A Perilous Eden (20 page)

Amber let out a yelp and turned to race along the sand. In the dusk she could barely see. She almost headed into the caves that had once hinted of safe harbor. Now they could mean entrapment. Her only chance was to reach that narrow strip where the sand and water seemed to pitch downward again. Perhaps there was a treacherous fall ahead, but it seemed that there was certain death behind her.

Her feet pounded on the sand. Then she tripped on a rock, fell and started rolling. She could hear the water beside her, falling down the incline just as she was.

Then she could hear the sound of pounding feet, someone who had not fallen as she had, but who now pursued her with agility and stealth, coming ever nearer.

She came to a plateau and managed to stumble to her feet, but she was tackled from behind and sent flying facedown into the sand. It filled her mouth, and she gasped and spat. She could barely breathe; hysteria was settling in. She twisted, fighting with the strength and desperation of a madwoman. She kicked and shoved with her knee, and heard a wicked groan. Her damp hair tangled over her eyes so she couldn't see her captor; she could only imagine the outcome of his victory over her. She would surely be bloodied and broken; retaliation would be savage.

Her arms flailed, her fingernails digging. She choked and cried out as her wrists were caught. “No, no, no!” she screamed, thrashing against the hold. Both her wrists were secured high above her head. She opened her mouth to scream, and a hand clamped down hard upon it. A whisper sounded against her cheek as a body lay hard over hers.

“Amber, stop! Listen to me. It's Michael.”

It was Michael. So he would not hurt her now; instead he would drag her back, and Khazar would make certain she was hurt.

She tried her best to bite his hand, and she twisted again, trying to kick. His hold on her was too strong, and she felt his muscles constrict still more tightly as she struggled. She was never going to be able to move. Tears burned behind her lids, then spilled past her lashes. She had fought so hard.

And she had believed so deeply in this man, only to find him the instrument of her ultimate destruction.

“Amber.” His voice was very soft, husky, persuasive. “Amber, please, listen to me. You can't scream. The men have been given the okay to shoot to kill if I can't bring you in. I want to take my hand off your mouth, but you can't scream.”

She didn't believe him; she didn't trust him. She wanted to throw her arms around him and believe in him again, but she didn't dare. She must be losing her mind. She was so desperate that she wanted to put her hand into the hand of her enemy.

“Amber …”

Slowly, his palm lifted from her lips, and she inhaled deeply. His weight was still securely on her. “Amber, please, I'm going to try to help you.”

“I don't believe you!” she whispered fervently. “I don't believe you. You're one of them. You've caused this. You're part of a damned stupid holy war—”

“I'm not part of a holy war,” he interrupted her. She fell silent. “Listen to me,” he said very quietly. “I'm here to try to get them all out.”

“What?” Amber said.

He released her wrists, warning her to silence as he smoothed her hair. She could just make out his rugged features in the pale light of the rising moon. “Amber, it was the only way. You weren't supposed to be part of it.”

“Michael, what are you talking about?”

“My name isn't Michael. Well, it is. It just isn't Michael Adams. It's Adam Michael Tchartoff.”

“What?” Her mind was reeling. What in God's name was he saying? What was he telling her? And did it make any difference? Could she believe anything he said? She shook her head suddenly, tears rising to her eyes again. “Don't lie to me now. I beg you, for the love of God, don't lie to me now. You don't need to. You have me. You can rape me, kill me, cut me into little pieces. Just don't lie to me anymore.”

“I never meant to lie to you!” he said harshly, his voice rising. “I meant to stay away from you, far away from you.”

“Who are you?” Her voice was rising, too. His hand fell over her mouth again, and he leaned close. “Stay quiet. Voices carry here. I'll try to give it to you quickly, in a nutshell. I was minding my own business when I was summoned to Washington and asked to infiltrate the Death Squad. I've worked intelligence before and already had the perfect alter ego to work with, a man named Michael Adams. A character with a shady background, but also a reputation for excellence. The type of man any faction might want on their side. It would have been impossible for me to infiltrate as Adam Tchartoff—he's known in certain circles, too.”

“Who summoned you?” Amber interrupted.

He hesitated, staring at her. “Your father.”

“I don't believe you.”

“You don't want to believe me, but it's the truth. And he didn't have any choice. They knew about this island, but what were they going to do, declare war? All of North, South and Central America, along with half of Europe and the Middle East, and maybe even Russia, would have wound up at war, too. Terrorists aren't easy to fight, in case you haven't noticed. The president gives the orders, so don't blame your father because he studies men well and came up with the proper name.”

“Why?” Amber demanded.

He shrugged. “I had my reasons.”

“Senator Daldrin—”

“Senator Daldrin knew he was the target. He was willing to be taken.”

Amber stared at him. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe him so much.

“But—”

“Amber, I had to get on the island. Then, during the past few days, I had to do my best to study the terrain and the compound. I had to get down to the open end of the island and meet with a certain fisherman—”

“A fisherman!”

“Amber, I told you, the United States knows we're here. And they have other people close to the inside, too.”

“What are you saying?”

“Explosives were sent here. I've been wiring the compound, the weapons stores, everything, so I can blow the place up when we escape.”

“You're going to blow up the entire island?”

He shook his head. “No. Don't you see? There are people who live here. Not exactly innocents, but they aren't murderers. They're just common people trying to eke out their existence. One dictator comes and goes, a new regime is in and the old one is out. It makes little difference to them. The members of the Death Squad come here, and they have guns, and they're very powerful, and they leave the people alone. But still, it would hurt the United States to make war on them, do you understand?”

She nodded very slowly, staring at him. She wondered if he had lost his mind, or if she had lost hers. Or maybe it was all true. She wanted to explode, she was so furious, but the moment she opened her mouth she fell silent, for he pressed a warning finger against her lips. The jungle had ears. He didn't want to be found.

Still, she lashed out against him, but quietly. “Why didn't you tell me? If you are this Adam Tchartoff person, why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you warn me?”

“When?” he whispered. “On the ship? On the island? Before or after making love? I kept telling you to stay away from me. I couldn't give you my real name. I couldn't give away anything. This was a top-secret mission. Only Daldrin knew what was going to happen. We didn't dare blow it. Then you came along and blew it anyway. Why didn't you run? Why did you have to stand there on deck screaming like some damn movie heroine?”

It was difficult to be indignant when he was straddling her hips, holding her prisoner. Even in the moonlight, his eyes were ice-blue, and so cold. All around them was darkness, shadows, the furtive, secretive rustlings of the tropical jungle. And there was the whisper and bubble of the water as it cascaded by them, strangely beautiful in the night. Yet it was a sound that warned her it wasn't over, that they had come to a perilous Eden here, and she still might never leave it She fought against the pounding of her heart and said, her voice soft, defying him, “I had to scream. What did you expect me to do, let those men kidnap a statesman and a friend?”

He rose, reaching down to her. When his fingers closed around hers, she found that she was trembling. Things were coming out into the open, and all that she could think of was the past. She wanted to believe him, but was it only because she wanted to believe him? Because he had yet to really hurt her? Because he hadn't forced anything from her, even when he had her completely in his power?

Or because he had never seemed to care enough about anything or anyone to lie? His name was not Michael, it was Adam. Adam Tchartoff. And he was more of an enigma now than ever.

She still didn't trust him; she
couldn't
trust him. By his own admission, he had brought Daldrin here on purpose and her by accident. He was a spy, he had told her. A spy on behalf of his country.

She stared at his hand, at the strong, bronzed fingers, the callused palm. She accepted it, and he pulled her to her feet. Their eyes met, and she watched him suspiciously. Her voice very low, she asked him, “If you are who you say you are, why did my father pretend not to know who I was talking about the day of the memorial service? Why did Daldrin want you around me all the time—and yet not want us to be alone together? Think about it—Mr. Tchartoff. Doesn't that make you look like a rather suspicious character?”

“Your father and Daldrin were concerned for you, I imagine.”

“If you're an American, why wouldn't they accept you?'”

“I'm not an American. Not anymore.”

She pulled her hand away from his. “Then what are you?”

“An Israeli.”

It was all so fantastic. She didn't know what to believe. And he didn't seem to feel the need to convince her any longer. He turned and started walking up the incline toward the caves. She hurried after him, forgetting the need to be silent, forgetting everything in a sudden burst of fury.

She caught hold of his arm, spinning him around furiously. “You told me it wasn't a holy war! You told me—”

“I told you to shut up!” he warned her, catching her shoulders. He opened his mouth to speak, then fell silent, dragging her to the ground. She started to protest, then heard the rustle of brush high above them, a rustle that indicated men tramping around.

Her heart beat faster. As he held her, she could feel his heartbeat matching her own, just as their breath and the tension within fused until they were one.

“She isn't here, and she hasn't been here!” someone said in accented English.

“She must be on the island,” came the reply. The second speaker was Mohammed, Amber was certain, and they were speaking in English because his Spanish was so limited, and apparently the other man's Arabic was just as poor.

“No, she doesn't have to be on the island!” the first man retorted. “That Adam, that genius with explosives, that priceless fool, he may have taken her. He is more in love with the woman than he is with any cause! We should have killed her. We should have killed her that night on the ship!”

The other man said something that neither Amber nor Adam could hear. Then the voices faded away, and the soft, subtle jungle noises took over once again.

They waited. Silent, perfectly still, their heartbeats gradually slowing together. And while they waited, Amber suddenly knew beyond a doubt that it was true, it was all true, every word he had told her. A rush of warmth swept over her as she realized that he wasn't a terrorist, that he didn't want to murder men in cold blood, that they were, in a strange way, on the same side. She closed her eyes, feeling the night, feeling his hands on her, still holding her close. She'd been falling in love with him on the ship. She'd never known what force of nature had made her so desperately attracted to him, and she didn't know what it was that had so seeped into her heart that she'd wanted to forgive him, no matter what. At least now she knew she wasn't a fool, that her intuition about him had been right. Maybe it didn't matter, of course, because they still might die. And perhaps there was more, because he hadn't answered all her questions. There was still a wall there, a wall that warned her to stay away. It hadn't been only a question of security; he hadn't wanted her to come close.

His hold on her eased, and he got slowly to his feet. Once again he reached down to her, but he was gazing up the mountainside and spoke softly. “They're on to me.” He looked at her, his eyes the shade of the night-touched moon. “We'll stay here tonight, in the caves. They won't search again until light, and I'll head in at dawn.”

“Head in! You can't go back! They'll kill you.”

“I have to go back. I'm not done setting the fuses, and more important than that, I've got to get Daldrin and the others out.”

“But—”

“Amber,” he said, taking her shoulders fiercely again, “this is as safe a place as you're going to find. The falls lead to the mouth of the river, and at eleven tomorrow morning, there will be American boats right off the shore. If I don't come back, ride the river. Follow it out to the ocean. You'll make it.”

“What do you mean, if you don't come back?”

He released her impatiently and started up the incline. She didn't follow him, and he looked at her. “Come on. Let's find shelter in the caves.”

She thought about ignoring his order, but that wouldn't ease her frustration. She followed him, almost slipping on the steep, damp incline. He must have heard her falter, because he turned, took her hand and led her the rest of the way up. They stood before one of the caves, a trickle of water falling from above. He started to say something, then looked down silently. His eyes met hers, and he reached out, sweeping her into his arms. She almost cried out, startled, but swallowed the sound. He took her to the bed of the river, where he knelt with her and carefully bathed her feet. She stared at his tawny head and remained silent. He ripped off the tails of his cotton shirt and bound them gently around her feet, then lifted her and carried her into the cave.