Foreign Éclairs (19 page)

After a while, we hit an extended bumpy patch, letting me know we’d turned off the paved road. We traveled some distance with quick turns and bends so sharp that my right arm got knocked off its perch. It landed with a
thud
in front of me, twisted so that the palm faced up.

I could hear one of the men turn around. Probably Kern. “What are you doing back there?” he asked me in English. That odd Italian/South African inflection he’d adopted as the fake priest had been replaced by a clear Armustanian accent.

If I could have answered, he would have probably shot me right then and there.

Instead I lay staring at my lame, contorted hand, plotting what I would do if I regained control of my limbs.

“How long will the drug keep her immobilized?” Kern’s question, directed to Slager, also came in English, which surprised me.

Slager began to answer in Armustanian, but Kern was swift to stop him.

“No. In English. Until we are out of the country, we must minimize suspicion. She is the only one who can hear us now.” Kern chuckled. “And it doesn’t matter what we say in front of her.”

“I do not know how long the drug will work.” Slager’s accent was much thicker than Kern’s. “She did not receive the full portion because of the fat man.”

“Long enough to get to the car?”

“I am confident, yes.”

“That’s all we need.”

Another fifteen minutes or so passed before Kern asked, “How soon before we’re there?”

“Ten minutes, perhaps less than that.”

Whatever they had planned for me would happen in ten minutes. I had ten minutes to save my own life. I wished I knew how.

Ten minutes later, Slager threw the hearse into Park and shut off the engine. I assumed it was Kern who clapped his hands together because he followed it up with, “Finally, a plan that has gone correctly. It has always been up to us, Slager, to get things right.”

“You were wise to follow your instincts,” Slager said as he opened the car door.

“Ah, my good friend. You are too modest.”

“You have the flashlights?” Slager asked.

I heard Kern shuffle things around as though he was digging through his bag. “Right here.”

When they opened their doors, the interior lit up and I blinked in the unexpected brightness. The two men stepped out of the car. I could hear them converse as they walked away, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying.

Sweet, fresh, chilly air rolled in over me, and I breathed as deeply as I could to clear the stench of the car from my
lungs. I not only retained my vision and hearing, I’d also never lost my sense of smell. Whether it was fear or the exertion of moving me and the heavy-set funeral director, the two men reeked of hot sweat and old clothes.

Drawing another deep breath, I recognized that my left arm—the one pinned beneath me—had fallen asleep. Faint tingles teased down my forearm to my chilled fingertips.

I’d been lying atop my arm for a considerable length of time. The fact that my appendage had fallen asleep didn’t surprise me. What made me suck in a breath of astonishment was the fact that I was aware of it. That I could feel something. Could I be regaining control?

Outside I could hear leaves rustling in the wind. Frogs in the distance croaked love songs to one another—a melancholy sound I’d always particularly enjoyed.

Maybe Kern’s plan was to leave me in the wilderness and hope I’d die of exposure. But that didn’t make sense. Though chilly, the temperature was mild, and it sounded as though they expected the paralyzing drug to wear off at some point.

No, I thought, and instinctively tried to shake my head. Wait, was that movement? A little? I tried moving my jaw. No luck.

My upturned right hand lay like a mannequin’s appendage against the shiny burled wood surface that comprised the hearse’s floor. I stared at it, willing my fingers to clench. Concentrating, I gave it every bit of energy I possessed. Nothing. My hand remained as fixed and useless as a doll’s.

Maybe, I thought, the faster I metabolized the drug, the quicker it would wear off. I had no idea if that theory was medically sound or simply wishful thinking, but I began pushing the tiny control I did have to its maximum. I blinked and blinked and blinked again, all the while breathing as deeply and as rapidly as I could.

When pinpricks of light clouded my vision, I slowed the breathing so I wouldn’t pass out. I rolled my eyes up and down and side to side, still blinking all the while. If anyone would have peered in at me at the moment, I’m sure I looked as though I was having a seizure, but it was the only course of action available, and—even given the monumental odds against me—I refused to go down without a fight.

The men’s voices grew louder as I continued my fruitless undertaking. I noted that beyond their conversation, the world was quiet. Such stillness, coupled with the rustling leaves and croaking frogs, meant that we were probably far from any other human beings.

I strove to make out what was being discussed and hoped that straining to listen involved another set of muscles I still had access to. Wherever we were, and whatever they had planned, they were clearly in no big rush.

I’d clung to a single hope: that Altergott, the funeral director, had been found and able to alert someone about my abduction. Searchers might be able to use my phone to determine my location. It was still on, thank goodness. Maybe the hearse had GPS installed and that would lead the authorities to my location? Of course, that depended on two things: the GPS being activated, and a strong enough signal to transmit. And all these things could come to pass only if the funeral director had been able to communicate. That was a lot of ifs.

My heart squeezed with almost unbearable pain. Was this a side effect of the drug? Or the realization that I really had no hope at all?

Blinking and breathing hard, I again willed my fingers to clench.

Come on, hand. I’m in control here, don’t you remember? Move.

The two men’s voices grew loud enough for me to make out what they were saying.

Kern’s voice: “You did well.”

Don’t you understand? Move now or you may never get another chance.

“It is my honor to serve,” Slager answered. “I am fortunate you chose to adopt the strategy I suggested in the event the abduction failed.”

Laser-focused on my right hand’s pinkie, I almost missed my thumb’s tiny twitch.

Breathing faster again, this time with excitement, I willed my thumb to repeat the movement. But my concentration faltered when Kern spoke again.

“No need for false modesty, my friend. You saw what others did not—that we needed a backup plan in case our brethren were not successful.” It sounded as though he clapped Slager on the back. “We have our proof tonight that they did not succeed. If the Americans hadn’t been fooled—if they didn’t believe they had captured me, they would never have allowed this troublesome woman to travel unescorted.”

So this
was
Kern. They’d fooled us all.

He kept talking. “They would never have dropped the threat level on the president and his family. You have outsmarted the Americans in a way we have never been able to achieve before. When we return to our country, I will name you my first general.”

My heart dropped with the realization that we’d been so thoroughly outsmarted. But at the very same moment: a twitch. Another one. Tiny, but real. I’d done it.

With a metallic
clunk
, the back door of the hearse flew open, shooting a gust of snappy air into the death compartment.

“It is time,” Kern said. I didn’t know whether he was addressing me or Slager.

One of them grabbed my feet and dragged me out, taking no care whatsoever to prevent my nose and cheekbones from banging against the transport slab’s remaining metal rollers. Rather than be angry, I was thrilled. I felt every bounce.

The skin on one side of my face burned as it slid along the smooth burled wood surface. Although my triumph was tiny—a half-centimeter thumb movement wouldn’t do much good against two muscular terrorists—it gave me what I needed most. Hope.

I vowed not to let them take that from me again.

Once my body was halfway out of the hearse, Slager—with a grunt of effort—grabbed me by the waist and hoisted me over his shoulder. As he swung me into place, I noticed that we were surrounded by tall trees—hundreds of them. Kern’s flashlight produced a searingly high-wattage beam as he lit the path Slager followed.

Slager stepped with care, but I got the sense that it was the uneven terrain rather than the added weight that slowed him down. My arms hung like limp things below my head as he made his way down a small embankment.

All the while, Kern kept talking about how pleased he was to have Slager in his camp, and how rich his reward would be once my death was accomplished and the president’s fate was sealed.

The president’s fate. What could that be? I wanted to know what Kern was talking about. I wanted details, times, dates, whatever. Not that I could do anything even if he’d spelled out all the nitty-gritties. In my present condition, all I could do was stare at the dark grass below me and trust that my pendulous hands were gradually coming back to life.

“Why not leave her in the vehicle?” Slager asked. “Why must I carry her so far into the forest?”

Kern chuckled. “You are a smart man. Can you not figure it out?”

We traveled another ten seconds or so.

“You do not wish the burial vehicle to be destroyed in the blast?” Slager asked.

Blast? Oh dear God.

“Exactly right, my friend. In a very short time, they will begin looking for this hearse. I want them to find it. I want there to be no doubt when they examine the debris. I want the smug Americans to understand that when we identify a target for elimination, we do not give up until we succeed.”

My left arm continued to tingle, but I longed for real pain to kick in.

Please, please, please.

Slager dropped me like a construction worker might dump a bag of cement. I landed faceup, happy to have felt the impact’s sting. Kern handed a second flashlight to Slager, then crouched next to me. He grabbed my chin with one hand and tilted my head until I made eye contact. He held the torch beneath his chin. The upward-facing beam threw half his face into shadow, blackening the hollows of his eyes.

Cruel highlights accentuated his downturned mouth. I felt the same terror I had as a child when Snow White’s evil stepmother consulted her magic mirror.

“I know it galls you to know that we have won,” he said with a glint in his eye that sparkled from the darkness. “You are seething, are you not? Feeling helpless. Like my brother did. Will it help you to know that we anticipate that your beloved husband will now attempt to infiltrate our organization? He will fail.”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.

“And when he learns of your death, he will ask himself how he could have been so mistaken, so easily duped. He
will then grieve, as I did for my brother.” Wagging a finger side to side, he said, “But don’t worry. He won’t grieve long. He won’t see the end coming. Not like you.”

Pressing his hands against his knees, Kern boosted himself to stand and started away. Slager shuffled off, too, or so I deduced from the sound of leafy footsteps and the decreasing level of light.

I stared at Kern’s pant legs until they were swallowed by the dark. I strained every muscle, hoping to expel the drug from my body by sheer force of will.

“Slager?” Kern called. “Do you need assistance?”

The other man answered from enough of a distance that I couldn’t make out his reply. A hundred feet away, at least.

I heard a trunk slam. The hearse didn’t have a trunk, and its back door made an entirely different sound. Slager must have accessed that other car they’d discussed earlier.

Kern returned to my side. “You are one of the lucky ones,” he said very quietly. “Few humans are fortunate enough to know the precise moment of their death. You have a rare opportunity to find peace, and to offer your soul to whatever god you believe in.” He leaned down and chuckled. “Or spend your last few minutes cursing me. Your choice.”

Slager’s flashlight cut wide swaths of light back and forth as he trudged down the embankment again. As he came into view, I could see that he carried the torch in his right hand and held a backpack close to his chest with his left.

Using gingerly movements, he lowered the backpack to the ground next to me. “It is highly unlikely that she will regain the use of her limbs soon,” he said. “How far do we need to be before the bomb detonates?”

“I want to set the timer so that we are back in the city before it goes off.”

“It would be foolhardy to leave her here for that long,
Kern. As unlikely as it is that she will be found, we cannot risk it.”

“We are far from the city, yes, but not so far that an explosion of this magnitude will go unnoticed.” Kern’s voice was strained. “We must not be anywhere nearby. If roads are closed, or blockades are established, we will be stopped. We must not be stopped.”

Slager began to pace. “It would be madness to set it for longer than an hour.”

Kern crouched next to me again. He lifted my right arm and let go, letting it drop, lifeless, to the ground next to me. He did the same with my leg. “I don’t believe she will recover sufficiently in an hour’s time.”

Slager didn’t answer. He took off back up the embankment and returned a moment later. “We can use these,” he said.

I couldn’t see what he was holding. A moment later, however, it became clear when he wrapped a white nylon tie-wrap around my left wrist and a second one around my right. The two men crouch-shuffled back and forth, rolling me to my side, my bulky purse wedged beneath my right hip.

They ran a third tie-wrap through the backpack’s woven carry handle and then through both loops, encircling my wrists. At first I thought they’d left a large amount of slack by mistake, but once they’d made the final connections and locked the third cable, Slager cinched the plastic around my wrists. Not tight enough to cut off circulation, but there would be no wiggling free of these restraints.

“An hour before she might have movement again?” Kern asked as they stood again, and slapped dirt off their hands. “Is that what you believe?”

“Yes, but I would set the timer for thirty minutes.”

No, please. I need more time. Please. An hour. At least.

I was on my right side, working hard to keep my extra-deep
breathing as quiet as possible. I couldn’t try to stretch, couldn’t attempt to move, lest I spasm slightly and they notice.

“We are too far from our safe house. As I said, an explosion will be detected and add to our risk of being stopped,” Kern said.