Burnt Sienna

by David Morrell

  “No, I swear. I didn’t know anything about —”

  “‘Five years ago, we loved each other. Why can’t we go back?’” Derek mocked.

  “I meant it.”

  “Oh, of course.”

  “What happened between us?” Sienna asked. “Why did you turn against me?”

  For a moment, Derek’s eyes cleared, as if he finally understood how wrong everything was.

  “Christina happened,” he said.

  His eyes again black with fury, he dragged her out of the room. “Ahmed will soon be here. Finally you’re going to be of use to me.”

  7

  The speeding chopper cleared the ridge and came into view of the valley. Bellasar’s estate was hunkered in the middle.

  “We’d better be right about this,” Jeb said. “Back at the airport was risky, but now … ”

  Malone adjusted the microphone on his helmet. “Bellasar’s expecting the chopper to come back with Ahmed. Here it is.”

  “He’ll also expect a radio message, some kind of identification before he lets this thing get closer. You don’t know what you’re supposed to say.”

  Malone nodded. When he had flown here with Bellasar a lifetime ago, he had heard the pilot speak to the estate, but the pilot had used French, and Malone had no idea what he had said.

  He adjusted the radio’s frequency until he heard a male voice saying something in French. Even with the accent, some of the words were close enough to English that Malone understood he was being asked to identify himself.

  He tapped the microphone a couple of times, then brushed a piece of paper across it, murmuring a few of the French words he had just heard, trying to create the impression that radio problems were breaking up his signal.

  He switched off the radio.

  The helicopter flew closer to the estate.

  “This had better work,” Jeb said. “An arms dealer’s likely to have missiles down there.”

  “Probably. But he won’t risk killing Ahmed unless he has to. So far, we’ve done nothing to indicate we’re a threat.” Malone looked back at Jeb’s partner and the others who were helping him. “Ready?”

  The tension on Dillon’s face was all too familiar from when Malone had prepared for missions in the military. He switched his attention to Ahmed and Potter, handcuffed to the side of the chopper. Their expressions were stark with fear.

  “Buckled in nice and tight?” Malone asked. He jerked on the controls. Abruptly the chopper tilted and spun.

  “Jesus!” Jeb had known this was coming, but he hadn’t been prepared for how closely Malone’s maneuvers would simulate a chopper that was out of control.

  “Gas masks.” Malone tilted the chopper dizzyingly in the opposite direction.

  Each man had one. They slipped them over their heads.

  “Might as well let Potter and Ahmed have one also,” Malone said. He took off his pilot’s helmet, put on his gas mask, then made the helicopter waver so alarmingly that anybody on the ground would assume it was close to crashing.

  “Hatches!”

  Dillon and the others opened them.

  “Smoke grenades!”

  “Ready!”

  “Do it!”

  Two grenades were dropped to the chopper’s floor. Muffled whumps were followed by sudden gray smoke that filled the chopper. For a moment, Malone feared that he had miscalculated, that the smoke swirling around him would get so thick he wouldn’t be able to see to control the unstable maneuvers he was forcing the chopper to perform. If the charade wasn’t convincing to the guards on Bellasar’s estate …

  Wind from the open hatches cleared the smoke, allowing him to see the estate as the chopper wavered onward. Most of the smoke now billowed outside, making it seem that an accident had happened on board. Malone imagined the frantic questions the radio controller was trying to send him.

  He spun. He tilted. All the while, he moved closer to the buildings and gardens of the estate. He was near enough now to see guards down there. On paths, among trees and shrubs, they stared up in confusion.

  At a height of a thousand feet, he wavered over the estate. Some of the guards ran for cover, afraid the chopper was about to crash on them.

  “Ready?” Malone shouted to the back.

  Dillon opened a box.

  From the corner of his vision, Malone saw him throw out a quart-sized glass container of a type used in laboratories. It tumbled through the air, easily visible because of the white powder in it. As guards hurried to avoid it, the container shattered on a sidewalk. Malone imagined the noise it made and the consternation on the guards’ faces as the powder burst into the air and the day’s breeze carried it toward them. A few whose curiosity was stronger than their apprehension came close to investigate. Malone knew that when they saw the sturdy label keeping some of the shattered pieces of glass together, they would stumble back and panic. Even in English, the message was unmistakable. CAUTION: ANTHRAX. BIOLOGICAL HAZARD. The skull and crossbones symbol was equally unmistakable.

  Smoke spewing from the chopper, Malone tilted toward other areas of the estate. As more glass containers plummeted, he switched his attention toward the tennis court and the area of the first impact. Amid the drifting white powder, guards raced away. He imagined them holding their breath. A few of them shouted warnings. Guards who weren’t near the impact zone put greater distance between them. A container shattered among those guards, who raced in a different direction, while another container broke ahead of them.

  Five, six, seven. As Malone guided the chopper’s erratic path over the property, more and more containers smashed on the grounds, white powder spewing. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen. The mansion, the Cloister, the stable, the swimming pool, and the weapons-testing range had blotches of white on them. Seventeen, eighteen. More guards rushed to escape. Some jumped into vehicles and sped toward the gates.

  Until now, Malone had relied on the double distraction of the apparently about-to-crash chopper and the falling containers to keep the guards from firing at him. Believing they were under attack from a biological weapon, few had overcome their primal fear enough to get off a few shots before they ran in panic. But even a few were too many. Malone assumed that the chopper was armored, but he knew from experience that it wasn’t invulnerable — when he and Sienna had used the other chopper to escape, a barrage of gunfire from the guards had managed to disable it. Now, as bullets whacked against the fuselage, he needed a reinforcement that the estate was under attack from biological and chemical weapons.

  “Kick the smoke grenades out!”

  The men got rid of the ones on the floor. As the air in the chopper cleared, they pulled the pins on other grenades and hurled them to the ground. But these were tear-gas grenades, their dense haze blossoming across lawns and gardens, forcing the guards to race even harder.

  “Close the hatches!”

  Malone sped from the estate, then swung to face it. He flicked four of the switches that had puzzled him earlier. En route from Nice, he had experimented, learning what did what.

  Ports opened on each side of the chopper. Machine guns swung out. If they were anything like what Malone had been familiar with in the military, each was capable of firing six thousand 30-mm rounds a minute. Above them, launchers equipped with 2.75-inch folding-fin rockets emerged. Perfect for the dictator who loves to surprise his enemies, Malone thought.

  Now it was time for Bellasar to get a surprise.

  The haze from the tear gas obscured the grounds. It’ll also obscure the chopper, Malone thought. Firing both machine guns, he swooped down, unable to see the damage he was causing but knowing he was destroying everything in his path. Careful not to hit the château or the Cloister, where Sienna or the biological weapon might be, he launched a rocket. Another. Even with the roar of the chopper, he heard the rockets explode among the guards. When he turned to face the estate from the opposite direction, he saw flames amid the smoke and the tear gas.

  “Potter!”

&
nbsp; No answer.

  “Damn it, Potter, you know what you’re supposed to do! Make the call!”

  Malone attacked again. As the machine guns thundered, so many bullets streaked down at once, they became moving columns of devastation. Behind each, a line of dust and shredded wreckage flew into the air, mixing with the smoke and the gas. He must have hit a munitions area. The shock wave from a huge explosion shook the chopper, creating more smoke, a fireball rising from it.

  “Potter!” Still no answer.

  “So help me God, Potter, if you don’t call him, we’ll throw you out!”

  Muscles cramping with fury, Malone launched another rocket. It streaked toward an antiaircraft bunker. The fiery blast sent concrete and metal flying. Skirting smoke from the crater, spraying guards who aimed toward the chopper, he reached the far end of the estate, swung, and again faced his target.

  Hovering, he glared back at Potter, whose cuffed hands held a cell phone awkwardly to his ear.

  “Yes,” Potter said into the phone. “Six men, plus Malone and Ahmed.” Seeing the rage on Malone’s bruised face, Potter flinched, afraid of what Malone would do to him for telling Bellasar who was in the chopper. “Malone wants to talk to you. Derek, this couldn’t be helped. I’m sorry.” Whatever Bellasar said to him was so insulting that Potter looked like a dog that had been beaten. But humiliation wasn’t all his expression communicated as Dillon took the phone from him and gave it to Malone. Potter’s anger was unmistakable. His voice was strangled. “He shouldn’t talk to me that way. Kill the son of a bitch.”

  Malone sent another rocket into the smoke, the explosion rumbling. Only then did he press the phone to his ear. “Have I got your attention?”

  8

  “Totally.” In the Cloister, Bellasar stared through a window at the smoke-obscured helicopter. Sienna, too dazed to know what he said, lay in a corner. “You’re supposed to be dead,” he said into his cell phone.

  “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “Not at all. It gives me the pleasure of killing you a second time. I assume you’ve come for my wife?”

  “She’d better still be alive.”

  “Or?”

  Through the haze outside, Bellasar saw the blur of a rocket spewing from the helicopter. In a fiery roar, it struck the château’s terrace, flagstones erupting.

  “I’ll have it rebuilt,” Bellasar said into the phone. “I’m not over there, by the way. I’m at the Cloister. But think twice about launching another rocket. The love of your life is in here with me.”

  “She’s alive?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  As Sienna struggled to her feet, Bellasar punched her, knocking her down. Her groan was loud enough to be heard through the phone.

  “I want to talk to her!” Malone said.

  “If she can.” Bellasar peered down at her. “Guess what, my dear? Your boyfriend’s on the phone.”

  Sienna blinked up, dimly comprehending.

  “That’s right. Your boyfriend. The famous artist. He’s come calling. Isn’t that thoughtful of him? Say a few words.” He lowered the phone.

  Frowning as if afraid she was losing her mind, she took it.

  “Hurry, don’t keep him waiting. He’s come quite a distance.”

  She blinked in confusion. Apprehensive that this was a trick, she raised the phone to her ear. “Chase?”

  “Are you all right?”

  “My God, is it really you? I thought you were dead! I thought —”

  Bellasar yanked the phone from her hand. “I said ‘a few words,’ not a speech. Satisfied?” he asked into the phone.

  “Let her go.”

  “I can’t think of a reason why I should.”

  “I can. Do something for me. Call the following telephone number.” Malone recited it.

  The number was so familiar, Bellasar felt uneasy. “What are you —”

  “Just call that number in Paris. An associate of mine is with your next wife and her father.”

  “What?”

  “Unless you do what I want, my associate is going to show them a dossier about your three previous marriages and how you killed your wives. He’s going to tell them how you planned to kill your present wife. He’s going to tell them that you and your sister were lovers, that you murdered her, and that your wives all looked like her. He has photographs.”

  Outrage made Bellasar speechless.

  “Your fiancé won’t be able to bear the sight of you, let alone be married to you. Her father will be so furious about the danger you present to his daughter that he’ll stop supplying weapons to you. Of course, he’s only one of your manufacturers, but a father whose daughter’s honor has been assaulted will spread the word. You’re fanatical about your privacy. It’ll be destroyed. I’m willing to bet other suppliers will stop doing business with you, especially when they find out you’ve been compromised by the CIA.”

  “The CIA?”

  “If anything happens to Sienna, I’m going to spread the word that the CIA knows everything you’re doing, that your business is out of control. No one will trust you. If you want to keep being an arms merchant, you’ll have to sell cheap handguns to dope dealers on street corners.”

  Bellasar glared.

  “Once you lose your power,” Malone said, “everybody you stomped on, everybody who holds a grudge against you, will pay you back. You ruined my life. Now you’re going to find out what it feels like on the other side.”

  “And if I do what you want, the conversations you’re threatening me with will never happen.” Bellasar’s voice was contemptuous.

  “That’s right.”

  “You expect me to believe you won’t tell the woman in Paris? To protect her from me?”

  “You’ll protect her yourself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll break off the relationship. I won’t need to tell her anything.”

  “And in exchange, you get Sienna. But how can I trust the men with you to keep the agreement? Since when does the CIA care about private arrangements?”

  “This isn’t a sanctioned operation. These men work for me. They’ll do as I ask.”

  “And that’ll be the end of it?”

  “Not quite,” Malone said. “You’ve got a biological weapon. The pressure won’t be off you until I make sure it’s destroyed.”

  Bellasar’s fury reached a peak. “I’m bringing her out.”

  He broke the connection and swung toward Sienna. “Get up!” He dragged her to her feet and shoved her from the room. But instead of heading toward the outside door, he forced her downstairs toward the basement.

  And the basement below that one.

  9

  Watching the tear gas disperse, seeing guards regroup, Malone fired a burst from the machine guns. Trees and shrubs blew apart. Bodies flew.

  “It’s been three minutes! Where is he?”

  Strafing the grounds, Malone sped to the landing pad, hovered, turned in a circle, and leveled everything around him. The moment he set down the chopper, Jeb, Dillon, and the others charged out, firing. Although the chopper’s rotors dispersed the tear gas, the men still wore gas masks, hoping to intimidate their opponents by continuing to pretend that the powder they’d dropped was anthrax.

  As Malone hooked tear-gas grenades to his belt, Potter yelled, “What about us? Unlock these handcuffs!”

  Malone didn’t bother answering, just grabbed an assault rifle, jumped down, and raced toward the Cloister.

  Behind him, he heard gunfire, Jeb and his men giving the guards another reason to run from the estate. As a bullet zinged past, Malone ducked to a shattered tree and fired at a guard who showed himself a second too long. Malone’s volley hit him in the chest, knocking him into the swimming pool.

  He scanned the wreckage, searching for other targets. Statues had been decapitated. Ruptured fountains gushed water. There! He fired at a guard who rose to aim from behind the rubble of a column. As the man fell, Malone spun,
saw no other targets, and raced nearer to the Cloister, only to dive behind another shattered tree as the main door swung open.

  “Malone!” Bellasar shouted from inside.

  “Where is she?”

  “Have you still got your cell phone?” Staying hidden, Bellasar shouted numbers.

  What’s he doing? Stomach cramping with apprehension, Malone sank lower behind the shattered tree. He took the phone from his windbreaker and pressed the numbers he’d been given.

  “Chase?” Sienna answered immediately, frightened.

  “Are you okay? Where are you?”

  “In the Cloister’s basement. Locked in a room.”

  “What room?”

  “I don’t know! He blindfolded me once he brought me down here!”

  Malone tried to keep his voice calm. “Don’t be afraid. I’m coming to get you.”

  He pressed the disconnect button and shouted toward the Cloister’s open door, “Bellasar!”

  No response.

  “Bellasar!”

  Silence, except for gunshots in the distance.

  Malone pulled a tear-gas grenade from his belt, freed its pin, and hurled it through the open door.

  Vapor filled the opening.

  He darted toward the side of the Cloister, used the butt of his rifle to smash a basement window, and threw a tear-gas grenade into the opening.

  As vapor filled the room below, he raised his gas mask from where it dangled around his neck. He put it on, knocked the remaining shards from the window, and climbed through. At the bottom, he aimed around the haze-filled room, seeing no targets, hearing no coughing. He rushed to the side of an open doorway, tossed his final grenade into a corridor, and followed it, stalking invisibly through the dense gas. He still didn’t hear any coughing. Bellasar couldn’t have anticipated a tear-gas attack. He wasn’t likely to have had a gas mask in easy reach. Was Bellasar using Sienna as a decoy while he ducked out the back of the building?