Deadlock

by Iris Johansen

  He shrugged. "Maybe I've had too much time to think about it. The life of leisure isn't what it's cracked up to be. I'm used to being busy."

  "Is that all?"

  "No." He tossed the paper back on the chair. "I like her face."

  "YOUR FACE IS GETTING THIN," Staunton said. "You're not eat¬ing. I don't like that."

  "What does it matter?" Emily said dully. "You don't care whether I live or die."

  "Oh, but I do. My employer would be upset if you died before you told me where you hid the hammer."

  Emily didn't answer. It did no good to deny it. He wouldn't lis¬ten. "Then he's going to be upset. I can't tell you what I don't know. What kind of a monster would pay you to do this? Who is he?"

  "I have certain business ethics. It wouldn't be honorable of me to give you his name."

  "His name is Satan."

  Staunton chuckled. "I won't tell him you're so disrespectful. He might take offense." Then his smile faded. "Yes, I don't like your condi¬tion at all." He covered her with her blanket. "You have to keep warm. It's still snowing outside. And you're not sleeping. No more tears, no more screams, no begging me to spare that poor lad. But of course there's not much of him left to spare, is there?"

  "No," Emily whispered. "And may God send you straight to hell."

  "Not nice, Emily. Now I want you to eat today. If you don't, I'll find a new and more excruciating way to hurt Levy."

  "You couldn't hurt him any more than you have."

  "You know better than that. You've watched me do it. It's only been two weeks. A few burns, a few body parts… Did you enjoy yes¬terday, Emily?"

  "Enjoy?" She repeated the word in disbelief. "You burned out his eyes, you bastard." "You remember?" "Of course, I remember." "Nothing else?"

  She stared at him in bewilderment. "What?" "I've noticed you try to block out certain choice episodes. Like the one yesterday."

  "You son of a bitch."

  "Now that showed some spirit. Eat your food. I want you fresh and strong when I take you to Levy's hut." He stood up. "Twenty minutes, Emily."

  She closed her eyes. She desperately wanted to cry. But he was right; the tears would no longer come. She had wept too much, drowned in horror and helplessness and guilt.

  But it wasn't over. Staunton always kept his word. He would find a way to punish her by tormenting that poor shell of the man who had once been Joel Levy.

  She sat up and began to eat.

  "NICE PLACE," FERGUSON SAID as he looked around the large living room whose west wall was entirely composed of tall windows over¬looking the sea. "But not as palatial as I thought you'd choose, consider¬ing your present affluence."

  "You mean ill-gotten gains, don't you?" Garrett smiled. "You're being tactful. How amusing. Would you like a drink?"

  "No." Ferguson felt a ripple of annoyance as he watched Garrett pour himself a whiskey. This wasn't the sweating, fierce man of the last time they'd met. The bastard was so damn confident and at home in this house that had probably cost as much as Ferguson's entire pen¬sion would bring him. Was he jealous? Why not? Garrett had it all. He was dressed simply in jeans and a white cable-knit sweater, but he wore them with casual elegance. He was in his late thirties, tall and muscu¬lar, and he moved with the litheness that Ferguson remembered. His brown-black hair was clipped close, and his dark eyes dominated a face that effortlessly held one's attention. And, dammit, not only was he smart, he was more lethal than any man Ferguson had ever met. He'd even intimidated Ferguson on occasion. "The Company could have stopped you from settling here, you know. All we would have had to do was drop a few words in the right ears. Criminals aren't welcome here in England. After all, you're a smuggler and a mercenary."

  "Am I?" He shook his head. "I'm retired, Ferguson. And if you want to try to blacklist me with Her Majesty's government, go ahead. I don't care."

  He was telling the truth. "I'm not threatening you."

  Garrett smiled. "Not unless it would do you some good. You're not handling this well, Ferguson. I'm getting impatient. Get down to it."

  Ferguson pulled a file out of his briefcase. "Emily Hudson, Joel Levy. Kidnapped two weeks ago by bandits in the Hindu Kush. We need to get them back."

  "And?"

  "I need help."

  "Yes, you do. You'll be lucky if they're still alive."

  "Damn you, we've done everything we could to-" He stopped. "You know the area, and you have contacts. I wondered if we could talk you into using those contacts to get us information about the bandits."

  "That's better. To the point and almost polite." Garrett took a sip of his whiskey. "They weren't taken by bandits."

  Ferguson stiffened. "What?"

  "There was some bandit involvement, but they were taken by for¬eigners."

  "The killings were done by AK-47s of Russian make used by the bandits in the area. The footprints by the trucks were made by boots that came from a village in those mountains."

  "Red herrings."

  "Then who?"

  Garrett shook his head. "Not bandits. Not Taliban. Not Al Qaeda. No one from the Middle East. Maybe someone English, Irish, Euro¬pean… I don't know."

  "Then who does, dammit?"

  Garrett shrugged. "I've told you all I could find out. I can con¬tinue to try, but it will take time. You don't have time."

  "But you could find out more if you were on the ground there?"

  "Maybe." He gazed thoughtfully down into his drink. "Yes, prob¬ably."

  Ferguson wanted to strangle the bastard. "You could find them?" "Yes, I think so."

  "Then go in and get them," Ferguson said through his teeth. Garrett leaned back in his chair. "Are you ordering me?" "You're damn right."

  "It appears the gloves are off." Garrett's eyes narrowed on Fergu¬son's face. "And you wouldn't do it unless you thought you could get away with it. You can't blackmail me, and you can't bribe me. I've put myself beyond your reach. What's left?"

  "Jack Dardon," Ferguson said. "He's worked for you for the last six years, and you've been friends since the old days. You don't have many friends, do you?"

  "Enough. Where's this leading?"

  "We can't touch you, but Dardon has left a few strings that we can unravel. He evidently wanted to be independent and set up his own smuggling operation after you retired. We have information that would cause him a good bit of trouble with the Greek and Russian govern¬ments."

  "Evidence?"

  Ferguson nodded. "Affidavits, photos. Sufficient to put him be¬hind bars for a good many years. Would you like to see the file?"

  Garrett slowly shook his head. "I don't think you'd bluff under these circumstances."

  "No bluff. Go to Afghanistan and get Hudson and Levy out."

  "And you'll turn over Dardon's file and any hard evidence?"

  Ferguson nodded. "Dardon isn't important to us."

  "Except as a tool. We're all tools to you. I wondered what you'd come up with to tip the balance."

  Garrett's tone was without expression, and Ferguson had a sinking feeling that he'd failed. Garrett was going to tell him to go to hell. Maybe Dardon wasn't as good a friend as he'd hoped. There was no anger, no intensity, none of the ferocity that he'd remembered in Garrett.

  "Don't doubt I'll do it, Garrett."

  "You probably would." Garrett finished his drink and stood up. "So I'll tell you what you're going to do, Ferguson. You call off all those Marines and U.N. forces who might fill me full of bullets. You make sure everyone knows I'm one of the good guys… in this par¬ticular instance. Your men stay out of the area. I don't want you any¬where near me unless I yell for help. And when I do call, you'd better come. It had better not be another Colombia."

  "I had no choice but to leave you there. You made it out okay," he said. "You're going to do it?"

  Garrett didn't answer him. "Get out, Ferguson."

  Ferguson repeated. "You're going to do it?"

  Garrett went over to the desk and scrawled a phone number o
n a Post-it note. "I'm leaving tonight for Afghanistan. When I arrive there, I want to be told by my banker in Switzerland that they've received that file and any other evidence you have on Dardon."

  "Not until the job's finished."

  "It won't even begin unless you give over the file." He handed him the Post-it. "And I'll have Dardon at the bank to make sure that you've complied. Be certain you turn over everything."

  "And what if I don't?"

  Garrett stared him in the eye. "I'll come after you. You know how good I am. You sent me on enough missions."

  Ferguson quickly looked away. "You may be getting the best of the deal." He rose to his feet. "I don't even know if you can find them."

  "I'll find them. I have a few leads."

  Ferguson's eyes widened. "You lied to me. What leads?"

  "None I'd turn over to you or the military to botch. One blunder, and you'd get them killed. Hell, 77/ be lucky if I can get them out in one piece. I have to move fast. I made my reservations for Kabul when I docked this morning."

  "You son of a bitch. You let me go through this, and you were go¬ing anyway?"

  Garrett shrugged. "I wanted to know what you were going to use to force me to go." He headed for the door. "I thought I might as well get something out of this mess besides the possibility of being chopped up and spread over that mountain range."

  "WE HAVE TO TALK, EMILY."

  She opened her eyes to see Staunton kneeling beside her. "It doesn't do me any good to talk to you. You don't listen."

  "Then I'll do the talking, questioning actually, and you have only to answer."

  "I don't know where it is."

  "That wasn't the question." He reached out and gently stroked her cheek. "I've grown very fond of you in these weeks. I don't believe I've ever felt so… intimate with anyone. What a brave, lovely woman you are."

  She shuddered at his touch but didn't move. For the past few days he'd been touching her, stroking her, almost lovingly. She'd ignored it. She wouldn't be the one to suffer if she fought him.

  Staunton sighed. "Yes, it will upset me enormously if I have to hurt you." Liar.

  "But it will," he said softly. "I've been avoiding it by concentrating on Levy, but you just won't help me." "I can't help you."

  "I'm coming close to believing you, but my employer won't be sat¬isfied unless I tell him what I've done to you to verify that." His fore¬finger traced the curve of her upper lip. "So we have a choice to make."

  "What choice?"

  "I'm sure you've noticed that Levy is not responding to… stim¬uli. He's dying, Emily." "Yes."

  "And that means that there will be no possibility that you'll tell me what I need to know to stop his suffering. I'll have no excuse." His fingers moved to stroke her throat. "So I decided to leave the choice to you. I can continue to rouse him to pain for another few days. I might be able to do it. I'm very good."

  "Or?"

  "Or I can spare him and switch my efforts to you. You know what that will mean. You or Levy. Decide."

  Yes, she knew what that would mean. It was her turn. She had known it would be coming.

  She moistened her lips. "Me."

  He sighed. "I thought that you'd want to spare him. I want you to know that I'm going to regret what I have to do to you." She shook her head.

  "You don't believe me? I'll prove it. I'll give you twenty-four hours before I start." He bent his head and kissed her lingeringly. "Do you know with women it starts with rape? Sexual violation seems to be the ultimate humiliation. But it also has to be brutal enough to bring pain. It would hurt me to be brutal to you in that particular act, so I'm going to turn you over to Shafir Ali the leader of my bandit friends. He's been very cooperative and needs a reward. He has no problem with brutality. I understand he beat his wife to death for not being sufficiently enthusiastic in the sack. He'll probably want to share you with his friends later, but tomorrow night he's going to de¬vote himself to you. I'll deliver you to his tent at exactly this time to¬morrow night." He kissed her again and rose to his feet. "You might spend the next twenty-four hours thinking about what Shafir will be doing to you. I'll go and tell Levy that he won't suffer anymore."

  Emily watched him leave the hut. She had thought she was too numb, too calloused by Joel's agony, to be afraid, but she was wrong. Panic was rising within her.

  God, let her get away from here. Or let her have the courage not to give Staunton the satisfaction of making her break under the pain.

  A shot rang out from Joel's hut next door.

  No!

  She arched upward as if the bullet had struck her. 77/ tell Levy he won't have to suffer anymore. She should have guessed. Dear God, she should have known.

  THREE

  "IT'S TIME." STAUNTON P U L L E D her to her feet. "He's ready for you. Are you ready for him?" Emily didn't answer.

  "I find I'm reluctant to turn you over to him. I've gotten quite pos¬sessive of you. I want even your pain to come from me." Staunton slipped her jacket on her. "Mustn't get cold. There's another blizzard starting." He whirled her to face him. "One more time. Where's Zelov's hammer?"

  She shook her head.

  "Oh, Emily, I did try." He lowered his head, and his lips brushed hers.

  Her teeth bit down savagely on his lower lip.

  "Son of a bitch!" His fist lashed out and knocked her to the floor. His lip was torn and bleeding. "You little savage. You'll pay for that."

  "At least it will be me who pays, not Joel," she said fiercely. "And it was worth it."

  "I'll make very sure it won't be worth it." He jerked her to her feet and pushed her toward the door. "I wish I could start now, but you have an appointment to keep."

  The snow was stinging her face, and she couldn't see more than a foot in front of her as Staunton pulled her away from the hut toward the bandit encampment a short distance away.

  He pulled up the flap of a tent whose rear was sheltered from the storm by huge rocks. "Here she is, Shafir." He pushed her into the tent. "Don't kill her. Anything else is permissible." He touched his lip. "Even desirable."

  "She stung you?" The bandit smiled as he rose to his feet. Shafir Ali was huge, with a full black beard and bushy eyebrows. "I thought better of you, Staunton. I'll have to teach you how to make her be¬have. By morning she'll be ready to kiss your feet."

  "That would be amusing. I look forward to it." He turned away. "Get to work on her." He pulled the flap closed as he left the tent.

  "He's angry with you," Shafir said. "I can understand. Women should not be allowed out of control. If you were mine, I'd keep you naked and chained until you learned submission. Perhaps if I do a good job tonight, he'll let me have you for a while." He started toward her. "Come on, bite me, hit me. I'll show you how a man should treat a whore who doesn't know her place." He put his hands on her shoul¬ders. "Are you afraid of me? You should be."

  He stank of sweat and leather, and his grip on her shoulders was excruciating.

  Ignore it. Fight him. Try to get away. This might be her last hope. Once Staunton came for her in the morning, her chances of escaping would be nonexistent.

  "Tell me you want it," he said. "Tell me you want me to fuck you." When she didn't speak, his grip tightened. "Beg me."

  Her knee swung up and connected with his balls. As he grunted with pain, she tore away from him and ran toward the tent entrance. He caught her before she reached it and backhanded her. She fell to the hard dirt that formed the floor of the tent. He hit her again.

  Her head was ringing as he flipped her over and she was barely able to see him through the haze of pain.

  "You run from me?" He took his knife out of the holster at his waist. "I'll just have to make sure you can't do that again." He plunged the knife into the side of her left calf.

  She screamed as the pain tore through her.

  "That's right," he said as he pulled the knife out and stabbed it into the earth next to them, burying the point in the dirt. "Staunton will like
to hear you scream. I'll just keep this handy in case I want to prick you again." He tore open her jacket and jerked open her shirt. "Maybe your breasts…" He bent his head, his face flushed. "You bit Staunton until he bled. Do you think he'd be pleased if I bit this pretty nipple and made you bleed?'

  The knife he'd buried in the earth was within her reach.

  Wait. He was liking this, wanting to hurt her. Pretend to be help¬less and in pain. Distract him.

  Pain seared her nipple as his teeth sank savagely into it. The moan she gave was no pretense.

  He lifted his head and licked the blood off her breast. His eyes were glazed with pleasure. "Now the other one."

  His teeth bit deep.

  She cried out. She arched upward.

  And her hand closed on the hilt of the knife. She plunged it into his side.

  He made a sound like a wounded bull as his head jerked up. She pushed away from him and scrambled to her knees. Get out of the tent. Get away from him.

  But the knife thrust hadn't stopped him. He was moving, rising to his knees, reaching for the AK-47 leaning against the wall of the tent. "Bitch. I'll fill you full of-"

  His head snapped back as an arm encircled his neck from behind. With one twist, the man who had seized him broke his neck.

  Emily stared, unable to move, stunned. It had happened too fast. She couldn't take it in. She hadn't seen the man until the mo¬ment he had killed. High cheekbones, tight lips, an expression beyond intensity. Dark clothes, dark hair, dark eyes glittering in the lantern light.

  Angel of Death.

  "Grab the AK-47 and any ammunition you can find." The stanger dragged the huge bulk of Shafir Ali's body toward the pallet and dropped a blanket over it. "I'll be back for you in a minute."

  "Wait. Who are you?"

  "John Garrett. The CIA sent me to get you and Levy out." Freedom for her but not for Joel. "You're too late. Joel is dead," she said dully.

  "I found that out when I got here and made contact today." He moved toward the back of the tent and started to slip through the slit he'd made in the fabric. "Fasten up your clothes and get that gun."