Redemption (33 page)

Only when the pace quickened and the steps came closer did she suspect what was about to happen. With an eerie sense of detachment she had started to turn, her hand already reaching for the pepper spray she kept in her bag.

Too late. Gloved hands had clamped around her mouth, and an instant later she felt something sharp jabbed into her neck. There had been a dull hiss, and within moments it was as if she had been relieved of control of her body.

Drugged and barely conscious, she could do nothing
to
protest as a grey van pulled up beside her and she was bundled into the back, a gag placed across her mouth and a hood over her head.

The next couple of hours existed in her memory only as a kaleidoscope of sounds, smells and sensations. She remembered the smell of diesel fuel and oil in the back of the truck, the lurching movement as it trundled over rough ground, the throaty roar of the engine.

She remembered being seized by strong hands and pulled out into chill wind and rain, being dragged over rough concrete with grass growing through in places. She recalled hearing the high-pitched whine of a jet engine, and smelling the sharp tang of aviation fuel. An airfield, then. An old one, seldom used.

Up a flight of steps, and into a cool, confined interior space. The smell of plastic and leather and air conditioning. The inside of an aircraft.

More movement. The bump and rumble of wheels on rough tarmac, then a final lurch and suddenly everything became smooth and quiet.

She couldn’t say how long the flight lasted, but it was several hours at least, during which her senses gradually returned and she was able to think more clearly.

When at last the jet touched down and she was led down the steps once more, she’d known straight away she was in a desert country. The air was hot and dry, the wind carrying stinging pellets of sand, the hot sun burning her exposed skin.

Only when she was thrown into this dingy cell had her hood been removed and her hands unbound. She had been here ever since, wherever ‘here’ was.

Her mouth was parched, her stomach achingly empty. She hadn’t eaten in at least a day, and hadn’t been given a drop of water since this morning.

She wondered for a terrifying moment if her captors had simply left her here to die, if she was destined to watch her life slowly fade away in that miserable cell. She would die, and her family would never even know what had become of her …

No! You can’t allow yourself to think like that. If they went to the trouble of bringing you here, they must want you for something. You’re alive, and they intend to keep you that way, for now at least.

Her captors were nothing if not organised. She had been around enough military men in her life to recognise them when she saw them, and these were professionals.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a harsh rasp as a deadbolt was withdrawn. Scrambling away from the door, she watched as it swung open to reveal Him. She didn’t know his name, but he seemed to be the leader around here. The big man with the glass eye.

His very presence was frightening, not because he was aggressive or violent, but because of the icy mask of self-control he wore. Deep down she knew that was far more dangerous.

He was holding a plastic bottle of mineral water, which he tossed on the floor beside her. When she hesitated, he smiled in amusement.

‘Drink it. It’s not poisoned,’ he prompted. ‘Or would you like me to take it away?’

Snatching the bottle up, she almost tore the lid off and gulped it down, relieved to finally slake her thirst.

‘You’ll want to take it slow,’ he suggested. ‘You might not get any more for a while.’

‘How long?’ she asked, almost afraid to speak to him.

‘That depends how long your brother takes to bring me what I want. If he lets me down, you might be waiting
a
very long time. You know what it feels like to die of dehydration? Your head pounds, your vision fades, you’re so tired you can’t even stand up. You’ll start to hallucinate. I wonder what you’ll see?’ he mused. ‘Maybe your brother. Maybe your husband or your kids …’

‘Why are you doing this to us?’ Jessica asked, anger flaring up in her at the mention of her children. ‘We’ve done nothing to you.’

His single remaining eye gleamed in the harsh light. ‘You think I’m an evil man, right? Some fucking terrorist nut job out to kill innocent people?’ He chuckled under his breath. ‘If only you knew what brought me here, you’d be cheering me on right now.’

‘Somehow I doubt that.’

Far from being angry, he grinned in amusement. ‘Just like your brother. I’m sure he’d be real proud to see you overplaying your hand like this.’

‘What would you know about Ryan?’

‘I know he’s not the saint you seem to think he is,’ the big man informed her coldly. ‘He never told you what he did out in Afghanistan, did he? Or why he left the military? Official secrets, and all that bullshit. Or maybe he was just too ashamed to admit the truth.’ He glanced down at the half-empty bottle in her hands. ‘Enjoy the water.’

Jessica shuddered as the door slammed shut.

Dietrich was in a bar across the street from Greensville County Sheriff’s Office nursing a bottle of Heineken when Frost caught up with him.

‘Agent Frost. To what do I owe this honour?’ he asked, looking at her with bloodshot eyes. A half-finished cigarette lay smoking in the ashtray beside him.

The young woman glanced at the bottle with disapproval. ‘You turned your phone off.’

He shrugged. ‘I’m off the clock.’

He was sick of taking calls, listening to Franklin’s demands for information he didn’t have, chasing up false alarms and hoaxes. He needed some down time.

The headaches and nausea had gradually abated, for which he was eternally grateful. Still, several days of sickness, pain and discomfort, not to mention lack of sleep, had left him wasted and drained.

‘What do you want, Frost?’ he asked, an edge of irritation in his voice.

‘To talk to you.’ She took a vacant stool next to him and, when the bartender spotted her, ordered a bottle of Miller.

She said nothing further while she waited for her drink, as if enjoying the uncomfortable silence. When it arrived, she took a long, slow mouthful, still making no effort to converse with him.

‘You don’t like me much, do you?’ he asked.

‘Nope,’ she agreed casually, setting her drink down.

‘You think I’m an arrogant, egotistical piece of shit. And you wish it had been me who took that round in the shoulder.’

She nodded slowly, still looking down at her drink. ‘That’s about the size of it.’

Dietrich sighed. It was a shame Frost was such an irritating little bitch. In all other respects she was the kind of woman he would have found attractive – strong, fiery, passionate and without fear.

‘You know something? You remind me of my ex-wife.’

Frost raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m amazed any woman could stand you long enough to get married.’

He took another sip of Heineken. ‘Well, if it makes you feel any better, it didn’t last long.’

‘It does.’

He couldn’t help but smile. She really was a heartless bitch. ‘What about you? Is there a Mr Frost chained to a radiator somewhere?’

‘Why? You in the market for divorcee number two?’ she taunted.

Dietrich didn’t say anything.

‘Nope,’ she said at last, turning her attention back to her drink. ‘Never been married, never will be. Not my style.’

‘Smart girl.’

She surveyed him with a critical eye. ‘You look sick.’

‘The painkillers—’ he began, the excuse rolling off his tongue.

Her knowing smile stopped him cold. ‘Forget it. You really think I’m that stupid? We both know what’s wrong with you, and it’s got nothing to do with painkillers.’ She leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘How long has it been since you got high? A day? Two? You’re really feeling it now, huh? The headaches, the nausea, the hand tremors … Withdrawal’s a bitch, or so I heard.’

‘I …’ He trailed off. He could think of nothing to say.

His silence told her everything she needed to know. ‘You’re a fucking disgrace, Dietrich. And a liability. You could have got us all killed in that prison. If I’d known then what I know now, I would have killed your dumb ass myself,’ she said, her voice low and menacing. ‘As it is, the only reason you’re still here is because your guesses seem to be panning out.’

That last remark caught him off guard. ‘What do you mean?’

‘We got a call in from a motel in Shannon; a little town in North Carolina. Two guests matching Drake and Anya’s description stayed there last night. They left without checking out this morning.’ She chuckled under
her
breath. ‘Looks like your hunch paid off. They’re still heading south.’

Dietrich leaned back, his mind a whirl of confused thoughts.

‘Like I said, I haven’t told anyone what I know, because even if you’re an asshole, you’re still useful to us. But when this is over, you walk. Walk away, or I swear to God I’ll ruin you.’

Draining the last of her beer, she pushed herself away from the bar. ‘Thanks for the drink.’

With that, she turned and walked off, leaving him to pick up the tab.

Chapter 46

‘YOU REALISE THIS
would be an ideal place for the Agency to snatch us,’ Drake remarked, glancing up and down the corridor.

Like most such buildings, Bayside Self Storage was a spartan affair, with concrete floors, brick walls and harsh fluorescent lighting overhead. Still, it was also clean and efficient, and obviously secure judging by the electronic locks that guarded each of the storage rooms. And most importantly, it was open twenty-four hours a day.

‘Nobody knows about this place,’ Anya said as she studied the numeric keypad in front of her. ‘I made sure of that when I opened it.’

‘You’ve been gone four years,’ he reminded her. ‘They might have auctioned your stuff off by now.’

‘Unlikely. The lease was paid for thirty years in advance.’ Hesitating a moment, she started punching in numbers. ‘The only thing I need … is the access code.’

There was a beep, and the indicator light on the keypad turned green.

Anya smiled. ‘Easy.’

Kneeling down, she gripped the roll-down door by the handle at its base and hauled it up. Steel rollers clanked and rattled as it retracted, revealing a small room beyond, perhaps 6 feet square. A single fluorescent light
burned
overhead, having switched on the moment she opened the door.

‘Inside,’ she said, holding the door up while he entered. As soon as he was in, she allowed it to fall back into place, suppressing a faint shudder at the harsh clang.

The room was small, claustrophobic, not much different from another small place she had spent a great deal of time. Drake could sense her unease and guessed the cause, though he decided not to mention it, instead concentrating on their surroundings.

The locker was an empty shell. No furniture, no shelves or recesses. In fact, it contained nothing apart from a single metal toolbox set beside the far wall. Kneeling in front of it, Anya gripped the lid and flipped it open.

‘Shit,’ Drake gasped. He knelt beside her, staring in awe at the box.

Inside lay bundles of money wrapped in plastic bags; used bills of various denominations that he couldn’t begin to count. Beside the money was an automatic pistol that he recognised as a Colt M1911, complete with two spare magazines and an unopened box of cartridges, all dismantled to make it suitable for long-term storage.

Also included in the box were various documents and cards with Anya’s picture on them: driver’s licences, credit cards, business cards and most important, passports.

Anya picked up the two passports, one Finnish and the other American, and leafed through to ensure they were still in date.

‘Good,’ she decided, transferring the money into her jacket pockets.

‘How much do you have there?’ Drake couldn’t help asking.

‘Ten thousand dollars,’ she answered casually. ‘That’s
what
I keep in each of my funds. We call them security blankets.’

He eyed her cynically. ‘You’re trying to dazzle me with jargon now.’

She shrugged. ‘I am only trying to educate you.’

‘How many of these things do you have?’

She gave him that same enigmatic smile he’d come to know all too well. ‘A woman is entitled to a few secrets.’

Finishing with the money, she tucked the passports and other documents into her jeans, leaving the weapon behind.

‘We need to get to Miami International,’ she said, closing the lid. ‘With luck we can book a morning flight.’

‘We still need clothes,’ Drake pointed out. ‘There’s no way we’re getting through an international airport dressed like this.’

Aside from the fact that their attire was looking decidedly worse for wear after two days of travelling, Cain would have alerted airport security to be on the lookout for two people matching their description. They needed to change their appearance.

‘We can buy clothes on the way.’

‘Great. You can’t buy me a passport, though,’ he felt moved to point out.

Her icy blue eyes flashed. ‘Trust me.’

A few phone calls revealed that the first available flight was with Emirates, departing at 06.45 the next day and bound for Riyadh in Saudi Arabia. Using one of the credit cards from her contingency fund, Anya booked them two seats in business class, deciding to use her Finnish passport to get into the country. They were to be representatives of an architect’s firm, travelling to Riyadh to serve as consultants for a construction project.

With this in mind, they had stopped off at the Emporio Armani store en route to the airport, paying ridiculous prices for clothes to make them suitably businesslike. Drake had been reluctant to let her go inside, remembering her earlier reaction to the shopping mall at Daytona, but she was insistent. And to his surprise, she coped well with the experience.

Laden with their bags of designer clothes, they booked a room for the night at the Embassy Suites, about a mile from the main terminal. With thick, pristine carpets, expensive furnishings and a luxury king-sized bed, it was everything Drake would have expected from a top-rate hotel. There was even a bottle of complimentary champagne on ice.