Mistress of the Game

chapter Thirteen

SOUTH AFRICA WAS BEAUTIFUL.

No question about it. Here was beauty on a grand scale. Epic beauty. Awesome beauty. The sort of beauty that man, over the centuries, had tried to imitate with his cathedrals and temples and pyramids, his feeble attempts at grandeur. Keith Webster was well traveled. He had been to Carnac in Egypt, to the Great Wall of China, to Notre Dame cathedral in Paris. He had stood on top of the Empire State Building, marveled at the Colosseum in Rome, and gazed in wonder at the Taj Mahal in India. Now, standing on Table Mountain with the wind in his hair and the city of Cape Town sprawled out below him, he thought of all those places and laughed. Just as God must have laughed:

You call that beauty? You call that greatness? Is that really the best you can do?

Keith Webster had been in the country for three weeks. He was flying back to America tomorrow, and though he longed to see Eve - it was the longest they had been apart since they married - he realized he would be sorry to leave Cape Town. Not just because it was beautiful. Cape Town was magical in a way that Keith had never experienced before. But because it was here, in South Africa, that he had finally managed to bond with his son. For Keith Webster, Cape Town would always be the city that brought Max back to him. The city of hope, of joy, of rebirth.

It was Eve's idea.

"You and Max should go away somewhere together, on your own. A boys' camping holiday. Just think what fun you'll have!"

Keith thought what fun they'd have: Max ignoring him, pouring scorn on all his suggestions for activities, glaring stony-faced at his jokes. Laughing while he failed to erect the tent. Pleading to be allowed to return to his mother.

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea. I've never really seen Max as the camping type."

It had been two years since Lexi Templeton's kidnapping and rescue; two years since Max had sat in the back of the family's limousine and admitted to his father that he hated his cousins.

Nonsense, Max. We don't hate anyone.

That's what Keith Webster had told his son. But even as he said the words, the thought hit him: He hates me, too. He always has. Up until that day, Keith had never admitted this ugly truth, not even to himself. It was easier to make excuses for Max's behavior.

He's overprotective of his mother because she's so vulnerable.

Because he's an only child.

Because...

Because...

What had Max's teacher said? Yes, that was it. Your son is extraordinarily gifted, Dr. Webster. Gifted children often struggled to form attachments. It was nothing to worry about. The boy would grow out of it.

But deep down, Keith Webster knew the truth.

Max hated him.

The only thing he didn't know was why.

Now, though, Max no longer talked about hating Lexi Templeton. Indeed, in the years since he first visited her in the hospital, the boy seemed to have developed some sort of rapport with his poor, deaf cousin. Friendship would be overstating it. But there was something between the two children, some understanding, a flashing of the eyes whenever they met, that had given Keith Webster hope.

If he can learn to love Lexi, maybe one day he can learn to love me?

Keith hadn't wanted to go on this camping trip, but thank God he had. God bless Eve! The vacation had changed everything.

At ten years old, almost eleven, Max was still small for his age. He could easily pass for eight or nine, although grown-ups who knew him well - his teachers, his baseball coach, even his uncle Peter - all noted something jarringly adult beneath the boyish exterior. An old soul - that's what people called him. Around Keith, Max was usually sullen and silent. But with others, he was highly articulate.

Keith waited for his son to pooh-pooh the idea of the "boys' holiday," certain that Max would treat it with the same withering scorn he poured on all Keith's efforts to bridge the emotional gap between them. But incredibly, Max was eager to go.

"Can we, Dad? I've never been to South Africa. Lexi and Robert go all the time; it's supposed to be amazing. Pleeease?"

"You realize Mommy won't be going." Keith tried to conceal his surprise. "It would just be you and me."

"I know, but Mommy's already been there, loads of times, so I don't think she minds. Please?"

Keith felt close to tears. Max wanted to go. With him.

He'd even called him Dad.

Was this it? After ten long years, could this really be the turning point?

"Come on, Dad, come over here. Look how high up we are!"

Keith turned to see Max, right at the canyon's edge, hopping from boulder to boulder like a mountain goat. He's fearless. Not like me. Clouds snaked around him like cigarette smoke. Occasionally a larger cloud would descend from the heavens and engulf the boy completely. Whenever that happened, Keith felt his heart stop.

"Buddy, I've told you, get back from the edge. Quit fooling around like that, it's not safe."

Cape Town was the last stop on their great South African adventure, and the only place where they were staying in a hotel rather than camping. Up until now they'd traveled from reserve to reserve and from camp to camp across the Karoo with their guide, Katele, a permanently smiling six-foot Bantu native with the sort of six-pack abs Keith had only ever seen on television commercials for torturous-looking exercise equipment. He looked like an extra from one of the early Tarzan movies. Keith felt weak and inadequate in his presence, but he tried not to show it.

Katele told a wide-eyed Max: "The Great Karoo is the largest natural ecosystem in South Africa - and one of the world's great scientific wonders. Its rocks contain fossil remains spanning three hundred and ten million years. You can do everything here. Hot-air balloon flights, horseback riding, stargazing. We have some of the best rock climbing in the country."

"What about the animals?"

Katele grinned. "You won't be disappointed. We have animals you haven't even heard of, my friend. Kudu, gemsbok, aardwolf, klipspringer. And plenty that you have: black eagles, baboons, rhinos, mountain zebras."

"Can you hunt them?"

Keith was shocked. "We're here to observe beauty, Max, not kill it. I'm sorry, Katele."

But the guide was on Max's side.

"It's quite all right, sir. Of course the boy can hunt if he wishes. I'll take you to Lemoenfontein. The big-game hunting there is exceptional."

"Can we, Dad? Pleease?"

"We'll see," said Keith.

He did not approve of ten-year-old boys handling guns. In fact, he'd argued with Eve on this very point only days before they left, when she finally admitted to giving Max her grandfather's pistol.

"He's never used it, darling," she assured him. "It's never even been out of the safe. Besides, it's so old, I'm sure it doesn't work anymore."

"I wouldn't bet on it." Keith turned the pristine Glock over in his hands. In its own way, it was a thing of beauty.

"I gave it to him as a token," said Eve. "Something from his family heritage to make him feel grown up. Don't be a spoilsport about it."

Max begged to be allowed to bring the gun to Africa.

"Mommy got me the papers specially. I'm allowed to take it because it's a family air balloon."

"Heirloom, darling." Eve smiled indulgently, rolling her eyes at Keith as if to say, See how innocent he is?

"I'm not sure, Max. A gun is not a toy."

But in the end, Keith was so overjoyed to be in Max's good graces for once, he'd let his happiness cloud his judgment. The gun was packed, but on the strict condition that it would not, under any circumstances, be used.

"I tell you what." Keith put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Why don't we forget about hunting for now and start with a hot-air balloon ride? That sounds like fun, doesn't it?"

"Sure, Dad. Whatever you say."

Max was anxious.

He wanted to use his gun. A hunting accident, that was the plan. His mother had told him to stick to the plan. Max had never strayed from Eve's instructions before.

But a hot-air balloon ride? It was a gift.

He played out the scene in his imagination.

I couldn't stop him! I told him to get down, but he was trying to get a better picture. He slipped and...oh, Katele, it was awful. I saw him fall, I watched him get smaller and smaller, and then he was gone, I was up there all alone...

Damn. That was a problem.

If Keith had an accident hundreds of feet above the Gariep Dam and plunged to his death, Max would be stuck in the balloon by himself. How would he get down?

I'd better figure out how hot-air balloons work.

Katele spoke to Keith: "That's a bright boy you have there, sir. Incredibly curious."

"Thank you. Africa seems to have brought him out of himself."

The guide shrugged. "Naturally. It's in his blood. You know he spent the whole afternoon with our balloon team, learning the ropes."

"Good." Keith forced a smile. "He can help me when I'm up there panicking and forgetting everything they taught me."

"If you prefer to take our pilot..."

Keith shook his head. "No, no. I have flown before, many times. Just not recently. I'm sure it'll come flooding back to me."

Keith had decided the balloon ride would be a perfect father-son bonding opportunity. He wanted Max to see him doing something he was good at. Other than surgery, Keith Webster had few talents, and he could hardly have his son sit in on a rhinoplasty. He'd learned how to balloon in college, in a rare moment of daredeviltry, and enjoyed it for a year or so, before the novelty wore off.

Perhaps this would help Max to see him in a new, more heroic light? It wasn't easy to look heroic standing next to Katele.

"You'll be in radio contact all the time." Katele smiled reassuringly. "If you run into trouble, just let us know."

"Don't worry," said Keith. "We'll be fine."

They took off at sunset. It was a perfect evening to fly.

"Little bit of low cloud cover to the east, but the winds are in your favor." Kurt, the technician, checked the propane tanks and the pyrometer, which measured the heat at the top of the balloon, one final time. A gnarled Afrikaner in his early sixties with the sort of grisly gray beard usually associated with fairy-tale villains, Kurt Bleeker was in fact a kind, gentle man. "Winds have been averaging five miles an hour, so you shouldn't go farther than a few miles. As it's your first solo flight in a while, try to stick to forty minutes, but don't panic if you go over. You've got fuel for twice that. Any problems" - Kurt tapped his walkie-talkie - "get on the blower, yah?"

Keith Webster smiled. "Will do."

Now that it was actually happening, his nervousness had completely evaporated.

It'll be a blast. Drifting over the Karoo with my son, like sultans of our own private kingdom. If only Eve was here to see how well we're getting along.

Soon they were airborne, sailing serenely over the koppies, small rocky outcrops that rose up from the arid open plain like boils on an old man's skin. Looking out of the left side of the gondola, the balloon's basket, everything seemed barren and dead. But a glance to the right revealed a magical water world, shimmering like a mirage in the early-evening heat. The Orange and Caledon rivers had carved a winding path through the dusty earth, creating myriad little bays, islands and peninsulas. Far below, Keith Webster could see people sailing and windsurfing close to the jagged shoreline. Close by, a herd of wildebeest had gathered to drink, making the most of the cooler, wetter winter weather. But the views below paled next to the beauty of the sky around them. It was as if an LSD-crazed God had grabbed a paintbrush and daubed a psychedelic canvas of orange and pink across the twilight.

"What do you think, Max? Incredible, isn't it?"

"Hmm."

Max was clasping the aluminum frame of the gondola. He barely seemed to notice the stunning scenery below them. His eyes were glued to the instrument panel. Every time the altimeter or variometer needle flickered, he visibly tensed.

Nervous, thought Keith. That's normal for your first balloon flight. He'll relax once he gets used to it.

Max was nervous. This was going to be more complicated than he'd thought. He had to wait until they'd floated far enough that they could no longer be seen from the base camp. But if he waited too long, Keith would be busy with the descent and not interested in taking photographs.

"Look down there, Dad."

Max pointed to a small herd of zebra galloping across the plain. Dust plumed behind them like the exhaust fumes from a racecar.

"I want to take a picture."

Keith turned around and screamed. His son had somehow climbed onto the ropes above them. He was perched precariously on the edge of the wicker basket, gripping the ropes one-handed while he leaned out of the gondola with a camera in his other hand.

"Christ, Max. Get down! Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

Still holding the camera, Max jumped back down. He gave Keith a disdainful look. "What? I was only taking a photograph."

"You must never climb up like that, buddy. It's incredibly dangerous."

"No, it's not." Max pouted. Under his breath he added, "Katele does it all the time. He's not afraid."

Keith stiffened. Great. Just great. I go to all this trouble to have Max look up to me, and he's still harping about Katele.

"If you really want a picture, buddy, ask me. Once we're cruising, I'll take it for you."

"Really?" Max's eyes lit up. "Okay, Dad, thanks! That would be terrific."

Twenty minutes later, they'd finally drifted far enough for Max to make his move. They were almost seven hundred feet up now, hovering over the Gariep Dam. The vast concrete structure looked comically small beneath them, like a piece from Max's LEGO set.

"That waterfall's awesome. Can we take a picture of that?"

"Sure."

There was no need to climb up onto the edge of the gondola. You could get a great shot of the dam from inside the basket. But Max had thrown down the gauntlet with his Katele comment.

He wants courage? I'll show him courage.

Looping Max's camera around his neck, Keith got a tentative foothold on the aluminum framing.

"Now remember, son, you must never try this yourself. It's dangerous, and it's only for adults. Okay?"

"Sure, Dad."

Another step. Keith reached for the rope above his head, but it was hard to get a grip. His palm was slick and clammy with sweat. Jesus Christ, we're high up. The wind blew through his thin hair and he felt the bile beginning to rise in his throat. He pulled himself up till he was perched on the edge, the way that Max had been, except that Keith had both feet on the gondola and both hands wrapped for dear life around the ropes. Physical terror coursed through his body. He felt dizzy and began to sway. I must be out of my mind.

"That's perfect, Dad! Now get the picture!"

To take the photograph, Keith would have to let go of one of the ropes. He began to uncurl his fingers, and immediately felt his balance slipping. Oh God.

"Come on, Dad! What are you waiting for?"

"I...just give me a second, buddy, okay?"

Max's mind was racing. He estimated that Keith weighed about a hundred and sixty pounds. Roughly a hundred pounds more than he, Max, weighed. If he didn't let go of one of those ropes, would Max have the strength to push him over the edge? What if he tried and failed?

"We're moving faster, Dad. Soon we'll be past it. You're gonna miss your chance."

Keith tried to remember when he'd last felt so frightened. The day that Eve had threatened to leave him, to run off with that actor she'd been seeing. Rory. Back then he'd screwed his courage to the sticking point. He'd done what had to be done.

Just do it! Take the damn picture and you can get down.

Keith let go of the second rope. Suddenly the wind seemed to be blowing violently, pushing them along at a frightening speed. He fumbled for the camera, but his hand was shaking so much he could barely locate the viewfinder.

Silently, Max started climbing up behind him.

Keith leaned forward. He thought the dam was in the frame but he couldn't be sure. Everything was beginning to blur.

"Ground control to Webster balloon. Dr. Webster, do you copy?"

The crackle of the radio startled Keith so much he dropped the camera. He watched in horror as it spiraled silently into the abyss.

"Dr. Webster." There was an urgency to Kurt's voice. "Do you copy? Over. The wind speed is picking up. We need to get you boys down."

Thank God, thought Keith.

Max barely managed to scramble back down into the gondola before his father turned around.

"Answer them. Tell them we copy, I'll bring her down now."

That night, in their tent, Keith tried to cheer Max up.

"Don't look so crestfallen. I'll buy you another camera."

I don't want another camera, you son of a bitch. I want your head on a plate to bring home to my mother.

Katele said: "Your son is an excellent shot, Dr. Webster. Are you sure he's had no training?"

"Quite sure."

Eve promised Keith that Max had never used his treasured gun. Keith had no reason to disbelieve her. But he had to agree with Katele. His son's accuracy on their first hunting trip was quite extraordinary.

"Here, Dad. You try."

Max handed Keith the pistol. They were lying in the long grass with Katele, stalking a young gazelle.

Keith demurred.

"Me? Oh, well, I...I'm not much of a shot."

"Go on. It's easy." Max's small boy's fingers encased his father's adult surgeon's hands. "Hold it steady. That's right. Now line up that groove at the top with the white marking between the eyes. See?"

Keith nodded nervously.

"Good. Now squeeze."

Keith pulled the trigger. There was a loud bang. The young gazelle kicked up its hind legs and darted for the safety of some nearby trees.

"Bad luck," said Katele. "It's harder than it looks, isn't it?"

"Apparently so."

Max gave his father a withering look.

"Next time, try keeping your eyes open."

They hunted almost every day. But Katele insisted on going with them.

"Can't we go on our own?" Max pleaded with Keith. "It's so much more fun when it's just the two of us."

Keith was overjoyed. He'd been starting to feel a little jealous of Katele. Max seemed to idolize him, and it wasn't hard to see why. To a young boy's eyes, the native must have appeared like a god. The fact that Keith Webster was a world-renowned surgeon and highly regarded, self-made man, and that Katele was one step above a savage, living hand to mouth on an African nature reserve, meant nothing to a ten-year-old. Katele could shoot arrows, fly planes, skin rabbits and make fire with pieces of flint. He was a hero.

"I'm glad you feel that way, sport. I do, too. But this is Africa, Max. It's not safe to go into the bush alone, without a guide."

Keith watched his son's face fall.

"Don't worry." He laughed. "When we get to Cape Town, it'll be just the two of us."

But Max was worried.

There would be no hunting in Cape Town. No chance to carry out his mother's plan.

I have to do it. I promised Mommy. I have to find a way.

The hotel was pleasant. A simple, whitewashed farmhouse on the edge of Camps Bay, it was not the kind of five-star accommodation that Max was used to. But after eighteen days of camping, sleeping in a bed felt like the last word in luxury. The hot showers, in particular, were bliss.

At breakfast, Keith asked: "What would you like to do today?"

I hate you. I detest you. Why are you still alive?

"We could drive up the coast, along the wine route? Or take a picnic to the beach? Or, you know what, we could go shopping. Get you a new camera? Whaddaya think?"

Max didn't miss a beat. "I'd like to go up Table Mountain. There's a hiking route, the landlady told me. It's supposed to be the best view in all South Africa."

Keith beamed. "Sold. Table Mountain it is."

"I mean it, Max. Get away from there."

The wind whipped away Keith's words, turning his shout into a whisper. Max was dancing on one of the small boulders close to the edge of the cliff. Long tendrils of jet-black hair blew against his face, and his slender olive limbs waved rhythmically to some inner music. He was a beautiful child. Almost as beautiful as his mother.

There's nothing of me in there. Nothing except my love.

"Max!"

Reluctantly, Keith Webster began walking toward his son. Below them was a drop of well over three thousand feet. His little stunt in the hot-air balloon had frightened Keith more than he'd realized. Every night since the incident, he'd woken with nightmares. He imagined himself falling, like the camera, spinning around and around in the emptiness, waking just seconds before his body would have slammed into the earth. He could imagine the pain, his bones shattering inside his body like broken glass, his skull caving in like a rotten grapefruit, brains oozing out into the dust.

If anything should happen to Max...

Christ. Where is he?

Max was gone. But he couldn't be gone. He'd been right there, pirouetting on the rock, and then...Keith felt his stomach lurch and his knees start to give way.

"MAX!" It was half scream, half sob. "MAX!"

Keith was running, sprinting toward the cliff edge, propelled by something bigger than himself, some irresistible force. Love. Scrambling up onto the stone, all fear for himself gone, he leaned out, straining his entire body into the emptiness.

"Max! Can you hear me? MAX!"

Below him the clouds lay as thick as butter icing, obscuring everything. A child's picture of heaven.

"I can hear you, Keith."

Keith looked down. On the underside of the rock was a tiny tuft of grass, stuck like a limpet to the side of the mountain. It was so small it could never have borne an adult's weight. But Max, crouched like a leprechaun, could support himself comfortably. Reaching up, he wrapped a hand around Keith's ankle.

"Max, thank God! I thought I'd lost you."

"Lost me?" Max laughed: an awful, maniacal strangled sound that made Keith's blood run cold. "You never had me in the first place. Loser."

Keith felt a tug at his feet. Instinctively, he reached out his arms, grasping for support, but there was nothing. Another tug, harder this time. Keith looked down. Max was staring up at him, a twisted smile dancing across his face.

He smiles like Eve.

Keith looked into his son's eyes and saw the deep well of hatred there. The last emotion Keith Webster felt was not fear or even sadness. It was surprise.

I don't understand it. We were getting along so well...

The clouds rushed up to embrace him, soft, white, welcoming.

Then nothing.

It was the night after Keith Webster's funeral. Max lay in his mother's bed in their New York apartment with Eve's arms wrapped around him. The bedroom window was open a crack, allowing the familiar noises of Manhattan to float in from outside: honking traffic, music, shouts, laughter.

Africa had been beautiful. But this was home.

"You were wonderful, darling," Eve whispered in Max's ear. "No one suspected a thing. I'm so proud of you, my big, grown-up boy."

Eve had been going out of her mind with worry, waiting at home for news of an "accident." She'd rehearsed everything with Max so thoroughly, so endlessly. She really believed he was ready. But as the days turned into weeks and still nothing happened, she began to fear that the boy had lost his nerve. Or what if it was worse than that? What if Max had tried and failed? What if Keith now knew everything and was on his way home to exact his revenge?

But Max had not lost his nerve. He had pulled it off in the eleventh hour, staging a fall so natural that there hadn't even been an inquest. Tourists fell from Table Mountain almost every year, idiots fooling around too near the edge. Keith was just another statistic. A number. A nobody.

"You realize that you're the man of the house now?" Eve cooed. "You'll never have to share me again."

Max closed his eyes. He felt the warm silk of Eve's negligee caress his bare back. "Can I sleep in your bed tonight, Mommy?"

Eve sighed sleepily. "All right, darling. Just this once."

Tomorrow morning it would be back to work, for both of them. With Keith gone, it was time to begin the second part of Eve's plan: winning back control of Kruger-Brent. Max would be the linchpin of that strategy, too. But for tonight at least, he'd earned his reward.

Max waited till his mother was deeply asleep. Then he lay awake, smiling, remembering the look of surprise on his father's face as he fell.

You're the man of the house now.

You'll never have to share me again.