by Karin Story
Damn, this wasn't good. She had to find Tom and get out of here. Her throat tightened at the thought that she had no proof he was really alive. She was afraid it was more wishful thinking than anything, but she had to make sure. If he was here, she'd find him.
With a grimace of satisfaction, she discovered the power source for the video system and shut it down. If there was an alarm attached, there wasn't much she could do about it, but at least she might keep someone from seeing things for a while.
Five minutes later she'd searched every room and no Tom.
What if he was downstairs where she'd been held? That only made sense. But how in God's name was she going to go back through that closet into the Narnia from hell?
Chapter 26
* * *
Think. Organize. That's how you're going to do it. Mind over matter.
Rummaging through the drawers in the control room and the remainder of the house, she unearthed a variety of useful items. As quickly as she could, she gathered it all together and thrust it into an army green duffel bag she'd discovered on the top shelf of the "closet."
Two flashlights. A handful of stubby white candles and a book of matches placed in a Ziploc bag. A stout length of rope. An extra set of batteries. A couple of plastic water bottles, which she filled from the tap at the kitchen sink. A small vial of water purifying tablets. A loaf of hard, crusty French bread. A small jar of caviar. Two Snickers bars. And three packages of instant Cream of Wheat. Not much, but that was all she could find that wouldn't spoil.
A nine millimeter handgun, not unlike the one she'd lost when she'd been kidnapped, fit nicely down into the back of her jeans. Two spare magazines accompanied it along with several boxes of ammo. She took them all.
And last, but certainly not least, an AK-47 assault rifle. A heavy, bulky piece, Maris had actually fired one before. The Navy SEAL friend of her dad's who'd taught her self defense when they were in Egypt had a vast collection of arms. At some point, she'd fired everything he had at least once. It had been years, but there were some things that weren't easily forgotten. To a fourteen-year-old girl, firing the Kalashnikov was one of them.
Mounting the duffel bag like a backpack, and slinging the rifle over her shoulder, she took a deep breath, flicked on one of the flashlights and reentered hell.
* * *
Tom dragged the soldier's heavy, limp body into an empty room and shut the door on it.
He rubbed his temples, trying to press the pain out of them, but the headache was there, as always. And a damn good thing it was, too. It meant he was conscious, and that Trent's preference in drugs hadn't changed.
He'd been counting on that.
He hadn't been able to control himself earlier, and had been hell-bent on strangling the bastard. But Trent had fallen back on his "tranquilizer" routine, never having realized that his drug of choice only had a mild effect on Tom.
The soldier who'd drugged him and hauled him out of Montgomery's house had been taken totally by surprise as he unlocked the door to the bunker that housed Tom's cell and Chen's studio. He hadn't even felt his neck snap, most likely. But as always, in situations like this, Tom didn't dwell on that aspect of it. He couldn't.
Shoving the assortment of weapons he'd procured from the soldier into the various pockets of the fatigue pants he wore, he slipped out the door and made his way quietly back toward the house.
He ducked behind a storage shed until the helicopter lifted off and was well on its way. The whir of the rotor blades in the dark stirred up a wind that whipped the muggy jungle air around without cooling anything. The dampness made his black T-shirt stick to his skin.
A part of him wanted to be on that chopper so he could finish off Trent Montgomery once and for all. But right now, he had to find Maris before Chen hurt her. And to do that, he needed to get into the house.
He had no idea where Satan was keeping Mare, but the house was the best bet. He'd seen a door off the kitchen as he'd lunged at Trent. It was where the soldier who'd stabbed him with the needle had come from. That room beyond the kitchen was his goal. If the soldier came out of there, it was a good bet that's where Trent kept his surveillance equipment. And he knew Trent well enough to know that he would have plenty of surveillance equipment.
Damn it, though. The question was, how many soldiers were roaming this place? And what about transportation out of here? Aside from the helicopter, he'd seen nothing else. Strange. Unless that's exactly what Trent wanted.
When he'd gotten into the limo in front of the cantina, they'd left Mexico City and driven to a small airfield. From there, they'd transferred to the helicopter. He'd been blindfolded while they were in flight, and all he knew was that they'd been in the air for an extended period of time. He had no sense of direction at all. They could be anywhere in Mexico.
He'd never seen this place before, which meant it was probably Trent's private hideaway. He wouldn't want Cardoza, or anyone except a select few of his loyal men, to know about it. If it was only accessible by air, it would remain safe from prying eyes.
But this also presented a problem. If the helicopter was the only way out, how in the hell were he and Maris going to escape?
First things first. He needed to get to the house.
He considered creating a distraction, but decided it would only attract unwanted attention. The last thing he wanted was to alert them to his escape and put them on his heels all the more quickly.
No, he had to get in as quietly as possible, and just pray like hell that Trent only had a handful of men hanging about.
Two soldiers patrolled the area around the helipad, but they walked side by side and appeared to be conversing. All the better.
Waiting until their backs were turned, he sprinted across the clearing and dodged into the thick growth near the house.
The house itself was an intriguing combination of stone and brick, and the best he could tell in the dark, its coloring blended with the vegetation around it. Unless someone was standing right in front of it, it would be nearly invisible. And from the air, it was probably nonexistent. Montgomery was creative. Tom had to give him that much.
With one last look around, and praying that the soldier who'd drugged him and half-carried him out to the bunker had been the only one in the house, he climbed over the wrought-iron railing around the porch and neatly slipped through the front door. He kept the Glock handgun he'd filched from the soldier trained on the room.
He could see the door in the kitchen. It stood slightly ajar.
Treading quietly and quickly across the room, he peered inside the cramped cubicle. Totally empty, and just as he'd thought, it was the surveillance room.
He hesitated. All the equipment was shut down. Why?
A quick search of the rest of the house showed him to be alone. He returned to the bank of blank screens. Finding the main switch, he powered everything up, and as the quiet whine of electronic equipment filled the room, he wondered again why it had all been shut off.
Slowly, the screens blinked on. Multiple views of the exterior of the house. There was the helipad. And on the bottom left, the view that had tormented him for days.
It looked as if Maris was in bed, with the covers pulled up over her. He saw no movement. Had Chen finished already?
Tom touched his fingertips to the monitor as if he could reach her somehow. Cold sickness cramped his stomach. What if she were dead?
Where the hell was her room? He'd searched the whole house. There'd been three or four bedrooms, a library, and the main room, but he hadn't seen any other place where she could be.
Gripping the laminated cabinet edge to steady himself, he forced himself to rethink his path to the house. What else had been out there?
Not much. The bunker. The small storage shed he'd hidden behind. The helipad.
He'd been through the bunker several times, escorted by two soldiers between the studio and his cell. To the best of his knowledge, his cell was the only separate room. Chen's studio
occupied the rest of the small building.
The storage shed wasn't big enough to accommodate the furnishings he saw in the monitor view of her room. No, there was no way she could be outside the house.
So, where the hell was Montgomery keeping her?
Black waves of fear swept through him, making the sharp pain in his skull nearly unbearable. What if he was holding her in another location? There was no way to tell from the damn video monitors. Their views could come from anywhere on earth.
No, wait a minute. Maris had to be somewhere nearby. Because of Chen.
Chen was an artist of many talents. While he delighted in creating his "masterpiece," he was also an exceptional gourmet. He'd been here at dinner time. The prime rib had been perfectly prepared, not that Tom had been able to choke down more than a couple bites.
Damn it! He'd tear this place apart if he had to, but Maris was here somewhere. He checked the watch on his wrist—also compliments of the dead soldier. He'd been in the house less than five minutes.
Again, he studied the monitor of Maris's room. Still no movement from the form on the bed. Please God, let her be alive.
Methodically he searched the house interior. No door, window, or cubby hole evaded his attention.
All right, think about Trent. He had this nice little hideaway out here that probably no one but he and his select few knew about. But he was a cautious man. No, he was downright paranoid. And he had no love for Cardoza.
A slow smile turned up his lips. "If I were Trent, I'd have a back door. A way to get out should my hideaway be discovered"
He searched the house again, this time paying particular attention to the floor, listening for squeaks or rattles, looking in closets, and behind heavy pieces of furniture. At last his inspection brought him to the coat closet.
Strange…having coats in the middle of a jungle.
Shoving them aside, he discovered the door. The back door.
The dank, damp smell of underground hit him in the face when the door was thrown open. It hadn't been locked.
And it was dark as a demon's maw. The light filtering through the door from the living room gave off enough light that he could see a flight of steps leading downward.
Fifteen steps down and he found himself in a dirt-floored corridor.
Tom scanned the walls around the foot of the steps. Dirt on one side and wood paneling on the other. This was little more than a long, dug-out basement. Something brushed against his face and he reached up to feel a dangling string. A light. A yank on it produced nothing, however. Damn it!
This was typical of Trent, however. One of his favorite games was to keep a prisoner in the dark. Literally.
But now he'd have to muck his way around down here in the inky blackness. The light coming through the closet at the top of the stairs was minimal. He could go back for a flashlight, but time was wasting. He had to find Maris.
Walking slowly along the wood-paneled side of the corridor, his gun drawn, he used his hands to feel for doors. He came to two that were locked tightly. He wanted to shoot them open to make sure Mare wasn't in there. But he let prudence reign for the moment. He'd check the whole corridor first before he started making a lot of noise that might bring trouble.
Coming to the third door, he tried it and found it unlocked.
His gun at the ready, he threw it open, prepared for the worst.
The room stood empty and silent except for a table with a video monitor showing Maris's room. Another door stood on the opposite side of the tiny room. It had to be hers.
In an explosion of rage, he shoved the monitor off the table, watching with satisfaction as the screen shattered on the concrete floor. The smirking son-of-a-bitch wouldn't watch his Maris anymore.
Stepping over the mess on the floor, he tried the knob on the door, knowing it would be locked. It was. No longer hesitant, he fired at the doorframe near the knob and the deadbolt.
Then with a sharp kick, the door gave way.
The figure under the sheets didn't move.
Already choking on the lump in his throat, he crossed to the bed. A rivulet of blood stood out against the whiteness of the sheets as it trickled onto the floor. More blood stains smeared the tile.
Oh, God. He was too late.
In a catatonic blur, he knelt down and pulled back the blankets.
Jesus Christ!
Crimson pooled everywhere on the bed. But under no circumstances could he mistake the small Asian man for the woman he loved.
A closer look revealed the deep stab wounds in the neck. Ugly, but effective. His only regret was that he hadn't had the honor of killing the little maggot himself. Still, dead was dead, he thought with a grim smile. He truly hoped Chen would rot in hell.
But where was Maris?
Suddenly a vision sprang to mind of Maris in Chen's clutches.
Good God, was it possible?
It had to be. Maris and Chen had been the only two people in this room when he'd been dragged away from the big screen in Trent's living room. And now Chen was here alone. Dead. And Maris was gone. The woman was truly irrepressible.
He turned swiftly on his heel, leaving his torturer to gel in his own blood.
* * *
Maris flattened herself into the natural crevice in the wall, and watched as the soldier reappeared from her old cell. Clearly, the little python had just been discovered in her bed, and her freedom was no longer a certainty.
Damn. She still hadn't found Tom. Where was he? Not down here, that was for sure.
Not far past her room, the hallway became more of a tunnel that gradually sloped and curved downward another couple of hundred yards or so, then abruptly ended at an underground stream. That's why it was so damp down here.
She'd been on her way back to the closet when the door at the top of the stairs had swung open.
The soldier had tried all the doors until he came to hers. She hadn't thought to relock the outer door of her cell as she left. She'd been suffocated by the damn darkness.
She held her breath and hoped he'd go back up the way he came. But in either case, she was trapped. Even if he did leave and not discover her hiding place, she obviously couldn't follow him up the stairs. As far as she knew, that place might be crawling with people by now.
The soldier headed in her direction.
Her pulse skyrocketed, but that same mantle of calm she'd felt in the room with the nasty little python settled over her again.
It was her life or the soldier's.
He didn't have a flashlight, but he'd left the door to her cell open and some of that light flooded into the hallway, casting an eerie glow on the dirt walls across from the room. But not enough of a glow to carry to where she hid.
Stealthily, he traveled the dirt floor, taking cautious, yet sure steps. Each one bringing him closer to her. He was close enough now that she could hear his breathing. Yet to her, he wasn't human. He was only an obstacle between her and freedom.
Plastering herself more tightly against the wall, glad that her dark clothes blended in, and careful to take slow, shallow breaths so he wouldn't hear her, she waited.
At last he was abreast of her.
She held her breath.
Watching as he passed, she counted to ten. Then she stepped out into the tunnel, the assault rifle aimed dead center on his back.
Instantly, he swung around, and a red laser dot centered on her chest.
She froze.
Her heart stopped beating.
Dead silence echoed through the earthen corridor.
"Maris?" a deep hoarse voice said. And suddenly, the red dot on her chest disappeared.
Tom!
Swinging the rifle onto her back, she lunged at him. He caught her in midair, clutching her to him so tightly she could barely breathe. His scent swirled around her, embracing her as completely as his arms did. And in that instant she wouldn't have given a damn if the whole Mexican army charged in.
He set her back on her feet, then took
her face between his hands. Only inches from her, he took her breath away.
"God, baby, are you okay?"
She could only nod, her throat closed up with emotion. But finally she choked out, "Are you?"
He pulled her hard against him again, and breathed into her hair. "I am now."
A shouted obscenity from the closet, some forty yards away, pulled them apart.
Tom grabbed the bag off her shoulders and slid it onto his with a grimace. He closed his long fingers around hers. "Let's go," and led her away from the stairs.
"But there's nothing down here. It's a dead end," she panted as he pulled her along next to him at a jog.
"There'll be a way out," he said confidently.
"But I've been there," she insisted. "It dead ends at an underground stream."
"Then we'll go for a swim."
Another voice joined the first behind them. Damn it. She hoped he knew what he was doing.
At last, they slid to a stop in the darkness when the sound of water gurgled in front of them. A bout of panic welled up inside her and she had to struggle to keep it in check. They were once again in total darkness.
Her breathing grew more and more shallow, and it took all her focus to keep from hyperventilating.
"Do you have a flashlight?" he whispered in her ear.
She gulped. "Yes."
"It's okay, switch it on. We went around a bend. They won't be able to see it if we just use it briefly." His hands grasped hers and squeezed, giving her reassurance. "It's okay. Turn it on for a sec, Mare. We need to get a lay of the land."
With shaking hands, she drew the flashlight out of the front of her jeans and clicked it on.
"Point it down," Tom said softly.
Unable to think straight, she did as she was told. The light comforted her, yet caused her heart to run wildly for fear the soldiers would see it.
"Okay, turn it off now."
With a deep breath, she did. The darkness crushed her harder than ever.
"Hold my hand and follow me. Whatever you do, don't let go, okay?"
