by Carla Cassidy, Evelyn Vaughn, Harper Allen, Ruth Wind, Cindy Dees
Stay alive. It hit her in an entirely different fashion. Not the analytical lawyer’s approach to defining a problem, but the very personal, core reaction of a woman not ready to die. Not ready never to see the man she loved…or to learn if she’d be able to live the rest of her life with him. Or even to learn if her illness, her fatigue…if it had been more significant than a passing moment. Much more.
That fatigue washed over her again; she let it. A glance at her watch startled her and relieved her both. No wonder she was tired—she’d reached the far end of a long day in which she’d lost what little food she’d eaten. She’d started the day fighting terrorists, transformed herself back into her FBI legate persona, and now here she was facing terrorists again, disoriented by the lack of windows in the interior rooms and hallways in which she’d been spending time.
After this, she’d have to retreat to that laundry room and take more than a few moments’ pensive rest. She’d have to grab real sleep. A few hours, that’d be all…and then she’d take to the prowl again, hoping to find the building quieter. Maybe even finding a moment to call Cole—though after this she’d have to use her cell phone and chance being overheard. The phone lines were obviously not an option.
So. First step. Reassure the hostages. Second step…get something to eat. She’d need to check in with Atif in any event. Third step…a few hours’ sleep.
Selena set the rifle on full automatic and leaned it against the railing halfway up the steps she’d chosen. Not only would the noise echo impressively from here, but she might even get lucky with a stray bullet if anyone from the roof came charging down in response. Quickly now—no telling when one of the Kemeni guard pairs might come through, and once she started work she’d be unable to dash away without leaving bits and pieces behind—she tied the rifle in place with butcher twine. A nice five-pound bag of dried beans hung beside it, and she used a second piece of twine to tie it to the trigger, leaving just enough slack so there was no tension between the two.
And then she set up the candle stubs, carefully positioned to burn through the twine holding up the bag. If everything went right—no drafts, no shifting—when the twine burned through, the rifle would discharge at least a handful of rounds before recoil broke the twine holding it in place.
If nothing went right, she’d give them a reason to hunt for her without gaining anything in return. That would suck.
Selena double-checked the setup, nudged the candles into better alignment and pulled the matches from the thigh pocket of her cargo khakis. The match flared to life against the worn concrete step, and once she touched it to the second candlewick, she hesitated only long enough to see that the flame was a good height…and then she ran. Down, down, down—ice pick in one hand, hammer in the other, hoping she wouldn’t run into anyone but ready to leap if she did.
Sometimes luck ran her way.
She threw herself against the wall at the first-floor exit just as the rifle discharged. A long, painful burst of sound, far too distinct to be taken for anything but automatic rifle fire, far too loud to be missed.
Selena smiled, a wicked little smile that would have raised Cole’s eyebrows all the way to his hairline. Already she heard shouting, even through her ringing ears. But as she pivoted around, reaching for the door bar, she caught a glimpse of movement. She had time for nothing more than half a gasp as she flattened herself beside the hinges and then the door slammed open, whipping back at her so she turned her face and sucked in her breath, pressing the small of her back against the cold concrete wall, turning her feet sideways—all to make herself as thin as possible.
The door bar smacked into her hips, hard enough to bruise but not hard enough to break. She snatched it, just enough to make the door hesitate before starting to swing close.
No one else came through. And those who had clattered swiftly up the stairs, leaped over the landing and turned to continue upward.
Now she had time to curse. Silently but fervently, her pulse knocking around her body with frighteningly reckless speed. Too fast…not just adrenaline, but a tired body desperately trying to rise to the challenge. She knew herself…she knew she was pushing too hard.
No help for that.
She let the door close most of the way, caught it again and peeked out into the first floor, that back corner she’d come to know so well. Sound still came tinnily through her offended ears, but she didn’t hear anyone else—just the growing ruckus up the stairwell. Selena took a deep breath and a big chance, and she ran for it. Down the side hall to the little false-backed closet, down the dimly lit corridor to the room that held the hostages. Nothing much had changed, aside from the establishment of one corner as a bathroom area—blocked with chairs, draped with tablecloths and as far from the people as they could make it. That, and it seemed to her that there’d been something shoved up against the other side of the wall. Blocking the servants’ door?
She spied upon the table-filled ballroom beyond that, discovering that it held only one man. One disgruntled, impatient man who glared out the entrance closest to the main lobby—the closest set of stairs lay in that direction. With complete disregard for the history and the value of the building, he vented his anger by repeatedly stabbing an oversize survival knife into the wallpaper-covered plaster. Left behind and soooo unhappy.
Good. Because he wasn’t paying any attention at all to the hostages.
Selena backed off, slipping out into the private function room where she’d not so long ago clocked her first Kemeni conquest on the noggin and dragged him away. She didn’t want to startle them by appearing out of nowhere—distracted or not, the guard in the ballroom would hear such a reaction. He’d definitely hear it if she had to shove aside a table to get there. Then, too, the fewer people who knew about that passage, the better. Surely Prime Minister Razidae knew of it, as well as the events coordinator, but the others…if they learned of it, they might be tempted to try for doomed escape.
No, if they were going to escape, Selena wanted to be in on it. But she didn’t think escape was their best option, not just yet. Not until she’d picked off a few more terrorists; not until she’d heard more from Cole. If he could help her arrange a diversion from the outside…
For now, she’d settle for talking to them. Letting them know they weren’t alone.
Selena checked the hall, ducked into it long enough to reach the hostage room entrance and hesitated there the mere instant it took to confirm the hostages were still alone.
She entered the room with a finger already to her lips, a plea for silence.
They froze, expecting any arrival to be Kemeni—and then Allori jumped to his feet, his astonishment turning instantly to concern. “Selena!”
He’d kept his voice to a whisper, but it acted as a release for the others; their voices tumbled over one another, low exclamations of surprise and pleas for help that accumulated to significance. Selena glared a warning, putting a demanding hand out to hush them, ready to run right out on them if she had to.
“Silence!” bellowed the guard in Berzhaani, and even the students understood the intent of it.
Allori, bless his heart, stood where he could look into the ballroom, and he gave Selena the slightest shake of his head. No, the guard wasn’t actually coming this way. Not yet. She kept her hand raised, her expression full of warning, and then when they stood, silent and hesitating on her next move, she pointed at the college student with the steadiest demeanor and directed him with a gesture: watch the guard through the door.
He wasn’t the most mature of them; he even looked to be the youngest, still short and slight, his need to shave still questionable and his chin too weak ever to truly firm up. But though he might have paled a little, he didn’t hesitate. He put himself in line of sight of the guard and sat in the closest chair, and then he gave her the same slight nod Allori had given the moment before.
Selena nodded back, and then she gestured the others closer, a finger still on her lips.
The
bold young man from the lobby was the first to speak up, though he remembered to keep it low. His girlfriend stood close beside him, a tentative hand at his arm. “I saw you in the lobby.”
“And I saw you.” Selena looked them over, found none of them injured, all of them scared. “Have they allowed you to talk?”
Razidae said, “Yes. At about this level. We should be all right unless something alerts them.”
Allori got right to the point. “What’s your situation? What can you tell us?”
“They know I’m in the building.” Selena gave her sore face a rueful touch. “Tafiq and I…well, it’s personal now, Dante. I don’t honestly know how much longer I can evade them. But I’ll do what I can, while I can. I’m in touch with Cole.”
Who’s Cole? The question stood loud on everyone’s face except Allori’s—and Razidae’s, who knew it didn’t matter, so long as Cole represented help. “I’ve briefed him on the situation on the inside. He’ll keep an eye on our best interests. The important thing—the reason I risked exposing myself here—is that you should all know you’re not alone. I’m here, and I’m working to get you out. Berzhaan and the States are working on getting you out.” Probably not together, not to judge by Selena’s own initial reception here in Berzhaan. “Be patient.”
“What about that man they took?” The girlfriend, so close to Selena, looked her straight in the eye. “He was important, wasn’t he? What happened to him?”
“Amar bin Kuwaji,” Razidae said softly. “Yes, he’s my deputy prime minister. Was my deputy, I should think.”
Selena met his gaze and nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“They used him to prove their intent?” Allori asked, immune to the little gasps of dismay around them. He didn’t wait for Selena’s confirmation before giving a little nod. “Yes, they would have. Eventually, another of us will be used the same.”
“Not if I can help it.” But Selena felt with keen guilt her inability to save bin Kuwaji, and her words reflected more determination than expectation.
The petite events coordinator caught her gaze. “You came through the hall. Do you know about—”
Selena nodded sharply, cutting her off. “It was the best choice. They know about the other, as you’ve probably guessed.” The students didn’t, to judge by their expressions. Imagine that, the Kemenis had been discreet as they’d blocked the wall. She came down on her next words hard. “And you should all wait here until I say otherwise.” After that she looked deliberately from one student to another, waiting for acknowledgment by each. The two businesswomen were quick to comply.
Razidae took longer. Long enough that she said, “Please, sir. Trust me. You know as well as I the mood of these people. They’re desperate—and they’re being guided by Jonas White.”
“I’ve heard of him.” Razidae ran a finger across his thick mustache. “If I’d known he was anywhere near Berzhaan—”
“None of us knew. And I’m still not sure what he’s up to. But if he’s behind this, he’s put the Kemenis into a desperate situation—a last stand. Provoking them is the last thing any of us can afford. If things go badly, they have nothing to lose.”
Allori glanced toward the ballroom. “I must agree, Mr. Prime Minister. If we act—when we act—it must be a coordinated effort. Selena is the only one of us in a position to represent our best interests to the outside world. We need to do everything we can to preserve her ability to do so.”
Razidae grunted, eyeing Selena. “Then you shouldn’t have come here.”
“I had to.” She shrugged. “Tell me you weren’t already plotting the best way to slip some of you out. It would have tipped the Kemenis into action—I had to let you know I was here.”
A sturdy girl with skin the color of a sleek brown seal and scarf-hidden hair pushed her way toward Selena. Scared, like all of them. But still thinking. “And who are you?”
Selena regarded her in return, and offered up a slow smile. “I’m a Kemeni collector,” she said. “And I’m in the right place at the right time.”
At that she got a few tentative smiles. Good. She’d done what she’d come for.
“This has to be off the record.” Cole held the cell phone tightly, too tightly, and paced the length of the apartment. The flicker of the television provided the only light, inconsistent and often disconcerting.
Tory Patton laughed, light amusement that came short enough to reflect the nature of her current story. “That’s what they all say.”
But then, she didn’t know much of Cole. None of the Athena alumnae did; he was too often gone, too often buried in secrecy. Tory had no reason to leap to compliance at a phone call from Cole. Not as UBC’s star reporter, and not as the graduate of a school that taught its students to think for themselves.
“Listen.” He stopped, cleared his throat to remove the growl and tried again. “Listen. I didn’t dig up your private number on a whim. I need help, but it’s got to be off the record.”
“So that’s two favors just to start.” She wasn’t making it easy.
Then again, he hadn’t expected her to. He hadn’t yet invoked Selena’s name, and he wouldn’t do it until he knew for certain he wouldn’t compromise her. Tory had to suspect this call was about Selena, but she wouldn’t take it for granted. For all she knew, Cole was at work a single border away, and not calling from D.C. at all. “Do it,” he said. “Hear me out. You’ve got nothing to lose. Not even air time—they’ve gone to commercial.” Silence hesitated between them, and he knew he was doing this wrong. Desperately, he added, “Please.”
Another moment of expensive international silence. “I’ve got another fifteen minutes before my next spot,” she said, and he could hear her stretch, completely at ease with her situation at the edge of hostilities. “You can have a couple of them. Off the record.”
He didn’t bother with introductory details. She knew them; she was reporting them. “Selena’s in there.”
This time the silence turned electric. He wished the camera was still on her, that he could read her reactions across the miles. Finally she swore, so softly he barely heard. “I was afraid of that. I wasn’t able to reach her at the embassy, and now they’ve closed up shop. No one’s been willing to confirm, though—they figure the Kemenis can watch the news as well as anyone, and they don’t know if everyone in the building was rounded up. You know for certain?”
“I’ve talked to her. We were on the phone when they killed bin Kuwaji.”
“That’s pretty certain.”
“Unfortunately, we were cut off. I’m waiting for her call. I damn well wish it’d come by now.”
“I hear you there,” she said. “She have any intel?”
“Some. Going for more. I’ve passed it along, and I’ve been patted on the head and told to wait like a good little husband. No one’s talking to me—not even my own people. I have no idea if the agencies are sharing, or who’s planning to take action…or if they’re keeping her welfare in mind at all. Here’s the thing, Tory—I want someone in on this who will keep her in mind.”
“I hear you there, too. But I’m still waiting to hear why you called me.”
Cole couldn’t help it; he snorted. “Because I know you can help. You know it, too. You think Selena hasn’t told me about the Cassandras? I know she wasn’t one of them, but she was still Athena, and you’re wasting time by making me spell it out. You’ve got connections, and Selena needs them. You’ve got someone by President Monihan’s side, for God’s sake.”
“Yes,” Tory mused. “I guess we do. And I’m sorry. I did want you to spell it out. I’m not in the habit of taking anything for granted. And of course I’ll do everything I can to help. In fact…”
After another moment’s silence, Cole couldn’t stand it anymore. All his cool under fire, gone. All his seat-of-the-pants success, useless. This one wasn’t up to him.
At least, not alone.
So he broke the silence with his impatience. “What?”
“Mm
m,” she said. “Not on this phone. We’ve said enough, I think. Can you get out here?”
“Yes,” he said instantly. He had no idea how, but he had enough of his own favors to call in—he wouldn’t wait for a commercial flight. “I’m at liberty.” Not strictly true, but he didn’t much care. “I’ll be there.”
A twelve-hour flight he had yet to snag. But he repeated himself. “I’ll be there. I’ll call you.”
But he didn’t know whether he’d be there in time. If Berzhaan grew impatient, if the Kemenis lost their temper, if Jonas White meddled once too often…
Hold on, Selena. Just hold on.
Chapter 10
Selena hesitated in the servants’ corridor, crouching behind the black curtain, hammer and ice pick in hand. Listening.
Hard to hear anything over her stomach growling. Not that she trusted its hunger; for all she knew it would turn on her as soon as she fed it.
Still. She needed food to stay on top of her game, so food it was. And she’d spent enough time with the hostages that those Kemenis she’d diverted from their ballroom ease were probably trickling back down to this floor. They’d be mad, no doubt about it.
Tafiq would know just who had set up the rifle. He just wouldn’t know why.
He’d want to know why.
He’d have his people scour the capitol, hunting for signs of her presence, signs of that from which she’d diverted them. He wouldn’t find anything—but only because she hadn’t actually put any of her half-formed plans into play. She needed to talk to Cole first.
She needed rest.
She peeked out into the supply closet. No sound of searching. Did he realize he’d already lost several men to her? She’d be surprised if they were that well organized—a place for every terrorist and every terrorist in his place.
God, woman. You really do need sleep. How long ago had this day started, anyway?
She edged up to the door. Heard nothing.