“Names, places, plans, contacts. Can you supply me with that?” He hadn’t missed a beat in his response like he knew all along I was a thief and would fess up to save my skin.
“And if I could?”
“You would get off easier than the rest of your operation. I could try for reduced jail time for you and your aunt.”
There was that word jail again that made my stomach sick and my head hurt. I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation. Then again I couldn’t believe where I was, what I was doing, and who I was doing it with.
I watched Zach, but he kept his eyes on the road, head straight, neck rigid, maybe refusing to think about the fact that there was a red-blooded woman sitting on the seat next to him, and he was talking to her about going to jail. The same woman he had promised to help.
The liar. I wanted to slap him. Instead I said, “You operate in some pretty powerful circles, if you could pull off a reduced jail sentence.”
“I have good connections.”
“I would have to see my aunt first. I need to know she is okay.” I hoped this crazy scheme to play along worked.
Zach nodded. “That can be arranged.”
We turned off the rough road onto an even rockier one. Zach kept taking right turns up the mountain. We climbed in a great circle. Cedar and cypress trees lined the road. Gray dust sprinkled the ground cover.
My cell phone went off, and I pulled it from my hand bag and glanced at the incoming number. Yannis. Before I could hit the talk button, Zach reached over, snatched it, and flipped the case shut.
“You don’t need a phone.”
I was getting the distinct feeling I was a prisoner.
The road leveled off, and Zach turned into a lane that led to a clearing where a solitary house stood. He pulled in front of the house, switched off the motor and sat looking around, a perplexed look on his face.
“Something’s wrong,” he said. “It’s too quiet.” He looked at me. “Can I trust you to wait here?”
“I don’t know where I would go even if I could.”
“I’m going to look around. Can you shoot a gun?”
“My Dad was a hunter. He taught me to shoot a rifle.”
He pulled his bag from the back seat, extracted a heavy, black gun and checked the ammunition.
I was struck dumb. I thought the bag held his overnight gear, not heavy metal. He pulled out a second smaller pistol, checked it and handed it to me. The thought crossed my mind that now was the time to shoot him. Then where would I be? Would killing a cop get me life or the electric chair? On Cyprus they probably gave life sentences without possibility of parole. I’d look it up later.
“No, you aren’t going to shoot me,” he said.
The guy was uncanny.
“You need someone on your side. I just might be that person. Remember that. Now I’m going to look around. Normally, my friends would be out in the yard on a day like this. Maybe they went into town, but I don’t like the feeling I have.”
So he worked on intuition, too. I’d have to ask him what his intuition was for me. He trusted me enough to hand me a gun.
He nodded toward a half open window in the front of the house. A lace curtain fluttered in and out. “They don’t ever leave a window open like that. The wife is too fastidious.”
His eyes locked on mine.
“Don’t leave the Rover. Stay right here and cover me. And please, don’t shoot me in the back.”
“I couldn’t do that. How would I ever find my way back to town? Besides, you know where my aunt is.”
He smirked. The first time I saw him come close to a smile since Pafos. “Smart girl.” He eased open the door of the Land Rover, stepped cautiously out, and headed toward the front of the house, gradually circling to the back.
I watched from my post in the Rover and studied the yard and the house. To the left was an open shed that held what looked like wood working tools. A saw, shovels, tools hung in rows above a workbench. A wash line strung from the house to the shed held three men’s work shirts, pinned upside down and blowing in the hot breeze. Beyond the shed and house was a vegetable garden surrounded by a wire fence with a gate. I could see plump, red tomatoes hanging from the vines. The gate was open.
I froze.
What was that on the ground in the garden beyond the open gate? I reached over and pulled the binoculars from the side pocket of the driver’s door, sat forward in the seat and focused on the garden gate. The first thing that came into focus was the bottom of a pair of shoes. Women’s shoes or maybe sandals. The feet were small. I felt beads of sweat break out on my upper lip, even though a breeze came in through the open windows.
“Dear sweet Jesus.”
I looked around for Zach. He must have entered the house through the back door. He couldn’t have seen the feet from his vantage point because he had circled on the opposite side of the house from the garden.
I did a 360 degree check on the clearing where the house stood. It was clear only for about fifty feet on all sides then the forest took over. I couldn’t be sure if anyone was watching from the forest and was torn between whether stay put or go looking for Zach. Neither was safe, but I knew action was better for me, as opposed to sitting here wrapped in sheer terror. I picked up the gun and eased from the Rover.
The air was as tense as my tautly bunched muscles. It was quiet. No birds sang. Was that because someone was in the forest to disturb their singing? If they were still around would they try to kill us, rush us, overpower the Rover? Who were they? The unsettling image of terrorists crept into my mind, the black hooded variety.
What was I doing here?
I ran from the Rover to the shelter of the house and circled to the back on the side where the garden was. The house was typical construction for the region, stucco with red tile roof. Giant rose bushes lined the side of the house blooming profusely in red and yellow.
I saw the body stretched full length in the garden, like taking a nap. But a red stain on the head of the figure belied the image of a peaceful nap. Nausea welled up in my throat, but I kept going. I had to find Zach. A Mediterranean style arbor, slats of wood crossing open beams, covered the patio to the back of the house. The door to the house stood open. I drew near and peered in.
“Zach?” No answer. I eased a few steps into the kitchen.
“Zach?”
I heard footsteps overhead. Maybe the man of the house was okay, but why was his wife laying in the garden? There was only one pair of footsteps. If they weren’t Zach’s …
I peered up the stairs.
Zach crouched over a body at the top of the landing. I only saw the top of the head covered in thick white hair, stained dark red on one side.
“I told you to stay with the Rover.”
“Zach, there’s a woman’s body in the garden.”
“I saw her from the upstairs window. They’re both dead. Shot in the head at close range.”
He moved quickly down the steps, gun upraised, and brushed past me. Standing back from the window, he studied the yard and garden.
“Are you going to report it to the police?”
“I can’t, this couple isn’t really here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. This is a safe house. This couple doesn’t exist, so there is no one to report missing.
“What?”
He ignored my question. “I’ll call someone to dispose of the bodies later but for now, we get out of here. I’ll go first. If I draw fire, run out the front door in a zig-zag line to the Rover.”
He turned and his gaze held my eyes in a moment of connection, the connection we had had before this awful ride had begun. Those hard, dark eyes softened.
“If I don’t make it, leave in the Rover without me.” He grabbed my chin and held it. “Don’t play hero, okay?”
I nodded and before I could say anything he was out the door, gun in hand, running. A rifle cracked, and he dropped to the ground.
&nb
sp; “Zach,” I screamed from the open door. “Zach!”
He rolled over and over into the cover of shrubs by the shed. “Get down.” His hand waved. “Get down. Go out the front door. I’m going for the Rover.”
Another shot cracked and hit the side of the shed above the bushes where he hid, and he returned fire. I stood paralyzed by the sound of the gunfire. It sounded like the shots I had heard fired at target practice. But this was not target practice.
I whirled and ran through the house and out the front door, propelled by some hidden banshee that shrieked inside my head to get the hell out of there. I ran for the Rover, dove and crashed into the passenger door as a bullet flew by my ear and ricocheted off the fender. I yanked open the door and crawled inside, slamming the door and cowering on the floor. A rapid exchange of gunfire heralded Zach’s approach to the Rover, and a bullet hit the driver’s side of the vehicle. Zach sprang in, turned over the motor and slammed the gears into reverse. The Rover squealed back through the clearing making a wide circle on two wheels, screeched to a halt, roared into forward and out of the clearing followed by a barrage of bullets.
I hunkered down on the floor and squeezed my eyes shut until we were out of the clearing and lurching down the rocky lane.
“Damn,” said Zach.
I opened my eyes and looked up at him.
“Another shirt ruined,” he said.
Three explosion holes on his shirt front marked the spots where bullets had hit.
“I’m glad I thought to put on a bullet proof vest today.”
Six
My pulse was hammering so hard in my head, I thought it would explode. I looked behind us but whoever had attacked made no attempt to follow. Our attackers had had no vehicle, or if they had, they weren’t using it to pursue us. I couldn’t believe Zach had put on a bullet proof vest in anticipation that our flight might involve gunfire. I was in way over my head. I should have gone to the Cypriot authorities. In hindsight, it would have been much wiser. Too late to think about that now, wasn’t it?
Zach’s sun-bleached hair was hardly ruffled, and beyond the holes in his shirt he looked like he hadn’t done anything more exciting than spend an afternoon at the racetrack. I had the uneasy feeling that Aunt Elizabeth and I were pawns in a game, and this game involved criminals. The man sitting next to me was a player in the game. The thought was unnerving, and my opinion of him underwent a serious overhaul.
He slowed the Rover to maneuver the ruts better. I thought my neck would snap in the attempt to get away from the so-called safe house, and my demise would involve a broken neck instead of flying bullets.
“Where are we going?” I asked when I had a chance to calm down.
Zach didn’t reply, his attention focused on putting distance between us and the flying bullets. He appeared to be scowling at the question and the answer to it.
“I’m not sure. I’m thinking,” he said, not taking his eyes off the road.
“Who were those people? Do they have names?”
“Max and Irene.”
“How could they not exist?”
“They decided long ago to go under cover and not come back. They led a simple existence, and they helped a lot of people in trouble. I’m sorry to see them go out like they did. They were the best, but they knew the risks.”
Like that justified everything. “I hadn’t bargained for running into bullets, but you had.” Truth be told, I hadn’t bargained for any of this.
Zach glanced at me like he didn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth and looked back to the road. We turned right at the end of the lane leading away from the safe house and headed higher into the mountains. In greater abundance were the tall, biblical cedars of Lebanon that I loved so much. Seeing them now brought me no joy.
“We’ll try to find your aunt,” Zach said. “Or would you like to tell me where she is?”
My mouth dropped open, and I looked at him in astonishment. “I thought you knew. Wasn’t that the bargain? That you would take me to her?”
“I was playing a hunch. You said you would cooperate.”
“I was lying,” I said.
“So was I,” he said.
We bounced along in strained silence, me trying to make sense of the situation and having no luck. My stomach had settled down enough that it began to rumble. I realized I hadn’t had anything to eat. I fished in my bag for the sweet rolls I had bought at the hotel. It wasn’t much, just two small rolls, but I needed something to settle my stomach. I debated whether to offer one to my kidnapper, and my nicer side won out.
“Would you care for a sweet roll?” I asked. It seemed an inane thing to be talking about after the scene we had left.
He looked at me and half smiled. “Kind of you to share with me.” He took one. “Look behind you and get a couple of bottles of water from the case on the floor.”
I added two bottles of water to our repast. He pulled open the console between us and fished out two power bars and handed one to me. That completed the feast.
We munched in silence until I voiced my suspicion. “This is kidnapping, you know.”
“Hardly. I’m helping you get away from the Cypriot authorities so you can find your aunt.”
What a lying son-of-a-bitch. I had had such hopes for Zach. Men were the same when you peeled off the layers and got to the core, but this one was worse. He wore a bullet proof vest and carried a gun.
I looked at the gun on the floor between us. His lay beside it. I thought of trying to overpower him which was a joke, but what did I have to lose? I shouldn’t have been so overt about looking at the guns. He picked up both and put them under his seat. He possessed an uncanny sixth sense. I wondered if they taught that in law enforcement school.
We jolted up over a rise and looked out over the forested mountains below. We had reached the top of the mountain. Ahead lay a paved road that ran along the ridge.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“I’m not exactly sure,” he said. “But if my memory serves me well, we are not far from the border of the Turkish section of the island. I think there is a small inn along this road with some decent chow and a place to stay for the night.”
Food and bed were appealing, as long as the beds were in separate rooms. I wasn’t in the mood for sharing one with a kidnapper. I might be able to get away if we had separate rooms. The problem was where I would go. On foot I’d have to trek through unfamiliar mountain terrain in flip-flops. To try to take the Rover would be difficult unless somehow I could get the key. A drug in Zach’s drink? With what?
Isolated lights started blinking on along the forest ridges as twilight settled in. We were almost on top of the lodge before I saw it. A solitary lamp lit a short driveway. We pulled in.
I fretted that I might make the news, and someone at this inn might recognize me. The lodge didn’t look like a place that got much traffic. I saw no satellite dish or outside antenna that would indicate TV reception.
“I’ll wait here,” I said. “You see if they have any news of an escaped criminal tourist and her niece.”
Zach laughed. “You’ll come with me. I don’t want you wandering off, looking for your aunt, and falling off a cliff.”
I sighed, knowing I wouldn’t win this one.
The lodge was cut into the side of the mountain and had winding stairs leading up to the front entrance. The structure had an alpine look with carved shutters and roof trim and window boxes on the railings. Bright red geraniums bloomed in the boxes.
Zach steered me by the elbow up the stairs and into the front entrance. There was not a soul in sight. We walked to the check-in counter. He tapped the bell, and we waited. The room stretched the full length of the building. It was combination reception sitting room with worn overstuffed chairs clustered around a fireplace that was not lit and didn’t look like it had been in a long time. A solitary lamp burned on a pine end table. The glare of a bare light bulb lit the check-in counter. The atmosphere was on the cozy side
of seedy.
A thin, wiry man limped down the hall toward us after Zach tapped the bell at the desk again. He didn’t look Greek, at least not short and barrel chested but more Turkish, taller and gaunter in the face. I didn’t think we had crossed over into Turkish Cyprus. We would have had to cross the Green Zone with U.N. border guards.
The man greeted us in Greek. Zach responded, carrying an entire conversation in what appeared to be fluent Greek. Surprise. There was no sign of TV, radio, or general interest in life with the innkeeper.
Zach bent over the register. I watched as he signed Mr. and Mrs. Henry Dellinger. Now we were traveling under assumed names. Mr. and Mrs. was not a good sign.
“I’d like a room of my own,” I said.
“No,” said Zach in a low voice. “Don’t try to make a scene.” He straightened and put his arm around my shoulders. “You don’t think I’d let you out of my sight, do you, my darling Claudie?” he whispered into my ear.
Chills pricked my spine, but it was fear not sexual excitement. The innkeeper watched the little display of affection. The honeymooners.
“If you promise to be really good,” Zach said, “you’ll get a ham sandwich for dinner.”
I gave him a thin smile and patted his cheek, figuring I might as well keep up the charade, if it kept the bullets from flying. I was definitely not partial to flying bullets.
Zach pulled a wad of bills from his pocket and paid the innkeeper, who gave him a receipt and the number of our room. I smiled as pleasantly as I could under the circumstances to the gaunt-faced man. He must have honeymooners come by the wagonload. Zach took my hand which made me jump, my nerves being just about shot, but he held on tight and led me down the hall in pursuit of room 113.
In spite of everything his touch reassured me because a sense of being out on a limb all by myself had set in. Even though I didn’t know whose side Zach was on, at least he had found us shelter for the night. I worried about the bed arrangement. He could have the floor I decided.
“What did the man tell you? He looked Turkish but he spoke Greek. What time is dinner?”
Zach laughed softly, almost a snort. “I didn’t exactly get the in-country report. I just signed us up for a room for the night and arranged for some sandwiches, which they’ll bring to our room along with a few Keos. For your information his Greek had a Turkish accent.”
The Forty Column Castle Page 6