Deadlock

NINE

"I'LL BE KNOCKING ON YOUR door in two minutes," he said, when Emily picked up the phone over an hour later. "Sorry if I woke you.

"You didn't wake me. I couldn't sleep. Is something wrong? Why do you want to-" But Garrett had already hung up. Emily had just gotten out of the bed and turned on the light when Garrett knocked. "What is it? Why are you-"

"Your clothes." He set the suitcase beside the door.

She felt a rush of relief. "Oh, is that all? I thought you-" She stopped as she saw his expression.

"We have to talk." He came into the room and shut the door. "Re¬member, I warned you when we were on the helicopter that we had to find a place to talk."

She remembered, but realized she had subconsciously tried to push that memory away. Now it was staring in her face. She mois¬tened her lips. "This isn't about Zelov."

"It might be. I don't know. You'll have to tell me." He gazed into her eyes. "You'll have to tell me everything, Emily. Every minute, every detail of that time with Staunton."

She flinched. She had known it was coming, but the shock was still sharp. "I don't remember every detail. Some of it is a blur."

"I'll help you."

Help her go through that hell again? "I told you about the hammer. That's all that's important."

"That's all that you remember that's important. There might be more. We'll dig it all out."

"You sound like a dentist," she said unevenly. "Only you aren't us¬ing anesthesia, are you?"

"No." His lips tightened. "And I won't stop until it's over, no mat¬ter how much you're hurting. It has to be done. I've waited too long as it is."

His expression was totally hard, totally without mercy, yet it was not without emotion. But she couldn't read what those feelings were. "Your CIA man, Ferguson, wanted to debrief me, and you stopped him."

"You were too fragile. I didn't want you to break." "Yet now you're going to do it."

"If you break, I'll find a way to put together the pieces." Dear heaven, she was afraid. "I could say no." "Yes, you could."

She closed her eyes, fighting the panic. "No, I can't. Because you're right, dammit. I can't trust myself because I didn't want to do anything but shut it out. I can remember lying there in that hut and dreading going back to Joel. I tried to build a cocoon around myself, but it didn't work." Her eyes were stinging as she opened them. "It never worked. Staunton managed to rip it open every time. Yes, I might know something I don't know I know." She drew a deep breath. "I'm sorry I'm fighting you. I promised you I'd tell you everything, didn't I? And I will. It just came as a-I didn't expect it to be tonight." She turned away. "So let's get on with the debriefing. Or should we call it the confessional? That's what Irana would probably-"

"You have nothing to confess, dammit. You're not guilty of any¬thing."

"I felt guilty. I couldn't help him. There should have been a way I could help him." She tried to keep her voice from shaking. "Shouldn't you have a tape recorder or something? Don't you have to take notes?" "No, I'll remember everything."

"Of course, you will. You're very clever." She curled up in the easy chair by the window, tucking her legs beneath the terry robe. She was cold, terribly cold. "And you'll see that I remember everything."

"Yes," he said hoarsely. "Everything."

"Stop towering over me. Sit down somewhere. Let's get this over with."

He sat down on the edge of the bed.

She looked away from him and stared blindly at the wall beyond him. She could get through this. She only had to remember that she was doing it for Joel. That living through that horror again was the only way she could help him now. Just one more time.

"Where do you want me to start?"

"When you got off the plane in Kabul."

"That far back?"

"Yes. I want to know every detail."

"I'm not arguing. I'm just surprised." But it was a relief not to have to dive into that day at the museum right away. "We didn't actually go to Afghanistan to go to the museum. We were diverted by some high-up official in the central government, Aman Nemid. He'd grown up in the area and…" She kept talking quickly, feverishly, not letting herself see the direction she was going.

Until she was there, riding in the truck with Joel. Laughing with him, being teased about Springsteen, worrying about the weather.

She suddenly froze. It was coming. Just around the bend.

"Bruce Springsteen?" Garrett asked. " 'Dancing in the Dark'?"

She wasn't really there on that road from the museum. She was here with Garrett. Keep it separate. "I like Springsteen." But she could go on now. Talk fast. Tell him about the overturned truck. Tell him about the blood running from beneath it.

Staunton standing there cradling the AK-47 in his arm. Talk.

Go numb. Don't think. Just talk.

For God's sake, don't think.

"I BIT HIS LIP AS HARD AS I could. He was bleeding." The words were feverishly tumbling out. "It felt good. I wanted to savage him. It didn't matter any longer. He couldn't hurt Joel. No one could hurt Joel any longer. He hit me, then he forced me out in the snow to go to Shafir Ali's tent. He was swearing and threatening, but it didn't matter. He couldn't hurt-"

"Stop it." Garrett was suddenly beside her, kneeling on the floor before her. "No more."

"But I haven't finished. You said I had to tell you everything. I've got to finish. He took me to Shafir and told him to-"

"You're finished. It's over." He grasped her shoulders and shook her. "Shut up. Okay?"

She gazed dazedly at him. It was the first time she had looked at him since she had started. His expression was no longer hard; it was twisted with pain, haggard… "Finished?"

"God, yes." He turned out the light. He gathered her up and car¬ried her to the bed. "Never again. You can forget it."

"No, I can't." She tried to keep from slurring. "It's there waiting for me. All you had to do was probe now and then, and it all came back…"

"Yes, that's all I had to do."

He sounded bitter. She should try to think why-No, it was too hard. She had barely been aware of him in the past hours. He had only been a voice guiding her, questioning her, making her pause when she wanted to run ahead. At first she had ha^ed that voice, but then it had become part of her. Strange…

He was laying her down on the bed, covering her with the blan¬ket. Then he was lying down beside her and drawing her into his arms. "Go to sleep. I'll stay with you. There won't be any nightmares tonight. I'll guard you. God knows, it's the least I can do."

That bitterness again. Yes, keep the nightmares away. She was too weak to do it herself tonight. "Thank you." She closed her eyes and curled closer to him. "I'm very tired…"

"You're practically shell-shocked." His words were muffled in her hair. "I know while you're hating me you won't believe this, but I'm… sorry."

"I believe you." She opened her eyes to look at him. "And I don't hate you. Why should I? It had to be done before we could move on."

"And I was the one to do it." His lips twisted. "I seem to be des¬tined to be a catalyst, don't I? First, Irana, now you."

"I couldn't blame you when all of this is about me."

"No. This is all about Staunton." He stroked her hair away from her face. "And you're telling me you didn't hate me even for a moment while we were going through that hell?"

"At first, I-but then you became part of it."

"What?"

She tried to put her thoughts together. "Part of it. Part of me. I wasn't alone any longer. We were together." She couldn't hold her eyes open any longer. "It was a terrible thing going through that horror alone. But I wasn't alone this time. It was as if you were going through it with me, standing beside me."

"I was. I will be."

"So I couldn't hate you…" She had a sudden thought. "Did I say anything that we can use?" "Yes, a couple things."

"Then it wasn't for nothing."

"No. I'd cut my throat if I thought it was." He brushed his lips across her forehead. "Go to sleep."

She was already dozing off. "I'm sorry about your friend, Karif. I didn't tell you, did I?" she whispered. "I know how it is to lose-"

"I know you do. Go to sleep."

"I just wanted to tell you…"

EMILY'S BREATHING WAS DEEP and steady, and she was curled against him like a little girl with a teddy bear.

Only he wasn't a teddy bear, and Garrett had spent the last hour making her go through hell. It was no wonder that she had practically fallen unconscious when it was over.

You were part of it. Part of me.

She was right, he had been there. With every word she spoke, he had been drawn deeper into the ugly morass she had undergone. He had felt her fear and her rage and helplessness.

And her hatred for Staunton.

Only now it was his hatred.

GARRETT WAS STILL IN THE bed beside her when Emily woke up the next morning. He was lying on his back, his arm beneath his head, staring absently at the wall across the room.

He glanced sideways at her as she stirred. "Awake?" He rolled over on his side and looked down at her. "Are you okay?"

She had been a moment ago, but she was suddenly uncertain. He was too close. Dark eyes gazing down at her, the sensual curve of his lips, the high cheekbones that made her want to reach out and touch.

What was wrong with her? She felt as if she couldn't breathe. She could feel the warmth of his body, and her own body was tingling. She could feel the heat in her cheeks.

"Oh, yes," he said softly. His eyes were narrowed on her face. "You're more than okay." He reached out and lightly touched the hol¬low of her throat with his fingers.

She felt her pulse leap beneath his touch. "I'm… fine."

He stared down at her for an instant. Then he took his hand away and glanced away from her. "Good. It's time we got moving. We have a plane to catch." He sat up in bed and swung his legs to the floor. "We may not have time for breakfast here. We'll catch something at the airport."

His briskness robbed the moment of any hint of the former inti¬macy, she realized, with a bewildering mixture of relief and disappoint¬ment. "You said I had to be as incognito as I was able to be. Getting on a plane and flashing ID is hardly in line with that."

"It is, if the ID is right," he said. "I had Dardon working on getting you a phony passport from the day I took you to Irana. When all hell broke loose, I grabbed it before I went to get you. You're Sandra Mar¬tinez. The picture in it vaguely resembles you but the hair is dark, and so is the complexion. Pull your hair back from your face in a knot. We'll stop on the way to the airport at a theatrical supply stote and pick up a dark wig and makeup."

"Did you have to get a phony passport, too?"

He smiled and shook his head. "I have a few I keep on hand." He headed for the door. "Even though I'm retired, old habits die hard."

"Garrett."

He stopped to look back at her.

She moistened her lips. "Thank you," she said awkwardly. "I would have been all right. You didn't have to stay with me last night."

"Yes, I did." His lips twisted in a wry smile. "I'd like to say it was my pleasure, but it wasn't. I'm not used to sleeping with women without the usual sexual gratification. It's damn hard for me." He chuckled.

"Literally." Then his smile faded. "But it was worth it. I needed to do something positive, to give you something, to make up for last night. So I watched over you and kept the monsters at bay. I didn't slay the dragon, but that will come." He opened the door. "Can you be ready in forty minutes?" "Yes."

"I'll see you then."

She got out of bed as soon as the door closed behind him. She had thought that she would feel nervous and distraught after last night, but it wasn't happening. The memories had been agonizingly painful, but she had gotten through them and survived. They had gotten through them, and she felt stronger for it. She had been telling the truth when she had told Garrett that she had felt as if he had become part of her. It had been strange. First he'd been like a hovering shadow, then closer to her, then merging. Strange and… comforting.

Comforting wasn't a word that usually applied to Garrett. He was smart, sophisticated, dangerous, and complex. Yet there had been mo¬ments when she had felt safer with him than with anyone she had ever known.

And there were moments like the one when she had first opened her eyes this morning and felt as unsure and wide-eyed as she had been as a young girl. Well, she would have to accept both sides of her feelings for Garrett until she could come to terms with them.

She shrugged and moved toward the bathroom. All this soul-searching about Garrett wasn't doing her any good. It wasn't how she felt about him that was important. It was how he could help her find and kill Staunton.

And the man who hired that son of a bitch. She still had trouble focusing on anyone but Staunton. She needed a name, a face.

But she had another name now. Nicholas Zelov. The descendant of the man who had manipulated Rasputin and the royal family. Nicholas Zelov, who had visited Moscow only five months ago.

Nicholas Zelov, the man who might lead them to Staunton.

"VERY EXOTIC," GARRETT SAID, tilting his head to look at her as she came out of the theatrical supply house. "Amazing what a change of hair color can do."

Emily shook her head as she touched the short dark wig. "I don't think I look that much different."

"Enough. Dark complexion, dark hair, different style. Most people don't probe or analyze. They accept what's on the surface." He opened the door of the waiting cab for her. "It's the best we can do without getting a full disguise job. That would be uncomfortable as hell for you." He got into the cab. "Believe me."

"Have you ever had to use a disguise?" she asked curiously.

"Yes." He didn't elaborate. "It should do. I just wish we could avoid commercial transportation entirely. But there's not time to make other arrangements."

"I haven't been back to the U.S. for a long time. Is security that tight?"

"Tight enough, but I'm not worried about U.S. security. We have to make a stop first."

She looked at him in surprise. "What stop?" "Kabul."

She stiffened. "We're going back to Afghanistan?" He nodded. "There's something we have to follow up there before we go to New York. I need to talk to someone in Kabul." "Who?"

"Aman Nemid. You said that was the name of the government of¬ficial who diverted you from your assigned mission when you got to Afghanistan. He arranged for you to go up to the mountains and clear that museum. Is that right?"

She nodded. "He used to live in that area and had a special interest."

"I'm curious to know just how special. I want to talk to him."

"You think he may be involved in that raid on our team?"

"Maybe. I'm suspicious of anything out of the ordinary when it has extraordinary results."

"He's on the National Council, and evidently the U.N. respects him, or they wouldn't have given in to his request. He may not be involved."

"Good. We'll just ask a few questions."

"You do believe Nemid set up the trap with Staunton?"

"Or maybe he had his own agenda and sent you up there to bring him back the bacon with no risk to himself, if he knew that there were other parties interested in the contents of that museum."

Emily shook her head. "I can't believe he would have sent our team if he knew what was waiting for us."

He shrugged. "It's something we have to explore. Zelov can wait for a day or two." He grimaced. "As I said, I just wish we didn't have to go into Kabul's airport. That's Ferguson's territory, which makes it a double whammy. I'm calling Dardon and telling him to find a way to get us out of there, but I want to move now."

And he obviously thought the risk of recognition was worth it. I hen let s move.

"No arguments?"

"You didn't really think I'd argue with you." Even though she didn't want to go back to Afghanistan. She was afraid it would bring too many memories to vivid life. "If Aman Nemid's involved, I want to know about it. If he hadn't sent us to the museum, none of this would have happened." She looked out the window of the cab. "I didn't make the connection, but I damned well want to know if there is one. Do you know where he lives?"

"I checked it out this morning. He has a house on the outskirts of the city. Which may prove convenient." He smiled. "I like privacy."

"YOU WON'T BELIEVE IT." Moore turned to Ferguson. "Garrett was spotted at the airport."

Ferguson stiffened. "Here in Kabul? You're sure?"

"Dietrich said he's certain. You made all our guys study that photo of him until they were ready to pitch it. He caught a glimpse of him when they were leaving customs."

"They?"

"A woman. Dietrich didn't get a good look at her. Dark hair." Ferguson began to swear. "He wouldn't do it. He wouldn't have the nerve to bring her back here." "Emily Hudson?"

"Who else? Is Dietrich following them?"

"He wouldn't have risked calling you if he wasn't."

"Damn straight. And he'd better not lose them. Tell Dietrich not to interfere with them until I get there." He got to his feet. "Come on. Let's move."

"WE'RE BEING FOLLOWED," Garrett said, his gaze on the rearview mirror. "He's being careful, and he's good."

Emily's gaze flew to the mirror. "How long?"

"I noticed him a few blocks after we left the airport."

They had left the airport twenty minutes ago. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm telling you now. I wanted to see if he was going to be joined by anyone."

"Who do you think-Staunton?"

"I'd bet it's one of Ferguson's men," Garrett said. "He was bound to have someone at the airport." "And you came here anyway?" "I told you, I have to check out Nemid."

And nothing was going to stop him, Emily realized, once more aware of the ruthless intensity that drove him. "Well, we may have trouble if Ferguson gets in the way."

"Yes, it's time we lost him." He pressed the accelerator, and the car jumped forward. "Hold on."

She had to hold on. The next ten minutes were a nightmare of twists and turns, sudden stops and swerves.

"Okay, I think we're clear," Garrett glanced at the mirror. "And Nemid's house should be a mile up the road."

"And are we just going to walk up and ring the doorbell?"

"No, I like the idea of surprise and an element of threat. I've found it works. I'll look the place over and see if I can locate where he is, then go in."

"What if the doors are locked?"

"No problem."

No, she imagined he might have experience in handling locked doors. He probably had experience in handling all kinds of dubious practices. "Not too much threat. After all, we're not certain he's done anything wrong."

"I suppose you'll be there with me to make sure that I don't." He glanced at her as he parked the car near a large house surrounded by a low brick wall. "You wouldn't consider waiting here?"

"No." She got out of the car. "I would not."

"I didn't think so." His glance skimmed the exterior of the house. "There's a light on the far side of the house. Let's start there." He took a small black box out of his pocket. "But we might as well have a head start."

"What's that?"

"An infrared detector. The heat indication will show if there's someone in the house."

"Really? Neat gadget. My father could have used one of those when we were tracking animals for one of his photo shoots." Her gaze was fastened on the light shining from the windows. "Do you see any¬thing?"

"Yes." He frowned as he looked down at the infrared detector. "Two moving blips and two stationary in that room. What the hell?"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU LOST him?" Ferguson asked.

"He knew he was being followed," Dietrich said. "And he was damn good."

"And if you were good, he wouldn't have known he was being fol¬lowed. Where was he when you realized he was trying to lose you?" "About six blocks south of here." Six blocks.

That was in one of the nicer sections of Kabul. What was Garrett doing in that area? For that matter, what was he doing in Kabul at all? He took his GPS from his pocket, typed in a city map, then narrowed it down to the particular area. Then he started to scroll up the addresses and names of the people living in that area.

"I'm going to get you, Garrett," he murmured. "I'm going to have your ass."

"I DON'T LIKE IT." GARRETT stopped short as they cautiously approached the window with light pouring out into the courtyard. "Four indications of people in that room. But where is his guard? There should be one in the courtyard."

"Maybe he doesn't have one." Though it was unusual. She knew that the tense political situation in Afghanistan made it necessary that the council members be closely guarded. "Or maybe he's not at home."

"Maybe." Garrett stiffened as he looked down at the detector. "Two of the blips are gone from the room, moving toward the back of the house. "I don't like it," he repeated. I'm going in alone to check things out. Don't argue. You don't have a weapon, and you'd be in my way. If I don't call you in three minutes, get the hell out of here."

"No. I want to-"

But he'd already opened the door and was inside.

She muttered an oath as the door shut in her face. Should she go after Garrett?

If she went blundering in search of him, it could get clumsy and dangerous. He was right, she had no weapon. That wouldn't happen a second time. But it was sensible to stay out here and wait.

She didn't want to be sensible. She wanted to barge in and-

It didn't matter what she wanted. She wouldn't chance getting Garrett hurt. So she'd stay out here and wait, dammit.

It was quiet here in the courtyard. Just the soft trickle of the foun¬tain and the sound of the night insects. It should have been peaceful, but she didn't feel peaceful. She didn't like-

The door flew open. "Come in," Garrett said. "Quick."

His voice was sharp and his mouth tight. Something was wrong.

She was beside him in an instant. "What is it?" She whispered.

"You don't have to be quiet," Garrett said grimly. "No one can hear you." He threw open the door of the library. "I wouldn't have brought you in if I didn't need your help."

Blood.

A man lay crumpled to the left of the door, blood pouring out of his stomach.

"Dear God," she whispered.

"That's the guard." Garrett strode toward the desk. "Nemid is over here. He has a gun in his hand. He evidently tried to reach for a weapon when his guard was murdered."

Emily slowly crossed the room and stared down at Nemid. Or what remained of Nemid. His head was half blown off his body.

"Staunton."

"That's my guess. Or more than likely someone who worked for him. Those moving heat indications were his men, first in here, then running down the hall toward the back entrance. I took a look and the kitchen door was wide open." Garrett said. "These are fresh kills." He glanced around the library. "And afterward they tore up the room look¬ing for something."

For the first time, Emily was aware of the couch cushions thrown on the floor. A wall safe stood open, with documents scattered on the floor beneath it. Papers in disarray on the desk, books pulled out of the shelves. "Maybe they wanted it to look like a burglary."

"Or maybe they were in a hurry and didn't care. That's why I'd bet on its being one of Staunton's men."

"Borg."

"It doesn't matter. There's a chance he didn't find what he was looking for. He didn't have much time before we drove up. Someone must have been acting as lookout while the other one searched. That's why I called you into the house. We have to move fast. Let's see if we can find what he didn't."

"We don't even know what we're looking for," Emily said. "A hammer? No, he was looking in those books. Some of them are open as if he'd been leafing through them. It has to be a paper of some sort." Death all around her. Blood all around her. She drew a deep breath. "I'll take the rest of the books in the shelves. You go through the desk again."

"Check the books on the floor that they discarded and feel for thickness. It could be under the cover or the faceplate."

"You don't have to tell me. I know all about thieves and hiding ob¬jects." She had a memory of going over the walls in the basement of the museum with Joel. "Check the walls for any hidden hollows or safes." She shook her head. "No, I'll do it." She moved toward the wall beside the bookshelves. "I'll be faster."

He nodded. "I imagine you will." He went to the desk and knelt. "And that's a top priority. Ferguson is damn good. He'll be on our tail in a heartbeat."

"FIND ANYTHING?" MOORE asked Ferguson.

"Nothing." He skipped to the next quadrant on the map. "Neither

Garrett nor Emily Hudson had any connection with anyone in that area.

"That we know about," Moore said.

"That's what I need. Encouragement," Ferguson said sourly. "I'll find them."

"We could call headquarters and get them to use a satellite to home in on-"

"And by the time we get through the red tape, Garrett and Hud¬son will be out of the city." He studied the quadrant and punched the cross-reference button. "This could be faster if we don't have to go through too many-Yes." An address had been suddenly highlighted in red on the screen. A name and telephone number immediately fol¬lowed. "Nemid. What connection…?" Then it came to him. It was Nemid who had been responsible for sending Emily Hudson to the museum, and he had been one of the most vocal council members urging her to be found. "We've got them." He started the car. "How long is it going to take us to get there?"

Moore checked the GPS. "Eight point five miles."

GARRETT FOUND A SECRET drawer in the left side of the desk. "Nemid seems to have had a liking for secret cubbyholes. The regular safe wasn't enough."

"A safe is the first place anyone looks," Emily said as she ran her fingers over the upper wall. "Is there anything in it?"

"We'll know soon." He took his pocketknife and jimmied the drawer open. "Papers. Documents of some kind. Could be pay dirt."

"Take them." She continued to run her fingers over the wall, then moved to the wall on the other side of the door. "And keep looking. A secret desk drawer is the second-most-popular place to look. Nemid was a smart man. He would have known that he should throw out some red herrings. He wouldn't have used anything that simple."

"This could be what we're looking for. We don't have much time." "Just a little longer."

"Look, Emily, we have two murdered men and our fingerprints are all over this room. Who's to say you didn't come here to murder Nemid because he sent you on that mission to the museum? We can't afford to be caught here."

She hesitated. "Just a few minutes more." She crossed to the wall behind the desk, keeping her eyes off the crumpled body of Nemid only a few feet away. Her fingertips were light and sensitive on the wall. "Let me do this…"

"FOUR MINUTES," MOORE SAID. "Should we call reinforcements?" "No, I want to handle this myself."

"That's right; Emily Hudson is still something of a heroine in the media's eyes. We wouldn't want her to cause problems."

"She's already causing problems," Ferguson said curtly. "But I'll find a way to stop it. I'll find a way to stop both of them."