Mysterious Islands. David Meade
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Perhaps it’s my eyes - several hours in a dark airplane, watching a movie. The movie was a comedy - I needed a light show and it was perfect for me.
But now my thoughts were back on the current situation. I got into the taxi and we pulled out - into the left lanes - of a virtual reality ride into downtown Hamilton. I saw beautiful great houses - manicured and cared for by native gardeners. Pink and white...one larger than another. None under two million. The higher end mansions were worth seven times that much. Mostly part-time residences. Europeans, South Americans, Canadians...the owners were diverse. We drive by a palace I know is owned by a Sheik. It looks like a mosque.
Soon we come to the Balfour Hotel. It reminds me of the Breakers in Palm Beach. Large and ornate, the halls are covered with expensive paintings and antiques. The women are dressed fashionably, the men elegant and casual. I see a woman I think I know...but I’m not entirely sure from where.
“Vince, do you remember me?”
“No - but yes -- you’re Cassandra...”
“Graves...Cassandra Graves.”
“I met you in Palm Beach a year ago at a ball.” I remembered her.
“New Year’s Eve. What are you doing in Bermuda?”
“Personal and business. Mostly personal,” I answered.
“I’m here with my aunt. We needed to get away from the states for a while.”
“Yeah, I know what that’s like.”
“Over here it’s different,” she replied.
“It’s a different feeling than any other place, isn’t it?” I looked at her - she looked like she wanted to talk, so I continued, “What about dinner tonight?”
“That would be wonderful…here?”
“At eight o’clock.”
“I’ll see you,” she said quietly as she turned, smiling and moving away in the crowd.
At least I can’t stand the thought of having to deal with Company people tonight. Get the business over with and have a good excuse not to get too involved. The seminar should take most of my time, anyway.
I walked into the lobby and registered. The man behind the archaic desk was polished and polite. I had a seventh-floor room, overlooking the harbor and most of Hamilton. My room looked down at the Olympic Pool, and had a guest bar with everything imaginable. I had a Scotch and Soda and went outside. It was time to call in.
They would want to meet me not at their office, I knew, but at a cut-out address. Nothing had been arranged so as to keep the meeting place secret until only moments before. I was to call in, and then I’d know precisely where...and when.
“Sorenson here...”
“Hold on, please.”
For an interminable time I held and I heard some strange satellite noises on the other end of the line. Then I was disconnected. I called back, and there was a busy signal. So I decided I had done enough - perhaps something had happened and I would be notified a different way...
The bright sunlight was turning golden as the sun began to set over pillows of clouds on the horizon. The clouds would make a spectacular sunset. I thought surely I was fortunate...perhaps the most fortunate of men - but perhaps the most cautious of them. I had seen what the intelligence community could do to an individual. And those who survived were the most cautious of men. I trusted my intuition and even then I wasn’t sure sometimes.
Time passed as I watched the sunset. The phone did not ring. As the sun set the entire end of the sky turned pink and gold and silver...
In a deep reverie I thought about the source of the money I had brought with me. It was from an assassinations fund...targeted for use by our men in the field. Only we needed to trade it and earn funds from it to pay at least salaries to justify our presence. Trading blood money.
The phone rang loudly and my senses became alert suddenly. I expected it would be returning my call, but it was Cassandra. She sounded quite lovely and peaceful.
“Darling, it’s time and I’m famished - what are you still doing in your room?”
I looked at my watch. It was quarter past eight. Time had slipped by. Two hours had passed. “I’ll be right down, just give me five minutes.”
“I’m expecting you in three. Hurry up.” She sounded flirtatious. “My aunt couldn’t make it.”
“I’ll be down in two and half.” I started thinking as I placed the phone down - why hadn’t I heard back? Why didn’t the office at least contact me to give me instructions of some kind? Why didn’t they slip a message into my room? Why?”
I placed a sport jacket on and attended to my briefcase. I placed it carefully under the bed, and then I took care to double lock the door as I left. I placed a “Do Not Disturb” sign at the door, as if someone was there. It was always best to make it look as if someone was there.
In the elevator I pressed lobby and proceeded down. On the first level we stopped briefly and a well-dressed man, and his companion, stepped on. They looked like royalty, dressed in Armani and Gucci. She was much younger than he. They smiled but didn’t speak. We proceeded to the lobby where I saw Cassandra seated at a table. I walked up behind her.
“Do I know you?”
“Darling, you know a lot of people. We’ve yet to get to know one another.”
And so began a relationship which would carry me through the most startling phase of one’s life which was imaginable...
A CHANCE MEETING
Some say romance finds you when you are least looking for it. Ahead of us loomed an elaborate room with chandeliers from another era, and black-jacketed waiters were before us as we entered the dining room of the hotel. The hotel had been founded by an Englishman at the turn of the century, and the decor reflected his European tastes. Fine linen and crystal abounded on the tables. Flowers, freshly cut, were the centerpiece of each table. A romantic atmosphere added to the electric nature of the evening. Cassandra looked at me rather coyly and asked, “Would you prefer wine, champagne, or something else?”
“Something else,” I answered. I noticed her strong perfume, the dark eyes and the long hair covering her petite figure.
So began an evening of quiet discourse as we listened to piano music in the background and watched the endless parade of the wealthy patrons of the hotel. It reminded me of a comment I had heard on my last trip here - at a jewelry store - the man had asked a customer if his “wife, girlfriend, mistress or whatever relationship might exist” would like to look at a certain bauble.
It was time to order and we tried filet mignon for two. A magnum of wine from the wine cellar, Chateau Haut Brion, complemented the mood of the evening. I was being lured into a dream, I thought, but I liked it and I hoped it would continue. It was a far cry from my daytime life and I enjoyed it - it was an escape.
“And what about your family?” she asked.
“Oh, they’re in Arizona , and points west. They’ve all migrated from their original cities, to wherever.”
“How about your immediate family?”
This was an interesting question as there was none, and the fact that she was inquisitive on this point had me thinking that perhaps there was more than an immediate interest in the point at hand. “My immediate family - you’re looking at.”
“In Palm Beach you never mentioned your line of work...”
“Well, I’m here for an International Conference on Securities Management. I represent principals - primarily out of London, who investment bank deals of various sorts. . . and I act as both a principal and an intermediary in some of the deals . . .”
She looked at me quizzically for a moment...