When Heaven Weeps (55 page)

“God?” His voice echoed in the chamber. He was speaking as if God were physically in the room.

Yes, and so he was. Is.

“God?”

But only silence answered him.

A sense of desperation welled up in his chest. A yearning for the laughter, for the voice of God, for the smell of the flowers from Ivena's garden. But they were gone, leaving only the lingering memory of Helen, lying on the grass. She was not laughing. Was she dead?

And what if she was? What if that was the meaning of this vision? Karadzic had killed her and now heaven was weeping. He straightened in his straps, suddenly panicked. In that moment he knew what he would do.

“Karadzic!” he screamed. His head ached with the exertion. “Karaaadzic!”

Fire burned at his shoulders. But he had to do this, didn't he? It was the thinnest of threads, but it might be Helen's only hope. “Karaaaadzic!”

A fist pounded on the door. “Shut up in there.”

“Tell Karadzic to come. I have something to tell him.”

A moment of silence. “He wants nothing from you,” the voice said.

“And if you're wrong? This will mean everything to him.”

A grunt sounded, followed by a long period of silence. Jan called out twice more, but the guard didn't answer.

The door suddenly rattled with keys and then swung in. Shafts of yellow light fell across Jan's body, and he lifted his head.

Karadzic stood in the doorway, slapping keys in his right hand like a baton, legs spread. “So, you wish to beg me for your life after all?” He chuckled and his voice echoed in the chamber.

“I'm no longer interested in my life. Only Helen's.”

“Then you're a fool and I pity you,” Karadzic said.

“Helen was always the prize. That's why Lutz offered you money for her death. If he can't have her, then he'll kill her. But believe me, if that dirty pig thought for a moment that he could have her as his own, willingly, he'd never kill her.”

Karadzic's lips twisted to a grin. “Is that it, Lover Boy?”

“Lutz would pay much more for Helen alive. I'm sure of it.”

The smile softened on Karadzic's face. “Don't try tricks with me, soldier.”

“Don't take my word. Ask Lutz himself. If he's paying you a hundred thousand dollars for our deaths, then he'll pay two hundred thousand for Helen's heart. I promise you.”

“And I'm not interested in your promises. You think your sly tongue will play to your favor?”

“I'm not speaking of my promises, you idiot,” Jan said. Karadzic's eyes narrowed. “I'm telling you what Lutz will say when you talk to him.”

“And what makes you think I'll talk to him?”

“Your greed will see to it.”

“And your stupidity will see to your death.”

“You would be a fool not to call Lutz. Demand double for Helen's willing return and he'll agree to pay you.”

“Even if you're right, how do you propose I force the woman to return to Lutz? You say he's a pig.”

Jan gathered himself and straightened against the beams. His shoulders throbbed, as if needles had been run through his joints.

“You persuade Helen to openly renounce her love for me.” Saying it made Jan sick.

Karadzic stared dumbly. “Renounce her love? You're talking women's talk.”

“If she were to renounce her love, it would break her spirit. That's why the priest wouldn't renounce his love for Christ. Haven't you understood that yet? It wasn't only words he was refusing to give you; it was his heart. If Helen renounces her love for me, she won't be able to live with the shame. She'll go eagerly back to America. And in America there is only Lutz for her.” How could he even say such words? Living with Lutz would be a death of its own. But then God could still woo her, couldn't he?

Karadzic was no fool in the art of bending minds; the war had taught him well. His eyes darted back and forth. “So you propose I break her heart by forcing her to renounce you? You think I am so naive?”

Jan took a deep breath. “No, you can't force her. She must do it willingly. So play one of your games, Karadzic. The same game you played with the priest. Perhaps you'll recover the shame he heaped on your head.”

Karadzic blinked rapidly. Jan had struck a chord there.

Jan continued quickly. “You can't force her, but you can motivate her. Tell her that if she doesn't renounce her love for me, you'll kill her.” He swallowed hard.

Karadzic licked his lips, understanding already. Jan went on.

“You tell her that, but if she chooses to die rather than renounce her love for me you do
not
kill her. You release her. And if she does renounce her love, then you release her to Lutz. Either way she lives. Either way you may kill me.” Jan forced a smile. “It's a game of ultimate stakes. She chooses to live and you become very rich; she chooses to die and you still get your ransom, but not for her. Only the half paid for me. She is free.”

“Her choice to die for you will set her free,” Karadzic stated with a glint in his eyes. “But her choice to live will hand her over to Lutz. Or I could just kill you both and collect the money already offered.”

“You could.”

Karadzic stared at him for several long seconds. Then he backed out of the room. “We will see,” he said, and he was gone.

The door closed and Jan slumped against his straps.

KARADZIC ENTERED the dimly lit quarters beneath the earth and stared at the large American seated cross-legged in his leather chair. The man stood to his feet and faced him. He looked albino in the yellow light; very white from his blond hair to his pale skin, this pig. Karadzic had never suspected that another man could send a chill down his spine, but Glenn Lutz did, every time he turned those black eyes his way. He did not like that.

“Well?” Lutz asked.

“He has a proposal for you,” Karadzic said, walking for his liquor cabinet.

“He knows that I'm here?”

“No. Of course not. He thinks I will call you.”

“He's not exactly in a position to give proposals, is he? What's his proposal?” Lutz demanded.

“He says that you will pay me double for the woman's heart.”

Glenn breathed loudly in the chamber. “I didn't make a thirty-hour trip to cut out her heart. I came to kill her. Straight and simple. Once she's dead, I don't care what you do with her. He's ranting.”

“He's not suggesting that I cut her heart out. He's suggesting that I play a game with her.” Karadzic poured scotch into a glass and faced the bulky American. “The same game that I played with the priest in the village.”

Lutz stared dumbly. He wasn't connecting. “I paid you to bring them in. Fifty thousand American dollars for each. Now I'm going to kill them both. I'm not interested in games.”

“And what if the game gave you Helen back? Hmm? What if she came willingly to you as yours and yours alone? What would you pay for that?”

Glenn pulled and pushed the stale air through his nostrils as if they were old bellows. His eyelids fell over those black eyes like shutters and then snapped open. The man had lost a part of himself somewhere, Karadzic thought.

Karadzic spoke again. “He says that you will pay me two hundred thousand dollars if I'm able to persuade her to renounce her love for Janjic. He says that if she renounces her love for him in the face of death, she'll lose her will to love him and return willingly to you.”

Glenn stared at Karadzic for a long time without moving his eyes. Finally he spoke. “And if she refuses?”

“Then we set her free. We kill only Janjic.” He took a sip from the glass.

“I came to kill them both,” Glenn said, but his conviction seemed tempered.

“Janjic is right. If the woman renounces her love for him, her spirit will be broken. She will be yours for the taking.” Karadzic smiled. “But either way I will kill him. You will have her alive or dead. Either way you will win.”

“I thought the game was to set her free if she chooses to die.”

“That was Janjic's request. But if she chooses to die rather than renounce her pathetic love for one man, then we will give her that wish.” It really was like the priest, wasn't it? Karadzic felt his pulse thump through his veins. A sort of vindication.

“And why should I pay you—”

“Because you could not do it,” Karadzic interrupted, suddenly angry. “She would never renounce her love with you standing there.” He had no idea if that was true or not, but suddenly the money was sounding very attractive. And playing the game again carried a poetic justice that was starting to gnaw at his skull. “I will kill Janjic regardless. And I am offering you the chance to have your woman alive and willing. It's your choice. One hundred thousand for both dead, or two hundred thousand for Janjic dead and Helen in your arms.”

Glenn turned from him and put his hands on his hips. The man wasn't beyond trying to kill
him
, Karadzic thought. Lutz would pull the trigger without a thought. But this was Bosnia, not America. Here the American would play by his rules. Or die. If it wasn't for the promise of the money Karadzic would have killed the fat slob already. It would be a pleasure to watch the pig die.

“I'll double my payment for Helen,” Glenn said, turning. “One hundred thousand for her if you can make her curse the preacher. I'll pay you our agreed fee of fifty thousand for the preacher. That's one hundred fifty thousand. No more.”

He said it all as a man used to authority, and Karadzic almost told him to swallow his money. But he didn't. He might do that later.

“Fine,” he said, and walked for the door. “I will expect you to keep your promise.” Lutz was boring into him with those black eyes when he turned back to him. “Do not leave this room,” Karadzic said. He left and a chill of fury ripped down his spine.

Maybe he would just kill them all. When it was over and he had his money. But now he would play. The thought brought a grin to his lips.

Poetic justice.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

HELEN FELT hands moving her, jostling her around, but her mind still drifted in lazy circles. They had changed her position, she knew that much, and now she grasped for threads to the real world. The room with all of its colored lights and feathers wasn't easily distinguished from her dreams.

She was standing, or lying on her back. No, standing, with her arms thrown to either side, immobile. Odd. Helen turned her head slowly and closed her eyes against the tiny flames of light. The candles looked like fireflies skittering across her horizon. She moaned. When the pinpricks behind her eyes cleared, she looked again and the room came into soft focus.

The black walls glistened with the glow from several dozen white candles staggered at various heights, their flames flickering like jerky dancers. A couple of figures moved in the shadows but most of the others she'd seen were no longer present. Helen tried to shift her feet to rid a tingling there, but she found she couldn't. She lowered her head and studied her bare feet. Yes, they were bare. And pressed side by side, hanging limply. Off the ground.

The last detail cleared her mind and she blinked. Her feet were bound together, suspended off the floor! Her arms . . . She lifted her head quickly and looked at her right arm. Half-inch rope had been wrapped around her forearm and a huge crossbeam. She turned her head. Her left arm was bound to the same beam.

A chill ran up her spine. What was happening to her? She pulled against the restraints, but they didn't give, and her head throbbed with pain for the effort. They'd ripped her tan cotton slacks at the knees, baring her calves. The white of her blouse was smudged with dirt, and the sleeves shredded to her armpits.

What is happening?
Helen began to whimper, not because she wanted to whimper, but because she wanted to ask and nothing else would come from her mouth. She desperately searched the room and caught the looks of the two men, but they only stared, unblinking.

“H . . . help.” Her cry squeaked like a pathetic little toy, and she began to weep softly through trembling lips. “Please help.” But the room was empty except for these two men calmly looking at her.

She knew then that her life was about to end. There was a feel to the air unlike any she'd ever known. A biting chill but hot, so that her skin glistened with sweat. She shivered. The room smelled like rotten meat, but tinged with a medicinal odor she recognized as heroin. Evil filled this dungeon, dark and lurking, but very much alive. And she had come here eagerly.

Helen's body shook with fear and shame.
Oh, Jan, dear Jan, what have I done? I am so sorry.

How many times had she said that?

She bit her lip, hard enough to draw the tangy taste of blood.

The door opened to her left and a large figure stood in the frame, backlit by the hall's orange light. Karadzic.

Suddenly she knew who this man was. He was Karadzic!
The
Karadzic! He was Jan's commander in the book!

A woman was shoved past him, stumbling to her knees. Her dress was ripped up one side, but it looked vaguely familiar. The two men who'd been in the room stepped forward and hauled the woman to her feet.

Helen saw her face, streaked with blood so that it looked torn along a jagged line. She caught her breath.

It was Ivena! Ivena was here!

“Ivena!”

Ivena turned her head slowly and looked at Helen. Then her eyes widened and immediately wrinkled with empathy. Ivena's mouth parted in a silent cry. “Dear Helen . . . Oh, dear Helen, I am so sorry.”

Helen turned to the door where Karadzic still stood in shadows. “What are you doing to her? She's an old woman. You can't—”

“Don't be afraid for me,” Ivena said, now with a soft voice. Helen faced her. There was a glint in Ivena's eyes and it wasn't from the firelight. “I fear for you, dear Helen. For your soul, not for your body. Don't let them take your soul.”