Gone Black

by Linda Ladd

  Black led the way now, and Claire was happy to let him take charge for a while. She was exhausted, weary from want of sleep and the extreme danger she had faced during every second since she had stepped onto Roger Keaton’s helicopter at Cedar Bend Lodge. Rico followed Black, and then Claire brought up the rear, always turning around, walking backward, and watching the tunnel behind her. At least they were armed now, she kept telling herself, which was better than it had been before, and they weren’t drugged or tied up. Not much to celebrate, for sure, but enough to garner a ray of hope. They were about to face a veritable army of armed men and one psycho girl telling them all what to do, a woman who was completely insane and more frightening than all her armed cohorts put together.

  Everything seemed very quiet now. They couldn’t hear any alarms going off up above. Maybe with Marcel Soquet flown off to the hospital, if that’s where they’d taken him, maybe Jaxy would call it quits, too, and take off to see about her father. Hell, Max Soquet would probably revive in the crypt, like a damn vampire, and come after them again. Even though his very own, handmade grenades had blown him asunder. Then she got a mental vision of the way he had looked when she had left him, the blood everywhere, the butchered throat, and the sound of the violent explosion inside that bedroom. She was pretty sure he was as dead as dead could be.

  Claire forced all those gory images down, but she wasn’t sorry she’d killed him. Not at all. He deserved to die, all these psychopathic killers and torturers deserved to die for what they’d done to so many innocent people. Maybe God was on their side, the side of right. Maybe if all remained quiet upstairs in the house, they could just eventually waltz right out of this hell on earth into the warm French sunshine and go get married and get drunk on champagne and forget everything that happened. Yeah, right. As if.

  When they had gone quite a way down into the cliffs, they began to hear men shouting somewhere up in the passages behind them, and then the sound of running footsteps coming down toward them. They moved faster, and Claire took her gun and held it steady with both hands, her sights beaded on the dim passage behind her. Black kept forging ahead, quick and quiet and sure of foot. The men were speaking another language, shouting at each other, but it didn’t sound like French. It wasn’t French. So what was it? Italian, maybe? They were coming down fast, gaining on them, and it sounded like they were checking out all the grottoes and caverns along the sides of the main trough. When it sounded like their pursuers were close enough, Claire and Black both stopped and prepared to fight back.

  Claire pushed Rico behind her and went down into a crouch against one wall. Black pressed himself back in the shadows on the other wall. Within minutes, the two guys turned the corner and barreled into sight, both at a dead run. Black didn’t hesitate. He shot them both with the Sig. Headshots, both. Black had meant what he said all right. He would be more than happy to put them all into early graves. No doubt still peeved at the accommodations he had not enjoyed.

  They quickly searched the bodies and grabbed up the arms from the two dead guys and continued down toward the base of the cliff, faster now, Black still in the lead, almost running. He was pretty much himself again all right, but he was now exhibiting a side of his character that Claire had never seen in action before. He was acting like a well-trained commando. Maybe because that was exactly what he really was, or had been. Maybe he had hidden lots of stuff about himself from her, things that she would never have believed possible. But right now, she needed this ruthless, accomplished, and lethal facet of Black’s personality to come out. Hell, he could kill as many of these savage animals as he wanted. And she’d help him, just like she’d said. Maybe Black wearing this new and deadly persona could get them out alive after all.

  When they reached a large cavern with a shallow cistern filled with rainwater, Black took out Barto’s phone. He got a signal at once, and the phone’s screen lit up. Coordinates appeared and she could tell that something was wrong by his shocked expression.

  “Oh, God, what?” she cried, almost afraid to hear the answer.

  “We’re not in France. We’re in Sicily.”

  “What? No way.”

  But then to Claire’s surprise, Black actually smiled. “Well, that’s Soquet’s biggest mistake.”

  He didn’t give her time to inquire about that remark, because he quickly poked in a number and spoke rapidly to somebody at the other end in another language. It was Italian, Claire could tell. But she couldn’t understand what he was saying. The only word she understood Black to say was Montenegro, his older brother’s name. Then he dialed again, and Claire faced the opening behind them, weapon up and ready for anybody who showed up. It sounded like there were a ton of men coming toward them now. Lots of noise and echoes and shouting. Black spoke a few more words into the phone, but Claire didn’t ask. She kept Rico behind her, and then Black cursed as the phone went dead and then tossed it away and turned to her. “Help’s on the way. But we’ve got no choice now. We’ve gotta jump.”

  Claire just stared at him. “No way, Black. The fall from this high will kill us.”

  “No, it won’t. Even if it does, it’s better than letting Jaxy get hold of us again. We can’t fight them all, Claire. They’ve got too many men and too much firepower.”

  “No, no!” That was Rico, looking horrified at the idea. “I can’t swim. I can’t swim. Daddy told me about the undertows.”

  Claire and Black stared at each other, but Claire already knew they didn’t have another choice. Black went down on one knee in front of the child. He took him by the arms again and stared into his eyes. “Rico, do you trust us?”

  The boy nodded, but he looked petrified.

  “You can jump with me, okay? I’ll hold you tight, I promise, and I’ll bring you back up to the surface as fast as I can. I won’t let the undertow take you out and I won’t let you drown. I swear I won’t. Do you believe me, Rico?”

  The boy didn’t look like he believed him. Claire wasn’t sure she believed him, either. She moved over to the edge of the precipice and looked down at the sea, boiling and rolling and crashing around far below. If they jumped far enough out, they wouldn’t hit any of the jagged rocks, but they’d have to take one hell of a big leap—of distance and of faith. Claire didn’t blame the boy. She was scared witless about jumping off that ledge, too. But the men were coming closer all the time. They had already found Barto’s dead body in the tunnel, and there was loud shouting and then more running footsteps coming ever closer.

  Black was back on his feet and looking at her now. “We don’t have a choice, Claire. This is it. They’ll kill all three of us this time. What’s it gonna be?”

  Claire took a deep breath, then another one. “Okay, I guess, let’s do it.”

  They put down their weapons and the heavy backpacks that Claire wished they could take but knew they couldn’t. She did stick her Glock down below the elastic band at the back of her sweatpants. She was not going anywhere unarmed. Even into the ocean. Black slung the strap on Barto’s rifle over his head and across his chest and let it hang down his back. He looked down at Claire. “We can do this, sweetheart. Together. We can get to the beach and escape from them. It will buy us time so help can get here.”

  “Nothing can be worse than facing Jaxy again.”

  Black grinned a little, but not much and not for long. He still looked pretty bad. Dark circles under his eyes, bruises all over his face, thick black beard, and now he was sweating profusely. God only knew if he could do all these things while at the tail end of a bad acid trip, but she and Rico had to buck up and go along for the ride. She watched Black tear some straps off a backpack and put it behind his back. He picked up Rico and told him to lock his legs around his waist and his arms around his neck and not to let go, no matter what. Then Black buckled the straps behind the boy’s back and tied him securely to his own chest. He was speaking calmly to Rico all the while, trying to assuage the boy’s obvious terror. Rico wasn’t saying anything, just holdin
g on for dear life, his face buried in Black’s shoulder, his arms clutching Black’s neck so hard that Claire was afraid he’d strangle him. But Rico needed to hold tight because that strap probably wouldn’t hold, not as hard as they were going to hit that water. She just hoped to God that the little boy wasn’t ripped out of Black’s grip and pulled under before they could get him back up to the surface.

  “It’s gonna have to be a running jump,” Black was telling her now. “Come on. We need to go out at the same time so if anything goes wrong, we can get to each other.”

  Claire moved back where he was standing, which was as far back from the ledge as he could get. Claire had turned absolutely rigid with fright. More scared than she had ever been in her life. She didn’t like heights. Never had. Never felt the urge to take any death-defying leaps into the sea or into oblivion, either. She could swim even better than Black, but she had never jumped from this distance. Never jumped from even half this distance, or a fourth of it. He probably had parachuted while in the Rangers. She knew she had to go in feetfirst, had to pinwheel her arms to keep her body in the right position to do that. She’d seen that on TV. Man, they were gonna die this time. She was pretty damn sure about that.

  Black was still talking. Claire started listening again.

  “Okay, you gotta calm down, Claire. Listen to me. You’ve got to run hard and leap as far out from the cliff as you can. This ledge juts out over the water, but you still have to jump as far out as you can, understand? You’ve got to do that to clear the cliff and the rocks down below. The water’s deep enough for us to jump safely, I promise you that. I can tell.”

  Claire was quivering all over, couldn’t help it. She wondered if he could really tell or if he was just being encouraging. She had a feeling it was the latter. Hell, she wasn’t Wonder Woman or Angelina Jolie. Not when it came to jumping off cliffs. “Okay, no problem. Let’s just do it.”

  Black didn’t look convinced as to her true readiness. Probably the way her voice was shaking harder than an 8.0 earthquake. “If we can make this jump, we can make it out of this thing alive. Trust me, Claire? You’ve got to trust me on this.”

  “Sure. Not so sure about trusting that undertow, though.”

  “The undertow’s our friend. It’s gonna take us away from the rocks and then all we have to do is swim across it and let the waves wash us up to the beach. Trust me, baby. I know what I’m talking about. I know how to survive in the ocean.”

  “Okay, sure. Let’s do it.”

  Oh, God, she was so damn scared to do this. This was crazy, crazy, more than crazy. Oh, hell, hell, she did not want to jump off that cliff. She was gonna die and so were they. This was it for all of them.

  The men were getting close now. They had found the two bodies and were yelling. Angry. It was time. The die was cast. She figured they had about a fifty-fifty chance, maybe. Or less. Probably less. Probably no chance at all actually.

  “Okay, Claire. On three, we run and jump. Rico, don’t you dare let go of me, you hear me, son, no matter what happens or how bad it is. You just hold on tight and hold your breath until I get you back to the surface. Understand me? It’s going to be hard, and we’re gonna get tossed all around under the water, jerked all over the place, and it’s gonna be violent. But that’s just the waves comin’ in and the undertow goin’ out. Claire, you’ve got to jump out as far as you possibly can and try to stay upright in the air. Try not to hit the water on your back or go in headfirst. You cannot do that, understand me? Feetfirst, arms down to your side when you hit the surface. Got that, Claire? Put your arms down before you hit the water, or it’s gonna hurt like hell. We can do this. We have to do this.”

  “No problem.”

  Her voice was still so weak and shaking so much that Black actually grinned at her pseudo-bravery that wasn’t coming off at all. But that brief little hint of amusement fled quickly. “And don’t look down, whatever you do. Keep your eyes focused out on the horizon. Don’t worry, you’ll know when you get close to the water. Don’t panic when the waves and the undertow start pulling you up and down and throwing you around under the water. Okay? It’ll seem like you’re under the water for hours but it’ll only be a matter of seconds. I promise you that. Just seconds and then you can surface just fine. Just find the light and swim hard up to it. That’s gonna be the surface. Go to the light. Claire? Are you listening to me? Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

  She nodded, but she was still pretty much petrified out of her freakin’ mind.

  “I’ve done this before, sweetheart, lots of times. I know what I’m talking about.”

  “Right.”

  “You’re making me nervous, Claire.”

  “Right.”

  Black held out his hand. Claire took it.

  “Okay, Claire, we’ll go on three. Ready?”

  Claire had never been this terrified, never, ever in her life. Never so sure that she was breathing her last few moments alive on earth.

  “Okay, let’s just do it. One … two … three. Go!”

  They took off running together, trying to gain as much speed as they could, and then they were there at the edge of the cliff and taking flying giant leaps out into midair, side by side, wind buffeting them in the face, and Rico was screaming his head off against Black’s neck. She felt Black jerk her out farther from the cliff with his own momentum, and then they were absolutely plummeting down through empty air, both pinwheeling their arms and trying desperately to right themselves and hoping to God they weren’t swallowed up by the sea and flung by the huge waves onto the sharp rocks below.

  Chapter Twenty

  Gripping the starboard rail with both hands, Will Novak stood in the prow of the Sicilian fishing boat that they’d rented to take them across the water to the remote island where they now believed Claire and Black were being held. They had landed in Marsala on the northwest coast of Sicily and finally triangulated exactly where Claire’s call had initiated. It was from a privately owned island, not far from Lipari. All of the islands in the area were part of the Aeolian Islands, most of which were sparsely inhabited with only a few fishing villages here and there and some touristy sites for beachcombers who like ultimate privacy.

  Impatient to reach shore and get going, he waited for the horizon of the island to appear. The Soquets had held Claire and Black captive for a long time now. Novak had spent the hour-long flight reading over Nick Black’s psychiatric files on the family of assassins again, more thoroughly this time, and some of the stuff he read made his blood run cold. These were murderous psychos that they were dealing with all right. People who had wreaked havoc on hundreds of people with their bomb making and grenade vests and assassinations and abductions. Claire had read the same dossiers, and still had gone in alone. She was just unbelievable, and she must love Nick Black one helluva lot to find the gumption to do something like that. He hoped to God that she was still alive.

  Marcel Soquet needed to be taken out. It should have been done years ago, right when he first got started with his nefarious career. Maybe when he killed his own beloved wife in front of his children out of jealousy and revenge and misplaced personal honor. Somebody should have taken him out then. Somehow. Some way. If Novak could end the reign of blood and violence and gore that Marcel had been initiating and perpetrating for years, he wanted to be the one to do it. He just wanted to do it before his two friends were tortured to death in the most barbaric of ways.

  Novak swallowed hard, thinking of the two people now in Soquet’s hands. He glanced back at Booker and Holliday. Booker was at the helm, steering the boat straight for the island, pushing it as hard as it would go. Jack was already armed for bear and also staring ahead over the water, searching for the first sign of the island. Both of their faces looked as determined as his probably did. They all knew they had screwed up royally by following the false GPS signal to that French chateau. They had all been played for fools, and all of them were way too savvy and well-trained and experienced to
have been that gullible. It should never have happened. It was a humiliating mistake to have to stomach, and it could very well lead to the deaths of two people they all cared about.

  At that moment, his jaw clenched hard with regret and anxiety, and he vowed internally that if Claire and Black were dead, if they died by Soquet’s hand in some terrible way, Novak would hunt down and kill every last person on that island who had been involved in their deaths. He would make them pay for any suffering they had delivered, a hundred times over. He would watch each and every one of them breathe their last breath with sublime pleasure. But even acts of violent revenge could not bring Claire and Black back. It wouldn’t do them one bit of good, except it would send the Soquets and their men straight to hell where they couldn’t hurt anybody else. But that kind of vengeance was good enough for Novak. If it had to be that way. He just prayed to God that it didn’t have to be that way.

  When he saw the dark shadow rising up against the blue sky and the island finally loomed up in the distance, he turned and went below with the others. They gathered their guns and grenades and rifles and ammunition, put on their Kevlar vests and helmets and goggles and all the protective gear they’d brought along. They were going up against a much superior force, no doubt about it. But they were all three dead set on storming the place and taking out as many enemies as they could put down. Novak looked forward to it. All of them looked forward to it.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Inside her mind, Claire was screaming bloody murder, but she did manage to hit the surface of the water feetfirst and arms down. She went in very hard and straight, but it felt as if she had been dropped off the Golden Gate Bridge and drilled into a concrete parking lot. She plummeted down into the water, hard and fast, down, down, down, so deep that she thought she’d never have the strength to fight her way back up to the surface. All around her was a dark, violent, and cold maelstrom of bubbles and strange subterranean echoes and filtered light from the surface and confusion and loud muffled noises inside her ears.