The Carbon Trap (The Carbon Series Book 1)

by Randy Dutton

  The Rotts suddenly quieted and sat, watching his every move.

  She held the closed switchblade in front of him, flicked the blade open, then walked behind and cut his restraints.

  He stood and flexed his body.

  Anna bit her lower lip and smiled as she used the moment to take stock of his 6’3” muscular frame, his dark brown hair and eyes, and his rugged, square-jawed features. He’s actually very good looking. Looks like he belongs in a western!

  Chapter 39

  July 6, 0830 hours

  Anna’s Villa, Côte d'Azur, France

  Bacon and coffee. Pete sniffed a second time and smiled. Roses and honeysuckle. He lifted his aching head from the pillow... and music. Okay, so she’s still in a good mood. That’s progress.

  He leaned up. A beam of sunlight, reflecting off the balcony’s open French door, hit him in the eyes and drew his attention to the cascade of trailing variegated geraniums lining the balcony railing.

  Hadn’t I closed the curtain before I crawled into bed? He looked at the clock next to a vase of very pink roses. 8:30? God, my head still hurts, I…what’s this? Aspirin and a glass of water?

  He shook his head and chuckled after noting his washed and folded camouflage outfit. Next to them was a lightweight short sleeve shirt and trousers.

  She’s considerate and seems to anticipate everything. But when did she walk in?

  Pete sat on the bed’s right edge and reached for the metal leg leaning upright against the bed. In 20 seconds he inserted the prosthetic’s rod into the titanium tube fused into his thigh bone. After locking it into place, he walked into the bathroom. It had all the necessary toiletries, including a razor. He took a quick shower and dressed.

  Slowly descending the staircase, he pondered the glass art. At the foot of the stairs, he flicked a switch that illuminated the colored glass. He smiled at the effect then reluctantly returned them to their shadows. Glancing toward the entryway, he noticed the painting from the Maldives. He stepped to it, and stared.

  Like an apparition, she suddenly appeared from behind him, holding out a goblet of orange juice.

  She was dazzling in a light sundress, cinched with a wide belt, and wearing sandals. Her wavy hair flowed over her left shoulder in a side-swept style, a ringlet curling along the right side of her face. It perfectly accentuated her long graceful neck and her smooth, tanned complexion. Her smile seemed naturally formed.

  “Thank you.” He took the glass taking a moment to admire his reluctant host, and back to the painting.

  “Something I picked up on my travels,” she said cheerfully.

  He inhaled deeply, looked into her deep blue eyes, and with a serious tone said, “Anna, you asked me last night if you could trust me.”

  “Yes,” she said slowly, wariness creeping into her answer.

  “Do you?” His eyes delved into hers.

  Her head shook and eyes narrowed. “Not entirely.”

  “Ditch the painting. Destroy it!” He was adamant.

  “Why the hell would I do that?!” Defiant, she put her hands on her hips.

  “Because it’s a piece of hard evidence that ties you to Hassan’s death.”

  Her expression changed to shock.

  “Look. We’ve known for a while that you bought it as Maria from the National Art Museum. The curator talked. And I’ve got a picture of it in my hotel room.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Surprise and wariness were evident in her voice.

  “Because I want to help you.”

  “There’s got to be more than that! Millions of people need help.” Her voice was quavering. “Why me?” She was unsure of herself.

  “Because”—he momentarily bit his lower lip—“because, I’ve become infatuated with you. I can’t explain it even to myself. Something inside made me come here. I get excited at the very thought of you. And being with you, even tied up last night, gave me a rush.”

  “You’re insane!” Her mouth hung open.

  “Maybe…it even sounds like a school boy crush to me, but please take my advice seriously.”

  She stared at him then at the painting. Her eyes focused on the dark stain, afraid of committing to the loss.

  “Oh, and another thing...” He put his glass down.

  Anna’s eyes returned to him and had softened.“More saving?”

  “Possibly.... Whoever helped you on the yacht, have them disappear…not violently, mind you. Just have them relocate elsewhere with another identity.”

  “Why? If, and I’m not admitting anything, or saying there was anyone—”

  “Anna”—his hands lightly touched her tanned shoulders—“we have a sketch of him. So far we’ve kept it from the authorities. We know he made three trips with the tender. We know he delivered the bomb, and probably made it as well. If someone decides to keep investigating, I may not be able to help you.”

  Pausing, feeling defeated, her voice was subdued. “Okay.... I’ll be right back.” She lifted the painting off the wall and carried it downstairs, opened up the dojo, and returned three minutes later.

  Meanwhile, Pete wandered to the deck.

  When she returned, he was sitting at the table with food on his plate and coffee in his cup.

  “You live well,” he said as she stepped onto the deck.

  “Thanks.” She walked over to him, leaned over and gently kissed him on the left cheek. “And thank you.”

  Astonished, he asked, “For?”

  “Rescuing me.” She smiled appreciatively.

  He was speechless and his heart was racing. “Anna…I need to make a call. But I must have lost my cell phone last night in the—”

  “Confusion?” She smiled sweetly, her brow lifted while reaching for a covered pan.

  “Yes, the confusion.”

  Anna lifted the lid. His cell phone, wallet and rental car keys were sitting on the dish.

  “You are full of surprises, aren’t you?” He picked up the items, then opened the phone.

  Her smile broadened as she shrugged.

  “Dad?.... Yeah, I’m fine. Great, in fact.... Things have changed.... No, tell him not to come.... Yes, really I’m fine.... Where am I? Ah, that’s going to take some explanation when we’re together...I’m at Anna’s.... Yes, her.”

  He looked over at Anna’s amused expression. “Dad, it’s not like that.... Seriously, yes I know what I’m doing.... I’m asking you to drop the investigation.... Yes, completely.... Albuquerque.”

  Anna looked confused.

  He mouthed, “code word that everything’s okay.”

  She erupted in laughter.

  “Yes, Dad, that’s her in the background...I told her what it meant.... Yes, I know code words are supposed to be secret.”

  Anna was laughing even harder.

  “I’ll be home tomorrow.... Promise.... Tell mom and the girls I love them.... I love you too, Dad.”

  At those last words, Anna stopped laughing. Her eyes were tearing up, her mouth partly open then slowly she was biting her quivering lower lip.

  Pete saw her almost shivering. Had she never told her father she loved him? Or him, her? I know as a young child she lost her mother in a boating accident in which the body hadn’t been recovered. She has no siblings. And her father had died in that Marine helicopter crash.

  “Got to go, Dad...Bye.” Pete hung up the telephone and touched her shoulder for reassurance. It had the opposite effect.

  Already emotional, at his gentle touch she collapsed into uncontrolled trembling as she gasped to keep the tears at bay. Concerned, he put both his hands on her shoulders to comfort her, pulling her closer until she buried her head in his shoulder and started crying, her gasps becoming uncontrollable sobs released after years of self-imposed isolation.

  She wrapped her arms around his chest, her sobbing triggering his protective instincts and reminding him of the dark days of his sister’s trauma, years ago. He sat there, tightly holding her, unsure what to do next.

&nb
sp; Anna regained her composure after a few minutes, and her arms released him. Gently pushing away, she looked up at him through still teary eyes. “I’m sorry...sniff...I don’t know what just happened there. I’m a mess. I’ll be right back.”

  Pete watched her dash into the house then realized his own eyes had misted up in response to her distress. She really is human.

  Five minutes later, Anna was back, her eyes a little puffy, but she was smiling. She got a cup of coffee and sat down opposite him. Her eyes focused on his. “Let’s talk.”

  “Did you have anything in particular to discuss?” His heart was still racing.

  “First off...I want you to know that I won’t do anything further to harm you or your family...and I’ll do whatever I can to prevent anyone from threatening you.”

  “I assumed as much. And, thank you.” Their eyes were locked and his smile never waned..

  She leaned forward with a broad smile. “I just needed you to hear it.... Now, I want to learn a little bit about my good Samaritan...more than what I read in your file. And please tell me about MacKenzie.”

  As he started, she crossed her long athletic legs in the chair, and considered this stranger across from her. For the first time in my life I’m with someone with whom I feel safe, and yet I hardly know him. Of course, there still are things he must never know.

  Pete told her about his 29-year-old little sister, the ice skating princess, and some of her competitions. He relived Mac’s childhood pranks on her older siblings, and of her boyfriend of three years. He described Mac’s insistence on finding the perfect Christmas tree each year, an adventure that sometimes lasted hours.

  Then he revealed to her his life story. Events scattered through a variety of topics: some of his family’s equestrian adventures, of palling around with his younger brother, Paula and her family, his stay-at-home mom, his years at Texas A&M and MIT, his college football highlights, his horse and dog, and some of his favorite military anecdotes.

  “You really are a Boy Scout!” Anna laughed after one particular story.

  “Made it to Eagle, as did Patrick. Though I feared blowing up cans of Mountain Dew in the campfire could have ended my Eagle path early.”

  They laughed often as they ate and chatted. Maulana by this time arrived with more food and a bottle of wine. Morning flowed into afternoon with the two swapping stories and finding commonality in their love of art and music.

  At one pause, Pete tilted his ear to a particular melody playing on the entertainment system. “What’s that album?”

  “It’s Scaramucce, by a chamber orchestra out of Venice called Rondó Veneziano. It’s got a secret.”

  “Which is?”

  “Listen to it once and you’ll like it, twice and you’ll love it, the third time, and you’re hooked. They’ve got about 70 albums, but this has always been my favorite.”

  “It’s really beautiful. I can see why you enjoy it. It’s uplifting.”

  “It’s an old friend.”

  He moved closer to her. “May I make an observation?” he asked cautiously.

  “Go ahead,” she said with a bemused chuckle.

  “Your art...it all seems connected. The pieces are cold and distant in the shadows, but they sparkle with color when hit with bright light. The Maldives painting is like that, too. It’s possibly the most extreme piece I’ve seen yet in your house.”

  She looked down slightly and, as if talking to herself, ponderously admitted, “If you look at my art, it’s like reading my diary.” She tilted her head a little and looked up into his eyes. God, I’m falling for him.

  “Anna…Then as your latest diary entry…and please stop me if I’m intruding…does the painting represent a void in your life?”

  She bit her lower lip, and looked up at him through her eyelashes. “Pete, it’s hard to explain…it was like an awakening when I saw it. It reminded me of something that was taken from me...an open wound…something unresolved...and possibly even of a door that was opening.”—she cocked her head—“Does that make sense?”

  “So, from tragedy to triumph? All things are possible? Or, when God closes a door, he opens a window?”

  She smiled sweetly. “Well, that’s a nice way of phrasing it.”

  “I used to look at art differently before Iraq.” He reached over and, with his right hand, lightly brushed a strand of her hair that had fallen in front of her face.

  Pursing her lips, she momentarily closed her eyes and felt a slight shiver.

  “You probably felt that too.”

  “What’s that?” Her voice was soft and warmth seemed to flow through her.

  “Feeling different after a trauma. When I nearly died”—he cleared his throat—“the near death experience made beauty much more intense. Life and death are all around us and I now know how precious life is.” His smile brightened. “Ever since, I’ve vowed to enjoy it.”

  “Life is precious,” she repeated slowly. “That’s a beautiful outlook, Pete.”

  She dropped her head a little and peered upward at him. “Pete, why do you have a small plate with engraved names attached to your prosthetic? I, ah, noticed it when I searched you.”

  He hesitated. “Those are the guys”—he cleared his throat—“in my platoon...that didn’t make it...I carry their memory.... Sound silly?”

  Her eyes glistened. “No. It sounds sentimental. I like that.” She was quiet for a moment then in a subdued voice asked, “Pete, exactly what do you know of me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean...what I did after my father died and before Swanson took me in.” Her voice revealed slight nervousness.

  Pete‘s eyes lowered a little. “You’re referring to how you paid for college?”

  She swallowed hard. “Yes. That.”

  “Our investigators are pretty good. They uncovered a lifestyle pattern of disappearing followed by large bank deposits. Some college acquaintances and professors also gave us a personality profile that fit a certain profession.... Do you want me to continue?”

  “I think you need to.” She shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

  He put his hand on hers. “We know you were an escort.”

  She paused then asked softly, “And what does that mean...to you?”

  “It means you did what you thought necessary to survive.” He squeezed her hand. “And so you know, I understand and accept it as part of your past.”

  She drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “You need to know something...it wasn’t just about economics.”

  His brow furrowed.

  “I enjoyed the power...the illusion.”

  “Being paid to be someone else?”

  “And usually with an exotic accent.” Her eyes widened and her tight-lipped mouth softened into a more relaxed smile.

  “Well, there’s something I don’t understand.”

  She fidgeted. “What’s that?”

  His brow was knitted. “What happened to the $200,000 military life insurance you got from your father’s death? How did that not pay for your college? Our investigators showed it disappearing out of your account rapidly three months after you got it.”

  She looked down for a moment then at him. “I...ah...spent it.”

  “May I ask on what?” he asked cautiously.

  “Pete, when he died, I went into a tailspin.” Her eyes shifted from his to somewhere skyward. “I was angry. I blamed him for abandoning me in his death though I can’t say I had been a particularly good daughter his last four years.... I had become very aloof. I got the insurance money just before summer break. I felt entitled – everything became about...me. I splurged on a new Mercedes, the best clothes on Rodeo Drive, jewelry, an upscale apartment so I wouldn’t have to share space with another co-ed. I drank too much and caroused with anyone with high social status and style.”

  She took a sip of wine, and sighed. “That summer I went to Europe and pretended to be elegant, even changing appearance and acting in different personas ju
st to see if I could fool people. I spent time in Moscow, London, and Rome, but fell in love with Paris and particularly the French Riviera, where my parents met. Whatever money and scruples I had remaining that summer, I lost it at the Monte Carlo Casino. That’s when I decided to use my new found social skills to make the money to finish school and pay the bills. From then on I swore to do whatever it took to live a life of luxury on the Côte d'Azur.”

  She broke out of her reverie and looked up at Pete with hopefulness. “Dr. Heyward, after hearing that, are you still interested is saving this soul?”

  “I’d like to try...if you’ll let me,” he said sweetly. He was still smiling when he detected her bright eyes narrowing.

  “In exchange for what?!” It was as if a light switch had flipped. Her brow furrowed and her breathing became rapid. With a hard edge in her voice, she challenged him, “No! It can’t be that simple! Are you here to bargain with me? Everyone’s always wanted something from me, my time, my body, my skills. What are you trying to get in return?!” Paranoia was evident and her hands balled into fists.

  Pete was taken aback by her sudden harshness and her tense appearance. Even her hands were ready to strike. He responded uncomfortably, yet gently, “I’m not asking for any of that. I’m just offering.”

  “Well, you’d be the first!” she charged.

  He winced at her sarcasm. What happened to the sweet demeanor of a moment ago? “Perhaps I should leave,” he said sadly.

  “And then what?!” she asked suspiciously.

  “And then...nothing. No investigation, no contact, no follow-up. I’ll take you at your word we’ll be left alone,” he said calmly and started to rise.

  Her breathing was rapid and shallow, her narrowed eyes probing his for deceit, but she found none. She momentarily closed her eyes and lowered her head in contrition, then reached out with her hand and took his. She released a deep breath. “No, Pete, stay...please. I’m sorry for getting testy. I’m not used to dealing with someone looking after my interests rather than their own.”

  As her smile returned he nervously sat down.

  They resumed talking about casual topics.

  Pete began to understand her love of science and gizmos. She admitted to having voraciously read spyfi, science fiction and military stories most of her life, but where others were reading just for fun, she was studying tactics and weapons.