Chapter 1 - Dangerous Ground
What a wonderful morning. First, the frantic search for Jamie's
geography homework, and then the missing shoe--how could it have
ended up in the planter? When her car wouldn't start and she had to
hitch a ride with the Ferguson's teenage son, well . . .
Amanda hated to be late.
She tossed her wet raincoat over the back of her desk chair and
jogged toward Billy's office, counting the steps and hoping she
wouldn't be the last one to arrive.
Easing the door open, she froze. Billy looked up from his notes,
eyeing her from over the top of his reading glasses, and chagrin
blushed Amanda's cheeks as she edged along the wall and slipped into
the only unoccupied chair. "I'm so sorry . . . "
He adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose. "As I was saying,
WellSpring Laboratories reported Doctor Mueller missing seventy-two
hours ago."
"Since when is the Agency involved in a missing person case? Isn't
this one for the local boys?" Lee slouched against the back wall
with both hands in his pockets. His tie was askew, and Amanda's
fingers itched to straighten it.
She tried to catch his eye, but he didn't look her way. Clothed
in "bottom of the hamper" chic, the rumpled shirt and creased jacket
added a certain spice to his ensemble. Even his socks looked
mismatched. Dark circles under his eyes testified to a chronic lack
of sleep, and she wondered what caused those restless nights. Or who.
Dangerous ground. Better not go there.
Billy plucked a photo from the file on his desk and held it
up. "This little device is a Phial--a prototype developed by
WellSpring to grow and transport hazardous biological compounds. On
a larger scale, this technology could make it feasible to store and
transport biological weapons."
Amanda studied the picture. It looked like her Aunt Lillian's silver
compact. Such a small thing, to be so dangerous.
"WellSpring security conducted a review of Dr. Mueller's division
after he was reported missing. Two weeks ago, there were ten of
these small prototypes, and today, only nine are accounted for. I
don't have to tell you the danger of this technology falling into the
wrong hands." Billy dropped the picture on his desk and leaned back
in his chair.
"All right, people, let's get to it," he said. "Lee, I want you to
use your contacts to identify the foreign operatives currently in
D.C. And dig up what you can on their activities for the last three
months."
He slid the file across his desk to Francine. "Check into Mueller's
background. His friends, hangouts, and bank accounts. Hell, shake
his family tree and see if anything rotten falls out. He's our only
link."
"Amanda, you'll review the last two weeks of surveillance video at
WellSpring. I want to know when Dr. Mueller came and went, what he
did, who he's spoken with, and when he blew his nose. We're looking
for patterns here, people, anything we can tie to our other sources."
"Do I have a cover?" she asked, leaning forward. Maybe this
time . . .
Billy's smile and the arched eyebrow were disconcerting, and Amanda
didn't see the humor. It was a perfectly legitimate question.
"I don't think that's necessary, this time," Billy said. "Your
contact at WellSpring will be the director of Dr. Mueller's
division. He knows who you are, and he'll arrange for you to view
the tapes. Keep in touch with Lee and Francine. If there are any
developments, they can re-direct your search."
"Yes sir. I'll . . . I'll be happy to do that." She hoped she
didn't sound as disappointed as she felt. It was hard to look
forward to sitting alone in a dark corner and digging through mounds
of data. Just another routine research assignment.
Francine smirked. "Oh, come on, Billy, she could pass as a
secretary. You know--drudgery, dictation, a few games of `chase-me-
around-the-boss's-desk.'"
Amanda tried to ignore the barb but winced at the sarcasm. Over the
past two weeks, the taunts had escalated and were delivered without
the usual cold humor. Avoiding Francine's pointed glare, she watched
Lee out of the corner of her eye. So far, he hadn't even glanced her
way.
"That's enough, Francine," Billy said, with a look that promised a
confrontation. "Can we get back on task here?"
Lee's gaze finally settled on Amanda, but his expression was closed
and unreadable. "Shouldn't a trained agent like Francine work this
one?"
"No." Billy's tone was firm. "Any more questions?"
Lee plowed his fingers through his damp hair. "Wait a minute, I
think--"
"Scarecrow, that's enough. The decision is mine. This is a routine
assignment, and Amanda's certainly capable of handling it on her
own."
Lee was watching her again. Listening to his familiar argument,
Amanda felt all the old hurt surface, but she returned Lee's scrutiny
with forced detachment. Over the last two weeks--ever since the
Vincenti case--he seemed to dismiss her work. They'd been making
progress as a team; she was sure of it. So, what was Lee's problem?
She wasn't about to let him run this avoidance pattern much longer.
"All right, if that's everything, I think you all have work to do."
Billy remained behind his desk. "Francine, you stay."
As Amanda hurried out the door, she didn't meet Francine's pointed
glare.
--------------------------------------
Without lifting his head, Billy watched Francine out of the corner of
his eye. She was fidgeting in her chair, trying to look nonchalant
and failing miserably. Good. Knocking her off guard would make this
little sermon less painful, at least for him. After several long
seconds, he cleared his throat.
"Yes, sir?" Her mask dropped into place. Cool, professional, with
just a hint of worry. Even better.
"Let's cut straight to the chase. I thought you and Amanda had
called a truce." He allowed his frown to soften and let his concern
surface. "Look, Francine, I have enough to think about. With
Scarecrow degenerating before my eyes--"
"It's about Lee . . ." All pretence dropped away. "I'm worried about
him, Billy, I have been since the Vincenti case. I was there. I saw
his expression when he walked out of that storage unit. It was
Jacob, all over again."
Billy massaged his temples. "What set him off?"
"Amanda. Doing what Amanda does best--ignoring protocol."
"She followed her instincts, and she was right. If she hadn't
followed Lee inside--"
"Billy, don't you always tell us that instinct is no substitute for
training?"
While he believed in training and procedure, Mrs. King had a way of
knocking the rulebook on its ear, in creative and often successful
ways. He took the easy route and answered her question with
another. "So, you blame her for Lee's current crisis, because she
followed her instincts--?"
"No." Francine clenched her fists and leaned forward. "I blame her
for ignoring Lee's reasonable request that she stay in the car and
out of the line of fire. I blame her for wandering in there without
a clue. I blame her for endangering his life during that
firefight . . . and . . . and I blame her for being oblivious to all
the trouble she's caused."
"Is that everything?" he asked.
"Isn't that enough?"
"You don't blame her for being there with Lee in the first place?"
She broke the eye contact. "Well . . . maybe that, too. None of
this would have happened if a trained agent had been with him. If
I'd . . . " Her eyes met his again, and most of the anger was
gone. "Look, Billy, I don't have anything against Amanda
personally. I'm sure that in her own little world she's competent.
But she's just a suburban housewife. She's not equipped for this."
"She's done very well so far. You've said so yourself."
"That was before I saw the look on Lee's face. She walked out of
that storage unit beside him, but when he looked at her, he saw
Jacob. I was there when his partner died, Billy, and it was all
there again, in his eyes. Believe me, I know what I saw."
He sighed. "I'm not doubting you. Okay. Let's take this one step
at a time. You don't blame Amanda for Jacob's death, do you?"
"Of course not, she wasn't working here then, but--"
"And you don't really know what set Lee off, do you? It could be the
time of year, the location, any one of a number of things, right?"
She nodded, not meeting his eyes.
"You can't protect Lee by pushing Amanda. Get it?"
"Got it." Francine stood. She didn't look repentant, and he could
see storm clouds brewing on the horizon.
As the door closed behind her, Billy pulled the Tums bottle from his
top drawer and shook it. Empty. He'd need more, maybe a couple of
bottles. He should, and probably would, order Lee back to Doctor
Pfaff, but it hadn't helped much the last time. Lee had crawled out
of the depression that had consumed him after Jacob's death on his
own, and he'd buried himself in his work--and women. What would it
take this time?
He turned the empty bottle over in his hands. Could you get this
stuff in bulk?
-------------------------------------------------
Two very, very long days. Sixteen hours trapped in this tiny,
windowless room, with only shelf after dusty shelf of videos for
company. Amanda forced herself to pop another cassette into the
player. Feeling sorry for herself wasn't going to get the job done.
When she closed her eyes, she could still see the images. She
blinked and massaged her temples to push back the incipient
headache. A hundred grainy surveillance tapes and she was no closer
to discovering the whereabouts of Dr. Mueller or the missing Phial.
Oh, there was information here, all right. She knew who was having
lunch with whom and all the clandestine office romances. It had been
an education, really. Who knew that you could do that with a
copier? And that thing on the CEO's desk had been creative but
couldn't have been as uncomfortable as it looked.
A tentative tap on the door and a curly, blonde head popped in. It
was attached to a gawky, young man, with big blue eyes and an
unfortunate Adam's apple that bobbed every time he spoke. "Mrs. K.?"
"Yes?" Amanda fumbled for his name, but it eluded her. He was one
of a matched set of earnest youngsters that worked in the mailroom.
"Jason and I wanted to, um, thank you for the cookies. They were
great!" He ducked his head and grinned. "Do you think they'll let
you stay on after you organize all this stuff?"
"I'm not sure. I'm here as a temp, and you know how these projects
go." She hated to stretch the truth. He was such a sweet boy. "I'm
glad you liked them."
"Yeah. We're not supposed to eat down there, you know--the crumbs
and stuff--so we hid them. Any time you wanna make more, we'll help
you with 'em." He reminded her of Jamie, all knees and elbows, with
a goofy grin. She could see her sons, in a few years, nibbling
oatmeal cookies at work and hiding the evidence.
"I'll remember that." The door shut behind him. Back to work.
Glancing at her watch, she willed the hour hand to jump to twelve.
Still forty-five minutes until she'd see Lee. Not a date, of course--
more of a working lunch. Still . . . it would be nice. If the
mechanic dropped off her car as promised, she'd make it to DeGrazio's
with time to spare.
She wouldn't bring up the cookies at lunch, although she wanted to.
Lee was wrong, anyway. It was easier to keep a low profile by
fitting in than hiding alone in a room all day. So what if he'd said
the cookies were a bad idea? It hadn't stopped him from sneaking a
couple when he thought she wasn't looking.
If she was lucky, he'd be in a better mood. He almost had to be.
She forced her attention back to the tape. Ah, wait--there was Dr.
Mueller, walking through the main lobby. Odd. She'd never seen that
guard before. Popping in tape after tape, she followed the sequence
of events, trailing first Mueller, and then the strange guard--from
the office, to the lobby, to the parking structure.
Hmm. Who was the woman in the parking lot? And what did the guard
give her? Interesting.
Amanda leaned back in her chair and took a deep breath. At last--
something. She'd deliver the tapes to the Agency research team on
her way to lunch.
---------------------------------------------------------
Sitting on the terrace under the spreading trees, Lee listened to the
occasional raindrop cut loose from the broad leaves and splash
against the canvas overhead. As he slouched under a large, yellow
umbrella that shaded the small table at DeGrazio's Cafe, he checked
his watch for the third time. And waited.
She was late. Again.
His heels tapped a staccato beat on the wet cobblestones, first one
foot, and then the other. After several minutes of throat clearing
from the next table, he realized he was tapping both heels at the
same time and forced himself to stop. A moment later, his fingertips
took up the same rhythm.
Where was she? He scanned the sidewalk beyond the ornate railing and
finally spotted Amanda rushing up the street. He raised his hand to
wave, and she nodded and hurried over, plopping down in the chair
next to him.
"I'm so sorry, Lee, but I had to drop off some tapes over at Research
before I came. I think it might be important."
He had to smile at her enthusiasm.
"And I had to park three blocks away." She grabbed for a glass of
water, catching the rim instead and almost spilling it.
While she apologized and dabbed at the tablecloth with a napkin, he
slid the glass closer. She needed it more than he did.
After several gulps, the story bubbled out. "You know, he never
leaves the building during the day, but then I saw him leave. He met
a guard, and then I thought that I should see where the guard went
and that maybe he went to the parking structure, since he was going
in that direction, so I pulled the parking tapes for the same time,
and sure enough--he was there, and a woman with dark hair spoke with
him, but, of course, I didn't recognize her . . . "
When she came up for air, he started to reply and then shook his
head. He couldn't keep up. "Let's get back to the Agency and take a
look." Lee slipped his hand under her elbow and started to stand--
and almost lost his balance.
He was anchored to an immovable object. "Amanda, come on, let's go."
She sat in stony silence, and he studied her face. Oh, lord . . .
now what? She had that expression. He just couldn't take that one--
not today. Thumping down into the chair, he rubbed his eyes with his
free hand and tried to curb his annoyance.
"Okay, what's wrong?" She had this way of making him feel like
a . . . well . . . a child.
"What--what about lunch?" The plaintive catch in her voice cut
through his frustration.
Surprised at himself, he sighed and leaned back in his chair. Why
was he so impatient today? Amanda hadn't done anything wrong--not
yet, anyway--even if the Corvette still smelled like a bakery. Ease
up, Stetson.
He felt some of his tension evaporate and relaxed for the first time
that day. The sudden absence of stress was almost painful. "I
promised you lunch, didn't I?"
"Yeah, you did."
Realizing that his hand was still on her arm, he decided to leave it
there. They were friends, after all. He and Amanda could sit here,
under the colorful umbrella, and watch the pedestrians stroll by.
They could share a pleasant lunch on a damp spring day. Couldn't
they? Besides, he was hungry. Those oatmeal cookies he'd snagged
for breakfast had worn off hours ago.
"Lunch it is then."
Chapter 2 - Old Fears Revisited
"Don't recognize this one." Lee paced the length of the Viewing
Room, stalking back and forth in front of the screens. The enhanced
images scrolled across the monitors, and the flickering light cast
surreal shadows on the darkened walls. His frustration was rising.
This was taking too long.
"There was a woman, too," Amanda said. "In the parking lot."
He nodded and resumed pacing, while Francine skipped ahead, stopping
the playback again when the woman walked into view. Lee
paused. "Francine, do you have that list of operatives? I just want
the Soviets, if you've got them."
Francine shuffled through the folders piled on the table and handed
him several, each with a photograph attached. Mid-way through the
stack, he removed one photo. While he studied it, the knots of
frustration loosened in his chest. Back on track.
"Got her. Her name is Polina Khvostova. If memory serves, she works
with KGB-sponsored terrorist groups. She'd have the contacts to get
the Phial out of the country."
Billy flipped on the lights as he strode into the room. "Bad news,
people. We just received word from the Coast Guard." He nodded to
Francine. "Queue up monitor four."
Amanda's gasp broke the silence as the screen brightened to a
horrific scene--a bloated corpse bobbing in the waves. Lee hardened
his resolve and ignored her. She'd have to get used to this sort of
thing. There was no place in this business for emotion.
Lost in his own thoughts, he realized that Billy was still talking.
"I'm afraid the Coast Guard fished Dr. Mueller out of the Bay this
morning, two miles out, off of Warehouse Creek. It looks like he was
alive when he hit the water."
Lee dimmed the screens and brought up the lights as Billy
continued. "It looks like Mueller may have been compromised by a
female agent. We may never know all the details, but we found a
woman's wedding ring, several pair of pink thong underwear, and two
airline tickets to Brazil in his apartment."
"It's Khvostova, Billy," Lee said. "We have a line on her from the
WellSpring tapes."
"Khvostova. Somehow, that doesn't surprise me. This is just her
style." Billy walked to the door. "Well, she's all we have to go
on. Lee, I need you to become her second shadow. With any luck, she
hasn't made the drop yet."
Gripping the doorknob, he turned back. "Oh, and take Amanda. She
can relay any developments to Francine."
The familiar pressure in Lee's chest returned. "Oh, no, Billy. No
way. You can't expect me to tail Khvostova and look after Amanda at
the same time. It's too dangerous--you know that." He tried to
ignore her expression. She'd just get in his way. He couldn't watch
her every minute.
Billy held the door open and pointed. "Go," he said, in a voice that
brooked no argument.
Glaring at Billy over his shoulder, Lee guided Amanda through the
door, her warm back familiar, and unsettling, under his hand. He
needed to leave her behind--he had to--and he couldn't. Her presence
already felt like an anchor around his neck, pulling him down.
-----------------------------------------------------
The gray Agency-issue sedan was inconspicuous, but its shabby
interior smelled like onions and old socks. After several hours in
the lumpy passenger seat, Amanda figured she did, too. Lee wasn't
faring any better. He wore his Corvette like a second skin but
looked awkward and uncomfortable behind this wheel.
They had followed Khvostova to "Percy's Dry Cleaner's," "Applebee's
Bakery," and into a "Pup N' Taco Drive-Thru," with no sign of any
clandestine activities. No enemy agents. No terrorists. No Phial.
In the afternoon sky, the first faint hint of pink heralded the
coming sunset. Khvostova turned toward the Bay, and they followed.
The only sounds were the whistle of the wind through the car's loose
seals and the occasional grunt from her grim companion. This was
ridiculous--the silence had gone on too long. She tried to dredge up
her courage--now was as good a time as any.
"Why are you mad at me?"
Her whispered question must have surprised him. His grip tightened
on the wheel, and his jaw clenched. "I'm not mad. What makes you
think I'm mad?"
She took a steadying breath and plunged ahead. "Well, you haven't
said two words to me in the last hour. In fact, you've hardly said
anything for the last three weeks. Not since the Vincenti case,
really. Was it that case? I thought--"
"Amanda, I don't want to talk about it now."
"I do. I think now is the perfect time to talk about it." She
turned to face him. "Partners are supposed to talk to each other.
How can we work together if we don't talk?
"We've been down this road before." Lee shifted his grip on the
wheel. "You are not my partner. You have never been my partner.
You will not be my partner in the future. End of discussion."
Not this time, buster. "We work together. We make a pretty good
team--you know we do. You can't say I don't help you, that would be
a lie, and you aren't going to lie to me, are you?"
"Amanda, I'm not going to lie to you. You've . . . helped me in the
past, and I'm grateful . . . I really am. But we can't be partners.
I've told you that before. It's too dangerous for you. You don't
know what it means."
"Tell me." Her tone was as gentle as her touch, when she rested her
fingertips on his arm.
"It means you could die. It means--" He took a deep breath, then let
it out, as a gentle rain misted the windshield and painted the sky
gunmetal gray. The rhythmic swish of the wipers matched the beat of
her heart while she waited, hoping he would screw up the courage to
continue.
"Have you ever heard of Jacob Trent?"
Amanda shook her head, afraid that words would break their fragile
rapport.
"See, that's how it goes. You die for your country, and who
remembers? No one shouts your name from the rooftops. Who cares
now? Just me, I guess. Jacob Trent was my partner and my best
friend. We . . . we were under deep cover, trying to infiltrate a
smuggling cartel. Almost did it, too. It went bad, somehow, and our
cover was blown. Maybe it was a mole in the Agency, maybe I made a
mistake, maybe he did. I don't know, and we never found out."
Lee's grip tightened again, and the car wobbled, the front right tire
kissing the center divider. He jerked the wheel and brought the car
back to center.
"Jacob tailed them through the warehouse district, while I followed
another lead. When he called me, I told him to wait, told him. He
went in without me. Didn't wait. All I needed was a few seconds.
When I went in, I found him. Alive. Hurt, though, and it slowed us
down. We almost made it. We . . . "
She gripped his shoulder. "Lee, stop. You don't have to--"
"You wanted to know, so let me finish it." His voice was low and
tight. "We almost made it out. He must have seen something or
sensed someone. He shoved me down, and I heard the gunfire.
He . . . he took a bullet meant for me. And he died, Amanda, right
there. He died in my arms, and I couldn't save him."
He slowed the car, and when he looked at her, she flinched and pulled
her hand back. The look in his eyes was cold and oddly detached,
almost frightening. "You and I can never be partners. I work alone."
He wasn't alone now, but she said nothing. What was there to say?
One thing came to mind. "What can I do to help?" she asked, afraid
of the answer.
"You can do what I tell you and stay alive."
----------------------------------------------
"What's she up to now?" Amanda asked, breaking several minutes of
strained silence.
"There's a small marina and several loading docks a mile or so ahead--
she could be stopping there." His words were clipped and his tone
harsh. Not a good sign.
At Bayside Dock 3c, Khvostova turned and drove along the shoreline.
They followed, keeping a street or two between the cars, until she
pulled through a dilapidated gate and out onto the dock. Lee stopped
the car on a side street overlooking the gate. "We don't want to be
seen, and this is the only way out."
When Amanda reached for the door handle, he added, "I need you to
stay here."
"No way! It's not safe in this car alone." As if on cue, a burly
man with bloodshot eyes and several tattoos on his bare arms
staggered up to the car. He leered in the window, and Amanda
resisted the urge to slide closer to Lee, as her admirer shuffled
down the sidewalk. She glared at Lee. "See?"
"And you think it's going to be safer skulking after the KGB?" He
hesitated, and she started to worry. She wasn't going to let him go
alone. After what looked like a painful internal debate, he grabbed
her hand and pulled her out of the car. "Come on, then. But when I
tell you to go to the car, are you going to do it? No back-talk?"
"Yeah."
Something unpleasant smoldered behind his eyes. "Is that a promise?
Amanda, I mean it."
"I promise." If that's what it took.
----------------------------------------------------
In the gathering darkness, Lee crept along the side of an abandoned
warehouse, holding Amanda's hand and pulling her behind him. If he
couldn't watch her, he could at least keep a good, solid grip. As
long as he held on, he had some control. Or he could pretend that he
did.
From the shadows, he studied the dock. A fifty-foot yacht was moored
there, its once pale-green exterior grayed with grime and covered
with seagull droppings. Its name--"Wild Witch"--was visible in
large, faded script. It might have been rotting there for decades,
except for the new ropes attaching it to the pier. It wasn't worthy
of a second glance--not a boat owned by wealthy weekend yachtsmen or
drug traffickers. It was inconspicuous.
Polina Khvostova, looking out of place on the stained deck, spoke
with a swarthy giant in white coveralls. After a brief conversation,
she passed him a metal briefcase and watched as he opened it. He
closed it and shook her hand, then turned and disappeared into the
bowels of the boat.
Lee pushed Amanda into a recessed doorway and huddled in front of
her, as Khvostova strode up the dock, past their hiding place, and
out of sight.
------------------------------------------------------
Crouched behind Lee, Amanda watched Khvostova leave. His broad back
blocked her view of the yacht, and she tried to look over his
shoulder. "What's going on now? I can't see."
"You don't need to," Lee said. He turned and gripped her shoulders--
too tightly. She stifled a gasp as his fingers dug in. "Amanda,
remember your promise?"
She nodded. The intensity in his eyes would have pinned her in
place, even without the painful grip.
"I want you to wait until I am on that boat, then go back to the
entrance and use the car phone to call Billy or Francine. Let them
know where we are. Tell them about that exchange and then wait for
me at the car. If I'm not back in fifteen minutes, call in the
cavalry." He shook her slightly, as punctuation for each clipped
sentence. "Do just what I say. Understand?"
His eyes were cold and his voice flat and emotionless, at odds with
the tremors she felt rippling through his hands. She nodded slowly.
With a final shake, he let her go and edged toward the boat. She
stayed where she was, breathing deeply to calm her own nerves, until
she saw him slide over the railing. Staying out of sight of the
boat, she threaded her way through the alleys between the abandoned
buildings. With a leaden step, she emerged from the labyrinth and
trudged to the car.
It was all she could do, now. She'd promised.
The persistent drizzle became a steady light rain, and lightening
snaked through the clouds. A shiver rippled through Amanda's body,
as she looked up at the ominous sky and counted. One. Two. Three.
Then the thunder boomed in the distance. The storm was still three
miles away.
Chapter 3 - Strength in Letting Go
Amanda stifled the sudden urge to beat the receiver against the
dashboard. A couple of good, jarring whacks might help the
connection. Of course, both Billy and Francine were unavailable, and
Amanda didn't recognize the operator's voice. Perfect timing for
training a new hire. Disconnected for the third time, she left the
message on the voicemail Hot Line, which was accessed, like
clockwork, every fifteen minutes.
She leaned back in the passenger seat and waited, staring at the
pattern of the raindrops splattering against the windshield. Waiting-
-it didn't feel right, somehow, even knowing the reasons behind Lee's
fears. What if something happened to him and she wasn't there? She
weighed the reasons she should stay put against all the reasons to
find him. It didn't take long.
She slid out of the car and started at the crackle of lightning
slicing through the night sky, then flinched at the whip-crack of
thunder one second later. The storm was closer now.
She reached into the back seat for her raincoat, and then froze at
the unmistakable pressure of hard steel against her back. She was
afraid to move, afraid to breathe, and an almost painful surge of
adrenaline urged her feet to pound pavement. Before she could think
of moving, her assailant gripped her arm and spun her around, shoving
her against the side of the car.
Polina Khvostova brought the muzzle of the gun down to Amanda's
chest. "You followed me here. Who are you, and what agency are you
with?" she demanded, shoving the gun forward to punctuate each word.
She used her free hand to frisk Amanda. "You don't carry a weapon?"
Amanda stayed quiet. The only thing she could do now was buy Lee
time.
Grabbing her arm, Khvostova swung her away from the car and shoved
her toward the docks. Amanda refused to panic. Billy would have her
message in a few more minutes, and help would be on the way.
Thunder boomed, lightening jolted overhead, and the heavens broke. A
stinging rain pelted Amanda, as she trudged ahead of Khvostova toward
the yacht.
The storm was here.
------------------------------------------------------
The new operator adjusted her glasses and glared at the offending
switchboard. She punched several buttons in quick succession, and
then pounded on the keypad with her fist. After a guilty glance
around the room, she gathered up the keys scattered across the
blotter and crammed them back in place.
Great, now they'd think she'd broken it.
The insistent lights flickered on and off, then the damn thing
reported in its monotone voice--Your Incoming Messages have been
saved. Saved to where? She grabbed the Technical Manual and thumbed
through it. She just had to retrieve them before her boss or
his "dragon-lady" assistant came back.
--------------------------------------------------------
Lee sidled along the railing, following the sound of a man speaking
Russian, and then paused when another answered. Ah, two, at least.
After complaining about the scarcity of good vodka and cheap women,
they discussed their rendezvous with a soviet freighter waiting in
international waters. They walked past his hiding place, and he
pressed himself further into the shadows.
One man was short and wiry, the other large and meaty. He tried and
failed to shake the incongruous image of Laurel and Hardy that sprang
to mind--this was no comedy team. Their conversation faded when they
stepped into the main cabin, and Lee considered following but decided
he'd heard enough. He turned to slide back over the railing and
froze.
Thunder rolled over the yacht, and the lightening burned the image
into his soul. Khvostova had her.
She shoved Amanda up the ramp, stopping midway. "I know she was not
alone," Khvostova shouted. "If you don't show yourself, I will kill
her now!"
What choice did he have? None. Lee emerged from the shadows,
holding his gun in the air. He knew how this nightmare would play
out.
"Drop it overboard," Khvostova ordered. "Carefully, or she dies."
Lee's fingers tightened, and then he released his grip. The gun hit
the water with a hollow splash, and he heard heavy footsteps behind
him. He whirled to face the new threat, but there was no room to
react. A flash of white, and a mountain hit him broadside. His head
bounced on the unforgiving deck, and there was no comfort in his last
thought before the darkness claimed him. He'd failed.
----------------------------------------------------------
With Khvostova's gun providing the incentive, Amanda stepped onto the
rolling deck. She stared at Lee, willing him to run, get up, or even
move. Anything. She couldn't get to him, except through three
hundred pounds of Russian muscle and several inches of steel. Lee
didn't flinch when the sailor tied his hands behind his back, and he
didn't resist when the "Mountain" tossed him into a small compartment
below the bridge.
She was on her own.
The smaller of the two Russians smiled at her, but there was no humor
in his empty, dark eyes. "I am Yuri, and the gentleman over there is
Boris." The huge man nodded. Yuri continued, "We will be your--what
you say? Ah, yes . . . your `Cruise Directors,' for the remainder of
your journey." He snapped his fingers, and Boris smiled, stalking
toward her.
"I believe your trip will be short."
Panic rising, she looked for a way out, a weapon, anything at all.
She had to defend herself, somehow. Boris approached, his hands
outstretched, and she scuttled back until she hit the railing. There
was nowhere to go. He wrapped his fist in the fabric of her shirt
and dragged her up, until the tips of her shoes touched the deck.
The cruel smile that stretched his lips did nothing to reassure her,
and she grabbed his thick wrist with both hands.
"Who do you work for, little one, and who is your friend?" His stale
breath choked her, and she wanted to close her eyes, to hide herself
away from the pain she knew was coming. Desperate, she jerked her
knee up, but he blocked it with his free hand.
Still smiling, he backhanded her, slamming her back against the
railing and down onto the deck.
"Who are you? You will tell me, or you will die." Yuri's thin voice
fluttered in her ears.
Lying on her side on the scuffed and filthy deck, she rewarded him
with silence and concentrated on ignoring the ringing in her ears. A
shadow blocked the moonlight, and she flinched, closing her eyes.
But no new blows fell. Khvostova stepped over her and knelt, pulling
Amanda's wrists together behind her back and tying them.
After a hurried discussion with both men in Russian, Khvostova bent
down, her lips inches from Amanda's ear. "Say hello to dear Doctor
Mueller for me." She stood, and her footsteps faded, as she stepped
off the yacht and down onto the ramp.
Boris jerked Amanda off the deck. She tried to get her feet under
her, but her wobbly legs didn't want to co-operate. He half dragged
her across the deck and shoved her into the same cabin that had
swallowed Lee. She staggered when the door slammed behind her. The
room was sheathed in darkness, with a delicate sliver of new
moonlight beaming through one tiny window.
There must be a break in the storm. A small, positive thing, but she
grasped it. At the click of a padlock, her heart fell. No easy
escape that way. So much for a positive outlook. Dizzy, she swayed
on nerveless legs. What now?
A moan broke through the fog. "Oh my gosh." She dropped to her
knees beside Lee's still form. "Lee, are you okay? Please . . . oh,
please, come on . . . answer me." When he rolled over, she was
rewarded with another groan.
Moonlight touched his face, and he blinked owlishly. "Mm . . .
fine." He frowned and then tried again. "I'm fine, got a hard
head. Amanda, are you all right? Did--did they hurt you? What
happened?"
She turned her face away. "I'm okay--really. But my hands are tied."
"Can you get your hands where I can reach them?"
"I think so, give me a second." She flopped over on her side,
swallowing a groan as her bruised hip scraped across the rough
carpet. She couldn't give into that just yet.
Lee's cold hands gripped her fingers before working on the
knots. "There. Ouch--got it. Now untie me."
As she fumbled with his ropes, a vibration resonated along the floor
and up through her body. "Oh, no. We're moving," she said, hoping
the deep thrum of the engines masked the tremor in her voice. It
just kept getting worse and worse. What else could go wrong?
Lee nodded. "Yeah, I know." The last knot parted, and she helped
him to his feet, or maybe he helped her, she couldn't tell. He
grasped her hand and led her to the porthole. Turning her face to
the dim moonlight, he trailed his fingers over the bruise on the side
of her face, around the small cut above her eye, and across her split
lip. His touch was painful and sweet. It was almost like he cared.
"Which one did this?" His voice was a gruff whisper. He pulled her
into his arms and held her. Wrapped in his embrace, she felt
protected, safe, and a little embarrassed. She needed to be tough,
to prove she could be his partner. Strong . . . and . . .
But it felt so good.
"The big one. Boris," she said, her voice muffled in his
collar. "The little one is Yuri."
"Boris and Yuri, huh? Even their names are clichés." A gentle
finger under her chin tilted her face toward his. Lee's expression
was almost tender, but there was steel in his tone. "Did they hurt
you in any other way?"
"Oh, no. They just wanted to know about us and got a little upset
when I wouldn't tell them. I'm fine. I was just afraid, and . . . I
was just so worried about you." She looked out the porthole, so he
wouldn't see that there were tears welling up behind her words. Her
unruly thoughts didn't help, with one desperate scenario after
another crowding to the surface. "This is really bad, isn't it? I'm
so sorry. It's my fault. If Khvostova hadn't--"
"No. It's not your fault. If anyone's to blame, it's me. I
shouldn't have brought you."
"Lee, maybe it's nobody's fault. Let's just . . . stop, all right?"
She pushed away and folded her arms across her chest. The porthole
beckoned--a glimmer of freedom--and she watched the silver-tipped
swells slip by.
------------------------------------------------------------
Lee reached for her and then stopped. Illuminated by the moonlight,
Amanda's expression changed, from fear and hopelessness, to
calculation. She stepped back and studied the window, and Lee
waited. She had that look again--the one that surfaced just before
she announced a hair-brained, but surprisingly effective idea. What
was going on in that mind of hers?
"I could fit through there, I think."
He wasn't expecting that, and the pressure in his chest returned. It
was getting to be a habit. "No way, it's too small. There's no way
you'd fit." Her stubborn expression worried him. "Even if it was
possible . . ." He peered through the porthole, looking up, then
down. "This window overlooks the water--there's nothing under it,
and the deck railing is what, four feet above? You couldn't even
reach it, much less pull yourself over."
The water was moving so fast. Too fast.
She pulled him away from the porthole. "I can try," she said, almost
to herself. "They're going to kill us anyway, just like Dr.
Mueller. Khvostova said so." She reached, as if to touch his face,
then stopped mid-gesture. "You can't fit through yourself, and,
well, if I can get out, maybe I can find the key to open the door. I
might be able to find a radio and call for help. I want to do
something. I . . . I need to try."
He could see she was afraid, and he took her hand. She was so open,
so honest with her emotions. Sometimes, he envied that. "Amanda, I
won't be able to go with you, to help. I won't be there if--"
"I know," she said. "But it's the only way, isn't it?"
Think, Stetson, think. There had to be another way. What was he
going to let her do? How could he? He was afraid to let her try it
but more afraid to stop her. He'd rather die trying to escape, any
day. How could he blame her if she felt the same way? And there was
more at stake here than their lives.
"You just hold on to my feet," she said, and then shivered. "The
water does look pretty cold." He heard a hint of doubt creep into
her voice.
He turned her to face him and placed his hands on her
shoulders. "You don't have to do this."
"Yeah, I think I do."
------------------------------------------------------
With Lee supporting her weight, she slipped first one shoulder, then
the other through the small opening. After her shoulders were free,
she began to wriggle and twist. Caught around her ribcage for a
moment, she panicked when her breathing was restricted, then forced
herself to relax and breathe out. Shoving against the bulkhead with
both arms, she forced herself halfway through. Her hips were too
wide. She squirmed sideways, slipping one leg forward and one back
to change the angle. Just a little more . . . push a little
harder . . .
With a 'pop', she fell through the porthole. She felt Lee's grip
slip, but he grabbed her ankles, before they disappeared through the
opening, and yanked backward. She dangled--head down--feeling the
blood pound through her skull, and then dragged herself up, until she
could dig her fingers into the sill. Lee's reassuring weight against
her legs kept her from falling, and he helped pull her into a sitting
position in the window.
She rested there--clinging like a barnacle to the side of the boat--
until her heart ceased its wild fluttering.
Safe.
Well, she couldn't sit there forever.
"Lee, hold on, I'm going to move," was all the warning she gave him
as she pulled her right leg out of his grasp. She was committed now,
and she couldn't hold the awkward position for long. "When I say let
go . . . let go."
She took a deep breath. "LET GO!"
Lee's comforting grasp slid down her left leg when she moved it to
the sill and reached up, in one fluid motion. Her fear-slicked palms
smacked the railing overhead, and then slipped when she started to
fall back. With one last, adrenaline-drenched effort, she flung her
arms out, flailing wildly, and managed to grab on. Terror lent her
strength, and she jerked her body forward and locked both arms tight
around the rain-slicked rail.
Amanda looked down--and wished she hadn't. The sight of the water
rushing under her feet didn't slow the frantic beating of her heart,
or stop her arms and legs from shaking. She closed her eyes and
focused on breathing.
She was alive.
Wow.
--------------------------------------------------------
His arms stretched through the porthole, Lee tried to support her.
One second. Then two. Then another. And another. Heart pounding,
he expected her to plummet past him, and he was afraid to breathe,
afraid to break the spell that held her above the rushing water.
Several more interminable seconds passed, and he allowed his tight
muscles to relax. Somehow, she'd done it.
Wow.
Her breathless voice drifted down. "I'm okay . . . um, you can let
go now." His panicked grip had to be cutting off her circulation, so
he forced himself to let go. When her feet left the sill, he looked
out to see her slim form disappear over the railing. He stepped back
and leaned against the sill, stunned that she'd done it.
And that he'd let her.
What had he been thinking? This was a mistake. He needed to move,
so he paced back and forth across the small room, slamming his
clenched fist into the palm of his hand in time with his steps. His
tortured thoughts fell into the same rhythm.
Where was she now? What was she doing? Where was she?
Chapter 4 - Separate Paths
Amanda crept along the railing toward the bridge, passing several
dark compartments. Deep male voices rumbled forward from the back of
the yacht, but she had no idea how many men were on board, or where
they were. So far, she had seen the two. Her hands still shook from
her battle with the porthole, and her aching muscles and strained
joints nagged. I'm gonna be stiff tomorrow, she thought. If there
was a tomorrow.
Thankfully, the rain had stopped.
Huddling in a dark doorway, she paused and listened. Silence.
Great. Now she didn't know where they were. The sudden drum of
heavy footsteps along the deck drove her inside the tiny room. The
steps grew louder and louder, pounding with her heart's rhythm.
Frantic, she looked for a place to hide. There! The little door
beside the bed. She slipped inside, pulling it shut, just as the
compartment door swung open.
Curled into the small space, she stilled her breathing and listened
to someone shuffle around the room. She heard the bed creak, and the
light flickered off, clothing her little haven in darkness. Amanda
drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, trying
to disappear. She needed to be silent, but her heartbeat was
deafening, each thump a claxon--louder and louder.
Why couldn't they hear it?
---------------------------------------------------------
Lee paced across the dark room with the mindless rhythm of a caged
lion. His wayward thoughts darted in terrifying directions, with
Amanda injured or dead at the end of each twisting path. They would
catch her. She wouldn't be able to get to the radio. They would
hurt her. She didn't have the right training. She had no backup …
That was it, wasn't it? She was out there without him. He was
supposed to be her watchdog, her protector, her . . . no, not her
partner. Never that.
He whirled and pounded his right fist into the door, welcoming the
pain. Why was she out there, while he was here? It couldn't happen
again, could it? Lightening didn't strike twice, or three times. It
wasn't right.
Cradling his aching hand against his chest, he slumped down with his
back against the doorframe. This was what he had been afraid of all
along. He might fail her.
Like he had failed Jacob.
And Dorothy …
Forcing the pain and fear to the back of his mind, he inhaled and
exhaled in a deep, even rhythm--calming his nerves, as he calmed his
breathing. He concentrated on the tang of the salt air, the rolling
motion of the boat, the damp breeze. Amanda was going to need him.
Trying to keep the tenuous balance, he stood and pressed his ear
against the door and listened. And waited. The paralyzing fear was
pushed back--for now.
He had to be ready when opportunity presented itself.
He needed to believe that it would.
----------------------------------------------------------
When the heavy breathing deepened into metered snores, Amanda eased
the closet door open and crawled from her hiding place, the dirty
carpet rough under her hands and knees. At least it muffled the
sound. She slipped out onto the deck and huddled against the wall,
just in view of the control room. Night was her friend, now; even
the cloud cover helped. She was almost sorry to see the moon sliding
out from behind the thunderheads.
There was Yuri, back-lit against the dim lights of the yacht's
control panels. Now what? She was cold but tried to focus on her
mission--just that. What would Lee do in this situation? She knew,
without a doubt, that he would figure a way out. Lee was never
paralyzed by fear. He would come through. He always did.
So would she.
After what seemed like an eternity, Yuri left the bridge and trudged
toward the back of the boat. Waiting until his heavy footsteps
faded, she eased into the room, trailing her fingertips across the
charts and maps spread out on the table and over the slim metal
briefcase that pinned down one tattered corner. Now all she needed
was time.
----------------------------------------------------------
Lee waited, listening to the whisper of the water rushing under the
bow. No voices, no jarring noise marred the still night air.
Everything was peaceful--and quiet. It would take hours to clear the
Bay, but he knew there wasn't much time left for him. Or Amanda.
His nerves stretched to the breaking point, waiting for the
maelstrom.
Without warning, the storm broke.
Urgent, boot-clad footsteps broke his concentration, as they pounded
on the deck. Shouting, too--angry and insistent. The vibrations
died under his feet, and the persistent whine of the engines faded.
They were stopping. Why? What was happening? Lee's heart broke as
a woman's desperate scream cut through the angry thunder of male
voices.
"Amanda?" he shouted, as he beat against the door with both
fists. "Damn it, open this door!" After an eternity, the click of
the padlock opening broke through the black fury, and he jumped back,
hands balled into fists, ready to fight.
His body tensed to attack, every nerve raw, but the Russians stood
back from the door. Boris gestured with his gun for Lee to step
forward, while the other man covered him from a distance. He
complied. He had no choice.
Stepping into the corridor, he didn't resist when he was pulled to
the floor--face down against the rough deck. A knee pressed against
his back, and his hands were jerked behind him and retied. Once
secured, he was yanked to his feet and propelled toward the stern,
the hard muzzle of a gun against his back.
The sailors pushed him onto the narrow bench at the back of the boat
and tied his wrists to the railing. His worried gaze fixed on a
crumpled form on the other side of the deck, and his fear built to a
crescendo. Amanda lay on her side, her hands bound in front of her,
and she wasn't moving. Tangled hair covered her face, and, in the
ship's dim light, he couldn't tell if she was breathing. No . . .
no, she was alive. She had to be.
Yuri blocked his view. "I ask it, only once. Who are you, and who
do you work for?"
A familiar calm crept through his jangled nerves. In every
confrontation, there were predators--and quarry. A predator would be
unwise to allow the prey to smell fear. Lee stared into the man's
beady eyes and forced a small, confident smirk. Bravado was his
weapon now. He refused to allow his attention to wander toward the
deck.
His smirk fell away when Boris stalked over to Amanda, with a grace
that belied his size. Lee struggled against the ropes. No . . .
"Stop. Don't--"
He sucked in a horrified breath as Boris paused and smiled. Their
eyes met, and Boris' smile broadened. Without breaking eye contact
with Lee, he kicked her in the side, rolling her back against the
railing.
Lee could almost feel the pain in his own ribs as Amanda gasped and
tried to curl into a ball. Shaking his head, Boris bent over and
swept her up in a bear hug. She faced Lee now, and he saw the blood
dripping onto her collar from the reopened cut above her eye. As the
man tightened his grip, she gasped again.
"Stop it. Leave her alone. She doesn't know anything." The words
rushed out, and he couldn't seem to stop them. From predator to
prey, in a single, tortured heartbeat. "Please, just leave her
alone."
"I think you have feelings for this one . . . Yes, perhaps so," Yuri
said. He leaned against the railing beside Lee. "You would like to
talk to me now? Who was she talking to on the radio?"
Lee's heart jumped. She'd gotten to the radio. When Yuri turned on
his heel and stalked toward Amanda, his relief gave way to anguish.
The bastard reached out and caressed her face. Crushed in the
monster's arms, she couldn't evade his touch. Lee's stomach rolled,
out of synch with the gentle rocking of the yacht. When he fought
free, he'd kill them. Painfully.
The little man trailed his fingers across her face, and then traced
her jaw-line. She stared straight ahead. "Ah, if only we had more
time. It could be a pleasure. Unfortunately, we don't. I ask you a
last time, who do you work for?" His cheery tone was at odds with
his expression.
Without waiting for an answer, he gestured to Boris, who dragged
Amanda over to the bench next to Lee and held her over the railing.
Her frightened eyes met his. The ocean, the yacht--the whole
situation--faded, and his focus narrowed, until his whole world was
in her eyes. There was hope there, and her faith in him shone like a
beacon.
Misplaced faith. He had never felt so helpless in his life.
"Now how long do you think she will live in the cold water? How long
will she fight to breathe? She weighs nothing, this one. How long
before the cold steals the air from her lungs?"
A subtle movement drew Lee's eyes. Amanda's hands clenched and
unclenched, working back and forth to loosen the ropes. Her hands
were almost free. All she needed was time.
"Let us see," Yuri said.
"Wait, let me--" Lee choked.
At a snap of Yuri's fingers, Boris tossed Amanda over the railing.
"Wait … Damn it! You can't--" Lee tried to follow her over the side,
but his ropes held.
Boris swiveled a spotlight and directed the beam over the
water. "You must have a good view, yes? Do you wish to talk now?"
Marshalling every ounce of strength, Lee kicked out, catching Yuri in
the stomach, knocking the air out of him with a satisfying, "Oomph."
Spinning, he tried to scissor his legs across Boris' thick knees and
ended up dangling from the railing, his legs pinned under his fallen
target.
The burly Russian knocked Lee's head against the bench until he
stopped fighting. As he fought to stay conscious, Lee strained to
hear the splashing behind him. He was dragged back up against the
railing and given an unobstructed view.
-----------------------------------------------------
Amanda hit the cold, black water hard--the sudden impact knocking the
air out of her lungs. She struggled as she went under and kicked
toward the surface. Sputtering, her head cleared the water, and then
she started to sink again.
It was hard to stay afloat, with her sodden clothes pulling her down
and her hands still tied. She'd loosened the knots while she lay on
the deck, but they wouldn't come free. Gasping as her head broke the
surface, she fought the panic, even as she continued to fight the
rope.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
With a cold terror, Lee watched Amanda struggle. This couldn't be
happening. Yuri leaned over, winding his hands through Lee's tangled
hair and jerking his head forward. "You talk now? Not much time
left, I think."
Ready to promise anything, Lee paused as the splashing behind him
ceased.
No!
He wrenched around as Amanda slipped beneath the waves. He waited,
shocked into immobility, for several breathless seconds, as she
seemed to hover just beneath the surface. A flash of white tennis
shoe in the darkness, and her face broke the surface again. She
looked straight up at him, and their eyes met for a moment, then she
slipped beneath the dark water.
Without a trace. Not a ripple to mark her passing.
Lee held his breath, counting his own heartbeats, waiting.
A minute passed.
And another.
He stared at the still water in disbelief. Why didn't she fight free
of the loose ropes? Where was she? It couldn't be over. Not like
this. Amanda was too good, too strong, to die like this. He'd
failed again--
"American women are weak. A Soviet woman would not have drowned so
quickly." Boris slid a knife between Lee's wrists and slit the rope,
then grasped one of his arms and motioned his compatriot to take the
other. "We have no more time for these games. You will tell us who
you work for. Now."
He saw his chance, and he took it, ramming his shoulder into Yuri's
stomach and shoving him off balance. The knife clattered on the
weathered planks, and Lee dove for it, using his momentum to roll
into Boris' legs, upending the larger man and knocking him to the
deck.
Scrabbling across the slippery surface, he dragged himself toward the
knife, fingers outstretched. Just a little further. His fingertips
kissed the hilt . . .
The knife was snatched away. Yuri sliced the air over his head and
plunged the knife toward Lee's face. Lee swung his legs around and
kicked out, catching the smaller man in the knees with both feet,
knocking him back against the railing.
Yuri lost his grip on the knife. It skittered along the railing,
teetered on the edge, and then slid into the ocean.
Lee pulled himself up along the bench and gripped the railing with
both hands. The dark water glistened under the full moon. It didn't
look inviting.
Boris pulled Yuri to his feet, and they both edged forward. Yuri
reached one hand toward Lee, his expression bland. A cold smile
creased his angular face, but there was no humor in his eyes. "You
don't want to do that, do you? Wouldn't you rather speak with us?
We just want to talk."
He had no choice, really. Lee reached down, pulled one of several
battered lifejackets from under the bench, and tossed it over the
side. Keeping his gaze on the two men, he reached for another.
Before he could grab it, Yuri and Boris lunged toward him, guns
drawn.
Now it was guns. No more games. Interrogation over.
Lee whirled and dove over the railing, piercing the icy water without
a splash. Letting his momentum carry him away from the boat, he
glided under the black swells, as bullets stung the water around
him. He came up well away from the yacht, but, as the spotlight
swept overhead, he was forced to slip back under the murky water.
How long would they search? Not long, it seemed.
He felt the vibration of the motor, just before he felt the kiss of
bubbles brushing against his face. They were leaving. A final sweep
of the spotlight drove him under again, and he watched the pale hull
slice through the water above him. He stayed under as long as he
could, until the need to breathe forced him to the surface.
"Amanda?" Breaking the surface with a shout, he spun around,
unwilling to believe that she was gone.
A gentle bump against his legs took his breath away, and something
cold and quick brushed against his back. Jerking away, he tried to
look around, but the pale moonlight did little to illuminate the
water. The unwelcome image of Dr. Mueller's bloated body floated to
the surface of his scattered thoughts.
"Amanda! Damn it, where are you?"
Chapter 5 - The Power of Positive Thinking
"Lee." A familiar voice chimed behind him. He whirled around and
pulled her into his arms, almost pulling her under.
"I thought you were dead." He brushed the tangle of wet hair out of
her eyes. "I thought . . ."
Teeth chattering, she smiled at him. "Nope. Gosh, Lee, you can let
go now--you're going to sink us."
Lee pushed her toward the life jacket bobbing several yards away.
Inexplicably, she fought him when he tried to pull it around
her. "Lee, what about you?"
Ignoring her, he fastened it around her thin frame. "You wear the
jacket, and I'll hold on to you. If we don't move too much, it
should keep both our heads out of the water."
He turned Amanda around and pulled her close, until their noses were
inches apart. "You scared me to death. What happened to the ropes?"
"Survival swimming."
"Wh-at?"
"Survival swimming," she repeated. "Dean and I took a course once,
you know--how to survive if your fishing waders fill up with water
and you s . . . sink to the bottom of a lake, or . . . um . . . what
to do if you are pulled overboard by a sailfish and t . . . tangled
in the line--and other things."
"Wha-aat?" she sputtered. "Don't look at me like that, you knew we
used to go fishing."
Lee smiled at her exasperation. "And just where did you learn these
useful survival skills?"
"In the pool at the YMCA. They have these classes--"
"Maybe the Agency should send all its agents to the `Y,'" he said,
shaking his head. He brushed her cheek with his fingers, then pulled
his fingers away. Her skin was so cold.
"I started to . . . to panic, you know, and I thought the ropes were
really loose, but when they got wet … "
After a moment, she took a deep breath and continued as he nodded
encouragement, "Well, then I remembered the class. They teach you
not to panic. It was harder than I thought, but once I relaxed, I
got the ropes off. I saw you looking down at me . . . I'm so sorry I
scared you, I thought that they . . . they . . . might shoot me if
they knew I was loose, so I swam next to the boat. They would've had
to lean over to see me. I pu--put the rope in my pocket so it
wouldn't float out and give me away."
"I stay--stayed there until the engine started, then I swam over to
you." She added, almost as an afterthought, "It's pu--pretty cold,
isn't it?""
He pulled her closer. "Yeah. It is. They said you got to the
radio."
"Yeah, I sent out an SOS, but I don't know if . . . if . . . it will
reach anyone, or even if it all went through. Yuri found me before I
could finish. Will the Agency be looking for us? I thought that the
message I left on the voice mail system would have brought help."
Amanda leaned into his embrace.
Lee told her the truth. "I don't know. It's not just about us,
though--I failed. They got away with the Phial. Maybe the Agency
will be able to stop them, but . . ." Doubt rested on his shoulders,
pulling him down. "I failed."
"Maybe the boat will come back."
Lee heard the familiar optimism in her voice. The unsinkable Amanda
King. The truth could be hard, sometimes. "I don't think so,
Amanda. I can't think of any reason why they would do that."
"Well, I can think of one."
She reached under the life vest, into her shirt, and dug around, then
raised her hand out of the water. The Phial nestled on her
palm. "They should know better than to leave stuff just lying
around."
"Where did you find it?"
"On the bridge, after I got out of the closet."
"What were you doing in the--oh, never mind, you can tell me later."
Lee plucked the Phial from her palm and gazed at it for a moment,
then tucked it into his shirt. He wrapped both arms around her and
squeezed. When she hissed and flinched away, he loosened his
grip. "Amanda, are you okay?"
"Just hurts a little, that's all," she said. "It's okay, really."
He shifted his grip away from her ribs and grasped the lifejacket
instead. "You're amazing. You know that?"
Amanda pulled a lock of sodden hair away from her eyes. "Gee,
thanks, 'bout time you noticed."
--------------------------------------------------------
Francine finished tearing strips out of the new operator. "Forget
the excuses--just forward the message to Mr. Melrose's office. No,
here, let me do it." She leaned across the desk and batted the
flustered woman's hands away from the switchboard. "Billy," she
called, as she spotted him crossing the Bullpen. "Emergency--your
office."
After giving the operator a final "I'll deal with you later" glare,
she almost ran to join him, all decorum forgotten.
"Sir," she started, as he shut the door to his office. "Amanda left
a message on the secured voice mail line, requesting backup at the
Bayside Docks, Number3c. The timestamp places the call at eight-
seventeen p.m."
Billy glanced at his watch. "It's eleven forty-five p.m. now. Get
that backup rolling. Grab a pilot--you and I'll take the chopper."
----------------------------------------------------------
"Amanda?" Lee's insistent voice cut through the fog. "Amanda, pay
attention. You said your class taught you other things. What other
things?"
"Hmmm?" Why was everything so fuzzy? There was something important,
something hovering just on the edge of her memory. What was
it? "Huddle!"
"What?"
"H-u-d-d-l-e." It was important for Lee to understand. "It's cold."
"Amanda, I know it's cold."
"I . . . I mean, it's really cold. Cold enough . . . hypothermia.
If . . . if we stay very still and huddle together, we'll last
longer."
His strong arms pulled her close. "No problem, I think we can do
that. What else?"
It was getting harder to concentrate. Was it the cold? She'd often
wondered what it would be like to be engulfed by these arms, for more
than a brief moment. This wasn't exactly how she'd envisioned it.
"What else, Amanda? Come on, stay with me."
She was with him. "Um, the life jacket can … can keep you going
fifty percent longer. Lee, you don't have one. I have to . . ." She
fumbled with the straps, until his hand closed over hers.
"No, leave it." His breath was warm against her ear. "It's okay.
You're feeling the cold more than I am."
"'Cause I'm smaller. Thin cools faster than fat."
"See, it evens out." He snuggled even closer. "Hey, lady, are you
calling me fat?"
She shook her head. None of this would do much good. She knew how
long they had.
--------------------------------------------------
Ordering a final pass over the deserted dock, Billy Melrose felt the
familiar lump in the pit of his stomach--his agents were in trouble.
Again. Even with Amanda's steadying influence, the Scarecrow seemed
hell-bent on self-destruction. Popping a handful of Tums into his
mouth, he stared at the water rushing below.
Francine tapped his arm.
"The Coast Guard is relaying an S.O.S.," Francine turned her head and
covered her other ear, trying to hear over the thump of the
helicopter's blades. "It's Amanda and Lee! They're on a yacht
called `Wild Witch' headed for international waters to rendezvous
with a Russian freighter." She pulled a pad of paper from the pocket
behind the pilot's seat and began to write. She tore off the top
sheet and handed it to the pilot. "These are their last co-
ordinates."
The pilot shook his head, shouting over the noise, "It's going to be
difficult to spot them in the dark. We can try to triangulate their
projected position and travel along the same path."
"Do it," Billy ordered.
------------------------------------------------
Lee jumped when Amanda's icy fingers fumbled with his belt. "Wha-
aat . . . what are you doing?"
She gave his belt another jerk. "I just remembered . . . rope . . .
in my pocket, and I want to tie . . . us together. Help me . . . get
it tight."
He pulled the cord through his belt, up through a loop at the bottom
edge of her life jacket, and tugged, stopping when his weight began
to drag her lower in the water. Feeling some relief from the
constant downward drag, he tied it off.
"Good," she whispered. "I was worried . . . I don't want you to get
too tired. Don't want us to drift apart."
He was feeling the cold now, too. Body and soul.
Her eyes closed, and he felt her tension drain away. He was almost
surprised when she added, "I waited in the car--this time." She
drooped in his arms.
"No! No, you don't. Amanda, you need to stay awake for me.
Understand?"
"M'not so cold anymore," she said. She was no longer shivering.
"Amanda, stay with me." He shook her until she opened her
eyes. "Listen to me. I need you to do something for me. Please?"
"'Kay."
Her voice was too weak. How could he keep her connected? "Listen, I
want you to think of something positive. Just one thing,
understand?"
"Why?"
"Just do it, okay?"
She snuggled closer and rested her head on his shoulder. He was
about to panic, when she whispered, "Mr. Positive, huh?"
"You know me. All right, do you have one?" He waited for her
answer. As the seconds turned into minutes, the cold pierced his
heart.
"Mmm, okay."
Some of the ice must have melted, because his blood pounded in his
chest. She was still with him. "Now keep that in your mind and
forget about everything else. No cold, no fear, just that one
image." As she relaxed in his arms, a ghost of a smile played across
her lips, and he wondered what she was thinking.
"How `bout you?"
"I'm working on it." Lee rested his cheek on the top of her head.
Why couldn't he think of anything? Just one positive thing. He
couldn't focus. Give it up, Stetson. Why fight it? You failed her,
just like you failed Jacob. And Dorothy. He thought of the women
he'd dated and the places he'd seen, the excitement and duty--his
entire life in an instant. But he couldn't fix on one positive
thought to carry him through.
So, he stopped trying and just concentrated on holding Amanda. Just
that. He emptied his mind, trying to let go of the guilt and fear.
It no longer mattered, really. In the silence, from the murky depths
of his despair, one thought formed in his mind, pushing back the
cold. Strange. Why was that image so strong? It didn't make any
sense, but he gave himself to it.
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. And dreamed of warm
oatmeal cookies.
------------------------------------------------------
Billy re-focused his binoculars and squinted through the eyepieces.
Still nothing.
"This is like searching for a needle in a haystack--a cold, wet
haystack." Francine scanned the water below. "Traveling on a line
from the docks to these co-ordinates, we should've seen something.
What does Amanda know about navigation, anyway? Do you think she
could have made a mistake?"
"No."
"Billy, so far we've seen four sailboats and a barge, but nothing
like the yacht Amanda described."
"Keep looking."
The helicopter's spotlight swept back and forth ahead of them, and
they trained their binoculars on the wide expanse below.
There, this one seemed to match the description. Its size was right,
and its location would place it within the projected search grid, but
it was heading in the wrong direction. He signaled the pilot to drop
down and re-focused.
"Billy, it's going the wrong way--it can't be the right one. Why
would they turn around?"
"Just humor me," he said, ". . . a little closer."
Resting the binoculars on his knee, he leaned back into his seat and
nodded. "It's the `Wild Witch.' How close is the Coast Guard?"
"Less that a mile away."
"Good, let's get our people."
-------------------------------------------------------------
The cold water had drained most of his strength and all of his hope.
Supported by his link to Amanda's life jacket, Lee had just enough
strength to keep his arms around her frigid, still body and hold on.
He resettled her against his chest, trying to ignore the blue tinge
around her lips, just visible in the reflected moonlight. Brushing a
lock of wet hair away from her forehead, he nestled her head against
his shoulder and closed his eyes, treading water with his last
whisper of strength.
Faint at first, then with increasing strength, the insistent thump
and whir of approaching blades invaded the silence. The music of
angels, coming to guide them home.
Epilogue
A small but tasteful bouquet of yellow daisies perched on the
nightstand next to the window, bathed in golden sunlight. It was the
single, bright spot in the impersonal hospital room. A card peeked
out from behind the flowers. "Secret admirer, huh?" Lee plucked the
card from the daisies. No signature. "Lets see, it says--`Good
Job.' Nice, but who sent it, do you know?"
"Nobody sent it. It was dropped off." Her smile was infuriating.
"It was Billy, right?"
"Not even close."
He tried his most charming smile. "Oh, come on--please? You can
tell me."
"Nope. I promised."
Now she'd piqued his interest. Unwilling to let it go, he studied
the handwriting, turning the card this way and that. It seemed very
familiar. It couldn't be. Would wonders never cease?
"Francine?"
She nodded, as Lee replaced the card.
"Amanda, you did do a good job with this case." He cleared his
throat and plunged on. "You escaped from a locked room, found the
missing Phial, called for help . . ."
"Waited by the car . . ." she interrupted, humor coloring her voice.
Lee grinned back. "Yeah, well, that didn't work out, did it? Look,
ah, why don't I pick you up when they release you this afternoon?"
He stood but stopped short, staring at her hand in his. When had
that happened?
"Amanda, you should get some rest." She didn't let go. He couldn't
leave.
The immovable object. Again.
"Lee, can you stay a while? We could, well, you know, talk."
"About what?" he asked, but her answer was already burning in his
heart. Sometimes words weren't necessary between friends. Amanda's
grip tightened on his fingers, and her warm smile eased the tightness
in his chest. He allowed her to pull him closer and sat on the edge
of her bed.
"Tell me about Jacob."
The End
Story Notes:
Disclaimer: SMK and its characters are copyrighted creations. This story was conceived and written for entertainment purposes. No copyright infringement is intended.
Timeframe: Second year
Timeframe: Second year