baggage handler waved back and drove to the employees’ parking lot, stopping beside a door held open by the chauffeur of a large dark-blue limousine. Still without a word, the man from the airplane stepped into the backseat of the car. The chauffeur took the suitcase, lifted it into the trunk, and the baggage handler drove his empty caravan back toward the cargo terminal.

It wasn’t until the car entered the outskirts of Georgetown that Lusana relaxed and slipped out of the coveralls. In past years he would have entered the States like any other traveler coming from overseas. But those were the days before the South African Defence Ministry took him seriously. Lusana’s fears of assassination were well founded. With a sense of relief he watched the chauffeur stop in front of a house whose downstairs windows were lit. At least someone was home.

The chauffeur carried his suitcase to the doorstep and silently departed. A faint murmur from the TV set came through the open windows. He pressed the bell.

The porch light came on, the door opened a crack, and a familiar voice said, “Who is it?”

He moved under the light so that it illuminated his face. “It’s me, Felicia.”

“Hiram?” Her voice was stunned.

“Yes.”

The door opened slowly. She was dressed in a sheer and sexy chiffon peasant blouse and a long soft jersey skirt. A knotted bandana covered her hair. She stood motionless, her eyes searching his. She wanted to say something appropriately clever but her mind went blank. All she managed was, “Come in.”

He stepped inside and set the suitcase down. “I thought you might be here,” he said.

Her dark eyes quickly shifted from surprise to calm composure. “Your timing is right on the money. I just got back from Hollywood. I’ve cut a new album and auditioned for a part in a TV series.”

“I’m happy all goes well for you.”

She looked up into his face. “You never should have sent me away with Frederick.”

“If it will make you feel any better, I’ve often regretted my hasty decision.”

“I could go back with you to Africa.”

He shook his head sadly. “Someday, maybe. Not now. You can do more for our cause here.”

Salvage I 137

They turned in unison as Frederick Daggat, casually attired in a paisley-print bathrobe, appeared from the living room. “My God, General Lusana. I thought I recognized your voice.” He looked down at the suitcase and his face clouded. “There was no advance word of your arrival. Has there been trouble?”

Lusana grinned wryly. “The world is not safe for revolutionaries. I thought it expedient to return to the Land of the Free as inconspicuously as possible.”

“But surely the airlines … customs … someone must have announced your presence.”