Without a Trace (24 page)

“Your money will do you little good once a madman has destroyed the world.”

Trace smiled. So he understood. He kept his voice mild. “Your serum will ensure power and profit for those clever enough to earn it. There is progress?” he asked Kendesa.

“It is slow.” This time Kendesa smiled and watched Trace carefully. “The missing link is Fitzpatrick’s sister. She has in her possession certain notes, certain knowledge that will expedite the completion of this work. She’ll be joining you, Doctor.”

Trace felt the air stop pumping into his lungs. Before he could speak, Flynn was rushing forward.

“Gillian? What have you done with her?”

Kendesa had his gun out quickly. “Calm yourself, Doctor. She is unharmed.” He turned a curious smile on Trace. “Were you aware,
monsieur
, that you traveled with the good doctor’s sister?”

“I?” He could play it two ways. But if he went with instinct and attacked, Flynn Fitzpatrick would be dead. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken.”

“The woman you brought to Casablanca is Dr. Gillian Fitzpatrick.”

“The woman I brought to Casablanca is a little American tart I picked up in Paris. Attractive, amusing and dull-witted.”

“More sharp-witted than you know,
monsieur
. You have been used.”

So that was it. For once Trace blessed the ISS for the strength and depth of his cover. “You’re mistaken.” There was a low edge of fury to his voice.

“No, I regret it is you who are mistaken. The woman purposely sought you out, hoping you would bring her closer to us and her brother. I assume she played her part well.”

“Very well. If you’re correct.”

“Quite correct. A short time ago she was in Mexico, where she sought out and enlisted the help of a certain ISS agent. We can assume it was he who instructed her on what course to take. Do you know the name Il Gatto, Cabot?”

Trace drew out a cigarette, making sure his hand didn’t appear quite steady. “I know it.”

“He seeks revenge on the general, and uses you and the woman to gain it.”

“Who is he?”

“I regret I do not yet have that information.” Anger broke through the sophisticated calm briefly. “The general was unfortunately hasty in executing three men who might have been able to identify him. But the woman knows and will tell us. In time.”

“Where is she?” Trace blew out a stream of smoke. “I do not tolerate being a woman’s pawn.”

“On her way here, if not here already. You are welcome to speak with her when you return. Once we have her notes and she has identified Il Gatto, I may consider it a gesture of goodwill to give her to you.”

“Bastard.” Flynn raised his fist and would have struck if Trace hadn’t moved more quickly. Grabbing Flynn’s arm, he twisted it up behind his back and held him close, their faces an inch apart.

“Your whore of a sister owes me.” Flynn bared his teeth but was helpless to strike back. “I’ll take my payment from her, and from you, Doctor.” He shoved him aside. “I’ve seen enough,” Trace said curtly, and strode toward the door.

“Let me see Caitlin. Let me see my daughter, you son of a bitch,” Flynn cried.

“Perhaps tomorrow, Doctor,” Kendesa said calmly. “Perhaps then I shall reunite your family.” In the same unhurried manner, he opened the door and locked it behind him. It gave him some pleasure to see the smooth, sleek André Cabot with his feathers ruffled.

“There is no need for embarrassment, my friend. The woman, under the guidance of Il Gatto, was a formidable enemy.”

Trace turned on him. In an instant he had Kendesa against the wall. Even as the guards’ guns clicked into place, he had the key from Kendesa’s pocket palmed in his hand. “I will not be made a fool. The woman is unharmed?”

Kendesa waved the guards aside as Trace’s grip relaxed. “We did not want her damaged.”

“Good.” A muscle twitched in his cheek. “Very good. When I return in three days, I want her. Get the information you need, Kendesa. Get the information and then turn the woman over to me. The price of the shipment can be reduced another quarter of a million francs, between us.”

Kendesa lifted a brow. “The price of your pride is high.”

“Before I am through, she will wish, with a full heart, that you had killed her.” Trace straightened his jacket and seemed to bring himself under control. “I assume the child is still alive.”

“She is kept on the second level. Mild tranquilizers keep her quiet. They are full of passion, these Irish.”

“Indeed.” Trace saw the car and driver waiting where he’d left them. “I will report to my associates. If the
papers are in order, we will finish our current business.”

“Cabot.” Kendesa rested a hand on the door of the car. “Does Il Gatto disturb you?”

Trace looked directly into Kendesa’s eyes. “I feel he would have little interest in me and a great deal more in you. I should watch my back,
mon ami
. Cats strike quickly.”

Trace settled in the backseat and for the first time in years began to pray.

He would waste precious time traveling back to Sefrou, contacting Breintz and gathering the weapons. As the driver started down the mountain, Trace considered putting him out of commission and going back. But how far would he get alone, with a miserable peashooter of a .45?

Straining against his own impotence, he looked at his watch. Automatically he reactivated the homing device, but he was more interested in the time. He could be back, fully armed, by dark.

She’d be all right. She was strong. She was braver than she should be. He would come back for her and get her out, no matter what had to be done, no matter what had to be sacrificed.

But the cold sweat he was in reminded him what it was to fear for more than your own life.

When the tire blew out, he was thrown against the side of the car. Swearing, he straightened. Instinct had him reaching in his pocket as he stepped from the car. The driver got out, turned toward the damaged wheel, then dropped like a stone.

Trace drew out his pistol. Smelling ambush. Even as he whirled, Breintz rose from a rock. “Your mind’s elsewhere, old friend. If I’d wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”

Trace pocketed the pistol. “They’ve got Gillian.”

“I know. One of her guards lived long enough to contact me.” Breintz dropped agilely from the rock. “My orders are to give you twelve hours to get the Fitzpatricks out. If you’re unsuccessful, Hammer’s headquarters is to be destroyed.”

“Give me your weapon.”

“One rifle?” Breintz lifted a brow. “Such conceit.”

“Twelve hours doesn’t give me a hell of a lot of time. Give me the rifle.”

“For once Il Gatto is not using his head.” Breintz bent down to examine the driver’s clothes. “Could it be the woman is more than an assignment?” Breintz drew off the driver’s braided headdress and settled it over his hair. “An adequate fit.”

Trace schooled his breathing until his head cleared. “You drive. We can take out the guards at the gate and use their weapons. The layout’s simple enough. We get Fitzpatrick; I find Gillian and the kid.”

“Agreed.” Breintz gestured for him to follow. With the ease of a goat, he climbed over the rocks. Trace saw the case he’d purchased from Bakir. Breintz only smiled. “I have worked with you before.” Breintz handed Trace a grenade launcher. “And this is my country. I say modestly that my contacts here are excellent.”

Trace yanked off Cabot’s raw-silk jacket and threw it in the dirt. He slipped the strap of the weapon over his shoulder and reached for another. “I’d forgotten how good you were.”

“Old friend”—Breintz was quietly taping clips together—“I am even better now.”

Trace strapped on an ammo belt. “We have to wait until dark.”

Breintz sat cross-legged. “It will come soon enough.”

“You don’t have orders to go in with me.”

“No.” Breintz closed his eyes and began to drift into meditation. “Charles Forrester was a good man.”

“Thanks.”

Wishing he could find the same kind of serenity, Trace sat beside Breintz. And waited for sundown.

*   *   *

Gillian awoke slowly, with her head throbbing and her mind fuzzy. Once or twice she nearly found consciousness, only to go into the grayness again. She heard weeping, quiet and heartfelt, and wondered if it was her.

She felt warmth against her side, then again warmth stroking along her arm. Instinctively she reached out for it.

“Aunt Gillian, please wake up. Please, Aunt Gillian, I’m so scared.”

It was like the nightmare. Gillian felt her skin go clammy and fought it off. Just a dream, she told herself, but Caitlin’s pleas were becoming clearer and clearer. Opening her eyes, she saw her.

“I thought you were dead.” Caitlin, eyes puffy and red, buried her face in Gillian’s hair. “They dropped you on the bed, and you lay so still I thought you were dead.”

“Baby.” She pushed herself up and nearly passed out again. The drug had been strong and had left her with a raging headache and traces of nausea. Unsure what was real, she reached out and touched Caitlin’s face. “Oh, baby. It’s you. It’s really you.” Gathering the child close, she rocked her. “Oh, Caitlin, little darling, go ahead and cry. Poor little lamb, how frightened you must have been, all alone like this. I’m here now.”

“Are you going to take us home?”

Where was home? And where were they? As she looked around the dim room, Gillian remembered the waiter, the prick of the hypodermic. Closing her eyes, she cursed herself for her stupidity. Did they have Trace, too? Oh, God, did they have him, too?

“Can we go home now? Please, I want to go home.”

“Soon,” Gillian murmured. “As soon as I can. Caitlin, can you dry your eyes and talk to me?”

With sniffles and nods, Caitlin burrowed closer. “You won’t go away?”

“No. No, I won’t leave you.” They’d have to kill her first, she promised herself as she kept Caitlin close. “Where’s your da?”

“They keep him downstairs, in a laboratory.”

“Is he all right? Be brave now, darling. Is your da all right?”

“He looks kind of sick. I can’t remember when they let me see him last.” She swiped her hand over her wet cheeks. “He cried once.”

“It’s all right. It’s going to be all right. There’s a—” She cut herself off as she remembered how carefully Trace had searched their hotel rooms for microphones. Someone could be listening to them even now. She couldn’t mention his name or give her niece the comfort of knowing they had help. “There’s sure to be a way
out,” she said instead. “We just have to be patient. We’re together now.” Then she lifted a finger to her lips, signaling to the child to be silent. As quietly as she could, she searched the room.

She knew it was more luck than skill that led her to it. When she found the mike, her first instinct was to smash it. Even that small sign of defiance would have been satisfying. But she made herself think coolly. Leaving the mike in place, she climbed back onto the narrow bed.

“I met a man in Mexico,” she began, knowing whoever was listening would already be aware of that. “He said he’d help. He has a funny name, Caitlin. Il Gatto. It means ‘cat.’”

“Does he look like a cat?”

“No.” Gillian smiled to herself. “But he thinks like one. When I don’t contact him tomorrow,” she said, “he’ll come after us.”

“And take us home?”

“Yes, darling. Do you know where we are?”

“It’s like a big cave with lots of tunnels.”

“I see.” Gillian lifted Caitlin’s eyelids and examined her pupils. Drugs. The fury rose and nearly overpowered her. “Do you ever go outside?”

“No. There aren’t any windows.”

Caitlin cringed as the door opened and a man with a rifle over his shoulder carried in a tray. He set it on the edge of the bed, gestured to it, then walked out again.

“I bit him once,” Caitlin said, with some of her old spirit.

“Good for you.”

“He smacked me.”

“He won’t smack you again.” Gillian looked at the tray. There was rice and some cubed meat with two glasses of milk. She sniffed at it. “Have you been eating well?”

“The food doesn’t taste good, but I get hungry. Whenever I eat, I get sleepy.”

“You need to eat, darling.” But she shook her head as she lifted the tray. “It helps keep up your strength.”
Gillian dumped the contents of both plates under the bed. “And you need to sleep, as well.” Looking around for a likely place, she poured the milk on a pile of dirty linen in the corner. Caitlin watched her with wide eyes. “Come on, baby, try to eat a little more.”

When Caitlin pressed a hand to her mouth and giggled, Gillian nearly wept from the sight of it.

“That’s it. Now drink your milk.” Grinning with her, Gillian climbed into bed again.

A trace of mischief lit Caitlin’s eyes. “I don’t like milk.”

“It’s good for your bones. You wouldn’t want soft bones, would you?” Gillian cuddled with her. Putting her mouth against the child’s ear, she whispered, “They put something in the food to make you sleep. You have to pretend to sleep so they don’t find out we didn’t eat it. Do just what I say. If one of the men comes back, lie very still so they don’t know we’ve fooled them.”

Caitlin nodded. “Don’t go away, Aunt Gillian.”

“No, I won’t go away.”

Gillian cradled the child in her arms. In the dark, she stared at the ceiling and planned.

*   *   *

Sunset came with brilliance. The mountains went pink with it, and the sand gold. In the last of the light, Breintz changed into the driver’s clothes after fixing the tire while Trace loaded weapons on the floor of the car.

They worked in silence now. Everything had been said. As the sun dipped below the high peaks, Trace stretched out on the floor in the back and Breintz climbed behind the wheel. They headed east for the last time.

Breintz began to whistle tunelessly as they approached. As Trace had, he noted the sentries on the ridges above the building. Following Trace’s directions, Breintz punched out the code and waited for the door to lift up.

As he stopped the car inside, he lowered his head to conceal as much of his face as possible. A guard approached as the door closed behind him.

“You made good time,” he said, just before Breintz brought an elbow to his throat. Trace was out of the car
and leading the way to the lab.