by Lyn Stone
She shrugged. “We’ll stage it right and see that you can. If he thinks I’m alone and unprotected, he’ll go for it and try to take me out.”
“It could work,” Clay admitted. It seemed a pretty good plan as far as it went. If it fooled Hightower. If not, at least they would be on familiar ground when things went down.
“The timing’s crucial,” she warned. “He’s going to have to see you go down or he probably won’t approach.”
Clay agreed. They needed to wait until Hightower came back down this far to see why they hadn’t taken his bait and followed him.
“I’ll take care of that,” Clay assured her. He examined their path and the surrounding area very closely. When Hightower returned, he would have to come this way since it offered the only access. He would have to be within fifty yards of the clearing in order to see if they were there.
When they reached the best vantage point that would offer Hightower a view of the clearing, Clay stopped.
“Hold up a minute.” He knelt, fished through his pack and came up with a small sewing kit he’d seen tucked in one pocket. He removed the spool of dark thread and strung it across the path between two trees about waist level. Then he let the rest play out through his hand, tying another skein onto the end as it ran out, then another. He had just enough to almost reach the clearing. He secured the end to his tin cup, which he set on a high rock nearby.
“The thread’s thin enough he won’t notice it when he trips it,” he told Vanessa. “It should dislodge the cup, but it won’t make much of a clatter and is far enough away that hopefully, he won’t notice. Should be enough to alert us, though. The cup’s visible from where we’ll be. If it disappears off the rock, he’ll be in place, watching.”
She clicked her tongue. “Yeah, and what if your cat comes back this way and trips it accidentally?”
He smiled. “That’s why I strung it high. It would take something the height of a bear on his hind legs to snag it. If one of those happens along, I’d just as soon know about it, wouldn’t you?”
They hurriedly set up the scenario, tying the climbing rope to a sturdy tree and snaking it along the cliff to the carefully chosen spot where Clay planned to go over the edge.
He rappelled down and checked it out. There was an undercut to the rocky edge where he could brace himself easily enough. He could be back up in a couple of minutes. He practiced several times until he was confident.
To be on the safe side, he secured the thin cable to his right wrist. Sitting on flat rocks near the edge, they ate, checked their weapons and talked in hushed tones, tried to prepare for every possible contingency that could take place when Hightower approached.
Clay marveled at Vanessa’s energy. Her ability to set pain aside and focus on the job impressed him. Mercier couldn’t do any better if he wanted a dedicated agent for the COMPASS team. She just needed a little more convincing. Maybe success on this op would do the trick.
Clay kept the cup in his peripheral vision. He hoped the trip thread worked, but there was a possibility it wouldn’t. It could hang on rough bark and break without dislodging the cup. He couldn’t think of any alternative warning system, however, so he watched, waited and hoped it was successful. At midafternoon, they had almost given up the wait when a slight clink alerted Clay. The cup had fallen, making almost no noise at all.
“The cup fell off,” he whispered to Vanessa. “It’s showtime.”
“Ready,” she said. “Go for it.”
Clay stood up and stretched, careful to keep the rope running along his right side so it wouldn’t be visible. He made a great show of tucking his pistol in the back of his belt.
“I’m going to walk around and scout the area,” he said loudly, backed a few steps toward the cliff’s muddy edge and cried out as he slipped on purpose.
Vanessa scrambled toward the edge on all fours, issuing a scream that would wake the dead.
Clay had grasped the rope and swung into the side of the cliff, yelling, letting his voice trail away, as if plunging to his death.
Several feet below the edge, he braced inside the concave section that formed a niche. He pulled the rope tight and felt it cut easily into the muddy edge of the cliff. The grasses and mud would conceal the rope.
Vanessa was screaming his name, sounding truly panicked, crying out loud. “I’ll call for help!” she cried. “Clay, answer me! Can you hear me? Oh, please don’t be dead!”
He heard her scrambling around up there and moaning, “The phone. Oh God, I need his phone!” He heard her running for the cave.
Clay smiled. The girl had missed her calling. She sounded terrified and, as they had planned, she sounded alone and vulnerable.
He inched sideways to brace himself more securely in the niche and wrapped his left arm around a small projection of rock to rest that hand from the cut of the rope. He hadn’t worn his gloves. That might have given away the ruse since the weather was too mild to require them for warmth.
He flexed his left hand, then his right, one finger at a time, as he held onto the rope secured to his wrist. His toeholds were solid. He pressed his chest against the rock and leaned into it. Thank God there was no wind to speak of. Normally, it would have been a great day for climbing if that was the sport of choice. While it definitely wasn’t Clay’s, he still felt confident.
Now all he had to do was wait for Vanessa’s cue for him to climb up. As soon as Hightower entered the cave, she would scream the man’s name.
A few minutes later, Clay heard slogging footsteps above him. A deep growling chuckle told him it wasn’t Vanessa returning.
Clay felt certain he wouldn’t be visible if Hightower simply looked over the precipice. Unless the man lay down on the ground and hung his head over the edge, Clay’s position was hidden. Hopefully, the rope had bitten into the mud deeply enough that it wouldn’t be noticed.
Suddenly the belaying rope that had been secured to the tree on the cliff above went sailing right past Clay’s head and dangled uselessly from his right hand.
He shifted his weight and the rock below his left foot broke away, tumbling down the cliff and dislodging others as it fell. Left hanging by one arm and braced with only one perilous foothold, he barely managed to stifle a curse.
What the hell would he do now? Clay wondered that just as he heard Vanessa scream, “James!”
Chapter 11
“Put down the gun, Vanessa,” Hightower ordered. He held one of his own in his right hand and a remote-control device in his left. It looked like a garage-door opener and he had it pointed toward the outside as he stood just inside the cave’s entrance.
“Even if you get off a lucky shot, I will still press this and blow our precious little res to kingdom come. Drop the gun and kick it over here.”
Vanessa squatted and carefully laid the Glock on the ground. She stood up and nudged it with her boot. James was standing with his back to the entrance. If Clay j umped him from behind, she wanted the pistol where she could get to it quickly.
That scenario worried her. Sunlight flooded most of the cave floor now. It would be difficult for Clay to surprise James if he threw a shadow inside as he approached. They should have accounted for that. Hopefully, Clay would realize it before he acted.
“I said kick the damn thing over here! Kick it hard!” he shouted, his voice reverberating off the cave’s walls.
She kicked hard. The pistol flew past him, out of the cave, out of their reach. Maybe right off the cliff outside. “There!” she said with a huff. Now her job was to keep James facing her, his back to the entrance.
He cursed. “Sit there by the wall, right where you are.”
She sat. Now she was totally unarmed.
“That was a nice little bit of playacting. Might have worked if I hadn’t watched you two set it up. But I cut the rope your boyfriend was dangling on out there,” he told her with a laugh. “Help is not on the way. I heard him fall.”
Vanessa’s breath caught in her throat. Shock
held her immobile, speechless. Had Clay fallen? James would never have left him out there clinging to the cliff.
Snatches of memory flashed through her mind. Clay’s scent, the smooth glide of his palm over her skin, the yearning in his eyes that he couldn’t quite hide. She felt a wail of denial billow up from inside her and barely contained it.
She would know if he were dead. She would feel it like a dreadful weight, a sudden vacuum in her soul. No, he was out there, she told herself. He couldn’t possibly be dead or she would know.
James kicked the open backpack that lay near the fire pit. The contents spilled out. He stamped on Clay’s cell phone until he crushed it.
“I think you should join your friend,” James said conversationally, smiling his evil smile. “I couldn’t have arranged a better end for you two. So thanks for cooking this up!”
Clay was alive. She knew he was. The only thing she could do was play for time and hope he could climb to safety. The trick was to keep James talking as long as she could.
She took a deep breath and clung to hope. “You won’t get away with it. They suspect you already.”
“No, they suspect you have it in for me,” he retorted. “I’ll have a rock-solid alibi, don’t worry about that. There are terrorists to blame for the bombs at the festival. What reason could I possibly have for blowing up the fairgrounds? There’s no connection, see? No motive. At least not one they could know about.”
“Don’t kid yourself. They know you stole the C-4. They found the bomb you put under the judge’s car.”
“No, they don’t know it was me. I covered my tracks just like I’m doing here. No physical evidence at all. You and the fed at the bottom of that gorge will be classified an accident if they ever find you. Bad weather, poor climbing skills.”
“And you’re so good at arranging accidents, aren’t you?” Vanessa said. “Brenda could attest to that. Does she haunt you, James?”
His eyes narrowed. He clenched his jaw and made a grunting sound.
“She does,” Vanessa murmured, nodding. “She comes to you in your dreams, doesn’t she, James?”
“No! And don’t say her name!” He shook his head vehemently and his hand tightened on the pistol he held, a cheap .22 caliber Saturday-night special, she thought. Unless he managed a head or heart shot, she would probably survive a bullet, maybe two. Could she take him down before he killed her? At least whoever found her body would know it was murder.
She got to her knees and started to stand, her gaze probing his. If she launched herself at him…
“Don’t try it,” James warned, waggling the remote device he held in his other hand. “It’s too soon to get the desired results from the festival explosion, but there are others that ought to do what they’re supposed to do. This little gem should work from here, I think. One wrong move and we’ll soon see if it does.”
“Why are you doing this, James? I can understand your being angry with me, and even with the judge who sentenced you, but why would you want to kill innocent people?”
“Innocent?” he spat. “How many of those innocents looked the other way when my old man beat the hell out of me and sent me to school all banged up, huh?”
“That was years ago. You could have blown the whistle on him any time and you know it.”
“I tried!” he insisted. “No one would listen. And how many of them jumped right on the bandwagon when I was accused? I saw it in their eyes in that courtroom. Hell, I heard them say it! Chip off the old block, they said, didn’t they? Just like his white-trash daddy, with the emphasis on white. Just because I look like him���”
“Oh, come on, don’t play the race card, James. Abusers come in all colors and you know it. You did beat Brenda,” she reminded him. “1 saw the bruises.”
He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, she was too much like Mama. She kept reminding me, you’re either the hammer or you’re the nail. Damned if I was ever gonna be the nail again! But I wouldn’t have killed her if it hadn’t been for you. You told her to leave me.”
Vanessa nodded, hoping to reason with James if she accepted his blame. “She loved you. In spite of everything and even after she decided to leave. Brenda wouldn’t want you to do this.”
“Don’t say her name!” he ordered again. She saw tears in his eyes and, for a few seconds, Vanessa clearly recognized the man her cousin had once cared about, handsome, vulnerable, lost and lonely.
“But she was going to leave me anyway,” he muttered. “Because of you.”
“James, please think about what you’re doing. This is so wrong.”
Rage suddenly altered his features. “Don’t you preach to me, Vanessa Walker. You busted up my marriage, made me kill my wife and helped them steal my kid. I spent four years in a freaking prison laundry fighting off perverts because of you! Now, get outside!” He turned sideways and waved the pistol toward the entrance of the cave.
Vanessa got up slowly. Should she attack now and make him detonate? That would do less damage today than it would when the fairgrounds were crowded with people there for the festival. Or could she depend on the four EOD people and their one dog now searching to find everything James had planted? Could they locate and disable the bombs before the crowds arrived?
Maybe the remote wouldn’t work from inside the cave. Did she dare risk that? What would Clay do?
James would shoot her if she jumped him, she had no doubt. A bullet would tell those who found her that she hadn’t simply fallen off the cliff. If she were ever found.
Clay, where are you? She cried out in her mind for him and prayed that he could somehow hear her.
As she neared the entrance to the cave, she heard the distant, mournful cry of the panther. Warning, reassurance or goodbye? she wondered.
Time had run out. She had to act now.
Clay had dropped the useless rope and hung on the small outcrop of rock until he found another just above it with his free hand.
He called up the meager rock-climbing training he’d undergone as a teenager and found it sorely lacking. Never overly fond of heights, he hadn’t pursued the sport any further than a couple of outings, trying to conquer mild acrophobia. That done, he’d gone on to other activities. Now he sorely wished he had excelled in it.
The basics had stuck. He tested his new handhold the best he could, then lifted his foot and sought purchase to propel himself upward. Slowly, by inches, mindful of slippery earth and loose rubble, he managed to make it to the muddy edge.
He could see the cut end of the rope lying a couple of feet away but couldn’t reach it. What he feared most was crawling over the lip of the cliff and the whole thing sliding away, taking him with it. The edge that had seemed stable before now felt treacherous.
Voices emanated from the cave some ten feet away, but he couldn’t understand the words. At least Vanessa was still alive. Keep him busy, he warned her mentally.
Though he firmly believed in telepathy and had seen it work on the job, it wasn’t one of his talents. A couple of the other agents he worked with were experts on that and had been able to read him on occasion. He could open his mind enough to receive general warnings, but nothing specific the way they could. He projected now for all he was worth, trying to connect with Vanessa’s mind. Keep him busy!
Clay felt so distracted by his present predicament, he doubted if anyone could get more than a weird jumble of emotions even if he was successful.
Willing himself to keep calm, he reached out and grasped two fists full of thick weeds. One clump came away as if rooted in soup. He flung it down and grabbed again.
Well, he couldn’t hang here all day. Vanessa needed him. He took a deep breath and decided to risk all and push up with the one foot he had lodged on a minor bump of rock and pull on the patch of weeds that did seem to be holding.
Head and chest over the edge, he grabbed out for the rope. He caught it only to have it slip from his grasp. Fingers clawing for purchase, he slipped back a foot before catching
another clump of weeds. He toed his way up, huffing and spitting mud.
Finally, he lay flat on the ground on his stomach, breathless and spent. But he couldn’t afford a minute to rest. He rolled to his side and swiped at his mud-coated face with one hand. His eyes felt gritty. He opened them wide and resisted blinking until they teared up and cleared a little.
Vanessa was inside the cave with Hightower. She was holding her own, but he could tell by the tone of her voice that she was trying to reason with the man. That meant Hightower had the upper hand.
Clay got to his knees, then to his feet. He drew his weapon out of his belt. It was covered with mud like the rest of him. He wiped it off and chambered a round.
At that moment he heard the remote cry of his feline mascot. Think big cat, he told himself. Stealth and cunning.
He approached from the side of the cave’s entrance and was still a few feet from the opening when Hightower shouted. A shot rang out. Clay dashed inside.
“Van!” he shouted as he saw her fall.
A bullet whizzed past his ear, the report echoing in the small cavern. Instinctively, he whirled and fired just as Hightower rushed past him. Clay grabbed for him and they went down together, Hightower on top.
Clay rocked backward, tossing his attacker against the cave wall, then forward again to gain his feet. By the time he turned, Hightower was halfway up, still clutching the gun. Clay kicked out, disarming him. The gun hit the rocks and bounced out of reach. Clay raised his own weapon.
“I’ll blow it!” Hightower cried. “I’ll blow everything if you move!”
Clay froze, noting the object Hightower held in both hands now, his thumb moving nervously over the button. Would it work from inside here? The opening of the cave was large, the cliff’s ledge outside eroded. There might be an unimpeded signal path from here to the town. Hard to tell.
Vanessa stirred slightly. Clay stole a glance. The left side of her head was covered with blood. For a split second, he wanted nothing more than to kill Hightower and damn his threats. But those were Vanessa’s friends and family in peril down there.