Chapter 7

Marigold glared at Roscoe, then glared at his phone. She hadn't been done yelling at Thule and was angry that this balky piece of technology had interrupted her. She shoved the handset into Roscoe's arms and stormed towards the door.

Roscoe followed her, "Where are you going?"

"I don't know," steamed Marigold. "For a walk. Don't follow me, Roscoe. I've had enough of being spied on."

She thought Roscoe might argue, but he just looked down at her, considering her words. Then, he walked over to their luggage, opened a chest, and extracted Marigold's gun belt, "If you're going out on your own, take this. There may be rebels about."

Marigold nodded and strapped on the belt. Even at its smallest, it was a little too large for her, the gun hanging low on her hip. The professor had insisted they all have a gun and know how to use it before they set off overland. Marigold wore it often enough that she'd gotten used to the weight. They only came off when approaching a town to indicate their peaceful intentions.

Marigold had lied when she said she didn't know where she was going. But, she hadn't been ready to admit her destination until it became obvious to her that she was making a beeline for the south cluster of solar collectors.

She found Marcello sitting in the shade of a copse of trees overlooking the cluster, stripped to the waist and drinking from his water bottle. From his vantage point, he must have been able to see her coming a long way off.

He looked up at her, a grin of wry amusement on his face, "Coming to admire my work?"

"No," said Marigold bluntly. "I came out here to get away from people."

Marcello gave her a questioning look, "You look like you're ready to spit nails. Should I move off a little?"

Marigold shook her head, "No, Marcello. You're rapidly moving up my list of all-time favorite people--even if only by default."

"Thanks, Marigold." He grinned back at her, "For a well-meaning corporate lapdog, you're all right too."

Marigold chuckled and sat down next to him, "It's a good thing those solar panels never malfunction or need to be replaced."

"They malfunction all the time..." said Marcello. He must have seen something in Marigold's face because he asked, "What?"

"Never mind," said Marigold. "I wanted to make a point, but I'm suddenly not in the mood to fight."

Marcello offered her his water bottle, "Want to talk about it?"

Marigold shook her head in the negative, but said, "My boyfriend is spying on me."

"How?"

Marigold extended an arm, indicating the sky, "He runs a security firm that has access to satellite photos."

Marcello looked doubtful.

"I know it sounds crazy," said Marigold. "But, it's true."

Marcello looked up, "How much can he see?"

Marigold laughed, "Not enough to know that I'm under this tree with you if that's what you're worried about."

Marcello gave her a wan smile that made her laugh harder.

"Thule showed me some of those shots. They can see where our trucks are and probably make out where some people are, but not who a person is."

Marcello gave her a look as if he didn't believe her.

Silently, Marigold cursed her own lack of foresight in mentioning Thule. It was having exactly the opposite of the desired effect. Alan had been afraid of Thule when Marigold had first mentioned him, but gotten over his fear once they had the Atlantic Ocean between them. That apparently wasn't going to be far enough for Marcello. Quickly, she went over her options for convincing him that Thule wasn't so scary. None of them seemed likely to work. Idly, she wondered what Thule would do in her situation.

And then she had it. She knew exactly what Thule would do. Giving Marcello her best shy smile, she said, "It drives me crazy. He's thousands of miles away in Boston and he can still scare other men away."

The physical transformation was electric. Even seated, Marcello's spine straightened immediately. He sat up straighter. And, as much as it sounded like a cliche, he actually puffed out his chest a little. In spite of herself, Marigold had trouble not laughing out loud.

"So," she asked, laying a hand gently on his arm. "Can you show me what you fixed to make the electricity work?"

Marcello smiled, "Sure." He rose, reached down and helped her to her feet. Marigold allowed herself to overbalance, stumbled forward, and came to rest with both hands pressed against his chest. Marcello wasn't particularly tall, but he still stood a half foot taller than her. At first, Marigold thought she had pushed too hard, but after a second of hesitation, he put his arms around her waist. Marigold looked up at him and smiled.

From the first time she'd met Marcello, Marigold had pegged him as a bit of a Lothario. Even when they argued, he was a constant flirt. Their first meeting was shortly after her brief relationship with Alan had ended. In between that and the daily desolation she was exposing herself to, a little bit of harmless flirtation was the perfect distraction. She had encouraged him, flirting back, not moving away when he touched her, touching him back.

Marigold had known it was harmless. Even when Marcello was flirting with her, he was trying to flirt with Jennifer too. But, where Marigold's relationship with Alan was old, Jennifer's was new and apparently long sought after. Besides that, she was far more politically confrontational. Her body language made it clear to Marigold that she had no interest in flirting. Marcello had been remarkably quick on the uptake, seeming to go from flirtatious to polite and professional in the middle of a sentence.

For all the glances and touches he and Marigold had shared, Marcello seemed hesitant now. He actually led Marigold out to show her where he'd fixed a relay and spoke about it with some passion. Still, he kept his arm around her waist the whole time.

When he'd finally finished the explanation, Marigold swiped her arm over her forehead dramatically, "It's starting to get really hot out."

Marcello looked solicitous, "Did you want to head back to the village?"

For just a moment, Marigold couldn't help but give him a look like he was the densest person on the planet. Suppressing it, she said as lightly as she could, "I really don't feel like going back to the village just now. Why don't we just get back into the shade."

Marcello nodded and guided her back to where they'd been sitting earlier. Marigold stretched out on her back in the lush grass. Marcello stretched out next to her on his side. Working from the bottom, she unbuttoned a few of the buttons on her shirt, exposing her belly. She was hoping Marcello wouldn't ask why she did it since she didn't really have an explanation prepared.

"Oh," said Marcello. "You're pierced."

Marigold nodded, "Do you like it?"

"It's very pretty," said Marcello.

"You should see it up close."

Finally, Marcello laid a hand on her stomach. He brought his head up so that his hair tickled the bare skin of her belly and spilled across her chest. He said something Marigold couldn't hear clearly, but she was already stroking his hair on top of his head. Hesitant as he may be, Marcello wasn't dense. A moment later, he placed a gentle kiss on Marigold's flat belly. She sighed, both in relief and release and gently pressed his head against her, encouraging him to continue.

He seemed content to kiss her stomach for a while, first one hand, then both stroking her exposed flesh. Each time his left hand reached the edge of her shirt, he pushed it up a little further Marigold undulated a little and sighed his name, making it clear that he was free to progress, but he seemed bound and determined to take his time. Marigold fought the urge to squeal with frustration. Her initial clarity of thought and resolve were fading.

Before she could decide how to tacitly urge him on, Marcello took the edge of her jeans in his teeth and, in an impressively dexterous move, undid the catch and slowly lowered the zipper. It was a masterful performance that made Marigold glance down appreciatively. Marcello looked up at her with one eye, sparkling with clear amusement and naughtiness.

She raised her hips, making it easier to get her out of her pants. Marcello gripped her waistband in both hands, then looked down at her for confirmation.

"Do it, Marcello," she said. "I need this."

Marcello nodded and shucked her pants and underwear in one neat motion. He moved with more certainty now, kissing the inside of her thigh, working his way up quickly until he was at the juncture of her legs. Marigold spread herself wide to him, letting his tongue explore deeply.

Before long, Marigold's initial anger and general malaise d'esprit had faded away under the virtuoso performance of Marcello's tongue. She progressed rapidly from making polite sounds of encouragement to biting her fist to keep from alerting the village, nearly a half mile away.

As the pleasure continued to spiral upward, it became too intense. Panicked, Marigold entwined her fingers in Marcello's hair, physically dragging him away from his craft.

"God, Dawn," she panted. "That's enough. You're going to kill me."

"Eh?" asked Marcello. "Who is Don?"

If she weren't already flushed as red as she was going to get, Marigold would have blushed. Instead, she recovered, "Never mind. It was a compliment. Believe me."

Marcello nodded as best he could and looked down at her, his eyes imploring. After a moment, Marigold realized why and released his hair. Tracing up her body with the back of one hand, he cupped the back of her head, lifting her to be kissed. As dexterous as his tongue had been before, he used it sparingly now.

When he broke the kiss, Marigold looked up at him, eyes shining, "Marcello, you are a wonder."

Marcello grinned broadly, "Thank you, bella."

Marigold looked puzzled, "Who's Bella?"

Marcello chuckled, "It was a compliment. It means 'beautiful.'"

Marigold nodded and drew him down into another kiss. For a while, Marcello seemed content just to kiss her, his hands roaming gently over her body. It was Marigold who stripped him out of his pants and removed her own shirt and bra.

Nearly naked, she still felt a strap around her waist. Reaching down, she realized that, as improbably as it seemed, she was still wearing her gun belt. As she reached down to unbuckle it, Marcello caught her wrists, "Keep it. If someone comes up behind me, you can protect me."

For some reason, this made Marigold giggle. Once she started, she had trouble stopping. The mental image was too absurd. Marcello smiled at her again, stretched, and grabbed the duffel bag he'd brought his tools in. He unzipped an inside pocket and held up a condom, "This way, we are both providing protection."

Marigold smiled up at him and took the condom out of his hand. She'd never actually used one before, but she'd paid attention in health class, even if it had been more for the grade than anything else. Still, her time in Africa was a stark reminder that an unwanted pregnancy was not the worst possible outcome of sex.

Marcello slid his hand down and let his fingers linger between Marigold's legs, "You are ready for me, bella?"

Marigold nodded and tore open the package, "I don't think I could be any more ready."

By the feel of Marcello as she rolled the condom on, neither could he. Still, he let his fingers tease their way inside Marigold for a few minutes, regaining whatever momentum had been lost by the brief interruption.

By the time Marcello slid inside of her, Marigold had lost all pretense of reserve. She bucked and moaned, biting him on the shoulder to suppress the loudest sounds. Once he was firmly seated inside of her, Marcello lost the last of his hesitancy. He gripped her hips and fucked her as hard as he could, sometimes grunting with the effort. Marigold wrapped her arms around his chest and held on as best she could. Before long, they were both slick with sweat.

Marigold had been well instructed in the difference between making love and fucking. This was neither. She'd never been with someone she wasn't having or expecting to have a relationship with before. Even Alan had been under consideration for serious, long-term boyfriend status.

This was a new experience. Whatever her initial reason for coming out here, this was recreational sex or, as Dawn had once put it, sport fucking. She already knew that she didn't want to do it all the time, but it had an intensity and abandon she'd never experienced before. As much as she was enjoying herself, she had no worries about how Marcello would perceive her afterwards and held nothing back. This was a purely animal act and Marigold had no qualms about treating it as such.

By the time Marcello's muffled explosion caused his whole body to shudder violently, Marigold's thighs ached from being locked around him for so long. But, when he rolled off of her, she found that she was completely relaxed for the first time since coming to Africa. As the sweat cooled on her body, she shivered a little and rolled against his side for human contact and warmth.

-=-

By the light of morning, Thule found himself embarrassed by his overwhelming sense of despair the night before. There was still a dull ache in the pit of his stomach, but a cold sense of purpose, too.

Reaching to his side, he realized that Dawn was no longer in bed with him. He sat up and saw her sitting in an overstuffed leather chair, wearing the form-fitting blue and white baby tee and gray sweats she'd had on when Thule came to her room the night before. When he moved, she closed the book she was reading.

"Are you getting up?"

Thule nodded. Turning to one side of the bed, he put his feet on the floor and groaned. Looking down, he saw an ugly, purple bruise over one of his lower ribs. For some reason, every muscle above his waist ached, even though he'd taken relatively few hits in the ring.

Dawn rose and strode to the side of the bed. Gently gripping one arm, she helped Thule to his feet. He smiled his gratitude to her. Dawn said, "Let's get in the bathing pool. The jets will do you good."

Thule rubbed his neck, "What time is it?"

"Don't worry about it," said Dawn. "I had Masha rearrange your schedule. You're free until one. I turned your alarm clock off."

Thule raised an eyebrow at her. Dawn stared up at him defiantly, clearly expecting a fight. Thule had no intention of giving her one.

"Good," he said. "I needed the rest after the day I had yesterday."

"That's an ugly bruise," said Dawn.

"It hurts worse than it looks," said Thule.

"You'll want to keep it covered. According to Masha, Helene's only telling people she got her black eye while boxing."

Thule didn't let his surprise that Dawn already knew what had happened last night show. Instead, he said, "You're getting awfully bossy all of a sudden."

"I'm your protege," said Dawn. "I learned 'bossy' from the best."

"I knew I shouldn't have given you that title," said Thule. "Is it too late for me to change it to 'first wench?'"

Dawn shook her head, "I'm happy to provide wenchly services, but I must insist my title remain 'protege.'"

"Protege..." Thule said imperiously.

"Yes?"

"Draw my bath."

Dawn grinned, "You've got it, boss."

"And protege," Thule growled. "I suspect that, if you want those clothes to remain dry, it would be best for you to remove them before I get in there."

-=-

Thule sat on the edge of the seat in the bathing pool, Dawn seated behind him, rubbing his shoulders. Her hands weren't powerful enough to do much for the tension in those muscles, but the sensation was pleasant enough that he had no intention of protesting.

"We're having breakfast in the private dining room today," said Dawn.

"All right," said Thule amiably.

"You're making this much easier than I expected," said Dawn uncertainly.

"I'm probably lulling you into a false sense of security."

Dawn seemed to consider this as she worked his trapezoidals. Finally, she said, "Yes. That's probably it."

"So," asked Thule. "What do we need to talk about?"

Dawn paused in her ministrations, "I didn't say we needed to talk."

"And I appreciate that," said Thule. "It's such a cliche. But, that is the point of all this. Right? The unplugged alarm clock, the relaxing bath, the private breakfast."

Dawn sighed, "Can't fool you. Can I?"

"Nope," said Thule. "So, come clean. What's on your mind?"

"A few things," said Dawn. "First, I wanted to know what you and Marigold said to each other before you smashed the phone against the wall."

"I didn't keep an exact transcript," said Thule. "But, the short form is that Marigold was convinced that I'm spying on her before I could even tell her about Alan. Oh, and the information about Alan was too late anyway. She's already sleeping with him. And, she's convinced I ordered the background check on Alan."

"Why does she think you're spying on her?"

"Because I am," said Thule wearily. "Jonas buys access to satellite photos that track the movement of her caravan and any potential problems in the area and I have my team analyze them."

Dawn stroked his shoulders thoughtfully, "Why?"

"Because she's in fucking Africa," said Thule vehemently. "And not the good parts, either. For the last week, she's been within two day's striking distance from a band of three hundred or so Ivoirian rebels. We have the means to provide some modicum of safety and we do."

"And she knows this?"

"For a while, I assumed so," said Thule. "When she first told me she was heading overland to make sure the seeds got to Burkina Faso, I used the photos to help her plan out a safe route."

Dawn kissed his shoulder and nodded, "All right. But, you didn't actually order a background check on Alan. Did you?"

Thule shook his head, "No. Roscoe did."

"Who's Roscoe?"

Thule sighed, "He's the head of the security detail we hired to make sure Marigold and her team would be safe while traveling overland through all these war-torn areas."

"Does Marigold know you hired a security team?"

Thule sighed, "She does now." He emphasized the last word.

"So, you didn't tell her you hired a security team?"

"Actually, Jonas hired the team," Thule said weakly.

"And you didn't tell her you were tracking her by satellite?"

Thule pulled away from her, swimming to the middle of the pool and turning to face her, "We needed to keep an eye on her. What she's doing is incredibly risky. We have the resources to make it less risky, were we supposed to not use them?"

Dawn shook her head in the negative, "I think it's sweet that you want to keep her safe--probably even romantic. But, did you consider telling her you were doing all this?"

"Of course I considered it," said Thule darkly. "I just didn't think we could take the risk that she would refuse. Marigold's a bit too unpredictable."

Dawn furrowed her brow, "Don't you think you should trust her?"

Thule shook his head, "I don't know if I can. She's too undisciplined, too bound and determined to walk down the path of excess whether there's a temple at the end or not. I don't know what she's going to do next. I love her, but she keeps me on edge most of the time."

"Still..."

"Besides," said Thule. "She lied to us."

"When?"

"Pretty consistently," said Thule. "About two weeks ago, she left Accra and started moving the seed overland to Burkina-Faso. When she called me on Thursday, she said she was still in Accra, but she had already made an insanely dangerous trip from Accra to Ouagadougou right through a fucking war zone. So, I couldn't very well tell her I'd arranged a security detail for her trip when she didn't even acknowledge taking the trip until it was over."

"I guess she didn't know about the satellite photos after all," said Dawn.

"That's what I thought at first, too," said Thule. "But, I think she's known all along. I think she's been lying on purpose, waiting for me to call her on it."

"Are you sure?"

Thule shook his head, "Not at all. I may just be paranoid."

"Well, you certainly are that."

Thule shook his head, "I just don't know if I can trust her and not spend all my time worrying whether or not she's even still alive or anywhere near where she tells me she is."

Dawn seemed to consider this, but didn't say anything. Thule added, "I guess I'm going to have to learn to trust her if I want to keep her, though. I can't control her."

"Not unless you find more blackmail material," Dawn pointed out.

Thule chuckled ruefully, "What are the odds?"

Dawn pushed off the wall and swam to meet Thule in the middle of the pool, "If it helps, tell her I think she needs to be watched too."

Thule sighed and wrapped his arms around her, "I'll keep it in mind."

Dawn leaned forward, ran her hand over the top of Thule's head, and kissed him. Thule chuckled deep in his throat.

"I really should have trusted her with Alan," said Thule thoughtfully. "If I can trust Jake with Svetlana, I can..."

Dawn stiffened, "Jake and Svetlana?"

Thule scowled, "Crap. Dawn, I really don't need to start another day by being stupid. Is there any chance you could completely forget what I just said?"

Dawn relaxed a little, "Sure. Why would I care who Jake is sleeping with anyway?"

Thule hugged her, "I thought you might have a crush on him."

Dawn laid her head on Thule's shoulder, "I do, but I can't see sleeping with him or vice versa. He's always been like a big brother to me."

"So, it doesn't bother you?"

"It bothers me a little," admitted Dawn. "But only because I know Jake can do better than he has, either with Svetlana or Hazel. He's just got awful judgment when it comes to women."

Thule shrugged noncommittally, "I wouldn't worry about him and Svetlana, though. I can't imagine it's meant to last."

Dawn nodded and kissed the side of his neck, "Whatever. Jake's a big boy. But, it does bring me to my next point."

Thule let his fingers trace up and down her back, "Which is?"

Dawn looked up at him, locking in eye contact, "I'm afraid you might be losing it, Thule. You never would have let a detail like that slip last year when you were chasing the Vandevoorts."

"Taking down the Vandevoorts was easy compared to this," said Thule. "I could focus on one thing most of the time. Now, I can't seem to do one thing for more than an hour before something else comes up."

Dawn nodded, "Have you asked Jonas about it?"

Thule shook his head, "Jonas has enough work to do without listening to me whine about my tiny company."

Dawn laughed, "Thule, Jonas vacations twelve weeks out of the year."

Thule chuckled, "Jonas is also running a big, stable company, not a dynamic little start-up."

"So, you don't think he's got any worthwhile advice on the subject?"

Thule shrugged, "I'm sure he does. But, I don't want to bother him."

"Yeah," said Dawn. "He's probably hard at work right now."

Thule nodded.

"But, if he were on vacation..."

Thule hugged her, "Jonas deserves his leisure time."

"If he were on vacation in Boston..." said Dawn.

Thule raised an eyebrow, "Dawn?"

"If he were in vacation in Boston, it wouldn't be much of an imposition. Would it?"

"Is he on vacation in Boston?" asked Thule.

Dawn nodded, "I believe he may be."

Thule tried to scowl at her, but ended up grinning, "This smacks of a set up."

"Further proof you're slipping," said Dawn. "I would never have gotten away with it last year."

Thule sighed and kissed her forehead, "All right. I'll have Masha see if we can find an hour or so to talk."

"You're scheduled to have lunch with him today at one."

Thule blinked down at her as if seeing her for the first time. Where in the hell had Dawn learned how to outmaneuver him? She grinned up at him broadly, "Of course, if that doesn't meet with your plans, I can have Masha cancel it."

"No," said Thule weakly. Then, he smiled, "I'm sure you've rescheduled my plans so that it meets them just fine."

-=-

Thule would have thought that he was immune to being intimidated by the wealth of his surroundings. For the most part, he was. But, there was a weightiness about both the locale of the Oak Room and the clientele. Lunch time on a weekday seemed to draw older men in expensively-tailored suits to this room full of furniture that, while Thule did not immediately recognize its pedigree, looked old and expensive.

The room would not have looked out of place in the house in Cambridge. Stepping across the deep pile carpet, he scanned the room for Jonas. It took only a moment to spot him, sitting alone in one of the richly-upholstered, off-white chairs, holding a PDA in one hand, a stylus in the other. Thule noted with amusement that it wasn't the same PDA he'd helped Jonas pick out a year ago, but a newer, slimmer, and more powerful model.

As Thule approached, Jonas looked up and waved him over. Thule stood by the table, waiting for the older man to rise and greet him, but Jonas waved him into the chair opposite his own. A young woman appeared at Thule's elbow, offered him a menu, and took his drink order.

Finally, Jonas looked up from what he'd been doing, "Thule, it's good to see you."

Thule smiled and indicated the PDA, "Work is never done. Is it?"

Jonas laughed, "Actually, Holly got it into her head that she wants to go to Granada and see the Alhambra next week. I was just setting that in motion. I still haven't figured out how you're supposed to write on this damned thing, though. And, I've topped out at about ten words a minute on the on-screen keyboard."

"South America?" asked Thule. "You two do have a full agenda. I think you've just missed Antarctica this year."

Jonas shook his head, "Spain, actually. And, you're getting our agendas confused. Holly and I went to Europe and Japan. I went to Sydney without her--a fact that I am still apologizing for. And neither one of us made it to Africa. The prodigal stepdaughter informed us that she would be 'much too busy' to visit if we did."

Thule nodded and tried to divert the subject, "Mrs. Tarr isn't with you, I see?"

"She sends her regards," said Jonas. "She was talking about taking Dawn clothes shopping. You probably could have saved me a small fortune if you'd brought your... err, protege."

Thule realized he'd diverted from one delicate subject to another. By unspoken agreement, Jonas had never discussed with Thule how much he understood about how Dawn fit into Thule and Marigold's life and Thule, in return, had never explained it. Taking a sip of his coffee, he asked, "You've heard about the protege thing?"

Jonas nodded, "I probably put the idea in her head. She took a real interest in business while she was living in my house and, I have to admit, I liked having someone to talk to about it."

"So, she was your protege first?"

Jonas chuckled, "I suppose you could look at it that way. I was starting to think of her as the son I never had."

"Usurper," said Thule indignantly. "I thought I was going to be the son you never had."

Jonas grinned at him, "Maybe I wanted two sons."

The server returned and took their lunch order. After they had ordered, Jonas asked, "So, how have you been?"

"Busy," said Thule. "I'm sure it's nothing compared to what you've got on your plate, but..."

Thule was interrupted by Jonas laughing so abruptly that he had to put down his water glass. He looked up and waited for Marigold's stepfather to speak.

"Thule," he said, still laughing. "I never worked as hard as you do. Even when I decided to throw myself into my work to break away from... old patterns, I never went through half of what Marigold described you going through last year. I was talking to Phax Stryker about you. He's certain you and his grandson, Mike, are going to take over the world and put all the old men out to pasture. He was polite enough not to include me among the old men, but I know what he meant."

Thule snorted, "I suspect his grandson has a bit of a head start on me." The improbably named Anaphaxeton Stryker and his immediate descendants owned a nearly-controlling share in Stryker Industries, a conglomerate that made a big chunk of its money on defense contracting, aerospace, traditional heavy industry, and international banking.

Jonas nodded, "And on me, for that matter. Phax thinks you two should meet, although I don't know when that would ever happen. Mike's working out of Hong Kong in SI's Southeast Asian division, trying to make a name for himself."

Thule smiled, "If I thought it might lead to new business, particularly with the Strykers, I'd be on a plane to Hong Kong tomorrow. And, by tomorrow, I mean some time in the next few weeks. I meant to take this week to relax, but the Medeforte contract threw that completely off. I was hoping to get some free time this summer, but it doesn't look like it's happening."