Free Firebreak by Richard Herman Page A

large patio where the beach club held its parties, rocking the lanterns, and casting a moving pattern of light and shadows over the rich, famous, infamous, and hanger-ons that made up the “glitterati” of Marbella’s society. Matt was sitting at the patio’s bar just outside the French doors that opened into the main lounge taking it all in when a tall, Nordic young man walked through the doors. “Hellmut,” he called, catching the newcomer’s attention, “I’d given up on you.”
    “Never miss a party like this one, my friend,” Hellmut Wisser, the son of WisserChemFabrik’s general director assured him. For the next few minutes, the two old friends brought each other up to date on what they had been doing since they last met at Gstaad, Switzerland, for a week of skiing. Their friendship went back to the time when Matt was a cadet at the Air Force Academy and had accompanied his grandfather on a junket to visit NATO bases in Europe. They had met at a stuffy reception and had become instant friends when they discovered a shared interest in pretty girls, fast cars, skiing, and partying—not necessarily in that order. They had escaped from the elegant castle on the hillside overlooking Bonn where the reception had been held and for the next three days, pursued three of their four common interests, sorry that it was the midst of summer.
    The friendship had grown on its own over the years and received positive encouragement from Hellmut’s family when they learned that Matt’s grandfather might become the President of the United States. For one short summer, the Wissers had hoped that something might develop between Matt and Hellmut’s younger sister, Lisl. But nothing came of it, for other than a lustful enjoyment of each other’s body, Matt and Lisl had nothing in common. They still slept together whenever they met.
    They were talking about skiing when Shoshana walked onto the patio. “Who,” Matt said, very interested, “is that?”
    “A new face this year,” Hellmut told him.
    “And a new body,” Matt allowed.
    “Her name is Rose Temple. I had the company run a background check when one of our”—Hellmut paused, searching for the right words—“more influential clients expressed an interest. She’s a Canadian working in California. Over here for a vacation and staying at the Atalaya Park. Some money in the family—ranching and lumbering.”
    “1 hope,” Matt said, “that she’s one of them ‘wimmen’ my granddaddy warned me about.”
    Hellmut shook his head, an amused look in his eyes. He knew when Matt was about to give chase. “We would, ah”—again he sought the right words—“rather you’d not. There is an engineer here who we would like Miss Temple to meet.” He nodded toward a dark, pudgy young man, Is’al Nassir Mana, standing next to Hellmut’s father.
    “Is this business?” Matt asked.
    “Of course.” Hellmut saw no reason to tell his friend that Mana was from Iraq and that his company was doing business with that country again. Americans could be incredibly naive about some things.
    “Then he’s going to have to take his chances with the rest of us,” Matt said. He stood up and headed toward Shoshana.
    “Matt,” Hellmut called after him, “Lisl is here.” The pilot paused before he rolled in for a reconnaissance run on his latest target.
    Shoshana turned her head, cast a long gaze at Mana, then glanced away. He had seen her looking at him. Good. Slowly she returned her gaze, a slight smile on her lips. It was the classic, time-honored come-on—an interested look and a smile. Now the ball was in Mana’s court. Would he take the few steps over to her and say something? No matter what he said, it would be well received. The Iraqi engineer was saying something to the elder Wisser. Then he started to walk toward Shoshana.
    “He’s not the one for you,” a voice said. She turned to see Matt standing behind her. Now Mana was walking away. Matt’s self-assured