by Lyn Stone
She touched her face and winced. Her fingertips came away coated black with soot, cordite and dirt. The rest of her must look about the same as her hands. Nasty. Her hair felt as if it were standing on end and her clothes were a mess.
Dawn trudged along with the men, periodically urging Quince so she wouldn’t step on his heels. He seemed to be in shock.
They entered Clay’s cave. Someone had indeed made it a refuge, probably well before Clay ever arrived on the island. Bedding and blankets were neatly folded against one rough-hewn wall. A fire pit lay near the front, stacked with small lengths of driftwood.
“The prisoners are bound in the back there,” Clay told them, pointing to a dark passage that led deeper into the rock.
“Prisoners?” Eric asked with a mirthless chuckle. “Who?”
Clay shrugged. “A really feisty woman I found hanging on to the rocks after she was pushed off the cliff’s edge, a couple of guards I managed to disarm, a Russian and an American mercenary I would really like to choke personally.”
“We need to contact Sextant and get this wound up,” Eric announced. “Unfortunately one of Quince’s bidders brought along a small army that seems determined to decimate the villa and everybody in it. See if your transponder’s working. For some reason, mine’s shot.”
They watched as Clay removed a knife from his belt and quickly sliced the tracker from the top of his shoulder before she could think to offer her help.
He wiped it off on the leg of his pants, then tapped the point of his knife to it several times. “There,” he said, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger for a minute. He frowned at Eric. “No response.”
“You’re bleeding.” Dawn shook her head in exasperation and looked around for something to pad his wound.
“It’s nothing,” he replied “I’ll go wash it off in a minute.” Then he crouched near Eric. “Do you have what we came for?”
“It’s still in the house, in the safe, so Quince says,” Eric told him. “A safe he can’t open. Oh, and the house is rigged with explosives, only he hasn’t yet told us how that’s set up. I can’t read him.”
Clay’s dark brows drew together in a menacing look directed toward Quince. “Time for a few questions.” He tapped the flat of his blade against his other palm. “Shall I?”
“Be my guest,” Eric said with a negligent wave of his hand.
Quince seemed oblivious to the threat.
“You aren’t going to try to scare it out of him, are you?” Dawn asked quietly. “He’s pretty much zoned out. I don’t think it would work.”
“What’s his problem?” Clay asked her.
Dawn considered the question before answering. “I think one of the bidders was more than that to him, maybe a co-conspirator. The guy was killed just before we came out.” She had killed him. That was going to bother her, but she couldn’t dwell on it now.
“McCoy,” Clay declared with a nod.
“You’ve been keeping closer tabs than I thought,” Eric said with a smile. As he spoke, he slid one arm around Dawn and drew her near, sharing his warmth. “Learn anything interesting?”
Clay looked from Eric to her and back again, one black eyebrow raised. “McCoy and the woman struggled and he shoved her off the cliff in an attempt to kill her. But they had a fascinating conversation before he did his worst.” He paused, then looked curious. “You couldn’t read them, could you?”
Eric glanced down at the floor of the cave, then raised his gaze to meet his friend’s. “No.”
“And you couldn’t connect with me, either. Or Jack and the others? What’s wrong, man?”
“Let it go for now, okay?” He released Dawn and stepped away from her, resting his hands on his hips. “Just tell me what you found out.”
“Quince isn’t Quince,” Clay announced. “Or at least not the Quince we thought he was.”
“That much I figured out on my own,” Eric told them. He reached out to brush Dawn’s hair off her brow and tuck the strands behind her ear with his finger. “You sensed that, too, didn’t you, Dawn?”
She had, but not fully until they were in the study. “Let’s ask him.”
Quince was sitting cross-legged on the cave floor, his elbows on his knees and his face buried in his hands. Grieving?
Dawn knelt beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Where is Quince?”
He raised his head slowly, as if he’d been sleeping. “My brother?” He swallowed hard. “Dead. And good riddance. The man was a monster. A traitor to the human race!” He sobbed once, then placed a hand over his mouth to hold it in.
“You took his place for the bidding. Why?”
“No. You don’t understand. There was to be no bidding. I can’t even get to whatever it was he had for sale, don’t you understand? I would never, ever sell it, even if I could!”
“But you wanted all of the bidders to come here to the island as planned, didn’t you?” she asked.
“To die,” he agreed. “I wanted to eliminate every one of them and I liked the irony of having them destroy one another.” He slid his fingers through his hair and left them there, holding his head as if it hurt. “I have to make up for all Stefan did, all the terrible things he arranged, the terror he abetted.” Then he looked directly at Dawn. “I wanted you to help me. You were like me, Aurora, caught up in something you couldn’t control by yourself. Trapped.”
She nodded and patted his shoulder. “I know. What is your name?”
“George. George Cydonia.” He sniffed hard and ran a hand over his face, sighing as he did. “Sean is…was…my son.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Dawn said automatically, trying not to think how she was the one who emptied the pistol into McCoy. She’d had no choice really, and it was counterproductive to waste time sympathizing with a killer. “He was very clever,” she offered. “I would have sworn he was Irish.”
“He was,” George said. “His mother raised him in Dublin. She and I parted ways when Sean was only two. He contacted me a few months ago in Athens. I have a business there,” he said absently. “Real estate.”
Dawn exchanged a look with Eric who was listening intently. They were dealing with a real estate agent?
“What happened to Stefan?” she asked, guiding the questioning away from Sean’s death. She would come back to it, though. It seemed strange that Sean would look his father up after so many years. Maybe he wasn’t Sean at all, but someone in league with Stefan. “Did your brother die here on the island?”
George nodded. “I acquired this property for him. He wanted something remote and isolated. Said he was retiring. I’ve known for years what he did, but was afraid I’d be implicated if I turned him in. Then two weeks ago, he insisted that Sean and I come out to the island with him. Then he wouldn’t let me leave. He was afraid I would give away his location. Sean…he was…sympathetic to Stefan’s plan. I thought I had dissuaded him, but…Stefan left for a few days last week and then returned.”
“And he died here? Was he ill?” Dawn prompted.
George shook his head. “No. He was eating dinner. Choked to death on some calamari.”
Or was poisoned? Dawn wondered. Sean’s presence at the time made that a distinct possibility.
“He had already set up everything for the auction of the information, which he told me he had locked in his safe. Meeting the bidders face-to-face would give him the edge, he said. Stefan liked games.”
“So you decided to follow through and get rid of the bad guys yourself,” Dawn said, trying to sound approving so he would continue.
“It was a good idea. Sean said he was…helping me.”
Or getting rid of his competition for acquiring the plans himself, Dawn thought. Canny.
Eric came and crouched down on George’s opposite side. “Did you wire the place yourself?”
George shook his head. “Stefan did. The entire island. All but one of the boats. He told me that if anything happened to him after the guests arrived, if t
hey betrayed him, that I was to get off the island and send them all to hell along with what they came after. I can do that.” He looked up at Dawn, his eyes pleading for understanding. “But it seems such a waste, you know? It is a beautiful place. Worth millions.”
“So we were all to kill one another and spare the property,” Eric said.
“All but Sean. And Aurora, of course,” George admitted. “As I said, she’s merely a pawn to you, just as I was to Stefan.” He swallowed hard.
“Okay, how were you to blow it?” Eric asked.
George seemed to snap out of his stupor as he glared up at Eric. “I won’t tell you. But I still can do it at any time. I will before I let you—”
Eric leapt on George and grasped his arms before the words were out of his mouth. “Search him. The remote. Find it!”
Dawn was closest but not quite fast enough. George twisted free and had the thing out of his pocket and in his hand before she could get to it. He held it up and backed away from her, his back to the rock wall, a threat in his eyes. “I’ll do it!”
“Do you really want Sean to end up under a huge pile of rubble, George?” she asked gently. “Wouldn’t you rather have a ceremony of some kind? Say goodbye to him properly?” She glanced briefly at Eric, who nodded encouragement.
She reached out, trying to touch George’s arm. “Please consider it, George. It is true we want what your brother took and intended to sell, but not for the reasons you think.”
Again, she looked to Eric for permission to reveal why they were there. “You see, the three of us work for the American government. We came here to outbid the rest and to capture the terrorists’ representatives sent here to buy it. We’re on your side, George.”
“I don’t believe you! It’s a trick!” He shook the remote as he pointed with it to Eric. “He…he’s Arab, not American. And you…” He stopped, frowning. She figured he must have just realized her Spanish accent had disappeared.
“My name is Dawn Moon. I’m an agent with the National Security Agency,” she explained. “This is Eric Vinland and Clay Senate. They are also agents.”
George looked confused, but at least he was concentrating on them and not the remote he was holding. “It doesn’t matter. If I destroy it, no one can have it.”
Dawn sighed. “George, you don’t even know what it is.”
“It’s important!” he insisted. “I know that much. It’s vital to the terrorists!”
“Yes,” she agreed, keeping her voice as calm as possible. “We need to make sure this gets back in the right hands. And to verify that Stefan brought it here and that it’s not out there somewhere for someone else to discover. You never actually saw what he had, did you?”
“No.” He slowly sank down to sit on the floor of the tunnel. With a gesture of resignation, he handed the remote to Dawn. “The code is 08-16-53. Stefan’s birthday.”
She sighed with relief and exchanged a look with Eric. He smiled at her and said a quiet, “Thank you.”
She sat down next to George, careful to keep him covered in case he decided to reenergize suddenly and do something they didn’t expect.
Clay was busy with the tiny device he had removed from beneath his skin. “This damned thing’s definitely not receiving and probably not sending, either,” he muttered. “Something must be blocking the signals.”
Eric looked at Dawn with regret. “Then I guess we’re on our own.”
Surrounded by Arab terrorists, the most critical part of their mission unaccomplished, Dawn wondered what they would do now. She could practically see the wheels turning in Eric’s head as he assessed their predicament. That gave her hope. He was the one with all the experience. He would think of something. She watched him amble over to the mouth of the cave and step outside.
Clay crouched down near her and crossed his arms over his knees, his weapon dangling from one hand. He closed his eyes.
She hoped he was broadcasting mentally, trying his last-ditch method of contacting backup. Hadn’t Eric said that each of the Sextant team had particular talents in that vein?
A few minutes passed in silence. Then Clay spoke. “I’m too tired to think. How about you?”
“Running on adrenaline,” she admitted. “Trying not to crash.” Now was a good time to satisfy some of her curiosity. She might not get another chance. “Can you do what Eric says he can do? Do you mind read or whatever?”
His full lips quirked down. “No. I’m supposed to have visions. Not that I can interpret them clearly until after the fact. Lot of good that does.”
“Have you had any since we’ve been on the island?” she asked, only half believing him, but still wondering about the kind of men who thought they had these powers.
He made a sound in his throat, half grunt, half laugh. “I dreamed a bevy of demonic birds descended. Sort of like the old Hitchcock movie. Prophetic and pretty damn useless now, wouldn’t you say?”
“You trust Eric’s abilities, though, don’t you?” she asked, reaching for hope.
Again that sound, this time more laugh than grunt. He opened his eyes and peered at her sideways. “The kid? That’s what the team calls him, you know. The kid. And no, I don’t think he can perform his parlor tricks any longer. Not since he met you.”
“He said the same thing. So what’d I do?”
Clay sighed and leaned his head back against the rock, stretching his neck. “I don’t know. Probably nothing. You just are who you are.”
She reached out and touched his arm. “You mean I’ve screwed up his psychic abilities? That’s what you’re saying?”
He nodded and looked her full in the face. “He couldn’t connect with you during the interrogation. Or since. I think maybe that’s wrecked his confidence or something.”
Had she done that? “How?”
“Again, I don’t know. But maybe you can fix it,” Clay suggested softly. “Try letting him in.”
“In?” She almost croaked the word. She had let Eric in all right. Twice now. And that obviously hadn’t helped him a lot, at least not in the way Clay meant. It had helped her, though. Or maybe not, now that she thought about it. She had trusted the man with her body, but she certainly didn’t trust him with her heart. She hadn’t let him in there yet and didn’t dare.
The low rumble of Clay’s chuckle broke her reverie. “Let him into your thoughts is what I meant, Moon. It might help.” He watched her for a few seconds, looking deeply into her eyes, then added, “Send him a message. Think something to him. Try it.”
“What?” she asked in a near whisper.
“Anything, doesn’t matter what. Maybe he just needs to know he can still do it.”
“And then he might be able to contact our backup?” she asked hopefully.
Clay shrugged, but his concern was evident. “It couldn’t hurt to try, could it? But you need to believe in what you’re doing when you do it.”
Dawn wasn’t sure she could, not fully anyway, but was willing to grasp at any straw right now. Eric needed to get his team here one way or another, and they weren’t coming until he notified him that he was ready. If Clay thought she could help Eric do that, she would certainly try.
She tried to think of something to project to Eric that wouldn’t involve anything personal or private. Revealing how she felt about him wouldn’t be a good idea. Maybe a simple command to come back inside the cave would do for a start.
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and repeated the phrase, Come to me, Eric. Over and over, she thought the words until they filled her mind completely.
To her surprise, she heard his hurried footsteps and opened her eyes.
“He came back in!” she crowed, shooting Clay a look of triumph.
“Damn right I did,” he grumbled. “The beach out there is working alive with men. And they aren’t ours. My guess is Sudanese. Ali’s people. I figure we have less than five minutes before they climb up here and find this cave.”
They all leapt to action except George. Cl
ay grabbed him and half dragged him out of the cave. They hurried back into the tunnel that led to the house. There was nowhere else to go that didn’t lead down to the beach and certain death.
“This way!” Eric ordered when they came to the passage that forked off the main corridor. “Where does this lead?” he asked George.
“To the roof,” he answered when Clay jogged him with a firm shake.
They rushed onward and periodically climbed steps hewn into the rock. Dawn had visions of being trapped up there on top of the villa, besieged like knights in a medieval castle with the enemy crawling up the walls.
After an exhausting run, they reached a trapdoor that opened above them. Clay pushed his way next to Eric and they lifted it a few inches to look around.
“It’s clear up here for now,” Eric said. “Let’s go.”
They exited onto the flat rooftop that was, as she had hoped, deserted. A three-foot coping surrounded the edge like the battlements of a castle.
Below, outside the villa, they could hear shouts and thudding bootfalls. Definitely surrounded, she thought, and not as well armed as they needed to be.
“Only one door leading up here out of the house,” Eric observed, inclining his head toward the small structure that looked sort of like a freestanding closet atop the roof near the middle.
He ordered George to lie down next to the balustrade and stay there. “Clay, you watch the doors. Dawn, check out the perimeter for access that way,” he ordered, pointing to his right. “I’ll go left.”
They found no way that anyone could get to the roof unless they had brought grappling hooks or came through one of the two doors, the one main stairway from the house proper and the flat trapdoor from the tunnel.
However, there was no other way down for them, either. They were effectively trapped up here. The critical information was in the safe downstairs in Quince’s office. That would have to be destroyed if it couldn’t be reclaimed. Dawn realized they might have to die here in order to ensure national security.
Once they had reassembled, she felt she had to make a suggestion. “You have to try to summon the team again, Eric. Maybe from up here it’ll be a clear shot with no interference. Straight across the water, right? They’re out there waiting. Give it another shot.”