Afterglow

by Cherry Adair

  Dakota shook the metal vial case in her hand. “Just did. Strangely,” her eyes shone with excitement, “moving this way. Who would’ve thunk it?”

  He let go of her and stepped back. As much as he wanted the moment to stay frozen in time, and to take her up on her offer of sharing the shower, they were here with a purpose. He wanted to leave at first light, preferring not to be trying to read a map by the beam of the small flashlight.

  They’d bought a map of the area earlier. Rand spread it out on the floor, folding it so that it was a square showing the peninsula of Athos. The area was thirty miles long and about seven miles wide. He shook his head as he realized that he was automatically converting kilometers to miles; old habits died hard. “Show me.”

  Holding her trusty GPS, she sank onto the floor on her knees, leaning over to look. “On the western side and up a bit.” She placed a fingertip on the monastery of Xenofon, then slid her finger a little farther north. “Right about here.”

  Up a bit looked like five or six miles. And while the peninsula was dotted with monasteries, all of them marked on the map, there was nothing in the spot Dakota was indicating. He didn’t ask her if she was positive. If she said the guy was there, he was there.

  He was through doubting Dakota North.

  “I see roads on the map; are we driving?” she asked.

  “Nope. Those roads are more like glorified goat paths. The going would be very slow and we’d stick out like the proverbial sore thumb; we might as well call ahead and tell them we’re coming.” He flipped the map over, pointing to a small inset listing travel services. “We could catch a tourist boat, followed by either a long walk or, according to this, an unreliable thirty-minute bus trip. Followed by another hike.”

  It seemed that every option guaranteed they’d be spotted. He briefly considered an airdrop—but the sound of the plane would alert those on the ground, and it would also involve more people. Right now, Rand trusted no one. Other than Dakota. Well, almost no one. He pulled out his phone.

  “Are you calling a cab?” Dakota sat back and grinned.

  “Calling your boss again.” He reached out and brushed his hand over her bright red hair as the phone was picked up on the other end. “Who do we know with contacts in Greece? Mount Athos area, to be precise,” he asked Zak Stark without preamble.

  “Be more specific,” his friend said, not asking for details about the why and how of Rand’s situation. “I’ll make a call.”

  Rand was very specific, then disconnected. “He’ll call back,” he told Dakota.

  “Zak knows people.”

  “He does indeed.”

  Rand pulled out the travel guide and settled beside her on the floor, leaning against the wall. She lay down, placing her feet in his lap. With an arm flung over her eyes, she ordered, “Read to me.”

  Rand ran a finger up and down the arch of her bare foot. “According to the protocol of the monastic state, only men are allowed to visit Agion Oros, Mount Athos to you, and even then, it’s a lengthy, time-consuming process to be approved for entry.”

  “We’re going to sneak over there?”

  “I’m going to sneak over there with Zak’s help. You are going to stay right here and direct me in.”

  She lifted her arm off her face and gave him an incredulous look. “Are we playing this same song again? Remember the loss of cell phone connection in Paris? What if that happens again? If we lose contact, then you have no clue where to go. They could be anywhere in, what? More than two hundred square miles? That’s ridiculous. I’m going with you.”

  “If we’re caught, it’s going to be ugly. Very ugly. International-incident ugly.” Like dead ugly.

  She put her arm back over her eyes. “Then we better make sure that we aren’t caught. Furthermore, if we don’t catch this bastard and stop him, it’s going to be very ugly for thousands of people.”

  He couldn’t argue with her reasoning, so he settled in to wait for Zak, gently rubbing her feet and enjoying the brief lull in the action.

  Zak called back ten minutes later. “I have the name of a fisherman in Trypiti who’ll give you some useful gear and firepower. He’ll take an extra boat, escort you to Dafni. You’re on your own for the last leg; looks like a little under seven miles from the port to Mount Athos. My friends need more info, but you’ll have backup if you want it. Can you give me something to give them?”

  Rand wasn’t going to say no to backup. His own men were dead or AWOL. He gave Zak a quick rundown of the events to date. When he was done, he snapped his phone shut, gave Dakota’s feet one last squeeze, and announced, “Change of plans.”

  THICK, SCUDDING CLOUDS OBLITERATED the sky as the wind came up, making the watery vista as dark as a witch’s heart. The darkness was oppressive, but it lasted only a few minutes before that batch of clouds blew aside and the stars and moon appeared to light their way again for a few minutes.

  God, Dakota looked at the gleam of white highlighting the choppy waves, we’re in the middle of nowhere. And nowhere was noisy. The slap of the waves on the hull, the splash of oars, the sound of the wind, the thump-thump-thump of her own heartbeat resonating in her ears.

  The little boat, which seemed ridiculously small for the three of them at the start of their journey, now seemed insanely tiny on the vastness of the open water. The fisherman turned off the engine twenty minutes before, and he and Rand were rowing hard against the swells. Wishing there’d been a third set of oars so she didn’t feel useless, Dakota huddled in the middle, hanging on to her seat with both hands for dear life.

  They’d agreed on no talking the closer they got to the steep and rocky coast. Sound carried over the water, their escort had told them when they’d left three hours ago. She didn’t have the energy to spare, anyway.

  Dakota gripped the wood seat on either side of her hips. Not that she could feel it; she’d lost sensation in her hands and feet. Whatever was covered by the black slicker she’d pulled on was wet, and whatever wasn’t covered by the slicker was wetter. The two men didn’t have time to worry about being drenched as they fought the choppy water to keep the boat afloat and in the direction they wanted to go.

  The fisherman sat in back, Rand facing her in the front of the boat. The oars dipped and gleamed in the intermittent moonlight. Silver streamers poured off the oars with each upward stroke. Splash, dip, lift. Rhythmic. Dakota concentrated on Rand’s heavy oilskin jacket.

  She now knew firsthand that one could have claustrophobia in the middle of the ocean. Okay, strictly speaking, it wasn’t the ocean, just a sea. Thank God she wasn’t seasick as well. She wasn’t sure how she wasn’t seasick, because the angry waves slapping against the wooden hull made the boat go not only up and down but side to side. At times, she was sure it levitated.

  If it weren’t for the oppressive sensation caused by her claustrophobia, her fear of drowning at any moment, and the realization that once they set foot on land she could be killed, this would be the adventure of a lifetime. Icy water splashed over her shoulders.

  Against the darkness, the GPS numbers glowed brightly in her mind’s eye. Their quarry was well ahead of them. Barely moving. Had he arrived at his final destination? Their final destination? They were going to find the lab when they reached land, she was sure of it. Sure, and terrified of what, or whom, they’d find.

  As if he knew what she was thinking, Rand leaned forward and gripped her fingers. Wait a minute—why wasn’t he rowing? As much as she wanted his hands on her, right now she’d prefer they were firmly gripping the oars. What on earth was he doing?

  He let go of her hand to wrap his arm around her shoulders. Warmth. Comfort. The bump and scrape as the small boat struck the rocky beach. Rand anticipated their arrival, she had no idea how, since there’d been no indication beforehand.

  He spoke a few low words to the man who’d rowed them across the water; then she helped him untie the second boat from the first with mostly numb fingers, and the two of them climbed ashore. In m
oments, the fisherman was back on the water without a backward wave.

  The wind off the water was cold, and she shivered as she helped Rand slide the even smaller boat up the rocks to the tree line ten feet away. The rocks were slippery underfoot and Dakota moved carefully; this wasn’t the time to twist an ankle, or worse.

  “Okay. You can use the flashlight—keep the beam low, and cover it partially with your fingers. Yeah. Like that.” She held it so he could see to tie the boat to the twisted trunk of an old olive tree.

  Rand shrugged off the backpack he wore and tossed it aside as he started unzipping his slicker. “Sorry, but we need to leave our jackets here for the return trip. We won’t need them when we get up top.”

  She wasn’t too sure about that. It might be summer, but until the sun came up, the wind had a bite. She was already chilled, but she stripped off the slicker. The wind sliced right through her wet clothing, shrinking her skin a size, as she handed him the jacket. “I’m glad to hear that you believe we’ll have a return trip.”

  He stuffed both into the boat, securing them under the bench, then picked up the pack. “Let’s get some branches, make sure the boat’s well covered, and get this show on the road.”

  They broke off a few leafy limbs from the surrounding shrubs to hide the boat, then stood back and waited for the moon to reappear, to see if they needed to add more. After a few minutes, when the moon coyly remained in hiding, they decided there was no more time to waste, and it would have to do.

  The breeze smelled of the ocean—salt and iodine, with a faint tang of licorice. The mastic used in Rapture. So it did grow here. Her heart did a little skip and a jump, a combo of terror and exhilaration.

  Rand took her hand just as she was about to shove it into her armpit for warmth. His fingers closed around hers, warm and strong. “There’s an abandoned monastery just over this rise,” he said, pitching his voice low but carrying over the susurrus of the waves lapping at the smooth stones of the beach. “We can change into our dry clothes there.”

  The incline from the sliver of rocky beach was steep, an almost vertical fifty or sixty feet. Six stories. Dakota gave it an assessing glance when the moon reappeared. Holy hell, it looked dangerous, especially in the dark.

  “Maybe there’s a way around … ?” she suggested hopefully. She’d never gone up anything more arduous than a flight of stairs in heels.

  Rand squeezed her fingers. “Trust me. This is nothing compared to the north face of the Eiger,” he teased. “Come on.”

  He gave her hand a little tug, and they walked to the base. The cliff wasn’t exactly vertical; there was a slight incline, and the face was covered with rocks and small shrubs and grasses. “Plenty of handholds, you’ll do fine.”

  “I’m glad you have that much confidence in my ability,” Dakota told him dryly. “You do remember I’ve never climbed anything in my life, right?” She paused as she considered the unpredictable moonlight. “I suppose I could hold the flashlight in my teeth—”

  “No. We’re exposed out here. I’ll help you. All you have to do is trust me,” Rand assured her, stuffing the backpack under the front of his T-shirt. She winced. It must be icy cold and wet against his skin, but he didn’t even flinch.

  “We’re going up side by side. Grab the back of my jeans with one hand, use the other to grab what you can. Just hold on. I promise I won’t let you fall.”

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Dakota looked up the face of the cliff. “My extra weight will pull you over.”

  “No, you won’t. I’m used to carrying a hundred-pound pack. Hell, one time Gideon Stark and I carried Zak halfway down Mount Reiner when he broke his leg.”

  Dubiously, Dakota curled her fingers into the waistband of his jeans. The wet, cold fabric of his shirt fell over her forearm, but his skin was warm against her cold hand.

  He glanced over at her. “Ready?”

  “You bet. This was on my bucket list.”

  His teeth flashed white. “That’s my girl. Hang on tight. Here we go.”

  He was an experienced climber, with absolutely no fear. This must be very tame for him, she thought, as he talked her through every step and every handhold, waiting to make sure she was okay before going on. It was painstaking going. “If I weren’t here, you’d be leaping from rock to branch, stone to twig, right?”

  “If you weren’t here, this wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.”

  Dakota smiled as she wedged her sneakered toe into the hard dirt and shifted her free hand a little higher. “Liar.” She knew he and the Starks had been climbing buddies for years. Zak had told her about some of the wild adventures they’d gone on. Including Rand’s heroism when he’d carried him down that mountain. This wasn’t even in the same league.

  Holding tightly to his jeans, she placed her feet where he indicated and trusted him to get her to the top safely. He reminded her to pause every time she grabbed a branch for leverage and, when she dug a toe in for purchase, to make sure it would hold her weight. She appreciated his caution. Six stories wasn’t high for him, but it might as well have been Mount Everest for her, and she was grateful for all the help he could give her. And for the darkness that prevented her from looking down.

  Suddenly there was a thump-thump-thump. For a moment, Dakota thought it was her own heartbeat. As she strained to listen, she realized it was the repetitive beat of wood striking wood. Over and over and over again, echoing out of the darkness across the water. It did sound like a rapid heartbeat, and seemingly from all directions. Feeling like Spiderman clinging to the cliff-face she cocked her head. “What is that?”

  SEVENTEEN

  It’s eleven.”

  The sound seemed to be resonating inside her head. Disconcerting. “That’s a clock ?” Dakota whispered, clinging to a prickly shrub. The gong was as good an excuse as any to pause to catch her breath.

  “A semantron, a long wooden cymbal. One of the monks hits it with a mallet every night at eleven o’clock. Used to call an hour of private prayer. Keep moving.”

  She pulled herself up, using her legs and Rand’s momentum. “How do you know that?”

  “Read it back at the hotel. How’re you doing?”

  “Much easier than I thought.” It was only half a fib. When she got home, she’d have to use that gym membership she’d had for a year and used only three times.

  Since Rand was doing most of the heavy lifting, they made it to the top of the bluff without incident. As she climbed the last few feet, Dakota wasn’t surprised to find herself sweating despite the cold, her arms and legs shaking with muscle strain. She was the least athletic person she knew, and she was proud of herself for not shrieking like a girl and begging to be left behind with the boat.

  Rand clambered over the edge, then hoisted her beside him. She took a hasty step away from the drop-off before glancing around to get her bearings. Brushing the dirt off her hands onto the seat of her uncomfortable wet pants, she caught glimpses of the telltale glint of the ocean far below, hearing the soft susurrus of the waves spilling over the rocks.

  It was a very, very long way down.

  They were in a copse of trees, hard to identify, as they were just denser black against the darkness. Whatever the species, the thick foliage sheltered them from the wind, but the damp fabric of her clothes felt clammy and cold. “We should change.”

  “Our helpful fisherman escort said there’s a ruin just through the trees north of here. Let’s go where we’ll be more protected.” He took her hand, opening her fingers. “Your gun, ma’am.” He placed the small .38 in her palm.

  Five bullets were all it held, but it made her feel marginally better. “I hope I don’t have to shoot more than five people,” she whispered, only half-joking as she adjusted her fingers on the grip. When he’d taken it from her in Albania, she’d hoped that was the last time she’d ever have to see it.

  “Or attempt to shoot one person more than five times.”

  “Or shoot anyone at
all,” she murmured fervently. She could barely see him in the dark, but heard him shifting around, presumably arming himself as well.

  “Want this now?” He nudged her arm with her tote, which he’d stuffed into the backpack for the boat trip. She took it, slinging the strap over her shoulder. When this was all over, she was going to find the smallest purse possible, and carry nothing but a key and a lipstick in it.

  Taking her free hand, Rand said, “This way,” very softly, leading her across the ankle-high grasses into the trees.

  “We have a flashlight,” she reminded him as she walked into a low shrub and had to do a little dance to get around it.

  “Tree cover.”

  It was a nifty trick that he could speak so softly and yet she could hear him perfectly well. Walking with him on a windswept bluff in the pitch dark, knowing what they were up against, made her shiver with trepidation. She tightened her fingers in his, and he used his arm to draw her hard against his side.

  Their hips brushed, their thighs moved as one. Dakota could smell the heat of his body and the tangy scent of the soap he’d used in the shower earlier. She wanted to stop. To hit pause, and just stand there with him to enjoy this moment of peace and quiet. Unfortunately, she knew they were in the eye of the storm.

  Zak had promised backup. Where and how, she had no idea. Either way, she was damn glad she and Rand didn’t have to do this—whatever this was—alone.

  The air was warmer as they moved between the trees and smelled strongly of pine, underscored by the smoky, resiny, aromatic scent of the evergreen shrub that produced the mastic for Rapture.

  She touched the side of her purse with her gun hand—wasn’t that a weird observation?—and felt the familiar, smooth oblong of the vial case through the fine-grained leather, saw the numbers gliding through her mind. Moving the heel of her hand, she picked up the second GPS string of numbers from Rand’s sock. Without a map, she didn’t have much information, but knowing Rand was beside her gave her a starting point. The other set of numbers was fairly close as the crow flew. Except she knew that on the peninsula, cut off from the mainland by Mount Athos, hills, rivers, and deep valleys, nothing was as straightforward.