Risking the World (6 page)

She gulped back burning vomit.  Scared as she was, he'd have to kill her before she let him rape her.  She screamed in his ear, kicked, and scratched.  He laughed and his foul breath assaulted her, but she kept screaming, waiting for him to put a hand over her mouth to shut her up – and then she'd bite him again.

But he cuffed her face so hard her teeth bit empty air, and when he shoved his fingers inside her a sudden sob punctuated her screams.  He ravaged her with his filthy hands, and she knew what was coming next.

This can't be happening.  Let me die first.  Please God, don't let this happen.  
"Fuck you," she shouted in a voice she barely recognized as her own.

Red grunted, and his pulsing arousal pressed into her belly while his fingers ripped apart her insides.  She bucked.  Her knee found his crotch this time and he howled . . . until he reached for his knife.

She puked in his face and gagged on her own bile, gasping for breath, reaching for life – dizzy, dazed.

Suddenly Red's bulk was lifted off her.  His knife skittered under her cot.  She strained for its handle, turned, and eyed a jungle cat riding Red's ox-wide back.  His arms circled Red's neck in a chokehold, until Red rose leviathan-like to slam him against the wall.  They fell on their backs, spooning like frenzied lovers, Red on top with Tiger's forearm pressed to his throat.

A crimson stain flooded Red's coarse blue shirt.  His flailing elbows stopped plowing Tiger's ribs as his hands reached to stop her, but she plunged Red's own blade under his ribs, angled the cutting edge up to his heart, and twisted sharp steel into his evil core.  Blood spurted when she withdrew the knife to spike it again into his chest . . . and again . . . and again . . . as Tiger wriggled free.

"Why in bloody hell did you do that?"

You're next!
  She thrust Red's blade at his gut.

He caught her hand.  "I wanted the bastard unconscious, not dead, you bloody little fool."

His thumb dug deep in her wrist, the knife shot from her grasp, and she watched it drop beyond her reach.  "You son of a bitch!"

"Shh.  Quiet down."

"Traitor!"  She swung her free fist toward his face.

He parried the blow, and now held both her hands.  He shook her and bared his teeth.  "I'm on your side.  Keep quiet."

She kicked his shins.

"I'm not your enemy."  He pinned her against him in a bear hug.  "Listen to me.  I work undercover for the British Government."

What?
  He let go enough that she slid down onto the slippery stained floor, exhausted and uncertain.

"You're all right.  Breathe."

Red's lifeblood stuck to her legs, her hands were thick with it.  The metallic odor of the blood coupled with the stink of her own vomit made her heave.

He pushed her head between her thighs.  "Take a deep breath.  Now."

She inhaled the stench, well aware the horror within these walls would live inside her till the day she died.  Which might be very soon.

He released her head, but she felt his presence hovering over her.  "Keep breathing.  You're okay.  Look at me."

When she didn't he grabbed her chin and she had no choice.

"We've got to leave."  He reached a hand to help her up.

"Don't touch me!"

Chapter 6

More exasperated with himself than her, he backed away.  "Clean yourself up.  We must leave."

"Who are you?"

A man who should have closed his ears to her screams and walked past her door this evening so they might walk out of Tivaz later as planned.

"Tell me who you are."

A sitting duck who's made a bloody hash of things
.  "David Ruskin, British agent."

"Why should I believe a cunning traitor?"

He'd been called worse, he supposed, and checked his temper. "Believe me because I'm your best hope of getting out of Tivaz alive."

She interrogated him anew.  "You were sent to rescue me?"

"Yes."  True, as far as it went.  She'd made his real objective, to discover Varat's plans and inflict vengeance on him for Jeremy, all but impossible now.  If she didn't kill Red he might've convinced Brown he kept the guard from damaging the goods.

Her gaze turned inward, as though weighing his answer.  He'd best use the time to consider his options and stem the tide of his barely suppressed anger.  Varat would never believe she killed Red on her own.  And if he acknowledged a role in Red's end, Varat would question why a ruthless arms dealer would flinch at rape.  From there things would deteriorate rapidly.  His best course was to leave Varat behind and run for his life, Claire Ashe in tow, and hope his enemy assumed he killed Red and took the woman to double-cross him with Zamot.

"We must leave.  Immediately," he stressed.  "Get out of that dress and put on what you wear to the lab.  Sneakers, pants.  A jersey if you've got one."

She showed herself willing to take her chances with him by getting up and going to the sink.  He chucked Red's body under the bed and cleaned the visible blood pooling near the door.  When he straightened he caught a glimpse of her naked back as she cleaned blood and vomit from her neck and arms.  Stung by the realization he wished to see more, he trained his eyes on the door.

"We have to go to the lab," she announced on their way out.  "I need to take a TB sample."

He bolted her cell's door behind them and started down the hallway.

"This isn't the way to the lab."

"We haven't time for that."  He seized her elbow and hustled her inside his own room, where he double-checked the contents of his backpack.

"I need a TB sample for analysis," she insisted.

"We cannot spare the time.  You said yourself Black's TB doesn't survive long if it's exposed to air."

"The lab has a container I can use so it'll live for at least a day."

"Too much of a risk.  Once we're out of here, I'll alert our people.  They'll come and take possession of the TB."

"And if they don't get here in time?"  She crossed her arms in front of her chest.  "Black could escape with the TB and figure out how to weaponize it.  Then what?"

This debate could be endless, and precisely why he preferred to work alone.

She started for the door, forcing him to spring forward and grab her.  He spun her about, his face inches from hers.  "Bloody hell. This is no game."

Motionless, she avoided his eyes and stared at his hands, gripping her arms.  "How will you stop me?  Attack me like Red did?"

Furious, he released his hold.  "Look, the lab is guarded and locked."

"I know all the guards, and we'll say we're getting Level 4 equipment."

He had to force himself to see through his anger that her plan made a degree of sense.  Taking Level 4 paraphernalia might serve to reinforce he was double-crossing Varat.

"The guards are scared of what's in that lab.  They won't interfere, and there's a back door that leads to the incinerator."

A back door out of this place persuaded him.  "Agreed, but we must be quick about it."  Still, he fretted too much time had already run off the clock, minutes ticking by while she dressed, while he assembled his gear.  And now they had to hoodwink a guard into letting them inside the lab.

"We're here for Level 4 equipment.  Brown's instructions," he told the lab guard who she said was called Gray.

The muzzle of the guard's rifle centered on his chest.  "Why tonight?"

"Look Gray, Mr. Brown wants us to travel in the dark, deflect unnecessary attention.  Rouse him and check for yourself."  He was taking a risk but people feared Brown, and for good reason.

The guard cocked his head and he thought the man's eyes revealed the briefest twitch.  He hoped his gamble had the desired effect, unless Claire had been wrong about the guard's name.  "Red's going with you," the man stated.

"Right, he's assembling the rest of our equipment."

"Why did he send you here with the woman?"

"I told you.  She knows Level 4 equipment, and Red said I should take her out by the same door you use for the trash."

The guard's response was to aim his rifle barrel at David's heart and release the safety.  "Why send you with the woman, alone?"

David made a point to chuckle.  "Because Red thinks I'm trash too." He was relieved when the guard joined in and lowered his gun to punch in the code.  But every second they stayed in the lab increased the chances Gray would expose their presence, so he kept asking Claire, "Ready now?"

And she kept replying, "I have to be careful."

Careful?  If she did not hurry, the point was moot.  Deadly TB strain or Varat's gun, they'd meet the same end one way or the other.  He approached to speed her along, and she closed the door on a stainless steel cabinet, keyed in a series of numbers, and lifted a small metal canister off the counter.

"That's the sample?"

"Yes.  We're safe as long as we don't crack the seal."

Her canister was the least of his safety concerns.  He turned the handle on the door marked 'Biohazardous Waste' and they picked their way through bags with symbols he refused to dwell on.  Even after they exited the compound and slipped into darkness, his mind remained focused on Varat. Although he would like to activate his GPS tracker to broadcast his position and summon Bobby's team, he had to assume Varat had equipment capable of picking up the transmission.  So he pulled night vision goggles out of his backpack instead, and started down an animal track alongside a small stream that tumbled down the mountainside.

"Do you want me to put the TB sample in my bag?" he offered.

"No, I'll carry it."

Right.  Best to leave the guns in his hands, and the deadly TB in hers.

They moved with rapid caution, and she proved adept at mimicking his footing down barely perceptible paths.  She was so close in the darkness the fabric of her shirt sometimes brushed against his back.  The moon began to rise, quarter full.  A mixed blessing.  Easier to see, but easier to be seen.  He picked up the pace, anxious to cover as much ground as possible before dawn.

And then she stumbled behind him.

"Is the TB safe?"

She muffled a laugh.  "Yes, but wait till Black checks his stash in the morning."

"Meaning?"

"I destroyed everything before I left.  Put it in the autoclave and fried it."

He wanted to turn around and thrash her, but it would only waste valuable time so he jacked up the tempo.  "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You wouldn't have waited.  But I had to do it."

"Do what?  Wave a red flag in their faces?  Direct them to come after us?"

"They would've done that anyway."

"Maybe not.  I was betting Brown would think I took you to double-cross him over Zamot.  Now he shall come after us with everything he's got."

"And you expected me to read your mind?"

He bit back a curse.

"You just don't get me.  I couldn't allow those stocks of TB to exist.  What if we hadn't made it out of the compound?  What then, Tiger?"

"My name is David," he said quietly, reasserting control over himself.  "And look, from this point forward, take my lead and ask questions later.  I do this as a profession.  If you hope to live to see another day, follow my orders.  Understood?"

He did not wait for a reply he didn't expect.  Instead, he reached into his backpack and activated his GPS tracker, fuming for not doing so a kilometer outside the compound.  If he had, by now Bobby might have had help on the way.

Chapter 7

Varat possessed the finest array of firepower and tracking technology a wealthy arms dealer could buy, but the first weapon he reached for was his grandfather's museum-quality seventeenth century Persian khanjar.  He seized the curved dagger and admired its gem-studded pommel.  Power and prestige flowed to the man who gripped this handle and the razor-edged blade engraved death on an opponent's heart.

The Tivaz guards, along with everyone else, waited in the courtyard, a line-up complete with every hue save Red.

"Who let Tiger and the woman inside the lab?"

The guilty man stepped forward, and Varat pressed his pistol against Gray's forehead.  One shot would disgorge the man's brains and demonstrate the penalty for negligence.  He lowered his gun.  The trained guards remained stoic, but the scientists squirmed.

"Hold out your left hand," he ordered Gray. With a single slash using his prized knife he severed Gray's pinkie, held the trophy aloft, and plucked Gray's ruby ring from his detached knuckle before grinding the finger beneath his boot.  "You're spared only because I need you to track Tiger and the woman."

He turned to Dr. Black.  "Leave immediately for the safety of the northern caves."

"I can't leave my laboratory."

He yanked the scientist out of earshot.  "You will leave.  Tivaz is finished."

"My equipment –"

"Remains behind."

"But everything I require is here."

"A lab can be rebuilt.  Only you can recreate your TB."

Black didn't hesitate with a response.  "You should have killed Tiger.  You were foolish to be tempted by Zamot."

Worse than foolish . . . vain.
  While getting his hands on Zamot would've been a valuable operational back-up, hadn't he been tempted to show Tiger a glimpse of the dazzling plan he'd devised?

Tiger and Varat.  Once, long ago, he imagined them an unbeatable team instead of brutal competitors.  They shared
élan
, a proud heritage, and a thirst for danger.  They were so much alike that for too long he turned a blind eye to how many of Tiger's deals never materialized, or the arms arrived too late to alter the outcome, or the networks were rolled up a year afterwards.  Last year in Kurdistan, after the warring factions abandoned their pursuit of Tiger's team and turned on each other, he had the perfect opportunity to finish the job.  But he let Tiger escape.  Why?  Was his wish to banish loneliness and join with a brother in arms so strong it kept hope alive against all evidence to the contrary?

Only fierce discipline allowed him to dismiss his self-doubts and dwell on his ancestors.  He'd never been truly alone.  Father and Grandfather walked with him in spirit, more resolute and insightful companions than Tiger could ever be.  He'd foiled Tiger in learning who sponsored this operation and its targets.  Not once did Tiger suspect much of Varat's own fortune had been expended on this chance to redeem his family's honor.  Outside clients were involved, yes, but their goals were secondary to his lofty ambitions.