Eight Days to Live

by Iris Johansen

  “He’s here.” Caleb straightened, his gaze on the hangar across the tarmac. “Tall, a little plump, mustache. That’s the description I got from Nasra, the receptionist.”

  Jane’s gaze focused on the man in neat gray trousers and brown leather flight jacket who was unlocking the door of the hangar. As Caleb had said, Faruk looked very ordinary.

  If anything about this nightmare was ordinary. “What happens now?”

  “Nothing radical. I do a little tentative probing, then I go talk to him. You don’t have to—” He stiffened, staring at Faruk.

  Her gaze flew to his face. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” He left the hangar. “Stay here. I should be back in a few minutes.” He strolled across the tarmac. “Captain Faruk, may I have a word with you? I spoke to the receptionist at the front office, and she said that you might be just the man I need to fly a very valuable shipment of rugs to Rome.”

  Faruk turned and smiled. “Nasra is a smart woman. I’m the best, and I could give you a good price.”

  “I’m sure we’ll be able to come to an agreement. I already feel a closeness that you—” Caleb bent double, his face contorted with pain. “No!”

  Jane stiffened. What on earth was—

  Faruk was staring at Caleb in bewilderment. “What’s wrong? Are you ill?”

  “Stomach.” Caleb was stumbling back, his face white as a tombstone. He gasped, “Later.” He turned and half ran, half reeled across the tarmac. The next moment he lurched into the hangar and fell against the wall where Jane was standing.

  “Make sure—he’s not following. Mustn’t—see you.” His face was beaded with sweat.

  Jane tore her gaze away from Caleb to glance quickly across the tarmac. “Faruk’s just standing there, looking confused. What the hell is wrong?”

  “Can’t talk—give—me a minute.” He slid down the metal wall and leaned back, breathing hard.

  Agony. The muscles of his neck were distended, his teeth clenched.

  She grabbed his hand. “Shall I find a doctor?”

  He shook his head.

  “Dammit, what can I do?” She started to get to her feet, but his grasp held her locked to his side. “Let me go. I’ve got to—”

  He shook his head. “No good.”

  “There has to be some—”

  “Be quiet.” He was shaking. “Quagmire.”

  “What? I don’t—” Then she remembered what he had told her on the plane when she’d asked him if he ever ran across anyone he couldn’t mentally manipulate.

  Quagmire. Intense pain. Smothering.

  I went too deep and was unconscious for two days.

  “Quagmire,” she repeated. “Faruk?”

  He nodded jerkily.

  “Dear God.”

  “A minute. Give—me a minute.”

  She didn’t know if he could stand another minute of that pain, she thought desperately. The skin was drawn tight over his cheekbones as he fought the spasms. She had never felt so helpless.

  She couldn’t help him.

  She had to help him.

  She had to do something.

  She slid her arms around him and drew him close. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.” She stroked his hair back from his face. “I can’t take this. Tell me what to do.”

  He didn’t answer. Lord, he was cold. She held him closer and tried to share her warmth. “Relax. We’ll stay like this for a while and you’ll be okay.” She prayed she was telling the truth. “Just relax . . .”

  Five minutes passed.

  Fifteen minutes.

  He was no longer shaking.

  Thank God.

  Twenty minutes.

  He lifted his head and looked down at her. “Hello.”

  “Hi.” She drew a relieved breath that came from the depths of her being. “You scared me.”

  “I can tell.” The corners of his lips quirked. “At the moment I don’t feel in the least bit shunned. But I don’t believe I want to go through that again. We’ll have to work on some other kind of solution.”

  She rolled away from him, sat up, and gazed at him searchingly. He might be joking, but he was still very pale. “I didn’t know what to do. Are you better?”

  He nodded. “It wasn’t bad. I got out soon enough.”

  “That wasn’t bad?” She shook her head. “It seemed damn bad to me.”

  “Maybe I was just making a bid for sympathy,” he said lightly as he slowly sat up. “You know you can’t trust me.”

  He still wasn’t entirely normal. She wanted to touch him, stroke him, make all the pain go away. “Stop joking. This isn’t funny.”

  “No, part of it was hell but the last part was kind of nice. There’s always a balance.” He put his hand out to the metal wall and levered himself up. “But I think I need a drink. Let’s go find a bar.”

  “We don’t have a car.”

  “Of course we do.” He took her elbow and headed for the entrance. “One of the mechanics I talked to insisted that he lend me his car while I was in the city.”

  “How convenient. Another long-lost best friend?”

  “You’ve got it. I think I saw a little coffee bar about two miles down the road. Let’s see if they have anything stronger under the counter for the Westerners.”

  THE COFFEE BAR WAS SMALL, with only a few tables and almost empty except for four Arabs who stared at Jane coldly when they walked through the door.

  “Prejudice seems to be raising its ugly head,” she murmured. “The locals don’t approve of women outside their homes. So much for freeing the masses.”

  “Do you want me to have a talk with them?”

  “No!” She sat down at a corner table. “I don’t want you to hunt, and I don’t want you to manipulate. I just want you to rest and have your drink.”

  “How protective you sound.” He motioned for a swarthy, young waiter, who was glaring at Jane. “It wouldn’t hurt me. Faruk was one of those freakish exceptions. What do you want?”

  “Just a coffee.”

  A few minutes later the waiter set a whiskey in front of Caleb and a tiny glass brimming with steaming black coffee before Jane.

  “That looks stronger than my whiskey,” Caleb said. “Want to switch?”

  “No.”

  He downed the whiskey. “You’re smart. Foul stuff.” He motioned the waiter for another one. “But it keeps the blood going.”

  “Is whiskey a cure-all for this . . .” She searched for the word again. “This quagmire.”

  “No, it just causes the chill to go away.” He looked down into his whiskey. “I’m sorry, Jane. I told you it would be no problem. It was a big problem.”

  “You’re sorry? How could you help it? You’re the one who went through more pain than a victim of the Spanish Inquisition. What if you’d gone into shock?”

  “I didn’t.” He frowned. “And there has to be a way to control it and do the job. I’ve just been too wary to play around with it. It’s so rare, and it was easier to walk away.” He grimaced. “Or crawl away. I wasn’t a very admirable specimen, was I?”

  “Play around with it? That’s like playing Russian roulette with every chamber filled with bullets. You just have to wonder which one is going to kill you.”

  “There has to be a way.”

  Dear God, he was actually serious. “The way is to use Faruk like a normal person would do it. Maybe we can bug his plane when he takes those other members to the temple.”

  “Millet will kill Eve as soon as he knows the temple is under attack. We’ll still need the layout of the temple if we’re to get to Eve before he knows we’re there.”

  She knew that he was right, and the alternative of blundering around searching for her was terrifying. “I thought about trying to get Roland to give me the information as part of the deal, but I couldn’t trust him.” She paused. “But there’s something else that could work.”

  He studied her, then smiled faintly. “The other reason wh
y you came to Damascus after me. You need me to help you dream.”

  “I can’t take a chance on doing it on my own. What if my sleep isn’t deep enough to dream? You kept me asleep for a long time. We have to do it together.”

  He shook his head, still smiling. “And is this your idea of how a normal person would handle the situation? My, how your viewpoint has changed.”

  She couldn’t argue. “Everything is different now. I’m just trying to keep everyone alive.”

  “So am I,” Caleb said quietly. “That’s why I think I should work on overcoming this—”

  “No!” She finished her coffee. “Let’s get out of here. It’s almost time for Millet to call me, and I don’t want to take it here with all these men in the bar looking daggers at me.” She stood up. “One bastard at a time.”

  JANE AND CALEB HAD BEEN sitting in the car outside the bar for only fifteen minutes when Jane’s phone rang.

  “Have you been waiting for me?” Millet asked. “I imagine you’re very torn. It’s not every day that anyone is given the opportunity to make the ultimate sacrifice to save another. You’re very special.”

  “And you’re very nuts.”

  “Ugly.”

  “Did you hurt Eve?”

  “I’d like to say yes, but I decided that I should save myself for you, Jane.”

  Relief surged through her. Roland must know Millet very well to be able to manipulate him to this extent. “May I talk to Eve again?”

  “No, I’m not feeling generous. No contact until the exchange.” He paused. “If there is to be an exchange. Is Eve going to live, Jane?”

  “Yes.” She moistened her lips. “But I don’t trust you. You’ll kill Eve, too, if you get the chance. I’m not going to walk into your trap until I’m sure Eve is out of it.”

  “I have no use for Eve Duncan.”

  “That doesn’t mean you wouldn’t enjoy tearing her limb from limb. I’ve seen your work, Millet.”

  He chuckled. “Yes, you did. I was exceptionally artistic when I was working on Celine Denarve. I did enjoy that evening enormously.”

  Poor butterfly, caught, pierced, pinned.

  “It’s not going to happen to Eve. What are your plans?”

  “I’m going to have you flown here to the temple and send Eve Duncan out on the same plane.”

  “Good God, do you think I’m that gullible?”

  “No, but I thought I’d try. Sometimes desperation robs one of common sense. Suppose we meet somewhere in the desert and do the exchange. That should be safer for both of you.”

  “I’ll consider it.”

  “Arrogant bitch.” His voice had harshened. “If I weren’t short on time, you’d have no choice at all. I’d kill Duncan, then go after you. It wouldn’t be long before I’d have it all.”

  “But I do have a choice. Not much of one, but I’m not giving it up.”

  “I need you at the temple by seven tomorrow night for the Offering. The exchange has to take place in time for me to get back to the temple before that. Five, six, at the latest. Do you understand? I need an Offering and I won’t quibble about taking Eve Duncan if I can’t have you.”

  “I know you won’t.”

  “I’ll call you in four hours, and you’d better have set a place for the transfer. I’ll need to send my men ahead to make sure you’re not setting a trap. That wouldn’t be wise, Jane. One sign, and I slice your Eve’s throat.” He hung up.

  Her hand was shaking as she pressed the disconnect. It was what she had been expecting, but the violence and ugliness was striking hard at her. Millet’s vicious intensity had been like an exploding bullet. Everything had been leading up to this time and she had a crazy feeling that it was inevitable that Millet would triumph no matter what she did.

  Tomorrow was the first of April.

  Judas’s birthday.

  The day of her death.

  “Jane?”

  She turned to look at Caleb in the seat next to her. “Four hours. I have to tell him where we’ll meet in the desert. He wants the exchange by five tomorrow evening.” She tried to keep her voice even. “He doesn’t want me to be late for the Offering. That wouldn’t be polite.”

  Caleb muttered a curse. “He got to you.”

  “No . . . Yes.” Her lips were trembling. “He’s such a monster. They’re all such monsters. Sometimes I can’t believe it. Blasphemer. They keep using that word. Cults and sacrifices and archaic words that shouldn’t even exist any longer. They should all be in the Dark Ages. It doesn’t seem real. I thought it was bad the night that Celine died, but it’s been going on so long. Tomorrow will be eight days, Caleb. Every minute has been like a dagger stabbing at me.” She tried to keep her voice steady. “I’m ready for it to be over.”

  “And it will be.” His hands were gently cupping her face. “You’ll go through it all and come out clean and bright. It will be fine. I promise you.”

  “I’ll be better soon.” She should move away from him, but she felt warm and treasured with his hands cupping her cheeks. She needed to feel as if she was more than the pawn in Millet’s dirty game. “I have to think how we’ll be able to handle this. I should call Roland, but nothing is clear right now.”

  “It will be clear soon.” He was looking down into her eyes. His own eyes were dark and soft, and she couldn’t look away from them. So much gentleness, so much sensuality, so much intensity, that she was caught, held. It was flowing over her, around her, within her.

  His hands left her face and moved to her shoulders. “Stop fighting. You don’t have to be strong right now. It’s not going to make any difference. I’m the only one here, and I’ll never judge you.” He was pulling her close. “You helped me. Now let me help you.”

  She could hear his heart beneath her ear, and she didn’t move. She was safe, wonderfully content, enfolded in velvet darkness.

  “That’s right, Jane,” he whispered. “Come dream with me . . .”

  TWENTY

  MILLET IS COMING, EVE thought hazily. She could hear his footsteps on the marble tiles in the hall. Concentrate. She had to focus. It was difficult with her shoulder throbbing with hot pain. Fever. It must be getting infected.

  Ignore it. She had to concentrate on doing what Jane needed from her.

  “You and your dear Jane are going to be reunited,” Millet said mockingly as he unlocked the door and entered the room. “She’s going to do the right thing and save you from the knife like a good daughter. I couldn’t wait to rush here and tell you.”

  “Because you knew it would hurt me.” She slowly sat up on the cot. “You’re chock-full of malice and satisfaction and who better to share it with than a victim?”

  His smile faded. “But you’re not giving me all the satisfaction that I hoped. Where is your fear? I thought that if I gave you time alone, you’d have to time to think and anticipate.”

  “And dread?” She met his gaze. “Because it doesn’t matter what deal you struck with Jane. You’re not going to let me go. You’ll kill me the minute you get your hands on Jane.”

  “That’s not true,” he said softly. “I won’t have time to toy with her before the Offering. I feel cheated. It’s only right that I keep you alive for a short while to amuse me.”

  “And then I’ll end up on the altar, too?”

  “A private Offering. It will be convenient. You’re here. Your death might as well be dedicated to the Master. His light will shine brighter on me.”

  “How can you believe that?”

  “How can I not? Look how far I’ve climbed. In the village, I lived with a father and mother who beat me and told me that I would never climb out of that dungheap. Now I’m the Guardian. I can have anything or anyone that pleases me. It had to be Judas showing his pleasure in everything I do.”

  She shook her head. “You just changed dungheaps.”

  His lips tightened. “Arrogant bitch. You’re just like Jane MacGuire.”

  “Thank you.” She had to curb her tongue. T
his wasn’t the way to find out anything but what a degenerate scumbag he was. She was silent a moment. “You think you’re king of this pile of crap you call a temple. When you brought me here, I didn’t see anything impressive about it. It’s small, not much ornamentation, a copy of a dozen other temples I saw in Greece. That makes you king of nothing.”

  His cheeks flushed. “It’s magnificent. Hadar said we had no need of pomp. We have the Offering Room, and that’s all that’s important to Judas.”

  “And your glorious Offering Room is probably as unimpressive as the rest of this place. You made sure I didn’t see it when we came here.” She added deliberately, “As unimpressive as you must be when you make your so-called Offering. Do they laugh at you, Millet?”

  He was cursing beneath his breath. She had thought that last taunt would tip the balance.

  He strode toward her and jerked her off the cot to her feet. “They worship me. They know how important I am. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” His eyes were glittering, and his grip on her arm was bruising. “But I’ll show you. You’ll see where your Jane MacGuire is going to die. You’ll see where you’re going to die.” He was pulling her toward the door. “You’ll see all the power and feel the souls who have gone before you.”

  Good. He was taking her from the room. For a moment she had been afraid she would only loose that sadistic streak. It had been a precarious balance. “You don’t have to pull me. I’m not fighting you.”

  He released her, then frowned as he saw her sway. “You’re weak. Can you walk?”

  “I can walk.” She got her balance and headed for the door. She was weak. Ignore it, she said to herself. “I have a little fever.”

  “What? Not as strong as you thought you were?” He opened the door. “Come along. I can’t wait to see a little more of that strength crumble.”

  The corridor was straight, with no doors on either side. High ceilings, with a coffered stone inset. Guards. They turned left at the end of the corridor and went a hundred yards, then faced a huge arched doorway guarded by another two men dressed in black leather.

  How many other guards had they passed? Two at her door. Four on the long corridor. I’m trying, Jane.