On the other hand, she knew he’d want to have this information immediately, no matter how heartbreaking he was sure to find it. But she had no way to reach him and no choice but to sit here and twiddle her thumbs and go quietly mad until he decided to contact her.
And in the meantime he was going into what could be a life-or-death confrontation, and what if he chose the wrong person to trust?
She could still lose him forever.
It really was intolerable. And, she told herself, Corbett had been wrong not to trust her. Wrong to ask her to do something so unfair and unreasonable. Anger rose up in her and spilled over in the tears she’d been keeping bottled up. Damn him! Why didn’t he trust me? How could he think I would ever betray him? He doesn’t know me at all! And if that’s the case, what hope is there for us?
Having convinced herself she had nothing to lose, Lucia wasted no time. She scrubbed away her tears with her shirt sleeve, popped the drive out of the computer, zipped it into a weatherproof pouch and left the study, fully intending to go straight to her room, gather up a few essentials and her cold-weather clothes and slip quietly out of the house. Once past the gate, she reasoned, she would make her way to the village, where she would knock on doors until she found someone with a telephone. And sufficient knowledge of English to be able to help her make transportation arrangements as far as Budapest. From there she would take a commercial flight to Paris. Piece of cake. She could be there by…well, either very late tonight, or at the latest, first thing tomorrow.
The only thing was, in order to get from the study to her room, she had to pass through the kitchen. And in the kitchen she found Kati, seated comfortably at the kitchen table as if she’d grown roots there, diligently working away on a piece of embroidery. She looked up when Lucia came in, her round, kind face registering dismay at the obvious evidence of her recent weeping. She immediately put down her sewing and bustled to Lucia’s side, patting her shoulder and cooing her concern in animated Hungarian, inquiring whether Lucia would like some coffee? Some wine? Some cake? Lunch? Food and drink-the cure for all ills.
Lucia smiled tremulously, shook her head, waved Kati back to her work and went into the bedroom, where she lowered herself onto the bed with a dejected exhalation. Escaping from her prison wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d hoped. Clearly, Kati and Josef had been designated her keepers, and given their devotion to Corbett, Lucia was sure nothing short of knockout drops in their tokai or a bonk on the head with a bit of crockery was likely to induce them to abandon their posts. And, since she lacked both knockout drops and the stomach for violence-the premeditated kind, anyway-she would simply have to come up with something more…creative.
Creative…
Like…sewing or embroidery. Like needlepoint.
Rising swiftly, she went to her suitcase and took out the large, handwoven bag she used to carry her needlework. She turned it upside down and dumped out everything into her suitcase. Then she put back into the bag a sweater, a change of underwear, several pairs of warm socks, her gloves, some essential toiletries, her flashlight, her wallet with her driver’s license, credit card and a few euros, the flash drive and, lastly, the needlepoint project she’d been working on before that fateful night, the evening that was to have been a fairy-tale date with Corbett to the British Embassy Christmas party. It seemed a lifetime ago.
She sat for a moment staring down at the piece, a chair seat cushion cover that was part of a set she’d been working on forever, it seemed, she supposed in the expectation she might someday have a set of chairs to put them on. Looking at it now, it struck her that it didn’t fit at all with either her lifestyle or her personal taste, which meant it would ultimately end up where all her needlework projects did-hanging on the wall of some elderly relative or rolled up in her mother’s cedar chest. But before it did, this one, at least, might serve a better purpose. She had only the beginnings of an idea of how she might escape her loving watchdogs, but she was sure the rest would come.
Her lips curved in a secret little smile as she placed the square of fabric neatly into the bag so that it covered the items already there. The plastic case containing scissors and needles she dropped in, as well. Who knows, she thought, they might come in handy as a weapon.
She hoped the shiver that rippled through her wasn’t a premonition.
She closed the suitcase and picked up the bag, then stood in the middle of the room and looked around, going over everything again in her mind.
Shoes. She’d need the ski boots. Hopefully Kati wouldn’t notice, or if she did, wouldn’t think it odd that she’d chosen to wear them indoors. She sat down on the bed to change into the boots, and as she did, her reading glasses, there on the nightstand, caught her eye. She’d need them, too, of course, for the sewing. She slipped them on and stood up…and once again inspiration struck. Smiling another secret smile, she removed the glasses and put them in the sewing bag, pushing them way down to the bottom.
Yes, she thought, the pieces of her plan were coming together. It was going to depend on a lot of things going her way, but it just might work.
When Lucia returned to the kitchen, Kati beamed and nodded, and when she saw the needlework Lucia pulled out of her bag, gave a little crow of delight and hastily pushed her own things out of the way to make more room on the table. The other woman’s obvious pleasure in having company during her assigned vigil made Lucia’s stomach clench with regret.
I’ll make it up to you, somehow, she silently promised as she bent over her sewing bag, making a great show out of searching for something and her consternation at not finding it.
When Kati asked what was wrong, making it clear from her eager expression that perhaps she could produce the missing item from her own supplies, Lucia shook her head and pointed to her own eyes with a perplexed frown.
“I can’t find my glasses,” she explained. “I know I left them…Oh-no, wait!” Lord, forgive me, and please make me a good enough actress to pull this off… “I remember now. I think I left them in the cave yesterday, when I was, um…when Corbett and I were…I mean, when I was taking a bath.” As she augmented her English explanation with elaborate pantomime she could feel a blush warming her cheeks. At least she didn’t have to fake that. “I’ll just…go…” She rose and gestured toward the storeroom door.
Kati nodded sagely and gave her a sideways look, eyes sparkling with the glee she didn’t try very hard to hide.
Having made it as far as the storeroom, and with the door safely shut behind her, Lucia paused for a moment to lean against it and send up one last prayer for forgiveness. Then she dug her flashlight out of her sewing bag, drew a deep breath and ventured into the cool, damp darkness of the cave.
Lucia was fairly familiar with the path as far as the thermal pool. Beyond that, she’d be venturing into unknown territory. She had no way of knowing whether there would even be a path. She wished with all her heart she’d found a way to explore, maybe even find the chimney, before this. Now all she had was the flashlight and a very powerful incentive.
But as she paused beside the thermal pool, she felt shivers of apprehension and the first real shadows of doubt.
Am I doing the right thing? Will Corbett forgive me?
Even if he did forgive her for disobeying his order, he’d probably never forgive her-or Kati and Josef, either-if she got herself killed.
Nevertheless, it was vitally important that she get the information about the identity of the mole to him before he did something that couldn’t be undone. For that, she knew, she’d never forgive herself.
She would simply have to make certain she didn’t get herself killed.
It’s no different from any other search. Use your head. Use your logic.
How had she tackled the search for the mole?
Follow the money.
In this case she was looking for a tunnel, a chimney that might be a way out of the cave. How had she known about the existence of such a thing in the first place? Air curr
ents. She’d felt the breeze stirring through the cave. All she had to do was find that breeze again, then follow it.
Follow the current…
It wasn’t that easy, of course. She’d never been a Girl Scout, and those wilderness trips with her parents hadn’t included spelunking. But eventually she did find a spot where there seemed to be a breath of fresh air, apparently coming from an offshoot of the main cavern that appeared to be a dead end.
Her heart beat faster as she made her way into the smaller passageway, and it dropped into her stomach when the passage seemed to grow steadily smaller and narrower, and its ceiling lower, until she had to grope her way forward on her hands and knees, pushing the flashlight and her sewing bag ahead of her.
Nightmare scenarios kept her company in the darkness: What if the chimney is no longer passable? What if its been blocked by a cave-in or rock slide?
If that did turn out to be the case, the worst that could happen would be that she’d have to turn back, and either try to find another way to slip past Kati and Josef or convince them to let her go. Since neither of those seemed a very likely alternative, she pressed on, although she was conscious, now, of the unknown tons of earth and rock pressing down on the ceiling above her. Having allowed the notion of cave-ins and rock falls to invade her thoughts, she’d let fear creep in with it. Fear that turned her skin clammy and her knees weak. A sudden attack of paralyzing claustrophobia seemed like a real possibility.
The only thing that kept her from giving in to panic completely was the realization that the air current did seem to be getting stronger. The chimney must be up ahead, somewhere. And getting closer.
And then she came to the end of the passageway.
Close to despair, she directed the flashlight all around the walls, searching for a seam, a crack of some kind. Finding nothing, she pounded her hand against the smooth walls in frustration. How could this be? The breeze…
The breeze was gone. She didn’t feel it anymore. When had it disappeared?
Creeping backward, she directed the light toward the ceiling. And a few yards back she found it-an opening big enough for a man to stand upright in. In her frightened focus on moving ahead she’d gone right past it.
She stood up shakily and aimed the flashlight’s beam higher into the hole. There-she could see where rusted iron spikes had been driven at intervals into the rock walls of the chimney. The first seemed too high to reach, but she discovered that by standing on her tiptoes she could just get a hand round it. It seemed solid enough. If only the others were, as well.
Now…how to hoist herself up into the chimney? She was no monkey; her upper-body strength wouldn’t be nearly up to the task. The problem had her stumped, until a search found shallow toe-holes carved in the tunnel walls directly below the shaft.
Thankful now for the height that had seemed such a burden to her in her gangly, geeky youth, Lucia tucked her flashlight into the waistband of her ski pants, looped the handles of her sewing bag securely over one shoulder and began to climb.
Chapter 12
Corbett set the Lazlo Group’s unmarked Citation down on a private and little-known airstrip in the countryside near Paris in a sullen gray overcast that perfectly matched his mood. He found the airfield deserted, the hangars and small terminal building locked up tight. This didn’t surprise him-given the state of the Group’s communications system, he’d feared something of the sort and had called ahead from Salzburg. When he’d gotten no answer at the airfield, he’d arranged for a cab to meet him. He could see the car now, the only one in the small graveled parking lot, engine off, the driver dozing behind the wheel.
He taxied the Citation into the shelter next to the larger of the two hangars, chocked its wheels, then jogtrotted around the terminal office building to the parking lot. When he tapped on the cabdriver’s window, the fellow jerked upright with a wide grin and spoke to him with a French accent Corbett thought might be Algerian. Corbett gave him a small salute, and the driver stretched an arm around to unlock the back door. Corbett opened it, tossed in his kit bag and climbed in after it.
Scarcely an hour later they were driving into the heart of Paris, just as night and a drizzly rain began to fall.
To Lucia’s profound relief, the vertical section of the shaft was only about ten or fifteen feet high-enough, though, for her shoulder, arm and leg muscles to begin to tremble rather alarmingly by the time she reached the first bend. From there on it angled upward at an easier slant, though still steep enough that she had to brace herself with her feet against the sides of the shaft to keep from slipping backward-which she did once or twice anyway, terrifyingly, heart-stoppingly, each time losing two or three feet before managing to stop her slide.
Eventually, after some interesting twists and turns and narrow places and one more sharp climb, she emerged into a small chamber filled with rocks and debris. Realizing this must be where the original discoverers of the shaft had broken through while digging their cistern, Lucia was elated-until she realized the ceiling of the cavern was at least three feet beyond her reach. Furthermore, she couldn’t see any signs of daylight, not a crack or a glimmer showing through at all.
Was this the end? Had the hole been filled in? Had she come this far only to have to turn back at this last stage before success-and freedom?
She sank to the floor of the chamber, exhausted and defeated, every muscle in her body quivering with fatigue. The sweat that had dampened her hair and sweater during her strenuous climb now chilled her to the bone. She couldn’t stay here long; she’d have to start back soon. But first…just a little rest. And in the meantime, she’d turn off the flashlight to save the batteries. She had no idea how long she’d been climbing, but even her long-life LED work light wouldn’t hold out forever.
To keep the sudden blackness from being such a shock, she closed her eyes before switching off the flashlight. When she did, all the thoughts that fear and concentration had been holding at bay came flooding into her mind.
How long have I been gone?
Poor Kati-what must she have thought when I didn’t come back? Have they been looking for me? Why haven’t I heard them in the cave?
What will Corbett say when he hears what I’ve done? He’ll be furious!
This was a stupid thing to do!
Oh, God, I hate to think about going back, creeping ignominiously back to face Kati’s tears and Josef’s…Well, he’ll be angry, almost certainly, but worried, most of all.
I feel so bad about that-making them worry.
It’s all such a mess. If only I could just stay here…sleep…just for a little while…
No! She couldn’t do that. Hypothermia would take her for sure. She had to move, start back now.
She opened her eyes and lay staring up at the blackness overhead, willing her tired body to move. And that was when she saw it. A crack…Not light, exactly, just a lighter bit of the darkness, so faint she thought at first it was only a phantom of some sort, a flaw on her retinas. But a straight line? What had Corbett said? Nature abhors a straight line…
She stood up and turned on the flashlight, studying the ceiling intently where she thought she’d seen the crack. And now she could see what she’d missed before: the faint outline of a wooden trapdoor, so coated with the mossy moldy growth of years, it was barely distinguishable from the earth around it.
Elation surged through her, then ebbed as quickly when she remembered she still had no way to reach the trapdoor. She needed a ladder. There must have been one at one time, she reasoned. Maybe it was still here, buried under the rubble.
Propping her flashlight on her sewing bag, she dropped to her knees and began to push, shove and roll the bigger rocks toward the center of the chamber. If nothing else, she told herself, fired with new determination, maybe she could pile them high enough so she could reach the door that way.
She’d scraped a good bit of skin off her hands before she remembered the gloves she had stashed in her bag, and once she had them on, i
t wasn’t long before her efforts hit paydirt. Along one wall she found a crude wooden ladder, where it had obviously fallen and remained undisturbed for years.
But again, her joy at the discovery was short-lived. The uprights, made of sturdy saplings, seemed strong enough, but several of the rungs had rotted away completely, and the ones that were left seemed unlikely to support her weight.
Furious, refusing to accept defeat now that victory was so close, Lucia snatched up her sewing bag and dumped the contents onto the dirt floor of the chamber. She had scissors. Underwear. Socks. A sweater. Enough material there, surely, to tie the rungs to the ladder. Scissors to cut the fabric into strips, and then to notch the wood.
Having made her decision, she wasted no time on second thoughts. Working quickly, she cut her bra, underpants, socks and-although it made her whimper to do it-her favorite pullover sweater into strips, then used the scissors to chip away groves in the rungs and uprights. She used only the soundest of the remaining rungs, spacing them far enough apart that they would enable her-she hoped and prayed-to climb high enough to open the trapdoor and pull herself through it.
She pulled the last knot tight, then quickly stuffed everything back into the now-lighter sewing bag and once again looped it over her shoulder. With scissors in hand and the flashlight in her waistband, she propped the makeshift ladder against the trapdoor’s thick wooden frame set into the ceiling and, trying not to think about the reliability of her untested and unskilled handiwork, hauled herself cautiously, step by step, up the ladder.
Lazlo’s Last Stand Page 17
