Suddenly she was free. She went up rungs in a tumbling rush.
Cole’s hands clamped beneath her arms as he pulled her upper body over the lip. She lay half in, half out of the hole, gasping for air.
“Are you all right?” he asked urgently.
She nodded. No light moved at the gesture. Her lamp had gone out again. He tried to light it, couldn’t, and took off his own.
“Here,” he said, switching helmets with her, adjusting straps quickly. “It’s just a short way to the entrance.”
The passage was too small for Erin to squeeze past Cole. He jackknifed again, turned around, and crawled until he could duck-walk, using the light cast from her helmet to pick his way through the narrow cleft. His shadow loomed hugely ahead of him as it slid over and around the rough limestone, flickering with every motion he made.
That sliding, uncertain shadow saved his life.
Jason Street’s blow landed on the back of Cole’s skull with stunning, rather than crushing, force. Cole had just enough awareness to fall bonelessly, sprawling with his left hand underneath his body, concealing the wrist sheath he wore.
“Cole?” Erin called, scrambling forward as she saw him fall. “What’s wrong?”
“No worries, Miss Windsor,” Street said. “You’re safe now. Did you find Abe’s mine?”
The sudden white arc of an electric lantern blinded Erin just as a man’s hand closed around her arm.
“Let go of me! Cole’s hurt!”
“Don’t worry about that bastard. He was hired to kill you.”
“You’re crazy!”
“Am I? Read this, luv. It’s from your father.”
Erin glanced at the bright yellow plastic being held out to her. She was shaking so much from cold and fear she could barely breathe. “I won’t look at anything until I help Cole.”
Street smiled reassuringly despite his urgent need to know about Abe’s mine. If the mine hadn’t been found, he would need Erin’s cooperation to find it. She’d proved that she was better at unraveling Abe’s secrets than anyone else.
“Check on Blackburn if you have to,” Street said, letting go of her, “but you’ll feel like a bloody fool after you read your father’s letter.”
Without looking at the man who was no more than a dark presence looming behind blinding light, Erin hurried forward and knelt at Cole’s side. A quick check told her that he was breathing regularly. Blood was welling slowly from a bruise at the base of his skull.
Relief raced through her, making her almost weak. She stroked his forehead lightly, pushing wet hair away from his face. A motion just behind her made her look around. She saw the metal gleam of a pistol.
The muzzle was trained on Cole.
“Well, Miss Windsor. How is he?”
“Out cold. Who the hell are you?”
“Jason Street. Didn’t your father mention me to you?”
“No.”
“Read this, luv. I’m on your side.”
Erin stood and looked at the packet Street was holding out. From the corner of her eye she noticed that the pistol muzzle stayed pointed at Cole rather than following her movements. She shrugged out of the rucksack and sat down on it, ignoring the crunch and grind of ruined candy tins.
Reluctantly she looked at the packet Street was holding out to her. She really didn’t want to face whatever was inside. She didn’t want to know that once more she’d been just another pawn in another international game played out in bed as well as in smoke-filled rooms. At least this time no one was cutting her up with a knife.
Yet.
Silently she held out her hand. Street smiled encouragement and dropped the packet on her palm.
“That’s it, luv. Read it. You’re safe now.”
She undid the string and folded back the bright yellow plastic to reveal a thin pouch. Inside there was an envelope with the Central Intelligence Agency logo on it and her name scrawled across the front in her father’s bold, masculine handwriting. She wiped her muddy hands on her shorts and opened the sealed envelope.
It took several tries before her numb fingers managed to pull out the folded sheet of heavy ivory paper. The stationery was familiar, for it had come from her father’s desk in Washington. The letter was handwritten and brief:
Erin—
I’m sorry, baby. I was a fool to let you go with
Cole Blackburn. I’ve discovered that Blackburn is owned by the Chen family, the most powerful, ruthless, and ambitious tong in Southeast Asia.
The man who brings this to you, Jason Street, can be trusted. He works for the Australian counterpart of the agency. Do what he says. Above all, don’t trust Blackburn. He’s your assassin, not your bodyguard.
Be careful. I love you.
The letter was signed as her father always did in his letters to her, with an aggressive, oversized D for “Dad.”
Erin closed her eyes and felt cold all the way to the center of her bones. When she opened her eyes and looked at Street, he was watching her, but the muzzle of the gun was still aimed at Cole.
Cole hadn’t moved. He still lay on his stomach with one arm folded underneath his chest. His face was turned away from her.
She turned to Jason Street. “How did you find me?”
“It wasn’t easy. The chokies Blackburn works for had you covered like a bloody blanket. If the black boy following you hadn’t been broadcasting in the clear, I’d still be looking. As it was, I just homed in on the RDF.”
“Chokies?”
“Chinamen,” Street said impatiently, then reined himself in. “The Chen family. Blackburn has been in partnership with Chen Wing for years.”
“Are you the one who gave that information to my father?”
“Is that what the letter said?” Street countered.
“How did you get the letter?”
“I work for the Australian government, although you won’t find me on any civil service payroll form,” Street said. “Sort of like your father in that. He and I do the same kind of work. That’s why I’m here.”
“Mistakes are made in your kind of work, Mr. Street. I believe my father made one. Cole Blackburn isn’t my assassin.”
“Like bloody hell,” Street said. “Just because Blackburn has been in your pants doesn’t mean he won’t kill you. Chen Lai is his number-one woman. He’s been making jig-a-jig with Lai since you were in pigtails. He’s just using you until you give him the clues to Abe’s mine. Then you’ll be deader than tinned fish and the mine will belong to the Chen family. But I’m here to see that doesn’t happen. Now, did you find that bloody mine?”
“I’m—I’m not sure.”
“What do you mean?” Street demanded.
She stood up quickly, bringing the rucksack with her.
Street’s eyes flashed reflected light as he followed her movements, but the muzzle of his gun remained trained on the man who lay less than two feet away.
She forced herself to go closer to Street.
“I’m no geologist,” she said as she jerked at the buckles and ties on the rucksack, opening it up. “Here. Decide for yourself.”
With that she stepped past Street and turned the rucksack on end. A sparkling, colorful cascade of rough stones poured through the hard white light of the electric lantern.
“Sweet Jesus and all the saints in heaven,” Street said hoarsely, staggered by the sight. For an instant the gun muzzle moved aside from Cole.
It was all Cole needed. He came off the ground in a lunge that ended only when he rammed the knife blade up underneath Street’s rib cage and into his heart. Death was instant and nearly bloodless.
Cole caught the Aussie’s pistol before it fell from limp fingers. He jerked the knife free and stepped back. Street slumped face first across the dancing, rolling diamonds. Automatically Cole wiped the blade on his shorts before he sheathed it. He put on the pistol’s safety before he reached for the electric lantern.
Swallowing against the bile rising in her throat, Erin said r
aggedly, “Is he dead?”
“Pick up the diamonds.”
The words were thick, almost slurred. Cole grunted as he dragged Street aside and left him facedown in dense shadow. Moving with uncharacteristic hesitation, as though he didn’t completely trust his own body, Cole went back to Erin. He held out the pistol butt first.
“Can you use this?” he asked.
“Dad made sure I could shoot anything I could get my hands on,” she said numbly, taking the gun.
“Smart man.”
His words sounded like they came from a distance. Vaguely she realized that she was on the edge of going with shock and cold, hunger and exhaustion. She was at the end of her strength, and all she had to trust was someone who had just killed Jason Street in front of her eyes.
Street, who had been sent by her father to protect her from Cole Blackburn.
“So you believed him after all,” Cole said harshly. “You’re a fool, Erin Shane Windsor. I’ve killed men, but I’m not a hired assassin.”
At first she didn’t understand. Then she saw that the pistol in her hands was pointed directly at Cole…and she had taken the safety off. She let out a broken breath and lowered the gun.
“You’re right,” she said bleakly. “If you’d been hired to kill me after the mine was found, I’d be facedown in a black lake right now.”
His eyes glittered with pain and fury. “Such carefully measured trust—from the head, not the heart.”
“That’s the way you trust,” she shot back. “It’s the way my father trusts. It’s the way the whole world trusts. I’m a slow learner, but I do learn eventually. And I’m damned tired of being fucked by men on their way to more important things.”
Cole turned his back on her. “If you want the bloody diamonds, pick them up and come to the entrance. I’ll see if there are any more nasty surprises waiting outside.”
Without a word Erin put on the safety and shoved the pistol into the rucksack. Then she knelt and began scooping handfuls of diamonds from the clammy limestone floor. The stones made secret, almost musical sounds as they clicked over one another and the cold steel of the pistol.
She ignored the diamonds that had rolled into the darkness where Street’s body lay. There wasn’t enough money in all ofAbe’s mines to make her pick up those diamonds. Street was welcome to them. He’d certainly paid enough for them.
Before she was finished, Cole came back. He was carrying the shotgun. “Leave the rest. We’re getting out of here before anyone else comes.”
“I don’t think I can walk very far,” she said with eerie calm.
“Neither can I. Street was flying the station helicopter.” When Cole turned away he stumbled slightly, caught himself, and kept walking. “Move it, Erin. I loaded everything that matters into the chopper.”
“Where are we going?”
“Windsor station. Now that Street’s dead, it should be safe. In any case, it’s the last place anyone will expect to find us.”
Drawing together the shreds of her strength, she picked up the rucksack and followed Cole out of the cave.
For the first few minutes the steamy heat felt like a foretaste of heaven. By the time she’d walked to the helicopter, she was back in hell, sweating. Cole wasn’t. When he handed her into the chopper, his skin felt distinctly cool.
The chopper leaped up, jittered raggedly, and finally settled.
Ten minutes later she glanced at Cole and saw his head hang, then slowly come upright. He was fighting to stay conscious.
And he was losing.
46
On the way to Abe’s station
Rain fell in sheets and torrents over the bubble canopy of the helicopter, cutting visibility to a few hundred yards. Erin read the instruments for Cole as he pointed to them. Her voice was flat, as numb as her mind. She should have been terrified but she was simply too worn out to care.
She knew it must be much worse for Cole.
She sensed a great weariness in him. His coordination and his vision were erratic. He was sweating but his skin was cold. Time after time the helicopter sagged to one side or the other in gusts of wind and each time he reacted more slowly to correct their course. Concussion had sapped his strength. He was operating on nerve and reflex alone, and all around them a storm’s dying fury gripped the world.
“We should set down,” she said.
“Too far away. We wouldn’t make it.”
She didn’t argue. It was the truth. She’d barely had the strength to drag herself and the rucksack to the chopper.
“You have a concussion,” she said.
“No shit. Read the compass.”
She focused on the compass.
A lightning bolt sizzled from cloud to earth, making the earphones Erin and Cole wore crackle violently. He flinched at the sound and turned the volume down on the radio.
They flew out of the squall as suddenly as they’d flown into it. Within minutes wind tore holes in the black line of clouds. Sun hammered through the openings with stunning force, pulling great sheets of steam from the drenched land.
Off to the left a tin roof gleamed in watery brilliance beneath the gloom of a storm cell that still had enough power to trail thick sheets of rain from its wild clouds.
“Look,” she said, touching his arm and pointing to the left. “Isn’t that the station?”
“ ’Sbout time.”
The words were slurred. Cole’s face was drawn in harsh lines of effort as he corrected the helicopter’s course. When they flew into the trailing edge of the squall, the helicopter bucked and quivered like an unruly horse. He swore at the controls and at the reflexes that simply wouldn’t respond as quickly as they should.
The chopper slewed through the rain and wind until the lights of Windsor station were a few hundred feet below them.
“Look—for—strange—vehicles,” he said thickly.
He banked the helicopter and flew in a wide, ragged circle around the perimeter of the station buildings. She looked through veils of rain at the ground. Several lanterns glowed inside the large tent that had been erected as a bunkhouse for the Chinese men, but no one was out in the yard. Obviously the men had settled in to wait out the storm.
A pale flash caught her attention. “There’s a white four-wheel-drive vehicle parked in back of the house.”
“Street’s. Any others?”
“No.”
Cole let out a sigh that was almost a groan. “Thank God.”
As he circled to the front of the station house, the door opened and a small figure stepped out.
“It’s Lai,” Erin said.
“Alone?”
“As far as I can see, yes.”
Lai stepped out of the shelter of the awning and looked up into the sky, shielding her eyes against the falling rain.
Cole shook his head sharply, then winced. “Shotgun. Get it.”
She leaned over and pulled the shotgun from behind his seat.
“Is it ready?” he asked.
She checked the gun, took off the safety, and said, “Yes.”
Visibly he gathered the last of his strength. “Put it across my lap. Keep the pistol hidden but handy. If there’s a trap down there, no one will expect you to be armed.”
Without a word Erin lifted the rucksack onto her lap, dug the pistol from beneath diamonds, and slipped off the safety. She would only have to open the rucksack and grab.
Cole wheeled the helicopter and dropped into the muddy yard in front of the station. The landing was hard. One of the skids dug four inches into the red muck. The other slapped down a second later and vanished beneath mud. He shut down the engine, let the rotor free-wheel, and slumped forward.
Erin scrambled out while the blades were still slicing overhead and went around to the other door to help him.
“Get out,” she said, tugging at his arm. “You can’t stay here.”
He didn’t move.
“Get out!” she shouted. “I can’t carry you to the house. Come o
n, Cole. Help me.”
Slowly his head came up. He dragged himself out of the helicopter, shotgun in hand. Clutching the rucksack, she steered him through the mud to the station house, where Lai waited.
“I’m so glad Mr. Street found you,” Lai said huskily, watching Cole with luminous black eyes. “We were very worried. Wing has been beside himself.” She looked beyond Erin and Cole. “Where is Mr. Street?”
“Dead,” Erin said bluntly.
“Dead? I don’t understand.”
“He tried to kill Cole. He missed. Cole didn’t.”
Lai’s breath came in with a soft, ripping sound.
Erin pushed past Lai and guided Cole into the house. “Cole’s hurt. Get some blankets, a first-aid kit, and ice for the swelling.” She looked at Lai, who was standing as though bolted to the floor. “Move.”
“But first,” Cole said thickly, “call Uncle Li and tell him to send in reinforcements. We found the mine.”
For a moment longer Lai stared at Cole. He was swaying slightly on his feet, but his eyes were focused and his finger was on the trigger of the shotgun he carried. When Erin steered him toward the couch, he moved with a kind of ruined grace that spoke of willpower and muscle slowly losing control over injury and exhaustion.
Lai turned and ran toward the back of the station house.
Erin eased Cole down on the center of the couch. With a muttered curse, he slumped back and fought against closing his eyes. After a moment he pulled the shotgun across his lap. She set the rucksack at one end of the couch. As she knelt next to him to check his injury, her knee knocked against the butt of the shotgun.
“You’ve got a bruise half the size of my fist,” she said.
He grunted.
“No more bleeding,” she continued. “The swelling isn’t any worse. Good thing you have such strong muscles in your neck. Otherwise, I’ve got a bad feeling we’d still be in the cave.”
“Stone dead.”
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“It comes and goes.”
“It?”
“Nausea, double vision, dizziness.”
Death is Forever Page 36
