by Неизвестный
Savich said, "I want to take him back with us. I want to strap him down and give him the lethal injection myself."
Molinas smiled. "Sorry, Agent Savich. That won't be possible: The plane carries only four passengers. I gather one of you is a pilot?"
"No problem," Savich said. He rose, Sherlock in his arms. "I can kill you myself if I can't take you back. I don't want to think how much dirty money you've got for lawyers. Yes, this is better. I don't want to let the law dick around with you."
"Your wife will be all right," Molinas said. "It will be a bit longer before she comes around, but she will be all right. There are two separate drugs that can be mixed together in varying amounts. We were having trouble with the balance and the dose. Everyone reacts differently. Some people are particularly sensitive. Your wife is one of them."
Very slowly, Savich turned and laid Sherlock on the tattered black blanket spread on the wooden floor. He rose, then faced Molinas and smiled. It was a terrifying smile.
I didn't move. This was up to Savich. I looked over at Sherlock. Laura was kneeling beside her now, stroking one of her hands.
"Get up," Savich said.
Molinas slowly rose.
There was no graceful display of martial arts, just the raw power of Savich's fist into Molinas's belly, then his knee into his groin. Molinas went down like a stone.
"Good," Laura said. "He deserved it, but now we've got to get him into good enough shape to get to a radio and order up a plane."
"I want Jilly," I said.
Savich stared at me. "What did you say, Mac? Jilly? She's here?"
"She came to me when I was just coming out of a session with their drugs. She warned me not to eat or drink anything. Whatever she's doing here, Savich, she kept Laura and me away from another round of drugs."
Laura didn't argue with me, just said, "If she's here then we'll need a bigger plane."
"Jilly's small and so is Sherlock," I said. "We can fit the five of us in a Cessna."
"Mac," Savich said, lightly touching his bruised fingers to my forearm. "Is your brother-in-law, Paul, here too?"
"I don't know," I said. "If he's here I say leave the bastard. He's the one who developed the drug with all its charms. I just want Jilly." I looked over at Laura. She was staring at the floor, and I saw her eyes narrow in fury.
I followed her line of vision. Savich was shackled to a ring in the floor. It was Molinas's bad luck that I'd pushed him far enough into the room for Savich to reach him.
No wonder Savich hadn't escaped. As simple as that.
"Savich, I don't believe this."
"They enjoyed the fact that I could strain and curse, but not reach them. They laughed about it. They knew exactly how far the chain would let me reach. Thanks for bringing that big bastard close enough so I could get him."
"Savich," Laura said quietly, as I tried all the keys on the ring Molinas had given me. "He's Alyssum Tarcher's brother-in-law, John Molinas."
"I remember."
Finally, Laura found the key that fit the shackle on Savich's right ankle. When it fell open, he knelt down and rubbed his ankle. He pulled down his sock. There was dark bruising but no broken skin. "I have Sherlock to thank for these thick wool socks. It's good to get that thing off me." He sounded like himself, which was a big relief.
We had no choice but to wait for Molinas to come to his senses. There was a bucket of water on a rickety table in the corner. Laura threw it on him.
Savich pulled Sherlock up against him. "Sherlock. Come on, love, wake up. You can do it. Wake up." I watched Savich lightly slap her cheeks. "Come on, sweetheart, open your eyes. Hey, I'll let you throw me the next time we're in the gym, but you've got to wake up for me now."
Finally, she did open her eyes and look up at him. She looked drugged, strung out, and when she whispered, "Dillon?" her voice was slurred.
"She recognizes you," Laura said. "That's a good start."
"It's me, Sherlock. It's all right now. Mac and Laura are here. We're leaving."
"He's here, Dillon," she whispered, rubbing her fingers against her temple. "He's tucked right behind my left ear. He's laughing. He won't leave me alone, and he's still laughing. He won't stop. Please, Dillon, please make him stop." She closed her eyes again and slumped back against Savich's arm.
"Is she talking about Marlin Jones?" I asked, kicking Molinas lightly in the ribs. He was still trying to catch a breath.
"Yes," Savich said, never looking away from Sher-lock's chalky face. "The drug they've been giving her brought him back, planted him in her mind and magnified him, made him into even more of a monster than he really was, and that's saying something. He's there in her head, as real as you are."
"It did the same thing to me," I said slowly, "but it just happened once. I relived the car bomb in Tunisia. You're right. It was worse remembering it than when it actually happened. Paul said the drug was supposed to lessen the power of a bad memory."
Molinas struggled to sit up. "Yes, the drug is supposed to relieve the physical symptoms. They promised me it would. But there's something wrong. The drug shouldn't bring the memory to the forefront.
"It's like you said, the drug is supposed to dissipate the physical symptoms, and with repeated doses finally remove the horror of the memory. But it doesn't work. I tried different doses and even different additives to see if I couldn't fix the drug. But it doesn't work."
I went down on my haunches in front of Molinas. "What happened to your daughter?"
"She was raped three years ago right on campus at her private school. She was only fifteen years old. Four older boys raped her. It destroyed her. They promised me the drug would help her, that's the only reason I got involved with Alyssum and Del Cabrizo in the first place, to help my daughter.
"That's why I gave her the drug. I injected her myself. But it hasn't worked. Her memories of that night have grown worse, not better. The drug is killing her!"
"So you gave Sherlock an even larger dose and mixed in other drugs?" I asked.
Molinas stared into Savich's eyes and saw his own death there. He quickly leaned over and vomited on the wooden floor.
Savich carried Sherlock in his arms. She was conscious now, but her eyes were heavy and vague. He'd wrapped her in all the blankets that were in that cell. She was disturbingly silent, quiescent. That really worried me. My mouthy Sherlock, who usually ordered everyone around, including her husband, was lying like a ghost, not really there. Laura walked behind them, carrying two AK-47s. I marched Molinas in front of me, the Bren Ten pressed against the small of his back, another AK-47 slung over my left shoulder.
"Take me to Jilly," I said to Molinas. "Now. I want to see my sister. She's coming out with us."
"Your sister isn't here," Molinas said. I could tell it hurt him to speak.
I smiled at him. "I don't believe you. She came to me. She spoke to me, she warned me."
He said slowly, "It must have been the drug. Your sister was never here. Never. I have no reason to lie to you about that. It was the drag. It's unpredictable. But I have never heard of it doing that before."
Was that possible? Jilly had been standing over me, clear as day. She'd been with me, speaking to me, dammit.
"She's never been here," Molinas repeated.
"But you know her?" Laura said.
"I know who she is," Molinas said carefully. We stopped and kept silent. There were men speaking not fifteen feet away. About three minutes later their boot steps faded down the long wooden corridor.
We went back to his big opulent office and the huge adjoining bedchamber only to find it empty. His daughter, Marran, must have gotten herself untied because she'd locked herself in the bathroom. Molinas told her to stay there until he came back. We heard her crying.
"Look what I found."
We turned to see that Laura had opened a closet door that I hadn't seen before. "Guns, clothes, and look at this-two more AK-47s."
She turned around, grinning really big. She wa
s holding up a machete. "You never know if we might need it. They all carry knives. Just maybe we should have one too." She looked over at Savich. "You guys need to get out of those clothes. I'll help change Sherlock."
She clipped the machete to her own belt. "There," she said, patting it. "I guess I'm ready now for just about anything."
"I know you've got to have a radio somewhere. Get it." Molinas opened the third drawer of the huge desk and pulled out a small black radio.
"Get the plane here, now."
We all watched him set a frequency and listened to his rapid Spanish, some of which I couldn't make out. He looked up when he finished. "I didn't betray you," he said.
Savich walked to where Sherlock was sitting on the floor, Laura holding her hand. He bent down and picked her up. "Let's get out of here."
"You'd better pray that the Cessna comes," I said against Molina's ear.
"It will come," he said. I saw him glance back at the radio.
He didn't look happy.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
We reached the airstrip at about five-thirty in the morning, according to the watch I'd taken from Molinas. The half-moon was fading quickly, but still hanging on, and behind it a few scattered stars dotted the gray sky. The mountains in the distance looked like ghosts, stretched up into broad sword shapes, others hunched over, all of them unearthly in the vague dawn light. There would soon be enough light to use the airstrip. Three days ago, I thought, we were in Edgerton, Oregon, buying sandwiches from Grace's Deli.
The silence was profound, just the crunch of our boots on the rocky.ground. The rain forest began not a hundred yards to our left, stretching up the flank of the distant eastern mountains. The compound was directly behind us. If anyone was following us, they were staying out of sight. I thought of snipers and moved closer to Molinas. I hoped we covered the others' backs well enough so if there were snipers, they'd be afraid to shoot for fear of hitting Molinas.
When we reached the edge of the airstrip, the sky was a soft gray, with strips of pink streaking to the east. There was no cover. We crouched down against the stark landscape, still too well silhouetted for anyone with a gun.
Savich turned, a black eyebrow raised. "The rain forest begins right over there? Yet it's hot and barren here. How can that be?"
"It's called deforestation," Molinas said. "The people are very poor."
"Mac and I were already in there," Laura said. "It's incredibly beautiful but the humidity strangles you, and there are so many creatures you can hear but can't see, it's also terrifying. I'm grateful we don't have to go back in."
Sherlock laughed, shaky, but it was a real laugh. "I think I just need to kill Marlin again. I can hear his laughter, his shouting. I'm just going to kill him. I'll see if he can come back from the dead a second time."
"Yes, kill him," Savich said, looking directly into her eyes. "Kill him again, Sherlock. You're the only one who can do it. You did it before, you can do it again. Kill him and kick him a couple of times, then come back to me and stay. I need you here."
"I need you too, Dillon," she said and closed her eyes. The look on Savich's face was terrifying. I gripped his shoulder.
It was in that moment that I knew Jilly had been taking the drug when she went over the cliff. I'd been there with her and the drug had driven her mad, just like Sherlock. When she'd discovered Laura was a DEA agent, that she'd been betrayed, she'd been haunted by Laura in her mind. She hadn't been able to bear it. And that's why she'd driven her Porsche off the cliff.
I looked over at Laura. She was still staring toward the eastern mountains, not moving, just staring. I wanted to tell her that everything would be all right, but there was something about the way she was focused on those mountains, her silence, that kept me quiet. Laura had it together. She was fine. I smiled at her, knowing in my gut that this woman I'd known for less than a week would decide that living with me was better than living without me.
We tried to limit our risks. We sat closely pressed together, Molinas facing back toward the compound. I didn't think any of his men could have gotten beyond us, but I couldn't be sure.
A small plane was coming in, the buzz of its engine sounding rough. I saw Savich frowning at that sound, looking toward the mountains. In a couple of minutes, a sleek little Cessna 310 appeared over the top of the closest peak, banked sharply, and started in to land, the sunrise a halo around it.
I didn't like the sound it was making-the engines sputtering, missing, as if barely hanging on.
Had Molinas screwed us?
I was turning to him when suddenly two helicopters burst over the mountains.
"My God," Savich said, shading his eyes, "they're McDonnell Douglas-Apaches, AH-64 Apaches. They're ours. They've got an M230 Chain Gun, Hellfire missiles, and a stinger. Down! Everybody, DOWN!"
We all hit the ground. In a blink one of the Apaches fired on the Cessna. The small plane sputtered above the ground. I saw two men inside, one of them screaming. I watched the plane explode, showering debris into the dawn sky. Twisting shards of metal, parts of the engine, the seats, one of them holding what had been a man still strapped in, scattered over the airstrip and the land around it. A part of a wing crashed into the ground not twenty feet from us.
"Jesus," Savich said. "Good old USA Apaches. What the hell are they doing here?"
"Somehow they must have found out where we were." Laura was yelling at the Apaches, waving her arms. I held Molinas close.
I looked up at the helicopters. They came closer and hovered, making no move to land.
Oh, God. "Laura," I shouted, "get away from there! Run!"
Without warning, they fired on us.
"The rain forest!" I grabbed Molinas and shoved him ahead of me. They came around again, firing, the hail of bullets kicking up dirt all around us. We made the rain forest, barely. Then I realized the last thing we needed was Molinas holding us back. He'd betrayed us.
I jerked him around and yelled in his face, "You damned bastard!"
"I didn't betray you." He was panting now. "You saw them. They shot down the Cessna. One of my men must have radioed Del Cabrizo and told him you were escaping. The cartel ordered it. I didn't."
"That makes me feel a whole lot better," I said. "Well, you can stay and talk to him about it." I shoved him down behind a tree, took off his belt, and tied his hands behind him to the skinny tree. I ripped off his very nice Italian silk shirt and stuffed it into his mouth, tying the rest behind his head.
"You'd better pray they don't think you're disposable. That's about the only thing that would save both of you."
I turned away from him and shouted, "Savich, we're heading north. Keep going, but veer to your left, to the west." Thank God it was light enough now to see where we were going. Northwest, we had to go northwest. Molina's soldiers would be searching for him and then come after us.
Savich nodded, holding Sherlock close. I looked at Laura, wondering why she hadn't come to help me. She was standing about ten feet from me, not moving. I watched her weave where she stood, then drop one of the AK-47s.
"Laura?"
I heard the Apaches overhead, incredibly loud, heard their automatic weapons firing into the forest. Chances were that only an incredibly lucky shot would find us through that thick, nearly impenetrable canopy overhead. But given how our luck had gone so far, I didn't want to take any chances.
"Laura?" I yelled again. "Come on! We've got to hurry. I'll take the other weapon. What the hell's wrong?" She didn't answer. I saw her lean back against a tree, gripping her shoulder.
"Laura?"
"Just a minute, Mac." Her eyes were closed, her teeth gritted.
Oh, God, she'd been hit. The guns kept sounding overhead, the bullets smashing down through the foliage. We were too close to the edge of the rain forest. We had to go deeper. Without a word, I pulled her hand away from her shoulder. "It went through," she said, and I saw she was right after I'd opened her shirt.
"Hold still." I unbutt
oned my fatigue shirt and jerked it off. At least it wasn't as sweaty as my undershirt. I wrapped it as best I could over the wound, tying it under her breasts.
It was still bleeding. She was trembling. Her blood streaked over my hands. "Can you hang on for a while?"
She gave me a smile that made me want to cry and said, "I'm DEA. Of course I can hang on."
I smiled at her as I rebuttoned her shirt, picked up both AK-47s, and hoisted her over my shoulder.
"Mac, no, I can walk."
"It's time for the DEA agent to keep her mouth shut," I said, and to Savich, who'd turned back, "Laura's been shot. It's clean, through the upper shoulder. But we've got to take care of it, we've-"