by Dawn Kunda
“What?” she shouted.
“First, you’re going to have to get ahold of yourself.” She blinked. “Looks like they plan on a flight for us. We have to avoid the air. They could be taking us to a place we have less of a chance to get away from.”
She looked at her hands, her wrists chafed and red. She began rubbing her palms together again. “I might be able to make room to slip my hands out.” Her voice had returned to a forced normal.
He curved his dry lips inward as he thought, then shuffled to sit sideways. “Here, let me help you. If I pull at the rope with my fingers maybe that will help make a gap that you can slip through.” He reached out for her hands as she held them to him. He saw the red sores growing on the outside of her wrists.
He gently slipped one finger on either side of the sores to cushion the pull. With care, he tugged on the ropes. The stiff response didn’t give him much hope. He paused to look under the seats. Reaching his leg forward, he dragged his boot under the front seat with the hope of finding anything to weaken the ropes.
Alina copied his search. “Wait, I think I hit something.” She used the toe of her boot to scoot, inch by inch, whatever it was she’d kicked. “It’s hard to see the floor.”
“Try to not move your body too much. I’m sure someone is watching us.” She gave him a dirty look in response. Her upper body moved in small jerks as she continued to move the object on to the back floor. A five inch piece came into the dim light, and she began to smile. “Look, look. I think we have a knife here!”
Vic craned his neck to get a glimpse as the knife came into view. “I think the blade is broken off.”
“Only part of it. There’s about an inch of blade attached to the handle.”
He looked toward the plane. Three men talked underneath the nose of the craft. “See if you can bend down to grab it, but try not to stay down too long. If they look and see only one shadow, I’m sure we’ll have company within seconds.”
Without a response, Alina leaned over with her head pushed against the back of the front seat. He heard her fingers scraping along the floor.
“Got it. I’ll cut your hands free first.” She reached her arms to his side as he placed his ropes under the blade. With a tentative grip on the knife handle, she sawed and the strands of fiber sprang free one at a time.
He rubbed his wrists as the rope fell between them on the seat. He glanced toward the plane again while he grabbed the knife from her. The inch of blade left on the handle cut through her rope as if the steel had been skillfully sharpened before it broke.
“Now what? Should we run to the woods?” Her eyebrows lifted hopefully.
“No, I think we need to sit still.”
“What?”
He faced forward and hitched his chin toward the men. One clomped through the snow back to the car.
Chapter 22
Vic grabbed her hands and wound the rope around her wrists. The sores on the back of her hands burned at the touch of the stiff fiber again. “I assume we should pretend our hands are still bound?” She whispered as if the man stood outside the vehicle.
He tucked the knife into his jacket pocket. “Exactly. Help me with mine.” She dug for his rope, which had slipped to the crack in the back of the seat. “Please.” She looked up at him, then finished the pretend bondage.
Halfway to the car, the man watched the vehicle.
Looking forward, Vic said, “We need to do our best to not get on that plane.”
“Are we going to try to kill them before they, uh, do something to us?” She didn’t want to admit the possibility out loud.
“They have a lot more man power than us and undoubtedly more fire power, so no.” She waited for his plan, hoping he had one. “I’m not sure what we’re going to do, yet.”
A chill of fear surged through her. “We’re going to die, aren’t we?” She hadn’t fallen in love. She didn’t love him. She didn’t love him. Truly, she wanted to live.
As she repeatedly convinced herself they wouldn’t be killed, the man yanked her door open. “Get out.” He pointed his gun at Vic. “You, get out on this side, too.”
* * * *
Dean Borland flipped his phone closed after another call. “Unbelievable.”
Eben Eikem looked at his partner, waiting to hear Borland’s complaint.
“Unbelievable.” He said it again. Good news didn’t come often today. “Damn it.”
Eikem knew he’d have to ask in order to get the lowdown. “What’s going on?”
Borland paused, shook his head, and said, “Get in the car. I’ll tell you on the way to Arlanda Airport.”
Borland did a U-turn without checking his mirrors for other vehicles. He must think he owns the roads.
On the way back to the highway, Eikem started the conversation. “What’s going on at the airport?”
Borland slapped the steering wheel. “I’d like to know who trains these guys now. I might as well do it all on my own.” He stopped talking and bobbed his head to check for oncoming vehicles before he turned onto the highway. “Those horses’ asses, Denvers and Collier, the agents posted at the airport, let Grant and his whore get away.”
“Did Grant and the woman get on the plane? If they did, we’ll know—”
“No, they left in another car. The sorry-ass-excuse for agents weren’t able to follow.”
“Are there agents stationed in case of this?”
Borland looked to Eikem, then returned his watch to the road. “We’re the ones that are going to get Grant. Denvers and Collier are useless. They might as well be sitting at a desk in Siberia as far as I’m concerned.”
“So, where are we headed?”
“I have an idea, but we need to look at the papers we got from the Easterners first.”
* * * *
Vic saw Alina’s furtive look back as the man pulled her from her side of the car. Vic scooted along the seat to follow. He held his hands together as if the ropes hadn’t been cut away. It was almost harder to hold his palms together and move out of the car with loose ropes than if they hadn’t been taken off.
The man directed the two toward the airplane while walking behind with his gun at the ready. Alina stumbled on the uneven ground mixed with hardened clumps of snow. She kept her hands together, fortunately aware that it was crucial for the man to think he still had complete control.
A runway had been plowed for the landing and takeoff of small planes. The snow pushed off the path formed a small hill along the length. Vic and Alina climbed over the snow, their legs sinking knee-deep at the top.
“Stay here.” The man with the gun left them standing at the side of a plane meant for five or six passengers.
Vic noticed the pilot waited in the cockpit with the engine humming. He had to think fast. He turned around, checking the surroundings for an escape route. All sides looked the same, mostly a mix of pines and boulders protruding from the layer of snow. The lane they’d come in on was the only exit. They’d be caught with ease if they chose to run down the same road.
The man with the gun met with the other man near a shed about two hundred feet and to the left of the back of the plane. The small building leaned to one side and looked to provide nothing more than shelter when weather upheld air traffic. Vic doubted any communication equipment had been installed. This land resembled a farmer’s field lent out to a private plane owner. There could be farmhouse nearby. He didn’t want to involve an innocent family, but Alina and he could hide out in a barn and figure out where they were and what their next move was.
Now he just had to think of a way to get to the alleged house with a barn. He didn’t have a lot of time.
“Alina,” he whispered. She didn’t hear over the racket of the plane. “Alina.” He spoke louder and kept his eyes focused on the men near the shed. “I have an idea, and we have to move fast.” He caught her attention. He motioned with a thrust of his chin to look away from him. The men near the shed watched and couldn’t be alerted to the pro
duction of an escape plan. “I’m pretty sure they won’t shoot us. I’m also sure they want you for some knowledge you have. They’d rather chase us than kill, so here’s what we’re going to do.”
Alina flicked a look his way a couple times during Vic’s instructions. He asked her to do this to assure him she heard what he said.
“Let’s start walking away from the front of the plane.” Vic wanted to look back to see when the men noticed them moving as they stepped away from the nose of the plane, but that would slow them down and he knew without proof the men would be after them soon. They kept their hands loosely placed in front of their bodies to keep their freedom a secret for as long as possible.
A shot skipped the ground to his left. Vic’s heart thudded low, then rebounded near his throat. “Time to run. I didn’t think they’d shoot.”
Alina turned a terrified expression to him. “You’re going to die because I dragged you into helping me.”
He scowled at her. Where’d she get that foolish thought? They didn’t have time to have a discussion to make her feel better. Right now, they had to move. He grabbed her arm and forced her to run down the runway toward the woods.
More shots scooped plumes of snow from the ground near their feet. Vic swore the sound of the plane became louder. He glanced back. The plane had begun to motor after them as a target.
“The plane’s going to run us down. We have to split up,” Vic shouted over the noise. “You go right, into the trees. I’ll head left near the road.”
“How are we going to find each other?” Her voice hiccupped.
“They’ll follow me to the road. Go into the woods and change the directions of your path till you’re pretty far in, and then hide. I’ll find you.” He let go of her arm. “Now go. Run. I’ll find you later.”
He had to believe she’d do what he instructed. Their best bet was to separate away from the direction of the plane. If they continued in front of the aircraft, they’d be underneath it within a matter of seconds. Not to mention the continual bullets peppering the ground around them.
He turned and ran. Alina did the same. The wing of the plane skimmed over his head as he avoided the fatal crash of machinery and human. The sound deafened him, and he nearly thought the plane had got him but he just didn’t know it yet. He leaped the mound of snow at the edge of the runway. Taking a quick glance over his shoulder, he saw Alina had cleared the snow ramp. She headed toward the trees. The plane lifted from the ground. It didn’t have enough room to come to a stop before the tree line. He heard it soar overhead. One less enemy to contend with and a long and unknown destination eliminated for now.
Vic ran to the woods fifty feet to the side of the lane. He steadied his breath, but didn’t have luck calming his racing heart. As he dove into the thick pines, he took one more look to see if Alina had reached the forest on the opposite side of the clearing. All he saw were a few pine boughs bouncing near the ground. He’d take that as an indication that she’d reached cover.
The shots had stopped. The men didn’t have Alina or himself in their sights anymore. He ran through the trees, ducking the branches at shoulder level. Still, he felt the snap of needles and stray twigs connect with his face. He barely cared. More than a few scratches, he cared about life, especially the life of the lovely and intelligent woman he’d nearly shared another night with. He’d not forgive himself if he mixed her up in a deadly situation. He should’ve left her in Gamla and taken the trip alone. She would’ve been better off staying home. He can take care of himself.
He’d also taken care of many of his agents for a number of years. Taking care of a civilian was another matter. Alina didn’t have the training or instincts to outmaneuver an enemy, an enemy with guns and planes and most likely a huge backup of other terrorists. He was sure the men after them, other than his own CIA double agents, had something to do with Alina’s problem.
Who was he kidding? If Alina had stayed home, she’d be an easier target. The murder of her psychiatrist proved the terrorists placed themselves only steps away from her porch. He’d allowed himself to take on a lot more work than he initially planned on this mission to Iraq. Not only did he need to get his agent, Bret Ferrier, out of a failed undercover position in Baghdad, he now had to meet with an Egyptian leader for protection to get into Baghdad. The protection came with a price, and that would be killing the killer of the leader’s daughter. And while he was busy getting retribution for the Egyptian leader, he also had to find Alina’s cousin.
Summing up his predicament, he had to find two people with vague directions of their whereabouts, kill a terrorist, and get himself, Alina, Bret Ferrier, and Christa—he didn’t even know her last name—out of Iraq. The killing of only one person was a conservative estimate. When a terrorist is shot, there’s usually a domino effect and it could be many of them or many of the innocent and good side in retaliation.
He brought his mind back to fleeing and angled his trail, then twisted it around a boulder, and continued away from the clearing. After he ran a half a mile, he’d curve around and head for the woods on the other side of the field. He heard the plane return. It had circled back.
If the men didn’t find and kill Alina and him, the plane meant they might still be on a flight of an unknown destination. He needed to think and plan their next move before his mission had an early ending. The ending wouldn’t be manageable like summer ending early or missing the end of a movie because you lose satellite reception. An early ending to their plan could hardly be better than death with a bit of torture in a number of forms not worth conjuring up the details.
He stopped to collect his breath. When he calmed to a near-normal heart rate, he attuned his ears to the sounds around him. The dark woods didn’t afford much activity. A light crunch of snow and scurry of small night-animal feet barely resonated as he turned his ear to the field he’d left. Distant and broken shouting in a foreign language came from the clearing.
He came up with an alternative idea. Listening, he needed to know where the men were stationed. Circling the field, he began to search for Alina’s hideout. He still considered leaving her behind, in a safe place. Then he would have one less body to worry about. She wouldn’t go along with this idea, but it’d be worth trying.
Chapter 23
Alina tried to keep her nerves in check as the snow soaked through her boots and pine sap–covered branches snagged her jacket. She’d gotten to the trees, and she knew Vic had left the clearing. He chose the more dangerous direction. If she’d had the time, she wouldn’t have let him run toward the road. She should’ve been the one since she hardly doubted the men had come for Vic.
A loud engine roared overhead. She looked up and saw the plane returning. Scanning the trees, her visibility wasn’t more than forty feet on the ground. Her sense of direction needed work, but she was sure of the direction she’d come from. If she navigated around the field, she would run into Vic. Hiding till he came for her didn’t seem to be a good idea with the men gathering back at the field. She’d eliminate wasted time by meeting him.
Ignoring her wet, cold feet, she zigzagged between the trees. Tightening her shoulders, she pretended the chill running through her wasn’t real. Moving would help her stay warm. She rubbed her hands together in front of her even though she’d discarded the rope as soon as she’d entered the woods.
The woods held no light. The dense pine boughs mixed with bare branches covered any light from the moon and the few stars not obscured by gathering clouds. She stumbled over fallen branches and mounds of rocks covered by a blanket of snow. Each time she picked herself up and convinced herself she would run into Vic soon, in a matter of minutes.
When the minutes stretched into ten, then fifteen as best she could calculate, she heard the sound of deliberate and careful footsteps. She paused with the momentum of one foot in midstride. Slowly and quietly she placed her foot down. Squatting low, she dared to back under a pine tree. The branches covered in needles afforded the only place to
hide.
As the footsteps came closer, she held back a reactive whimper and prayed Vic made the sounds. She faced the direction of the crunch of snow and carefully breathed, trying not to make a sound. She should be able to see who it is with another step or two. She waited. The person stopped.
She heard the swivel of feet in the snow. Not seeing who it was, she needed to know if Vic was the person turning away from her. If it wasn’t, it’d be a huge error to let the person know she hid under the tree. It would also be a mistake to let Vic get farther from her.
Moving underneath the tree, even a slight adjustment, would cause the needles to scrape across her jacket. The silence of the forest magnified any sound in the still air.
She let the person leave. She didn’t make another peep. Tears seeped out of her eyes, ready to drop like the dew off a flower petal if she blinked. Sinking back into the base of the tree, she hoped Vic found her hidden in the dark, under the dark tree, with her dark jacket and pants.
If he didn’t come soon, she’d leave on her own. It’d be better for him.
It’s hard not to think while crouching motionless in a still forest. What if the men found Vic? Logic told her this wouldn’t happen, yet if he needed her help she had to meet up with him and make sure she didn’t lead him on her errand to retrieve her cousin only to get himself in the hands of terrorists. It’d be her fault just like the death of Jon Sauhran, her fiancé. That couldn’t happen again. She didn’t know if she’d be able to handle it, and then she’d definitely need a psychiatrist.
Her psychiatrist, Dr. Jane Korbic, was dead. She didn’t have to be near a person, and they’d lose their life because of her. Alina hadn’t taken the need of a psychiatrist seriously, and had only kept her appointments because her government insisted on the help. She hadn’t told Jane Korbic anything that could get her killed, no secrets or top security information. It was a mystery as to why Korbic had been targeted. But again, it was likely Alina had caused the murder.
