Iris Johansen - The Ugly Duckling

Copyright 1996 by I.J. Enterprises
ISBN 0-553-56991-0

Greenbriar, North Carolina
"I didn't mean to break it." Tears were running down Nell's cheeks."Please, Mama. I was holding it and it just fell."
"I told you never to touch my things. Your father gave me this mirrorin Venice." Her mother's lips were tight with anger as she looked atthe broken handle of the pearl-encrusted mirror. "It will never, neverbe the same."
"Yes, it will. I promise." Nell reached out and tried to take the handmirror. "I didn't break the mirror, just the handle. I'll glue it. Itwill be exactly the same."
"You've ruined it. What were you doing in my room anyway? I told yourgrandmother never to let you in here."
"She didn't know. It wasn't her fault." The sobs were choking her. "Ijust came toI wanted to see I made this wreath of honeysuckle fromthe fence and"
"I see you did." Her mother disdainfully touched the flowers in Nell'shair. "You look ridiculous." She held the mirror up before Nell's face."Is that what you wanted to see? How silly you look."
"I thought I'd look... pretty."
"Pretty? Look at yourself. You're plump and plain and you'll never beanything else."
Mama was right. The girl in the mirror was plump, her eyes swollen andbloodshot. The bright yellow blossoms Nell had thought so beautifullooked limp and pitiful tucked in her untidy brown hair. By wearingthem, she had made even the flowers seem ugly. She whispered, "I'msorry, Mama."
"Was that really necessary, Martha?" Her grandmother stood in thedoorway. "She's only eight years old."
"It's time she learned to face reality. She'll never be anything but anugly little mouse. She has to deal
with it."
"All children are beautiful," her grandmother said quietly. "And ifshe's a little plain now, that doesn't mean she'll stay that way."
Her mother snatched up the mirror again and held it before Nell. "Isshe right, Nell? Are you beautiful?"
Nell turned her head to avoid her reflection.
Her mother turned to her grandmother. "And I don't want you filling herhead with stories and fantasies. Ugly ducklings don't become swans.Plain children usually grow up to be plain adults. She'll have to becontent with being neat and clean and obedient to be accepted." Shetook Nell's shoulders and looked directly into her eyes. "Do youunderstand, Nell?"
She understood. By accepted, Mama meant to be loved. She would never bebeautiful like Mama, so she must make them all love her by doingwhatever they wished.
She nodded jerkily.
Her mother released her, grabbed her briefcase from the bed, and movedtoward the door. "I have a meeting in twenty minutes, and you've mademe late. You must never, never come into this room again." She glaredimpatiently at Nell's grandmother. "I can't understand you not watchingher more closely."
She was gone.
Her grandmother held out her arms to Nell. She meant to comfort, toease the hurt, and Nell wanted to
go to her, to bury her face in her shoulder. But there was somethingshe must do first.
She turned back to the dresser and carefully gathered the pieces of thebroken mirror. She would glue every piece with great care so that noone would ever know it was broken. She must work hard and be veryclever and very good.
Because she was an ugly duckling.
And she would never become a swan.


June 4,
Athens
Tanek wasn't pleased.
Conner could tell as he watched Nicholas Tanek stride out of customs.Tanek's expression was impassive, but Conner had known him long enoughto read his body language. Tanek's power and presence were alwaysevident, but not the impatience.
It had better be good , Tanekhad told him.
It wasn't good, but it was all Conner had.
He ambled forward and smiled with effort. "Pleasant flight?"
"No." Tanek walked toward the exit. "Is Reardon in the car?"
"Yes, he arrived from Dublin last night." He paused. "But he can't goto the party with you. I could wangle only one invitation."
"I said two invitations."
"You don't understand."
"I understand that if it's a hit, I'm without a backup. I understandthat I pay you to do as I tell you."
"The party is for Anton Kavinski and the invitations were issued threemonths ago. He's the president of a Russian state, for God's sake. Itcost me a fortune to get even one." He added hurriedly, "And you maynot need Reardon. I told you the information may not be accurate. Ourman only found a computer message at DEA headquarters that indicatedthis party on the island of Medas might be hit."
"That's all?"
"And a list of names."
"What kind of list?"
"The names of six guests. No one that we can identify as players exceptone of Kavinski's bodyguards and Martin Brenden, the man who's givingthe party. One name was circled for special attention. A woman."
"What makes you think this is a hit list?"
"Blue ink. Our man has a theory that Gardeaux's orders are color-codedto define action to be taken."
"Theory?" Tanek's voice was dangerously soft. "I've come all this wayfor a theory?"
Conner moistened his lips. "You told me to let you know anything thatcame up about Gardeaux."
The mention of Philippe Gardeaux had the desired effect of temperingTanek's annoyance, Conner saw with relief. He had learned that noeffort was too great, no action too minor, if it concerned Gardeaux.
"Okay, you're right," Tanek said. "Who sent this computer message?"
"Joe Kabler, the head of the DEA, has a paid informant in Gardeaux'scamp."
"Can we get the informant's name?"
Conner shook his head. "I've been trying, but so far no luck."
"And what's Kabler going to do about this list?"
"Nothing."
Tanek stared at him. "Nothing?"
"Kabler thinks it's a list of bribery targets."
"He doesn't believe in the 'deadly blue ink' theory?" Tanek askedsarcastically.
Conner drew a breath of relief as they came abreast of the Mercedes.Let Reardon deal with him; they were two of a kind. "Reardon has thelist with him in the car." He hastily opened the back door. "You
can talk to him while I drive you to the hotel."

"Howdy, cowboy." Jamie Reardon's Irish brogue was blatantly at oddswith the assumed western drawl.
"I see you left your boots at home."
Nicholas Tanek felt a little of his impatience ebb as he climbed intothe car. "I should have brought them. Nothing like boots to kick ass."
"Mine or Conner's?" Jamie asked. "Must be Conner's. No one would wantto damage my venerable ass.
Conner gave a nervous laugh as he pulled out of the parking space.
Jamie's long face lit with mischief, his sly gaze on the back ofConner's head. "But I can see how you'd be displeased with Conner. It'sa long flight from Idaho for no good reason."
"I told you it might be nothing,'' Conner said. "I didn't tell him tocome."
"You didn't tell him not to," Jamie murmured. "Isn't silence assent,Nick?"
"Knock it off. I'm here now." Nicholas wearily leaned back on theleather seat. "Is it for nothing, Jamie?
"Probably. There's no sign the DEA is taking it seriously. Kabler'scertainly not spending government funds to get an invitation to Medas."
Another blind alley. Christ, Nicholas was tired of it.
"But getting away from those wide-open spaces is good therapy for you,"Jamie said. "Every time you come back from that ranch, you look morelike John Wayne. It's not healthy."
"John Wayne has been dead a number of years."
"I told you it wasn't healthy."
"It's healthy spending your life in a pub?"
"Ah, Nick, you never understood. Irish pubs are the cultural center ofthe universe. Poetry and art flourish like roses in summer, and theconversations ..." He half closed his eyes, savoring the memory. "Atother places people talk, in my place they have conversations."
Nicholas smiled faindy. "There's a difference?"
"The difference between deciding the fate of the world and buying a newvideo game for the kid." He lifted a brow. "But why am I wasting mytime describing such beauty to you? You have only steers to talk to inthat savage Idaho."