by Tom Savage
Not moving, not daring to breathe, Nora and the young man she knew only as Yussuf sat in the hayloft, listening as the room below them filled with their enemies.
Chapter 44
The men were quick and efficient. Nora couldn’t see anything from behind the hay bales, but she imagined there were eight of them, two men to a crate, two trips each. In a matter of minutes, their business here was done. She and her newest ally waited until they’d all left the barn, but she didn’t hear the final sounds she was expecting, the sounds of the barn doors being closed and locked. Their voices came from far away, out in the drive, as they loaded the crates into the two trucks, but they’d definitely left the doors wide open. The archway to the stables was on the opposite wall from the hayloft; she and Yussuf would have to cross this room in plain sight of the people in the drive.
And they’d have to do it now. Nora knew there wasn’t time to linger here, waiting for these men and their trucks to go away. Even now, Bill Howard and Nassim Gamal would be concluding their business in the farmhouse, and then Gamal would come out here to join his men and leave for the airfield. She glanced at her watch: 1:47. The Cessna was due to take off at three o’clock. Meanwhile, Bill and Craig Elder would be heading up to the bedroom, to fetch her and bring her here, to the stables. To cut her or burn her or tear out her fingernails while her husband was forced to watch, until he told them what they wanted to know. But they’d find the bedroom empty, the sheet ladder waving in the breeze…
Time to move, she decided.
The young man behind her obviously concurred. He leaned forward, pressed his lips to her ear, and whispered, “Follow me.”
Nora nodded, watching as he slid out from behind her and crawled over to the ladder. She felt a shock on seeing his face, the man who’d been her nemesis all this time, but she wasn’t surprised to see that he was all in black, as she was—jacket, T-shirt, jeans, boots. He swung down, grasping the top rung with his left hand while his right one still clutched the pistol. He dropped silently to the barn floor.
She was right behind him. She climbed down the ladder to arrive beside him, and they crouched behind it at the back of the barn, studying the strip of driveway they could see through the open doors. The men had finished loading the crates, and they were waiting by the trucks for their leader to emerge from the house. No one was looking this way.
The young man touched her arm, bent forward at the waist, and sprinted across the back of the barn to the opposite wall. Nora copied his movements exactly, flattening herself against the wall beside him. They waited a moment before edging slowly forward, their backs scraping the wall, until they arrived at the archway to the stables. He ducked and ran; she followed. They didn’t stop until they were at the door marked THE GROOM ROOM. He opened the door and called softly, “Mr. Baron, it’s us. Don’t fire.” Then he turned and motioned her into the room. They both knelt beside her husband’s cot.
Jeff opened his eyes and smiled. “Hey, Joe.”
“Hey, yourself,” the young man replied. “Are you up for a bit of exercise?”
“You bet—but I’m afraid I’m going to need some help.”
“No problem,” the young man said, reaching out a hand. Jeff took it, threw off the blanket, and began slowly, painfully sitting up on the cot. He was wearing a filthy white undershirt and boxers, nothing more, and he still clutched the revolver.
Nora was staring at the young man beside her. “Did he just call you Joe? I thought your name was Yussuf.”
Her husband grinned. “Oh, you’ll like Joe, Nora. He’s an actor like you. That’s why he’s so good at going undercover with terrorists.”
The young man gently swung Jeff’s legs over the edge of the cot and placed his bare feet on the floor. “Actually, it’s Josef—J-O-S-E-F. In Israel, we pronounce it ‘Yosef.’ Josef Abrams.” He jerked his head at the dead man on the other cot. “Strip him, please, Mrs. Baron. Shirt, trousers, socks, shoes. Check his pockets for a phone; we could use one.”
She blinked, glanced over at the dead man, then back at her nearly naked husband, and nodded. “I’m Nora. Pleased to meet you, Josef Abrams. Where’s your phone?”
He blushed. “Dead. I used up all the time on it, and I didn’t have a chance to get a new one.”
“You spies and your disposable phones!” Nora said. She went to work on the clothes, determined not to be squeamish, but the corpse was the lesser of her problems. She’d just seen her husband’s arms and legs, which were scored with cuts, long trails of a blade. There were other things, small black marks on his palms and the soles of his feet that could only be cigarette burns. The ribbons of red on the back of his undershirt told her that he’d been lashed, and the bruising inside his left elbow meant they’d even tried drugs on him. And there was something wrong with his right knee. The kneecap was purple, swollen to twice its usual size, the flesh around it an angry red. He’s alive, she kept reminding herself. We’ll patch him up; we’ll fix him. But first, we have to get him the hell out of here.
She handed Josef the articles as she removed them from the guard. She checked the pockets and found a wallet and a handful of coins but no cellphone. Between them, she and Josef quickly dressed Jeff. The shoes were too small, but he forced his size thirteen feet into them. She found her Advil and gave him several of them, gazing nervously at his wounds.
“Don’t panic,” he said. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
When he tried to stand, Nora realized the extent of their problem. His right leg was useless. Josef went around to his right side, virtually holding him up. He’d have to hop on his left leg, with Josef standing in for the right leg.
“Here,” Josef said to her, and he handed her the pistol. She took the weapon, amazed at its sheer weight, and went ahead, holding the door open for them. She hurried down the length of the dark stable, the two men shambling along behind her. When they reached the side door, she held up a hand to stop them, pulled the door open, and peered outside. The woods were empty, as was the drive on her left.
She stepped outside, immediately aware of the light rain that had begun, and crept to her left, to the fence at the edge of the building. She stuck her head out, looking up the drive toward the house. The men were climbing into the trucks. Bill Howard came out onto the porch, followed by a tall, bearded man who could only be Gamal. Craig was behind them, along with a man and woman she assumed were the people from Libya. The man and woman joined the others in the trucks, and Bill and Craig bid farewell to the ringleader, with much smiling and shaking of hands. Nora ran back to the door.
“Hurry!” she said, and she set off toward the wall, the two men behind her.
Chapter 45
The rain was growing in intensity, which was both good and bad—it helped to conceal them, but it impeded their progress with her husband. It was bearable here, under the thick leaves, but once over the wall they’d be out in the open. Jeff slipped on the wet grass, and Nora rushed to his left side, propping him up, just before he and Josef would have fallen. She clutched her husband’s arm with one hand and the pistol with the other, and the three of them continued through the trees.
The sounds of the approaching trucks grew louder behind them, and she and Josef managed to flatten themselves against a large trunk, Jeff held up between them. They waited there, the rain from the tree sluicing down on them, as the iron gates automatically swung open and the two trucks went through. The trucks turned left and disappeared down the main road as the gates closed after them.
Now, Nora realized, they definitely had to hurry. Any minute Bill and Craig would make their way upstairs to the bedroom and find that she was gone. When they arrived at the wall, Josef grasped the top and pulled himself up in one fluid move, landing astride it, his legs hanging down. He reached for Jeff’s arms and pulled him up. Nora helped with his legs until he was atop the wall, lying on his stomach. Josef jumped down on the road side. Nora clambered up onto the top beside her husband and helped him lower himself dow
n the other side into Josef’s waiting arms. She jumped down to land beside them.
Nora looked up and down the road. No cars, no houses, no people anywhere. A flash of lightning was followed by a low boom of thunder. The rain was really falling now, and they were soaked.
“How did you get out here?” she asked the young man.
“Motor scooter,” he said, pointing off toward the forest on their right. “A Vespa. It’s in the woods over there. I borrowed it at the train station in King’s Lynn.”
“Well, that’s out,” Nora muttered. A scooter wasn’t going to get three people anywhere. She took charge of the situation. “Okay, the car we came in is this way. Let’s go.” She and Josef each held one of Jeff’s arms, and they moved toward the iron gates. When they arrived there, they stopped while Nora crept forward to peek around the brick column at the side of the entrance and up the drive toward the house.
Her escape had been discovered. The front door of the house burst open, and Craig and the man named Mustapha took off at a dead run toward the barn. Bill Howard came out onto the porch, squinting out through the downpour at the drive and the field, looking for any signs of activity. She ducked back behind the column as his gaze swept across the gates. The sky had darkened considerably with the rain, but she wasn’t taking any bets on Bill Howard’s eyesight, not now. If they tried to move now, he’d see them. She held up a hand to Jeff and Josef, telling them to wait, and peered around the column again.
The two men ran out of the barn toward the house, and Craig was shouting something. Bill threw up his hands and began yelling at them. Then he disappeared into the house, but only for a moment. He emerged immediately with a suitcase and headed for the Aston Martin, calling instructions to the others. Nora couldn’t hear his words through the rain and at this distance, but she got the gist of it: Bill was clearing out, Mustapha was to come with him, and Craig was to remain behind, searching for the Barons. Bill and Mustapha got into the car, and Craig headed back into the farmhouse.
“Now,” she said, and the three of them hurried across the open expanse of the iron gates to the opposite wall. With Jeff between them, she and Josef moved as swiftly as they could, but it wasn’t easy. They were all crouching down as they ran, and the weight of the big man was constantly throwing one or the other of them off balance, threatening to send all three of them down into the mud at the side of the road.
They staggered the length of the red brick wall toward the far end, listening as the roar of the sports car grew in volume behind them. Any minute now, the car would reach the end of the drive and turn into the main road, and they would be in plain sight. She and Josef ran faster, dragging Jeff along. When they got to the end of the wall, they turned and plunged into the trees, dropping to the soggy ground. They lay there, a tangle of wet arms and legs, waiting.
Moments later, the gold Aston Martin sped by, following the route the two trucks had taken a few minutes ago. Josef craned his head out from their hiding place to study the retreating car, then turned back to Nora.
“That leaves only Elder at the farm,” he said. “The guard in the stable was the only other regular here, as far as I could see earlier, when I looked around. I saw Elder carry you out of the woods to the back of the farmhouse—he was making sure the men outside didn’t see you. I told Mr. Baron you were here when I found him, and I was planning on coming to find you in the house as soon as the trucks were gone, but you made that unnecessary. Good show!”
Nora smiled, pleased by the remark. This Israeli agent didn’t seem to be the type to dispense compliments lightly, so it clearly meant something. He also didn’t seem to mind letting her lead this operation, civilian that she was, and that was an even bigger compliment. But there was no time to bask in her glory, not now. She rose and helped Josef to get Jeff on his feet. “There’s a dirt road over that way, through the trees. The car is there, an old Ford Focus. Can you hot-wire an engine?”
She was speaking to Josef, but it was Jeff who answered her. “We both can, Pal. Just get us to it, and we’ll start it.” She noticed the pride in his voice and the gleam in his eye, despite his injuries and what must be a raging fever, judging from the heat of his skin. She thought, This hero is my husband.
They moved through the forest, brushing away the rain that dripped down from the dense carpet of leaves above them. The lightning and thunder continued, and the sky she could see through the branches was nearly black. It’s just going on two in the afternoon, she thought, but it might as well be twilight. Jeff stumbled once, but her hand was there to steady him and guide him along. The dirt road appeared before them, a sudden clear space among the trunks and tangled undergrowth. They hurried down the road, skidding in the mud with every step, deeper into the woods and around a bend. And there was the Focus parked at the side, exactly as she’d last seen it.
Nora was about to rush toward the car when Josef’s hand on her arm stopped her.
“Wait,” he said. He took his pistol from her hand, indicating that she should replace him on Jeff’s right side. As Nora grasped her husband’s right arm, the young man moved slowly forward, closing the twenty feet between them and the car, scanning the trees at both sides of the road for any signs of movement. Nora squinted through the downpour, watching as he cautiously approached the vehicle.
Josef shifted the pistol to his left hand and bent down to pick up a big rock from the side of the road near the rear right tire. He straightened up and raised the rock, preparing to smash the driver’s side window. As Nora and her husband watched, the rock suddenly fell from his hand, and he was flying forward to collide with the side of the car. He bounced off the door and toppled over backward, landing flat on his back in the muddy tract. The pistol had fallen from his other hand. His head fell to the side, facing them, and Nora saw that his dark eyes were wide open, watching her. As she stared, he slowly, deliberately winked at her. Then he shut his eyes and lay still.
She hadn’t heard a sound through the falling rain, but she immediately knew what had happened. Josef had been shot with a round from a silenced weapon. She couldn’t see him very well, so she didn’t know the nature of his injury, but he was alive and alert. The shock of seeing the young man fall down was momentary; when she saw him wink, something else took over inside her. Without even thinking, she reached over and removed the snub-nosed revolver from Jeff’s hand. She continued to grasp his arm with her left hand, but she turned toward him and raised her right hand across her stomach, concealing the gun between their bodies.
“What are you doing?” Jeff whispered.
“My job,” she murmured. “Trust me.” She didn’t look at him; her face was turned toward the car, her gaze riveted to the edge of the forest directly behind where Josef had fallen. After a moment, Craig Elder stepped out from the trees. He kicked Josef’s pistol away to the side of the road, then he walked slowly toward them. In his right hand he held Jacques Lanier’s silver SIG Sauer, the weapon she had given him, and it was aimed directly at her husband.
“Hello again, Nora,” Craig said, and he grinned.
Chapter 46
She was onstage. This muddy road in the forest was her platform, and these three men were her costars. One was down, shot and presumed dead, and one was beside her, injured and ill and barely able to stand. The third, the villain of the piece, was walking toward her, smiling, closing the gap between them. Ten feet. Eight feet. Seven. Nora stood very still, clutching her husband’s arm and her most important prop—the loaded revolver that looked so much like her own empty one—waiting for her cue.
Craig Elder came to a stop five feet in front of them, the weapon still aimed at Jeff’s chest. That maddening little smile was still there, on his lips. In his eyes.
And in his voice. “Did you really think you could outwit me, Nora? After all we’ve been through? You insult me. I knew where you’d go from the moment we found that you weren’t in your room anymore. I knew you’d bring your husband here, and thanks to you, I was even expectin
g him.” He jerked his left thumb over his shoulder, indicating Josef, who lay sprawled in the mud behind him, pelted by the steady rain.
Nora kept her gaze locked with Craig’s, but she used her peripheral vision. She strained to be aware of any movement in the space just beside Craig’s left arm, the blurry form of the man lying in the road. He was an actor, Jeff had said, and she assumed he’d meant it literally. Now he was pretending to be dead, and she knew that her cue, when it came, would be from him. Until then, she had one motivation in this scene: to keep Craig’s attention, to prevent him from turning around.
“You’re out of time,” Craig said, “and I’m out of patience. Whatever he gave you isn’t in the envelope. Tell me what you did with it.”
Nora contemplated spitting in his face, then thought better of it; that only worked in Victorian melodramas or Joan Crawford movies. She drew in a breath and said, “Or what? You’ll shoot us? You’re going to do that anyway, so why should I tell you where it is?”
The little smile on his handsome face vanished. He lowered the SIG Sauer until it was aimed directly at Jeff’s uninjured left knee. “Because I’m the one with the gun. I can do this quickly, or I can do it very, very slowly. And please don’t bother attempting to scare me with that useless revolver you’re trying to conceal. Remember, I’m the one who emptied the chamber.”
Nora pulled the gun out from between her body and Jeff’s, and turned around to face Craig. She dropped her right hand carelessly to her side, her finger never leaving the trigger.
“Oh well, it was worth a try,” she said with a shrug.
Behind Craig, the figure in the road stirred. Josef slowly sat up and rose to his knees. It was obvious, even from this distance, that he was in great pain, but it didn’t deter him. He reached down with his right hand and pulled something from the pocket of his jeans. As if sensing the movement behind him, Craig started to turn his head.