Burnt Sienna

by David Morrell

  As the helicopter set down, Potter released his seat belt and shoved the hatch open, eagerly waiting for the speed of the rotors to reduce so he could get out and find Derek. The whine from the spinning blades hurt his ears. The wind they created stung his eyes and ruffled his thinning hair. Then he couldn’t force himself to wait any longer. His short stature made it difficult for him to climb down, requiring a slight jump to the concrete pad. Clutching his briefcase, he bent his knees on impact. Despite his shortness, he took care to stoop as he ran beneath the spinning blades. Pressed down by the gust of the blades, he hurried toward the weapons-testing area.

  But a noise behind him made him stop. A shout? Surely that isn’t possible, he told himself. As close as he was to the helicopter, the shriek from the rotors would have overwhelmed other sounds. And yet he was certain he’d heard a muffled outcry. Puzzled, he turned to look back toward the helicopter, and if he couldn’t have heard the shout, he was equally positive that he couldn’t be seeing the commotion behind him.

  8

  When Malone heard the approaching helicopter, his hand and the paintbrush it held froze over the canvas. A startled portion of his mind wondered if he’d had a stroke. Then his heartbeat lurched, jump-starting his body. He turned toward Sienna, who stared toward the windows and the increasing roar of the chopper.

  “This is it,” he said.

  She seemed not to have heard him. Mechanically, she put on her top but continued to stare distractedly toward the windows.

  “Are you ready?” She still didn’t respond.

  With growing unease, Malone set down his brush and walked toward her.

  “Look at me.” He put his hand on her face, turning it toward him. “If we’re going to do this, we have to move now.” He no longer worried about hidden microphones. If this effort failed, eavesdroppers would be the least of his problems.

  “I didn’t expect to be so afraid.”

  “If you stay here, you’ll die. We can’t wait any longer. We have to move.”

  The chopper sounded closer.

  She studied him with an intensity that rivaled the way he had studied her for weeks now. Her eyes blazed with resolution. “Yes.”

  She had followed Malone’s instruction and exchanged her sandals for walking shoes. Now she went with him to the doorway, watching the chopper approach the landing pad. Despite the distance, Potter’s pinched features were distinct behind the hatch’s Plexiglas. He seemed to be the only passenger. No one gathered at the landing pad. A few patrolling guards glanced in the chopper’s direction. Most went about their business.

  Malone grabbed a sketch pad so the reason he and Sienna were outdoors would appear to be related to work.

  The chopper set down.

  They left the sunroom, crossed the terrace, and descended the stone steps toward the path to the Cloister.

  Malone heard Sienna’s fast breathing. Then the rapid rise and fall of his own chest warned him that she wasn’t the only one in danger of hyperventilating.

  A guard blocked their way. “You can’t go near the Cloister.”

  “We need to speak to Mr. Potter.” Sienna motioned toward the helicopter, where Potter jumped to the landing pad and turned toward the Cloister and the weapons-testing area. “Alex!” The noise from the chopper would prevent Potter from hearing her, but the guard would think she was making an honest attempt to get his attention.

  “We’ll lose the rest of the day if …” Sienna moved forward. “Alex!”

  But Potter was hurrying toward the Cloister.

  “Alex!” Sienna called again, moving more quickly forward.

  Malone noted that the other guards, sporadically placed, weren’t paying attention.

  “Alex!” Sienna ran now, Malone with her.

  The chopper was only fifty yards ahead of them. The pilot had not yet turned off the engines. The blades continued to spin.

  The guard behind them yelled something, his gruff voice obscured by the whine of the chopper’s blades.

  Malone imagined him frowning, then unslinging his rifle from his shoulder. But would he dare to shoot? The chopper was in his line of fire. One of his targets was his boss’s wife. That would make him think twice. In the meantime, the chopper was closer, thirty yards now, but if Sienna was a target who would make the guard hesitate, Malone was another matter. He felt a spot between his shoulders get colder and tighter in anticipation of a bullet that would shatter his spine.

  Racing to his limit, he strained to convince himself that his apprehension was baseless. The guard didn’t have a reason to assume the helicopter was their objective. Had any of them even been told that Malone had once been a chopper pilot? As far as the guard was concerned, the problem was to keep them out of a restricted area.

  “Alex!” Sienna shouted again.

  Another guard yelled a warning.

  Twenty yards.

  Amazingly, despite the noise from the helicopter, Potter heard the commotion and turned.

  Despite his frantic emotions, Malone enjoyed a microsecond of satisfaction from the way Potter gaped. Then he and Sienna reached the helicopter. A guard raced toward them. As Malone grappled with the man, knocking him to the ground, Sienna did what she had been told. Never looking back, never faltering, she scrambled up through the open hatch. Immediately Malone lost sight of her as he raced around to the pilot’s side, caught the surprised man looking the other way toward Sienna, pulled his harness free, and yanked him out. He had a sense of guards racing in his direction as he surged up behind the controls, secured the harness, and increased power to the idling rotors. Seeing how the extra noise and wind sent Potter staggering back, Malone felt another microsecond of enjoyment, but then as he worked the controls, his sense of near victory turned sour when the helicopter struggled five feet into the air, sank back to the landing pad, rose awkwardly again, and veered, as if obeying its own impulses toward the château.

  9

  “Get your safety harness fastened!” Malone yelled.

  Sienna fumbled to snap it into place. Adrenaline and the roar through the open hatches made her shout. “I was afraid we were going to crash!”

  “Everything’s fine! There’s nothing to —”

  “Watch out! We’re —”

  Speeding toward the château at a height of about twenty feet, Malone urged the helicopter into a steep ascent that pressed his stomach against his spine.

  Sienna moaned.

  Fighting for altitude, Malone saw the château’s upper stories seem to rush toward him. Then only the third story. Then only the hazy sky was before him as he felt a jolt that made the helicopter shudder.

  “What was —”

  “Something hit the rudder!”

  “Something?”

  “They’re shooting!”

  Another impact shook the controls. As the chopper twisted to the left and tilted, Sienna was thrust halfway out the open hatch, dangling, her harness straining to hold her.

  “Shut the hatch!” Malone yelled.

  “… Trying!”

  Despite his fear for her, he couldn’t risk looking at her; he was too busy fighting the controls. “Can you reach it?”

  “Think I … got it!”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw the desperate effort she put into tugging the hatch shut. The noise suddenly lessened. With equal suddenness, he brought the helicopter back to a level position. Slamming his own hatch shut, he took a momentary delight in the relative silence, the roar from the engines muffled enough that he and Sienna didn’t need to shout anymore.

  He studied the panel of unfamiliar switches that had puzzled him when he’d been flown to Bellasar’s estate. The pilot hadn’t used them, so Malone had no idea what purpose they served, but this wasn’t the time to experiment — the chopper was close to stalling. As it passed over fields and stone fences, Malone felt the controls buck. Ahead, a cypress-studded hill blocked the way. He urged the chopper higher, but the response was sluggish.

  “What�
��s wrong?”

  Malone glanced urgently toward the control panel. “The oil pressure’s dropping. A bullet must have hit —” He angled toward the lowest section of the hill. Barely cresting it, he winced from another jolt as one of the landing skids brushed a cypress top.

  “Are we going to —” Sienna sounded terrified.

  “No! If I think we’re even close to crashing, I’ll set us down first!”

  “But we won’t get far enough away! We’re still over Derek’s property! He’ll —” She stared out the hatch. “Smoke!”

  Black clouds of it spewed from the engine.

  “If we can just stay in the air a little longer …” Malone checked the compass on the control panel. “There’s a small airfield ahead of us.”

  “Where? I don’t see it.”

  “In the next valley.”

  “How do you know?”

  Back on Cozumel, when Malone had agreed to work with Jeb, they had calculated several rescue plans if Malone had a chance to get Sienna away from Bellasar. One had involved reaching a café in Nice, where the proprietor was on the CIA’s payroll and would hide Malone and Sienna until Jeb’s team arrived. Another plan had involved going to Cannes and contacting a pleasure-boat operator who sometimes worked for the Agency. But those areas were in the opposite direction. Malone was heading inland, not toward the sea, and that left him with a remaining option, an airfield that Jeb had told him about, the compass bearings for which Malone had memorized. Jeb had promised to have a pilot and a small plane waiting for them. “If you can reach that airfield,” Jeb had said, “you’re as good as out of the country.”

  “I don’t understand,” Sienna said. “How do you know about the airfield?”

  “I don’t have time to explain.”

  “You knew about the portraits of Derek’s other wives.” The chopper dipped, making her gasp. “How did you learn so much about —”

  Malone struggled with the controls. “I’ll tell you the first chance I —”

  “My God, are you a —”

  “What?”

  “A spy?”

  10

  As an engineer aimed another missile at a tank in the weapons-testing area, Bellasar tensed at the sound of shots from the château. He grabbed a pistol from one of the guards and raced along a hedge-lined path toward the Cloister. Assuring himself that the area wasn’t under attack, he charged down another path, this one toward the château, and stopped abruptly, surprised to see the helicopter veer over the building, its landing skids barely missing the roof, guards firing at it.

  “What the hell happened?”

  Seeing Potter to his right, he rushed toward him.

  Potter’s face was livid as he stared toward the retreating helicopter. “They stole it!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Malone and your wife! They’re in that helicopter!”

  “Sienna?”

  “They waited for me to land! Before the pilot shut off the engine, they tricked a guard into believing they needed to talk to me! The next thing, they took off!”

  Bellasar was so stunned, he couldn’t speak.

  “I warned you!” Potter said. “I told you he couldn’t be trusted!”

  Briefly, the helicopter was out of sight behind the château. It reappeared on the right, receding into the distance. It sputtered and lurched. Black smoke trailed from it.

  “We hit it!” a guard said.

  “He made a fool of you!” Potter said. “What do you suppose has been going on all the time they’ve been together?”

  “Don’t call me a fool!” Bellasar drove a fist into Potter’s stomach, doubling him over, sending him to his knees.

  Gasping for air, Potter peered up, his spectacles askew, his features contorted with pain. “Maybe you’d better figure out” — he managed a breath — “who’s your friend and who’s your enemy.”

  In the distance, the helicopter kept sputtering.

  Bellasar pivoted toward the guards. The second chopper was due to return with a load of lab equipment in thirty minutes. Until then, the only way to go after Malone and Sienna was in vehicles. Bellasar shouted orders.

  As the guards rushed to obey, Potter groaned. Holding his stomach, he tried to straighten. “If I’m right” — he squeezed the words out — “this isn’t just about Malone and your wife. It’s about what he might have seen at the Cloister last night.”

  Bellasar squinted toward the smoke trailing from the receding helicopter. The damage to it reduced its speed enough that the vehicles wouldn’t be outdistanced. The smoke would make it easy to follow. “Help me catch them!”

  11

  The controls had become so stiff that Malone could hardly move them. The chopper twisted sickeningly. At once, it dropped ten feet, with such force that Malone’s lungs seemed to soar into his throat. He needed all his strength to stop it from plummeting farther. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep it steady. For a moment, he was back in Panama, struggling to control his gunship after it had been shot. “Brace yourself! Find a place that’s flat where we can land!”

  “I don’t see any!”

  Staring down, Malone didn’t see any, either. They were over a rocky, shrub-dotted slope. There was no way the chopper would ever clear the top. The controls shuddered violently. If he didn’t land now, the chopper was going to make the decision for him. Using every skill he could remember, he forced the chopper out of a dizzying spiral, wobbled along the side of the slope, glimpsed a space between boulders, gave one last determined command to the resisting controls, and slammed down.

  The impact rammed his teeth together. Ignoring the pain that shot along his jaw, he shut off the engines, unsnapped his safety harness, and spun toward Sienna. Her head was drooped. My God, is she —

  But before the thought could be completed, she raised her hand toward the back of her neck and rubbed it, shaking her head in a daze.

  “Are you okay?” he blurted.

  “… Head hurts.”

  “We have to get out of here.” He coughed from the black smoke that swirled around him, stinging his throat. “This thing might explode.”

  That caught her attention. After one more dazed look at him, she was suddenly animated, freeing her harness, shoving at the hatch on her side of the chopper. “It’s stuck! It won’t —”

  Malone desperately tried his own side and groaned when he found that it, too, was stuck, the impact having twisted it. Sweat stung his eyes as he strained to his limit, his nerves quickening when the hatch reluctantly creaked open. One of the blades had been bent down by the force of the landing. Rotating, it had struck a boulder and frozen, jamming the rotor so that the other blades were frozen also.

  At least, I don’t have to worry about one of them spinning out of control and chopping my head off, he thought.

  He had plenty to worry about as it was. When he jumped free, then turned to grab Sienna’s hand and help her out, he saw flickers of crimson in the swirling black smoke on top of the chopper. The engine wasn’t just overheated; it was on fire. Jesus, if the flames reach the fuel tank …

  Leaping down, Sienna saw the flames, too, her panicked look communicating that he didn’t have to tell her to run as far and fast as she could. They raced, dodging boulders, sprinting past bushes, charging along the slope. Malone’s throat, already irritated by the oily smoke, was made more raw by his quick, deep, strident breathing. His legs stretched to their maximum. Beside him, Sienna strained to run faster.

  Hearing a whoosh behind him, Malone recognized the distinctive sound of flames reaching spilled fuel. He barely saw a gully suddenly appear before he had time to jump instead of stumble into it. He landed and rolled, Sienna tumbling next to him, the shock wave from an explosion striking his eardrums. It was far more powerful than the blast from a burning gas tank. Numerous secondary explosions were almost as strong, punctuated by the crackle of bullets. Jesus, had there been munitions aboard? Malone wondered in dismay as something e
lse exploded. Chunks of smoking metal clanged off boulders and rebounded down the gully. Then the afternoon was silent, except for Malone’s and Sienna’s gasping attempt to catch their breath and the muted rumble of the unseen flames.

  They stared apprehensively at each other, their eyes asking if either was hurt, each quietly responding, I’m all right, but what about you ? Tasting sweat, smoke, and dust, Malone tried his arms and legs. After Sienna did the same and nodded in assurance, they rose cautiously to peer over the rim toward the blazing hulk of the chopper.

  “How far is that airfield?” Sienna’s face was smeared with soot.

  “Maybe a half mile.”

  “We’re wasting time.” She climbed painfully out of the gully. “But if we ever get away, you’re going to tell me how you learned about this place.”

  He didn’t know how to respond. Not that it mattered. As they climbed the rocky slope, another sound intruded. Malone now had an added taste in his mouth — coppery, that of fear — as he turned toward approaching engines and saw three four-wheel-drive vehicles speed past trees on a road below him. They swerved into the bumpy field that led in this direction.

  People from a nearby farm? Malone wondered. Did they see the chopper go down and come to help? The state-of-the-art vehicles, almost military in design, made his heart sink with doubt. So did the relentlessness with which their occupants ignored the jostling punishment of the uneven terrain.

  “It’s Derek,” Sienna said.

  Despite her bruised legs, she spun toward the crest and ran.

  12

  As his vehicle jolted across the field, Bellasar gripped the steering wheel harder and glared through the windshield toward the smoke and flames billowing from the wreckage. “Does anybody see survivors?”

  Increasing speed despite the shocks to the vehicle, he scanned the rocky slope. The spreading haze made it difficult to distinguish shapes. His vision was unsteady because of the jouncing shudder of the vehicle. Even so, he thought he saw figures moving to the right of the blazing wreckage. He shoved his foot harder onto the accelerator, stiffening his neck to keep his head from jerking back.