Conard County Spy (23 page)

This, thought Trace, was about to become the longest ten miles in his life.

* * *

Julie didn't expect to survive this. How could she when she had seen the man's face? No, he didn't intend to leave a witness. But apparently his plan to use her as bait had worked. She half expected him to shoot her the instant she told Trace to run, but he hadn't. In fact, he sat across the room from her, looking as if he was enjoying himself.

Enjoying her fear. Enjoying Trace's approach. Enjoying what he planned to do.

Rarely in her life had Julie ever felt anything approaching hatred, but she felt it then. He told her to pull her hands out from under her jacket, and she did so. Looking down quickly, she could see she had worked her way through half the rope's thickness. She positioned her hands so he couldn't see the fraying.

“You should have dressed warm,” he said.

She didn't believe his solicitousness for a minute. “I wasn't planning to be stuck out here in an unheated house for hours.”

“Oh, it won't be hours. He'll come as fast as he can, this Archer, and then he'll have to walk to the house. By the time he gets here, he'll be
so
tired.”

Yeah, he probably would, Julie thought. And with his arm screaming at him as well. “What do you have against him, anyway?”

“He revealed me to people who shouldn't know. He endangered my life and my family. And after all I have done for this country!”

Well, he sounded righteously indignant. She didn't know whether it was an act or not, but his fury was real enough. Real enough to want a man's blood.

He revolted her. During all Marisa's suffering, Marisa had never wished ill on anyone. Never called for someone to pay. She had endured the worst of grief without ever speaking an unkind word.

This guy could use a few lessons in something called simple humanity. “I never did anything to you,” she said. “I don't even know you or what you're talking about.”

“Ah, the innocent.” A glare darkened his face. “My family, they are innocent, too. How will that save them? I have been accused of terrible things and have had to fight to keep my family out of prison. It will not be completely over until I completely clear my name.”

“How will it protect them to kill Trace?”

“I will have proof I never cooperated with your country. You people think you are so great, but you are nothing. You interfere where you should not. And then when someone seeks your help, you betray him.
Pah
on you all.”

Silence fell, interrupted only occasionally by the scratching of tumbleweed against a wall as the wind stirred.

“Let me go,” she suggested. “You don't need me anymore. He's coming.”

“I could,” he said. “You would not get far. But no, I want him to see the cost of his actions before he dies.”

And there it was, she thought. She would die, too. The adrenaline, which had never quite left her, resurged now. She slipped her hands up under her jacket again when he went to the front window to watch. Sawing, sawing, would it be fast enough?

When Trace got here, he was going to need whatever help she could provide. It probably wouldn't be much, but she clearly remembered him saying he shot with his right hand. His damaged hand. So an unarmed man was coming to this gunfight. She didn't find that old saying at all amusing just then. It was so true it hurt.

If Trace died, she didn't think she'd care if she lived.

New strength filled her while she scanned the room and the man's back. He didn't expect any trouble from her, she realized. She was just a mere woman.

Maybe she could teach him another lesson.

* * *

The drive was precarious. The road hadn't been plowed and Trace used reflectors as his guide, probably much as the snowplows did. There was nothing out here, nothing. Some fencing, almost no trees, no signs of life anywhere. Andrepov had chosen well.

He couldn't help imagining the helpless terror Julie must be feeling, and the burn in his gut grew until it felt close to nuclear heat. He could hope for nothing except that Andrepov wanted him to see Julie die, that he'd keep her alive in order to savor that moment.

Which meant he was going to get to the house. Beyond that...who knew? But when the guy told him to disarm himself, he would at least have a gun to throw in the snow. He silently thanked the sheriff for that.

Would Andrepov suspect a knife in his boot? He didn't know. Then there was the flash-bang, which might cause a few moments of utter confusion if he could get it inside and find a way to tell Julie to close her eyes so she wouldn't be blinded by the flash.

So many questions, and all the answers awaited him in the distance. He couldn't even plan, not knowing what the layout was, who would be where, what items might be useful.

God, he hated this. He'd walked in blind before in his career, but he still hated it. Everything would rest on an instant decision, a decision that could easily be wrong. He hadn't been a praying man in a long time, but he realized he was praying now, praying that Julie would come through this unscathed.

Because if she didn't, he'd hunt Andrepov to the ends of the earth. And if he couldn't, he suspected Ryker would. That man's days were numbered, one way or another.

As were Casell's and anyone who had helped Andrepov knowingly in this endeavor. If the Fates favored him today, he was damn well going to make sure that this never happened again.

At last the farmstead appeared, rising above the snow caught on the fences. This had to be the place. A weathered house, a barn that looked as if it were halfway through the job of collapsing. The house, Andrepov had said. The house.

His heart accelerated now, approaching the rate at which he would be fully ready for whatever lay ahead. At last he pulled over to the side of the road. A driveway, or what had been one once, was marked by sagging fence lines on either side of it. He took the sat phone and shoved it under the seat, out of sight, and climbed slowly out of the car, leaving the door open. This had to be it.

Checking his cell, he found he could no longer make a connection. The middle of nowhere. Open and exposed. Andrepov could shoot him as he plowed his way up to the house.

But he wouldn't. Trace knew that with a certainty born of long experience. Those who wanted revenge also wanted to savor it. Andrepov was going to make him walk that distance unprotected and unsheltered and enjoy watching Trace tire with each step.

Except Trace had never tired easily. He knew how to measure himself the way a finely tuned athlete knew, never pushing himself into the red zone, always ensuring there would be plenty of energy for what came next.

So much as he wanted to race up to that house and do what he could for Julie, he paced himself carefully, and made a show of letting his arm appear to dangle uselessly against his side. Like a bird feigning a broken wing.

Except that arm still had plenty of strength, and pain or no pain, grip or no grip, it could still do a lot. Like throw a punch. Like wrap itself around someone's throat.

He hoped he got a chance to do that.

He heard a helicopter, but it sounded far away.
Good job, Gage
. He had telescopic eyes on the situation, but kept enough distance that it didn't seem he was following. Then the sound of rotors died away, muffled perhaps by distant woods, making the pass seem merely routine.

But they knew where he was, and that meant they could help Julie if he could save her from this maniac.

Julie. Nothing else on earth mattered except her. Freeing her. Keeping her safe. He'd have cut his own throat to accomplish that.

When he'd covered all but the last twenty feet to the door, the door opened a crack.

“Get rid of your weapons, Archer. Now.”

He made a show of hesitating, then stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out the service revolver. Holding it up so it could be seen, he tossed it into the snow.

“Anything else you have.”

“What else would I have? I only have one arm. I can't even fight you.”

“Ah yes, so the bullet did at least part of the job. I heard you were disabled.”

Trace didn't answer. He simply waited for the man to believe him. If Andrepov pushed it any further, he could ditch the flash-bang, which might be useless anyway.

“So, you know what you did to me?”

“I don't have the slightest idea. I had almost nothing to do with you.”

“You gave my name to someone.”

“Hate to disappoint you, but that wasn't me. I never compromised an asset. Never. So sure you have the right man?”

“Very sure,” came the answer. “Come closer. But drop your jacket outside.”

“That's going to be hard to do,” Trace said, stepping slowly closer. “I needed help getting into it.”

At that Andrepov laughed. “This is going to be too easy.”

* * *

Julie felt the last of the rope give way. Now she had an additional problem. Andrepov had a bead on Trace, who was approaching the house. If she moved, he might shoot Trace, then turn on her. She couldn't risk that, so she held perfectly still.

A few tears right now might make her look usefully weak, but she didn't cry easily. And the last thing she felt like doing right now was weeping. The anger that filled her consumed everything else, even her fear. This general was a sick man, and he was acting like he was at a shooting gallery. She wondered if he had only that one rifle, or if he had other weapons. No way to know. She eyed the poker again, forgotten in the ashes and dust, and figured that she could reach it in one long stride. But then she'd have to pick it up and face the man who held the rifle.

It wasn't looking good. None of this was.

Then the door opened wider and Trace stepped in. He hadn't shed his jacket, and she saw the unusual way he was carrying his arm, as if it just flopped uselessly. Never before had he done that. Smart move, she thought.

“Let her go,” Trace said as soon as he was inside. “She's never done anything to you. Never. And she has no idea who you are.”

“So you say,” Andrepov answered, motioning Trace farther into the room, closer to Julie. Not good, Julie thought. She tried to catch Trace's eye and with a slight jerk of her head tried to tell him to put space between them, but he never took his eyes off the general. Anyway, he'd apparently figured it out himself because he tripped slightly on some junk on the floor and wound up on the far side of the old living room from her.

The general waved the gun between them. “Move over beside her.”

“Why?” Trace asked. “It's going to take two bullets any way you look at it.” He moved a little, however, and soon the man's back was to Julie. She started frantically moving, jerking her eyes toward the poker, and then she took a risk, pulling her hands from beneath her jacket and showing her freed wrists.

Trace's expression never changed, but she saw the spark in his gaze as he got her message. Quickly, she buried her hands within her jacket again.

“Trace?” she said. Her voice trembled. At least it wasn't hard to feign that. “What's going on?”

“Apparently this...man was given some faulty intelligence.”

“About what? I don't understand any of this!”

The general spoke. “Your man here betrayed me. Did he ever tell you he was a spy?”

“A spy?” Julie made her voice sound thin, disbelieving. “For real?”

“For real,” said Trace, his gaze never wavering. He never once looked at her again. All his attention was on the man who pointed the rifle at him. “And this man thinks I betrayed him. Only he's wrong about that. I never betrayed an asset in my life.”

The general snorted. “So you claim it was all lies? I know the danger I faced, the danger my family faced. When I was accused of treason, I not only had to fight to save myself from execution but also to protect my family from prison. You hurt us all.”

“I know the dangers,” Trace answered, his voice taking on an edge. “Which is exactly why I would never betray anyone.
Never
.”

“Of course you would say that. But sources in your own agency say it was you.”

“Of course they would,” Trace answered. “You didn't look high enough.”

“You were high.”

“I worked at a group of embassies. Do you really think that was high up? I never reached the kinds of levels you did. Never reached the kind of level that would let me betray you. Although, right now, I half wish I had.”

“Brave words from a dead man.”

“I may be dead, but what makes you think you won't be soon, too? Because the betrayal came from higher up than me. Believe it. Some political functionary who'd rather show off his knowledge than protect it. Someone who doesn't get the dangers of exposing those who help us. Someone who told a good story at a party over too many drinks.”

Julie wondered if she should move now. Any movement she made would draw the general's attention her way. Away from Trace. The problem was, she didn't know whether she'd get shot for her efforts, or how much Trace could still manage to do. If she died, and he couldn't deal with that man, he'd be dead, too. Biting her lip, she waited, hoping for a sign.

“The problem with you,” Trace said to the general, edging closer to the man and his gun, “is that you live a life of lies, but you can't tell when you're being lied to and used.”

The general let out an angry string of what sounded like curses, perhaps in Russian. “You lie.”

“No, actually, I don't. You're being used right now. Someone is concealing their part in your betrayal by offering me as a sacrifice. Have you never made a sacrifice play, General?”

Words erupted from the man.

“Of course you have,” Trace said. “Something goes wrong. It doesn't matter what, but you direct the blame elsewhere. Here, we call it covering your butt. Someone's using me to cover his butt, to keep you in play, and send you home satisfied. But if you kill me, you won't be getting the right man.”