“Does the CIA expend this much energy and expense to investigate every small, insignificant religious cult?” she asked.
“Since 9/11, since the sarin gas attack, since Kuala Pohr—remember them?—no one in national security is insane enough to take the chance on letting something slip by. Believe it or not, we’re serious about proactively saving lives.”
Marina looked at him. He’d become intense and irritated. She wondered if he and Bergstrom had been touched by the great ball-dropping between the CIA, the Feds, and the NSA that had resulted in 9/11.
“I see your point in that you have to keep an eye on things,” she conceded. After all, that was part of the reason she’d agreed to help. If something happened to Dad, it’d be on her conscience, along with all the other baggage he already represented. Like she needed anything else weighing her down.
“But I can’t believe Dad would be involved in something like that; and I can’t believe that a small band of earth-worshippers would pose a threat to the any of us. They probably live in caves or huts and live off the land. Harmless.”
“But if they subscribe to the Gaia Hypothesis, which says, according to you, that the earth moves to correct anything that threatens it … perhaps they might find a reason to correct something they perceive as a threat to their goddess. Think of the fundamentalist Muslims—part of the reason we don’t get along is because they believe we are controlled by money, capitalism. And in fact, there is an indication that the Skaladeskas might not be as harmless as you think.”
“Ah. Now we come to the crux of the matter,” Marina replied. “There is something you’ve held back. Why didn’t you tell me this from the beginning, instead of blathering on about Dad’s disappearance and the whole story you gave me about protecting him?”
“That’s Colin’s story. There are some things he hasn’t told me, and I haven’t pushed him because I know he has his reasons. But the fact is, the reason we’re looking for your father, is because there is a possibility that those earthquakes last Friday were man-made. Caused by the Skaladeskas.”
“What? How is that possible? And how could you connect them to it?”
But before he could respond, something snagged her attention. A sharp prickle across her shoulders sent her leaping to her feet. She banged against the rickety table and knocked the book to the floor just as something crashed through the window.
“Get down!” MacNeil yelled, already slamming himself to the floor. Marina dove, and he yanked her down the rest of the way, her head thumping onto the thin rug. Pain smacked into her temple just as she smelled a pouf of sweet-smelling smoke.
She dragged her hand over her mouth, and grabbed at the flannel bedspread that hung next to her face to cover her nose and eyes.
It was too late. The sickening, sweet gas worked quickly and Marina’s eyes spouted tears that streamed down her face. Her head felt like it was in a pool of Jell-O, sluggish and clogged, and before she could turn to look for MacNeil, she lost the battle.
* * *
When Marina regained awareness, it was in a dark, close place. Something warm and solid pressed against her back, crushing her fingers between them. She was sitting, and her arms and legs were immobile. The pain cutting into her wrists was unforgiving metal, but it was tightly-tied rope that confined her ankles together. A rumble under her told her she was in some kind of vehicle that was not only running, but moving.
The sudden jounce of what must have been a pot-hole shoved her against something warm and solid. MacNeil.
She attempted to uncurl her fingers and they brushed against rough flesh that moved, tickling against her. “Gabe?” her voice came out in a soft croak, barely audible above the rumble of the engine.
“You hurt?” his words weren’t much louder.
“No. You?”
“No.”
They both fell silent. It wasn’t necessary to speak the obvious. They didn’t know where they were, where they were going, and what was going to happen. The only thing that was fairly certain was that they had been snatched by the Skaladeskas—or some entity that didn’t want them to find them.
“Can you move at all?” He shifted against her back as he proved that he, at least, was slightly mobile. The warmth went away, then returned in awkward bumps as he tested his mobility, brushing against her.
By now, she’d figured out that they were in the back of a truck, about the size of a UPS delivery truck, she guessed, based on the air space and the fact that she could only touch two walls.
“I’ve got a … .” she grunted as she tried to scoot back toward the sound of scrabbling “ … small light in my pocket.”
“Here.” His voice was closer than she’d expected.
Marina scooted toward him and found that her feet, which were tied together at the ankles, were also tied to something else heavy. Perhaps the wall. “I can’t move any closer. I can lay down so you can get at it. The light’s in my front pocket, left side. If they didn’t frisk me.”
“Okay, lay down.”
She let herself fall backwards, expecting the back of her head to slam onto the floor, but it landed on something warm and solid. His leg. Marina shifted again, and rolled so that her head fell the short distance to the floor with a dull thud. Then he moved, and after much scooting and grunting, she felt him back up to her hip and feel around with his fingers.
Then, another grunt, and he pulled his hand out. “Got it.”
“It’s one of those little micro-lights you squeeze to illuminate,” she explained. “I got it from a catalog that claimed they’re used by the FBI.”
“At least one of us was prepared. Now let’s see how we can get out of here.”
Suddenly, the light came on and Marina found herself looking into MacNeil’s dark blue eyes. They were close enough that she could see his lashes and feel the warmth of his breath. He smiled a little, only inches away, and Marina thought for a moment that he might take advantage of their proximity.
Just then, the truck slammed to a halt. The impact threw both of them to the floor, and the light went out, followed by MacNeil’s curse. “Dammit. Dropped it.”
“Well, at least we got to see for a minute. How about getting my feet untied and I’ll work on yours.”
“Nice idea but—“ He stopped just as the sound of metal scraping against metal grated at the back of the truck. “Play dead!”
They fell against each other as they slumped to the floor, and Marina felt something hard and irregular jamming into the underside of her wrist. She curled her fingers around the small, flat light MacNeil had dropped and managed to shove it into her back pocket.
Then she waited.
The doors opened, and through slitted eyes, Marina saw very little illumination. In other words, it was still night. Or they were in a garage or cave.
There were two of them.
If these were the same guys who’d given them chase in the SUVs, and one of them was in custody, where had the third one been during the car chase?
Setting off a bomb, most likely. Attempting to destroy any evidence at Dad’s house.
They yanked Marina out first, after unlocking the padlock that held her legs attached to a hook on the wall with a bicycle chain. MacNeil wouldn’t have been able to free her anyway, unless he carried lock picks. Someone dragged her out of the truck, banging her hands on the edge before she was thrown over her captor’s shoulder.
Continuing to feign a faint, Marina kept the exclamation of pain deep inside her chest, even though it hurt like hell when her curled fingers clanged into cold metal. She did open her eyes as she was being carried and confirmed that if it wasn’t the dead of night, at least it was just before dawn.
Then she heard the sound of water. Waves, lapping and surging.
She blinked, fast, trying to focus. It was night. It was cool. The wide white swath of moonbeam cut across the pathway below her bobbing head. Water. Not water!
Her breath caught, filling her chest and paralyzing it so sh
e couldn’t exhale. “No.” She couldn’t help it, she started to buck and twist.
Her sudden moves must have surprised her captor, for he lost his grip and she tumbled to the ground. She crashed hip-first onto something hard that knocked the breath out of her and shot pain into her side. Even that didn’t slow her; she rolled as fast as she could, toward the looming trees.
Shouts of exclamation punctuated tramping feet and activity from the two men, and Marina experienced only a moment of reprieve before someone snatched her up again. He tossed her over his shoulder again with enough force that the edge of his shoulder knocked what little breath she had left out of her.
And he trotted along the path. Closer to the sound of waves splashing onto some shoreline.
Marina took a deep breath. Tried to focus. Paralysis threatened to seize her again, but she forced herself to drag in her breath, and send it out; drag it in, send it out.
And then the shift of her captor’s walking rhythm changed. She looked wildly around and saw him step up onto a metal stair that clanged under his shoes. A dock.
Then suddenly, she was falling … she stifled a scream and instinctively held her breath. Instead of a splash, she made a dull thud as she hit the ground, shoulder first. A fish-scented floor of rough plastic carpet scraped her cheek.
A series of thuds told her MacNeil had met the same fate, and in the dim light, she saw the lump of his foot next to her.
The low rumble of a motor broke the silence and a rocking motion told her they were about to set off in a boat.
The chill breeze became stronger as the boat set into motion, thumping over the waves. Her bare arms were cold and numb, and spray from the water splashed over the side of the boat and made the wind feel even colder.
Based on the cool temperatures and healthy waves, Marina assumed they were speeding over Lake Superior. And she had a terrible feeling that they were either going to be visiting the bottom of the lake, or their captors were taking them to Canada.
“Marina.” MacNeil’s voice barely reached her over the roar of the motor.
“Yeah.”
“Just wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt. Nice try back there.”
Marina wanted to laugh at the irony of it. She hadn’t tried anything; that was pure self-preservation. But she wasn’t about to tell MacNeil that. “I’m fine. They’re probably taking us to Canada.”
They must have driven east from the motel where they’d been kidnapped—only four hours from L’Anse would have put them near Sault Sainte Marie, which was on the border of the US and Canada. Transferring them to a boat to go a short distance across Lake Superior would preclude them from having to go through Customs, despite the fact that it was one of the easiest border crossings in the world, and possibly allow them to dock at a private location in Canada.
Frightening how easy it was to take someone out of the country.
A shiver overtook her, and without warning, she was trembling violently on the wet floor. Her teeth clattered together and Marina tried to think of the hot sun, the white beaches of Grand Cayman, a roaring fire, a strong, warm body lined up next to hers … anything to push away the chill that seemed to permeate her body.
The ride was interminable, but it did, at last, end. The rumble of the motor slowed to a purr, the jouncing of the waves became less pronounced, and their captors began to move around.
The boat jolted against the dock, and suddenly the night air emptied of sound as the motor was cut.
A hand closed around one icy arm and yanked Marina to her feet. With a few slashes near her ankles, they were released from their bonds. Her captor shoved her forward and she stumbled on numb feet, falling once more to the rough ground.
He dragged her upright again with a mutter under his breath, but this time he waited until she got her balance before prodding her along.
She could see. The sun was beginning to glow at the edge of the earth and the black of night was giving away to the greys and blues of shapes and shadows.
They walked from the boat onto a wooden dock, then along a narrow path in a thickly-wooded forest. The silence was unnerving.
“What do you want?” Marina finally asked, pausing on the path. They hadn’t dumped their bodies in the lake, they hadn’t shot them or hurt them, so she figured she had a right to ask.
“Keep moving. We will talk soon.” An unfamiliar accent tinged the words of the man behind her.
“Where’s my father?”
“Keep moving. There will be time for talk later.” And this time, a flash of metal appeared in his hand.
Marina didn’t budge. Guns no longer frightened her. Much. “You can unmanacle me. Where am I going to go in the middle of the woods at night? And it’s easier to walk. I’ll be able to move more quickly.” She stood in the middle of the pathway, facing the man who wanted her to move along.
This was her first glimpse of his features, and despite the fact they were by moonlight, she could see well enough to recognize that he was not the same man who’d broken into her house. He was perhaps six feet tall, dark hair (the color was indeterminable in the low light) and an angrily grimacing mouth. His nose had a generous hump in on its bridge, and he was clean-shaven.
“Move.” He brandished the gun.
“Marina.” MacNeil’s voice from back along the path carried a note of warning.
Looking deep into the eyes of her captor with the humped nose, Marina scored her gaze into his. Something almost palpable crackled in the air, and she felt rather than saw his indecision. She felt as if she knew what he was thinking, and spoke instinctively. “My father will have their heads if they harm me.”
Those words surprised her nearly as much as they surprised the man in front of her, if the rapid blinking of his eyes and the blanch of his mouth was any indication. “Now why don’t you make this easier on all of us, and unlock my handcuffs. And his too.”
“There are bears and wolves here. You do not dare to run away,” her captor told her as if to excuse his compliance with her demands. “Bran.” He snapped his finger at the other man, who apparently went by the name of a cereal. His companion, who appeared to be as taken aback by the turn of events, urged MacNeil forward so that the group of four stood in a small circle on the pathway.
He dug in his pocket and withdrew a small ring of keys, and shortly MacNeil and Marina were uncuffed.
She’d probably have to answer just as many questions from MacNeil later as she would for her kidnappers.
“Thank you.”
With that, she turned to continue along the path, sensing that she’d pushed her advantage just as far as it needed to be pushed for the moment.
They walked for over an hour, Marina judged by the position of the waning moon and the faint lightening of the sky to her right. Her chilled skin warmed slightly from the hike, but by the time they reached the paved road that appeared in the middle of the forest, she had resorted to rubbing her hands up and down her bare arms in an effort to warm them. Even in the middle of summer, the temperatures rarely reached above eighty degrees. And most often fell to the forties or lower at night.
The paved road turned out to be not just a road, but a private runway … if the small plane on one end was any indication.
Marina slowed her pace as she realized they were headed for the Piper Mirage, and looked back to catch MacNeil’s eye. Damn. Taking them across the border into Canada wasn’t so bad; they couldn’t be more than a few hours from the US border. But factoring in a plane flight put a whole new spin on things.
“Keep moving or I’ll cuff you again,” growled Bran’s accomplice, whose name Marina had yet to learn. He carried a gun, and as emboldened as she’d been earlier, she wasn’t foolish enough to push his frayed nerves. She’d seen the panic in his eyes when she mentioned Dad.
So Marina led the way to the Mirage that sat like a gleaming white moth at one end of the runway. There wasn’t another building, plane, or hangar in sight. It was as if the plane and its private tak
e-off path had been plopped down in the middle of a forest.
A private plane and its private air strip. Just dandy.
“Who’s going to fly that plane?” she asked, eyeing it with a combination of apprehension and enthusiasm.
“You are.”
-23-
July 9, 2007
Siberia
Lev’s frail hands shook as he faced Roman.
Only less than twenty-four hours ago, he’d confronted him about Viktor’s arrival. Now, he had been made aware of another incident of which Roman had again neglected to apprise him. He thrust his fingers into his lap to hide the emotion he needed to suppress.
Colleen Gleason Page 15
