Hot Mercy (Affairs of State Book 2) (34 page)

Mercy scrambled up onto her knees behind his seat. She reached up to touch the black hairs at the back his neck, always a little too long, making him look raffish and a bit wild. Not to mention delicious. She pushed away that last thought and whispered, “I’m afraid if we don’t at least try to satisfy this one request, she’ll hurt herself even worse. If it’s the only way to calm her…”

“All right.” He sighed. “We haven’t passed the town yet. But only for a moment. We have to be clear of the Zone before dark. Turning on headlights is as good as daring Tambov agents to find us.”

She looked down at her mother. Every time Mercy turned away she wondered if, when she turned back, Talia would still be breathing. She laid a gentle hand on her mother’s too-thin shoulder. The fragility of this precious body nearly undid her. “We’re going to Pripyat, Mom. You’ll tell me what to do as soon as we get there. Now rest.”

Talia’s pale green eyes opened a fraction of an inch wider then closed, and she at last slept.

Mercy climbed back over the center console and into the front passenger seat. She dug an old road map out of the glove box. Their cell phones were gone, lost with the Lada. So, no GPS to track their way. She tried to keep her mind off her mother’s labored breathing by navigating for Sebastian.

The Jeep heaved and bucked over pitted roads. Mercy longed for a nice paved highway. What camera could possibly be so important to her mother that she clung to it through life-threatening injuries and drug-induced bewilderment? Most likely her obsession was, as Sebastian had suggested, an irrational creation of her delirium.

On the road to Pripyat they passed only two vehicles, heading in the opposite direction. No tour buses. No Tambov ATV’s. If the syndicate agents were still hunting for them, this must have been the last place they’d think to look for them. Any sane person fleeing the gang would be miles away by now.

At last the looming silhouettes of the four reactors rose on the horizon, a scant three kilometers from what had been the thriving city of Pripyat. Mercy climbed into the back seat again.

“Mom, we’re here.” She gently brushed her fingers across a bloodless cheek to wake her. “Tell me where to look for your camera.”

Talia cracked open her eyes. The whites were jaundiced and spider web-streaked with tiny red capillaries. “I dreamt of you, sweetheart,” she whispered through cracked lips. “Long, long days and nights in the dark, I dreamt of my beautiful, sweet daughter.”

Mercy’s throat closed up. She smiled through a veil of tears. “You must have known I’d come for you.” She drew a shaky breath. “Please, concentrate, Mom. Is there really anything here? We all want to go home.”

“Gate,” Talia said, her voice sounding almost energetic. “Through the blue gate, darling. The truth is—” She seemed to run out of steam, shut her eyes but then moistened her lips and pushed on “—in the well.”

Sebastian smashed a fist against the steering wheel in a rare flare-up of his Latin temper. “I told you. She doesn’t know what she’s saying. Truth in a well? It’s the fever. We have to get out of here!”

“We’re going to try anyway,” Mercy said firmly. He must have heard the determination in her voice, because he said nothing more.

By the time the Jeep rolled to a stop in the dust beside a faded gray-blue picket fence with a broken gate—the only gate of any sort they'd been able to find—Talia had drifted off again.

“I’ll take a quick look around. There may not even be a well.” Mercy jumped out. She ran past the fence and toward the ruins of a large dacha that might once have been beautiful.

What was left of the house’s walls was so overgrown with vines that Mercy couldn’t tell whether they were made of wood, brick, or concrete. Grass sprouted from between the remaining shingles on the collapsed roof. She stood in the weed-choked yard and searched for anything reminiscent of wells she remembered from children’s picture books—a circular stone wall topped by a cute cupola, with a bucket on a crank-down rope. But she saw nothing even remotely like that. Sebastian had been right. This was a waste of time, a risky side trip.

Frustrated, she started back toward the Jeep. Sebastian was standing beside the driver’s door, watching her with a frown. He looked as exhausted as she felt. Their eyes locked from a distance. She shook her head. Without a word, he climbed back into the driver’s seat.

No longer focusing on her surroundings now that they were leaving, Mercy failed to pay attention to the uneven ground. Her toe caught on something in the high grass. “Ouch! Damn that hurts.” She hopped on her good foot, managing to recover her balance, then succumbed to the natural impulse to turn and see what had tripped her.

A flat piece of slate lay mostly concealed within the dry grass, but her toe must have jammed up against a corner of it, for it was now lifted slightly above the ground. What was it? All that remained of a flagstone patio? But if so, where were the other slates?

Sebastian stood up out of the Jeep again, signaling impatiently for her to hurry.

She ignored him, distracted by her discovery. Could it be? She got her fingers under the thin edge of gray rock and raised it. It came up so easily she knew it must have been moved fairly recently.

Beneath it, she could see a black hole, no more than 18 inches across, although it might have been wider at one time, having fallen in on itself over the years.

“Sebastian!” She heard him turn off the engine.

Seconds later he was at her side. “If that’s the well don’t even think about fishing around down there. The radiation levels in underground water and old soil—”

“I know. I know.” But something told her that this was the reason for Talia’s insistence they return here. And if it was more important to her mother than getting quickly and far away from this hellish place, then it had to be worth the risk. “Is there a flashlight in the Jeep?”

He stared at her and then shrugged as if realizing that nothing he said would convince her to leave until she was ready. “I’ll check.”

He was back in two minutes, his expression anxious, eyes constantly scanning the area around them. He held out a serious electric torch encased in steel. It looked heavy enough to be used as a club. Which was probably the idea. A light and weapon, all in one.

Mercy flashed the yellow beam down the hole. “It’s full of rubble. No water. Not very deep. Hold onto my legs.”

“That hole is barely wide enough for your head,” he objected.

But she managed to squeeze her shoulders through and extend her arms down into the dark, trusting Sebastian to keep her anchored from above.

Once inside she found it nearly impossible to breathe. Or see. Choking dust, the earthy odor of mold and sulfuric fumes grew more intense as she slid her belly then hips down over the edge. She started coughing.

From above, she heard Sebastian swearing in Spanish. “That’s enough! I’m pulling you up.”

“No! Just a minute more.” She stretched down as far as she could, feeling his grip adjust then tighten on her ankles. She flashed the dim beam ahead of her, moving the fingers of her free hand along the insides of the well, finding only rocks, tree roots, various bits of trash. She swept rotting leaves aside. It was then her fingertips struck something solid—cool metal and a familiar rectangular shape slightly smaller than a paperback novel. She smiled to herself.
Gotcha!

The torch in one hand, and what she was sure was her mother’s camera in the other, she shouted, “Up! Get me up.”

Sebastian hauled on her ankles then lifted her by the waist to sit her on the ground beside the well. “What did you find?” He was looking at her so strangely—at first in alarm but then with something like amusement—that she knew her entire face must be one big mud smudge.

She gulped down fresh air and grinned triumphantly as she held up Talia’s Minolta. “Want to bet my mother somehow managed to kick it down that hole just before the Tambov’s took her? This is why she insisted on returning. She came back for evidence. For the truth.”

They continued toward Kiev on local roads, blending in with the increasing flow of traffic. Talia’s fever had eased down to what Mercy estimated was not much more than 99 degrees, her eyes clearing. She seemed able to stay awake longer. But then her temperature rose again as the aspirin Mercy had given her wore off. Talia broke into a shivery sweat, closed her eyes, drifted off.

They had brought basic first-aid supplies in their carry-on luggage, including Amoxicillin for infection. But all of that had been lost in the Lada. Besides, Mercy knew that antibiotics would take time to do their work. And she suspected her mother had suffered internal injuries, which might well require surgery. What Talia desperately needed now was a real doctor and a hospital. But only the U.S. embassy could assure her safety while she was being treated. Any local clinic would be too easily accessed by Tambov agents.

While her mother slept fitfully with the help of another dose of aspirin, Mercy climbed back into the front seat and checked out the rescued camera. The lens had shattered, probably during its tumble into the well, but the black shell seemed intact. The batteries even functioned. She pushed the power button. An image flickered on a two-inch screen.

“Oh,” Mercy breathed.

Sebastian glanced at her. “What is it?”

She hit a tiny function button and scanned dozens of stored photos. “No wonder the syndicate wanted to stop her. These pictures show what looks like stockpiled contraband.” Her pulse double timed, jack-hammering in her ears. “And close-ups of items that look as though she displayed them on her hotel bed—paintings, jewelry, and more. These must be the things Interpol found in her room. The so-called evidence that she was part of the smuggling ring.”

Sebastian gave a dry laugh. “That’s probably why the Russians stopped the tours through Pripyat. They didn't want anyone interfering with their black-market trade.”

“How were they selling all this stuff?” she wondered. “Ebay?” Her eyes widened at the thought of unsuspecting buyers ordering merchandise over the internet that could well be their ticket to illness and even death. 

Talia stirred on the seat behind her. Mercy reached a hand back to touch her gently. “It’s all right. We found your camera.” Talia's weak gaze met hers. She blinked as if she understood. “You’ve done your part, Mom. We're going home now.”

                                          38

Mercy doubted she’d ever seen a more welcome sight than the gilded domes of Kiev’s magnificent orthodox churches as they approached the city. St. Sophia glinting so brilliantly it competed with the setting sun. The breathtaking emerald enamel bulbs of the Andriivsky. The elegant multiple domes of the Trapezna Refectory. The entire city seemed illuminated by brush strokes of molten gold.

At last, they were crossing the Dnipro River into the city proper, and Mercy allowed herself a quiet sigh of relief.

“The American embassy’s on vul Kotsyubynskoho,” she said after consulting one of the maps Stefan had supplied. “Take the next right.”

“If we can.” Sebastian’s voice sounded oddly strained. She shot a look at him. He was scowling up at the rear-view mirror.

“What’s wrong?”

“We’re being followed.”

She wrenched around in her seat to look behind them. “The black sedan? How long have they been there?”

“Not long. It’s possible Tambov spotters were patrolling the city limits.”

Mercy drew a breath for strength. She had told her mother she’d take her home. One way or another, she’d keep that promise.

Mercy chewed a fingernail, her mind racing.
What do we do now?
They were so close, only a dozen or so blocks from the U.S. Embassy, if the map and address she’d written down were correct. With no cell phone to reach out to the staff, and fearing a call through a borrowed or public telephone might be intercepted by Tambov informers, they hadn’t been able to warn anyone of the urgency of their situation or their imminent arrival.

Sebastian steered the Jeep between lines of vehicles, trying to lose their tale. Somehow the sedan always stayed close. “How much farther?” Sebastian demanded.

“Two blocks…no, three.” She glanced at the passenger-side mirror—and her mouth went dry. The sedan had slipped in directly behind them and now was closing the space between the two vehicles. It looked as if it was about to climb up the rear end of the Jeep. “Don't flash your turn signal but take the second left. The embassy should be on our right.” She pointed. “There’s your left.”

Sebastian turned hard and fast against oncoming traffic, generating a chorus of irate honks from other vehicles. Cars swerved to avoid the Jeep then filled the intersection behind them. The black sedan was cut off, unable to turn. But she knew they'd only bought minutes.

Mercy dragged down a shuddering breath and focused on the street ahead of them. “Yes! There’s the embassy. Drive straight up to the gate.”

“I’ll drive through it if I have to,” Sebastian said through gritted teeth.

“Not unless you want those Marine guards to open fire on us before we can explain that we’re the good guys.”

Sebastian cut the wheel and swerved parallel to the curb, putting Mercy’s side of the vehicle just feet from the guardhouse. Before the car had fully stopped, she was out the door, not bothering to shut it behind her, running toward the gate.