Fugitive Read Free

seduced her, yet. Have you any idea who it might be?
    Charlie felt his bowels loosen. There was no way Bernadette would have held up under torture.
    No, Mr. President, I never heard anyone say anything bad about Bernadette.
    Baptiste shook his head slowly. She and her lover were very careful. They were very clever. But Nathan is working on this problem and I have complete confidence that he will ferret out the identity of the foul person who tempted my beloved Bernadette into breaking her marriage vows.
    Then the president smiled. But come, everyone. It is late.
    He released Charlie and bent down to pick up his terrified son. Now, now, Alfonse, you must be a man. A man does not cry when he confronts death. Enough of this.
    Baptiste stepped over the nanny's body. Revive Madam O' Doulou and bring her to Alfonse's room, he told the soldier in charge of the Special Forces squad.
    And this one? the soldier asked, pointing at the judge, who was doubled over after a second round of vomiting.
    Leave him with Bernadette. I will decide what to do with him later.

Chapter 2
    T he executive mansion was a six-story, concave monstrosity that resembled a stereo speaker. The exterior was covered by gold disks that reflected the sunlight in the daytime and deflected bullets anytime. Baptiste's palace was set back from the road behind a spear-topped, wrought-iron electrified fence. A driveway curved past the front entrance, which was entered by climbing a set of steep marble steps. This enabled soldiers standing at the top to shoot down on anyone who tried to storm the mansion from the front.
    Charlie staggered down the steps of the mansion in a daze, ripping off his bow tie, opening his shirt collar, and gulping in fresh air as he went. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head from side to side but, try as he might, Charlie could not get the image of the soles of Bernadette's feet out of his head. Positioned as she was, she'd seemed so vulnerable.
    A limousine provided by Baptiste had driven Charlie to the executive mansion but no car waited at the bottom of the stairs to take him back to his apartment.
    Where is my car? Charlie asked one of the soldiers standing guard duty.
    All cars gone, the soldier answered tersely.
    Then bring a car for me.
    The soldier's smile was cold. President Baptiste say no more cars tonight.
    Before this evening, Charlie would have reported the soldier for being insolent and would have demanded a car, but he was too upset and frightened to argue. There was a slim possibility that he could locate a minor functionary who would rustle up a car for him, but no power on earth could make him go back inside the mansion to find one.
    The absence of his limousine and the soldier's insolence were proof beyond a reasonable doubt that Baptiste knew he was Bernadette's lover. The last time he'd been this frightened was twelve years ago, on the evening he'd fled from the parking lot of the Westmont Country Club after the congressman was shot. He'd stayed terrified until several weeks after his arrival in Batanga. Charlie remembered the moment the fear had lifted. He had been walking on the white sand behind his house, watching the waves sweep in. Emerald green palm trees had been swaying in the breeze and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Charlie had breathed in the clear, clean air and exhaled. Then he'd smiled and said, out loud, I' m safe. It didn't take long for him to discover that what he thought was safety was only an illusion.
    Charlie's fear drove him down the long driveway to the guard house. Moments after the guard opened the gate, he was trudging toward town along Baptiste Boulevard. Cabs drove by and so did open-backed money buses that took passengers around the city on a set route for a dime, but Charlie's apartment was only two miles from the mansion and he needed to walk to clear his head.
    The back of the mansion faced the ocean and the cool breeze that blew inland at night chased away the thick, moist heat