Into the Whirlwind (30 page)

* * *

Thirty minutes later, the situation still fluid, they were working on plan C. Elliott was on his way. At a cruising speed of 150 miles an hour, it wouldn't take long for the helo to reach the extraction point.

If Elliott could find one. Dirk had to trust that he would.

They had decided to move the jet out of Bariloche. Gertsman had people there. He could have soldiers waiting when they returned to the plane.

The G6 would make the short, just over one-hundred-mile flight to El Tepual Airport in Chile. They'd be a helluva lot safer in another country.

The bad news was the helo would have to fly them out over the Andes, snow-covered monsters even in the summer. The pilot would have to navigate the passes. Weather could be a factor, as well as the capabilities of the helicopter itself.

And moving up the time line left them a man short. The guy Flynn had lined up to go in with them couldn't make it on time. Nick insisted on filling the position, though Dirk was against it. They were almost ready to leave when Dirk turned to Luke, the man who was more a brother than a friend.

“Before we head out, there's one more thing. I need you in command of this mission, Luke. You're the senior operator here. You're the man for the job.” Luke was Delta, the best of the best. “Will you do it?”

Something flashed in his friend's brilliant blue eyes. Then quiet purpose settled over his features. Dirk felt the rightness of his decision, and calm control replaced the nerves he'd been fighting.

Luke gave a faint nod of his head, took a breath, and turned to the others. “At the moment, plan C is definitely our best option. If the situation changes, you'll hear from me. There is one thing: Nick, you need to be on that jet.”

Determination flashed in Nick's eyes. He shook his dark head. “No way. You're a man short. You need me to go in with you.”

“We need someone on the ground who knows where we are and what we're doing. If plan C turns into a goat fuck, you're our only chance of getting the hell out of here.”

When Nick looked like he might argue, Luke's features hardened. “You're on the plane, Nick. Emil can take you to the airport. It isn't a suggestion, it's an order.”

There wasn't a man in the room who would go against the steel in Luke's voice. Nick gave a resigned nod of his head.

“Move out,” Luke said, and they were gone.

An hour later, Gertsman's army had three men down and Flynn was positioned in a sniper's nest well hidden up the mountain.

Dirk tugged down the officer's cap he wore with the tan uniform he had removed from one of the guards. He flicked a glance at Luke, who also wore a tan soldier's uniform. Luke gave the go sign.

It was time to breach the walls.

Chapter Thirty-Six

A faint noise roused her from a deep, exhausted slumber. Meg's eyes slowly opened as awareness slipped through her. Her gaze shot to the door. Had Gertsman decided not to wait? Was that the reason Gretchen had insisted she change out of the long, white evening dress into the peach satin nightgown she had worn before?

Her eyes strained into the darkness, lit dimly by thin rays of moonlight slanting in through the window. She heard the sound again, closer this time, and fear crawled through her. She jerked upright just as a hand clamped over her mouth.

“It's Dirk. Don't scream.” The soft whisper of his deep male voice had her eyes filling with tears.

She nodded and his hand fell away. Meg came up on her knees and threw her arms around his neck. Dirk's hold tightened fiercely around her.

“I knew you'd find me,” she said, wiping away the wetness on her cheeks. “I knew you'd come. But I . . . I still can't believe you're really here.”

His gaze ran over her face. Then he pulled her even closer and his mouth crushed down in a brief hard kiss. “I'm here, baby. We're going home.”

Meg blinked up at him. “Is Charlie—”

“He's okay. He's with your parents.”

“How did you get in? There're soldiers everywhere.” Then she saw he was wearing a tan uniform like the ones she had seen on the soldiers patrolling the grounds. It was a ridiculous time to think how good he looked in it.

“Luke disabled the security system on the house. He's downstairs. We need to get going.” He tossed a bundle of clothes on the bed.

“What's that?”

“He was smaller than I am. They might actually fit you. You need to hurry.”

She looked down, saw it was another tan uniform, didn't let herself think what he must have done to get it. Instead she hurriedly peeled off the nightgown, leaving her momentarily naked. She ignored the faint growl in Dirk's throat as his hazel eyes ran over her, darker now and intense.

She dragged on the tan uniform pants and stuck her arms into the sleeves of the tunic, fastened the brass buttons up the front, covering her bare breasts.

Dirk picked up the peach satin nightgown, his hand tightening around it in a fist. “If he hurt you, I'm going to kill him.”

Meg went up on her toes and pressed a kiss on his hard mouth. “You got here in time. He was coming to my room tomorrow night.”

The muscles in his body relaxed. “It wouldn't have mattered—I want you to know that. But I'm glad you're okay.”

She kissed him quickly, then finished dressing. The pants were tight in the hips, but the length was okay. The tunic wasn't made to fit her curves, but it would cover her and keep her warm. She pulled on the socks, still warm, making her a little queasy, jammed her feet into the worn leather boots, which were too big for her narrow feet. She tightly tied the laces.

Dirk settled a round, billed military cap on her head. She'd noticed Gertsman's soldiers wearing them.

“Put your hair up underneath.”

She did so quickly, twisting the bright strands into a knot and stuffing them inside the cap, still a little afraid this was only a dream. She told herself Dirk was really there, that somehow he was going to get her out of the house, away from Otto Gertsman.

He tugged down the bill of his own cap, settling it a little lower on his forehead. He needed a haircut, she thought, and actually smiled as she noticed the soft, dark strands curling at the nape of his neck beneath the rim of the cap.

“You ready, baby?”

She nodded. “What's the plan?”

“We go out together, turn left, and head for the servants' stairs. I'll lead you to them. We'll end up down in the kitchen. There was no one there when we came in. Luke'll be waiting for us.”

He gave her a final quick kiss, pulled his weapon from the holster strapped to his thigh, and urged her toward the door.

They had only taken a couple of steps when the door burst open and the overhead light went on. A group of armed men stood in the doorway. Raymond Neville pointed a gun straight at Dirk's heart. Otto Gertsman stood behind two uniformed soldiers, who also brandished semiautomatic pistols.

Her head spun. For a moment she thought she might faint. Dirk eased her a little behind him, his pistol raised, the barrel directed at Gertsman. Meg clamped down on her fear even as her heart batted wildly inside her chest.

“Well, Mr. Reynolds,” Gertsman said, “I was told you had figured out where our dear Megan had been taken and were on your way to engage in a daring rescue. You made good time indeed. I'm quite impressed. You realize your appearance in my house will cost several of my men their lives.”

“It wasn't their fault,” Dirk said, his pistol held steady. “It was yours for taking something that didn't belong to you.”

Otto's pale blue eyes shifted to Meg. “I believe you will soon discover that Ms. O'Brien is my property now, to do with as I please.”

She felt Dirk stiffen.

Otto tipped his head toward Neville in silent command but spoke to Dirk. “It would be quite uncivilized and extremely messy to kill you and the lady in such a beautiful suite of rooms, but sometimes sacrifices must be made. If you wish her to live, put down your weapon.”

Dirk's gaze ran over Gertsman as he assessed the situation, seemed to conclude that Gertsman wasn't lying. He was too meticulous to kill them inside his precious home. Or maybe he just enjoyed taking his time, toying with his prey.

Whatever the reason, with Luke somewhere in the house, they still had a chance to escape.

Dirk bent and carefully rested his weapon on the floor.

“Now the other one,” Neville said. Dirk dragged a second pistol from behind his back and also set it down on the floor. “Kick them away.”

Dirk shoved them aside with his boot. Neville caught Meg's arm. She made a little sound as he jerked her away from Dirk.

“Shall we go?” Otto said mildly.

The soldiers shoved Dirk forward out into the hall, their pistols leveled at his back. Meg could feel Neville's gun barrel pressing into her side as he urged her along the corridor behind them. Gertsman also walked beside her. All of them knew Dirk wouldn't act as long as she was in the line of fire.

Dirk's hands were free, though.
Big mistake,
Meg thought. He was a Ranger. He could probably kill a man ten different ways with those strong hands.

When they reached the top of the sweeping staircase, Gertsman caught her arm and turned her to face him.

“You, my dear, look surprisingly fetching in that uniform. I feel myself becoming aroused at the prospect of stripping you out of it and having you on your knees in front of me wearing just the hat.”

The growl returned to Dirk's throat.

“There is an interesting room downstairs,” Gertsman continued. “Completely soundproof and filled with all sorts of interesting . . . objects. Once Mr. Reynolds has been disposed of, I shall enjoy demonstrating how some of them work.”

Meg whimpered. Her legs were shaking as she descended the sweeping marble staircase. She knew Dirk was biding his time, waiting for the right moment. She reminded herself that Luke was somewhere near. If he had been killed, Gertsman wouldn't have been able to resist gloating.

She had to stay alert, be ready for anything that might happen.

“Keep moving,” Neville said when they reached the first floor, urging them down a second set of stairs to the lower level of the house. She caught a glimpse of the theater Otto had mentioned as they walked past, then on down the corridor; one of the men pulled open a heavy steel door and took a step back, allowing her to walk inside.

Meg's lips thinned at the Nazi flag hanging on the wall at the back of the room. There were glass cases filled with German war memorabilia, pistols and rifles, knives and helmets, black SS uniforms with red-and-black swastikas on the sleeves. There were photos of Adolf Hitler, several posed with the same man.

Whoever it was looked a good deal like Otto. Someone in his family, perhaps his father, or more likely his grandfather.

“I was hoping one day to be able to share all of this with you,” Otto said expansively, glancing around at his prized possessions. “But that is impossible now.”

He pointed to another glass case, this one filled with wooden clubs and leather whips, things that might have been used by the guards in the prison camps. “Of course there are some other items we may still enjoy.”

A sick feeling swept over her as she realized Otto still used the items in the cases, got a sexual thrill out of whatever he did with them.

Gertsman turned to Neville and the small group clustered in the doorway.

“Get rid of Reynolds. The woman will stay here with me. I have plans for her. When I'm finished, you may do with her as you wish.”

Dirk's gaze flashed to Meg.
I'm coming back
, those hard hazel eyes said. Neville shoved him forward, farther down the passage. The other two soldiers fell in behind him and Neville and the men disappeared.

The sound of the heavy steel door closing her in rang like the blade of a guillotine falling. Saying a prayer for Dirk and one for herself, Meg took a breath for courage and turned to face Otto Gertsman.

* * *

Dirk kept walking, his boots echoing on the cement floor. Raymond Neville, his hair short-cropped and brown today, along with the soldiers, one a tall blond, the other a big Argentine with very black hair, herded him toward a door at the end of the corridor.

The door appeared to be an outside entrance to the basement. They were taking him out of the house, a neater, cleaner way to dispose of him. Dirk walked in front, the two soldiers and Neville a few paces behind, all with their guns aimed at his back. Neville kept his pistol steady. The man was a professional. Once they were outside, he'd pull the trigger, and he wouldn't miss.

“Open the door,” Neville instructed.

The two armed men moved past Dirk toward the exit.
Fatal mistake
, Dirk thought as his arm snaked out, wrapped around the blond soldier's neck, twisted hard, and threw him off balance. At the same time Dirk grabbed the man's pistol, aimed, and fired a quick double tap into Raymond Neville's chest.

Dropping low and whirling, he aimed at the third soldier, realized he was going to be an instant too late. The echo of a shot rang out, but he felt no pain. Instead a blossom of scarlet appeared on the soldier's tan uniform in the center of his chest.

“Interpol,” the blond man said, his small caliber backup weapon still smoking. “Helmut Mueller. We must go.” Interpol's inside man. Dirk was damned glad to see him.

“I owe you big-time, Mueller.” Both of them turned and began moving quietly back down the hall. Scooping up Neville's pistol along the way, Dirk checked the load, a full thirteen rounds in the Browning Hi-Power, a weapon made in Belgium and favored by British Special Forces. The gun felt good in his hands.

He returned the SIG he'd taken from Mueller as they moved in silent rhythm along the hall. With the echo of shots still ringing in his head, he expected Gertsman's army to descend on them any moment. He glanced at the blond man, who seemed to be reading his thoughts.

“Soundproof,” Helmut said. “The whole floor.”

Dirk felt a jolt of satisfaction. He smiled grimly and kept moving. A door opened up on his right. Dirk swung his weapon two-handed toward the threat, relaxed as Luke appeared, his custom Beretta aimed at Mueller's head.

“Don't shoot him,” Dirk said. “He's Interpol. He's with us.”

“Helmut Mueller,” the man said.

“Luke Brodie. Glad you decided to join the party.”

Dirk kept moving toward Meg, fury burning hot in his blood. He had to reach her, had to get her away from Gertsman. Luke caught up with him just as he reached the heavy steel door, reached out, and solidly gripped his shoulder.

“Slow and easy,” Luke said. “Take a deep breath.”

Luke was right. If he went in hot, he might get Meg killed. He was glad he'd put Luke in charge.

Pistol wrapped in both hands, he positioned himself on one side of the door. Luke and Helmut took the other. Dirk turned the knob, was relieved to find the door unlocked, and shoved it open.

He went in low while Luke went in high, both of them sweeping the room with the barrels of their semiautos. Dirk stopped dead cold when he spotted Meg standing off to one side, naked to the waist, her pretty breasts quivering, her hat still on. Her hands shook as they gripped Gertsman's pistol, aimed squarely at the big German's balls.

Dirk felt a slow smile spreading over his face.

Luke grinned. “That's my girl.”

Shoving the Browning into the holster strapped to his thigh, Dirk strode toward Meg, grabbing her tunic off the floor along the way.

“Easy,” he said, taking Otto's Walther P38 from her shaking hands and shoving it into the back of his tan uniform pants.

He pulled Meg into arms. “I've got you, baby. You're okay.” He held her hard against him, felt her shaking. “You did great, honey. You're amazing.”

“Yeah, Otto . . .” Luke strolled over to where Otto stood with his hands in the air. “You fucked with the wrong woman this time. You're lucky she didn't pull the trigger.”

Gertsman's face turned a livid shade of red.

Meg buried her face in Dirk's chest. He caught a faint sob as she fought to hold back tears. “I th-thought they killed you.”

Draping the tunic around her, he gestured toward the blond Interpol agent. “Neville's dead. That's Helmut Mueller. He's Interpol. He took out one of the bad guys.”