Escape Out of Darkness

by Anne Stuart

  But time was already up. They stood there, motionless, as the French door opened into the blinding sunlight. A small, grandfatherly man stood there, with carefully combed strands of white hair plastered to a pink skull, luxurious waxed mustaches adorning his face, dark, cheerful eyes, and a beaming smile greeting them.

  “How delightful to have such visitors,” he said affably, his accent only faint. “I was expecting Van Zandt. But you’re equally welcome. Won’t you come in, Mlle. Bennett and M. Pulaski?” And he waved them toward the door with the machine gun that sat far too comfortably in his patrician hands.

  twenty-two

  “You can drop your guns on the table to your right,” Mersot continued as he followed them into the cool, dim interior of the chalet. “And I would suggest you do it carefully. I’m an old man, and unused to modern weapons such as the one I’m holding. I would hate to make a mistake.”

  Maggie placed the small, efficient gun Willis had brought her on the little table by the door, moving away as Mack followed suit. Her mind was working feverishly, her eyes darting around the shadowed hallway, looking for something, anything, that might help them.

  “I’m quite alone, Mlle. Bennett,” Mersot said. “But I’m afraid that’s going to work to your disadvantage. Since I feel unable to watch you both while I wait for my men to return, I’m going to have to … er … incapacitate you for the duration.”

  “Like hell …” Mack grated, and the machine gun swept around to aim directly at his groin.

  “Don’t be a hero, M. Pulaski. My friend Van Zandt has been surprisingly efficient in disposing of my men. I have no choice but to be as efficient while I wait for them to bring him back.”

  “Van Zandt?” Maggie queried innocently.

  “Don’t waste your energy, mademoiselle. The man is very brilliant in his own way, but he underestimated me quite badly. I’ve had reports on your sojourn during the last two weeks. I knew the moment you reached Switzerland. I know more about you than your own mother, and I know you were innocent enough to think you had a chance of killing me. I hope you’re beginning to realize how foolish that notion was.”

  “Foolish indeed,” Mack murmured. “So what are you going to do with us?”

  “That remains to be seen. If you can come up with any reason why I might spare your lives, any way you might be useful to me, then I’ll let you live. I’m not a bloodthirsty man, my friends. Just tidy. But if, as I suspect, your continued existence on this planet is only a liability to me, then I’m afraid my men will have to dispose of you. We have marvelous glaciers up here, and crevasses where a body could be frozen till the millennium. In the meantime, if you would be so kind as to follow me?”

  “Where are we going?” Maggie asked with matching courtesy.

  “I’m going to lock you in my wine cellar, Mlle. Bennett. It’s windowless, and very dark indeed. I don’t imagine I’ll even need to bother tying you up, given your little problem with the dark.”

  “Damn you,” she said, fighting back the sense of horror that his words had brought forth.

  Mersot nodded his head in acknowledgment. “As for you, M. Pulaski, I’m simply going to lock you in the utility room. I don’t happen to know your particular weakness.”

  “Sure you do, Mersot,” he drawled in reply. “It’s Maggie. You know I’ll do anything you tell me to rather than risk her being hurt.”

  Mersot smiled faintly. “I must say I guessed as much. She won’t like being locked in the dark, but I’m afraid it’s necessary. I need you too frightened even to think, Mlle. Bennett. Come along, children. With luck this will all be over by nightfall.”

  Since the ending to this particular venture would probably involve their deaths, Maggie didn’t find the notion terribly encouraging. She used every last ounce of her energy to keep her face bland and unconcerned. It would be bad enough, locked in the darkness without Mack to hold her. It would be even worse if he knew how terrified she was.

  The chalet was even larger than it had appeared from the outside. Mack and Maggie moved down the hallways, through salons and offices and game rooms, always mindful of the gun behind them and the sweet, smiling old man holding it. They went down two flights of stairs and halted in front of a steel door with an electronic lock. Mersot punched a few buttons and the door opened with a quiet hiss. With a courtly politeness, Mersot gestured her inside.

  She stalled for a moment. The room was pitch black; only the dim light from the hallway illuminated the first rows of wine racks. The floor was cement, and it smelled dry and cool and musty. She opened her mouth—to reason, to argue, to beg and plead—but her eyes met Pulaski’s, and she shut it again. He looked even more desperate than she felt. For her, she realized, and the knowledge started a small fire burning inside her, warming her chilled flesh, lighting her darkness.

  She shrugged. “See you in a while, Mack,” she said airily, and stepped in the room.

  “Very brave, mademoiselle,” Mersot approved. “Do not bother trying to pick the locks. They’re all electronically controlled, and you would end up with a very nasty shock indeed. Au revoir.” And the steel door swung shut silently behind her.

  Only for a moment did the panic sweep over her. Only for a brief, terrified second did she lose control and feel herself begin to shatter. And then Mack’s look came back to her, the feel of his arms around her, and she knew that the darkness wouldn’t win this time. She would. She’d wait out her time in the pitch-black hole and figure out a way to stop Mersot. And if it involved killing him … She lost the last of her qualms with the quiet sound of the steel door closing in upon her.

  She sank to the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest. The coolness of the wine cellar wasn’t much worse than the Alpine heights in a strong wind, and the light sweater would be enough protection. She was almost tempted to try to break into one of Mersot’s bottles—he would have only premium vintages. She could also trash the place, smashing bottle after bottle of probably priceless wines. But Mersot would have no qualms at all about incapacitating her further, and despite his disclaimer, he was more than adept with that machine gun. No, she’d be a good, obedient girl, sit quietly on the stone floor, and figure how the hell they were going to get out of this mess in one piece.

  It was amazing how time could lose its meaning in the darkness. It could have been hours, it could have been minutes, it could even have been days, she realized with sudden horror. The darkness was closing around her, smothering her, and she was losing her ability to keep it at bay. Summoning Mack’s image worked only for so long, and then it turned to mockery, and Deke Robinson’s hands were all over her, and he was laughing at her tears. And then Randall replaced him, cold and remote and hateful. And then Peter Wallace, as she’d last seen him, a bullet hole the size of a crater in his chest, his eyes open and reproachful, his mouth open but no words coming forth. Just blood.

  “No,” she thought she screamed, but the sound came out in a tiny whisper that echoed eerily in the darkness. Think of something else, she ordered herself. Think how Mack is faring, locked away in some utility room. Some nice, light utility room. Was he thinking of her? Or was he trying to figure some way out of this mess, the way she should be? And once more the memory of Mack worked its calming magic, bringing her panic back under control.

  She heard the tiny ping of the electric lock moments before the doorknob turned. She raised her head, prepared to use the last ounce of energy she possessed to direct a defiant glare at the man opening the door. It was wasted on Mack.

  He just stood there, staring at her. “Are you still with us, Superwoman?” His voice was not much more than a raw whisper, but she could see the worry and tension vibrating through his body.

  “Don’t call me Superwoman, Mack,” she replied automatically. It took an embarrassing amount of effort to pull herself to her feet, but he didn’t help, knowing that she didn’t want any. “What’s happening?”

  “Mersot made the mistake of putting me in the room with the el
ectrical circuits. He didn’t realize that any rock ’n’ roll musician, even a lead singer, knows his way around power boards. I rewired the place.”

  “What do you mean, you rewired the place?” She was dizzy, but not about to tell him that. She leaned against a wine rack, just for a moment.

  “Rewired the alarm system. Anyone who touches the alarm switches or the turnoffs will get a hell of a jolt. Not enough to kill them …”

  “Pansy,” Maggie murmured, and Mack grinned.

  “What can I say? I lack the killer instinct.”

  “Speaking of killer instinct, where’s Mersot?”

  “Up with his gerbils.”

  “His what?” she echoed.

  “His gerbils. He has a passion for them. He had to show them off before he locked me in my little prison. He has this huge rodent farm with maybe a hundred gerbils crawling around.”

  “Yuck.”

  Mack shrugged. “I can think of worse hobbies. I think, Maggie, that we ought to get out of here.”

  “I think you’re right. What time is it?”

  “Sometime after four. We’ve been here a couple of hours—”

  “Is that all?” she inquired faintly, pushing away from the wine rack and stepping into the light.

  He just looked at her. “Was it awful?”

  She shook her head. “No, Mack. I just closed my eyes and thought of you.”

  “Did you?” He moved then, into the shadow of the doorway, and kissed her full on the mouth, a brief, thorough kiss that put the last of her faltering courage back into her. “Come on, Maggie May. Let’s get out of here before his henchmen return.”

  The corridors were still deserted as they made their way stealthily up the flights of stairs. They made it as far as the top level, a few short yards from freedom, when their one chance of escape was ripped from their hands.

  “Leaving so soon?” Jeffrey Van Zandt inquired sweetly. “I hadn’t realized you’d finished your mission.”

  Maggie just stared at him. She could feel Mack’s tension, knew that any moment he might lunge for Van Zandt, and she knew she had to forestall that move. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Taking care of loose ends,” he said. “I’m a thorough man. Most of us are, in this business. Is Mersot dead?”

  “No.”

  Van Zandt shrugged. “No matter. He will be within the hour. This place is set to blow at five o’clock, and it would take more demolition experts than Switzerland has ever seen to stop it.”

  “I’m hurt,” Maggie mocked. “Didn’t you trust us to be able to kill him?”

  “Actually, I rather thought you’d manage it,” he admitted. “The bomb was to take care of any extraneous details.”

  “Such as?”

  Van Zandt smiled. “Such as proof of my involvement in Mersot’s empire. Such as any leftover guards who might have reason to suspect me. Such as the two of you. You’ve been more than helpful, you realize. Everyone’s been so busy looking for the two of you, trying to figure out how you were involved in the drug deal, that no one had any time to think about me. I’ve created the most wonderful paper trail, which is going to survive this, and with any luck I’ll come out smelling like a rose. I’ll think of you both, often,” he added with genuine regret.

  “I’m touched,” she said.

  “I knew you would be. Let’s go and find Mersot, shall we?” he said. His own gun was smaller than Mersot’s machine gun, but quite impressive nonetheless. And theirs were somewhere back by the French doors, hopelessly out of reach.

  “Do we have a choice?” Mack’s calm matched Van Zandt’s.

  “You know you don’t. Where’s Mersot? Not with his little rats, I hope?” Van Zandt inquired with a shudder of distaste, and Maggie felt her first glimmering of hope.

  “ ’Fraid so,” Mack said. “Not to mention a machine gun.”

  Van Zandt dismissed the weapon with an airy wave of his own. “It doesn’t work.”

  “Says who?” she demanded hotly.

  Van Zandt smiled. “I say. How many times must I tell you, Maggie? I’m a thorough man. I saw to his little pet weapon the last time I was out here.”

  Her rage and frustration threatened to choke her, and if she’d been alone with Van Zandt, she would have gone for him, ignoring the weapon that rested so casually between them.

  “If you’d bothered to tell us, Van Zandt, we might have been more successful in taking him out,” Mack said, his voice holding nothing more noticeable than faint disapproval.

  “Didn’t I happen to mention it?” Van Zandt murmured. “How careless of me. Lead the way, Pulaski. That way you can have the pleasure of seeing the shock on Mersot’s face.”

  Her first glance of the room at the top floor of the chalet made her appreciate Van Zandt’s distaste. Mersot had his back to the door, and he was bent over a huge expanse of something that resembled an elaborate miniature train set. Until one looked more closely, and saw all the rodents scurrying back and forth in their little glassed-in village.

  The late afternoon shadows were lengthening outside the expanse of windows that looked out over the valley. They must have made a noise, for Mersot looked up, into the wall of windows, and saw their reflection.

  She couldn’t help but flinch when the machine gun instantly met their eyes. The only sound in the room, above the scurry of a thousand rodent feet, was the useless click of the firing mechanism.

  Mersot looked down at his weapon, shrugged, and dropped it, turning to face them with his charming smile still intact. “We keep underestimating each other, Jeffrey,” he said. “It is a great shame that we could not trust each other, work together. There would have been no stopping us.”

  “Alas, Hercule, I am a greedy man,” Van Zandt murmured. “No matter how large my share is, I always seem to need more.”

  “That is too bad.” Maggie watched with an odd detachment as Mersot’s stubby fingers moved along the mahogany trim of the gerbil platform. “But I have had to weather other disappointments in my life. I can weather this one.” And before she could move, his fingers found a white button and he pressed.

  The results were not what she had expected, and indeed not what Mersot had intended either. There was a blue-white flash, the crackle of electricity, and Mersot’s small, portly body was flung across the miniature city, crushing the glass with the force of the blow.

  Mack moved before anyone else could, taking the old man’s pulse. “He’s dead.”

  “Quite a neat trick, Pulaski. I presume you’re responsible? A nice jolt of electricity does wonders for an old man with a heart condition.” Van Zandt edged closer, peering at his fallen nemesis.

  Maggie moved forward, averting her eyes from the old man’s body, trying to ignore the smell of scorched flesh, as she tried to pull the scattered remnants of her self-possession back around her. “Listen, Jeffrey,” she said in an urgent tone of voice. “This is your chance. If Mack just fixes the electricity, we can all get out of here. It’ll look like he died of natural causes, and no one will ever suspect that you had anything to do with it. You’d be home free. …”

  “Not as long as the two of you survive,” Van Zandt corrected her patiently. “No, I’m sorry, but the chalet has got to go, and the two of you with it. It’s unfortunate, but I don’t really have an alternative. I’ve been too softhearted as it is.”

  He’d turned his back to the table, ignoring Mersot’s lifeless body, unaware of the horde of gerbils rushing through the smashed glass, swarming over their master’s corpse, scurrying on little claws down his trouser legs to swarm across the floor. Maggie controlled her own shudder of revulsion, keeping her face calm and earnest, as the army of gerbils advanced on Van Zandt’s pants leg.

  “Jeffrey, think how much we’ve meant to each other. …” She was grasping at straws, and Van Zandt’s soft giggle mocked her.

  “Not a thing, Maggie. I never was your type, and I have to admit, you’re not mine. I wish this could end differently, but
I know that you wouldn’t let Peter’s death go unavenged. And I’ve got to come up with at least one scapegoat when I go back and confront the Company and Mancini. I still may be able to salvage …” His voice trailed off in a strangled scream as the first wave of gerbils gained his leg. And then they were swarming over him, a sea of rodents, clawing their furry way up his body, and all the time Van Zandt kept screaming, a terrified, high-pitched scream.

  Maggie just stood there, watching in fascinated horror, until Mack dived across the room and tackled her, bringing her to the floor. Just in time, as Van Zandt began shooting at the gerbils scurrying over the floor, riddling the floor, the miniature village, and the fallen body of Mersot with bullets before he ran out of ammunition.

  Maggie could barely see, crushed as she was beneath Mack’s strong body. Van Zandt threw the gun at the gerbils, still screaming, and began beating at his body. And then he ran, racing around the room, beating at the clinging rodents, until he tripped over a fresh wave of them. He went stumbling, staggering, screaming toward the wall of windows. The next moment he was gone, with a crashing of heavy glass, over the balcony and down, down, down. …

  Maggie lay there on the floor, Mack’s body pressing down on her. The gerbils were at eye level, scurrying around, half mad with fear and panic, and as grateful as she was to them for their rescue, she didn’t want to be their next host. “Let me up, for Christ’s sake,” she said in a strangled voice.

  A second later Mack pulled her to her feet. “Had enough, Maggie May?” His voice was hollow. “This place is set to blow at five, unless Van Zandt was lying. I think we ought to get as far away as we can.”

  She swallowed a sudden, shuddering breath. “Yes,” she said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “That’s probably a good idea,” Bud Willis drawled from the doorway. “Christ, you guys are a two-man demolition team.” He kicked at the gerbils, stepping into the room and surveying it with his cold empty eyes.