MURDOCK'S LAST STAND

by Beverly Barton

  The two-engine plane landed at the small airport just outside the capital city. She held her breath when an inspector eyed the leather briefcase containing the ransom money. But he passed it along without opening it and they were whisked through customs without a moment's delay.

  Murdock placed his hand in the small of her back and pressed gently. She understood that he was silently praising her for keeping her composure. At that moment, she was thankful for Murdock's presence. Despite her nervousness, she felt reassured by his cool, calm demeanor. He's done this before, she reminded herself. This type of danger is nothing new to him.

  When a rotund, bald, red-faced man introduced himself as Ambassador Hadley, Catherine breathed a sigh of relief. Everything seemed to be running smoothly, going according to schedule.

  Terrence Hadley exchanged a handshake with Murdock, then turned to Catherine. "I have a car waiting to take you directly to General Ramos. He has been notified of your arrival."

  "Have they brought my father here to San Carlos?" she asked.

  Hadley shook his head. "No, I'm afraid Mr. McCroskey is still in Prision de las Puertas al Infierno. There will be no exchange until General Ramos has the money."

  Hadley ushered them through the airport and out into the warm, tropical air. A native in his late forties waited beside an older model black sedan. When he saw them approaching, he rushed forward and took the bags from Murdock, then placed them in the trunk.

  "Manuel will take you to the general's home." Hadley smiled nervously. "It's been arranged for him to be your driver while you're in Zaraza." Then just as Manuel opened the door for her, almost as an afterthought, Hadley said, "He works for the owner of the Hotel Dulce de Rosa."

  At the mention of the hotel, Catherine's eyes widened as she snapped her head around and she and Murdock exchanged a meaningful glance. She understood that Manuel was no ordinary driver, but a member of whatever group worked within the capital city with and for the rebel army, and that the Hotel Dulce de Rosa was a safe haven for rebel sympathizers.

  Once enclosed within the car, Murdock laid the briefcase across his knees. Catherine glanced down at the ransom, then quickly looked away when Manuel slid behind the wheel and started the engine. Before he pulled out into the traffic, Manuel lifted a box off the front seat and handed it to Murdock. Without saying a word, Murdock accepted the box, then laid it in the floorboard. Catherine watched while he removed the lid and retrieved the handgun inside. She bit down on her bottom lip. Another weapon!

  "I thought you already had one," she whispered.

  "That one was for while we were in Lima," he told her. "Couldn't take it aboard the plane this morning."

  "Are you never without a weapon?"

  "Only when I'm buck naked. And then I usually have one close by." He slipped the handgun into his hip holster.

  Catherine wished she hadn't asked, especially when she heard the gruff chuckles coming from Manuel. Damn! The man understood English.

  As they drove along the main thoroughfare of San Carlos, Manuel—in heavily accented English—noted points of interest, as if he were a tour guide and not some sort of undercover agent. When they crossed a Spanish colonial bridge, spanning one of the smaller tributaries of the mighty Amazon, Catherine felt as if she'd stepped back in time. Dwellings spread out over the nearby hillsides and sheep grazed in verdant pastures.

  Within minutes they left the tranquility of the outer valley and entered the municipality, which reminded Catherine of a small, pre-World War II city, dotted with remnants of a wealthy past. From gemlike churches to foliated Baroque portals, San Carlos hinted of a time when she had been a city of good breeding and great style. Although no ravages of war showed on her face, the capital of Zaraza was a beauty well past her prime.

  "Less than thirty miles outside San Carlos there is a jungle," Manuel said. "Remember, señor, that the Rio Negro can lead you deep into the rain forest. Taking a boat downriver is a good way to travel."

  "That's something I'll keep in mind," Murdock said. Catherine grabbed the sleeve of his jacket. "Why did he remind you about alternate modes of travel? Is there any reason why we won't be able to fly out of here?"

  "No reason I know of," Murdock told her. "But I can't be sure of anything, until we're safely across the border."

  Within five minutes they arrived at General Ramos's home, a three-story structure situated on the main street in the old part of San Carlos. Catherine sucked in her breath as she studied the magnificent building, a true masterpiece of late colonial Baroque. Huge, ornately carved wooden doors were crowned by equally intricate patterns that spiraled and curved with elaborate design. Rows of miradores, designed to overlook the town square, hovered above the first-floor windows.

  The moment Manuel stopped the car at the front entrance gates, a uniformed solider stepped forward to inspect the vehicle's occupants. He spoke rapidly in Spanish, directing his inquiries to Murdock, who responded in a distinctive, authoritarian voice. With a wave of his hand, the solider motioned for the gates to be opened. Catherine wanted to ask all sorts of questions, but opted to keep quiet and, per Murdock's instruction, let him do all the talking. Once through the closely guarded entrance, Manuel pulled the old sedan up to the front door. Murdock got out, then assisted Catherine.

  "I will wait there." Manuel nodded toward a row of empty parking places to the left of the home.

  With the briefcase in one hand and the other resting against the small of Catherine's back, Murdock guided her up the steps. Before they reached the top, the double doors creaked open and another uniformed soldier met them.

  Again Catherine remained quiet, listening while Murdock told their names, which she easily understood, but the rest of his conversation was entirely in Spanish, so she assumed that he was informing the soldier that General Ramos was expecting them.

  Once allowed into the house, they were led through the rotunda area and down a long hallway. Catherine hastily absorbed the inner decor and assessed it as being opulent, the furnishings and artwork worth a small fortune. With all this wealth, why did the general need more money? Perhaps because he wouldn't be able to transport the contents of his mansion, if he had to escape the country quickly.

  The soldier knocked before entering, then when a verbal response came from inside, he opened the door for Murdock and Catherine to enter. She heard the heavy rat-a-tat-tat of her own heartbeat and willed herself to be brave. The man she was about to meet held her father's life in his hands.

  Two armed guards flanked the Zarazaian dictator, their rifles ready to defend him at a moment's notice. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but the tall, elegant man standing behind the massive mahogany desk looked more like an aging Latin movie star than a dictator. His white hair swept away from his face in thick waves. A neatly trimmed gray mustache arched over full, smiling lips. And a pair of large, luminous, brown eyes glistened with vibrance.

  "Please, Señora Price, come in. You are most welcome." His command of English was excellent, flawed by only the slightest accent.

  Catherine cleared her throat, but before she could utter one syllable, Murdock stepped between her and the general.

  "Ms. Price has brought the money you requested for Mr. McCroskey's release. Let's dispense with any courtesies, General, and make the exchange."

  "¡Ustedes los norteamericanos!" General Ramos sighed dramatically. "Always in such a hurry." He flashed Catherine a brilliant show of pearly white teeth. "But of course, Señora Price is anxious to see her father again, after so many years."

  Murdock slapped the briefcase down on the desk, removed the key from his pocket, then unlocked and unsnapped the closures. "One hundred thousand in U.S. currency, just as you requested."

  Catherine's mouth rounded in a silent gasp. Why are you giving him the money now? she wanted to scream. Wait! Wait until we know my father is safe. But she remained quiet.

  The general reached out and ran his long, ring-adorned fingers over the neatly stacked hills.
After picking up one bound bundle, he flipped the edges.

  "Feel free to count it," Murdock said. "But I'm sure you know we wouldn't try to cheat you. Ms. Price has no hidden agenda. All she wants is to take her father home with her."

  "Yes, of course." Ramos's smiled turned sinister as his heavy-lidded eyes narrowed. "But what about you, Señor Murdock? I know who and what you are. Why should I trust you?"

  "I'm just one man, General. What could I possibly do?"

  Ramos's smile lightened. "You are right. You could do nothing without forfeiting your own life." He called out loudly in Spanish and a small, bespectacled man came running into the room. The general motioned to the briefcase. The little man hurriedly removed the cash, laid it out on the desk and began counting.

  Murdock glanced at Catherine, giving her a warning look. Stay calm. Keep quiet. Moments ticked by, seeming more like hours, while they waited for the general's accountant to finish his job. Without a word, the little man returned the money to the briefcase and nodded to the general.

  "Your father is in Puertas al Infierno, a facility just outside the city. You can be there in fifteen minutes."

  The general opened a desk drawer, removed an official-looking document, then swept an ink pen up into his hand and placed his signature at the bottom of the page. He brought the papers with him as he rounded the side of his desk. Catherine stepped forward, but once again Murdock blocked her path.

  "You wish me to give this to Señor Murdock?" the general asked. "This document is your father's official pardon. Show this to Colonel Salvatore and he will release your father immediately."

  Catherine nodded agreement. "Yes, please give the document to Mr. Murdock."

  The moment the pardon was in Murdock's hand, Catherine sensed the room beginning to spin around and around. I will not faint. I will not faint. She repeated to herself, as if somehow the litany would protect her.

  "Gracias." Murdock eased his arm around Catherine, giving her trembling body the support he knew she needed.

  Murdock realized she was close to fainting—pretty damn close, if the paleness of her face was any indication. Without any farewells to the general and his private guard, Murdock guided Catherine slowly from the room and out of the grand mansion.

  Manuel whipped the sedan up to the front of the house. Murdock jerked open the back door and shoved Catherine inside, following her immediately.

  "Take us to Puertas al Infierno," Murdock said.

  "Sí, señor."

  Manuel motioned for the guard to open the gate, which he did. The car flew through the entrance and out onto the street.

  Murdock turned to Catherine. "Are you all right?"

  "I will be, as soon as I see my father and we get him out of this godawful country."

  "You did good in there, honey. You kept your mouth shut and let me handle everything. And I know how hard that must have been for you."

  "Why did you just give him the money? How could you be sure he'd sign the pardon and free my father?"

  "I couldn't be sure. But once we entered San Carlos that hundred thousand was already the general's property." Murdock grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. She stared at him with wide, misty blue eyes. Her father's eyes, Murdock thought. "I admit it was a gamble just coming to Zaraza, but the odds were in our favor. By releasing your father, Ramos thinks he's buying himself a little goodwill with the U.S. After all, he's going to need somewhere to go when this war finally ends. Believe me, he won't stick around for the final showdown." He released his hold on her chin, but let the back of his hand skim the length of her smooth neck.

  She swallowed hard, then asked, "You don't honestly think our government will give that man sanctuary, do you?"

  "It's possible."

  Turning from Murdock, Catherine leaned her head back against the seat and looked out the window. Already they were zipping down a back street, heading out of town. In a few minutes she would see her father again. After twenty-five years!

  * * *

  Murdock demanded that she stay in the car and wait. She started to protest, but one good look at the gray walls of Prision de las Puertas al Infierno, which Murdock had told her meant Hell's Gate Prison, and she acquiesced willingly. Just the name of the prison conjured up horrific images. The thought of what her father might have experienced during his twenty years of imprisonment behind those high walls nauseated her.

  Before he left her, Murdock gave Manuel instructions in Spanish. By translating the few words she knew, she suspected he had told Manuel that if he didn't return, to get Señora Price to safety as quickly as possible. Murdock leaned into the back seat, clasped the back of her neck in his big hand and drew her to him.

  "It's been real interesting getting to know you, Cat." The kiss was fast, hard and breath-robbing. Before she could pull herself together for a response, he shut the door and walked away.

  She rolled down the window and called out to him. "Aloysius!"

  He glanced back over his shoulder.

  "I'll be waiting for you … and my father."

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  « ^ »

  Catherine checked her watch for what seemed like the hundredth time. The minutes passed slowly, every second a nerve-racking eternity. Murdock had been inside the prison for nearly an hour. Dear God, what if something had gone wrong? What if her father was dead? What if they had detained Murdock with the intention of keeping him? No matter what happened, she couldn't just leave them here. If something had gone wrong and Murdock didn't show up soon, she'd ask Manuel to drive her back to San Carlos to the American Embassy. She would demand help from Terrence Hadley.

  "Señora, you wish music?" Manuel looked at her with concern and compassion.

  "Music?"

  "Sí, the radio." His brown fingers twisted the dial of the car's radio. "Good music."

  "Oh. No. Gracias." She realized that the man was trying, by whatever means necessary, to take her mind off their long wait. "Manuel, do you suppose something's gone wrong?"

  He shook his head. "No. Nothing is wrong. Señor Murdock, he be back soon.

  She forced a weak smile to her lips. Did Manuel believe what he'd said or was he simply trying to convince her?

  "How—how long did Mr. Murdock tell you to wait, before … before…"

  "Do not worry. I will take you to Hotel Dulce de Rosa to keep you safe. In two hours." Manuel tapped the face of his wristwatch. "One hour more.

  Even with all the windows rolled down, heat inside the car became stifling. Sweat coated her skin. Beads of perspiration speckled her forehead and collected beneath and between her breasts. She removed a tissue from her purse and wiped her face.

  With each anxious heartbeat, the blood rushing through her veins sang loudly in her ears. She could also hear Manuel's breathing, as if the stillness surrounding them somehow intensified the sound. Somewhere in the distance a clap of thunder echoed. And nearer, the call of an unknown bird carried shrilly on the warm, humid wind.

  She opened the door, to let in more air. Manuel stirred, but didn't speak when he saw that she remained in the back seat. Glancing outside on the ground, she noticed a small, black insect crawling over the gravel. The hug was helpless against animals and humans alike, all capable of ending its life with one stomp of a large foot. She sympathized with the tiny creature, for at that very moment she felt entirely helpless, completely at the mercy of others.

  Suddenly the gates through which Murdock had been admitted over an hour earlier opened to reveal three prison guards. When Catherine thrust her legs out of the car, Manuel reached across the seat and grabbed her arm. When she glanced back at him, he shook his head.

  "Wait, señora."

  She waited. The guards separated. Two flanked the open gateway, their rifles held across their chests, while the third marched toward the sedan. Catherine held her breath. What was happening? she wondered.

  And then she saw Murdock emerge from behind the prison walls. Her hear
t leaped into her throat and stopped beating for one infinite second. Time stood still. Murdock carried something in his arms. Merciful God, he was carrying a man. A scrawny, gray-haired man dressed in rags.

  Her father!

  Catherine jumped out of the car and rushed toward Murdock. The third guard stepped out of her way, allowing her to run past him. She stumbled once, her footsteps hindered by the rough gravel road. When she neared Murdock, she slowed her pace. Their gazes met and locked. A sadness almost beyond enduring passed between them.

  "Get back in the car," he told her. "In the front seat with Manuel."

  She hesitated, wanting to see her father, wanting to find out if he was dead or alive and if she could do anything to help. Not now. Later! an inner voice cautioned her. Follow Murdock's instructions. Don't question his authority.

  Catherine scurried quickly back to the car. She slid into the front seat and watched, while Murdock eased her father's frail body into the back seat and then climbed in beside him. Murdock handled her father gently, as if he were a small child. The tender compassion with which this big, robust man cared for his friend revealed an unexpected side of Murdock's personality that touched her heart.

  "Go. Now!" Murdock ordered.

  As Manuel backed up and headed the car away from Prision de las Puertas al Infierno, Catherine turned around in her seat and took a good, hard look at Lanny McCroskey. Or what remained of the man she remembered as Lanny McCroskey. A horrible stench filled the interior of the vehicle. A combination of sweat, soured food, human waste, and dried blood clung to her father's clothes and body. Catherine covered her nose and mouth with her hand. Nausea rose in her throat.

  Her father's head lay in Murdock's lap. Lanny's hair had grayed and thinned and hung in long, matted strands over his shoulders. Deep crevices lined his once handsome face. Skin that years ago had been tanned and healthy was now parchment thin and sallow. His filthy shirt and pants, constructed of some coarse, tan cotton fabric, contained numerous rips and tears.