Deadlock

FOUR

"SHAFIR IS DEAD," BORG TOLD Staunton. "He had a wound in his side, but he died of a broken neck." He paused. "The woman's gone."

"Son of a bitch." It was what Staunton expected from the moment the explosions had started to rock the encampment. He gazed out at the spiking fires he could see through the driving snow. "The vehicles?"

"All damaged except the van closest to the huts. Six of Shafir's men are dead."

"I don't give a damn about that asshole's men." But he didn't want them to be captured and talk either. "Tell them all to come to the woman's hut, and I'll give them enough money to scatter and head for the Pakistan border."

"Don't we need them to go after her?"

"Do you think she did this herself? C-4 was used. Someone came to get her. But it couldn't have been a large force, or they wouldn't have hit and run. We have time to do damage control."

"Perhaps we'd better cut our losses," Borg suggested tentatively. "You spent weeks, and she didn't break. Maybe she didn't know any¬thing."

"But I didn't get the chance to make sure, dammit." Anger was beginning to surge through him as he remembered those last moments before he had tossed her to Shafir. "I didn't get to work on her." "You couldn't expect this to happen. The blizzard and the-" "Excuses? He won't accept excuses." And neither would Staunton. He had never failed before, and he wouldn't fail now. "He's trying to hold up on paying me until I bring him the hammer, but it's not going to work. It's got to be pay as I go. That damn hammer was supposed to be here, and he says she has to know where it is." He lifted his hand to his lip, where the bitch had bitten him, and he added viciously, "Well, he'll get what he wants. She'll tell me everything she ever knew." He turned away. "Pack up. We'll take the van and see if we can catch up with her. They had to be on foot. We would have known if anyone had approached in a vehicle."

"After you pay off Shafir's men?"

"Yes. Be sure they all come to the hut. I want every one of them in there waiting."

"They'll be there." Borg turned toward the burning tents. "They'll need that money. But there are at least forty. It's going to cost you."

"No, it won't." He smiled. "We don't have C-4 but we still have the explosives we used to stop the truck from the museum. I'll set the charge while you round up Shafir's men."

Borg's eyes widened. "You're going to blow up the hut?"

"Why are you surprised? It's the best solution to the problem. No loose tongues, no witnesses." He turned away. "But get them up here fast. I need to get on the road after that bitch."

EMILY HAD DRIFTED OFF TO SLEEP.

It was a restless, uneasy slumber, Garrett thought, but he'd take what he could get.

He carefully moved away from Emily and got to his knees. He tucked the blanket closer around her, then rose and started to dress. They should be landing soon, and he needed to talk to Ferguson.

Emily muttered something, and her hand was reaching out from beneath the blanket.

Reaching out for him?

He dropped to his knees again and took her hand. She quieted im¬mediately. He sat there, looking at her, waiting until her sleep deep¬ened again. That unconscious gesture of need and trust had taken him by surprise.

Good God, she was treating him like the father she had lost all those years ago.

No, she had never looked on her father as the Angel of Death. Whatever was going on between them had nothing to do with pater¬nal feelings.

On either side.

He cautiously released her hand and rose to his feet. He waited, gazing down at her. After a moment, he turned and went to the cock¬pit. "How soon are we going to land?"

"Another ten minutes or so." Dardon glanced at him as he sat down. "How is she?"

"On the edge. Fragile as hell."

"What happened to her?"

"She doesn't want to talk about it." He added roughly, "Hell, I don't want her to talk about it. She nearly fell apart when I pushed a little."

"They're going to push her more than a little when you turn her over to Ferguson. She's caused too much uproar for them to just leave her alone."

"And, of course, that's all her fault. She's a victim, dammit."

"Easy." Dardon held up his hand. "I'm not saying that she's not. Just that everyone from the media to the U.N. is going to want an¬swers, and they're not going to be patient about it."

Garrett knew that was true. It was what he'd been worried about since he'd realized how breakable Emily had become during those weeks of captivity. "The media will be after her like a river of piranhas. And Ferguson and the rest will want her to furnish information so that they can go after Staunton and revenge her." His lips twisted. "Even if it kills her to do it."

"Staunton?"

"He's our main target," Garrett said. "Get on the phone and see what you can find out about him." "What do we know already?" "Nothing. I can't talk to her about him yet." Dardon made a face. "Great. You don't know anything?" "I know I'm going to kill him."

Dardon gave a low whistle. "Radical. I thought it was going to be an in-and-out job."

"It's not turning out that way."

"You know, violence may be the last thing she needs. She appears very frail."

"Then appearances are deceiving. She's going through a rough patch now, but you should have seen her following me through that blizzard. She was wounded and suffering from shock, but that didn't matter. No complaints. No hesitation. She just kept going."

Dardon's brows rose. "My, my, you sound like a proud papa."

That damn father image again, Garrett thought. "When did you ever know me to feel paternal toward any woman? She's just got guts, and I admire her for it."

"And you're proud of her."

He was proud of Emily. He was feeling possessive and protective in ways that he'd never experienced for any woman. Even though lust had been very present when he'd been holding her, it had not been the dominating factor… yet. What the hell was happening to him? "Just find out about Staunton."

"Why don't you ask Ferguson?"

"Ferguson always has his own agenda. I may not want him in¬volved."

"How are you going to avoid it if you have to turn Emily Hudson over to him?"

"I'm working it out."

Dardon's gaze narrowed on his face. "That usually means compli¬cations. I take it you're not ready to share?"

"There's nothing to share." He repeated, "I'm working it out." He stood up and took out his phone. "Find out about Staunton." He was dialing Ferguson as he stepped out of the cockpit. He glanced at Emily; she was still sleeping. But she was restless, and that sleep was probably filled with nightmares.

"Garrett?" Ferguson answered on the second ring. "Where the hell are you? What's happening?"

"I got Emily Hudson out." He kept his voice low, his gaze on Emily. "Levy is dead."

Ferguson started to curse. "I guess one is better than none. Bandits?"

"Yes, Shafir Ali. He's dead, too."

"And this Westerner you thought was involved?"

"I didn't see anyone but Shafir."

"Where are you? When can I take Emily Hudson into custody?" "That's up to her."

"No way," Ferguson said flatly. "It's up to me. I'm the one who's tak¬ing the heat. The sooner I can produce the woman, the better for me." "But not necessarily better for her."

"We made a deal. I gave Dardon the evidence. Now where are you?

"We made a deal that I'd go in and get Emily Hudson and Levy out if they were still alive. I've fulfilled my part of the bargain." "Where is she?"

"I'll have her call and tell you herself." He hung up the phone. He had almost felt the scorching heat of the fury and frustration Fergu¬son had radiated. The first thing the CIA man would do would be to mobilize all his forces to try to locate him. Which meant Garrett would have to move fast, whatever he decided to do.

He checked his watch. They should be landing in five minutes, and he couldn't let Emily sleep any longer. He grabbed the clothes that Dardon had brought for Emily and crossed back to her.

She opened her eyes as soon she sensed him kneeling beside her. Garrett…

"We have to get you dressed. We're going to land. I told Dardon to check your sizes. I hope the clothes fit." He pulled the cover down. Sit up.

She slowly sat up. "I'm… stiff."

"You have a right to be." He slipped the straps of her bra over her arms and went around and fastened it. "Dardon got his research wrong. This is too big for you."

"I lost weight. I had trouble eating."

He was silent. "I should have thought of that. The other clothes will probably be loose, too." He came around and held up the briefs, pants, and shirt. "You're stiff and sore, and that leg is bothering you. I can either let you struggle to do the rest yourself, or I can help you and we'll get it done quick. You decide."

She gazed at the clothes. He was right, it was stupid to try to be independent when it would hinder both of them. "Help me. It's a lit¬tle late to worry about being embarrassed. I feel… comfortable with you.

"That's not really what I wanted to hear." He began to dress her. "Comfortable is boring. I've never aspired to boring."

"WHERE IS THIS FIELD LOCATED?" Emily was gazing down at the flat, barren meadow below them as the helicopter began its de¬scent. "I don't see anyone in sight."

"We're about sixty miles from Kabul. You'd see an army of people during the growing season. It's a poppy field. The farmers harvest their opium and ship it out to the world. They can afford to stay in¬doors during the bad weather." He shrugged. "And it's convenient for us to have a landing spot where there's no one around to be too curi¬ous. I didn't think you'd like to be bombarded right away."

"No." She could feel her muscles tightening in response to that thought. "No, I wouldn't."

"Don't tense up," Garrett said quietly. "And don't start shaking. It's not going to happen. I promise."

"I'm not-" She drew a deep breath. "I'm not that fragile or-I was cold."

"Whatever you say," Garrett said. "But I'm still not going to let you be put in the spotlight. I have a certain pride in my work. I got you out in one piece, and I won't let them tear you apart."

"I wouldn't let them do that."

"We won't put it to the test."

The helicopter landed a few minutes later, and Dardon came out of the cockpit. "Safe and sound. The car should be here any minute." He nodded slowly as he stared at Emily. "Hi, I'm Jack Dardon. We weren't formally introduced, but I'm very glad to see you in such good shape."

"And I was very glad to see that helicopter looming out of the snow."

"I would have come with Garrett to get you, but he said it was safer for me to furnish the transport." He tilted his head. "You have better color than you did when Garrett brought you on board, but you're still a bit puny-looking."

"I'm not puny. I'll be fine."

"Well, don't let Ferguson run you ragged. He's a little too eager to prove to everyone that he can pull the magical rabbits out of the hat."

"Go out and flag down the car when it gets here," Garrett said.

Dardon smiled. "Which translated means Garrett wants to get rid of me." He headed for the door. "I'd be pissed, but I'd rather not be included in Garrett's plans. I prefer to save myself to implement the final project."

Emily watched him cross the field toward the road. The snow had stopped, but Dardon's boots were sinking into the deep slush and snow. "Were you trying to get rid of him?"

He nodded. "I had to talk to you before the car arrived."

"Why?"

"The car is intended to take you to Kabul to Ferguson. Once you get there, all hell will break loose. He's going to try to make everyone forget he didn't act soon enough to save Levy by parading you before the media and every nation and organization that has been searching for you."

Every muscle tensed in rejection. "No!"

"And they'll start by asking you questions. About Levy. About Staunton. About those weeks in the mountains."

Emily could feel the panic rising. "I don't have to answer them. I-can't-do-that."

"I think you can do anything you have to do. But not without a lot of pain and bleeding that will send you into a tailspin. You're not in any shape to take that bullshit right now."

"Don't tell me what I can take," she said fiercely. "I took what Staunton did to me. There's nothing your Ferguson can do that could hurt me."

He shrugged. "Then I'm through talking. You've made your choice."

"Choice? You haven't given me a choice. You've only told me that I'm going to end up a basket case because I survived instead of dying in those mountains." She glared at him. "So give me my choice, Garrett."

He smiled. "Okay. You can go to Ferguson and put up with his grandstanding in exchange for the possibility that he'll find Staunton for you. And the possibility that he'll kill him instead of using him for his own ends. He has contacts and power, and he might be able to give you what you want."

"Or?"

"I made you a promise. You come with me and do what I tell you to do. I didn't tell Ferguson about Staunton because he'll get in my way. I find Staunton. I kill him. Your job is to lie low and stay away from Ferguson."

"And how am I to do that?"

"We record a DVD of you in which you tell Ferguson that you can't face all the hullabaloo, and give it to the driver of the car. You tell the world you need time to go away and recover, and you'll be in touch later."

"Will he believe it?"

"No, but everyone else will. And they'll be sympathetic." He paused. "Because you look like you've been through hell and back."

She had been through hell, and it wasn't over yet. It might be only the beginning.

Garrett glanced out the window. "There's the car. Make your choice."

She didn't speak for a moment. "You can find Staunton?"

"I'll find him. Is there anything you can tell me about him?"

"He has an Australian accent." She moistened her lips. "And if you get me one of those police artists, I can show you what he looks like. I know every line of his face, every expression."

"That's something. Anything else?"

"There was a man who worked for him. Borg. He did everything Staunton told him to do. He… liked it." Memories were rushing back to her, and her stomach was beginning to churn. Breathe deep. Don't throw up. "That's all I can remember. I'll try to-"

"Hush." He pulled her into his arms. "That's enough. Don't worry about it." His hand cradled the back of head and pressed her face into his shoulder. "I just needed somewhere to start."

"Maybe I'll be able to separate-Just not now."

He muttered an oath beneath his breath. "I said forget it. I'll work it out." He was rocking her back and forth. "And if you start to shake again, I'll-Just don't do it, okay?"

He was treating her as if she were a child in pain. Why not? She was acting as if she was the basket case of which she'd been so scorn¬ful. She pushed away from him. "I'm okay. I'm sorry. I didn't mean-" She drew a deep breath. "It won't happen again."

He stood gazing at her. "Does that mean you've made your choice?"

"Yes. You knew I'd choose you. I don't know this Ferguson."

"It could be argued you don't know me."

"I know enough."

His lips twisted. "That's right. You know John Garrett, the assas¬sin. That's all that's important to you, isn't it?"

"Yes." Then she rushed on, "No. I… trust you, Garrett." "You trust me to get you what you want."

It was more than that, but she couldn't explain it to him any more than she could explain it to herself. It was better not even to try. "How do we make this DVD to send to Ferguson?"

"I use my phone and burn it to a disc on my computer."

"Very efficient." She turned away from the window. "Let's do it."

"I'M GOING TO CUT THE BASTARD'S throat," Ferguson said through his teeth, his gaze on Emily Hudson's face on the monitor. "What the hell does he think he's doing? I need her."

"It seems we're not going to get her." Moore was studying Emily's face. "Maybe it's the truth. Maybe she just needs to get away for a while. She doesn't look well and that-"

"I know how she looks. Let her get well here in Kabul, where I can control the situation. I need answers."

"She told you the approximate location where she was held and Shafir Ali's name. We can start with that."

"That's not enough. I need chapter and verse. I've been roasting over the coals for too long, and it's not going to be over until I can fur¬nish enough information to drown those flames."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to find her and bring her back here."

Moore nodded at the video. "And this?"

"What do you think? I'm going to take it to the director and the U.N. and tell them that I was the one who went in and rescued her. And that I made the decision to shelter Emily Hudson from the glare of publicity. She'd suffered enough, and I couldn't stand the thought of her being exposed to any more trauma."

"Good idea."

"We can tell everyone Levy's dead and that Hudson is free and re¬covering nicely in a secured haven. With any luck, the media will for¬get about her in a week or two."

"Very clever. And what about you?"

"Hell, no," Ferguson said grimly. "I told you, she's my number one priority. You can bet I won't forget Emily Hudson."