by Linda Grimes
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Rudy said to him. “You know I can put a giant hole in her before you can twitch. And if you try to wreck the car, she’ll be dead before the air bags go off.”
Billy gripped the wheel tighter as he passed the turnoff. “Where exactly am I taking us?” he asked. His voice was remarkably calm. And accent-free.
“Keep driving. I’ll tell you when you need to turn.” Rudy’s voice carried a lot more tension, and he was starting to sweat. His spook instructors would be disappointed by his lack of emotional control.
“Turn around, Ciel. Stop looking at me with—” He cut himself off. Obviously he didn’t like his sister’s eyes watching him. Not being a fool, I acquiesced at once, pointing my face straight ahead, but keeping my eyes on Billy, watching for any signal he might give me.
“Don’t forget for a second what’s right behind you, Ciel”—he seemed intent on reassuring himself I wasn’t his sister—“and don’t think your seat will stop a bullet. This forty-five will go through it like butter.” I got the feeling he was saying it for Billy’s sake.
Billy kept his speed steady, his hands at eight and four on the steering wheel. “Ciel won’t be making any sudden moves.” That, I knew, was for my benefit.
“We’re coming up on the highway. Get on it,” Rudy said.
Billy nodded. “I’m going to need to shift gears.”
“Go ahead.”
Billy’s moves were slow and deliberate. Nothing that might jar Rudy into firing. I kept completely still for the same reason, hoping like hell Billy had a plan forming behind Misha’s outwardly serene eyes, because I had zilch.
Once he was at speed he spoke. “You know Mark will come after you, right? If not right away, then soon, and relentlessly,” he said as calmly as if he were discussing an upcoming sporting event.
“I’m not worried about Mark.” The implication behind Rudy’s words hit me like a punch in the gut. And I’d been punched in the gut for real before. The comparison might be a cliché, but it was accurate. If he’d hurt Mark, or worse …
Billy darted a glance at me. I took a deep breath and steadied myself, trying to convey without words that I wasn’t going to panic.
“Give me your phones. Now. Slowly.”
Okay, now I might panic. Without the GPS in our cell phones, how was help going to find us? But Billy was doing as he was told, so I did, too. Rudy took them both and removed the batteries one-handed, never lowering his gun. “I didn’t want to do this, you know,” he said. “I had no choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” I said. “Look, why don’t you tell us what happened. We can help.”
“Stop talking to me with—” He cut himself off. If voices could sweat, his would be dripping.
Maybe I could use it. “Does my sounding like your sister bother you, Rudy? What would she think of your doing this?”
“She might not understand now, but she will later. After…”
“After what?” Billy said.
“After she has kids. Jesus Christ. They took my kids, okay? They took my kids.”
Billy and I didn’t even pretend not to look at each other.
“Who?” I said. “Who took your kids? And why?”
“The Russians. The ones Misha used to work with before he met my sister. They’ve had them for weeks. I tried everything I knew to get them back, you have to believe me, you have to.” He was winding tighter by the second.
“Why would they take your kids?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“It doesn’t matter now. I’m going to get them back. Take the next exit. Then turn right at the light.”
Billy complied. “Listen, man. We really can help. Give us the background. We’ll help you any way we can, I swear.”
“You’re helping me the only way you can right now. I’m sorry, but my kids have to come first.”
“How many kids do you have? How old are they?” I said.
“Two. My boy is six. My baby girl”—his voice broke—“is three. They said they’d—hey, slow down! Take the next left. Then keep on driving until I tell you to stop.”
“I take it you’re trading us for your kids?” Billy said.
“What would they want with us?” I said.
“Phil,” Billy said. “They wanted Phil, didn’t they? Either to sabotage the mission, or to get to Misha.”
“They don’t give a crap about the mission. They only want my sister so they can control Misha.”
“But you didn’t want to give them your sister, did you? Not even for your kids,” I said.
He gave me a look so desperate it chilled my bones. “You’re wrong. I would give them my sister in a heartbeat to save my kids. I love her, but they’re my kids. But then, when the kidney stone happened, it was like a gift from God. Suddenly there was a way to let them have my sister without really giving her to them. Mark would have been able to get away from them. And so will you. My sister and her husband wouldn’t have stood a chance.”
I shook my head. “I still don’t understand why you didn’t just ask Mark for help. You must know he would have done everything he could to get your kids back,” I said.
“I couldn’t risk it. If he’d refused, he would have known my plan, and I never would have been able to pull it off.”
“Where does Alec Loughlin fit in?” Billy said.
“He was the Russians’ idea. Phil was supposed to be taken on the day of her zero-G flight. They needed someone who’d worked with NASA before, someone they knew had the right security clearance. A photographer was a good idea. A photographer desperate to pay off a debt to Bratva—the Russian mafia—was better. They could control him. And someone they knew Phil would trust and go with quietly? Perfect.”
“Wouldn’t it have been easier to take her from her home? Or at least somewhere without so much security?” I said, instinctively trying to keep him talking. If we could get him to approach the problem rationally, to dial back his panic about his kids, maybe we’d all get out of this alive. Because, honestly? Even though Rudy was the one with the gun, I still thought Billy could bring him down. But maybe not without killing him, and I was sick to death of killing.
“Yeah, but then what excuse could Rudy give Mark for needing someone to take her place? Isn’t that right?” Billy said, playing along, keeping the conversation going. “What’d you do? Tell the Russians security around her was even tighter when she wasn’t at work, due to the nature of her mission? That’s what I would have done.”
Rudy didn’t answer directly, which I took as an admission Billy was right. “It was never supposed to be you, Ciel. It was supposed to be Mark. I knew he’d be able to handle the Russians. He never told me he’d farmed the job out to someone else until it was too late. Hell, I didn’t even know there were more of you until Phil told me about Ciel.”
Sounded like Mark, all right. Captain Need-to-Know didn’t disclose the existence of other adaptors unless there was no way around it. It had probably about killed him to have to tell our security details about us.
“And then something went wrong. Loughlin knew Ciel wasn’t Phil. How?” Billy said.
“How the fuck should I know? Maybe they were closer than I thought. Maybe Ciel did something, or said something, that was too far off for Alec to swallow. Hell, maybe he can see through auras.”
Okay, that was the scariest thing Rudy had said so far. Even Billy gripped the steering wheel tighter. “But you confirmed it for him, didn’t you? You told him about all of us.”
“I didn’t have a choice! He was so pissed off when his mission failed. The Russians were going to come after him. I’d never seen him so angry. He told me he was going to let them kill my kids if I didn’t tell him exactly what you were.”
“And then what? He decided it was his new mission in life to rid the world of us?” Billy said.
Rudy shook his head, though not in denial. “He just … he went full-on crazy. Said the world wasn’t safe with your kind in it. You have to believe me�
��it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Nobody was supposed to get killed.”
“Is Mark okay?” I had to ask. I couldn’t stand not knowing.
“He will be. After he wakes up, which won’t be anytime soon.”
I took a deep breath, steadying myself. He was alive. Focus, Ciel. Do what you can do. Fix the problem in front of you. Save the kids. Worry about the rest later.
“God,” I said. “He’s going to come after you so hard.”
“Won’t matter. By then my kids will be safe and he can do whatever he wants to me.”
Billy looked at me, a question in his eyes. I nodded. “All right. What do you need us to do?” he said.
Silence. I peeked between the seats. Rudy still held the gun behind me, but was gripping his chest with his other arm. He looked surprised. And in pain.
“You’re hurt. Mark didn’t go down easily, did he?” I said.
“I’ll be fine. I just need to get my kids. What did you mean, what do I need you to do? You’re saying you mean to help me? After what I’ve done?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Billy said.
“Why should I believe you? You’re trying to put me off guard. Sorry, not happening. This gun stays on Ciel until I have my kids. And if either one of you tries any of that sneaky adaptor shit, I will blow her away.” He was sweating badly now, either from nerves or pain. I was guessing pain.
Billy shrugged. “Maybe you should believe us because we’re the ones who can rescue your kids after you pass out. Broken ribs are tricky things. I’m guessing yours might have punctured something sensitive.”
I peeked again. If anything, he looked worse. He was starting to suck in air like it was beer and he was a freshman at his first frat party.
“I’m good,” he said.
“Rudy,” I said gently, “how are we going to find your kids if you do lose consciousness? At least tell us where to go for the handoff.”
Something in his face relaxed. Either he believed we were going to help him, or else he knew he had no choice. He lowered the gun. Tears started streaming out of his eyes. “Keep heading toward Dayton. Get off at Shady Lane. Go left. There’ll be a truck stopped on the side of the road. White panel. Plumber. They didn’t say a name.”
“How much time do we have?” Billy said.
“Window closes in half an hour. After that … oh, Jesus…”
I unfastened my seat belt and, reaching between the front seats, gingerly took the gun now hanging limply in his hand. Tears rolled down his face.
Billy kept driving. “Don’t worry, I can get us there in time. And here’s what we’re going to do when we get there…”
Chapter 25
Rudy was looking dazed but better. He’d improved considerably once it sank in we were, in fact, going to help him get his kids back. He was still in considerable pain, but his breathing had slowed, and he no longer looked to be on the verge of passing out. Billy had told him broken ribs hurt like a son of a bitch, but likely hadn’t really ruptured anything, and talked him through some slow breathing exercises to help his anxiety, which had apparently caught him up short. He said it had never happened before—the Agency didn’t tend to employ field agents with anxiety issues. Then again, no one had ever threatened to kill his children before either.
“I don’t know how to thank you guys. After what I did … after I was about to throw you to the wolves … I can’t believe you’re doing this for me.”
Billy glanced at the rearview mirror. “Don’t thank us yet—save it until we have your kids back safe and sound. And I still might kick your ass after your ribs heal.”
Rudy produced a small, if strained, smile. “I’ll take it, and gladly.”
He had his gun back. I personally thought it was mighty trusting of Billy to give a loaded weapon to a desperate man prone to anxiety attacks, but it was essential to our plan, such as it was.
It was a simple idea. Basically, we were going to do exactly what Rudy had intended before we teamed up with him: he was going to hand us over, at gunpoint, in exchange for his son and daughter. We were going to play it from the angle that Phil and Misha were not such a loving aunt and uncle that they would willingly trade themselves for the kids. Seemed to us it was the scenario least likely to set off alarm bells in the Russians. And when the safety of children is at stake, you don’t want alarm bells fogging up the situation.
Once Rudy removed the kids from harm, Billy and I would reassess and decide where to take it from there. There was no way to plan for that part until we knew what we were up against.
I, of course, had dozens of questions I wanted to ask him about Loughlin, and I was sure Billy did, too, but the kids were our priority. Questions would have to wait.
The truck (“Joe’s Plumbing—you plug ’em, we’ll plunge ’em!”) was at the appointed place when we got there with ten minutes to spare. I got out first, keeping my Phil demeanor stiff and fearful (oddly, not tough to do). Rudy unfolded himself out of the backseat, never taking the gun off me for a second. Billy got out, keeping his eyes glued to the gun, as Misha would have. Rudy signaled him to come stand beside me; he did, taking my hand when he got there.
We stayed a good distance from the truck, waiting patiently. After a minute, two men got out. One tall, one shorter, both beefy as hell. They were looking at first at cell phones, then at Billy and me, like they were comparing us to pictures of Phil and Misha. I wasn’t worried about passing inspection. I was worried about the guns in their hands, hanging low to their sides. The men looked almost casual if you didn’t notice the tension in their fingers.
“Where are my kids?” Rudy’s voice was stronger than I would have thought possible after his breakdown in the car. He must be pulling the dregs of his courage up from somewhere. “If I don’t see them in the next five seconds, these two will be dead before you get close to them.”
Damn. He sounded way too sincere. And I couldn’t help but notice he was careful to keep Billy and me between him and the two of them.
“Relax. Your kids are fine. Cute little buggers.” It was the tall one who’d spoken. Funny, I’d been expecting an accent. The Russians must have jobbed it out locally.
“One…” Rudy didn’t sound like he was bluffing. “I don’t think your bosses would like it if you show up empty-handed. Two…” Jesus. I shot Billy a look. He squeezed my hand. “Three…”
“All right, all right. Hold on.” The shorter one walked to the back of the truck and unlocked it.
“Four…”
Shit. Couldn’t Rudy see the guy was getting his kids?
“Don’t get twitchy. Here they are.”
Shorty opened the door. A skinny little boy with light tan skin and dark, curly hair jumped out, squinting against the sudden light. His sister, with soft brown curls and the lingering chubbiness of toddlerhood, stood at the opening rubbing her eyes.
“Simon! Phoebe!” Rudy’s voice was full of relief and fear.
“Daddy?” Simon tried to make a break for his father, but Shorty grabbed him by the shoulder and held him back. “Aunt Phil, Uncle Misha!”
Phoebe, meantime, had turned around, flopped onto her belly, and was attempting to scoot backward out of the truck. Shorty scooped her up by her waist with his gun arm. I tried not to gasp.
The tall one had been keeping his eyes trained on Rudy. “You can see they’re all right. Now how about you tell the dynamic duo of astronauts there to go ahead and walk this way, nice and easy, so we can send these children back home with their daddy.”
Billy still held on to my hand, holding me back.
“Go.” If Rudy’s voice were any tighter it would snap in two.
Billy and I stepped at the same time, taking it slowly. When we were halfway to the truck, Shorty let the kids go, and things started happening fast. Simon and Phoebe ran for their father, screaming “Daddy, Daddy!” the whole way.
The tall guy covered the distance to Billy and shoved a gun against his lower back. I got the
same treatment from Shorty. They hustled us both to the truck. While the tall one held the gun on us, Shorty pulled our arms behind us—Billy first—and wrapped our wrists with duct tape. Put a piece across each of our mouths for good measure.
“Up you go.” Shorty’s hand on my ass spurred me to move faster, if only to get away from him. Billy-Misha’s eyes were full of the anger Billy was no doubt feeling himself.
I twisted my head around in time to see Rudy climb into the driver’s seat of the Nissan and peel out.
Thank God, I thought, as Shorty wound the tape around my ankles.
* * *
It didn’t take long for the Thank God to morph into What the hell have we done. Apparently, my generous and helpful nature is severely curtailed by duct tape and darkness.
“You okay?”
Now, how the hell had Billy managed to talk? “Mmmph!”
“Roll over and rub your face on the carpet. Hurry up—I need your teeth.”
What the fuck? Oh, well. I did as I was told, trying not to think about what sorts of nasty things had been hauled in the truck. But at least Phoebe and Simon hadn’t had to sit for God knew how long on a hard metal floor. I tried to be grateful for that as I pushed my cheek along the rough pile until the edge of the tape caught and stuck enough to peel off the tape.
“Ouch! Shit, that stings.”
“Try it with stubble and see how you like it. Now, move closer and see if you can get your teeth on the tape around my wrists. You might have to gnaw a bit.”
My eyes were getting more accustomed to the gloom. A tiny bit of light must be getting in from somewhere. Billy was on his side, his back to me.
I scooted down and latched on, immediately deciding duct tape would never make my top ten list of favorite flavors. Plasticky, adhesive-y, and smelly. Bleah. I didn’t make much progress until I remembered the kid from college who’d filed his canines into sharp points in some sort of freakish homage to vampires. He’d claimed “chicks dig it,” no doubt having seen our classmates’ reactions to the Twilight franchise. I, of course, had grabbed some of his energy to freak my parents out at Halloween. (They’d loved it. It’s hard to freak out adaptor parents with anything appearance-related.)