Volcano

by Gabby Grant

Ana sighed and put the plates down on the counter, then turned to face him. If sex were the answer, Ana wouldn’t still have so many questions. “Maybe-”

  “Ana,” he said, stopping her with a feathery finger to the bandage on her chin. “What happened?”

  As if she could tell him. As if Ana could tell him about any of the strange things that had been happening around here lately without having the accusations somehow turned back on her. “Cut myself shaving,” she answered wryly as the heat of his body closed in, pinning her against the counter.

  He brought his palms to either side of her face and looked deep in her eyes, his cappuccino gaze stirring something Ana felt she remembered, but couldn’t quite place, from so long ago. “Seriously, Ana. What did you do to your face? You look like you’ve been worked over by-”

  “Took a little tumble, okay?”

  “Sweetheart, where?” He shot a panicked look at Isa. “Was the baby-”

  “Isa was in the house with Maria! Let’s not go making a federal case out of-”

  Mark dipped his head and stopped her stream of words with a kiss. Ana felt something pulling inside, an old kind of longing. But it had been swept away just as surely as the thread-bare sands beneath a turning tide. And now, there was nothing left but the crashing surf and her fleeing emotion. Somewhere between the baby and his work, Mark had lost sight of the power rushing between them. And where there’d once flowed love, now only existed an empty ocean.

  Ana placed her hands on his shoulders and attempted to push him back, but he held on tight, as he always did, in telling reassurance he’d never let her go. And, a part of her didn’t want to be let go. Her heart, her soul wanted desperately to hang on. Hold on to what was familiar. But another, more fervent part of herself, needed to be set free. Free from this entanglement called home, laden with expectations and demands- demands she increasingly appeared unable to meet.

  Ana wished so badly she could simplify. Somehow cleave her spirit in two and be, at once who she aspired to be, and the woman Mark wanted. But every passing day, it seemed more impossible to conquer that double ambition.

  “Ana,” Mark said, resting his forehead against hers and pulling back his lips. “You really need to be more careful.”

  She wasn’t the only one, Ana realized, shivering as the coldness engulfed her. Their troubles had to do with more than Ana falling off the steps. They were rooted right here in this very room and anchored in a relationship that wasn’t. “That’s what you keep telling me,” she said, as the noodles boiled over and sent steaming liquid hissing onto the stove.

  CHAPTER 3

  Major Carolyn Walker strode in and plopped another group of files on top of the existing heap on Mark’s desk with a sigh. “You’re not going to like this, Chief.”

  Mark brought a stiff hand to his temples and massaged a moment before looking up. “How many?”

  “Another thirteen.”

  “My lucky day.”

  “No, sir. More of these reports coming in over the wires.”

  Mark laid a hand on the stack and glanced over Carolyn’s shoulder out the open door. “Close the door, Major.”

  Major Walker squared her shoulders beneath her impeccably tailored uniform and went to shut the door with short, brisk strides. She returned and stood as straight as a fresh-starched shirt in front of Mark’s desk. She’d been decorated twice in Desert Storm.

  “At ease, Major. Have a seat.” Although technically a civilian, in DIPAC’s grand scheme, Mark Neal still out-ranked her and knew the only way to get a woman like Carolyn Walker to sit was to damn well order her to. “How many more?” he asked, once she’d positioned herself, straight-arrow, in the chair opposing his desk.

  “Can’t say yet, sir. But if you’ll pardon my French, this thing’s a damn bit scary. Almost like we’ve got an epidemic on our hands.”

  Mark drew a gold pen from his shirt pocket and thumped it against his desk. “What kind of epidemic, Major?”

  “Not for me to say, sir. Better to let the people in analysis-”

  “Your opinion, Major.”

  “An intelligence scare, sir.”

  “Intelligence scare?” The very words made his temples constrict anew. It was true; every one of the thirty-nine cases presented thus far had to do with somebody in or linked to a person in the intelligence field.

  So far, there’d been nebulous incidents: house fires in Upper Northwest DC, unexplained accidents at Fort Huachuca, Arizona, street muggings just outside of US military bases in the UK, Germany and Hawaii. This thing was already taking on worldwide proportions, and from what Carolyn was telling him, the sickness was spreading. Not only that, it was escalating. Each subsequently reported act was more vile and menacing than the last.

  “It’s the only association I see, sir. But, of course, that’s not my training.” Major Walker’s training was in battlefield logistics, but as far as Mark was concerned her vision was twenty-twenty when it came to threat and analysis work as well.

  “Thank you, Major. I’ll go over these files and call you back in if I have further questions.”

  “Yes, sir,” Carolyn said, standing.

  “Oh, sir,” she said, lifting his attention from the file he’d already begun perusing. “One more thing worth mentioning. All the attacks, accidents or what-have-you, seem to have a common denominator.”

  Mark dropped the file he’d been holding to his desk.

  “You won’t find it in all the reports there, sir, because apparently some of the folks involved didn’t see a connection.”

  “Spit it, Major.”

  “Each incident was preceded by some kind of computer glitch.”

  Mark found his voice through the tightness in his throat. “A glitch?”

  “Yes, sir. Seems that each, well most of them anyhow from what I’ve could gather, household involved received some kind of odd computer communique prior to a subsequent mishap.”

  “Define communique.”

  “Well, there’ve been a couple of E-mails, but mostly...and this is going to sound strange...”

  Mark waited, bracing himself for the inevitable.

  “They were IM posts.”

  “Instant messages?” Mark asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Yes sir. I guess you’ve already heard then.”

  No goddamn it, Mark thought, as he stood, his knees abruptly whacking his desk, he hadn’t been listening at all.

  ***

  Mark pushed the gas pedal to the floor and careened around the wide curve that took the highway west of town. Damn her. Why hadn’t she told him? Something was definitely up with Ana and now she wasn’t answering the phone. He’d known she’d been acting strangely ever since the computer incident; it was all starting to fall into place.

  The engine howled as Mark down-shifted and took the sharp turn down the country road that led to their home. A shower of brittle pine needles tore loose from the gray winter sky and splattered his car as he raced to beat the wind.

  He’d told her to leave the computer problem to him, that he and the folks at the DIPAC would look into it. But a sick wrenching in his gut told him she hadn’t listened. Either that or she hadn’t believed him. Had thought he’d blown it off like her numerous other absurd suspicions as of late. Claims that someone had been in the house. Rearranged things, confused settings on appliances. Opened windows, misplaced keys...

  Damn it!

  There’d been more to these past few days than she’d been telling him. And, even if she had told him, probably more than Mark would have believed. And now, Ana had somehow gotten the notion to tackle things on her own.

  Mark’s fist pummeled the wheel as a lazy car poked its nose out of a gravel drive and wriggled its way into his path, causing him to slow abruptly and veer around the intruder.

  Mark hung a fast right at the top of the ridge and headed down the steep slope that led to the chalet style house at the bottom of the hill. It was their “gingerbread house,” their perfect
retreat in the wilderness. Mark leapt from the car without even pulling the keys from the ignition and made for the house where white smoke curled from its single chimney.

  “Maria!” he called, rushing in and spotting the maid cradling the baby on her plump lap. “Donde esta la senora?”

  The middle-aged woman shook her head with a helpless smile.

  “Maria!” Mark ran to her and, completely ignoring the baby, clamped his hands around the nanny’s shoulders. “Ana?!”

  “No se, senor... Debe estar en Washington.”

  ***

  Ana was halfway through the DOS underground parking garage when she heard the click of the switchblade. Seconds later, sharp steel centered in over her jugular. Ana’s arms shot out in front of her as her assailant’s burly grip squeezed the base of her shoulders to his rock-hard chest. She instinctively clutched her hands to her throat, but lowered them as the blade pressed against her flesh.

  “Good girl, Ms. Kane,” the voice said. Oriental, male. “In these tough times, cooperation is key to survival.”

  Ana wriggled in his vise-like grip, but was unable to see who was behind her.

  “Now, now,” he cautioned with a cluck of his tongue. “Moving could be very dangerous for pretty girl like you.”

  “What do you want?” she managed, her jaw tense with fear. Perspiration formed on her upper lip as electric chords of panic ram-rodded her brain.

  “What we want, Ms. Kane, is for you to stop playing computer games.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said with a grimace, as the crushing weight of his knee hit the small of her back.

  “Of course not.” He removed the blade and brought it up to the bridge of her nose. “Thought you smelled a rat, didn’t you Ana?” he asked, angling the blade across at a thin angle.

  Ana jumped back against him as the knife promised to dig in.

  He lifted the knife with a laugh. “You know what they say about little monkeys, don’t you?”

  Ana strained once more in his hold. “At any second I’m going to scream and parking lot security’s going to be all over you!”

  “See no evil,” he hissed, ignoring her bluff and rotating the shimmering blade before her right eye. He lowered its cutting edge to the connective tissue between her head and right ear.

  “Hear,” he said, with a gentle sawing motion that was no more than a light tickle, “no evil...”

  Shards of fire and ice tore through her as the cold steel teetered, threatening irreparable damage.

  “Speak...” He brought the fine tip of the blade to the corner of her mouth, as her lips tightened in the muted horror.

  “That’s right, Ana,” he crooned, “nice and quiet. “Or, I slice you ear to ear!”

  CHAPTER 4

  Joe McFadden gave a cursory scan around the small white cubicle that served as an office. It was strewn with Y2K relics. Snow globes, coffee mugs and assorted paraphernalia proudly proclaiming Y2K...The End is Near! littered the plain steel desk, heaped high in corners. Packing cartons and crates crowded the asphyxiating room. McFadden made his way in through the maze and sat. “Hate to tell you this, Al Fahd, but you missed the party- by about two years.”

  The Arab clamped down his teeth on his unlit cigar. “Tut, tut, Mr. Smith,” he said, blowing smoke. “You Americans are so impatient.”

  “Got all the time in the world,” Joe said, leaning back in his chair.

  The Arab let out a howl, then thumped his cigar against his desk. “Ah, but perhaps the world- as you know it- does not have so much time left for you!”

  “Touché.”

  The Arab narrowed his eyes.

  “I meant no disrespect,” Joe assured him, toying with the Y2K snow globe on the corner of Al Fahd’s desk. “I collect things, too.”

  The Arab arched his black eyebrows.

  “Weapons mostly.” Joe smiled. “Tend to come in handy.”

  “Ah yes...” Al Fahd grinned and struck a match against his steel-tipped boot. “I imagine you have quite a few opportunities for picking up those. Or, collecting, as you say.” The Arab took a long, steady drag on his cigar. “Perhaps I can arrange to add to your collection, if that’s what you’d like,” he said, blowing smoke.

  “What I’d like,” McFadden said, crossing his arms over in front of him, “is for you to fill me in on all this millennial bullshit. Especially the part involving your stockpile of party favors.”

  Al Fahd gave him a smirk, his black eyes glinting dangerously. “If I were you, I’d watch my language, Mr. Smith. You appear to forget whom you’re in the presence of.”

  No, Joe remembered exactly. One of the most lethal terrorist trainers known to the free and not-so-free worlds. Rumors held that Al Fahd was planning a big operation, something deadly involving aggression on US soil. CIA undercover man Joe McFadden had been sent here to investigate. His first cover was that of anti-US mercenary John Smith. The layer beneath that, should it be blown, was a little closer to home. A US chemical weapons inspector would certainly be endangered should his status be revealed. But, the danger would turn deadly if Al Fahd were to ever suspect US intelligence involvement. Deadly with a torturous bent, McFadden was sure. He’d heard the agonized screams from the others taken to the back of the warehouse. The others who, in one way or another, had displeased Al Fahd or failed to prove their loyalty. And once they’d disappeared beyond that padded door, none of them had ever returned.

  “A million apologies, Al Hakeem,” Joe said, using the double-entendre that could mean either ‘wise one’ or ‘ruler’. But what Joe had really been doing was trying to catch Al Fahd off guard with his frankness. Hoping that by tossing him a direct challenge, the Arab would somehow open up and become more forthcoming about his plans. Involving, for God’s sake, Joe puzzled at the notion, latex balloons.

  Joe had waited several hours, then slipped back into the warehouse where he’d had his earlier confrontation with Al Fahd. But his careful examination had revealed nothing out of the ordinary. The suspicious Army-green gas tanks in and of themselves didn’t seem to pose much of a threat. In fact, all appearances as granted by the writing on the sides of the tanks, indicated they were filled with nothing but oxygen. But if that were the case, what had been Al Fahd’s purpose in applying the face mask? Scare tactic, pure and simple?

  Al Fahd tapped cigar ash onto the concrete floor. “There is one thing we need to keep straight: I am the king and you are the minion. One false move to show you do not honor that-”

  “You’ll have no worries from me,” Joe assured him with the dead calm expression years of under cover work had helped him achieve.

  Al Fahd squared his ecru smile. “Excellent. Then, perhaps it’s time for your first assignment.”

  ***

  Mark Neal had Albert Kane on the phone.

  “What do you mean,” Mark asked, running a damp palm along the back of his neck, “you don’t know where she is?” The faint echo of a child’s hand game being sung in Spanish echoed from the next room.

  “Son, if Ana hasn’t seen fit to tell you--”

  “Tell me what, Albert? What are you getting at?” Mark’s eyes flashed to the window as a bolt of lightning cut the sky.

  There was a pause and then the slow, patient baritone of Albert’s voice. “You and Ana been having trouble, son?”

  Mark spun toward the living room as Maria’s high chortle blended with the baby’s squeals.

  “Trouble, sir? Trouble? Ana could very damn well be in trouble if you don’t tell me what in the hell is going on!”

  Albert’s voice was a roar. “Now, you just slow down a minute!” He paused and seemed to collect himself. “What’s all this about trouble and Ana being missing? I thought she’d gone back to Virginia.”

  Back? Mark slammed a fist into the small oak night stand. “How many times, Albert? How often has Ana been to Washington?”

  “To Washington, I couldn’t say...”

  “Albert, dammit, don’
t cat and mouse this with me! Don’t you hear what I’m saying?! Ana could be in danger! Just this morning we started receiving reports at the DIPAC-”

  “International intelligence scare. I’ve heard.”

  “Yes, sir. And I’ve reason to believe they’ve targeted Ana.”

  “Ana? But she didn’t say a word.”

  “No sir, she wouldn’t. She had no way of knowing her case was connected to anybody else’s.”

  The line went still as Albert apparently mulled this over. “Can’t discuss this over the phone,” he snapped. “How soon can you be in Washington?”

  “Try to make it in two hours, sir. Just let me get Isa and Maria someplace safe.”

  ***

  The man strong-held her arms behind her and shoved Ana toward the black Mercedes.

  “I’m not going!” she barked, as her heels scraped the asphalt.

  “You are not being given a choice,” he spewed, as he doubled her over and pressed her into the backseat of the car.

  “They’ll find me,” Ana said, casting a sideways glance at the second man already seated inside who quickly drew a pistol and pressed it to her temple.

  “Precisely what we’re counting on,” the older dark-eyed Asian said with a smile. He left the pistol in place and, with his other hand, gently sifted her hair. “Ah, Ms. Kane, so much more than I expected.”

  “You can’t keep me here,” Ana said, quivering as a security guard paraded right by the car on the other side of its tinted glass. “There are cameras all around. You’ll be on tape.”

  The man beside her grinned at the younger man who now sat behind the driver’s wheel. “Our film debut, Hay Long.”

  The driver’s taut forearm, branded with a black dragon tattoo, rippled with his laugh. “So, Sun-tzu, it would seem!”

  ***

  Albert Kane was huddled up in the hall with Assistant Chief of DOS Building Security Jason Meade, when he got the call from the guard house.