Running Scared

by Linda Ladd

  Booker had a feeling that he might be Dmitri, the fresh wound another of Kate's calling cards. They were speaking together softly in Russian, a northern dialect somewhat different from the Moscow one he'd studied at the Company. Linguistics had been his specialty, and though a little rusty after so long, Booker could understand most of what they said. When a waitress named Bobbie arrived with a menu and a smile, he told her he was waiting for an order to go.

  “One of us will remain here and keep an eye out for the woman. The rest of us will check out every damn place along this road if need be. If we offer a big enough reward to anybody who sees her and calls us, somebody will eventually get greedy."

  “I don't see why you trust this farm boy,” the kid muttered sullenly. “He is a stupid man. He cannot know she took up with the hermit."

  “Yes, he is a stupid man but he knows this area better than we do. If he says there's an old man across the river who could've helped her vanish into thin air, then I'm inclined to believe him. Matty and his brothers were right behind her when she fell and injured herself, and Yuri found traces of blood on the other side of the river. There's no way she could have outrun us on her own if she was dazed and bleeding.” He paused, waiting as Bobbie refilled their water glasses, then continued when she moved to the next table. “All of us heard a vehicle somewhere across the river last night, and Matty says this restaurant's the only place he's ever seen the hermit go outside the woods. Maybe he doesn't have her, maybe he's been here and gone, but if he does show up with or without the woman, we can force him to tell us what he knows. Obviously he's not a hard man to pick out of a crowd."

  Misha was not convinced. “What if the farmer's wrong? What if we're wasting our time looking for this strange old man?"

  “Then we'll search every single stop along this highway. There aren't that many places to look in this godforsaken wilderness, so we'll split up and leave snitches in the most likely places. Misha, you ride with Nikolai and Andre. Yuri and I will take the farm boy with us. He's got his brothers offering rewards to their drug buyers for information on a woman with a baby. Somebody will see or hear something eventually. I want her, do you understand, and I'm going to get her."

  “We've been driving up and down these roads all night,” the boy complained in a whining tone. “I need sleep. We can't go night and day without fucking up. You are obsessed with this woman, uncle."

  “Shut up, Misha, and do what you're told. We don't rest, any of us, until we get her. And I want the bitch taken alive, you hear me, Misha? Kill her, and you answer to me."

  The third guy spoke up, very quiet and reasonable. “The boy is right, Dmitri. We cannot function well without rest. This place has cabins in back, well hidden in the trees. It'd be a good base of operations where we can regroup without drawing undue attention."

  Dmitri was obviously calling all the shots, and his obsession with finding Kate had probably turned personal after she'd escaped from him at the farm. He remembered her trembling voice and how scared she was of Dmitri and wondered what he'd done to her in that barn. Booker sipped from the glass of ice water the waitress put down as the killers’ conversation ended and Mavis brought their food. When Dmitri spoke to her, his English was flawless. Where the hell had these guys come from?

  “Beg your pardon, miss, but do you have lodgings available for tonight?"

  Booker grimaced when he heard Mavis's eager reply, apparently willing and able to rent Jumbo's prize tepees. He hoped Jumbo hadn't told her he was staying in one. He breathed easier at her next words.

  “Oh, yes sir, the whole bunch is vacant at the moment. You can have your pick."

  “We need two units for the night."

  “Yes sir, you just tell Charlie over there at the checkout counter when you leave, and she'll write you up and get you your keys.” Unaware of whom she dealt with, Mavis sounded pleased as punch.

  Booker cursed under his breath as the men lowered their voices and lapsed back into Russian. “Give out my cell phone number to anybody you find along the road who'll agree to watch for Kate and the kid, Misha. Tell them we'll pay them a hundred dollars cash and double the sum if we get there before the girl gets away."

  “I don't understand how she always escapes us. She's got the saints on her side.” Young Misha again, feeling abused by his victim.

  “The saints have nothing to do with it. We have been clumsy and incompetent, starting with you bungling the hit in her kitchen. But that won't happen anymore. Understand me, Misha? No more carelessness or you'll find yourself on an Aeroflot flight back to Moscow and your mother."

  Misha made a disgruntled sound but didn't argue. They concentrated on their meal, and a few minutes later Booker eased out of the booth, intent on getting back inside the room with Kate before they finished their meal and checked things out. They barely paid attention to him as he walked past, then paid for his carry-out at the register and left through the front door.

  As he passed the plate-glass window he saw Dmitri watching him. Booker walked on casually, fairly confident he wouldn't be recognized. Matty Jones had looked right at him and not made the connection. He headed for the kitchen, stopping inside long enough to inform Jumbo he was about to rent rooms to a gang of killers. Unfortunately it was too late to refuse them lodgings without raising suspicion. He and Kate needed to lay low and make sure nobody saw them until Dmitri cleared out. He locked the four-wheeler in Jumbo's shed out back, not daring to fire it up in hearing distance. He walked back in a hurry, knowing now that he and Kate couldn't get much deeper in trouble.

  Booker found Kate waiting on pins and needles. She tried to hide her nerves but he knew good and well she thought he'd taken off on her. He had a feeling she was going to think that every time he got out of her sight from here on in.

  “I brought burgers and fries. Got some Cokes and some more milk for the kid."

  “Did you find out anything?"

  Booker hesitated, looking down into her worried face. “Yeah. I got some good news and some bad news."

  Kate did not look encouraged but she mustered a thin smile. “Anything the least bit good would be a change for the better, I guess."

  “One of Jumbo's friends is coming through in the morning and can give us a lift, but there's a bunch of roadblocks where they're looking for you so we'll have to think of a way around them."

  “That's the good news?” Kate attempted a laugh but it didn't come off well. Booker thought it took guts to have any sense of humor after what she'd been through.

  “The bad news is really bad news."

  “Oh, God, I'm not sure I'm up for really bad news."

  “Dmitri and his men are staying next door tonight."

  Kate's smile faded big time. “Dmitri's here? Oh, God, we've got to get out of here! I've got to get Joey away from them!"

  She ran to gather her things, and Booker had to grab her arm to stop her. “No, Kate, now calm down a minute and think. They don't know we're here, and they sure as hell aren't going to see us because we're not stepping foot out of this cabin till they're gone."

  “But we can't stay here! He'll find me! He always finds me! He'll kill me this time, I know he will! He won't give me any options this time."

  Booker didn't know what she meant by options but she was edging toward hysteria now, and he had to calm her. “Stop it, Kate, and listen to me."

  Kate was shaking her head frantically, trying to pull loose. He held her firmly, but he could see panic welling in her eyes. She was terrified of Dmitri. “We can keep an eye on them if we stay here. We'll know where they are all the time so they can't sneak up on us. They think these cabins are empty. They'll never expect we're right next door. They're looking for me here and plan to search for you along the highway. I overheard them talking in the restaurant."

  “But they'll kill me if they see me, they'll kill us both and take Joey!"

  “That's not going to happen. You've got to trust me on this, Kate."

  “What if they rec
ognized you?” Kate was starting to calm down a little but had her fingers over her mouth, horror stamped all over her face.

  “Matty didn't even recognize me. They've guessed I might be helping you but they don't know we're back here. You need to change your looks, too, the sooner the better."

  “You sure it was Dmitri? A man with a beard and very dark eyes. I hit him in the head so hard I thought I might've killed him."

  “Yeah, it's him. You got a good shot in but he's alive and well."

  Her eyes darted to the windows. “He could've followed you just now. He could be outside with his gun ready to come in for me."

  She was trying hard to regain composure; he could see her struggling with her terror of Dmitri. He admired that about her, how she could bring herself under control by force of will. Not just anyone could do that, not without training, and that was probably the reason she'd made it so far on her own.

  Kate pulled away and sat down on the bed beside the sleeping baby.

  “I got you more clothes. And dye for your hair. They're setting up informants in truck stops and gas stations along the highway, so you better make yourself look damn different."

  Kate nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes, I will, I'll change the color and cut it short.” She absently touched her long hair. Booker followed her hand. Her hair had dried out now, looked silky and soft, the color of sun-shot honey, real curly down on the ends. He found himself wanting to reach out and touch it, too. He stifled that impulse before it got out of hand. He found the woman appealing, more than he should, more than anyone he ever remembered, and a hell of a lot more than he wanted to.

  “Yeah, whatever. Just keep quiet and stay out of sight."

  She was wringing her hands, nerves showing again. “Yeah, I will, I promise. You sure they're going to stay here tonight? Maybe they'll change their minds."

  Booker shrugged. “They'll be back here after they eat, and I'll never let them out of my sight. I won't let them surprise us, believe me."

  “Well, okay, I guess I can believe you. You've never lied to me before."

  It took Booker a minute to realize she was kidding, but her faint smile faded quickly and she became stone-cold sober. She studied his face, then said, “You've got to be exhausted. Let me watch for them awhile so you can get some sleep."

  Booker welcomed the suggestion. He needed to rest so he could stay up through the night on watch. He told Kate they wouldn't suspect her to be so close but things could go wrong, especially if the baby started screaming its head off. They were taking a chance staying so close to the killers, but his gut told him they'd be safer here than striking out on foot without a clear destination in mind.

  He ate and watched for them to show up. They drove up within fifteen minutes. He could see them clearly through a crack in the drapes. Dmitri, Yuri and Misha took the blue tepee; the others stayed in the yellow. It wasn't long until they loaded back into a black Cadillac Seville and a dark blue Jeep Grand Cherokee and drove off in search of people greedy enough to rat out Kate and the baby. Once he was sure they were gone, he lay down on the bed, fully dressed, his rifle beside him. He still had the .45 strapped to his ankle and he left it there for the time being.

  Kate had relaxed a little once the Russians had driven off, and now seemed thrilled with the yellow baby seat he'd brought in that morning. She had Joey sitting in it on the table beside her while she watched the blue tepee a good distance down the road. She was holding the bottle to the baby's mouth with one hand and eating french fries with the other. The woman was damned adaptable.

  Booker shut his eyes. He could will himself to sleep, when he had to. Could get by on three or four hours a night, sometimes less. Just like all GI alumni graduated out of Special Forces. He'd been trained to exist on little or no food and a couple of hours of sleep. And to kill on command. Without question.

  Sweat ran down and stung Booker's eyes, eyes riveted on the man directly across from him. Donald Horne looked back at him, face contorted with agony, lips drawn back over clenched teeth. Horne wouldn't be able to stand it much longer. Booker knew it and tried to prepare himself for the few minutes he had left before the pain slammed into him again. He dropped his eyes to the arms of the wooden chair in which Horne was strapped. His wrists were buckled down; his right forefinger just able to reach the bell that would end his agony. The bell was the kind on reservation desks in hotel lobbies, the kind rung to summon bellhops. When Horne went for it, their torturer would take the live electrical wire off his genitals and use it on Booker. Soon, very soon now.

  It'd come any second now, the awful jolt of electricity that would send every muscle in his body rigid. When the bell dinged, when Horne couldn't stand it anymore, it would be Booker's turn. The Sandinistas were not laughing anymore, watching curiously now, wondering how long the two Americans could pass the current back and forth without killing each other. Booker wished they'd just kill them like the others and be done with it. He watched Horne's finger, watched it tremble, quiver, couldn't take his eyes off it. It had only been seconds but it would seem like hours. Horne was yelling now, couldn't stand it much longer.

  When it came back, Booker had to hold on, give Horne time to recover before he sent it back to him. He had to brace himself for the first excruciating shock, then ride it out. He was stronger than Horne, physically, mentally; he could bear the pain longer.

  Ding.

  Booker ground his jaws together as Horne went limp against the straps. Booker heard the corporal sobbing and trying to catch his breath; then the current hit Booker just above his right nipple, so hard in the chest that his body spasmed. Electricity seared and burned until he could smell his own flesh burning, until he heard his own scream, long, loud, terrible. Across from him, Horne ground his teeth, waiting for his turn. Hold on, hold on, hold on....

  Booker came off the bed fighting, hearing the insistent ding, ding, ding of the bell, yelling for it to stop. He found himself on his feet, rifle clenched in one fist, eyes wild with hatred and horror, body drenched with sweat, before he realized it was not real, Corporal Horne wasn't there; the Sandinistas with the electrical power box weren't there. He was panting, his chest heaving as he glanced around the room, his hands trembling so badly he couldn't control them.

  Kate Reed stood cowering against the wall beside the door, eyes wide and confused, holding the baby tightly against her. She looked petrified, and the terrible look on her face brought him back to his senses faster than anything else. Beside him on the table the insistent dinging of the clock radio's alarm went on unabated. Booker slammed his fist down on the button and it stopped. Thank God, it stopped.

  Kate still hadn't moved a muscle. Still shaky, Booker moved into the bathroom and splashed cold water over his face and back of his neck. He stared down into the sink, trying to get rid of the adrenaline still rushing through his veins. God help him, how many years would it take before his mind healed enough to forget the atrocities done to him and his men in that goddamn, stinking jungle camp in Nicaragua. He stood there for several more minutes, trying to regain enough self-control to reenter the bedroom. Kate still hadn't moved away from the door. Her eyes were wide and watched him as if he was some kind of freak. Maybe he was.

  “Are you all right?” she asked after several seconds of tense silence. “Is there anything I can do?"

  “Go to bed. I'll take watch. Have they come back yet?"

  She shook her head, and Booker moved to the chair by the window. It had gotten dark while he'd been asleep. He could see a light in the window of the blue tepee. A few stars in the sky. On the other side of the room he could hear Kate recline on the bed. She probably thought he was crazy. She wasn't the only one who did.

  He settled back in a chair, propping his feet on the seat of another one. He was still shaky, nerves raw, jumpy as hell. He would be for awhile. He always was after he relived it. Now he'd think about Horne, have him on his mind for days. Horne and McClellan. Ramirez, Johnson, all tortured to death in front of h
is eyes. All because of Denton's betrayal. He was sorry he hadn't killed Denton when he'd had the chance. He wished him dead and burning in hell.

  Twenty

  KATE AWOKE early the next morning and found Booker still sitting guard in the chair. Surprisingly, she'd slept fairly well after Booker's disconcerting episode the night before. She gathered her things and headed straight for the bathroom, taking Joey with her. She didn't think Booker would hurt them but neither was she sure he was completely stable. She bathed and changed Joey first, dressing him in the yellow terrycloth sleeper with a little brown bear on the collar that Booker had brought in the second time he'd visited Jumbo's gift shop. The baby was in a good mood, so she fed him his bottle and then placed him atop a folded blanket where he could kick and stretch while she set to work altering her appearance.

  Following the directions on the box, she mixed the Nice and Easy and applied the pungent solution to her hair, carefully avoiding the cut on the back of her head. She couldn't stop thinking about how Booker had thrashed around in his bad dream. When his fists clenched and his face went rigid, she'd grabbed Joey and moved to the door, but he'd rocketed off the bed like a madman, scaring her half to death. It had taken all her willpower not to run, get out before he attacked them. He'd seemed embarrassed and gotten himself under control immediately, but Kate now understood the nature of nightmares. She was living one.

  When the color was set she washed it out and gently towel-dried her hair. Gazing intently in the mirror, she did look different but the disguise wasn't nearly good enough yet. She needed a drastic change. Gathering her hair into a ponytail atop her head, she took the scissors and cut it off several inches above the rubber band. When she pulled out the rubber band, layers fell around her head, short and shaggy, reminiscent of seventies hairstyles. Add a hat and sunshades, and she didn't think anyone would recognize her, especially from a distance. Joey had begun to fret by the time she was dressed and ready to go, and she got down on her hands and knees to tend to him.