Cradle and All
Page 11
Getting out, she stretched her legs.
Steve had brought extra gasoline along, because there were no filling
stations in this part of the country.
There were no rest rooms, either, so he waited while she reconnoitered
the woods.
As she followed the narrow trail he'd indicated, she looked around at
the shiny green vegetation and the bright flowers standing out like
dots of yellow and orange neon among the leaves.
In the underbrush, insects buzzed.
Somewhere in the trees above, birds objected to her intrusion.
As she looked up to find them, she caught sight of a family of monkeys
chattering as they moved away.
Shannon would have enjoyed that.
When they had their daughter back, they'd come here again, she told
herself, striving to hold on to the light mood.
They'd sit here quietly and the birds and animals would come back.
When Abby emerged once more, Steve had spread a madras cloth and laid
out the food.
The hotel had given them flat bread called nan, spicy vegetable salad,
chutney, and tandoori chicken.
Steve watched Abby nibble at a piece of bread.
"You've got to eat more than that."
"I know."
She noticed he'd taken chicken but wasn't mustering much more
enthusiasm for the food than she.
"So how do you think Oliver got mixed up with the ILA?" she asked.
Steve sighed.
"They probably offered him a hefty payment for flying low and avoiding
the border patrols."
"Bringing in what?"
"Weapons. Amarjit Singh wants to overthrow the central govermuent-or
at least destibifin it so that the local regions have more autonomy.
Over the past five or six years, his group has claimed the credit for a
number of assassinations. Maybe they're planning something bigger."
"According to their ransom note, Oliver still has whatever he was
supposed to transport. Nay? II " Well, unless he's changed, he's not
a thief.
The only thing I can figure is that they double-crossed him.
Maybe they tried to take delivery without paying for the job.
Or maybe there was a mix-up about the price.
I know Oliver.
If he thought he was being cheated, he'd keep the merchandise.
"Didn't he realize he was taking a big risk?"
"I guess he thought he could.get away with it-that he could stay out of
their clutches. Meanwhile, he'd be able to locate another buyer."
Abby froze, "Another buyer?- But then how can we get the stuff back?"
Steve looked as if he wished he hadn't spoken so quickly, but his voice
was reassuring.
"I was just speculating. Besides, we're not talking about selling
electric can openers. It takes the right contacts to unload
sophisticated weapons."
"Anyway, he didn't think you were going to get involved."
"Maybe he took the ILA job because they offered him enough to clear his
note with me," Steve grated.
Abby moved over several inches so that her shoulder was touching his.
She knew about Steve's relationship with Oliver.
Steve had come to India looking for a life as different as possible
from the corporate politics and infighting of his family's business in
Baltimore.
Oliver had recognized him as a kindred spirita man willing to take
risks if they made him feel alive.
They'd worked well together.
They'd taken chances, made money and led comfortable lives as exiles in
an exotic culture.
Steve might talk as if he were furious with Oliver Gibbs.
But, even if he couldn't admit it to himself, he was probably wondering
how he could help his old friend out of a mess and still save his
daughter.
Abby hooked her arm around his waist.
She hoped there was some way to do both.
If not, she knew Shannon came first.
With both of them.
It was almost three by the time they reached the unpretentious turnoff
to the property Oliver had purchased outside of a little agricultural
village.
It wasn't where he lived all year 'round.
In fact, he'd always kept the location private for when he needed a
place to lie low.
Several hundred feet from the road, an airstrip rose above what must
have once been a rice field.
Steve pulled up beside the corrugated metal hangar.
Inside was a twin-engine plane.
"He's here! " Abby crowed.
"One of his planes is here," Steve corrected as he went to look inside
the cockpit.
But he appeared satisfied when he climbed back behind the wheel.
And Abby felt some of the terrible tension that had been in her chest
all day ease a little.
They continued up a hill, and she caught a glimpse of a house through
the trees.
Steve sped up, then slammed on the brakes as he came around a curve.
The back end of an old Land Rover was half blocking the rutted road.
The front bumper was buried in the underbrush.
Getting out, he peered into the vehicle.
"It's Oliver's. And I can see some boxes inside."
The windows of the vehicle were rolled up tight, but the door wasn't
locked.
Steve opened it and stepped back quickly.
"What?"
He coughed and slammed the door.
But a heavy, fetid odor was already drifting toward Abby, and several
flies plastered themselves against the window.
Steve pulled a dry branch from a nearby mimosa.
Abby's stomach knotted as she watched him avert his face and open the
door again.
The flies rushed in, settling on the nearest box.
Extending his arm and using the stick, Steve lifted the flap and peered
inside.
"Rotten fruit. And vegetables," he reported as he slammed the door
again.
Abby stared at the box, knowing she'd expected him to find something
much worse.
' ',"Why would he leave a bunch of food to rot?
"Because he left in a hurry and didn't come back.
The question is,'why?
" He looked at Abby as he slipped behind the wheel of their Rover."
Maybe you'd better wait here.
"From the smell of that stuff, it's been in therefor weeks, so I think
we can assume no one's holding him hostage in his bedroom. Maybe he
wanted it to look as if he cleared out in a rush."
Abby swallowed.
'60r maybe that's exactly what he did.
Maybe we're too late.
Steve eased their vehicle around Oliver@s Land Rover.
Then he pressed his foot down on the accelerator.
The wheels spun on the gravel as they lurched forward.
Abby held her breath, hoping they wouldn't run into any more obstacles
along the narrow road.
Luckily, the rest of the way up the hill was clear.
As they rounded the last curve, they came face-to-face with the
dwelling.
It was larger than it had appeared from the main road and was
surrounded by gardens and verandas situated to take the best advantage
of the view.
The effect would have been charming, except that the place had a
forlorn, negl
ected look.
The flower beds were choked with weeds, and debris littered the surface
of the verandas.
Steve cut the motor, reached into the back seat and grabbed a bag that
looked as though it was designed to carry gym shoes.
Instead of a pair of sneakers, however, he pulled out a snub-nosed
pistol.
Abby stared at the weapon.
"Where ... where did you get that?"
"A place I know in New Delhi."
"You don't think Oliver-" "I don't know what to think. He may not be
here at all. There's a place up in the jungle where he could be
1 2 hiding out, but I'm going to check the house first .
Cutting off further conversation, he opened the door and started for
the front porch, gun in hand.
Abby followed closely behind him, unable to shake the sense that
something was terribly wrong.
They climbed the steps, their footsteps ringing hollowly on the wooden
boards.
Steve knocked on the front door.
After waiting half a minute for an answer, he turned the knob and
pushed.
The door swung inward on unused hinges and a wave of heat wafted toward
them.
it was accompanied by an odor not unlike the rotten fruit and
vegetables.
Abby shrank back.
This time she was pretty sure they weren't smelling produce left too
long in a hot vehicle.
She glanced at Steve.
"Stay here."
No.
' He stepped across the threshold and she followed.
ccOllie?
)' The silent house gave no reply.
"I wonder what happened to the servants," Steve mused.
He didn't suggest they split up and search.
Instead they began to move through the house together, starting with
the sitting room.
Oliver favored comfortable wicker furniture with subdued upholstery,
Oriental rugs, and brass ornaments.
Under different circumstances, Abby would have commented favorably on
his taste.
Her tension grew as they walked from room to empty room and then down a
short hall.
Unlike the unkempt exterior, the inside of the house was spotless, as
if someone had tidied up before going on vacation.
"This is his bedroom," Steve said.
in a low voice, stopping before a closed door.
It was the only one that wasn't opened, and Abby's stomach clenched.
Steve must have felt the same sense of foreboding, because his hand
hesitated on the knob.
Then he stepped inside.
When he uttered a low exclamation, she tried to peer around his
shoulder.
"What?"
He didn't answer but moved aside, his eyes fixed on the wide bed about
ten feet from where they stood.
Abby followed his gaze and felt herself go sick and cold all over.
In the center of the mattress, huddled like a frightened child under
the cotton coverlet, was a wizened body.
A corpse.
"Oh, Lord, no."
Abby grabbed at Steve's arm, but he was already moving toward the
bed.
"Is it Oliver?"
Several seconds passed before he answered her question.
"Who else could it be?"
Almost against her will, Abby stepped forward and saw what hadn't been
apparent from the doorway.
A gun was cradled against the man's chest and a rustcolored stain
discolored the front of his dirty khaki shirt.
She must have swayed on her feet, because Steve's arm came up to
support her weight.
" Steady."
She leaned heavily against him, breathing shallowly.
She wanted to get out of the room.
Out of the house.
Away from the lifeless thing on the bed.
Instead she tried to take in more details.
She had met Oliver Gibbs a couple of times and remembered him as a
tall, lively individual, with a boyish grin and curly black hair just
going gray at the temples.
Now it was hard to comprehend that she was looking at the same man.
The dry heat inside the house must have mummified his corpse, shrinking
his body.
His skin had turned dark and leathery and was molded against his skull
so that he looked as if he'd been closer to ninety than forty.
The aging effect was exaggerated by his hair-or rather, the lack of
it.
Only a few strands still clung to the top of his head.
The rest was gone, some of it lying like a dark halo on the pillow.
"He looks like he's been dead for centuries. Like a body in an ancient
tomb," Abby whispered.
Steve nodded.
Then, as if he had suddenly realized he was holding a pistol, he tucked
the weapon into the waistband of his jeans.
"Come on, let's get out of here."
The words released a tide of sickness in Abby's throat.
Gagging, she turned and practically ran back the way they had come.
Outside, she gulped in a deep draft of air.
Steve opened the door of the Range Rover, and she dropped onto the
seat.
As she leaned back against the headrest, she felt cold sweat collecting
on her body.
Steve squatted beside her right knee and she reached for his shoulder,
gripping it tightly.
"What do we do now?" she whispered.
"You're going to sit here and try to feel better. I'm going back
inside."
"No! I I " I've got to see if he's left a note '-or anything that
would explain what's happened.
Abby swallowed.
She should help search, but now that she was outside in the sunshine
and open air, she knew she couldn't force herself back inside.
"Are you going to be okay?"
Steve asked.
"Yes."
He pulled the gun from his waistband.
"You keep this."
"Why?"
"Just in case. I won't need it in there." When Steve had insisted she
learn to use a gun, she'd thought he was being paranoid. Now...
Abby sat with the weapon cradled in her lap as she watched him climb
the stairs.
When he disappeared inside, she pressed her fist against her mouth to
keep from crying out.
In a kind of numb haze, she kept picturing the almost inhuman thing
they'd found on the bed.
For the rest of her life, she was going to remember that grisly
image.
HE'D TOLD ABBY he was coming back to search the house.
Instead he'd been standing in the hallway, unable to shake the grisly
image of his friend's body from his mind- and unable to go back into
the room where they'd found him in bed.
For days his feelings toward Oliver had been swinging wildly between
anger and hope.
Sometimes he'd pictured himself stomping into the house, grabbing the
son of a bitch, and shaking him until his teeth rattled.
He hadn't pictured anything like this.
Ollie might have taken some wild chances and pulled some harebrained
stunts, but he'd always found a way out of the messes he'd gotten
into.
Silently Steve admitted that he'd been counting on that.
Counting on Ollie to help him figure out where Shannon was-and rescue<
br />
her.
One last crazy job together.