Chapter 2
Sandy awoke to find herself alone in the spacious, attractive room in the Caracas Hilton. A note was pinned to Guy's pillow. "Darling," the note read, "hope you had a good rest. You were sleeping so peacefully, I didn't want to wake you. Have to run out for a little while to see if I can earn this exciting honeymoon. Have breakfast. I'll be back as soon as I can. No later than lunch, I promise. I love you very much, Mrs. Morrison."
She was disappointed to find him gone, yet at the same time a little relieved. She dreaded having to talk about this sex thing with him. It was so confusing! After all, he had enjoyed himself. He had had no trouble having a climax with her.
Maybe it's just me, she said to herself as she stood under the hot shower and allowed her body to soak in the relaxing warmth of the steaming water. The same thing had happened before. The more she thought about it, the more disquieted Sandy became. She was almost convinced that there was something seriously wrong with her.
Sandy noticed that people were wearing sweaters and coats as she crossed the bridge over the indoor ponds between the lobby and the coffee shop in the Hilton. She was relieved to see that the heat wave had evidently passed. The admiring glances from a number of the Latin businessmen having coffee perked the newlywed's spirits up some. The obvious lust in one man's eyes embarrassed her, but in her present mood it was reassuring that she was desirable.
The waiter's English was obviously poor, so Sandy pointed to the combination breakfast that she wanted on the menu. The small dinner that she had eaten on the plane the day before had left her ravenous and she amazed herself by how quickly she cleaned her plate of bacon and eggs.
Over her second cup of coffee, Sandy considered her plight. Here she was thousands of miles from home, a stranger in a foreign country, a bride who actually knew very little about her husband, and a woman whose secret fears about sex seemed to be confirmed. She felt very threatened. Everything had happened so fast! Sandy had to overcome a strong urge to return to the quiet if somewhat dull life that she had made for herself since she left college. It isn't possible to go back, she told herself. That's all behind me now and I have to adjust to a new life! If only the thought of her new life wasn't so depressing!
With a deep sigh, Sandy paid her bill and walked back to the lobby. A glance at her watch told her that it was still early. What was she supposed to do until Guy returned? She considered asking about what tours of Caracas were available. Sandy knew that she should make the most of this trip to South America. She remembered her mother saying that most girls dream of a honeymoon like this, and Sandy knew that she was right. But she hesitated to leave the hotel without Guy. She decided that she would wait until he returned.
Sandy wondered where he was. She knew that he had something to do for his company, that was why they were paying for the trip, but she knew so little about her husband! She wished that he had wakened her and taken her with him.
Guy Morrison was at that moment sitting in the back seat of a taxi that he had hired, wondering just how difficult the assignment that he had been given would prove to be. On the surface he was to locate a man named Jack Lockwood and deliver a thick envelope. Obviously, the contents of the envelope were important and delicate. Otherwise it could have been sent by mail. Guy had been warned that Jack Lockwood might not be easy to locate, that he could be anywhere in South America.
Although he was new to all of this, Guy had no illusions about working for a munitions manufacturer. The pay was above average, but it wasn't a popular industry in a world that sought peace. Guy had given it a great deal of consideration before he decided to accept the offer from Maxwell Industries. The fact that Maxwell was a small organization with almost unlimited opportunities outweighed the feature that the nature of the business would be highly secretive. And his first year with the company had been challenging as he learned the operation of a munitions manufacturer. He was proud of the fact that he had been able to suggest several changes in the inventory system that resulted in substantial savings for the company.
But now he was out in the field and he had no idea what was expected of him. He had learned to ask few questions, and when this assignment was offered he accepted without asking the dozens of questions that had popped into his mind. Guy knew that Mr. Maxwell had told him all that he thought Guy should know for the moment. Jack Lockwood had worked on special assignments for the company in the past and was needed again. He was an expert pilot who made his living flying and he owned several planes. At the moment, he was believed to be somewhere in South America. Caracas had been his base a few months before and Guy should start looking here.
Guy's ears popped as the taxi sped down the steep freeway from Caracas to the airport on the coast. The address that Guy had been given in Caracas had proved to be a dead lead. With the taxi driver interpreting, Guy learned that Lockwood had given up the apartment in Caracas several months before. The new tenant said that he thought Mr. Lockwood had moved across town, but he didn't have a forwarding address. The secretary at the American Embassy didn't have a Mr. Jack Lockwood listed, so Guy decided that his best bet was to check the local airport.
The drive seemed to take forever. Because of the tall mountains and treacherous winds, the Caracas airport was located down the coast, thirty miles from the bustling city perched in the mountains.
The high overcast disappeared as they approached the ocean and Guy could feel the warmth of the sun coming through the window.
"We go there," the driver said, pointing to a series of small hangars beyond the main terminal as they approached the airport. "That is where small planes are."
"Okay." Guy replied. "Does anybody there speak English?"
"Oh, yes," the driver answered. "Head man, he used to work for big American oil company. Speak good English. As good as me."
Better, I hope, Guy thought to himself. The driver parked in a NO PARKING zone and they walked across the street to the small but modern building that served as an operations base for private and noncommercial aircraft. There were several men standing drinking coffee by a counter at the back of the building and the driver headed directly for them. He asked several questions in rapid Spanish, then turned to Guy.
"Man we want is in hangar," he said, indicating that Guy should follow him as he left the building and began walking across the concrete taxi area toward the hangar.
Guy was impressed with the modern Caracas airport. He had admired the modern terminal building when he arrived the day before, comparing it favorably with any terminal that he had seen in the United States. But the Latin informality on the field surprised him. Guy knew that they wouldn't have been allowed to walk around a field like this in the States.
They walked into a small hangar and Guy was surprised at the number of planes it held. He was looking at a large twin-engine craft near the entrance when he heard the driver call him. Guy saw the driver standing with a tall slender man on the other side of the hangar. He took measure of the man as he walked quickly over to join them.
He was dark, probably Latin, tall and lean, and had a thin line of a mustache perched on his upper lip. Guy noticed that the man watched him through hooded, suspicious eyes as he came up.
"Miguel says you're looking for Jack Lockwood," the man said noncommittally as he shook Guy's hand.
"That's right," Guy responded. "The address in Caracas I have isn't up to date. They say he moved, and I really need to find him."
"Why?"
"I have something to deliver to him," Guy replied, gathering that what information could be obtained from this character would have to be pried out.
"What?" the man asked, suspicion clearly etched on his face now.
"He's done some work for our company," Guy said, deciding that he couldn't afford to alienate his one lead to Jack Lockwood's whereabouts at this point by asking the man what damned business it was of his what he had for Lockwood. "I've been sent down to give him some papers. You happen to know where he moved to?"
"Nope."
"Well," Guy went on patiently, "can you suggest some way I might find him?"
"Not in Caracas," the man said slowly. "Who'd you say you work for?"
"I didn't say," Guy returned with a smile and in a tone of voice that let the man know that Guy was aware of the game that they were playing. "If Lockwood wants you to know who he's worked for, he'll have to tell you himself."
Guy saw the flash of anger, colored with a certain amount of respect, cross the man's face, and he decided to press his advantage.
"I don't believe you told me your name," he said casually, watching the man's eyes.
"That's no secret," the man replied with a hard smile. "Old Miguel here can tell you my name. Lots of people here know me, but no one knows you, do they?"
"Look fellow," Guy said with a sigh, "I'm not here to play games. I'm looking for Jack Lockwood on business. If you can help me, fine. If not, I'll try somewhere else."
"Won't do you any good. I told you he isn't in Caracas," the man said, turning away and picking up a log book that he had placed on a bench.
"He's left Venezuela?"
"Day before yesterday," the man commented. "See you later, Miguel."
"Thanks a lot," Guy said sarcastically as the man turned his back.
"Think nothing of it," the man said, turning briefly. "And let me give you a piece of advice, mister. If you knew Jack Lockwood, you'd have a better story before you started asking questions. Men like Jack don't welcome strangers asking questions. If you really have something to deliver to him, you'd better figure out a way to get word to him what it is and who you are. Some people aren't as friendly as I am."
A sharp retort formed in Guy's mind, but he restrained himself. Something about what the man had said and the way he had said it had a ring of truth.
"How we find your friend?" Miguel asked, walking quickly to catch up with Guy as he moved out of the hangar.
"You're going to help me, Miguel," Guy said, walking toward the administration building. "If Lockwood left here, he flew his plane out. And if he flew, he had to file a flight plan. Find out who has the log in there and ask to see Lockwood's flight plan. He left on Thursday, so it shouldn't take long to find it. His destination will be listed. Think you can do that?"
"Oh, yes," Miguel responded with a wide grin. "Secretary is friend of my cousin. Let me talk. I handle."
"I'll wait in the car," Guy said, turning to go around the building as Miguel walked to the door.
Twenty minutes went by before Miguel returned to the car and Guy had time to think. Whatever Jack Lockwood did for a living, it was something on the borderline of the law. But if he had been part of a solid, established company, Mr. Maxwell wouldn't have sent Guy down to find him and personally deliver the envelope. Guy was pondering just what Jack Lockwood did and why he didn't "welcome strangers" when Miguel walked up to the car and climbed in.
"Sorry," Miguel said with a shrug of his shoulders, "but I had to pay Maria to look for paper."
"Did you see his flight plan?" Guy asked.
"Oh, yes. He leave Thursday like Carlos said. Fly to Rio."
"Rio de Janeiro?"
"Oh, yes, Rio."
"Any stops along the way listed?"
"Oh, yes, he stop in Belem. Where we go now, boss?"
Guy knew that Belem was in the north part of Brazil. Probably a refueling point, Guy reasoned.
"Let's go back to the hotel, Miguel," Guy said slowly. The next move was to follow Lockwood to Brazil, but Guy wanted Mr. Maxwell to clear him on this. And there was Sandy. Guy glanced at his watch and realized that it was after one o'clock! "And drive as fast as you can, Miguel!"
Sandy Morrison had picked up a pocketbook mystery at the newsstand and tried to read it in the room, but she couldn't concentrate on the story. After a while she gave up and decided to take a walk through the hotel grounds. From the room, she had looked down over the tennis court and swimming pool and they seemed deserted. She realized why when she walked out in the brisk breeze, but the walked seemed to help clear her confused mind.
Sitting on a bench in the sun, Sandy decided that she would have a long talk with Guy and tell him the truth about her sexual problem. She was relatively certain that it was all her fault and she felt that Guy might be able to help her.
She had just walked back into the lobby when she saw Guy coming in the main entrance. Sandy waved and smiled as he walked over.
"Sorry I'm late, darling," Guy said, taking her into his arms and kissing her gently. "Everything just took longer than I thought it would. Hungry? I'm starved. I just had a glass of orange juice and coffee before I left. Let's grab a bite in the coffee shop."
"Fine," she said, linking her arm in his as they crossed the lobby. "I ate an enormous breakfast, but it seems like that was ages ago. Did you find your man?"
"Not yet," he admitted as the headwaiter guided them to a table. "And I don't think it's going to be easy. After lunch, I want to call New York and see how far they want me to go on this. The man has left Caracas and all I know is that he might possibly be in Rio."
"Do you have his address?"
"Nope, not a thing."
"Well, that doesn't sound like very much to go on," Sandy commented after the waitress had taken their orders. "Why all the mystery, or can you tell me?"
"There's nothing to hide," Guy replied with a laugh, wondering how true that statement was. "You'll just have to believe me when I say I honestly don't know what it's all about. My boss wants me to find a man and deliver an envelope."
"And that's all?"
"That's all, I think," he replied. "Every time I think about it, the more ridiculous it sounds to me. Perhaps something in the envelope involves an assignment for me, but that's just supposition on my part."
Sandy smiled to cover her hurt. The whole situation was too incredible! Why would Guy's company pay thousands of dollars in expenses to simply deliver an envelope? She was certain that he was hiding something from her and she resented it. Was this the proper way to begin a marriage? Or was she expecting too much of her husband? And what kind of a honeymoon would this be?
They finished their hamburgers, french fries, and coffee in silence. Sandy didn't want barriers between them, but she didn't know what she could do-particularly when it was obvious that her husband didn't trust her.
"Ten dollars!" Guy exclaimed when he picked up the check for lunch. "Ten dollars for hamburgers and French fries!"
"Remember what you told me about Caracas being one of the most expensive cities in the world?" Sandy asked with a laugh. "My breakfast was four dollars. I signed the check. That was all right, wasn't it?"
"Sure, honey," Guy replied, "but I hope Mr. Maxwell knows how much it's costing him to deliver that damned envelope! Come on, let's go to the room so I can call New York. It's up to him to decide what I do from this point on."
The call went right through. Mr. Maxwell listened patiently as Guy explained what he had done that morning. Guy ended with a word about the expense of the trip.
"Now, Guy," Mr. Maxwell's deep, moderated voice began, "I told you not to be concerned about the expense of the trip. You have the credit cards, and if you need cash we can arrange that through a bank transfer. To us, it is imperative-I repeat, imperative-that you find Jack Lockwood and deliver that envelope. And time is very important to us. I thought you understood that. If you think Lockwood is in Rio, get to Rio tonight. Find him, no matter where you have to go. Apologize to your lovely bride for any inconvenience this may cause. Once you've located Lockwood, and after the matter out-lined in those papers is attended to, you and your bride take two weeks anywhere you want at our expense. But find Lockwood as quickly as you can. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," Guy replied.
"And, Guy, if Lockwood needs any help after he's gone over what we sent, I want you to see that he gets it. Funds may be required, and we can arrange that. Okay?"
"Yes, sir," Guy replied. "We'll fly to Brazil on the next available flight. I'll contact you the minute I have something worthwhile."
Sandy watched her husband carefully as he replaced the receiver and slowly lighted a cigarette.
"I take it we're headed for Rio?" she said lightly.
"Right," Guy sighed. "I wish to hell I knew what this was all about."
"So do I," Sandy said almost under her breath.
Guy caught the tone of her remark and walked across the room to take her in his arms.
"Look, Sandy," he said, holding her tenderly, "Mr. Maxwell said to apologize to you for any inconvenience this caused us on our honeymoon. As soon as I take care of this silly thing, we're to take two weeks anywhere we want-all expenses paid."
"I didn't marry Mr. Maxwell, Guy," Sandy said softly. "I married you. It's all very new and a little frightening to me."
"I know, honey," he said with a warm smile, "but let's ride it out patiently. I honestly didn't know what I was getting into. I still don't, for that matter. All I ask is that you be patient. I'll make it up to you, I promise."
"I think I understand, Guy," Sandy said seriously, "and I know you have to do your job. We'll have a lifetime together, I know that. Just be a little understanding, and try not to leave me alone in these strange countries too much, okay? Shall I pack?"
"Better let me see when the next flight to Rio is," Guy said, kissing her tenderly on the lips and then returning to the phone to call the travel desk.
Sandy was amazed to see how quickly he could change from husband to businessman. It was as if he were two people in one body. He had ignored her remark about marrying him and not his business. Was she wrong? Had she indeed married a business as well as Guy Morrison?