Escape Out of Darkness

by Anne Stuart

  The young man nodded, smiling his friendly open smile as she pushed him toward the door. She was just about to shove him through when his body suddenly turned stubborn, and he turned that smiling, innocent face on her. “Watch out for Castanasta,” he said in perfect, unaccented English. “He is not much better than Mendoses.” And then he was gone.

  Maggie stared after him, momentarily numb with surprise. She contemplated racing after him, but he was gone before she could gather her wits around her.

  She closed the door behind her, shaking her head. “Damn,” she said. “I’m beginning to get very confused.”

  “Beginning?” Mack echoed. “Who the hell was that, anyway?”

  “CIA, I presume,” she said, pushing away from the door. “Did you order this much?” The table was filled with enough covered dishes to serve half a dozen people.

  “I didn’t think so. Maybe my Spanish isn’t as good as I thought.” He leaned forward, tipped the cover of one of the dishes, and smiled. “Now this is a meal I can enjoy.”

  Resting on a clean white napkin was a large handgun, army issue, neat, efficient, with no frills. Just a straightforward killing machine, Maggie thought as she picked it up. “What else did he bring?”

  “Another gun, ammunition,” Mack announced, uncovering the dishes one after the other. “Maps, papers, what looks like car keys. And chicken, thank God.”

  “So now we’ve got a third option,” Maggie said, reaching for the neatly folded paper and opening it. “We can go with the ACSO, the RAO, or the CIA.”

  “More alphabet soup,” Mack said, digging into the chicken. “I hope you don’t mind if I start without you? I’m starving.”

  “Go right ahead,” she said absently. “I think we go with the CIA. This is from Bud Willis.”

  “Who’s Bud Willis?”

  “Ex-CIA. A friend of Van Zandt’s, stationed down here. Doing his bit to help out bloodshed wherever he can find it,” she said bitterly. “He’s in Chicaste, and says he can get us to Van Zandt.”

  “You believe him?”

  “He’d have no reason to lie. He doesn’t give a damn who does what as long as he gets paid. He’ll get us to Van Zandt, all right, if I offer him enough money.”

  “Sounds good,” Mack said, his strong white teeth making short work of the roasted chicken. And then suddenly he stopped eating. “You know, I just thought of something,” he said, dropping the half-chewed bone back on his plate.

  “What?” she inquired absently, holding the map in one hand and her own piece of chicken in the other.

  “I must be building up quite a tab with Third World Causes, Ltd. I have a comfortable amount of money, but I don’t know how far it’s going to go.”

  Maggie grinned. “I never thought of that. Maybe I should have Beverly in the front office send you a bill before we go any farther. We can just stay put until you pay the first installment. I’d better warn you, I’m pretty expensive. I don’t want you fainting when you get the bill.”

  “I think I’ll manage. What if we get back and find I’m broke?” He retrieved his chicken leg.

  “Then you’ll have to work it off,” Maggie said. “I think my mother needs her pool cleaned. That should take care of part of my consulting fees.”

  “Speaking of consulting—who do we trust, Maggie? I agree with you, I think we should go with the CIA. That’s what Van Zandt is, so it should give us a bit of a head start. Unless you want to reconsider the Bay Islands.”

  “Later. We’ve got to cross our fingers that our search will end in Chicaste. Then we can think about lying on a beach somewhere.”

  “Yes, boss. I hate to tell you, but I’ll be thinking about it anyway.”

  “So will I, Mack,” she said. “So will I.”

  It was a different white-coated waiter who retrieved the empty dishes, one who spoke no English and lacked their previous waiter’s innocent smile. Maggie tipped him heavily in her relief.

  Mendoses expected them at eleven, Castanasta at seven-thirty. The maps were skillful and well-marked, and they decided to leave in the dead of night. “In which case,” Maggie said, “we should get some rest even if we can’t sleep. The main part of our journey is on what passes for highways down here, so we’ll be able to navigate with a flashlight.”

  Maggie continued, “We go first to Danli, which seems to be a good-sized city. Then to El Paraíso, and then through the jungle to Chicaste. We’re supposed to be hunters, which will account for our guns and our going to out-of-the-way places.”

  “What are we supposed to be hunting with handguns?”

  “Apparently there’s lots of game in the area.”

  “Like what?” he demanded suspiciously. “Nice, harmless stuff like foxes and rabbits, I hope.”

  “And doves, though they’re out of season.”

  “Doves? Who the hell would shoot doves?”

  “It’s a major sport down here.”

  “Okay, so they’re out of season. Anything else lurking in the underbrush besides CIA and rebels?”

  “They’re the most lethal, I expect. We may run into a few wild boar.”

  “What?” Mack’s raw voice managed a semblance of a shriek.

  “Not to mention pumas, jaguars, and wild turkeys.”

  “Speaking of turkeys, Maggie May,” he said in a dangerous voice, “you must be crazy if you think I’m going to go camping with pumas.”

  “Don’t worry, Mack, I’ll protect you,” she said with a laugh. “Besides, Chicaste isn’t that far. If we get a good start, we may reach the rebel camp sometime tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Somehow that prospect doesn’t reassure me,” he said dourly.

  Maggie shrugged. It didn’t reassure her either, but they had no choice. If they were going to get out of this mess alive, they would have to find Van Zandt. Staying in Tegucigalpa, caught between the ACSO and the RAO, they were nothing more than sitting ducks.

  “How about L.A. in a week? I’ll let you live out your fantasies with my mother.”

  “I’ve already lived out almost every fantasy I’ve ever had with you, Maggie May. Compared to you, your mother loses her appeal.”

  “For God’s sake don’t tell her that,” she said on a note of laughter.

  “I wouldn’t think of it. You’re the only one I want to talk to anyway. Everything set for tonight?”

  Maggie looked at the knapsack, now full of clean, dry clothes, two guns, flashlight, the maps, and the papers. “I guess so.”

  “Then let’s go to bed.”

  She turned to look at him. It was a prosaic enough request, it wasn’t the first time she’d done it, so why did her pulse immediately begin to race, why did her stomach leap and her breasts tingle?

  “I think that you’re having a demoralizing effect on me,” she said in a measured tone of voice.

  “Well, I hope so. Take off your clothes and come over here, lady. Unless you’re into another wrestling match.” He started to get up, and she backed away swiftly.

  “No, thank you. I’m still sore from the first one.”

  “I don’t think it’s the wrestling match that you’re sore from. And at least I didn’t give you a black eye. Come to bed, Maggie,” he said in a softer voice, and there was no way she could put up any more arguments.

  Mack’s body was smooth and supple beneath her hands and mouth, and he was content to lie there letting her explore him with a curiosity and wonder that was outrageously sensual. When he could take no more he pushed her back onto the mattress and returned the favor, taking her to the point of almost painful delight, so that her hands were clutching fistfuls of sheet, and her toes were digging into the mattress, and her body was flushed and damp and trembling.

  When he’d finished with her she was beyond rational thought. She lay beside him, curled up in his arms, as her heart slowed its breakneck speed and her breathing returned to normal. His hands were gentle on her, soothing her, calming her, and his lips teased her ear. He whispered something, and
she couldn’t hear him. Or couldn’t believe him. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, have told her he loved her.

  She made no response, just lay there in the circle of his arms.

  An hour later they were stealing away in the dark moonless night. For some reason, Maggie wasn’t afraid of the dark.

  fifteen

  “That reminds me,” Mack said. “I take exception to something you told Castanasta.” They were driving their brand-new Jeep Cherokee down Highway 4 toward Danli, and the newly paved, blessedly wide road might almost have convinced them they were back in civilization instead of heading into a jaguar- and puma-infested jungle.

  “What?” She took another sip from her lukewarm coffee, coffee that Mack had saved from their dinner tray. They’d been driving for hours, night was giving way to sunrise, and Maggie still wasn’t awake.

  Mack, on the other hand, seemed completely alert and relaxed, slouched down behind the driver’s seat of the Cherokee, one arm resting on the open window as his fingers tapped out a song on the steering wheel. “When you told Castanasta you had to see Van Zandt on a small matter. I rate my life just a bit higher than that.”

  “Don’t give me grief, Mack,” she said wearily. “Maybe I should have left you with the RAO. After all, Castanasta did say he wanted to help us.”

  “You certainly are grumpy for someone with little cause,” he replied in a bright tone of voice.

  “And you certainly are disgustingly cheerful for someone with little cause,” she fired back.

  “What do you mean, little cause? The road is paved, the sun is rising, no one’s trying to shoot at us for the moment, we’ve got food, warm bottled Coke, guns to keep off ravaging wildlife, and I’ve been extremely well laid. What more could one ask?”

  “Mack!” Her voice held a definite warning.

  He laughed. “I knew that would get a rise out of you. Come on, Maggie May, lighten up. We’ve got a few hours of peace before the next battle—we may as well enjoy it.”

  “Maybe. I’m just having second thoughts on the wisdom of taking Bud Willis’s help.”

  “Why?”

  “Because this brand-new Jeep didn’t come from a mercenary’s pocket or from the rebels. They’re in such rotten financial shape that the Jeep we lost in La Ceiba would look like a luxury vehicle.”

  “So where do you think it came from?”

  “Directly out of the CIA budget. They must want something from us, and I’m not going to be too cheerful until I figure out what it is.”

  “I’d think it would be fairly obvious.”

  “To you, maybe.” There was a long pause, but he didn’t volunteer any suggestions, just kept his eyes on the broad highway in front of them. “Okay, I give up. What’s fairly obvious? What does the CIA want from us?”

  “Silence. They don’t want us messing around in Houston, in Honduras, in Chicaste, in Moab, Utah, for that matter. They want us out of the way.”

  “You think they’re going to kill us?”

  “Maybe. Somehow I doubt it. My opinion of the CIA isn’t very high, but I think they draw the line at murdering U.S. citizens in cold blood. However, I wouldn’t put it past them to look the other way if someone else gets ambitious enough to do the job.”

  “Lovely thought,” she said. “Bud Willis?”

  “You know him, I don’t. Is he capable of it?”

  “Sure. Bud Willis is capable of anything. But the financial thing still holds true—he knows I can better any bounty placed on our heads.” She sighed. “It’s a scary thought, to think that our own government would be out to kill us.”

  “No one said they were. I think they just don’t want any interference. Isn’t that why we’re looking for Van Zandt? To find out what they want from us, and to get the word to whoever that I’m not about to make waves. I just want to be left in peace.”

  “That’s sounding more and more tempting,” Maggie said. “It’s also sounding more and more unlikely.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Mack muttered. “Now you’re getting me depressed.”

  “Sorry.” She drained the rest of her coffee. “But it doesn’t help to hide your head in the sand.”

  “Tell you what, Maggie May. Why don’t you go back to sleep and let me see if I can recapture my good mood,” he said dourly.

  “Suit yourself. Wake me if you see any wild boars.”

  “No comment.”

  They had breakfast in Danli, then headed away from Mack’s beloved highway onto rougher turf. Maggie was content to let him continue driving. Her nap had helped to soothe her temper, and even the enervating heat of the jungle didn’t bother her. She had a curious sense of destiny. If the CIA was waiting for them with a firing squad, if the ACSO or the RAO had set them up, there was nothing they could do but deal with it when it happened. In the meantime they were doing the only possible thing they could in their search for Van Zandt. And with any luck, that search would come to an end in a few hours.

  The road deteriorated rapidly. With Mack driving and Maggie as navigator, they made it through a series of small towns, down one mountain and up another, through flash rainstorms, dry, baking heat, and everything in between, all in the period of several hours. It was almost dark when they drove into the smallest, dirtiest-looking town so far, and Mack pulled the Jeep up in the deserted town square, turned it off, and leaned back, stretching with the first sign of weariness he’d shown that day.

  “Where the hell are we, Maggie?” he demanded, rubbing his forehead.

  “Somewhere between Danli and Chicaste.”

  “I already knew that, darlin’,” he said. “Do you have the faintest idea how far we are from the rebel camp?”

  “We have to be close. But how close I can’t really tell. Going up and down these damned mountains adds miles to the trip. Chicaste might be the next town down the road or it may have been three towns back.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “I’m sure we haven’t passed it yet. It can’t be more than a few more miles down the road.”

  “You want to see if we can find something to eat? We’ve finished everything in the backseat. We don’t really know what our welcome will be like when we find Willis and Van Zandt. They may kill the fatted calf or they may—”

  “Don’t even say it.” She climbed out of the Jeep, stretching wearily, her long arms reaching toward the darkening sky. “I wonder where everybody is?”

  “Probably home eating their dinner and watching Family Feud reruns,” Mack said. “Which is where we should be.”

  “Why don’t you stay with the car while I go see if there’s someplace we can buy dinner?”

  “I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you stay with the car?” Mack countered.

  “How about we both go?” Maggie capitulated with a sigh.

  “What if someone decides to steal the Jeep? I didn’t mind seeing the other one go, but I’ve gotten sort of fond of this one.”

  “I don’t really give a damn if Scotty beams it up to the Enterprise,” she said. “Even a brand-new Jeep doesn’t have the world’s greatest springs, and I’m not really looking forward to climbing back in it tonight.”

  “Maybe you won’t have to, Maggie.” It was a new voice—fresh, American—with the faint trace of a Midwestern accent.

  “Willis,” Maggie said. “Where the hell did you spring from?”

  “This is my town, Maggie. No one comes within ten miles of it without my knowing it,” the man said. He was hidden in the shadows of the alleyway just off the main plaza, and all Maggie could see were his combat boots and the barrel of his gun. But it was Willis, all right. She’d know that cool, passionless voice anywhere.

  “This is Chicaste?”

  “This is Chicaste. Now, you wanna tell me what the fuck you’ve been doing messing around all over Tegucigalpa? I got word from my own man down there, I got word from Castanasta, and I got word from the ACSO. You’re one foolhardy lady, you know that? I would have thought you’d learned your lesson by now. La
st time I saw you, you weren’t in any mood to go putting that nose of yours where it doesn’t belong.”

  “I still don’t put it where it doesn’t belong, Willis,” she said in a cool voice. “I have business down here.”

  “With me?”

  “With Van Zandt. You want to tell me where he is?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Who’s your friend?” The gun barrel gestured at Mack’s silent form.

  “None of your damned business, Willis.”

  “Sure it is, Maggie. If you want to see Van Zandt, you’re going to have to play the game my way. I told you, this town is mine. You come anywhere near it and I own your ass.”

  “Don’t threaten me, Willis.”

  “Don’t fuck with me, Maggie.” He stepped into the light. He was a wiry man, with a Marine hair cut, skeletal cheekbones, and the emptiest eyes Maggie had ever seen. It had been four years since their paths had crossed, and she’d almost forgotten how deathlike he looked. He grinned at her, that travesty of good fellowship that fooled no one. “Is that Pulaski?”

  “If you knew, why did you have to ask?”

  “Just wanted to see whether you’d lie to me.”

  “I have no intention of lying to you, Willis,” she said calmly. “I need your help, and I know you aren’t going to give it to me unless I’m straight with you.”

  “Maybe I’m not going to give it to you anyway.”

  “Maybe. But I don’t think you would have brought me down here if you weren’t going to help me.”

  “You got it wrong, lady. I didn’t bring you down here.”

  Mack spoke for the first time, his raw voice soft and oddly menacing in the warm night air. “Then who did?”

  Willis cackled. “Mancini did a good job on your throat, didn’t he, friend? You should have learned your lesson back then.”

  “I guess I’m a slow learner,” Mack said with deceptive gentleness. “You didn’t answer my question, friend.”

  Willis smiled his death’s-head grin. “Van Zandt brought you guys to the elegant resort of Chicaste.”

  “Why?” Maggie broke in.