Kidnap and Ransom (32 page)

The medic nodded for him to squeeze the airbag again. Jake pumped twice, then pulled it away.

The helicopter continued to bank. Through the cockpit window, Jake saw thetline of a building rushing up to meet them through the smog. The medic pressed the button again: Mark’s body jumped. The monitor continued to drone.

As the helicopter righted itself and started to descend, Jake began praying.

FEBRUARY 2

Thirty-Seven

She owed Brandi a debt, Kelly thought as she drifted downstream. She was much more comfortable in the water than she would have been before starting physical therapy. Not that it was pleasant. The water was cold and brackish. Slimy things kept brushing up against her. As soon as she swept through the hole, something icy slid across her leg. Kelly jolted away, nearly losing her pack and flashlight. She caught both just in time. She struggled to remain calm. This would be a hell of a time to have a panic attack.

The tube narrowed. The ceiling was about three feet above her head, and she had five feet on either side of her. A hundred feet in, the current gathered speed. The roof seemed to be sloping down, walls narrowing to a point in front of her.

Kelly took a deep breath. The walls here were bare. Steam rose off the river, curling up and around her like wraiths determined to drag her underwater. The reason the current was quickening suddenly became apparent: at the very edge of where her flashlight penetrated the gloom, she saw another hole in the wall. The river raced toward it.

Kelly felt oddly unafraid. She swept along, fingers cramping from her death grip on the flashlight and backpack. The river gained speed. The rift appeared far too small for her to fit through, yet she remained buoyed by an overwhelming sense of peace and calm. It certainly wasn’t where she’d expected to die, or how, but it was oddly fitting. Her original showdown with Stefan had started underground and ended by a river. Apparently history was repeating itself.

Ten feet from the opening.

The hole was larger than she’d initially perceived, the stone edges surrounding it worn smooth. Water churned at the entrance, small whitecaps sloshing among the brown.

Five feet.

Kelly panted a few times to empty her lungs, then drew in a deep breath right before the torrent sucked her down.

The rushing current nearly yanked the backpack and flashlight from her grip. Kelly clutched them to her chest, hugging them tightly. Her left knee banged against something and she nearly opened her mouth to gasp in pain. She drew her legs in to her chest. The water spun her, it was impossible to tell which way was up anymore. Her flashlight caught odds and ends of stone, most just before she smacked into them. Something hit her chin as she shot past, then her elbow. It felt like the channel was narrowing even more. She curled into a ball, trying to make herself as small as possible. Her lungs started to burn.

Kelly fought the urge to breathe in. She wondered how long she’d been under. Thirty seconds? A minute? She’d never tried to hold her breath for an extended period. She had no idea how long could last.

Suddenly Kelly felt herself rising, buoyed by the air reserve in her chest. She fought her way up, clawing at the water with her free hand. Kelly exploded out of the surface, exhaling hard, choking as some water shot into her mouth. She sucked in air greedily. The flashlight shone up from below. Kelly tried to take a stroke with her right arm, kicking her left leg to maneuver herself back into a floating position.

But something was wrong, she wasn’t moving. She tried again, then switched her grip on the light so that it pointed down.

Her prosthetic foot was wedged into a crevice between two rocks.

Water pressure built up behind her, driving her head down. Kelly had been white water kayaking a few times, and knew this was how most people drowned. She sucked in another gulp of air and dived below the surface. She struggled to free the prosthetic, but her hands kept sliding off the slick polyurethane foam cover. She jerked with her hip, but that only sent shooting pains through her stump.

Kelly broke the surface again, gasping. The current seemed stronger, determined to defeat her. She spit out water as she struggled to breathe. She was drowning slowly. She didn’t have a choice. She’d have to abandon the prosthetic and go after Stefan with one leg.

There wasn’t much time left. Already she felt sluggish. Her arms were tiring and she was beginning to feel sleepy, a clear sign that hypothermia was setting in. She shrugged the backpack over her shoulders—it was already soaked, no point trying to keep it above the surface any longer.

Sucking in a deep breath, Kelly dived again. She struggled to unfasten her prosthetic. The silicone liner was rolled tightly over her stump. Her hands slipped, the liner refused to budge. Just as she was starting to panic, worried that the water had somehow created an airtight seal, it slipped off. She was free.

Kelly shot forward quickly. She stretched her left leg out in front of her as the current bumped and jostled her. The top of the chamber was inches above her head, her nose almost skimmed it. Kelly drew in deep breaths, holding the air in her lungs for a few seconds each time.

Suddenly, without warning, she was sucked back underwater.

Rodriguez pressed the buzzer again, irritated. It was just before dawn. There should have been someone watching the gate to the embassy. Apparently security wasn’t as tight as he would have expected.

It was a full five minutes before footsteps approached from the other side of the gate. A door opened and closed, and a bleary-eyed guard appeared in the window of the guardhouse.

“Buenos días, señor,” he said with a yawn.

Rodriguez pressed his badge against the window. “I need to get inside, now.”

The guard blinked at the ID, unimpressed. A metal drawer slid open in front of Rodriguez. The guard motioned for him to drop his credentials inside. He drew it back to him, picked up the case and examined it. Rodriguez tapped a finger on the narrow metal ledge. “Any day now,” he muttered.

The guard held up the ID, comparing the photo to Rodriguez’s face. Apparently satisfied, he put the Ito the drawer, along with a green pass. “Everyone is still asleep, Señor Rodriguez,” he said. “You’ll have to wait.”

Rodriguez jabbed a finger toward the phone beside the guard’s right hand. “Wake them up,” he said. “Or I’ll go do it myself.”

Thirty-Eight

Kelly broke the surface, sputtering. She shook her head to clear water from her eyes, treading to keep herself afloat. It was pitch-black, and the flashlight had been ripped from her hands. It felt like she’d been through the spin cycle of a washing machine. Her lungs ached, her head throbbed from the cold and her teeth wouldn’t stop chattering. The temptation to close her eyes and drift off to sleep was almost overwhelming. She forced herself to focus. Where the hell was she now? And more importantly, where was Stefan?

The thought of encountering him while unable to walk snapped her awake.

Kelly twisted in a full circle, trying to get her bearings. In the dark, it was impossible to tell which direction she’d come from. The steady press of the current had suddenly dissipated: she must be in an eddy. There was a noise off to her left. She spun to face it, squinting hard. In the distance, she detected a faint glow.

Kelly took a deep breath, dived down, and fumbled along the floor. The river was shallower here, in places her fingers brushed against rocks. Using a breaststroke, she felt her way along the bottom, praying to come across the smooth surface of her prosthetic, or the metal of her flashlight. But she encountered nothing but mud and pebbles.

She tried three more times before giving up. They could be right beside her and she’d never see them in the dark. Kelly fought the urge to scream in frustration. After everything she’d come through to get here, she’d arrived incapacitated.

But going back was not an option. Most importantly, she had to get out of the water before hypothermia induced loss of consciousness. Kelly chewed her lower lip. She was out of choices. It was move forward, or die right here and now.

She pushed a strand of hair from her eyes, flipped onto her stomach and swam toward the glow, her good leg kicking behind her. The light was about a hundred feet away. As she got closer, Kelly saw the rim of a shoreline. The sandy banks sloped up at a steep angle to an archway set into the wall. The area surrounding it was painted with murals similar to the ones in the cavern: elaborate red, yellow, blue and black swirls.

What appeared to be candlelight flickered from the archway. An inflatable raft was beached on the small spit of land.

Kelly dragged herself out of the water. The bank was gritty silt, sand mixed with coarse pebbles. Pushing with her left leg and crawling with her arms, she managed to get herself completely on shore. She flipped over on her back, exhausted, and shrugged off the pack. Her shivering increased. If anything, she felt colder than when she had been submerged. Her body was losing heat fast, she had to find a way to warm up. A breeze emanated from the archway. Kelly willed her teeth to stop chattering as she dug through the pack for the gun. It was soaking wet. She slid out the clip and checked it. MuddGlocks were designed to fire under the worst conditions imaginable.

Kelly crawled to the boat. There was a paddle tucked inside, but no dry clothing she could put on to warm up. She braced the paddle under her right armpit and got to her feet, using it as a crutch. It was awkward holding both the paddle and the Glock, but if Stefan suddenly appeared she needed to be ready.

Kelly strained her ears, listening for sound coming from the archway, but the air was still. She was tempted to find out where it led, but the incline was steep and her muscles throbbed from cold and fatigue. Her fingers and toes were going numb. If Stefan was in there, she’d be forcing a confrontation. Shivering the way she was, her aim would be off. There was a chance he’d manage to get the gun away from her, and then she’d be at his mercy.

But if she took the boat, he’d be stranded. Kelly could paddle farther down the river and wait for Rodriguez to arrive with backup. The current wasn’t as intense here; she should be able to make her way back upstream. Under the circumstances, that seemed like her best option.

Kelly was limping toward the boat when a voice behind her said, “You’re not planning on stealing my raft, are you, Agent Jones?”

Kelly was so startled she nearly dropped the gun. She carefully edged her body around.

Stefan was framed in the archway. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. She noted with no small amount of satisfaction that his face was as bruised and beaten as hers, nose still canted to the side.

“I can’t figure out how you got a raft through there,” she said. “Impressive.”

“Practice.” He grinned down at her. “Looks like you had some trouble.”

Kelly flushed. She clenched the paddle tight against her armpit, then bent her elbow, aiming the Glock at his chest. Her standing leg quivered from fatigue and her hands shook badly from the cold. She gritted her teeth and tried to steady them. “Get down on your knees,” she said.

Stefan appeared unconcerned. He remained where he was. “I have to say, your tenacity is remarkable. Most government employees aren’t nearly this diligent.”

“I mean it, Stefan. You’re under arrest.”

He laughed. “I have to ask, Agent Jones. How do you intend to get me out of here? Say that I comply with your request. You’ll have to restrain me, get me in the boat and somehow maneuver it while holding a gun on me. Do you honestly think you’re capable of that in your condition?”

“My partner will be here soon.”

“Ah, I see.” He rubbed his chin. “Strange that he’s not here now.”

“He went for help.”

“And yet you told me that you’re no longer with the FBI. Which begs the question, under whose authority are you arresting me? This is not United States territory.” He stepped toward her.

Kelly fought the urge to hop back. She jutted up her chin. “Right now, this Glock gives me the authority.” She clenched her jaw to stop her teeth from chattering.

“Hypothermia.” Stefan took another step forward. “I had the same problem on my first journey here.”

“I’ll shoot,” Kelly warned.

“Go ahead.” He rushed forward.

It took Kelly a second to react. Her first shot went wild, ricocheting off the wall to his left. The second and third were closer, but she still missed.

Five feet away from her Stefan dodged right. Her fourth shot caught the sleeve of his shirt. He reacted with a growl, leaping forward, his hands grasping for her.

But now he was nearly at point-blank range.

Kelly squeezed the trigger.

Nothing happened.

Stefan’s face split in a grin. Kelly squeezed the trigger again and again, panicked. The magazine held thirteen rounds. She should have nine left.

Stefan backhanded her across the face, sending her flying. Her head smacked the rubber side of the boat. The Glock slipped from her grasp.

She rolled off. The paddle had fallen by her heels. Kelly snatched it up and knocked it against his legs, trying to sweep them out from under him. He grunted at the impact, but didn’t budge.

Kelly spotted the gun on the other side of the boat. She scrambled for it, heaving her body over the gunwales and into the raft. Panting, she pushed hard with her good leg, scrabbling for a purchase against the slippery rubber sides. The gun was only a foot away. Kelly lunged for it.

Her fingers were about to close on the handgrip when her head was jerked back. Kelly yelped in pain. Stefan hauled her up in front of him by the hair. She kicked at him, but the blows didn’t seem to make a dent.

“Nice try,” he said.

Kelly clawed at him, aiming for his eyes. Her fingernails raked his cheeks, drawing blood, but he completely disregarded her attack. He marched over to the wall, dragging her with him. Kelly flailed at him, resisting.

He drew her head back and slammed it into the wall.

Shards of darkness danced before her eyes, and something hot ran down her face. Blood, she thought blearily.