§ § § -- March 13, 1983

There was a brunch banquet being held late Sunday morning; by eleven it had been under way for more than half an hour, and for the most part people had eaten and now took to chatting in pairs or groups. It was a quiet affair, since it was intended only for those who were involved with the pentathlon. Roarke, Tattoo and Leslie arrived fashionably late, and Tattoo steered Leslie off toward the buffet to peruse the selections while Roarke sought out a pensive Vanessa Walgren, who stood off alone at the edge of the clearing.

She started slightly when she saw him and managed little more than a very fast smile of obligatory greeting. Roarke nodded back, then said gently, "You were thinking about your husband, weren't you?"

Vanessa's face began to crumple, and she turned away from him before she could break down in front of him. "I should have come here with him," she said, before her anger took over again and she turned around with another of her endless supply of accusing glares. "But I don't blame myself, Mr. Roarke. I'd never let you off the hook that easily."

"Will revenge bring him back to you?" Roarke asked.

"There wasn't even a body I could bury," she said. "I have to do something!"

Roarke nodded, his own mien frosting over. "In that case, may I ask how many more of these attempts I am going to have to face?"

"Just one," she said. "But I'm going to make it easy on you. I'm going to offer you a more personal challenge. You'll be able to judge the skydiving event much better from up there. Why don't you jump with us this afternoon? With me?"

Roarke looked into the clear morning sky for a moment, then studied her; they seemed at an impasse. He knew what Tattoo and Leslie would say when they found out about this one, but he saw no way out of it. Had he not agreed to grant the woman's fantasy? He had locked himself into this thing and there was no escape till it ended.

So, with the hour going on three o'clock, Roarke and Leslie drove out to the small airport on the island's southwestern edge, where conventional land-only craft landed and took off. Tattoo had already gone out there to get Roarke's gear ready for the event. Leslie was very quiet, a faint frown on her features and her mouth set in a grim line. Roarke glanced at her from time to time as he drove, but respected her silence till they reached their destination. Then, once they had parked the car and were headed towards the control tower where Tattoo waited for them, Leslie said, "I really don't like this one, Mr. Roarke. I'm afraid that once she gets you away from where we can see you, she'll take advantage."

Roarke stopped in his tracks and eyed her. "If that is a hint to take you up in that airplane," he said, "the answer is no."

"Good," Leslie retorted emphatically. "There is no way on this earth you'll ever talk me into skydiving. If I get on a plane, I stay on it till it's back on terra firma."

Roarke blinked, then laughed. "Well, that was easy," he teased her. "Perhaps it will make you feel better to know that there will be binoculars available to the spectators."

"Well, I suppose that helps, but I still don't like this," Leslie said. "Besides, even with binoculars, there'd be no stopping her from trying to pull some trick. Do you really think she'll give up after this one? She's just the type to keep on trying."

"Mrs. Walgren herself said it's the last challenge," Roarke said. "And you'll recall that it's Sunday afternoon. If her goal is not realized by this evening, she will be forced to give up because her fantasy will be over. Just stay with Tattoo and wait."

Thirty minutes later, the skydivers' plane was in the air and circling the island to gain enough altitude for the dive. For the moment Tattoo and Leslie just watched its progress each time it made a pass over the airfield. They had both long since admitted to each other that they had replicas of the skydiving plane zipping around in their stomachs, but knowing they weren't alone in this feeling was no consolation whatsoever to either of them.

Far above them in the plane's cabin, Roarke turned to Vanessa, seated next to him in the cramped space. "Mrs. Walgren, are you certain you want to go through with this?"

She only looked at him, then said briskly, "See you on the ground, Mr. Roarke," and with that launched herself out of the plane. He watched her plummet towards the ground, frowning slightly. Several thousand feet below, the pilot's voice emanated from the nearby control tower, announcing that Vanessa had begun her descent. Tattoo and Leslie, along with the other spectators, lifted their binoculars to watch, half listening to the comments of the judges nearby. After a couple of minutes Vanessa pulled her ripcord and her chute billowed out; before long she hit the ground smack on target.

Roarke, watching from the open cabin door, took his turn; from the ground they could just see him emerge, and the binoculars went up again. Tattoo muttered now and then in his native tongue; Leslie couldn't understand, but she could tell from his tone that the comments weren't happy ones. She herself was too busy swallowing back some newly awakened abdominal pterodactyls to say anything, and merely monitored her guardian's descent as closely as she could.

Above them, Roarke reached the point in his fall where he must deploy his chute, and reached for the ripcord to pull it—only to find it wouldn't budge. Twice he tried, but it seemed inextricably glued to the fabric of the suit he wore. On the ground, Leslie could just make out his movements and realized what the problem was; she sucked in her breath but dared not lower the binoculars, as if taking her eyes off him would somehow change the outcome of the conundrum. This afforded her a great relief when she saw him tug on the carefully concealed cord attached to his backup parachute, which ballooned out at an altitude that was visible even to those without binoculars. She heard Tattoo's loud sigh beside her, and they looked at each other and smiled broadly.

"Did you see how he couldn't get the main chute to work? I wonder what happened," she said and shot a glance back toward Vanessa Walgren, who wore a frustrated look as she stared into the sky.

"Yeah," said Tattoo and scowled. "I'll bet she's responsible." He jabbed a thumb over one shoulder at Vanessa as he said the italicized word. He frowned suddenly, as if hit by a memory. "I was guarding the boss's suit when she came in to check out her stuff, and then she said it was hot and fainted. I went to get her a glass of water."

"She probably faked it and sabotaged Mr. Roarke's ripcord while you were gone," Leslie speculated, disgusted. "Can't she see that what she's trying to do makes her the same kind of murderer she thinks Mr. Roarke is? How dumb can you be?" Tattoo just shrugged; around them applause welled up and they both shifted their attention just in time to see Roarke hit the ground precisely on target, instantly removing his helmet when he touched down.

He smiled at Leslie and Tattoo as he passed them, going directly to Vanessa Walgren. "Well, Mrs. Walgren, I believe congratulations are in order." She had been the only contestant to complete the pentathlon, even though she hadn't won all five competitions.

Champagne bottle in hand, she remarked, "You seem to be indestructible, Mr. Roarke. Congratulations to you too." She smiled slightly. "I think this calls for our own private toast, don't you?" She poured champagne into a glass for him.

"Then, uh…it's over?" Roarke inquired cautiously.

"Not quite. You see these two glasses? One of them has been poisoned." Her words were just loud enough for Tattoo and Leslie to hear; Roarke saw them both turn to stare. Vanessa, unaware she was being drilled by two pairs of angrily glittering eyes, lifted the glasses and concluded, "Just to show you I'm still a good sport, I'll let you choose. Which is yours?"

Roarke eyed her, the glasses, the liquid within. Then he said firmly, "Neither. The game is over." Tattoo and Leslie glanced fleetingly at each other with relief.

"All right." Her voice grew cold. "If you won't play, then I will." She glanced back and forth between the two glasses, lifted one to her lips and stilled it just before taking a sip. Roarke stood and watched her calmly. She lowered the first glass, raised the second one and this time made a decisive move to drink.

At the very last second before the rim contacted her lips, Roarke grabbed her arm and yanked it down, sending the champagne spilling to the table and the glass to the ground, where it shattered. She struggled in his grip. "Let go of me!"

"Mrs. Walgren," Roarke snapped insistently, "listen to me—listen to me! Your husband is alive!"

For a long moment she stared at him, as if trying to decide whether to believe him; then she yanked her arms out of his grasp and cried, "Don't do this to me!" She half ran toward the nearby trees at the far end of the airfield, but slowed and stopped, hands over her face, shaking visibly.

Roarke followed her and turned her to face him. "He's alive," he reiterated quietly.

"What do you mean?" she finally demanded.

"Michael Walgren only poses as a tennis pro," Roarke told her. "His real work is for the government as an undercover agent."

"He used to work for them," Vanessa contradicted angrily. "He gave it up years ago!"

"No." Roarke sighed and let her loose, turned away and studied the tree nearby. "No. He tried, but they came back to him. They needed him for one more assignment. He was the only one with the connections to carry it through…only, it blew up in his face. He knew he'd have to go into hiding, perhaps for the rest of his life. He didn't want that for you."

"I don't understand that," Vanessa protested. "Why didn't Michael tell me?"

"If you had known, it would have put you in danger. Through your position, they could have gotten to you—used you to get to him. He thought it would be better if everyone—yes, even you—thought he was dead."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" she asked, stunned; he could see in her face that she was accepting the truth of his story.

Roarke said simply, "I promised Michael never to reveal that his fantasy here was a sham."

She began to shake her head. "Mr. Roarke, please don't—"

"Also," Roarke interrupted with a slow smile, "I needed time to arrange for that." He pointed to an approaching black limousine that came to a halt some distance away; the back doors opened, and from one of them emerged the very man in the photograph that Roarke, Tattoo and Leslie had first seen in Vanessa's bungalow. She gawked, then looked at Roarke, who said, "Go to him." It was all she needed, and she ran to the man, framed his face in her hands, touched him, and at last threw her arms around him. Tattoo and Leslie had seen the entire thing, but not heard Roarke's explanation to Vanessa; and now they joined him in watching the reunion, faces alive with questions.

"Boss, what's going on? He looks like her husband!" Tattoo exclaimed.

Roarke smiled. "It's a long story, Tattoo. Fortunately it has a very happy ending." They gazed at the embracing Walgrens, who in turn smiled back at them.

§ § § -- March 14, 1983

Vanessa Walgren's departure from the island was a much happier and more relaxed event than her arrival; her face was much gentler now, wreathed as it was in smiles. "Mr. Roarke, I can't find the words to thank you," she said, with true gratitude in her voice. "I hope you'll forgive me."

"You can thank me by staying safe and well," Roarke said simply, smiling back.

"Excuse me," Tattoo broke in, "but where's Mr. Walgren?"

She smiled. "I don't know, Tattoo, but I'll be with him tomorrow morning. As soon as I get to the mainland, there'll be someone waiting to take me there."

Roarke smiled again. "When all this is over, I hope you and Mr. Walgren will come back and spend a real vacation with us."

"We will, Mr. Roarke, that's a promise." She shook hands with him and said her goodbyes, bid the same to Tattoo and then hesitated in front of a sheepish-looking Leslie.

Leslie gathered her courage and spoke before she could chicken out or Vanessa could beat her to the punch. "I just…I just want to say, I'm sorry about what I said—"

"Never mind, Leslie," Vanessa said warmly. "You were provoked. Mr. Roarke told me a little about how you came to live here and what's been happening in the last year or so that drove you to say it, and I understand completely. I'll forgive you if you'll forgive me."

Leslie grinned with relief. "Consider it done. We'll look forward to seeing you and Mr. Walgren back here soon."

"So will we. Till then." Vanessa smiled again, then took her leave, pausing as most folks did for a final wave before boarding the charter.

Leslie looked at her guardian then and admitted, "You know, Mr. Roarke, you were right. I do feel a lot better now. Thanks for making me apologize."

Roarke gave her a mildly surprised look, and Tattoo laughed. "Making you apologize? You mean if the boss hadn't threatened you with bodily harm, you still wouldn't have done it, even after you found out the whole story about Mr. Walgren?"

She assumed a mock-haughty look. "For your information, Mr. Roarke persuaded me to apologize before he told us Mr. Walgren's real story. So there." She sniffed loudly and exaggeratedly and stuck her nose in the air, making her guardian and his assistant start to laugh; she joined in, mutual relief making all three of them feel much better.

Tom Vale, their New Jersey guest, stepped out of the next car, accompanied by a classically beautiful brunette named Abby Monroe. "Well, Mr. Vale," Roarke inquired, "are you ready to go back to Wall Street?"

"No, I still have one performance to give," Vale began.

"Not as a headliner, surely," said Roarke in surprise.

"No, as a fiancé. We're gonna stop off in Toledo so I can meet her parents," Vale explained, slipping his arm around Abby's shoulders as she grinned.

As Roarke offered congratulations, Abby put out her hand. "Mr. Roarke, I want to thank you."

"It was my pleasure, Miss Monroe," Roarke assured her with a smile.

Then Tattoo spoke up: "Does that mean you're not gonna be stripping anymore?" That got him a quelling look from Roarke and a disgusted eye-roll from Leslie.

But Abby just grinned at him and said impishly, "Not really. It just means I've got a smaller audience." They all burst out laughing, and amid a flurry of handshakes, thank-yous and goodbyes, the couple started for the plane. At the last second Abby paused in front of Tattoo, gave him the garter she held, and kissed his cheek. They watched Vale and Abby head for the plane and returned their waves; Tattoo used the hand that held the garter and unwittingly flapped it almost directly in Roarke's face, getting a stifled laugh from Abby before she and Vale retreated inside the plane. Leslie belatedly saw what was happening and hissed, "Tattoo!"

Tattoo started, realized what he was doing, lowered his arm and gave Roarke a startled look, only to receive a dirty one back from his boss. Leslie grinned and reached out to pluck the garter from Tattoo's grasp, but he was too quick for her and whipped his hand behind his back. Roarke's brows shot up and she gave him a shrug, saying, "I tried." Roarke grinned at that, while Tattoo just rolled his eyes, to Leslie's delight.

§ § § -- July 4, 2006

"Do you ever get the feeling that too many people out there hate you, Mr. Roarke?" Christian kidded, and they laughed.

Roarke nodded through his amusement. "Leslie certainly seemed to think so, as you'll recall from the diatribe she told you about. Tattoo thought her justified, and given time to look back on it, I myself could hardly blame her. Being marked for death can be quite wearying, I must admit."

"Not that you'd know," Leslie shot back, to more laughter. "Speaking of death…there's one lost weekend I think I'd rather forget. Tattoo's car accident, and how he married Solange and left the island shortly afterward. My high-school graduation that spring wasn't the totally happy event I'd been anticipating throughout my senior year."

"But Tattoo didn't die," Julie protested. "At least not then."

"No, but he almost did," Leslie informed her, registering her complete surprise. "What, you didn't know?" Julie shook her head. "Well, in that case…"

§ § § -- May 7, 1983

Roarke and Leslie walked out onto the porch, into another sunny, beautiful Saturday. Leslie had a particular excitement about her that had set in at the beginning of the month: her graduation from high school was imminent, and as the date drew nearer, she seemed to get emotionally higher and higher. Moreover, she had just celebrated her eighteenth birthday the previous day, so she was in very good spirits this morning. "Where's Tattoo?" she asked curiously.

"I'm not sure," Roarke said, checking his watch. "He should have been here by now. Oh, Nuala, excuse me…" He stopped one of the native girls on her way to the plane dock. "Have you seen Tattoo?"

"Good morning, Mr. Roarke, Miss Leslie. He took some presents to the orphanage," Nuala explained. "He said he'd be right back."

"Oh, I see. Thank you." Nuala nodded and jogged away, and Roarke took another look at his watch. Leslie took stock of the peaceful morning; several doves roosted in a large bush beside the steps, and staff members moved back and forth along the lane, most with somewhere to go, others simply out strolling.

Just then there came the distant screech of tires and the roar of a small engine, and they both peered down the lane. Sure enough, Tattoo's car hove into sight, gaining the lane from within the nearby jungle; a group of natives standing at the side of the road waved at him and he waved back. They heard the engine surge again as Tattoo applied the accelerator, at the same time turning to return someone else's wave of greeting—and just at that moment two children from the fishing village came around a bend in the lane, right in Tattoo's path. Leslie let out a gasp and Roarke called out sharply, "Tattoo! Look out!"

What happened next went so fast that all Roarke and Leslie could do was stand and stare helplessly. Tattoo hit the brakes, but it had always been his habit to drive too fast, and he was going at too much speed to get complete control over the car. The children screamed and dove for cover as he tried to swerve around them; the car sailed off the lane, rocketed up and over a large flat rock with a slanted surface, and went airborne for a heartstopping two seconds that seemed to last three centuries, overturning as it did so and finally landing with a sickening crash on the driver's side.

Simultaneously Roarke called Tattoo's name and Leslie shrieked, "Nooooo!!" They both broke into a frantic run; Leslie, slightly ahead of Roarke, reached the car first, while a crowd of alarmed natives and tourists gathered rapidly around them. Roarke knelt beside Leslie and reached out to Tattoo, who lay half in and half out of the car, unconscious and with a nasty gash oozing blood from his forehead.

"Tattoo," Roarke said urgently, brushing Tattoo's thick black hair away from the wound. "Tattoo?" He didn't stir, and Roarke looked up at the nearest person, who happened to be Nuala. "Get an ambulance, quickly," he directed, and Nuala got up and fled.

Leslie was too stunned yet to do more than stare at Roarke with shock in her eyes. He turned to her, as if feeling her gaze, and she said in a tiny voice, "I told him he drove too fast. I told him he had to…" The words broke her fragile control and she broke down into terrified sobs; Roarke drew her in against him, gazing in worry and fear at Tattoo.

"This is an emergency," he said at last, forcibly gathering himself, voice clipped and staccato with emotion. "It's unthinkable that we go on as usual this weekend. Leslie and I are going straight to the hospital, and I expect we will be there for the duration, however long that may last. So Mahi'ai, you and Kalena greet the guests and explain the problem. Malana, please inform Mariki that she won't be needed at the main house today, and have her assist Jean-Claude at the hotel." He gave several other rapid instructions, and the staff nodded assent and scattered.

"What's happening?" Leslie managed to ask through her tears.

"Tattoo's condition takes precedence over everything else," Roarke said. "We'll postpone the fantasies for this weekend and stay with him."