Point of No Return (12 page)

Back to camp? Everything inside Chet seized up. Did he mean the mission? Where Akif Bashim threatened to…

He shot another look at Mae. She looked up from the paper and motioned him over.

He couldn't move without losing his signal. He held up his hand as he listened to the rest of Gracie's message. “I hope you get this. I'm really worried, Chet, and tell Mae, if she's with you, that she'd better not be in any trouble. Call me.”

She hung up. Chet hit Replay and listened to the time stamp, then the message again. She'd called maybe an hour ago.

So, when did Josh get ahold of his mother? Last night? This morning?

He closed the phone.

Josh was going back to the mission. Which meant…what? Images bulleted through his mind—ones he'd long since shoved into the darkest corners of his brain. Bashim binding his hands behind his back. Bashim motioning to Vladik—who'd been Chet's friend—to slam the butt of his rifle into Chet's jaw. The blinding flash of agony as his jawbone cracked. Dirt mixing with the tinny taste of blood, turning to mud in his mouth. A foot slamming into his gut, doubling him over, another in his back, bruising his kidneys. His own cries as another rifle butt, this time to his shoulder, made him howl.

“Chet?”

He hadn't seen or heard her approach. He gasped as
Mae took his hand, her soft touch shocking him out of the grip of memory.

“What is it?”

He took a breath and smiled, pushing the memories back—way, way back. “Nothing. Uh—” he cleared his throat, lifting the phone “—I got a signal.”

“I saw that,” she said, eyes still wary. “You look like you got bad news. You're all pale, and sweating.”

He was sweating? He felt his forehead, and he noted that his hand trembled. She saw it, too, one of her eyebrows raising.

“You're scaring me a little, Chet.”

He swallowed, found his voice. “Gracie called. And apparently your sister called her.”

“Lissa called Gracie?” She threw her hands up. “I've only been gone two—”

“Four. Four days, Mae. The day you left—an overnight trip to Georgia—two days on the road with me, and then today.”

She frowned. “Four days. Wow, it feels like two, but then again, it could be an eternity. Okay, so four days. I would think she'd wait a week before she'd start hounding my friends to put out a BOLO. Next thing we know, she'll call the president and ask him to send in the army.”

Chet would be okay with that. Or even just a small precision team of Special Forces operatives. He pocketed the phone. “That's not why she called.”

That snapped Mae out of her rant. “Really? Why did she call?”

“Josh called your sister, maybe last night, maybe this morning. Whenever it was, she told him that you were in the country and he said he's heading back to the mission.”

It appeared as if everything caught up with Mae at once—fatigue, hunger, fear. She put a shaky hand to her head, her face draining. She took a couple of swift breaths.

“Maybe you should sit down.”

“I'm fine. Yeah, okay, I'll sit.” She reached out for him, and he caught her hand, leading her over to the curb. She plunked down, and he resisted the urge to suggest she put her head down between her knees.

Although that might be a good idea for him, too.

“Joshy went back to the mission. Where Bashim will be returning to collect him, if we don't get there ASAP,” Mae said in a thin voice.

“Yes. Although maybe Josh isn't there.”

“Yet.”

“Yet.”
Holding on, Lord, I'm just barely holding on here.

“Maybe this is a good thing. Maybe Josh can apologize, and the girl will go quietly…”

Mae's expression betrayed her waning grip on hope. “This isn't going to end well, is it?”

He took her hand in his. “I think we need to get there as fast as we can.”

Instead of leaping to her feet and running to the motorcycle, as she might have done, oh, say, a day ago, she looked up at him, a new expression in her eyes. It almost looked like pain—especially when she put her hand to her mouth.

“What? Now you're scaring
me.
”

She opened her mouth, but it seemed she had no words. She turned to her bag and pulled out the paper she'd been reading. He wondered what she'd bartered to purchase it.

“This is today's paper. I can't read the Georgian,
but the guy on the front looks…well…” Her face had paled.

His probably matched it. Because on the front page, in ugly, large Georgian type, were the words,
Georgian Rebel Leader Sighted on Train to Khashuri.

Below that, a grainy, much younger, brasher, more foolish version of himself glared out at all of Georgia like a wanted poster, daring Akif Bashim and his minions to find him.

“O
h, this is perfect, just perfect.”

“Are you talking to me?” Chet's voice cut through her thoughts.

Mae looked up from where she paced in small circles beside the bike. Chet had gone into some sort of safe mode about two seconds after laying eyes on his photo. First he'd grabbed the paper, and regardless of her angry demands, refused to read it to her.

He probably didn't have to. She simply had to read his face, and see how it went from shocked, to resigned, to that tight-jawed fear she'd first seen in Tbilisi.

Yeah, it was bad. Because now Akif wanted not only Josh's head, but Chet's, too. The thought could bring her to her knees.

Worse, Chet was the kind of guy who stayed in the fight, who let his partner shoot him to keep his cover, who didn't let his own needs and wants stand in the way of patriotism, or the greater good of others.

He'd pushed her out of his life and back to the other side of the world when he thought she might be risking her life. She didn't believe a word about him being selfish. She watched his face go stony as he wadded up the paper and shoved it into the trash.

Chet Stryker wasn't about to go quietly into the night. Which meant he'd stick around until the bitter end to rescue Josh, regardless of what it cost him. Or how he had to do it.

No, he'd fight back…till the death.

She could read his practically screaming body language, as he gave her a long look and then strode away back to his satellite signal portal and phoned home.

She harbored no illusions that he'd hog-tie her and bribe some local villager to tote her back to Tbilisi to keep her safe if Josh wasn't waiting for her back in Burmansk. Chet had probably already called Vicktor to meet him and force her on the first plane west. He
had
been on the phone for quite a while, which was why she didn't hear him approach as she continued on her own private tirade. “He's going to get killed, and—”

“Mae,
are you talking to me?
”

She turned to him. “No, I'm not talking to you. Mostly to fate, or whatever ordained this. Because I really don't want to blame God, but I'm not sure what else to do.”

Chet looked away from her, toward the tarmac. “God is still on our side. We need to hang on to that.”

Yeah, well, her grip had practically gone numb.

“What are we going to do? How are we going to get Joshy from Bashim?”

His eyes cut back to her, then he sighed, his fingers tightening around the cell phone in his hand. “
We
aren't going to do anything. If Bashim has Josh, then I will take care of it. I'll deal with him.”

“How?” Even as she asked it, the question turned to acid in her throat. She saw the truth on his face in the way he flinched, then forced a smile.

“Let me worry about that, Mae.”

“No! You're going to trade yourself for Josh! Chet—”

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Just be glad I'm forcing you to leave.”

“Forcing me?”

He seemed to be shaking now, his eyes shiny as they fixed on her. “Do you have any idea how much I'd like to just put you on that motorcycle and drive full throttle to Tbilisi? Or how much I'd like to storm that aerodrome, hijack a plane, and fly you anywhere but here? Prague, Seattle, the Bermuda triangle—anywhere as long as we're together?”

Then, turning, he closed the distance to the bike and snatched up their helmets.

She stood frozen, trying to process his words, pretty sure speaking would only get her into trouble.

He sighed, staring at the two helmets. “But I can't. I can't do that to you, and I can't do that to my country. I can't do that to myself. Because I know that I'd end up hating me, and
you'd
end up hating me—”

“Chet.”

He held out the helmet, not looking at her. “So put on your helmet and pray that I have the courage to do what I gotta do here, Mae.”

Silence passed in a beat of dread. Another. Then she took the helmet and slowly strapped it to her head.

She wanted to wedge herself into his arms, to tell him everything would work out—that they'd get Josh and they'd escape and no one would get hurt.

But he rounded on her too quickly for her to manage the lie.

“Here's how this is going to go down,” he said, his
eyes dark, pinning hers. “And I don't want to hear one argument, not one peep, not a breath of rebellion.”

Oh.

“We're going to go to Burmansk, right to the mission. If he is still there, you're going to get Josh and convince him to leave. I don't care how. If it takes you longer than five minutes, I'm going to help. And that won't be pretty, so try hard. Then, you two are going to get on this bike and floor it to Tbilisi. No wandering through the forests on horseback or stopping for tea at Americans' houses. To Tbilisi. There, the CIA will put you on a plane out of the country.”

“You were on the phone with the CIA?”

“They owe me.”

“What about you?”

He climbed on the bike. “Get on.”

“What about you?”

“Get on!”

“No. Chet, no! I'm not going to leave you behind. You're coming with us!”
With me.
“I can't—I won't leave without you!”

Something, perhaps the fact that she was yelling, or maybe the way she grabbed his sleeve, got his attention. He turned, his face raw with emotion. She saw all of it—anger, frustration, fear, even longing—slash across his face.

“Please come with me, Chet.”

He took a breath and revved the engine, considering her for a long time. “Get in.”

“Please.”

He ground his jaw tight. “I'll try.”

I'll try.
It wasn't enough, but clearly, it was all he would give, for now. She'd take that. Grabbing the sides of the car, she got in and hunkered down inside.

I'll try.

She clutched the sides of the car with all she had as Chet gunned it onto the road toward Burmansk.

I'll try.

 

“He hasn't been here.” Joyce Warner leaned on her shovel, now covered in ash and dirt, sweat trekking across the brow of her baseball cap, along her chin. The villagers of Burmansk had managed, in the past twenty-four hours, to clear away most of the burned rubble—charred boards, twisted metal bed frames, hollowed box-spring mattresses, their spiral skeletal remains like arms reaching to the afternoon sky.

“I promise, if Darya and Josh returned, I'd know about it.” She stepped closer, peering down at Mae in the bucket beside Chet. The ancient transport had lost its appeal over the last four-hour motocross event. Dodging potholes and open ditches was more like an off-road race than regular driving.

“We're running out of time,” Joyce continued. “But I changed my mind. When you find Josh, you get out of here, as fast as you can. We'll handle whatever Bashim dishes out.” Her voice tightened even as she said it, and she met Chet's eyes. “We're not going to let fear run us out of here.”

Mae met the news with a grim expression her face. In fact, she'd said nothing, not a peep, since they'd left Gori.

Clearly, he'd scared her into silence.

“He told his mother he was going back to camp,” he said, thinking aloud, looking at Mae. “Maybe he meant…”

Then he heard it—Laura's voice, before she'd branded
him an enemy.
He told me my place reminded him of a summer camp he attended when he was a kid.

“He's going to Laura's,” Chet said under his breath.

Mae glanced up at him, her eyes wide. “Yes. Of course.”

Hope. He could taste it as he spun out on the bike with Mae beside him. Maybe he wouldn't find himself facedown in the mud, a Kalashnikov grinding into the back of his head—

Wait. Wild hope—especially the way it spiked through him, nearly making his head spin—wouldn't do any of them any good. Most likely, Josh and Darya already lay dead among the smoldering remains of Laura's hovel.

A sort of rabid relief swelled through him as he crested the hill and spotted the friendly yellow house, the only hint of life the spiral of welcome from the coal chimney. Of course, he didn't expect the same from Laura. She hated him. Probably had to do with the fact that he helped start the civil war that cost her husband his life. And caused her disfigurement.

Still, if Josh was here…

Chet stopped the bike in the yard and reached out to help Mae from her seat. She took his hand, holding on a little tighter than he expected.

I'll try.

Maybe, in those words, she'd heard yes.

When in fact, he meant,
I'll try not to cost you your life.

Apparently they were back to editing to suit each other's expectations.

“Laura?” Mae yelled, working off her helmet.

“Josh?”

Chet reached for his gun, pulling it from his back
waistband, pressing it flush against his leg. If Akif came through that door…

But it opened a crack to reveal Laura, her blond hair down, in a pair of jeans and a blue blouse under a brown buttoned sweater. She stared at them as if they'd returned from the dead. “You two? They haven't caught you yet?”

Chet glanced at Mae. He stopped Mae from advancing, putting her just a shadow behind him. “Did Darya and Josh come back here?”

Laura, regarding him with cool eyes, stepped out onto the porch. “What would make you think that?”

“He called his mother. He told her he was coming here.” Laura stared at him and Chet knew. “Where is he?”

“He's not here.” Despite her crisp tone, he read sadness in Laura's gaze. “But Darya is.”

Chet tucked his gun back into his belt. “Alone?”

“I just told you that Josh wasn't here.”

“Where is he?” Mae stepped around him, her voice shrill.

Laura folded her hands over her chest.

“Oh, let them in, Laura!”

The voice jolted Chet, something in it painfully young, painfully familiar.

And then the door eased open and she stepped out. Long dark, nearly black hair, a princess face, slender body, arms folded against a formerly white oversize man's shirt tied in the front, and a pair of jeans that hugged her long legs. Carissa.

No. Not Carissa. Because she had blue eyes. Very blue. Regal, almost. Josh hadn't stood a chance. Now, those beautiful eyes looked him over with unabashed
curiosity. “So, you're Chet Stryker. You look just like my mother told me.”

He wasn't sure how to interpret her tone—it sounded as if she knew him, or at least knew a great deal about him. He didn't remember any of Akif's wives, and had no idea which one might be the mother of this woman. However, clearly his name had lived in infamy around their campfires. She wasn't afraid of him, he knew that much from the enigmatic smile on her face—so she clearly didn't know his mission, namely to haul her back to the father she wanted to escape.

But that smile, it seemed so…as if he'd seen it only yesterday. He felt a strange, inexplicable warmth stir in his chest.

“And you are?”

“Darya…Bashim.”

“The daughter of Akif Bashim.”

She gave a short laugh and glanced once at Laura, whose expression never wavered from that hard, sad look. Then she shook her head, still wearing that strange smile.

“No. He's not my father.”

Oh, no, did he have the wrong girl? Or did the CIA have the wrong girl? That seemed more accurate. They'd given him bad intel, whether by accident or design. Either way, he didn't have to drag this girl back to Bashim, didn't have to force her into marital slavery. He could, right now, figure out a way to get her and Josh and Mae and yes, maybe even himself, out of this country alive.

And without letting Bashim finish what he'd started.

“You're not his daughter? Then why would Bashim
burn down the mission and start an international incident—”

“Because he's angry. I defied him by working at the mission, then running away with an American. It's his worst nightmare. And of course, yes, he does expect me to show up tomorrow to marry Akeem.”

“So you did get cold feet.” He had moved closer and noted that she wasn't so much petite as lean. And a little angry, judging by the glittering of those blue, icy eyes.

“I was foolish, I admit it. I fell in love. I was hoping… I thought Josh and I could have something.”

“So now you're ready to go back to Akif and marry this guy?” He glanced at Laura. “To do what you agreed to?”

Darya looked past him, at the motorcycle, then at Mae, and finally back at Chet, and nodded. “I am. I sent Josh back to the mission to go home.” His heart softened for her as her chin trembled. “I'm sorry I caused such trouble.”

Mae came to life behind him. “Trouble? Seriously? Do you know what your father will do to Josh if he finds him—and you know, he
is
coming back to Burmansk. And if he doesn't find you there…”

Chet put a hand on her arm. “You sent Josh back to the mission? When?”

Then, Mae got it.

Right about the time Darya got it, too. “He's not there?”

“When did you send him?”

“About two hours ago.” She looked at Laura. “Right? Or maybe just an hour, I don't know.”

“He wasn't on the road, either,” Chet said, examining
her expression for the truth. She'd gone pale, and real fear filled her eyes.

Yep, she loved Josh.

“Maybe we missed him,” Mae said, her voice leaking panic.

Chet strode back to the bike. Something didn't feel right. And if they showed up without Darya, only to find Akif waiting…

He turned and pitched a helmet to Darya. “Get on.”

She caught it coming off the porch. As Mae climbed on the back of the bike—clearly wanting to abdicate her seat—Darya wedged herself into the sidecar.