Deadly Additive

by Donn Taylor

  Kristin swallowed hard as she hung up the phone. Brinkman’s promise of help was reassuring, but knowing the kind of man she was following was terrifying. She’d better make sure he didn’t know he was being followed.

  So she changed disguise, glad now that she hadn’t overspent her credit card. In a nearby shop she bought a figured scarf in a subdued brown color and fashioned it into a turban to hide her blonde hair. She followed that with a large shawl, in darker brown, to wear over her shoulders in case Staab had noticed her yellow blouse. Last, she bought another pair of sunglasses, narrower and in a different color from the ones she’d been wearing.

  She completed her makeover in the restroom and disposed of the old sunglasses and wide-brimmed hat. She’d used no makeup before leaving the hotel in Saint Kitts, so she applied a generous layer of lipstick to change her coloring. Satisfied with the effect, she began the long walk to the jet ports at the far end of the terminal.

  Her anxiety grew as she walked. What if Staab had changed his itinerary while she dithered over her masquerade? She need not have worried. She found him at the gate for Chicago, alternately reading a girlie magazine and watching the passersby. Her skin crawled as she felt his eyes inspecting her, but she kept her head high and her gaze to the front. She found a seat several rows behind him in the waiting area. If he wanted to keep looking at her, he’d have to move or strain his neck.

  Boarding the aircraft proceeded according to routine. Staab boarded with the other first-class passengers without casting another glance at Kristin. The plane was an airbus with a near-maximum load, so that would help her blend with the other passengers. As she entered the aircraft, she saw Staab’s attention focused on a shapely brunette across the aisle from him. As Kristin passed on the way to coach class, he looked up and gave her another once-over. She didn’t dare look back to see if his eyes followed her. She’d long since grown accustomed to that kind of male interest, but the brutality written in Staab’s face made her cringe. She hoped the brunette would recapture his interest.

  After takeoff she was able to relax and enjoy the relative quiet of the jet flight, so different from the vibration and noise of the commuter aircraft. She even managed to doze for a while. She might have a long night ahead in Spokane.

  The flight ended at Terminal 2 of O’Hare International Airport in Chicago. This time Kristin hurried toward the front of the coach class section and caught a glimpse of Staab as he deplaned. She feared that his head start might let him get away. She could follow only as fast as the crowd permitted. She mingled with it as it drifted along the concourse toward the main terminal, constantly checking right and left to find her quarry. Presently she saw him emerge from a newsstand with a magazine and a couple of paperback books. From the corner of her eye she watched with satisfaction as he joined the serving line in a fast-food concession.

  Good. If he’d been going anywhere between flights, he wouldn’t have made his first stops for reading materials and food. She kept moving along the concourse toward the terminal. Better to take a chance on his changing plans than to hang around and draw unnecessary attention.

  Her next problem was another makeover. At the information desk she learned there were leather goods stores in Terminals 1 and 3. She headed for Terminal 3, thankful for the low-heel shoes she’d chosen for her morning’s walk. In the store she bought a leather jacket and gloves which almost matched her shoes, and completed the ensemble with a black leather toque. She hoped Roger Brinkman would reimburse these expenses, for her credit card was getting strained. To that end, she tucked the receipts into her purse.

  As before, she changed in the restroom. Though it hurt, she discarded the scarf and shawl. She didn’t feel quite the type for leather wear, but she tried to assume a personality appropriate to the garb. She wiped and scrubbed the lipstick from her face and let her blonde hair fall free to her shoulders. She hoped the toque subdued it enough to avoid its being a spectacle.

  That done, she ate a sandwich and headed back to the vicinity of Terminal 2. There she forced herself to window shop until she could enter the terminal as if her journey had originated in Chicago. Her apprehension grew as she approached the gate for the Spokane flight. Had she guessed wrong? Had Staab realized he was being followed and bolted for parts unknown?

  She sighed in relief as she sighted him in the waiting area. This time he was reading a paperback book with a half-dressed woman on the cover. Again, his cold and hard eyes looked her over as she passed. Had he recognized her? He gave no sign. But then he wouldn’t. She would never know he suspected her until too late.

  She again found a seat behind him in the waiting area. It was then that fatigue caught up with her. She had walked vigorously that morning in Saint Kitts. Since then she’d traipsed all over two inhospitable airports. Not to mention the tension she’d felt all day long. She’d earned every bit of that fatigue, but there was no end in sight.

  A wave of loneliness swept over her. She wasn’t trained for this, and she wasn’t qualified to carry this kind of responsibility. She had driven herself like this before in pursuit of a story, but she’d never felt so desperate. This time it wasn’t just a story. Alone, she was following the only lead toward defining a dangerous threat to her country. If she failed, Brinkman and Novak would have to start over. And who knew whether they would succeed before those deadly weapons were used against her countrymen? How many people would die if she failed?

  Darkness descended outside the terminal and her loneliness deepened.

  She was supposed to receive help in Spokane.

  But what if it didn’t arrive?

  30

  Saint Kitts, Leeward Islands

  By late morning, Sledge was almost frantic. Something must have happened to Kristin, but he had no idea what. Nor did he know how to begin searching for her. He’d spent the morning in his room. Kristin would call him there if she were able.

  At eleven o’clock, the phone rang. Sledge’s hand trembled as he picked up the phone, but he forced his voice to remain calm. “Sledge here.”

  Roger Brinkman’s voice sounded in his ear, spanning the continent and oceans as clearly as if he were in the next room. “Sorry to interrupt your vacation, but I have another job for you.”

  Sledge grunted. “I can’t accept it. Kristin has disappeared.”

  “She’s all right,” Brinkman said. “She called in from Puerto Rico.”

  “What’s she doing there?”

  Why didn’t she call me? Why call Brinkman? With an effort, Sledge suppressed the hurt.

  “She’s not there now.” Brinkman seemed to hold back a laugh. “She’s on a plane for Chicago.”

  “Tell me what’s going on.” Sledge let his anxiety show in his voice.

  “I thought you might be interested.” Brinkman allowed himself a chuckle. “You knew she followed that blond-headed heavy to Saint Mark and lost him? She saw him near your hotel this morning and didn’t let go. She followed him onto a flight to Puerto Rico and phoned me from there. He’s ticketed through Chicago to Spokane, and she’s on the plane with him.”

  Relief flooded over Sledge, quickly followed by concern. “She’s doing this alone?”

  “I’ve arranged help in Spokane. That’s why I haven’t called you before.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  Brinkman continued as if he hadn’t heard. “Your friend Raúl also called in. He thinks the bad guys’ main base is in Northern Idaho near the Canadian border.”

  “I didn’t know Raúl worked for you.”

  Brinkman chuckled again. “He doesn’t, but he has a personal interest. He’s after the people who tried to revoke his existence license. He filed a nonconcurrence with that idea and seems to have thought up a few ideas of his own. I’m grateful he wasn’t too busy to call in.”

  A grim smile played on Sledge’s lips. He could imagine the form Raúl’s nonconcurrence would take.

  “Your job,” Brinkman said, “is to follow Kristin to Spokane.
A government jet will pick you up about one o’clock this afternoon, your time.”

  “What do I do in Spokane?”

  “We don’t know yet. Someone will meet you there.”

  “OK.” Sledge’s mind pressed through to a conclusion. “If that place is what you think it is, you’re going to need more help to deal with it. Official help, like that guy we talked to in Miami.”

  “Already in progress,” Brinkman said. “That’s how we got the jet for you. But they need a couple of days to get their…uh…exercise...up and running. Our job is to develop information—find out the exact location of the base. You know the drill.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Collect Kristin’s things and ship them home. Expect further information in Spokane.”

  Sledge hung up and took time to think the matter through. The hotel management wouldn’t like giving him Kristin’s baggage, but he’d win out in the end. He didn’t have her address, so he’d send her things to his own place and she’d have to come there to collect them.

  Then heavier matters weighed on his mind. His whole being felt relief that Kristin hadn’t run into foul play on Saint Kitts, but she might be traveling into an even more hazardous situation. How much like her to charge into danger without counting the cost! She’d done it once in returning to Chozadolor and again in following the blond heavy to the Isle of Saint Mark.

  Sledge admired her spirit but feared for her life. That professional thug could break her in half with one hand, and with no more conscience than swatting a mosquito. She might be in mortal danger at this very moment, and Sledge could do nothing about it until his plane arrived in Spokane.

  He sighed. This was going to be the longest day of his life.

  ****

  Spokane, Washington

  Kristin startled awake as the aircraft began its descent for Spokane International Airport. She’d tried to make herself sleep as soon as the aircraft left the ground. She knew following Staab would keep her on the go for hours after landing. But sleep did not come easily. When it did, she woke repeatedly to dreams of him standing in the aisle and staring down at her, his face a mask of hate.

  Asleep or awake, the burden of her responsibility weighed her down. So much depended on her, and she was alone. Images of those corpses at Chozadolor returned, and she projected it into a vision of Americans dead by the hundreds from chemical weapons. She turned to serious prayer for the first time since her early college years. Even in captivity in Colombia, she had not prayed. But now the vision of horror drove her to it.

  Lord—if You’re there—don’t let me fail. I know I’m not up to this task. Please give me the strength and wisdom to do what needs to be done. No matter what happens to me, don’t let these weapons be used against my country.

  Even as she poured out her heart, the content of the prayer surprised her. For years she’d placed herself and her ambitions ahead of everything else, but here she was praying for others to be spared even if she wasn’t. It probably didn’t matter, though, for the words of her prayer seemed to bounce back as if they were trapped inside the aircraft. Emotional turmoil or no, she slept again until the aircraft began its descent. By the time it docked at the jetway, she had mentally flogged herself fully awake.

  Relief flooded through her as she saw Staab, up in the first-class section, stand and retrieve his carry-on. But she lost sight of him as passengers jammed the aisle and gave no quarter to those behind them. Clear of the aircraft at last, she ran past other passengers in a frantic attempt to re-establish contact. It was fruitless. She searched out the waiting area, but he wasn’t there. Desperate, she hurried into the concourse and ran toward the exit.

  Suddenly a large man with dark brown hair loomed up in her path, his arms spread wide. “Darling!” he cried. “Welcome home!”

  Before Kristin could stop, he locked her in an iron embrace, his cheek pressed tight against hers.

  “Relax, Kristin,” he whispered. “My partner has Staab under surveillance. Brinkman says you can come with us or go back home. It’s your choice.”

  A few moments before, she would have given anything to pass responsibility to someone else. Given that opportunity, though, her whole being rebelled against it. “I’m staying,” she whispered. “I’ve handled the job from Saint Kitts, and I’m not about to let go of it now.”

  Conscious that people were staring, she returned the man’s embrace. If hers was less enthusiastic than his, people didn’t seem to notice.

  “OK, let’s go.” The man released her and led her toward the exit. She noticed for the first time that his other arm held a heavy coat. “Put this on,” he said. “It gets cold at night in these parts.”

  She slipped the jacket on over the leather coat she’d bought in Chicago. She swept the toque from her head and let her hair fall free, thankful for such a simple way of changing her appearance again.

  She took a closer look at her new companion. He had brown eyes in an angular face that probably had been clean-shaven at breakfast but now needed a second treatment. His dark brown hair was graying at the temples and, though he was smaller than Sledge, he had a build like a football defensive back.

  Kristin realized she’d been forcibly embraced by a large, strange man and had not panicked. Maybe Sledge’s tenderness had driven the curse away. But she’d have to think about that later. They were nearing the main terminal, and she’d better find out who her partners were.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Call me Mike.” The man kept his eyes to the front and hurried her along. “I apologize for grabbing you, but it was the only way I could think of to stop you and make contact.” Still looking straight ahead, he grinned. “I apologize, but I can’t say I’m sorry. I kind of enjoyed it.”

  Kristin’s cheek itched from its encounter with Mike’s abrasive whiskers. “You certainly made contact,” she said. “I thought you’d attacked me with steel wool.”

  Mike shrugged. “Some of them like it that way.”

  Kristin refrained from asking some of whom and changed the subject. “What happens now?”

  They swept quickly through the main terminal and entered the baggage area.

  “There are three of us. Sam has a car outside. Rich picked our target up on the concourse. He’ll keep us posted by cell phone, but he’ll drop off after he gets us connected.”

  The nighttime chill stung Kristin’s cheeks as they emerged from the terminal, and she quickly buttoned her coat. True to Mike’s words, they found a car waiting, its engine running. Mike hurried her into the backseat and joined her there, then introduced her to Sam, the driver.

  “You cut that awful close,” Sam said. “Rich says the target met two other guys and they’re getting into a Jeep Cherokee up ahead. We thought we’d have to handle it without you.”

  A dark-colored enclosed Jeep pulled away from the curb several cars ahead. Sam let two cars pass and then eased his Chevrolet into traffic behind them. He was driving a full-sized late model with power enough to compete with most other vehicles.

  As they passed the spot where the Jeep had been parked, a man wearing a jacket and tractor cap waved and spoke into a cell phone. The words “Good luck!” sounded from a speaker phone on the front seat.

  Sam navigated their exit from the terminal area and onto a highway that signs identified as US 2. Kristin marveled at his skill in keeping the Jeep in sight one or two cars ahead. Soon they turned eastbound on I-90, and the proliferation of city lights told Kristin they were passing through Spokane proper. With things apparently under control, she thought it time to learn more about her companions.

  “What organization are you with?” she asked.

  Mike grinned again as he answered, but his eyes remained focused on the road before them. “We’re privates. We do an odd job for Brinkman every now and then. Nothing this big until now. We’re supposed to see where that guy comes to rest. Then we park nearby, call in, and watch ’til someone comes to relieve us. The Feds cou
ldn’t cover the airport soon enough, so Brinkman called us. Do you know what’s going on?”

  Kristin bought time to think by shrugging out of the heavy coat, unneeded in the heated car. She wasn’t authorized to tell all she knew. But these men were driving into danger, and they had a right to know what kind. She inhaled deeply and took the plunge.

  “You’ve heard about the US raid on that weapons factory in Colombia?”

  Mike nodded. “Some kind of chemical weapons, weren’t they?” His eyes remained fixed on the road ahead.

  “A new and very dangerous kind. The man we’re following was seen there. He worked with terrorists in Europe, and now he’s black-marketing chemical weapons. We hope he’s leading us to his organization’s base.”

  A low whistle came from the front seat. “They told us he was dangerous.” Sam spoke over his shoulder. “We brought a pistol for you if you want it.” He took one from the glove compartment and held it up for her to take.

  Kristin was tempted but had second thoughts. “Better that I don’t. I’d probably shoot the wrong person, and it might be me.”

  “Yeah,” Sam said, “or it might be me.” He returned the pistol to the glove compartment.

  The city lights thinned out as they passed the eastern limits of Spokane. The cars between them and the Jeep left the interstate, and Sam dropped farther back. Conversation died as the adrenaline rush of hot pursuit dwindled, and fatigue again descended on Kristin. She’d been on the go for twenty-two hours with only shallow catnaps in flight, and the continuing tension was wearing her down.

  The Jeep ahead continued eastward and showed no signs its occupants suspected they were being followed. Obviously, this would be a long haul, and midnight had already passed.

  In spite of her determination to stay awake, Kristin dozed off. This time she sank immediately into a dreamless blackout so profound that she was disoriented when a change in the car’s motions jolted her awake. She felt a stop and a radical turn. A glance at her companions brought reality crashing back. But where were they?