Hot Mercy (Affairs of State Book 2) (33 page)

“Wait!” a voice shouted from behind. Ivan, running after him.

Sebastian had no intention of slowing down. But the driver, younger and faster, caught up. He tossed Sebastian a pistol, keeping a rifle for himself.

Now they tore straight for that same house into which she'd disappeared.

He ducked inside. Brilliant daylight turned to black. Blinded, he closed his eyes for a moment, forcing the lenses to adjust. When he opened his eyes again he saw only Ivan. The house was empty.

“Where’d they go?” Ivan asked, sliding a knife from inside his boot, as if the gun in his other hand might not be enough.

“Don’t know,” Sebastian said. And yet, he still heard voices.

He looked around frantically. There were no other rooms. But if the voices weren’t coming through the walls... He stared down at the rough plank floor. Frowning, Ivan followed his gaze. It took just seconds before the boy’s sharp eyes spotted the trap door, its shape camouflaged by cleverly cut boards to match the joints.

Sebastian’s first thought was to position himself directly above the door, shout down to Mercy to move away from it, and fire a few rounds through the boards to clear the way and let whoever was holding her that he meant business. But he didn’t want to risk hitting her.

He gestured to Ivan, who laid down his gun, slipped the blade of his knife under one edge of the boards and pried the door up an inch. Sebastian wedged the toe of his boot underneath and then kicked the hatch open with a bang. He leapt into the hole. His free hand instinctively shot out to find the rail of a ladder he'd hoped would be there, using it as a guide as he freefell down into the void. The sharp prick of splinters pierced his palm and he let go. He landed hard but, thankfully, on his feet.

Sebastian swung around, pistol at the ready, to see two terrified ancient people holding lanterns. They looked like something out of a Rembrandt painting—the orange glow emphasizing the cavernous wrinkles in their faces and, all around them, the velvety darkness of the room. Behind a row of open shelves, he could see Mercy down on her knees, bent over a low bed.

She looked up at him, tears bright in her eyes. “She’s alive. Sebastian, she’s alive.”

He drew a sharp breath and paid silent homage to Father Sun for His protection. Such superstitious thoughts, he knew, would have been laughed at by his parents. But who was he to argue with the old ways when they sometimes seemed to work.

The body on the bed shifted minutely. Mercy reached for an emaciated hand. “It’s all right, Mom. We’re here to take you home.”

The head on the mattress turned. Hollow eyes stared up at him. Something less than a whisper issued from paper-thin lips. Sebastian couldn’t understand the words, was barely able to hear them. He didn’t have the heart to tell Mercy that this wraith didn’t look like a human being that would survive being moved, let alone live through a trip of hundreds of miles by car and thousands more by airplane.

“Yes, it’s me,” Mercy murmured, stroking pencil-thin fingers with her own. She turned to the old couple and spoke in Russian. “Do you have anything we can move her with? A litter of some sort?”

The old man shook his head. His wife sighed.

Sebastian turned to Ivan who had come halfway down the ladder then stopped, as if he sensed he was intruding on a family reunion. “Do you have another knife?" Sebastian asked him. "We need to cut two long poles.”

They rigged a makeshift stretcher from sturdy saplings that Ivan and Sebastian hacked down in the woods and a blanket the old woman sewed to them. Mercy and Sebastian gently lifted Talia onto the contraption. Mercy choked back a sob at the lightness of her mother’s body. She might as well have been a kitten for all she weighed. They tied down her limp body so she wouldn’t slide off as they carried her up the ladder.

When they’d at last maneuvered their patient onto the rear seat of the Jeep, Talia became more alert. Maybe it was being out in the daylight, or the sounds of English being spoken around her, or the slowly dawning realization that her daughter was with her and all of this was not an illusion. She grasped Mercy’s hand and choked out raspy words that sounded like pure gibberish.

“Find something?” Mercy asked, straining to understand her.

This time, she thought she heard five distinct words out of the rush of words: “Chimera. I came for. Me.”

Sebastian pressed a hand over Talia’s forehead. “She’s burning up with fever. Delirious.”

“I know.” Mercy choked out. “And the herbs they gave her may be making it even harder for her to speak clearly.”

Talia stirred herself with great effort. Her fingers squeezed Mercy’s with amazing ferocity despite her injuries and weakness. “Pripyat! Go.”

“Do you have any idea what she's talking about?”  Sebastian asked. “Why would she want to return to Pripyat? Chimera?”

“It means a fantasy. Something she dreamed? I don’t have a clue.” Mercy crouched on the floor of the Jeep, the only space left for her since her mother was far too weak to sit up and needed the entire length of the seat on which to lie. “Mom, we have to get you to a hospital.” But Talia had spent the last of her strength and closed her eyes, lapsing into oblivion. “Sebastian, we need to—”

“I know. We’ll get her medical help as quickly as possible.” He climbed into the front passenger seat, Ivan already sat behind the wheel. Mercy stayed where she was, on the floor in the back.

The old man and woman stood silently beside the Jeep. He looked so forlorn he might have been sending his only child off with a band of gypsies. “You take care of her,” he said. “I think she good lady.”

“A very good lady. Thank you for saving my mother’s life. Please, you deserve this.” She reached through the open window and held out several hundred dollar bills toward the old man.

He backed away, shaking his bony, scarred head. But his pride was overruled by a sharp slap on the arm from his wife. He took the money. His wife snatched it away then immediately turned back toward their house. He sighed, looked one more time at the unconscious Talia, then followed the old woman.

“Let's go,” Sebastian said.

“But where?” Mercy touched the young militia man on the shoulder as he started the Jeep. “Is there a hospital nearby? Somewhere she’ll be safe?”

Ivan shook his head and drove back down the dirt road the way they’d come. “Tambov spies everywhere. They will know if she’s been admitted.”

“The border crossing to Belarus isn’t far,” Mercy said.

Sebastian was shaking his head. “They’ll ask questions, might not even let us through with her. She has no passport, no visa. And there’s no way we can hide her in an open vehicle like this.”

“We can’t risk going back for the Lada,” Mercy thought out loud.

“You go to Kiev, to your embassy,” Ivan said. “Is the only way.”

Mercy looked up at Sebastian from her cramped position on the floor. “He’s right.” She turned back to stare at her mother’s ashen face, a lump of grief filling her throat. Was it even possible for them to make it the 40 kilometers or more to Kiev before life left this frail body?

Her sole comfort was that something had kept Talia alive these many weeks. Her will to survive must have been remarkably strong. Mercy had never been prouder of her mother. If only she could hold on for just a few more hours.

“Oh, no,” she whispered.

“What?” Sebastian had been alternately watching the road ahead and behind, no doubt fearful of another Tambov assault. He shot a worried look at her.

“We have no vehicle,” Mercy moaned. Without the Lada, without Ivan to drive them to Kiev—which was clearly impossible as it left the militia short a man and a vehicle—they had no way of getting help.

They found the rest of the group back at Stefan’s sister’s dacha. When the colonel looked into the back of the Jeep at Talia, his eyes turned hard and bright with anger. “It is beyond belief, the savagery of these animals.” He looked at Mercy. “I sent two of my men to check on your car. I fear you’ll never see it again. Tambovs took it away.”

“What do you suggest we do?” Sebastian asked.

“Ivan thinks that the embassy in Kiev is our best hope,” Mercy said.

Stefan nodded. “He is right. There is no other way; you must take one of the Jeeps. Ivan will go with you.”

Mercy shook her head. “It’s too dangerous. I don’t want another of your men lost because of us. And you clearly need the vehicle here, for your own purposes.”

Stefan flicked a hand in the air. “Fine. Then Ivan stays but you must still take the Jeep, and quickly.” Before she could respond again, Sebastian got out of the front passenger seat and took over for Ivan, behind the wheel.

Stefan’s generosity overwhelmed her. These people had so little. Their life was so hard. And they clearly needed transportation to continue their fight. “How do we get the car back to you?”

Stefan shrugged. It was, she thought, not so much a gesture of disinterest as it was of weariness. He discussed routes and a few other details with Sebastian, including arrangements for Mihkas’ return to the city. Their guide stood nearby, shuffling his feet nervously. When it was announced that he would not accompany the Americans in the Jeep, he grinned, clearly pleased.

“Colonel,” Sebastian said, running his hand along the cracked and worn dashboard, “all of your vehicles look like older models. Don’t you think it’s time to trade up for something a little newer and faster?”

Stefan lifted a pale brow at him.

Sebastian met his gaze. “Don’t even think of refusing,” he said, starting the engine. “Look for a delivery within a week. I’m thinking an Escalade. Dark green to blend in with the woods.”

Stefan flashed him a brief smile, but then the somber Ukraine was back. “If you make it to Kiev,” he said, “we would be grateful for a vehicle. Thank you, friends.”

Mercy left Talia sleeping on the rear seat, and moved to the front passenger position. She leaned over and cooed in Sebastian’s ear, “Up that to a fleet, and I’ll make it worth your while.” 

Sebastian laughed as he backed the Jeep back onto the dirt road. He flashed her one of his looks that melted her insides. “I had already decided to send three. But any encouragement will be most welcome.”

                                          37

Sebastian drove. After they'd gone several miles without seeing any other cars or people, Talia began to stir and then moan softly. Mercy climbed into the back and again sat on the floor, her knees tucked up to her chest as she spoke softly, lovingly to her mother. She stroked the thin backs of Talia's hands. She tried to soothe her with remembrances of past times spent together and reassurances that they would deliver her home, to Mark and her beloved New York City where she would again be safe. But Talia’s moans turned to fierce muttering and then anxious shrieks. Mercy feared that, if she was unable to calm her mother, the last of the woman’s fragile strength would soon be spent.

Nothing Mercy said or did seemed to work. The farther they drove the more frantic, vocal, and distressed her mother became. Although Mercy continued to identify a few words, there seemed little logic behind them.

“I’m beginning to understand,” Mercy sobbed in frustration.

“Understand what?” Sebastian turned in the driver’s seat to look at her with concern.

“Why the old couple drugged her. If Tambov agents heard her they would have discovered the cellar hideout and killed all three of them.” She turned back to her mother. “Everything is fine, Mom,” she repeated, “we’re going home. Please rest. Please!”

“No! Go back.” Three words as clear as could be. Talia struggled as if to sit up, pushing Mercy’s hands away when they held her down.

“We can’t, Mom.” Mercy pressed one palm to her mother’s breast bone, easing her back down on the Jeep’s seat. She touched the wisps of colorless, straw-dry hair at her mother’s temple. Such a beautiful burnished red it had been. It broke her heart, seeing her like this. “If we only had some food to offer her. She needs nourishment.”

“If she’s been off solids for a while,” Sebastian called back over his shoulder, “she may not be able to digest normal food for a while. Liquids maybe.” But they’d left in such a rush all they had was water.

Talia took only small sips of the water that Mercy offered her from a plastic bottle. Her mother’s eyes sparked with a hint of her old spirit as she pushed the bottle away. “Camera!” she croaked out.

Mercy drew a sharp breath. Not chimera.
Camera
. Her precious equipment was what concerned her.

Oh, God!
Mercy shook her head. “I’m sure your equipment is gone by now, Mom. We’ll get you another camera.”

Talia tossed her head from side to side on the vinyl seat in obvious exasperation. “No. Must go—” Her breath rasped in and out of her lungs “—go back. Now!” With what must have been excruciating effort she thrust herself up onto one bony elbow despite Mercy’s efforts to stop her.

“All right, all right—we’ll stop at Pripyat.”

“That’s insane!” Sebastian bellowed from the driver’s seat. His eyes fixed on hers through the rearview mirror. “They’ll have destroyed her cameras and any photographs stored in them.”