Under The Midnight Sun

by Marilyn Cunningham

  “Killed?” Her breath seemed to stick in her throat. Was this the evil thing Dimitri had alluded to that had happened at Ward Cove? “What happened?”

  “One of the soldiers raped her, then killed her.” His even tone lent further horror to his words. “At least, we believed it to be so. The boy was sitting by his mother’s ravaged body when we found her. The man was gone.”

  “But didn’t you do something? Report it?”

  “Report to who? There was a war going on, many were being killed everywhere. And would they believe us? Or even care?” He shrugged. “Soon after that, the boy slipped away. I don’t know where he went. I was just happy he got away. It was hardest on the young.”

  His cracked old voice ceased, and he stiffened, closing his eyes and lifting his head as though listening to an unknown sound. To Malinche, only the wind howled up from the sea, but he smiled and made his slow way down the side of the bluff without another word. Had he heard his long-lost love in the voice of the wind?

  She watched him reach the edge of the sea and get into a seal skin kayak. Stroking the oar strongly, he vanished around a bend.

  Malinche stood still, stunned by what she had just learned. Buck had said Tara, her mother, would never speak of the time in the camp. How strangely it had worked out. Tara would have had no way of knowing that the woman who saved her life had been married to the man she would one day marry. Dimitri’s mother had saved her own mother. Because of the woman who had been so horribly ravaged and killed, she, Malinche, existed. She owed the woman so much. The horror of what had happened so long ago chilled her to her soul. She could hear the screams, feel the pain…

  And her brother had seen it all. Was this rapist and killer the man he had sought for years?

  She shivered and crossed her arms tightly across her chest, warding off more than the cold. She had arrived full circle, looking down at the site where her mother’s people had been held captive by her father’s people, the site of the conflict that beat in her heart still. Only it was so much worse than she’d imagined. Her heart ached for the young child that had been her mother. She had found her, found where it had all started.

  And there was nothing she could do, no way she could change the past. But now, seeing where it all began, perhaps she could lay the past to rest and get on with her life.

  She couldn’t leave them alone without a final farewell. It was the least she could do. Her mother and half brother hadn’t died here, but their tragedy had begun here. Some essence of them must linger. She would go down to the beach and say goodbye to her mother, to her brother, two people she had never known, but who each lived on in her.

  She scrambled down the rocky trail and walked slowly along the beach. Even in May, the wind off the water was cold. She could imagine that during the winter it must have cut through the flimsy structure like a whip.

  A segment of one building was still standing, though it leaned precariously against the force of the wind. There was even a door, although it flopped on one hinge. Gingerly, she opened the door, and peered inside.

  She stared into the barrel of a blue-steel Walther pistol.

  She froze, unable to tear her eyes from the weapon. She couldn’t scream, couldn’t move. Finally, with tremendous effort, she lifted her gaze to the man who held the pistol pointed so steadily at her heart.

  She looked into the deadliest, most reptilian eyes she had ever seen, eyes of a cold, lifeless blue.

  She recognized him at once; Brian had described him perfectly. Carl Bettnor. The man who had identified himself to Brian as a CIA agent. As blood flowed back into her veins, she opened her mouth to scream, but the steady way he held the pistol made her think twice.

  He jerked the pistol a fraction of an inch, indicating she should step inside. “Well, Miss Adams, at last we meet face-to-face. Although that’s not quite correct. I’ve met you—you just weren’t conscious at the time.” His chuckle was like his eyes, void of human feeling.

  She wouldn’t give him the pleasure of seeing how frightened she was. “You’re Carl Bettnor. You killed Dimitri.”

  “Of course.”

  “But why? Why was the CIA interested? He wasn’t a spy.”

  The comment seemed to amuse him. “Of course he wasn’t. But he couldn’t be allowed to live. Any more than you can. I’m sorry it took so long. You should have died weeks ago when I tried to run you over. Certainly you should have perished on the ice. You lead a charmed life—but your luck just ran out.”

  He was deadly serious. She was about to be killed and she didn’t even know why. Her words came in a rush.

  “But I don’t understand! Why? I’ve done nothing—”

  “Except to dig around in what was none of your business.”

  Anger stiffened her spine. He had no right. He had already taken too much from her. Never to see Brian or Buck again, all because of this murderer. How dare he? “You can’t get away with it. When they find my body, nothing in the world will keep them from tracking you down.”

  “You disappoint me, Miss Adams. You’ve shown a lot of nerve and intelligence up to now, but that comment—it’s so cliché—‘you can’t get away with it.’ Of course I can. When—if—they find you, they’ll think it was another accident.”

  She glanced at the gun. “But an accident? With a bullet hole in me?”

  “You underestimate me. I would have thought of something to do with your body, but you made it so easy, coming here. Are you familiar with this coast? When the tide is out, stretches of the mud flats are like a huge suction cup. Anything that stumbles in there stays. It’s impossible to get out. Nearly every summer, some stupid person gets caught in the mud.”

  She cast a panic-stricken glance at the tide flat, narrower now than it had been a few minutes ago.

  “They don’t sink all the way. Not completely, not right away, that is. But there’s no way to get them out. Struggling just sinks them deeper. A force strong enough to get them out would pull them apart. Not much use pulling half out if the other half is still stuck.” He chuckled, that mirthless chuckle, that frightened her more than the gun. “You’ll just be stuck there until the tide comes in and then you’ll drown.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “The tide turned a while ago. A few minutes, and it should be just right. If they ever recover your body, there won’t be a bullet hole in it. You’ll be just another tourist who stumbled out too far and couldn’t get back.”

  The full horror of her situation only now began to penetrate her shock. He meant it. Without compunction, he would arrange this terrible death. She had to fight, stall for time. She said the first thing that came to her mind.

  “How did you know you’d find me here?”

  “I’ve been following you since you left Anchorage. When you and the old Eskimo were talking, I figured you’d come on down for a look-see. I just beat you to it.”

  “Who are you really? You aren’t CIA.”

  “Oh, yes I am. Why else do you think that fool Joe Pasco was so accommodating? He was convinced national security was at stake.” His laugh sent shivers down her spine.

  “Tell me why. If Dimitri wasn’t a spy, why did you kill him? If you’re going to kill me, I deserve to know the reason.”

  He glanced over his shoulder again. “It will be a few more minutes before the tide is right. Why not?”

  He shifted his bulk to rest one hip on an exposed timber. Could she make a run for it? No way. He would kill her before she’d gone two steps. Might not that be better than the death he had planned for her? But she wouldn’t give up yet. There had to be a chance…

  “I was a soldier here at Ward Cove,” he said. “I was just a kid. Seventeen. My whole unit was out fighting Japs, and I’m stuck here guarding a bunch of gooks. Not too bad-looking, some of them, though. The one woman put up a fight, and I had to kill her. Bad luck. The kid was watching, he screamed—well, I couldn’t just hang around.”

  “Dimitri?”

  “Yeah. I left and
rejoined my unit. They didn’t ask questions. It was the biggest battle of the war for them, so they were glad to have me back. After the war I knocked around awhile, then joined the CIA. I climbed up through the ranks. No problem. I’m in line for a political appointment, the top of the heap. I can’t afford even a hint of scandal.”

  “But what harm could Dimitri do after so long?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I never gave him another thought. He was just a kid. No way he could finger me. Then a letter from some guy named Stanislof came in to the Department of the Army. He wanted to know the name of a soldier who had been at Ward Cove. Good thing I had a contact. He told me right away. I never knew the kid’s name, but I didn’t like it that somebody in Alaska was asking about a soldier at Ward Cove. I had my contact write back, giving a phony name. I decided I’d better come up and see what was going on.”

  “The letter was from Dimitri. You wondered if he was remembering things?”

  “Yeah. And I no sooner stepped off the plane than I knew I was right. Right there in the airport for tourists to pick up was a damned dragon.”

  “But what had his carved dragons to do with anything? He’d always carved them, ever since he was a child.”

  Shifting the gun to his other hand, but still pointing it at her, he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it aside.

  She gasped. Emblazoned across Bettnor’s chest was a huge tattoo of a dragon.

  “He remembered,” she whispered. “He saw it when you raped his mother, and subconsciously, he remembered.”

  “I had to find out how much he remembered,” Bettnor said. “I followed him to the Eskimo Gathering, and got acquainted. He still didn’t know too much—he was following up on a phony name—but I saw from the last dragon he carved that things were coming back. Then he came to the sauna one night, and I was there—”

  “And he saw the tattoo—and he knew.”

  Bettnor glanced at the tide creeping relentlessly to shore. “Come on. Time to go.”

  “Wait! One more question. With Dimitri dead, what was so dangerous about the dragon? Why did you have to get it away from me? What danger was I when you had it?”

  “You would have known if you looked closely at the dragon.”

  “I did look closely. It was just a dragon.”

  He took the tiny carving from his pocket and handed it to her. It took a few seconds, and then her eyes opened wide. She had sensed the dragon was somehow different, although she couldn’t put her finger on it. Now, staring at the dragon and back at Bettnor’s square face with the dead eyes, she saw it. The miniature face, in spite of the forked tongue, the scales on the head, bore a striking resemblance to Carl Bettnor.

  “You see?” he said, watching her expression register understanding. “My face was in Dimitri’s subconscious, drifting ever closer to the surface. You would have noticed it sooner or later. Probably sooner, since with the political appointment my picture would have been m all the papers. Even when you didn’t have it, it might have been in your subconscious, and you would have remembered, like Dimitri did.”

  “I’m not the only one who saw it. Brian did. He’ll remember and come after you.”

  “Your boyfriend is halfway to Indonesia by now. Don’t count on him to rescue you.”

  She hadn’t thought she could feel any worse, but she did. She felt numb, unable to move. Brian in Indonesia. He had actually left her? She had counted on him, hoped he would find her in time. But Brian had left her without a word.

  “Move!” He grasped her roughly by the arm, twisting it behind her back, and forcing her along the beach. Pain ran like hot fire through her arm, but still she struggled. She would not die like this, die on a cold, isolated shore. What right had this monster to cut off her life as though he were snapping off a flower? As he had done to Marie so long ago.

  The thought gave her strength. Pure fury raged through her blood. She might die, but she wouldn’t go down without a fight.

  But with the gun against her head, what could she do?

  She struck out with her foot, hoping to make him stumble. He merely twisted her arm harder, increasing the pressure until she nearly blacked out, as he angled her toward the strip of mud.

  BRIAN SLAMMED on the brakes. His heart pounded. Two vehicles were parked along the shoulder of the road. One was hers. It matched the description given at the rental agency. Whose was the other?

  There was no one near the cars. She must have walked through the tangle of trees toward the shoreline, toward the remnants of Ward Cove.

  Absolute terror pumped adrenaline through his every artery. Brian vaulted from the vehicle, fought his way through the thin line of trees, and dashed to the low bluff that loomed above Ward Cove. If the killer had tracked her down, he would squash her like a fly. Brian had to be in time, he had to be!

  How could a man be so stupid? To have love in his hand, and let it go because he was afraid he would not have it forever.

  When he broke through the trees, what he saw froze his heart in his chest. Two figures struggled at the edge of the ocean. He didn’t need his eyes to see who it was; his heart recognized Malinche.

  Pure fury blazed through him, along with desperate fear. Catapulting from the bank, he hit the beach running. Gravel crunched beneath his feet, seaweed tore at his legs. He took the cold wind into his lungs in deep, rasping gulps. If the man forced her deeply into the mud, it would be impossible to free her. He had to get there in time!

  The man’s back was turned to Brian, all his attention on the woman as they struggled at the edge of the mud.

  Hold on, sweetheart, hold on! I’m coming!

  He didn’t say the words aloud, but over her attacker’s shoulder, Malinche glanced up. Her eyes met his. A look of wild joy lit her face. A current arced across the space, touched both of them. The contact burned into his soul, fusing them together. It was primitive, elemental, on a level below mind or will. She was his woman and she was in deadly danger.

  He hadn’t known he could run any faster, but he did. Thank God the sound of the incoming tide covered his footsteps crunching the rocks and his harsh, gasping breath. One more minute…

  Malinche twisted in Bettnor’s grasp, and aimed a kick at his crotch. Bettnor swore, taking the gun from her head, as he shoved her toward the tideline. He still held her arm as she stumbled backward.

  Still several feet away, Brian gathered all his strength and launched himself at the man. He managed to grab him around the knees. The force of his attack knocked Bettnor off balance.

  Startled, Bettnor stumbled, releasing his hold on Malinche. In an instant, he regained his feet. Snarling, he whirled, gun in hand. Brian leaped up from a crouch, swinging as he came.

  Perhaps it was the surprise, perhaps it was some reserve Brian didn’t know he had. He knocked the gun from Bettnor’s hand.

  Malinche gazed wildly around, searching for a way to help Brian. The gun lay on the beach; she scooped it up, then realized it was useless. She couldn’t shoot without the possibility of hitting Brian. As she circled, looking for a clear shot, Brian delivered a stunning blow to Bettnor’s jaw. Off balance, Bettnor stumbled backward—into the black muck that grabbed at his feet like a hungry monster.

  Bettnor froze, as the enormity of what had happened penetrated his mind. Eyes rimmed with terror, he stared down at his feet. Already the black ooze was up to his ankles. As panic took hold, he struggled. He took a step, only to sink deeper into the remorseless quicksand.

  Horrified, Malinche and Brian stared wordlessly as each attempted step forced him deeper into the ooze. Impulsively, Brian leaned toward him and held out his hand. Bettnor stretched toward it, but several feet separated the two. Brian dared not get closer, or he would be imprisoned by the mud himself.

  “We’ve got to get help.” Malinche couldn’t take her eyes from the muck into which Bettnor was inexorable sinking.

  Brian swallowed He hated this man, he would gladly have killed him, but the death that awaited Bettnor
was more than he would have wished anyone. “I think it’s too late.”

  Already the black mud was above Bettnor’s knees. The trapped man looked down at his vanishing legs and gave a high-pitched scream—a scream that would linger in Brian’s mind forever.

  “We’ve got to try!” Malinche tugged at his shirt.

  “I think your boyfriend is right. I’ll send for help, but they’ll never get here in time.” A quiet voice spoke from directly behind them.

  Brian whirled. “Jim Wilson! Where did you come from?”

  Wilson ignored him as he spoke briefly into a cellular phone. Then he moved to stand beside them, his eyes on Bettnor. The blood seemed to drain from his face, as he watched the man who had now ceased to struggle.

  He shook his head as if throwing off a nightmare. When he spoke, his voice was calm and controlled. “I’ve been after Bettnor for a long time, but I hate to see anyone die like that.”

  “How did you know he was here?” Malinche averted her eyes from the doomed man.

  “And who are you?” Brian asked.

  “I figured that all I had to do was stick close to you two and I’d find him. As to who I am—” He flipped credentials from his pocket. “CIA.”

  “Then you knew about what he did in camp?” Malinche asked.

  “No, but there have been other suspicious things. Leaks where there shouldn’t have been any, agents betrayed. We began to suspect him a while ago, but never anything specific.”

  “But he was in line for a political appointment!”

  Wilson smiled grimly. “Not until our investigation was complete, but of course he didn’t know that.”

  Bettnor had stopped screaming. He gazed at them now with the resigned eyes of an animal. It was a horrible fate, even if he had planned the same for Malinche. Brian tried to turn her away, but she stood squeezing his hand as though it were a lifeline. Touching her, knowing she was safe, made it somewhat easier to watch the horror in front of them.

  Sirens wailed in the distance, a fire truck screamed to a stop at the top of the cliff, but by that time water lapped serenely over Bettnor’s head.