by Amy Faye
He smiled at the thought. Probably, at least. It was a good guess. He hoped. She looked good. He wondered silently if she knew precisely how good she looked. There was no way, right? Nobody ever did. They always thought that they were perfectly average.
“You look really good,” he said. He saw the words slide like rain off her back. But it was the best he could do.
“Thanks.”
“I mean it.” Blake stood up. The dress hung loosely around her. She could be carrying an M-16 if she wanted to be, and unless someone frisked her, there was really no way of knowing by looking. “You look amazing. You always do.”
“Well, thank you.” She smiled. He still doubted that she was taking him very seriously. He wasn’t about to get into a fight with her about it. Not when all he wanted to do was compliment her a little bit. It wasn’t worth it.
“You’re sure about this?”
“Leaving? I don’t have much choice.”
“I can make sure that you stay safe.”
She got a look on her face that Blake immediately recognized as holding something back.
“What?”
“You’ve got so much trouble here. You can’t even… no, I’m sorry. That was mean.”
“Can’t even what?”
“You need to worry about your own people right now. You don’t need to be worrying about me.”
“I’m going to worry about you either way. At least if you stay here, I can keep you safe.”
“I’ll be safe in the states.”
Blake took a deep breath. “I know. I’m just worried. What if something happened on the way?”
“Blake Prince. Are you worrying about a woman?”
“I’m worrying about you.”
She looked up at him. He looked down at her. He made no effort to hide the pained expression on his face.
“Well, there’s nothing to worry about, okay?”
“I wish I believed that were true.”
“Then believe it. Simple as that.”
“I don’t think it’s as easy as you’re making it sound. Someone tried to kill you. Someone tried to kill you while I was out. Which means that they’re not just after me. They’re after you, too.”
“No,” Lara agreed. “They’re not just after you. They’re after everyone. They want you gone. Want me gone. Every one of your men.”
Blake’s frown deepened. “I know.”
“So by leaving, they’re getting everything they wanted.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you so worried?”
“You know why.”
“Tell me.”
“Because…” The words caught in his throat. He’d barely known her for two weeks. She’d spent most of that hating him. How was he supposed to tell her about an uncertain, halfway sort of feeling? One he wasn’t even really sure what to call himself? “Because I promised I’d keep you safe.”
The words sounded like a lie to his own ears. Lara looked like she heard it, too. But she didn’t call him on it.
“You going to take me to the airport?”
“Sure. Hey, take my phone real quick, will you?” Blake unlocked it with his thumb print and opened the browser. “Buy a plane ticket. Should be a bookmark. Do it while we drive.”
“Okay?” Lara pinned the scarf around her head. She looked almost proper. The deep navy blue looked good on her; trimmed by gold, it was a good look for her even if she wasn’t comfortable with it.
Then she picked the phone back up and followed him out the door. He could hear her nails clicking on the glass screen.
“Payment information?”
“Should be saved.”
“Yep,” she confirmed a moment later. “Got it.”
“Good.”
Blake opened her door first and then crossed around and opened his own door and slid inside in a single easy motion. There was a half-hour drive, if he took his time. They would have plenty of time, though. He knew that much, at least.
Lara slid in beside him. He heard her fingers tap once more on the screen. Her hand froze halfway to the seatbelt. “That’s him,” she said.
“What?”
“That’s the guy.”
“What’s the guy?”
“Your, uh… wallpaper. That’s the guy. Right there.”
Blake took the phone from her.
“Which guy?”
“Right there,” she said. She tapped a face with a hand. They were all familiar faces. The photo had been taken when they first formed the Knights Templar. The founding members, before they started hiring anyone.
The man she pointed at was directly on his right, their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders. Ray Sandusky had never smiled so wide as he had that day. And apparently, if Lara was to be believed, he was responsible for nearly murdering her.
Seventeen
Lara didn’t want there to be an ounce of confusion. As far as she was concerned, Blake did everything right. He drove her all the way. He walked her through the door. Right up to the security gate. He turned away and watched her for twenty minutes while she disappeared through the security checkpoints.
It was the best that anyone could have expected under the circumstances. There was nobody who would or could have done any more.
She was safe. Free and clear. She was in completely new clothes, her hair was covered, and she bought a pair of dark glasses on the way in to mask her appearance even further. Nobody could have hoped to recognize her.
A man, tall, African, and wearing a airline company uniform, was walking around talking to people. He had a smile on his face. Very polite, very gregarious. He would stop at every group, talk a little bit, and move on. Sometimes he would get more than just a one-word response, she could tell. She watched him because he was the only thing that made her remotely nervous in the entire place. Everyone else kept to themselves.
Someone asked him a question. She could hear the inflection in their voice, and she saw the look on the African man’s face twist into concern. Then he nodded and started answering without missing a beat. He pointed down, away from the terminal. Lara didn’t know what, but that was the problem when you didn’t speak Arabic in Syria. You don’t know much of what’s going on.
The man walked to another group. He said his business. He was closer, now. She could make out the words. They were in Arabic, spoken quickly and easily. One of them responded. The others laughed. The African laughed with them even as he walked away. Lara watched him. He was probably just asking if everyone was doing well. He was heading towards her, and when he did, she’d just tell him she was fine.
He spent another ten minutes before he finally did make his way over to her. He brought that smile with him. He looked like he was having a good time. Lara wondered whether or not she looked like this when she was working.
He stayed at a comfortable distance, which put her immediately at ease. He said something in Arabic.
“I’m fine,” she said. She didn’t say it in Arabic, because she couldn’t. And she didn’t know the question in the first place, really.
“You don’t know what I said, do you?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You speak English, yes?”
He had an accent. It wasn’t Syrian. She guessed that he wasn’t just African in appearance.
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
“I said, are you American?”
“Uh… I’m sorry, why?”
“Miss Winters?”
“What? Who?”
“Please, Miss Winters, don’t make this any harder than it needs to be. There’s a problem with your seat. I was asked to come and make sure that you are brought to the customer service desk to resolve the issue. Is that amenable?”
Oh. A problem with her seat. Of course. That made a good amount of sense. If she’d realized that, then there wouldn’t have been so much worry. She’d been on the run for what felt like the last two solid days.
Before a month ago, she’d never have th
ought a single thing about it. But now she was getting paranoid. She stood up.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand what you wanted.”
“I’m glad that we could get the problem… ‘squared away’ without trouble.”
He put emphasis on squared away in the way that non-native speakers sometimes do, with idioms. She followed three or four steps behind him, a little off to the right. He didn’t turn to watch her beyond the first couple of steps.
Once she’d gotten all this figured out, then she could start to relax. A nice, easy flight home. Nobody would follow her. Nobody would. The fears mounted in her belly that she wasn’t done with all the danger. Nobody would follow her. The more that she said the words, the more that she believed it.
The entire airport was fairly large, and fairly nice-looking. Nothing like some of the more war-torn areas of the country. It reminded her that one day, things might return to normal here. It was a nice metaphor for her life. There were parts that were messed up, but she could get back to normal. Sooner or later. This was her transition back to the real world.
Then a hand clapped around her mouth, and two pairs of arms lifted her off the ground and through a doorway. The attendant didn’t turn. He didn’t seem to notice in the least, even though Lara knew that she made some noise. The door closed behind the man carrying her feet, and then she was carried down a flight of stairs. Another flight of stairs. And then outside.
She was shoved into the back of a car like a sack of potatoes. When she finally managed to get her bearings and take a look around the vehicle—a little large for a car she realized—she saw a familiar face sitting across from her.
He had a pistol, and he had it pointed right at her.
“I wasn’t going to kill you, you know,” he said. His tone was conversational. He didn’t look particularly concerned about the gun. Like it was normal to have a pistol pointed right at someone’s chest when you spoke to them.
“The attendant?”
“A stooge,” the man said. “We made some adjustments to your flight plans, and he went and got you for us. Easy. Then we waited for you to walk by, and… poof. Thin air.”
Lara blinked.
“What are you going to do with me?”
The man’s face twisted up. “Me? Nothing. I hope.”
“Then why did you take me? You killed those people.”
“I did,” he said. There was a hint of sadness his face, like someone who regretted having to junk a beloved car that had been totaled.
“For what?”
He opened his mouth to answer. A second voice cut him off. “Sir, we’ve got King Arthur on the line.”
“Excuse me,” the man with the pistol said. “I’ve got to take a call.”
He reached through a barrier and took a satellite phone from the guy. It looked ancient, like most satellite phones do.
“Hey, Blake. It’s good to talk to you, too. Yeah. Hey, you know, things are going a little weird, so I guess I’m just going to have to play this straight. I want control. I want you to step down.”
There was a pause. Lara could hear Blake’s voice on the other end of the line. He said something about not going to do that. He called the man Ray.
Ray smiled, and nodded at her like he was just going to be a moment.
“Yeah, I’ve got a friend of yours with me. Here you go, sweetheart. Say hello.”
He reached the phone over to Lara; with the other hand he kept the gun pointed at her.
“Um… hello?”
“Lara? Are you alright? Are you hurt?”
“I’m not hurt,” she said. “But—”
Ray pulled the phone away from her before she could add he’s got a gun.
Then he added it for her. “I’ve got a gun pointed right at her. And by the way, Blake? I spent a little time in that hospital room, cleaning things up. It was chaos, I’ll tell you. Absolute chaos.”
He waited for a moment.
“No, I promise. It’s relevant. You’ll want to hear this one. You’ve got a surprise in store for you. Your little cum-dump lady friend? She’s got a little Blake Jr. Step down, my friend.”
Eighteen
Blake detested cursing. He could abide it in others, if they had a good reason, and he was raised better than to correct someone on it, if they didn’t. But he avoided it when it was possible, at least for himself.
This was an exceptional situation, though.
“God fucking damn it.”
He pulled the car over and bowed his head over the steering wheel. He said the Lord’s Prayer aloud. When he was finished, as was his custom, he waited a moment. Then he added to it.
“Dear Lord, please keep Lara safe. Please guide me on the path of righteousness, and keep my boys safe as long as you can. And if you can’t, then give me the strength to avenge them or the strength to bear it. Amen.”
He straightened in his seat, turned the keys in the ignition, and the car started. He silently thanked the Lord for that, too. It hadn’t occurred to him until it started that it could fail to start, and he could be left high and dry and with plenty of trouble that he simply wasn’t one bit prepared to deal with.
The traffic was thick, but the flow of it seemed to ease his journey more than it made it difficult. He got back to the edge of town, back to the Temple Mount, without too much difficulty. The building was designed not to be penetrated. Not easily, anyways. Not by someone who didn’t know what they were doing. Whoever had attacked, they hadn’t known what they were doing.
They’d fired something into the side of it. It left a crater in the wall the size of a beach ball, and black burn marks around the outsides that went out further than that. He closed his eyes. What on earth was Ray thinking? How had he gotten so deep into this situation? How was everything so sideways?
Blake let out his breath slowly. The only solution would be to talk the whole thing out. Try to understand what the problem was. But there was no way he was going to be able to do that. Not really. Unless he just walked right in, and walked up to the command offices, and demanded to see Commander Sandusky.
It wasn’t a plan. It was essentially a death wish. But he wasn’t working on a lot of plan here. What he had to work with was a girl that he hadn’t really known how to tell he liked her, a baby growing in her belly, and a man who he’d believed was beyond reproach. It didn’t add up to a pretty picture, no matter how Blake looked at it. He reached into the glove box and pulled out the bible he kept there. There was one in all of the glove boxes of company vehicles, unless someone explicitly took one out.
This one was special, though. He’d gotten it at confirmation, and it had gotten him through the Gulf War. He could think of anything else that could be responsible for the number of close calls he’d been through without getting himself killed. He opened it to the place marked by his ribbon, and his finger traced down the page until it found the verse that he’d highlighted.
He could have recited it for memory. But there was something about reading it on paper. It was more comforting, more comfortable, and he liked it better.
Have I not commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the LORD thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.
Blake closed his eyes. Closed the bible around his finger. And then he thought hard about the passage, thought about its meaning. Thought about its meaning to him. And then he turned the car off, stepped out of the car, and started towards the door, still holding his Bible. His sidearm sat holstered on his side, visible to anyone who cared to look.
There were two men at the doors, and they stepped forward as Blake approached.
“Sir?”
“I need to get inside. I want to see the Commander.”
“Sir, I’m sorry, but we’ve got orders. Nobody gets inside without explicit permission.”
“I’m overriding. I’ve got command here, soldier.”
“I’m afraid that’s not what we’ve been informed. Now, I can w
ait with you right here, as long as you need, but I’m under very specific order that I’m not to let anyone inside, and they included you, sir, by name.”
“Then bring the Commander out.”
“I’m afraid Commander Sandusky isn’t here right now, sir.”
“Do you know when he’s going to be here?”
“He’s en route now, sir, but I’m afraid that he may not be in a mood to speak with you, sir.”
“This is my base, soldier. I own it, I pay the bills, and I’m the man in charge.”
The guard took a deep breath and let it out, and said nothing. He wasn’t going to contradict me, but neither was he going to let me do as I pleased. So the conversation, as far as he was concerned, was over. And as far as I was concerned, he was probably right.
“You’re sure about that, son?”
“Those are my orders, sir.”
“Alright. I understand.”
Blake turned and walked away. There were only two options left to him, now. For a little while, anyways. They were easy options. He could walk away, from the building, from all of this, or he could shoot his way in. There was nothing that he wanted less than to kill his boys so that he could hope to maybe save their lives.
Ray had him by the short hairs, it seemed. Blake’s jaw set as he slid back into the driver’s seat of the Range Rover. How had things gotten this bad, and he’d never noticed?
How was he so out of touch with the situation on the ground that even the men guarding the doors seemed to know better than he did where their bread was buttered?
Nineteen
Lara had been inside plenty of nice buildings in her life. Being a stewardess wasn’t a glamorous profession by any means; she did it to get by, same as anyone else. It just happened that the result was, she got to go weird places sometimes. It was a convenience thing for the passengers, more than anything. And occasionally they were good-looking enough that she was willing to follow them on their little adventures as they thought that they were getting the VIP treatment.
