from the airport to the center of Oslo, then a taxi to the Gyldenløve, an inexpensive hotel in the northwest part of the city. He had picked it because of its location: away from traffic and a safe distance from Torre's apartment and the hotels occupied by Sandy and Anna Lise.

After getting settled in, he placed a call to Pyongyang. "I am in Oslo."

"Very good. Where are you staying?"

"At the Gyldenløve on Bogstadveien, a short walk to the center. It is not up to my usual standards, but I am comfortable."

"You are not there for a holiday. What are your plans?"

"After a late dinner, I will go to his apartment and have a look inside."

"I expect to hear from you if you find anything."

"It could be very late. Possibly early tomorrow morning."

"I do not care about that. I want results. Time is running out."

Alexi noticed he was sweating. Telephone conversations with Huong always did that. "I will not leave here until I have what we need."

Wassmo was a few minutes early. She found a middle-aged man sitting at the receptionist's desk when she entered the building. "I am Oline Wassmo and I have a meeting with Halvar Berge."

He stood and smiled. "Then you have found the right person. Welcome to Software Solutions."

Wassmo extended her hand but she was speechless.

Berge laughed at her surprise. "Our receptionist has left for the day. I have been working at her desk, awaiting your arrival."

"It is a pleasure to meet you," she answered.

"Come, let us go to my office."

Berge led the way to a simply furnished room at the rear of the building. After they sat down, she pulled out a pad and pen from her slim black briefcase. "Tell me about Torre Stensrud. What kind of man was he?"

"A brilliant one, I would say. But also with a questionable talent for being passionate about the wrong causes."

"How long did you know him?" she asked.

"Almost four years. He came to us direct from the university. A first rate student. Did you know he earned his degree after only three years of study?"

"That is remarkable. I read an article about him in a technical journal. He did some valuable work for you relating to oil exploration."

"True enough," said Berge. "Thanks to his ingenuity, we have helped many clients find oil in various parts of the world."

"Was he looking for oil in China? I understand he was there on business."

"He was there on holiday, not representing our company."

"Really?" She lowered the tablet down to her lap. "Could he have been doing oil business? Would you allow him to do that?"

"He could have gone anywhere on his own. But using our company's resources for his own gain is strictly prohibited. And illegal as well."

"Traveling where he went is expensive. I checked and found that someone outside our country purchased his ticket. Perhaps someone in China was buying his time and expertise." She had Vardø to thank for this bit of information.

"That may be so. I cannot rule it out."

"You mentioned him being passionate about the wrong causes."

"He was vehemently opposed to our government's hoarding all the profits from North Sea oil revenues. And he liked to rant about America's invasion and occupation of countries like Iraq and Afghanistan. Typical of an immature and idealistic young man."

"What was he working on before his trip to China?"

"He spent a great deal of time in Finnmark, supporting a team from Statoil. We have an ongoing contract to help with their oil and gas explorations."

"Did they find anything?"

Berge looked down at his hands and paused. "They conducted many tests but they have a lot more work to do up there."

"Will you send another person to be with the Statoil team?"

"I have no one to spare right now. I may have to go myself."

"Who is your point of contact at Statoil?" she asked.

"Sven Aarhuis. A good friend. I have known him for years."

"I would like to interview him, too. I want the most comprehensive views of this matter before I write the next article."

Berge waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. Wassmo interpreted it as a statement; do whatever you need to do.

Wassmo rose and extended her hand. "Tusen tak for holpen. I can find my way out myself."

Berge also rose and shook her hand. "You may have difficulty reaching Sven Aarhuis tomorrow morning. All of us are planning to attend Torre's funeral."

"I am glad you reminded me," she said. "Perhaps I will be there, too."

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Willy Gunderson was at home on Monday evening, trying to assemble a meal from the leftovers in his refrigerator, when the telephone rang.

"Mr. Gunderson? Arild Tompter calling from Gardermoen. We met several weeks ago. Do you remember?"

Gunderson struggled for a few moments and then recalled their meeting. "You are with immigration, is that correct?"

"Yes, I am. When we talked, you gave me a man's name, Alexi Antipovich. You asked me to notify you if he entered the country."

Gunderson perked up. "And he has?"

"He came through this afternoon on a flight from Moscow. He told the duty officer he would be here on business for a few days."

"Good, good. Do you know where he is staying while in Norway?"

"Sorry, I don't have that information."

"I suppose that would be too much to ask," said Gunderson. "Tusen tak, Mr. Tompter. You have been exceptionally helpful."

After hanging up, Gunderson made himself a liverwurst and cheese sandwich and opened a bottle of beer. While eating his modest dinner, he congratulated himself on having done this bit of police work. He had contacted local immigration offices and sent bulletins to various ports of entry, all in the unlikely event that Antipovich would reenter the country.

And now Antipovich was back in Norway. But for what purpose? Could he be meeting with confederates to pursue their oil-theft scheme? Or was he here for some other reason? Antipovich is traveling under his own name so he must feel secure enough to do so. If he were a genuine professional and really clever, thought Gunderson, he wouldn't be taking such risks.

Gunderson called his assistant, a middle aged woman who had been with him for five years. "I have a job for you," he said. "The Russian we have been watching, Alexi Antipovich, arrived in Oslo this afternoon. I want you to find out where he is staying. I need this information as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir," she replied. "I will work on it right away."

"Call me on my mobile when you find out. No matter what time it is."

Gunderson cleaned up his kitchen, put on a jacket, and got into his car. Where should I be going? he wondered. I cannot sit around the house while this Russian gangster is prowling about our country on God knows what mission.

He backed out of his driveway and drove past the corner house that Sandy would soon be calling home. Suddenly he recalled something that had happened in Dandong, an incident mentioned in one of Tan's reports. Tan and Zhang had inspected Torre's room at the Zhonglian Hotel after his death and found it all topsy-turvy. The incident had pointed to Antipovich, who was probably searching for something. It must be Torre's letter to Gerd, Gunderson thought, now in her possession with a copy safely locked up in his office. Maybe that is why Antipovich is back in Oslo. But how could he know of its existence?

Gunderson drove to Torre's apartment building and parked outside. It was a two-story fourplex, two apartments upstairs/downstairs on each side of a center stairway. Lights were on in three units but Torre's place, on the second floor right, was completely dark.

Gunderson glanced at his watch. It was 8:45. He settled in for a long wait and lit up a cigarette. He also checked his service pistol stored in the glove compartment. The gun was loaded but the safety switch was on. He had never used his weapon in an actual confrontation but practiced often at the department's pistol range. Nevertheless, he still hoped he wouldn't have to use it.

After a half dozen cigarettes, he had an idea. He fingered through a small black notebook that he always carried and found Gerd's home telephone number. He called her, wanting to make sure she was safe, and perhaps give her a cautionary warning about Antipovich. There was no answer, but he left a message asking her to call him on his cell phone.

Around 10:30, his assistant called back. "I have it for you, Mr. Gunderson. Antipovich is a guest of the Gyldenløve. Do you know it?"

"On Bogstadveien?"

"That is the one," she said.

Willy allowed himself a faint laugh. "Good work. I believe I will pay that establishment a visit and see if their hospitality extends to tired old government bureaucrats like me."

After Antipovich had completed his call to Huong, he opened a bottle of vodka purchased from Moscow airport's duty-free shop and poured himself a generous drink. He downed it in a single gulp, relishing the burning sensation in his throat, and followed it with a slug of ice water.

Huong treats me like some lackey, Alexi thought, instead of his partner. Why did I have to come back here? Huong's local agent could do this kind of menial task. It was not my fault that Torre's body was found in that mountain ravine. The men I hired must have been followed. Maybe the Chinese police already suspected they were criminals.

Antipovich had been studying papers that were spread out on his bed. One was a map of Oslo with the location of Torre's apartment circled. The others consisted of Sunday's issue of Aftenposten showing Oline Wassmo's story and a translation that Huong had faxed him.

He poured himself a second drink. "This reporter is our immediate problem," he said to the empty room. "I will deal with her first, Huong's warning be damned. A visit to Torre's apartment can be made later."

Alexi found the newspaper's number in the Oslo directory and dialed it. The operator connected him quickly.

"Ah, good afternoon, Miss Wassmo," he said. "My name is Boris Zhukov. We have not been introduced but we share a matter of mutual interest."

"Is that so? And what would that be?"

"The untimely death of Torre Stensrud."

Alexi heard a noise, like a shifting chair or a phone being moved, before she answered. "Who are you and where are you calling from?"

"I am here in Oslo. A simple businessman who lives in Moscow."

"What is your line of business?" she asked.

He ignored her question and pressed ahead. "I have read your article in yesterday's news. It shocked and pained me more than I can put into words. Such a tragedy, learning about the horrible death of my comrade."

"You knew him?" She sounded excited.

"Oh yes, he was a business colleague. In fact, I was with him in China for some meetings with a third party."

"You were there? This is extraordinary. But you had not heard of his death until yesterday?"

"That is true," he said. "I must have left China before it happened."

Wassmo paused momentarily. "Why are you calling, Mr. Zhukov? Do you want something from me?"

"On the contrary. I wish to give you something. I have the feeling that you will be writing a follow-up article about Torre. I would like to help you, provide background information on why Torre and I were in China. What kind of business opportunities we were pursuing and how they might have contributed to his death. Does this sound interesting to you?"

"Yes, very interesting. Tell me more."

"I have probably said too much already for a telephone conversation. A meeting would be better for both of us, I believe."

"Why are you doing this? Do you want money? I cannot pay you."

"It is not for money, I assure you. What I am most concerned about are the facts. Torre was a fine young man and I do not wish to see his reputation ruined by innuendo and half-truths. Perhaps our collaboration will even help the authorities catch the ones responsible for his death."

"That sounds all very noble," she said sarcastically. "Very well, when would you like to meet?"

"Tonight. I will be catching a plane tomorrow right after Torre's funeral."

"This is quite sudden but I can make it."

Alexi's spirits rose. "Excellent. Let us meet at the Najaden where you shall be my guest for dinner. I understand the views of the fjord are superb. There is no reason why we cannot a enjoy a fine meal while discussing this most sensitive subject. Do you know the restaurant?"

"Yes, on Bygdøy. A bit out of the way but I have heard the kitchen is first rate."

"I shall look forward to meeting you. Shall we say eight o'clock?"

"Eight o'clock then. How shall I recognize you?"

"I have curly black hair, beard and mustache." He laughed. "I always stand out in a crowd."

Gunderson showed his credentials to the desk clerk. "I believe you have a man named Antipovich staying here. Is he in his room now?"

The clerk closely examined the offered identification, then looked over at a number of pigeonholes in the wall. "Yes, Mr. Gunderson, he is a guest of the hotel. But his key is in the box so he must be out. What else can I help you with?"

"Nothing right now," said Gunderson, edging toward a pair of overstuffed leather chairs in the lobby's corner.

Gunderson sank heavily into one of the chairs and glanced at his watch. It was five minutes after eleven o'clock. He picked up a magazine from a nearby table and scanned the cover. He stopped reading when Oline Wassmo's article triggered something in his mind. Her story set this recent activity into motion, he thought. Its contents were no doubt picked up by Antipovich, and possibly even by Huong who had sent the former to Oslo for damage control. This breaking news surely caused the death of the two hit men in the Shenyang jail.

Suddenly it occurred to him that Wassmo might also be in danger, simply by being an ardent news reporter trying to do the best possible job. He went back to the desk clerk for a directory, found Wassmo's home telephone number and dialed it. When her answering machine finally came on, he left a brief message, urging her to call him on his mobile phone.

Gunderson returned to his lobby chair and reviewed the situation. At worst, he would have to wait several hours before Alexi returned, an event that would determine his next move.

He flipped open his cell phone and called his contact in Oslo's police department, Lieutenant Odd Lund-Hansen. "Sorry to bother you at this hour, Odd, but I need your help."

Gunderson heard a long yawn followed by a creaky voice. "You always call me at the most ungodly hour. What is it this time?"

"We've been tracking a Russian criminal who is responsible for the death of Torre Stensrud. Maybe you read about Stensrud's body being returned to Oslo a couple of days ago."

"Yes, I did read that story. So you have a lead on this fellow?"

"He is right here in Oslo, staying at the Gyldenløve Hotel. I am sitting in the lobby, waiting for him to come back."

"Aha! So you want to have this man arrested. How kind of you to include me in your operation. Is he carrying a weapon?"

"It is possible so we must be cautious."

"I can be there in about one hour with two men. We will park near the hotel in an unmarked car. Call me on my mobile when you want us to come in."

"Simply amazing," said Gunderson, "how you anticipate and fulfill my needs. Now you know why I call on you for only the most difficult missions."

Lund-Hansen barked a laugh. "And you always make me wonder why I enjoy such good fortune."

Alexi gripped Oline tightly, his right arm around her waist and his left hand clutching her throat. Her eyes were closed and her futile struggling had finally stopped; he was sure that she was dead.

He propped her body up against the side of her car and opened a rear door. Then he lifted her off the ground and tossed her body on the car's floor. He picked up her keys from the pavement, started the engine, and drove away from the Najaden's dark and almost empty parking area.

While driving through Oslo's deserted streets, he recalled their dinner conversation and how well his plan had succeeded. He had told her an elaborate fictional version of Torre's activity in the oil-theft venture, naturally omitting his own role in having Torre murdered. It gave him a perverse pleasure to do this, watching her get excited about the journalistic splash she would make, but secretly knowing that she would not live to write the next installment.

Alexi soon arrived at Torre's apartment complex. He sat in the car for a good ten minutes, waiting for signs of activity inside any of the four units to reveal itself or to watch traffic through the neighborhood. It was quiet on all fronts.

Alexi easily broke into Torre's apartment using a lock pick he carried for such occasions. He made a methodical search of each room using a small flashlight. Someone had been there before him; there were no clothes in the closets or dressers. All personal items such as photos and toilet articles had also been removed.

After an hour, Alexi decided to quit. He drove to the city's center, found a taxi stand that was still open, and parked two blocks away from it. He found Oline's purse and emptied its contents on the front passenger seat. He took all the cash from her wallet and walked to the taxi stand. He would return to his hotel room and call Huong with his report. He would probably have to wake him up, but that was irrelevant.

Alexi was in high spirits. He had done more than Huong had asked. Eliminating the woman reporter would stop the media from digging into their oil exploration business. The police would eventually find Oline's body but would think she had been robbed. There would be no link between her and Alexi and he would be safe in Moscow by then. Huong would be pleased.

At twenty minutes past midnight, Alexi Antipovich opened his hotel room door. He was wearing only underwear. His gleeful face quickly turned to shock when he saw three men pointing pistols at him.

"Alexi Antipovich?" asked Lund-Hansen.

Alexi raised his hands slowly. "Who are you?" he snarled. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Police! You are under arrest."

"This is outrageous," he yelled. "What is the charge?"

Gunderson stood in the hall, watching the scene. He gripped his pistol, tucked away in the belt of his trousers, in case it was needed.

"Conspiracy to commit the murder of Torre Stensrud," said Lund-Hansen, nodding at his assistants. The other policemen grabbed Alexi, twisted his arms behind him, and put on handcuffs. Gunderson thought Alexi looked pathetic, not at all as threatening as his Interpol records would suggest.

"You have the wrong person. I did not murder Torre Stensrud."

The police subdued him and took him away, kicking and screaming foreign words which no doubt proclaimed his innocence and outrage over the rough treatment being given.

Gunderson felt a huge sense of relief as he watched them disappear. He would take the morning off to sleep in, then later attend Torre's funeral. That afternoon, he would file a brief report to Magnus Huseby and turn over his Stensrud file to Lund-Hansen. The Prime Minster would be able to complete her diplomatic efforts, Sven Aarhuis would be free to drill for oil in Finnmark, and Willy Gunderson could turn his attention to other pressing matters.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

In northwestern Oslo, a small group gathered around an open gravesite to say farewell to Torre Stensrud. The mourners' dark clothing matched the gray overcast sky. The Lutheran minister, who was the exception, wore a long white surplice over his black cassock. He had been hired by the undertaker Grønelv and didn't know anyone in the Stensrud family. Consequently, his remarks and readings from the Old and New Testaments were comforting but general in nature.

After the last prayers, most people dispersed to their cars. Grønelv stayed behind to supervise the closing of the burial site. The minister paid his respects to Anna Lise and Gerd and also left the cemetery.

Gunderson, who had been standing well behind the two women, came forward. "I have some news," he said. "Alexi Antipovich was arrested early this morning. He is safely behind bars. If that is any consolation."

Anna Lise was first to react. "Arrested? How? Where is he?"

"Right here in Oslo. The police captured him in his hotel room and I was a witness to the entire event. Justice will finally be served."

"Do you know why was he here in Oslo?" asked Sandy.

"He may have read the story in Sunday's Aftenposten and decided to come and tie up any loose ends. I think he was looking for evidence connecting Torre to his business venture." Gunderson looked directly at Gerd. "That is why I called last night. To warn you that he was in Oslo."

"I did get your message," said Gerd, "but it was too late to call back."

"How did the police know he was in Oslo?" asked Anna Lise.

"I received a call from a man at airport immigration," said Gunderson. "Antipovich entered the country using his own name. That made it easy to locate him. All things considered, this fellow is not a very clever man."

"I am happy to hear this news," said Anna Lise. "I hope this Russian criminal is punished severely for what he did to us."

"We'll probably have to live through one more newspaper article," said Sandy. "I would expect the Aftenposten to print something about Antipovich's arrest. Could they tie him in with Torre?"

"I have wondered the same thing," said Gunderson. "Last night, I tried to reach Miss Wassmo, the reporter who wrote the story. I had the feeling she might be in danger. That Antipovich might have been looking to stop her before she could uncover more information about his schemes."

"Did you get her?" asked Sandy.

"I called her home and left a message but she did not call back. I also called her office this morning but she was not in. I will try again this afternoon. Of course, she is no longer in danger. She may even be interested in Antipovich's arrest."

Gunderson offered to take Anna Lise and Gerd back to the city in his car. Sandy was headed directly to his office in Kolsaas. Anna Lise kissed Sandy on the cheek and whispered in his ear. "Please call me this afternoon. We need to talk. We should make some plans."

"Yes, I'll call you."

Huong paced up and down his office in deep thought, occasionally banging a fist into his palm or rubbing his throbbing head. His telephone conversation with Alexi Antipovich troubled him greatly. On one hand, he was relieved to hear that his search of Torre's apartment produced negative results. But Alexi's boastful report of how he'd eliminated Wassmo had the opposite effect.

He had sarcastically praised Alexi for his initiative but also castigated him for his poor judgment. After minutes of ranting and raving, Huong told him to get out of Norway ASAP and maintain a low profile back in Russia. He thought they would need a miracle for their business venture to succeed.

Huong returned to his desk and lit a fresh cigar. He decided to transfer a large sum of money to a Swiss bank, into an account which Alexi could access in order to purchase drilling equipment and hire workers. To be on the safe side, Huong would not tell Alexi about the money until it was prudent to do so.

He made a note to call his Asian agent in Oslo several hours later when it would be early morning there. He wanted his man to attend Torre's funeral and tell him who showed up. He would also ask his agent to sniff around the Aftenposten to see if Wassmo's body had been found and, if it had, what might happen next.

Huong puffed hard on his cigar and blew clouds of smoke into the confines of his small office. Why did I ever get myself involved with these idiots in such a convoluted scheme? he thought. For the first time in his long career of loyal service to his country's Dear Leader, he saw the need for a good escape plan to ensure his personal safety. Knowing that a large sum was hidden in a secret Swiss account gave him a warm feeling of security.

In mid-afternoon on Tuesday, Lieutenant Lund-Hansen took a coffee break and pondered the situation. Antipovich had been questioned repeatedly by two of his men but was not telling them anything. They would have to employ a different tactic to break him.

Lund-Hansen's thoughts were interrupted by one of his assistants who handed him a document. "I thought you would be interested in this," she said.

It was a missing person report on Oline Wassmo, filed by Egil Jensen, an editor at Aftenposten. She had not come to work this morning and was not answering either of her phones. Her absence did not fit her professional work ethic.

Thinking of Wassmo's article about Torre Stensrud, Lund-Hansen wondered if her disappearance might be related to his Russian prisoner. He called the newspaper and was quickly connected to Egil Jensen.

"Do you have any news about Miss Wassmo?" said Jensen.

"I am afraid not. I was hoping that you might have some information for us. Any detail that was not included in the initial report."

"I do have something," said Jensen. "One of her colleagues has just come forward with an e-mail she sent last night. She said she would be having dinner with a man who might have more information about a story she was working."

"Do you have the man's name?"

"He was a Russian. Called himself Boris Zhukov."

Lund-Hansen paused. "A Russian. Very interesting. Did she happen to say where they were meeting?"

"Only that it was a place on Bygdøy."

"That should be a simple thing to check out," said Lund-Hansen. "I will send one of our detectives out there."

"All of us here at the paper are worried about her. She was not only an excellent reporter but a fine woman. Oh my, did I say was?"

"We should not jump to conclusions. I will call you as soon as I have some definite information on her whereabouts."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. By the way, I received a strange call from a man named Gunderson in the Defense Department. He was also asking about Miss Wassmo but would not tell me his reasons."

Lund-Hansen laughed. "He is a colleague, no need to be concerned. I will talk to him next."

Five minutes later, he reached Gunderson in his office and related the entire conversation he'd just had with Egil Jensen.

"I am thinking," said Gunderson, "that Zhukov and Antipovich may be the same person. What do you think, Odd?"

"Exactly the same thing, but I am not clear about his motives."

"He may have wanted to question her about her story and throw her off the track before she could write another article."

"You probably know a lot more about him than I do, Willy. Antipovich has told us nothing so far."

I will fax you papers from the file I have on him after we finish our talk."

"We need to find the Wassmo woman. I have a bad feeling about her."

"I do too," said Gunderson. "Murder is second nature to that man. Just another tool in his kit to achieve his objectives."

"I will keep that in mind."

"Until you have more evidence, I would place a close watch on your prisoner. Two men being held in a Chinese jail were not guarded closely enough and paid with their lives. These two were hired by him to kill Torre Stensrud and someone put poison in their breakfast meals, surely to keep them from talking about their role in the murder."

"Letting Antipovich die in prison may not be the correct legal approach," said Lund-Hansen, "but it would be the easiest solution to our problem."

Sandy had a message from an Oslo moving and storage company when he returned to his office. He called the firm's dispatcher and was told that his furniture would arrive by ship on Thursday and be available for delivery the next day. Sandy explained his situation and said he would call back when he had definite information on when he could take possession of the home.

Next he called Inga Sandnes and asked, "When can I get the keys?"

"I can meet you there on Friday morning. The electricity, water, and telephone have been placed in your name so there is very little else to do. I will need a check from you for the security deposit and rent for May and the last month. Will that be a problem?"

"No problem at all. Can we meet about nine o'clock?"

"Nine o'clock it is. I know you will enjoy your new home immensely."

After the call, Sandy sat quietly for a few minutes at his desk, drumming his fingers on the top. He had promised to call Anna Lise and wanted to tell her the good news but feared that she was too upset to talk about it. What was it she said at the cemetery? Something about making plans?

He waited until four o'clock to call, wanting to be sure that she was back in her suite. "You sound unhappy," he said. "I know it's been a rough day for you."

"A terrible day. The worst of my life."

Sandy paused. "I have some news. My furniture will arrive in Oslo on Thursday and be delivered on Friday. Inga Sandnes is meeting me at the house Friday morning with the keys. Then I can move in and get settled over the weekend."

"I am happy for you, Sandy. You deserve a home of your own, away from that small hotel room. Would you like me to help you? We could shop on Saturday for things you need."

"I was hoping for it. Can you come out there on Friday?"

"We can talk about that later," she said. "Right now I am more concerned about surviving. I want to feel you next to me, to hold you in my arms, tonight and again tomorrow morning, and the evening and morning after that." She paused to catch her breath. "Do I sound like a desperate woman?"

"A very passionate woman. I would like to see you tonight as well."

"Come to my suite as soon as possible. We have much to talk about."

"I have to swing by my hotel first, then I'll come right over. Have plenty of ice cubes ready."

She made a faint sound, something between a laugh and a sigh. "I will place an order for dinner with the kitchen so we do not have to go anywhere."

Chapter Forty

Late Tuesday evening, Huong closed his book and decided to get some rest. His secure telephone rang while he was changing into white silk pajamas. It was his Oslo agent.

"I did receive your latest e-mail," said Huong.

"That is why I am calling. How do they look?"

"The photos are excellent. The details are clear, especially the people standing around the casket."

"I am pleased that you approve."

"I recognize the American engineer, the mother and the girlfriend," said Huong. "But there is a man standing next to them, wearing a trench coat. His face appears to be disfigured. Or is that some problem with your camera?"

The agent laughed. "No sir, that is the way he looks."

"Who is this man?"

"I do not know his name."

"I have a strange feeling," said Huong, "that I may have seen him before. I want you to find out who he is and why he was at the funeral."

"I will do that."

"What about Wassmo? Were you able to find out anything?"

"I did call her office this morning and talked with her supervisor. I posed as someone who was to have a meeting with her. The man said she was out on assignment. He did not seem concerned about her."

"Then she has not been discovered," said Huong. "Please continue with your inquiries."

"My contact in the police department owes me a favor."

"Excellent. I can always rely on you. Now there is another problem. I have not heard anything from Antipovich. It is after 4:00 P.M. in Moscow and he should have returned by now. He was staying at the Gyldenløve Hotel. Contact them and find out when he checked out."

"Yes, sir." The agent paused and added, "Is your project going well?"

Huong hesitated, wondering how much he should reveal to his most trusted associate. "Not as well as I would like. I must solve some serious problems in the near future. It would be advisable for you to be especially watchful . Be prepared to leave the country if I fail."

"I understand."

The line went dead. Huong no longer felt sleepy. He went back to his favorite chair to read some more of his book.

Sandy arrived at his hotel room shortly after five o'clock. He was in a good mood, knowing that he would soon be moving from the hotel into a quiet and comfortable home in one of Oslo's prettiest suburbs. He also looked forward to his dinner and an intimate evening with Anna Lise. However, he still had a nagging concern about her jagged emotional condition and the pressure she would probably apply to move in with him.

He collected his toilet articles and placed them in a small carryon bag. He tossed in a clean set of underwear, a tie, and a fresh shirt, knowing that he would be going to his office the next morning directly from the SAS Hotel.

Sandy was about to leave when he noticed his computer. He had not checked his e-mail lately so he stopped, turned it on, and downloaded several messages. He was pleased to see one from Julie.

Hi Daddy,

Guess what? I played nine holes last Saturday and got a birdie on a par 3 hole. Wahoo!! My score was a 41 because I also got a couple bogeys. Gotta lot more work to do, especially with those short irons.

I'm setting up my plans for the summer and I'd like to come over around the end of June. How does that sound? Who should I call in Fullerton to make the plane reservations?

Have you moved into your new home yet? What is the weather like these days? Is there still much snow on the ground?

Gotta run. Let me know what's cooking with you.

Love you tons, Jules

Sandy laughed and shook his head. Jules? Where did she come up with that one?

He started typing a reply. He had a lot to tell her so Anna Lise would just have to wait. They would have plenty of time together after he got there.

A middle-aged couple that lived near downtown Oslo decided to take a walk after a heavy dinner of boiled potatoes and lutefisk, dried codfish that had been soaked in lye and then rinsed.

After they had walked a short distance from their apartment, the woman pointed to a car parked at an odd angle from the curb. "It is a curious thing, Ingolv. I have noticed that auto has been there all day and it has not moved. It is a restricted zone and the police should have given a ticket. And look how carelessly it was parked."

The man let go of her arm and pressed his nose up against the right front window. "Come look at this, Aude."

The woman joined him and peered inside the car. "Is that a woman's purse? It looks like everything inside of it was dumped on the seat. This looks strange."

Ingolv grabbed the door handle. "I think we should take a closer look."

"Is it legal to do this?" she asked.

He opened the door and was struck by a strong unpleasant smell. "We may have a serious situation here," he said. "Stand back."

He opened the rear door and his eye was drawn to a blanket-covered lump on the floor of the black seat. He lifted the blanket gently and was sickened by the sight of a young woman, her face in putrid shades of yellow and purple.

Ingolv went back to the sidewalk and took his wife's hand. "Go back to the apartment, Aude, and call the police. Tell them we have discovered a dead woman in the back of a parked car. I will stay here."

Tears began forming in her eyes. "Will you be safe here, alone?"

"Of course. I believe the woman has been dead for several hours. Whoever killed her left the area long ago."

"I will come right back. Please be careful."

Sandy and Anna Lise relaxed in her bed. They had just made love, slowly and tenderly, and were content just to nestle in each other's arms.

"That was very nice," he said. "Like I said this afternoon, you're a passionate woman."

She kissed him. "I do not need a great deal, just times like this. It comforts me to be with you."

He pulled her closer and returned the kiss. "That doesn't sound like you. This morning, you mentioned something about making plans."

"That may have been wishful thinking on my part," she said. "Perhaps it would be better if we just lived for the moment. Take it one day at a time."

"I don't know what to say."

"I have lost two dear men, my husband and now Torre. If anything should happen to you . . .."

"I understand. I'll be very careful." Sandy laughed faintly. "This is quite a surprise. I was expecting something else."

"I know that," she said. "I have seen your reaction when I bring up your new home and the possibility of my living with you."

"Really? Tell me what you've seen."

"You are not ready for it and I have been pushing you a little too hard. And with your daughter coming this summer for a month, I would have to move back to my suite. Which I would have to keep, an unnecessary expense, not to mention the inconvenience of packing and unpacking all over again."

"My wife may come over, too. Even before my daughter does."

She sighed heavily. "Then I would take a holiday in Greece or Italy. Maybe Gerd would like to go with me. I think she would love it."

Sandy felt that he needed time away from Anna Lise but didn't want to say so because she was grieving over Torre's death. "I would appreciate your helping me move in and getting settled."

"I will gladly help."

"Then come out on Friday morning and plan to stay the weekend. We'll shop for groceries and stuff and I'll cook a nice dinner."

"Once again you have read my mind." She rolled over onto her other side but he still held her close. "Should I set the alarm, Sandy?"

"No, I'll be up in time for work."

"Wake me if I am sleeping, please?"

The sun had set by the time Lieutenant Lund-Hansen had reached the abandoned auto. He saw two police vehicles at the scene, one in front of the car and one in the back.

"Sorry to drag you away from home, Lieutenant," said a uniformed officer, "but you wanted to be notified if the woman was found."

"Are you positive it is her?"

"We found her wallet in the front seat. There is no money in it but the driver's license and credit cards all belong to Oline Wassmo. The body bears a strong resemblance to her as well."

"Can you tell how she died?"

"Strangulation. All the signs are there. I think she put up a good fight, but was obviously no match for the killer."

"How are the forensic people getting on?" asked Lund-Hansen.

"They have not been here long. One is in the car, looking for clues."

"Have you notified the coroner's office?"

"They should have someone here soon."

Lund-Hansen made a personal inspection of Wassmo's car, first from the outside. He nodded at the crime scene technician who was sitting in the front seat, looking for fingerprints on the steering wheel, gear shift and door handles. He took a small flashlight from his coat pocket and shined it around the back seat. When he saw Wassmo's face, he flinched. He had seen many dead bodies in his thirty-two year career but had never become used to the initial sight. Such a pretty woman, he thought, in the bloom of her youth. An innocent bystander caught up in an international conspiracy, just trying to do a good job.

Lund-Hansen went back to his office. After pouring himself some coffee, he called Egil Jensen at home.

"You have some news, Lieutenant? About Oline?"

"Yes, and it is not good."

Jensen sighed. "I was afraid of that. I have been dreading your call."

"Her automobile was found earlier this evening. Her body was on the floor in the back seat. She was murdered."

"How terrible! A fine person with such a promising career ahead."

"Do you know if she has a family?"

"Yes, her parents live in Bergen. I believe she was an only child. They will be devastated."

Lund-Hansen thought of Torre's mother. "It is the worst kind of loss when one of your children dies." He paused to sip his coffee. "I would like you to meet me at the morgue, Mister Jensen, and identify the body." He looked at his watch; it was almost 10:00 p.m. "How about eleven o'clock?"

"Yes, I will be there. Tell me something, Lieutenant. Do you have any idea who killed her?"

Lund-Hansen hesitated, knowing full well that he was talking to a newspaper editor. "I do, but this is not for publication. Not yet, anyway. My men have talked to staff at the Najaden Restaurant on Bygdøy. They saw Miss Wassmo yesterday evening with a large man who spoke with a heavy accent. They left together after dinner. He was probably the Russian you mentioned, Boris Zhukov. The staff's description of Zhukov also fits a Russian who is now in custody. A man who is likely responsible for another death."

"Oline was working on a story," said Jensen. "A follow-up on the death of Torre Stensrud. I would like to pursue it."

"I cannot prevent you from reporting the death of your colleague, but I am asking for your patience because the larger picture is a very sensitive matter. Above all, I do not want to jeopardize our case against the man we now have in jail."

"It all sounds very mysterious," said Jensen. "Perhaps we can have an agreement. Something of mutual benefit. I am thinking of an exclusive story for our paper. What do you say, Lieutenant?"

Lund-Hansen thought quickly. A favorable news article would greatly improve his chances for promotion to captain. "We can talk at the morgue after you identify the body. I can give you more background information then about this entire issue and why your cooperation is so vital."

Chapter Forty-One

On Wednesday, the Aftenposten featured a front-page story about one of its own. A heavy black border edged the article on all sides.

Oline Wassmo, Reporter for Aftenposten, found murdered

The body of Oline Wassmo was discovered in her automobile early last evening by Ingolv and Aude Korschval. The car had been parked on Henrik Ibsens Gate for some time, not far from the Korschvals' apartment.

Miss Wassmo's purse was found on the front seat of the automobile with all of its contents emptied out. There was no money in the wallet, leading police to suspect that robbery was the motive. The cause of death has not been determined but autopsy results are expected soon.

Miss Wassmo had sent a message to a colleague at this paper on Monday afternoon, saying that she was meeting a Russian man named Boris Zhukov at the Najaden Restaurant on Bygdøy. Senior Editor Egil Jensen talked to several wait staff at the Najaden who confirmed they saw Miss Wassmo in the company of a tall man with a black beard and mustache who spoke with a heavy foreign accent. They were seen leaving the restaurant together about 9:30 p.m.

Investigation of Miss Wassmo's untimely death is being vigorously pursued by Lieutenant Odd Lund-Hansen of central Oslo police headquarters. During an interview early this morning, Lund-Hansen was optimistic that the killer would soon be found and brought to justice. He said the police have several promising leads and will check each one thoroughly. Evidence from on-scene examinations by forensic lab technicians is currently being analyzed and is expected to provide police with more useful information.

Miss Wassmo was an outstanding journalist and valued employee, respected by her peers. She was thirty-two years old and had been a member of the news staff for ten years. She is survived by her parents, Lars and Sonia Wassmo of Bergen, and her brother, Per Wassmo, a physician working in Beirut, Lebanon, for Doctors Without Borders.

When Anna Lise saw the story that afternoon, her initial reaction was one of horror and confusion. She feared again for her own safety, angry that a single woman traveling about Oslo could be so easily in danger.

After reading the article again, Anna Lise remembered the victim's name. Oline Wassmo was the woman who had written the story about Torre's death and his body being returned to Oslo. Could Wassmo's death be linked in any way to Torre?

Anna Lise called Sandy at his office. Sandy listened to her ranting, wondering how to cut her off. "Slow down," he said, "and tell me what this is about."

"Have you seen the newspaper? The Wassmo woman, the Aftenposten reporter. They found her body. She was murdered!"

"What? No, I haven't seen the paper yet. What does it say?"

Anna Lise translated the article rapidly, sentence by sentence, from Norwegian into English. Sandy listened intently without making any comment. After finishing, she asked, "What do you think, Sandy?"

"The article says she was murdered but doesn't say how it was done. It sounds like this guy Zhukov is the same guy Gunderson told us about. The one who's in jail now, the one connected to Torre's death."

"If that is true," she said, "why would he kill her?"

"Maybe to keep her from digging into Torre's business affairs and writing another story."

"The poor woman. An innocent bystander."

"He probably lured her to the restaurant under false pretenses. Maybe he promised to give her information for her next article."

"I am sick of all this death and violence," she said. "I want the end of it."

"Me too. I sure hope they nail this bastard."

That evening at home, Willy Gunderson read the story about Wassmo. He had reached pretty much the same conclusions as Sandy, although the two had not spoken since Torre's funeral.

He read the article a second time and realized that either Lund-Hansen was being selective about releasing information to Jensen, or Jensen was being cautious about the details he actually printed. It was the time-honored newspaper practice of 'peeling back the onion,' one layer at a time.

Gunderson also knew that Lund-Hansen would not want to jeopardize his case against Antipovich. When the coroner's report and forensic analyses were in, the lieutenant would be ready to present charges. Jensen would then have his exclusive and sensational story, possibly even a series.

It was midnight in Pyongyang when Huong received a fax from his Oslo agent. He had sent Huong the Aftenposten story about Wassmo's murder along with a translation and some of his own comments.

Huong called him after studying the text. "Thank you for sending it. I was expecting the worst from our Russian colleague and now you have confirmed it. What a fool! And I am doubly one for ever trusting that man."

"He has disappointed many people in his illustrious career. You should not be too hard on yourself."

"On your fax, you wrote that Antipovich is in jail."

"Yes, sir. He was arrested at the Gyldenløve Hotel on Monday evening just after midnight. He is being held under very close security."

Huong laughed faintly. "Not like the jailers of Shenyang."

"It would be extremely difficult getting to him now. But not impossible."

"Leave him alone. He has committed a unique brand of suicide. The police are not stupid. They must know that Zhukov and Antipovich are the same man. They will have enough evidence to put him away for the rest of his life."

"You asked about the man in the picture. The one with the disfigured face."

"Yes?"

"He is Willy Gunderson, a government employee. He works in the Intelligence Division of the Defense Department. His interests are wide-ranging but he has been most prominent in counter-terrorism activities."

"Then why does he have connections with the American engineer and Mrs. Stensrud? They should not have any business with terrorists."

"I am still working on that."

"Call me when you find out more. Any time of the day or night."

Sandy worked later than usual on Wednesday afternoon. It was almost seven o'clock when he returned to his hotel room. Anna Lise was having dinner with Gerd at her apartment so Sandy was on his own. He poured himself a small whiskey, turned on his computer, and was pleasantly surprised to see an e-mail from Cheryl:

Dear Sandy,

I've got some good news. I'm back on the job. What a great feeling! Not having that black cloud over my head following me wherever I go. Yep, I'm back in the groove, wheeling and dealing like never before. OK, that's a bit over the top but I feel like celebrating and you are SO-O-O-O-O far away. :>((

Remember what I told you about my attorney? What a sharp cookie she is. She did hire a P. I. and he found some delicious dirt on this bum in my office. The guy was so stupid. He left a trail that you couldn't miss even if you were blind and your nose was all plugged up.

So this guy has been fired. He may even be prosecuted for fraud, although that's out of my territory. The important thing is that I've got my job back. No harm, no foul, as they say. And the company is paying all my legal fees to boot. How bad can that be?

So I won't be coming over to Oslo after all. Not until I earn some vacation time. Boo Hoo!! And I know you'll be shedding gazillions of crocodile tears when you read this.

How are things with you? Any clues on when you might get out of that dinky hotel room into your own home?

Catch me up, sweetie. It's been way too long.

Hugs, kisses and sticky you-know-what,

Cheryl

Sandy laughed delightedly after reading her euphoric message. He was delighted that she got her job back. She had the highest integrity of any financial professional he knew; justice had truly been served. But even more pleasing was the evidence that she'd regained her spunk. This was the Cheryl of years ago, the perky, sassy, and sexy woman with whom he'd fallen in love. It reminded him of how much fun it was to be with her. He decided to answer her immediately.

Dear Cheryl,

Congratulations!! This is great news. I'm very happy for you. I knew it would turn out for the best. It's a damned shame that you had to go through all that turmoil. But it's over now.

Just got word that my furniture shipment will arrive tomorrow. I'm getting the keys to my house on Friday morning and the furniture will be delivered the same day. Everything is falling into place. The phone should be connected by then. You have the number and my address, but my e-mail will stay the same.

I need to have some dinner. Will write more when I get back to the room.

Love, Sandy

He sent the message, fixed himself another drink, and changed into casual clothes. The last line about needing dinner was just a lame excuse. What he really wanted was some time alone to think about the next e-mail. He went down to the hotel's coffee shop and ordered a bowl of fish chowder, a roast beef sandwich, and a glass of French merlot.

Sipping his wine, he became depressed. What else could he tell Cheryl? He couldn't write about Torre's death and funeral, nor could he mention his efforts to console and comfort Anna Lise.

He recalled his first trip to Norway, meeting Anna Lise, and the fateful dinner in her suite. That's where he'd gone wrong, having the one night stand that allowed Gunderson to succeed with his all-too-easy blackmail scheme.

There was an earlier time when he could have broken off his relationship with Anna Lise, perhaps in California during the Elliot-Ness dustups, but surely after his first meeting with Gunderson on his return to Oslo. After his abortive meeting with Torre, why didn't he sever all ties with her then?

He knew the reason: Sex. It was the pleasure-filled hours he had enjoyed with Anna Lise, a beautiful and uninhibited woman who gave herself completely. She was a cure for his loneliness and a substitute for love. In her, he had a charming female companion who would share his meals, engage in stimulating conversation, and eagerly hop into bed. Back to sex again, where all paths seemed to converge.

He was certain that you couldn't build a solid relationship on sex alone. So what future was there in continuing to see Anna Lise? He wasn't about to divorce Cheryl. He couldn't introduce Anna Lise to his business associates; they knew he was a married man. And he surely wasn't about to let her get close to Julie. That would only rupture the father-daughter bond that was now bearing fruit and improving steadily.

It was clear; there was no point in continuing the affair with Anna Lise. He would distance himself from her over the weekend and end it when she was about to head back to her hotel. It would be a highly-charged emotional scene but it had to be done.

He felt guilty as hell and was thoroughly disgusted with himself, not only for cheating on Cheryl, but for misleading Anna Lise. He also missed Cheryl and wanted her here in Oslo. He began composing another e-mail to her in his head, trying to convince her that he loved her and needed her. He knew she wouldn't quit her job, but he would ask, as strongly as possible, that she figure out a way to take a long vacation and come to Oslo for several weeks. Maybe she could get a leave of absence. He would ask for another chance, an opportunity to start over and get their marriage back on track.

Chapter Forty-Two

Huong received another secure telephone call from his agent at nine o'clock on Thursday evening. It was 1:00 p.m. in Oslo.

"Time is running out," said Huong. "What do you have?"

"My government contact has learned more about the situation. Not everything, but enough to give you the larger view. I cannot guarantee that all my information is accurate so you must be cautious."

"Go ahead. I am listening."

"On the American's first trip to Norway, he met the Stensrud woman. Before he left the country, he had dinner with her in her hotel suite and spent the night. This man Gunderson had been watching her, thinking that her son was linked to a terrorist organization. He conceived a scheme to pressure the American. He was to maintain contact with the woman, learn what Torre was doing and report back to Gunderson periodically."

"And if the American did not cooperate?"

"Gunderson threatened to expose him to his wife and his employer. There was the possibility that he would lose both his job and his wife."

"That is not surprising," said Huong.

"It gets more interesting. When the American returned to Oslo, he had a meeting with Torre Stensrud."

"You told me about their meeting after it happened."

"True enough, but their discussions covered a number of subjects."

"Antipovich reported they talked business," said Huong. "The American was interested in software products and technical people. There was a possibility of Torre's company collaborating on the American's project."

"That may have been their cover. It appears that Stensrud was also passing information to the American about his work in the Finnmark region. And the American then told Gunderson about the presence of large oil deposits."

Huong became angry at this news. "Are you certain of this?"

"Gunderson has briefed the Chief of Defense and the Prime Minister about your venture to harvest oil along the country's borders. In fact, Statoil has begun preparations to assemble equipment and workers in Finnmark and to begin drilling as soon as possible. Stensrud must have given this information to Gunderson through the American. There is no other possible explanation."

Huong was enraged. "Then Stensrud was lying to Antipovich all the time he was working for us. We have been double-crossed by this traitor. Taking our money and being a patriot at the same time. Why would he do this?"

"He did earn money from you for the deception he pulled off in Finnmark," said the agent. "Perhaps he and Gunderson had some secret agreement. More money from the government or Statoil when the oil revenues came in."

"It was a dangerous and stupid game he played," said Huong, "and he paid for it with his life."

"I am sorry to report this disturbing news. If you wish, I will keep trying to learn more."

"There is no longer any point to it." Huong paused and took a deep breath. He was calm and took pride that he could do so in the face of such disastrous news from his trusted accomplice. "It is time to face the facts. This marks the end of our venture. We have failed our Dear Leader. But there is one more thing I want you to do."

"Yes?"

"The American and the Stensrud woman. They must be eliminated."

The agent coughed. "Why? Do you still consider them a threat?"

"Of course not. But they must be punished so our agents will realize that we and our Dear Leader must be respected. We must send a powerful message to all who work for us that we demand complete loyalty."

"Will this be my final mission?"

"You have my word. Do it as soon as possible. Then you must leave the country immediately. Prepare well for your escape and leave no traces of our business relationship."

"I have already made such a plan."

"Very good," said Huong. "I will place 250,000 Swiss Francs into your account as a bonus."

"Thank you, sir. But what about you?"

"It is best that neither of us know where the other has gone. My superiors will not take my departure lightly. They will hunt me but they will not find me."

Huong hung up and finished his packing. He checked his airline ticket, a round trip flight to Moscow departing early the next morning. He also had another set of tickets under another name for a one-way flight from Moscow to a small city near the southern tip of South America. He smiled as he tucked the tickets and several passports into his briefcase. In another forty-eight hours, he would be well out of harm's way.

Sandy awoke early on Friday morning, had breakfast, packed his suitcases, and checked out of the Viking Hotel by 8:15. He drove out of Oslo toward Sandvika under overcast skies, noting that it had turned markedly colder since yesterday. We might get some rain, he thought. Even snow if it gets any colder.

He arrived at his house just before nine o'clock and saw Inga's and Anna Lise's cars in the driveway. He parked his rental car next to Inga's, assuming she would leave after their business transactions were completed. Inga greeted him with a friendly handshake when he entered the kitchen. Anna Lise gave him a hug and a kiss.

Inga handed him four keys on a large ring and pointed to a large brown envelope on a counter. "All the papers regarding your home are inside. Oh, I have also turned on the heat. It will warm up soon and take the chill out of the air."

Inga showed Sandy around the house to reacquaint him with the location of thermostats, circuit breakers, and telephone and TV connections. Then she said goodbye, reminding him to call her if he needed more help. Sandy knew that her comment was 'tongue in cheek' since Anna Lise would remain on the premises and see that he was well cared for.

After she left, Sandy unloaded his car and started to unpack his suitcases. Anna Lise busied herself in the kitchen, curious about the contents of every drawer and cabinet. She began making a list of utensils and food that Sandy would need.

The moving truck and crew arrived around ten o'clock. It had begun to snow heavily, but the two burly workers paid no attention and had the truck unloaded quickly. They set up Sandy's bed and placed his other furniture in rooms as he directed. All of the items on the inventory sheet were checked off; nothing was lost or damaged.

Anna Lise opened several boxes marked MASTER BEDROOM and eventually found some bed linen. Sandy helped her make the bed, wondering how he would feel tonight when they climbed into it together. A month ago, he would not have waited until evening.

Sandy finished unpacking his suitcases, putting small items of clothing in a dresser. Anna Lise went into the bedroom that Sandy had set up as an office. Sandy could hear her humming while she tried out his large leather swivel chair and puttered about the other rooms, perhaps looking through boxes of pictures, books, and knickknacks. He looked for her and they collided in a connecting hallway.

"The snow is still coming down," said Sandy. "Let's do our shopping now before we're completely marooned."

"We should go in my car," she said. "I am accustomed to driving in these conditions." Sandy again marveled at the way she handled her big sedan, cruising through snow-covered streets as if it were a normal summer day.

Their first stop was a small restaurant in Sandvika where they had a light lunch. Next, they drove to a supermarket in another part of the village. Sandy noticed a car that seemed to be following them, a small black sedan of Japanese make. But when Anna Lise pulled into the supermarket's parking lot, the black sedan continued on.

Sandy and Anna Lise filled two shopping carts with food and kitchen utensils. Sandy used a credit card and figured the bill was close to three hundred dollars. A large price tag, but he realized that he needed everything they bought.

Their next stop was the Vin-monopolet. Sandy bought bottles of vodka, single malt whiskey, and cognac before turning his attention to the wine section. He bought three bottles of Côte du Rhone, a red he and Anna Lise always enjoyed. He also picked up three bottles of Sancerre. As he placed them in his shopping cart, he realized this was Cheryl's favorite wine. Shouldn't he be ready, he thought, in case his wife was able to make the trip to Oslo?

On the trip back to Sandy's house, he noticed the same black sedan was following them again, not too closely, but close enough for him to recognize it. He tried to act nonchalant; the last thing he wanted was to frighten Anna Lise.

Just as they reached Sandy's house, the black sedan turned off in a different direction. Sandy was relieved when Anna Lise pulled into his driveway, but he still had an unsettled feeling.

They unloaded her car and put everything away. It took longer than normal since neither Sandy nor Anna Lise was certain which kitchen location would be the best for each item.

Anna Lise went to the front of the house and called, "Look out the window, Sandy. It has stopped snowing and the sun is out."

He joined her and looked outside. "Beautiful, just like a postcard."

"Do we have time for a walk before dinner?"

"Sure. Let's check out my new neighborhood."

Anna Lise wore a bright blue down jacket and Sandy put on the black coat he'd purchased in California. Both had on sturdy high-top boots.

They reached the fronting street, turned left and trudged through four inches of fresh snow, admiring their neighbors' landscaped yards. Branches of stately blue spruce and pine drooped under their burden of caked white powder.

They had gone several hundred yards when Sandy noticed a car parked ahead of them on the same side of the street. When they were still about fifty yards away, it began moving slowly toward them. Sandy recognized the car; it was the black sedan that had followed them earlier.

The car gathered speed. Sandy was alarmed. He grabbed Anna Lise's shoulders and nudged her away from the road.

"Why are you pushing me?" she cried out. "What are you—"

The sedan continued to bore down on them so Sandy tried to wrestle her out of the way. He twisted their combined bodies as the sedan came along side. Over his shoulder, he saw a man--was it a man?--in the passenger seat, a ski mask pulled over his head, pointing a gun at him. As the car slowed, Sandy froze, gripped with fear. He should do something, anything, to not be in this place at this moment.

He heard shots being fired and saw fiery licks spurting from the gun barrel. He felt a ripping, burning pain coursing through his body. As he fell on top of Anna Lise, she screamed in pain.

They lay together in a roadside snowdrift as the sedan sped away. It became ghostly quiet and Sandy felt himself slipping down a long chute of slick ice, unable to grab anything that might slow his descent. He raised his head slightly to look around for help but the only thing he noticed were the dozens of scarlet droplets desecrating the pure white snow.

He let go as the light grew dim. Finally, a heavy curtain descended, totally enveloping Sandy in its darkness.

Willy Gunderson had left his office at noon and drove home through the falling snow. He wanted to get away from his distractive work environment and write a full report to the Chief of Defense regarding the latest developments in the case of Alexi Antipovich.

When the sun appeared in late afternoon, he took a break. He stood in front of his living room window, coffee cup in hand, gazing at the peaceful scene. This should be the last snowfall of winter, he thought.

He saw a man and a woman walking in the street, approaching from the right. His spirits rose when he recognized them. He decided to go outside and greet them, invite them in for a hot toddy, and welcome Sandy to the neighborhood.

But before he could move away from the window, he watched as a black auto passed them. He heard the crack-crack-crack of gunshots and saw Sandy and Anna Lise fall to the ground and remain motionless.

He dashed out to the street, his medical instincts and police training taking over. He found Sandy's carotid artery and placed two fingers on it. A faint pulse; he was alive. He had to move Sandy's body off Anna Lise and found that she was barely conscious, about to slip into shock.

"Do not move," he said softly. "Lie still. I will be right back."

Gunderson ran back into the house, grabbed his cell phone and several blankets from one of his beds, and rejoined his fallen friends.

His first action was to call 113, the Norwegian equivalent of 911. While giving the ambulance dispatcher all available information, he covered Sandy and Anna Lise with blankets.

He sat with them, monitoring their conditions, waiting for the ambulance to arrive. This shooting must be the work of the Korean gangster, he thought. There could be no other explanation. But I am responsible for keeping these two innocent people together and involved in this treachery. If one or both should die, I will have it on my head for life.

Chapter Forty-Three

Sandy gripped the tiller of a twenty-six foot sailboat, cruising along the California coast near San Diego. Bright sun warmed a cloudless afternoon sky and the breeze peppered salt spray in his face. Sandy had never sailed before, yet he handled the boat perfectly, tacking occasionally to take maximum advantage of the offshore winds.

A young woman came up out of the cabin. She wore a bikini that revealed almost all of her alluring twenty-something figure. She handed Sandy a cold bottle of beer, then sat opposite him on the starboard rail.

He stared intently at her face, embarrassed to let his roaming eyes feast on her lush body. "What's your name?" he asked. "I've forgotten it."

"Cheryl," she said.

Sandy frowned. "That's my wife's name."

She laughed. "I know."

"You even look like her."

"I know."

"But she's much older."

She took a pull on her beer. "Maybe I'm older than I look."

The wind suddenly shifted and the main sail began moving. The boom swept across the deck from port to starboard, struck Cheryl in the forehead, and knocked her into the Pacific.

Sandy stood for a moment, watching her flailing in the water, blood spurting from her head and coloring the sea around her a dark crimson.

"Hang on," he shouted. "I'm coming for you."

He dove into the frigid waves and began to sink. Despite his frantic paddling and kicking, he only dropped further into the depths until everything went black and he felt nothing.

When Anna Lise awoke, sunlight was streaming through the single window in her room. She felt drowsy, floating on a cloud, and wondered where she was. Seeing the tubes and wires connected to her body, she knew that she was not in her hotel suite.

A vague and uneasy feeling came over her as she struggled to remember what had brought her here. She recalled walking in the snow and Sandy pushing her to the ground. Was someone shooting at them?

She looked down the left side of her body and saw thick bandages on her arm and leg. She tried to move but felt a stabbing pain in her knee.

A nurse entered the room and looked at the monitors on a shelf above and behind Anna Lise's bed. "Good morning, Fru Stensrud. How are you feeling?"

"Where am I?" she asked. "What day is it?"

"Saturday morning and you are in Oslo's main hospital. They brought you in yesterday afternoon."

"What happened to my arm and leg?"

"Gunshot wounds, I am sorry to say. The damage to your arm is slight but your knee was shattered and required surgery. You will need to have physical therapy. After a while, you should be good as new."

"My friend. What about him? Is he all right?"

"Mr. Gilmartin? Yes, he was very lucky. He will recover but it will take a bit longer than you."

Anna Lise began crying. "Thank God. When can I see him?"

"Not for a while. He is still unconscious."

"I want to know when he wakes up. I want to see him."

"We will let you know, but the doctor may not want you moving around right now. You must be careful. You do not want to cause more damage."

Anna Lise grimaced in pain and cried softly.

"I will give you something for the pain," said the nurse. "Try to rest now and please do not worry."

The medication soon kicked in but Anna Lise still fretted. She felt guilty. She believed this latest attack was her fault and Sandy should have left her long ago. Even if he had not cooperated with Gunderson, they would still be better off than they were now.

Sandy regained consciousness midmorning on Saturday. He looked around the room and wondered where he was. He recalled sailing in the ocean and diving from the boat in an attempt to rescue a young woman. He wondered if it was a dream. Or did someone pull me out of the water and bring me here?

A beautiful young woman dressed in a white hospital-style pantsuit entered the room and picked up a clipboard at the foot of his bed. She had lustrous reddish brown hair that hung down to her waist.

"Are you an angel?" asked Sandy.

She laughed and returned the clipboard. "Olav tells me I am. But sometimes there is a little devil in me."

"You look familiar. Do I know you?"

"I am Birgett, Olav Torgeson's fiancé. You treated us to a wonderful dinner one evening."

Sandy sighed. "I remember. You're a nurse. And we're in a hospital?"

"You are correct on both." She came around to Sandy's side and checked the tubes connected to different parts of his body. "You should not talk too much right now. You have had some very serious injuries."

Sandy suddenly recalled the shooting. "What happened to me? I can't feel anything."

"That is the morphine working. You must wait and talk to the doctor. He will explain everything. But I think you are a very lucky man."

"We were walking together in the snow and then something happened. What happened to Anna Lise?"

"Fru Stensrud is in another room. She is doing just fine. Her injuries are not as extensive as yours."

Thinking of all he'd been through since he first came to Norway, Sandy's anger began to rise. "That damned Gunderson," he muttered. "He's the cause of all this."

Birgett placed her palm on Sandy's forehead. "Gunderson you said? A man named Gunderson came in the ambulance with you and Fru Stensrud. He is most likely the person who saved your life."

Weariness overcame Sandy as he tried to understand what Birgett was telling him. Finally, he gave up and went back to sleep.

When Sandy awakened again, he was in a dimly-lit room and it was evening. He felt drowsy and wondered what day it was.

The arrival of a man dressed in a heavy overcoat made Sandy more alert. The man pulled up a chair next to his bed. It was Gunderson.

"Ah, you are awake," he said. "I was about to give up and go home."

"What do you want?"

"To make sure you are recovering. To put your mind at ease."

"A nurse said you came here in the ambulance."

"Yes, I saw it all happen," said Gunderson. "I was looking out my window as the car went by. I heard shots and saw you and Fru Stensrud fall to the ground. Then I ran out and called for help. They responded immediately and . . . here you are."

"Yeah, I remember that car. They'd been following us all afternoon."

"I called the police after I called for the ambulance. They are searching for the car. When you are feeling better, they will want to interview you."

"I don't have much to tell them," said Sandy. "It was a black car and the guy with the gun had a ski mask on. That's all I can remember."

"I have contacted your office at Kolsaas, the young man who is your assistant. He will notify Mr. Riley in California immediately. I have also locked up your house. And, if you like, I will bring your toilet articles and some clean clothes. Something to wear home when you are released."

Before Sandy could speak, a nurse entered the room. She had a stern look on her face. "I am afraid you will have to leave now, Mr. Gunderson." She folded her arms across her substantial bosom. "We do not want to wear out our patient."

Gunderson got up. "I will look in on you again tomorrow." He smiled, squeezed Sandy's palm and lumbered out of the room.

Chapter Forty-Four

Gunderson came back to the hospital on Sunday morning. He was taken aback when he entered Sandy's room.

"How beautiful," he said. "Your room looks like a florist shop."

Sandy was sitting up in bed, pushing a lump of scrambled eggs around his plate with a fork. "I didn't know I was so popular."

Gunderson went around the room, looking at the cards accompanying each pot of flowers and reading out the names. "Vigo and Karen Franzen. Captain Jan Orfeldt. Karl Hoegberg, Olav Torgeson, and all the staff at the AMC. These are beautiful arrangements. Your associates clearly hold you in high esteem."

"You're up pretty early this morning," said Sandy.

Gunderson pulled up a chair and sat next to his bed. "Just my usual routine. I see they are giving you breakfast today."

"If you want to call it that. This toast is like cardboard."

Gunderson laughed. "I think hospital food is the same all over the world."

"Any news from the police?"

"Not about your attackers. Lund-Hansen did call me last night about Antipovich. He has received the coroner's report. They found fragments of the Russian's hair and skin under Wassmo's fingernails. The crime scene technicians also found his fingerprints on her car's steering wheel and her purse. The case against him looks strong. When the DNA report comes in, they should be ready to assemble the charges and proceed to trial."

"You guys do good work."

"So, how are you feeling today?"

"I'm hurting, but the doc says it's natural. Part of the healing process. I guess I was pretty lucky. It could have been a lot worse. The bullet in my back just missed my spine. An inch the other way and I'd probably never walk again."

"What is the prognosis? How long will they keep you?"

"He wouldn't say. I'd guess another four to five days at least. They want to keep an eye on me to make sure there are no complications."

"And the wounds on your shoulder and leg?"

"Pretty minor compared to the other. I'll have some impressive scars to flash around the beach."

"I received a call this morning from your assistant," said Gunderson.

"Hakkon? What did he want?"

"He heard from your manager. Mr. Riley is coming next week to fill in for you while you are recuperating."

"Norm's coming over here? I'll be damned."

"He wants you to rest up, get well, and not come back to work until you are fully recovered. That is his personal message."

"That sounds like Norm."

"I went over to your house and made sure everything was secure. I also took the liberty of gathering up all of Fru Stensrud's personal belongings and moved her car over to my house."

"You did that? How come?"

"I thought it prudent under the circumstances. Just a feeling."

"I've not had a chance to talk with Anna Lise yet. They say she was wounded in the arm and leg but not as seriously as me."

"I brought a small suitcase that was in her car. Cosmetics, personal items, a change of clothing. She was sleeping when I came so I left it all with a nurse."

"That's very considerate of you, Willy. I know she'll appreciate it."

"I am pleased to be of service." Then he made a vague smile. "I am also as involved in this business as you. Only I have not been used for target practice."

A kitchen worker came into the room and took Sandy's breakfast tray. She was followed by a nurse who made him roll over so she could change the bandages on his back.

Gunderson stood. "I can see you are getting tired so I will leave. Is there anything I can bring you?"

Sandy half closed his eyes. "A new body would be nice. One with fewer holes in it."

Sandy's lunch of tomato soup and crackers was only a bit more appetizing than his breakfast. He was in considerable pain after his meal and asked the nurse for a pill. The medicine comforted him and he slept for a time.

When he opened his eyes, he saw a woman sitting next to his bed. She flashed a dazzling smile that made him feel blissfully content. Her short brown hair framed her face, curving inward around her cheeks and down to the lower edge of her jaw. She wore blue jeans and a black turtleneck sweater.

Sandy reached out and touched her cheek, surprised that he could actually feel something and that she was not some kind of apparition. Tears glistened in her eyes. "You're real," he said, "not some kind of dream."

"You got that right."

"But you're in Frisco."

"No I'm not. I'm right here with you."

"I don't know what to say."

She held up her hand and began counting with her fingers. "Well, you could tell me how happy you are to see me, how much you missed me, how fantastically beautiful I look, how much you love me. All that kind of jazz. And you can start by giving me a nice fat kiss, you big galoot."

Sandy pulled her close and kissed her passionately, momentarily ignoring the pain of his wounds. Their tears combined, drenching their cheeks and lips with saltiness. "Everything you said is true. I'm happy, I missed you, I love you, and you look great."

She drew back, stroking his cheek with her palm. "All righty now. How are you feeling, honey? Ready to tackle your weight in tigers?"

"Much better. When did you get in?"

"This afternoon. I came right from the airport." She took a tissue from her purse, dabbed her eyes and blew her nose. She spoke with a nervous tremor in her voice, reflecting the emotions bottled up inside. "I couldn't get a flight out until yesterday morning. San Fran to Minneapolis, then to Oslo. God, what a long and boring flight. Well, that's old news to you."

"How did you find out what happened?"

"Your boss called me. Norm sounds like a pretty nice guy. But he didn't tell me much. Only that you'd been shot, were in the hospital, and expected to fully recover."

"What about your job? How does the boss feel about you coming?"

"They put me on leave of absence for an indefinite period. He told me to take as long as I needed."

He reached out and took her hand. "I'm really happy you're here. I think I'll need you with me for a long time."

"As long as it takes," she said.

"I sent you an e-mail a couple of days ago. Did you get it?"

"Yep. I was trying to figure out how to get over here when I heard from Norm. I was going to come, one way or another. You didn't have to get yourself all banged up."

"You believe me, don't you? About starting over? Giving our marriage a chance?"

"Let's save the serious stuff for later, when you get out of here. We'll have lots of time together, for talking and getting to know each other again."

He squeezed her hand. "I've got plenty of things to explain."

"Not as many as you might think. While I was waiting for you to wake up, I met this Gunderson fellow in the visitor's lounge. He told me a lot about the international intrigue you got yourself mixed up with. What a story! He even has a theory on why they tried to kill you."

Sandy looked away for a moment. "What does he think?"

"The people behind the swindle can't follow through on their scheme. The Russian is in jail and the Norwegian oil company is going ahead with their plans to drill. It's all out in the open now and the rats that dreamed it up have nowhere to run. So the attack on your life was revenge, pure and simple. They wanted to send a message. Don't mess with us again or we'll take you out. You helped Gunderson foil their plot. How does it feel being a Nordic hero?"

"That's a bit over the top. I sure don't feel like a hero. More like a witless bystander, punished for his own lack of judgment."

She rose from her chair, gave him a kiss and a cautious hug, and sat down again. "Please, none of this negative attitude. It won't speed up your recovery."

"OK, Doctor Cheryl. Whatever you say." He smiled and gazed intently at her. "You look tired. Did you get any sleep on the plane?"

"Not a bit. I was too worried and anxious to see you."

"Have you lined up a place to stay?"

"What kind of question that? Of course I did. Your place."

"My place?"

"Gunderson told me all about it. How nice it is. Convenient too, right down the street from him. He's going to drop me off when I get ready to leave. I can use your car to get back and forth. Bring you home when they discharge you. Feed you some chicken soup and red hot loving to make you good as new."

Sandy started to laugh but the pain made him stop. He took her hand and looked into her eyes. "Don't go just yet. I haven't gotten enough of you."

She squeezed his hand. "Not to worry, I'll stay a while longer. Just take it easy and enjoy."

Sandy closed his eyes and smiled, more inwardly than to Cheryl. That Willy, he thought, is a clever man. Getting Anna Lise's stuff out of my house and moving her car over to his place. He must have known that Cheryl would be over here in a New York minute. God bless him!

Anna Lise rang for a nurse. When she responded, Anna Lise told her firmly, "I want to see Mr. Gilmartin. Now."

"That is probably not a good idea."

"I have waited too long. Please help me."

The nurse unhooked the monitor connections and helped Anna Lise into a wheelchair. After she'd made her patient comfortable, she wheeled her out of the room and down the hallway. They stopped when they reached the open door of Sandy's room.

Anna Lise was shocked when she looked in. "Please take me back to my room," she told the nurse. After turning around and moving away from the open door, she admitted, "You were correct. It was not a good idea."

Once made comfortable in her bed again, and after the nurse had left, Anna Lise began crying. She realized that her relationship with Sandy was over.

Willy Gunderson entered her room a few minutes later. "Good afternoon, Fru Stensrud. Please excuse the interruption but I just saw what happened."

Anna Lise pulled a tissue from a box next to her bed and dabbed her eyes. "Sit down, Mr. Gunderson. You are not interrupting anything important."

Gunderson sat next to her. "You saw the woman with Mr. Gilmartin?"

"Yes, she is his wife. I recognized her from a picture I saw when he unpacked his moving boxes."

"She just arrived this afternoon. After a very long flight from California."

"I could not blame her. If he were my husband, I would do the same thing."

"I brought some of your personal belongings yesterday," said Gunderson. "Did you find them?"

She sniffled. "Yes, I did. Thank you very much for your thoughtfulness."

"I also moved your car. It is safe at my own house. I can pick you up when you are discharged and drive you to your hotel. Would that be acceptable?"

"It seems you have thought of everything. Perhaps you can now tell me what I should do about my life? One that is in total shambles now that my relationship with Sandy is over. What a romantic old fool I was! Thinking that we could ever be together as a couple."

They were silent for several moments as Gunderson folded his hands and looked about the room. After a time he said, "Your life is far from over. You are a young woman, attractive and intelligent." He smiled. "And don't forget about Miss Fjelvard. She will be presenting you with a grandchild before the end of this year."

"Ah yes, dear Gerd. We will both have our hands full."

A nurse came into the room. "Please excuse us," she said to Gunderson. "I must change our patient's bandages."

Gunderson stood and turned to leave. "I will look in tonight. Is there anything you need? Something I can bring to you?"

Anna Lise raised her hand in farewell. "I am all right for now."

Sandy awoke during the middle of the night. His room was dark, lit only by the faint fluorescent glow from the hallway outside his door.

As he became more alert, he saw a figure sitting in a wheel chair, just inside his room and framed by the light of the doorway. He called out, "Who is it?"

The person edged closer. "It is me, Sandy. I have come to say goodbye."

Sandy reached out and took her hand as she came up to his bed. "What happened to you? They said you were wounded but would never tell me more. I couldn't get out of bed so I didn't come see you."

"You saved my life, I am certain of that. Pushing me aside and turning your back to them. My wounds are superficial. Nothing as serious as yours."

"We're both lucky," he said. "Only it'll take me a while longer than you to get back on the ski tracks."

"But you have an added advantage. A great incentive to recover now that your wife is here."

"Then you know about Cheryl?"

"I came by your room this afternoon and saw her. I did not want to interrupt your reunion."

Sandy thought about that for a few moments. "She hopped on the first available flight when she heard the news. Looks like she'll be staying for a while."

"That is why I came tonight. I will be discharged in the morning and will probably not see you again. Mr. Gunderson is taking me back to the SAS."

He squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry things didn't work out. It was wonderful. I'll never forget our times together."

"We should thank Mr. Gunderson for everything after that first night you spent with me. His little scheme to keep you in contact with me. It was a truly wonderful experience, even with the few unpleasant moments that we had."

"What will you do?" he said. "I mean, after you fully recover."

"I will take a long holiday in Italy and Greece. Perhaps I shall go as soon as I am able to travel. I will invite Gerd to come with me. We can look for a nice place to live. A modern and comfortable villa with beautiful views would be right, a home that is close to a good hospital where Gerd can have her baby."

"What about all your friends here in Oslo?"

"It will be difficult, of course, but it is time to move on. I have survived the loss of a husband, my only son. And now this. I must begin a new life. It is the only thing open to me."

"Can I have a farewell kiss?" he asked.

She stood, bent over, and kissed him hard on the lips. He felt her tears wetting his cheeks. She sat back down in the wheelchair, turned it around, and rolled quietly through the door.

Richard C. ("Dick") Reynolds was born in 1934 in East St. Louis, Illinois and raised mainly in St. Louis, Missouri. In 1953, he enlisted in the Marine Corps Reserve as a private, and retired twenty-four years later as a Lieutenant Colonel. During his first twelve years, he served in infantry units as squad leader, platoon sergeant, platoon leader, and rifle company executive officer. For the second twelve years, he served in communications-electronics assignments. At the end of his military career, he also taught computer science and programming courses for two years at the George Washington University.

From 1977 to 1994, Dick was a System Engineer for Hughes Aircraft Company in Fullerton, California and Brussels, Belgium. During this time, he worked on command and control system programs for Greece, Norway, and Denmark, and on air defense projects for NATO, the Arab Republic of Egypt, and the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia.

Just after retiring from the Marines, Dick took up mountain climbing. During the period 1974 to 2002, he scaled approximately 150 peaks in New Mexico, Colorado, and California. He put this experience to good use from 1994 to 2002 as a member of Santa Fe Search and Rescue Group, performing on missions in the local Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Dick is married to Bernadette Borelli. They reside in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

After retiring from Hughes, Dick began a fourth career—fiction writing. His thirty-plus short stories have appeared in many publications, including Timber Creek Review, Skyline magazine, Barbaric Yawp, and Imitation Fruit Literary Journal. Two of his stories have been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Dick has recently completed a fourth novel, Filling in the Triangles.

