by Cliff Ryder
"What are you talking about?"
"The pill bottle you took off the old woman. I want it right now."
Maggie jabbed him in the breastbone with her finger. "All I did was help an old lady pick up her medicines…"
Carlos's hand shot out like a cobra to latch on to her wrist, firmly moving her to one side of the car, out of the buffet line. "Don't lie to me. I saw you slip the bottle under your shirt. Now either hand it over, or else I take you into the restroom and search you myself."
"You even try, and I'll scream my head off."
"You forget, I have my own sedatives. You'd be out in seconds, just another hysterical female traveler in the tunnel." Still gripping her wrist with his left hand, he held out his right. "Hand it over."
Her lips pursed in anger, Maggie's shoulders slumped. "All right." She reached down to her waist and plucked the small bottle from her waistband, thrusting it at him. "Here."
He took it out of her hand and examined the label. "Valium. And what, I wonder, were you planning to do with this?"
"Since shoving them up your ass isn't an option, I think you have a pretty good idea where they would have gone," Maggie said.
"Of course." Carlos flagged down a server and gave him the bottle, explaining that they should be returned to the old couple eating at the far end of the car.
Maggie crossed her arms to keep from trembling with fear and anger. "Your kindness knows no bounds."
He ignored her jibe. "I wish you hadn't tried such a desperate ploy. Now I may have to restrain you. Come on, let's eat before everything is gone."
She simply nodded, and they got back in line again. Once they had full plates and found two empty seats, Maggie stood up again. "I'd like to get some Parmesan cheese from the table, and I promise I won't do anything foolish."
He eyed her speculatively for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, the primavera is rather bland. I'll be watching, however, and would appreciate it if you didn't bother trying anything."
"I'll be right back." She got up and turned to walk to the buffet table, slipping out the pack of individually sealed, foil-wrapped capsules that she had also taken from the old woman, and punching them all out into her hand, holding them in her fist as she approached the table. Don't look back, she admonished herself, knowing he'd interpret it as a sign that she was up to something, which, of course, she was.
A server was clearing things at the now nearly deserted table, and she was able to pick up the small container of shredded cheese, which was almost empty.
"Could you please bring some more out?" she asked, sending the waiter scurrying into the next car. While she waited, she picked up a napkin and emptied the capsules into it, her eyes flicking left and right to make sure no one was taking too much interest in what she was doing.
When the waiter returned, she took the small covered container from him. "Thank you."
He turned to finish his work, and she immediately dumped the powdered drug into the dish, careful to keep it all on one side of the container. As she'd hoped, the white granules were indistinguishable from the finely shredded cheese. She only hoped it didn't have an odd taste.
As she brought the dish back to their section, she stirred a bit of the Parmesan over the powder to conceal it. She set it down, and sat, helping herself to some on the untainted side of the small bowl. She offered the spoon to Carlos. "Here you go — it does improve the flavor somewhat."
He sniffed as he reached for it. "Yes, I had expected better from Eurotrain. Ah, well, you forced me to sit in the second-class compartment, after all. Perhaps we'll take first class on the way back."
Maggie tried not to look too eager as he scooped out two heaping spoonfuls of the cheese and sprinkled it on his pasta, then mixed it into the meal. She sipped the sparkling water that a server had brought around, grimacing at its metallic taste. She concentrated on her meal, but couldn't help sneaking a glance at Carlos from time to time, wondering if he had ingested enough of whatever medicine she had stolen to affect him, and how long it would be before it took effect.
God, I hope I didn't just give him some kind of vitamin supplement, she prayed. She knew he'd be suspicious of her clumsiness with the old woman's medications, which was why she had given up the Valium so easily. Whatever these other pills were, she hoped they would make him sick, or affect his normal bodily functions adversely enough to incapacitate him. The biggest problem now was that she didn't know what was going to happen.
They finished their meals, and Maggie saw with disappointment that he had eaten only about half of his pasta. They left the dishes to be cleared, and headed back to their seats.
As she walked, Maggie felt strangely light-headed, and the floor in front of her blurred as she walked forward. She felt Carlos's guiding hand on her arm again. "You don't look so good, my dear. We're almost to our seats. Perhaps a nap will clear your head."
Oh, shit! He drugged me! She had been so preoccupied with enacting her plan that she had forgotten the first rule of being a prisoner — trust nothing supplied by her captors. "You…son of a bitch…That's…why the water…tasted funny."
"I'm afraid so. You have a penchant for wriggling out of these kinds of situations, and I simply cannot return to my company without you in tow. Here we are. Just sit down."
Everything around her seemed to be floating away, receding down a long, gray tunnel, and Maggie was absurdly grateful for the hand that guided her to her soft, comfortable seat. She fought to stay awake, knowing it was very important that she do so, but suddenly unable to remember why. All she wanted to do was lay her head back on the seat cushion and sleep. Her eyes drooped closed and the last thing she heard was Carlos's voice again.
"You rest your head and get some sleep, and I just might entertain myself with seeing what goodies you have on your computer."
Ha. .ha…the joke's on you, she thought wearily. You don't have the password for that file. Even I don't have the password for that file right now…It was her last conscious thought before blackness overwhelmed her.
19
Anthony drove like a man possessed, weaving in and out of the afternoon traffic as he headed for the English coast.
Once he and Carl had gotten out of the train yard, they had scaled the tall fence and vanished into the crowd on the other side. After calling Liam to pick them up, Anthony slid behind the wheel and took the route out of the city. Now they were on a direct course to Dover, where they would hire, hijack or buy a boat to get them across the Channel to Calais, where he hoped to pick up her trail again.
Liam muttered into his cell phone, confirming the schedules of the daily ferry, and Anthony had assigned Carl to pose as an American tourist and see what private vessels might be available for a quick jaunt. When the lanky American had asked why they didn't use company vehicles, Anthony had snapped, "Because by the time we got to the airport and got cleared, up and back down, she'd be a hundred kilometers from the train, that's fucking why." In truth, he hadn't wanted to bring in any more Mercury personnel than necessary — it was already embarrassing enough that she had gotten away not once, but twice now, and he was going to make sure she didn't succeed a third time.
The opening bars of "Werewolves of London" sounded in his ear, and Anthony hit the receiver. "Go for Team One."
"Where are you right now?"
It was his handler. Like you don't know, he thought. Every company vehicle was equipped with a GPS tracker that personnel followed back at headquarters. "I'm heading to Dover." No need to give him any more information than necessary.
"Really? Last I'd heard, our quarry was at the St. Pancras train station, so I cannot imagine what awaits you at the seaside."
"Last I'd heard, our quarry got through the net at the station, and was on the Chunnel train to Calais."
"Ah, yes, I had heard that, as well. Curiously, I didn't find this out from you. One can only suppose that there was cellular interference that rendered you unable to call."
"Yeah, those sunspots can
get pretty bad this time of year," Anthony said.
Anthony heard a noise that might have been an amused snicker from the man on the other end, or he might have been clearing his throat. "I have confirmation that our target is on the train, but I got it from Aleix, who is also on that very same train."
Anthony's jaw tightened at the news, but he didn't let up on the accelerator. "He's there? He's got her?" He was aware of every head in the SUV turning toward him, but he kept his eyes on the road.
"He sent me a picture from his cell phone of her out cold in front of him, sleeping as pretty as you please. The poor dear must be simply exhausted." There was no trace of warmth in his tone. "Once they arrive, he'll have her on the first return trip back, and she'll be here in about six hours, tops. So you might as well pack it in and return home. Your part in this is done."
Anthony's mind raced for alternatives. "Maybe we should continue on and rendezvous with him in Calais as an escort — after all, she's escaped before." He hated saying the words, knowing they told of his failure to keep her contained, and his handler's reply confirmed it as such.
"Yes, she's eluded you, what is it, twice now? And yet you expect us to let you oversee her return? I don't think so. After all, I'm pretty sure Aleix can handle an unconscious fifty-kilo woman. At least, he seems to have captured her quite easily."
Gritting his teeth, Anthony fought for control before he replied, the SUV swaying as he navigated a turn a bit too sharply, sending the vehicle swerving close to the shoulder of the road. "Let's not forget she had a bit of help on the first one."
It was the wrong retort.
"And yet she escaped your formidable dragnet with ease at the train station. The only mitigating circumstance was that she also pulled the wool over Desmond's eyes, as well, so at least you had some company on that one. But now you can forget all about it. You and your team are done. I want you to report back to headquarters tomorrow morning at 0800 sharp for debriefing. Maybe you can use the rest of today to figure out how you're going to explain this failure to the board."
Anthony grimaced. The board was the three-person case-review panel that evaluated personnel and the overall success or failure of a mission when warranted. Anthony knew that it would be more than warranted in this case. He was looking at an official reprimand, or if things got any more cocked-up, demotion from team leader. That simply wasn't an option.
"Yes, sir." He broke the connection and glared at the rest of his team. "What the hell are you all staring at?"
Liam broke the silence, the only man in the vehicle who could do so under the circumstances. "What's goin' on, boss?"
"Officially, we've been pulled off the assignment. HQ wants us back by tomorrow morning for review."
Carl leaned forward, sticking his head between the front seats. "What's that mean?"
"For you, nothing — you just got stuck with a job that had gone to shit before you got here." He left the second part unsaid, that he and Liam might face disciplinary action from the company. "However, Liam and I are going to continue with the plan as originally stated. You two are free to come with us, or you can take the SUV back when we reach Calais — the choice is yours. I'll tell you one thing, though — I don't plan on coming back unless I have that bitch in tow."
Carl leaned back in his seat and thumped the roof with a bony fist. "Shit, man, I'm in it to win it. Don't want the stink of failure hanging on me my first time out. Let's go all the way."
"How about you, Gregor? You in or you out?" Anthony asked.
The tall Russian's gray eyes pinned him in the rearview mirror, and it was several seconds before the man spoke. "I'm in."
"Excellent. Then, Liam and Carl, back on the phones, and get us a boat." Anthony settled back in his seat and smiled to himself. The new men were going to work out just fine.
And that bitch is going to get everything that's coming to her and then some for making us look bad, he thought. The instructions just say bring her in alive — not uninjured. The thought comforted him as the coastline of England came into view, and just beyond the horizon to the southeast, the coast of France, where his salvation awaited.
20
Concentrating on looking out the window, David tried not to let the others see his fingers tightly clutching the armrests of his chair. The headphones over his ears muted the roar of the Agusta A-119 Koala helicopter's turbine engine that was ferrying them across the southeastern peninsula of England, and soon over the azure-emerald waters of the English Channel at nearly 200 miles per hour.
They had driven to Heathrow Airport, where they had bypassed the main terminal, customs and any other sort of organization that might have delayed them. At a small hangar on the outskirts of the sprawling airport, they pulled up to a sleek helicopter, its main rotor already carving through the air in a blur. Ducking down, they had taken their cases of equipment, run to the spacious passenger compartment and climbed inside. Cody had patted the pilot's shoulder, and they had lifted off.
It wasn't that David disliked flying — he loved to travel. But there was something about the ungainliness of helicopters that always set him on edge, even though he had traveled in them extensively in Afghanistan. Maybe it was the idea of the entire aircraft being supported by a thin blade of composite materials or aluminum or steel, beating at the air to keep the whole contraption aloft. Maybe it was just that passengers seemed closer to the elements in a helicopter, seemingly not as protected as in an airplane, although both were equally as safe. Maybe, on some fundamental level, he just didn't trust the damn things, having known too many men who had died in chopper accidents, either from enemy fire or mechanical problems. It wasn't a phobia, and it certainly didn't impede his job performance, but he was very careful not to express his concerns to the other members of his team. As in most spec-ops units, any sign of perceived weakness was always exploited and teased mercilessly.
Even now, Kanelo and Tara were engaged in a deep conversation that had started back in the SUV, something about treatment of trauma in a combat situation. For a change, Robert was silent, just staring outside at the countryside they were passing over. David had been researching the city of Paris, trying to get a handle on their target location, but had put away his cell phone and was about to join his sullen team member in silent reverie when he felt a light tap on his knee. Glancing up, he saw Cody pointing to his headset with one hand and holding up four fingers on his other one.
Casting about, he saw the channel control where his headset was plugged in, and switched over. "What's up?" he asked.
"How would you handle this extraction?"
David blinked while he processed the direct question. Cody was known for doing this — tossing the ball to one of the other team members on the fly to see what they'd come up with. Now David was up to bat. "Well, assuming that we can keep the chopper as our primary vehicle, I'd have us dropped off next to the train station, head down to the platform, find and acquire our target and withdraw the same way."
"So you'd just have us slip into the heart of Paris and touch down just like that, huh?"
"Yes, sir, that would be the plan." David brought up his Paris map, which currently showed the area around the Gare du Nord, the train's final destination in France. "See the big building right next to the train station? That's a hospital. It has a helipad. I'll bet a quick call to HQ can insert us into their schedule just like that."
"Okay, what's our cover?"
"A visiting team of specialists from London — something regarding a fellowship, so it's a long-term study and there's no chance they would want us to kibitz with the rest of the staff. We're in, at the station, and out in under an hour, target safely acquired."
"You seem pretty confident," Cody said.
"Well, if the train is running on time, and we were about thirty-five minutes behind once we took off, it's gonna be close. But if I were in charge, it's how I'd go in."
Cody nodded. "All right, I'll set it up. Good work." He made to adjust his channel,
but was stopped by David.
"Hey, I'm not doing your work for you, am I?" The question wasn't rhetorical — David thought he already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from his team leader.
"Nope — it's exactly the same game plan I'd come up with. I was just seeing how you handled your premission intel and planning. From what I've seen, it's first-rate — another sign that you aren't a cowboy."
"Thanks, M-One."
"It's my job, M-Two. Now get to work figuring out how the five of us are going to find her among several thousand Parisians and tourists." Flashing him a grin, Cody plugged his phone into the headset and began clearing their way into Paris.
David got on his phone to check with Primary to see if they had gotten any updated pictures of their target from the St. Pancras cameras. He was aware of the other three team members looking at him, but remained engrossed in what he was doing, not even pausing to look out the window at the beautiful countryside blurring by beneath them.
21
Maggie felt as if she were being shaken apart. Every limb — except her left hand — was flopping about, and she felt a pressure on her shoulder that moved it back and forth, back and forth. Her head throbbed, and her eyes, ears, nose and mouth felt as if she had been dining on cotton balls instead of pasta primavera with a glass of tranquilizer water.
"Hey, are you okay?" someone asked.
She pried her bleary eyes open to see a young blond-haired boy, dressed in a stained T-shirt and shorts, standing on the seat next to her, pushing on her shoulder like he was trying to shove her into the wall of the train compartment.
"All right — all right, I'm awake!" She wrenched her shoulder out from his grubby hands and tried to fend him off with her other hand, but it refused to move from the armrest of the seat. She looked over to see that she was secured to it with a flexible lock-tie, like the kind SWAT teams and police used to subdue their suspects. Seeing it brought back what had happened to her with more chilling clarity. "Where — where's the man who was sitting across from me?"