Riders of the Pale Horse (38 page)

“No, no, lady. This new road. See? That house, you not see that house not ever before. And this one, maybe this the house, yes? Two up close, see how built?”

“No,” Allison replied, marking a larger house looming up on the road's opposite side and blocking the view. “Definitely not this one.”

“Okay, all what you say is okay. We take this road now, yes? You see, I good safety driver. Take all day and help what I can.”

“They're all jammed so close together,” Allison said, “I can't even tell if we're still above the amphitheater.”

“Oh, yes, yes, you see, this why important you have honest driver. I know. Amphitheater just down there. We stay right where you want.”

“Our driver,” Judith murmured, “is going to be telling the story of this day to his great-grandchildren.”

Allison pointed through her window. “Stop here.”

“Sure, sure, anything you say. We stop here right now.”

Judith climbed out beside her. “What is it?”

“See those two buildings? No, not these, up higher. The next road. See how they stick up over the tops of these others?”

“Maybe,” Judith said doubtfully. “They all look the same to me.”

“Me too,” Allison confessed. She sighed. “Maybe we should have gone with them to Aqaba.”

Judith looked at her. “Is that the sound of defeat I hear?”

“Then if they hadn't found anything, we could have tried to convince them to come back this way.”

“Come on,” Judith said, climbing back in the car. “Let's go check it out.”

“What are we supposed to do when we get there?” Allison asked, suddenly burdened by doubt. “Go up and knock on doors and ask if they've happened to see any kidnapped Americans lately?”

Judith Armstead was not the least concerned. “It's early yet. Ninety-nine percent of our work involves eliminating possibilities.”

Allison pointed out her side window. “Can you take us to those buildings up there?”

“Sure, sure, no problem. I take you anywhere, you see.”

Once they were again under way, Judith told Allison, “I met your father once, by the way.”

“You did? When?”

“Oh, it was some time ago.” For a moment her strong exterior softened. “I was just getting started. Your father had an almost mythical reputation in those days. He was giving a lecture, and afterward he took time to chat with me. I was young, a complete unknown, and yet John Taylor stops and
chats, surrounded by all these officers and bigwigs, treating me like I was somebody important.”

Allison felt a sudden kinship. “I never knew anything about that side of his work. I still don't, actually.”

The taxi driver pulled over and stopped. “See? Just like you ask. I know all special roads.”

“Wait here, please.” Allison climbed from the taxi and surveyed the twin structures, asked, “What now?”

“Let's go see.” Judith strode determinedly up to the first building, pushed at the door, found it unlocked. A moment's hesitation, then she walked inside. “The cellar, you say?”

“That's where Alexis was held.” Allison answered breathlessly.

They walked down the stairs and entered a dank and moldy corridor with wires and cables strung overhead. Most of the rooms had no doors; the hallway opened directly onto fusty-smelling chambers full of refuse and old washing machines.

“At least he had the smell right,” Allison murmured. She walked over to the one sealed door, hesitated, then knocked and whispered, “Wade?” She pressed her ear hard to the surface.

“Hear anything?”

“Nothing.”

“They probably wouldn't leave him unguarded. Let's go try next door.”

The cellar of the neighboring building was identical except for two women busy gossiping over a laboring washer. They looked up and gawked in utter astonishment as the two westerners stepped into view. Their eyes opened even farther when Judith addressed them in Arabic. One of them answered her with a question. Judith replied at length, motioning around the chambers. The two women looked at each other and howled with laughter. Judith smiled in reply and waved a good-bye.

“What did you tell them?” Allison asked.

“The only thing I could think of. That the embassy was
looking for downtown living space, and we needed a large basement for entertaining guests in safety.” She pointed up the stairs. “Let's go take a look at what we can see from the roof.”

At that height, there was at least a little wind. Laundry flapped in the sultry breeze. Allison gulped deep breaths and surveyed her surroundings. The taxi driver was correct; he had managed to bring them in a relatively straight line directly up from the amphitheater. Allison turned around, visually searching the other buildings. “We should have done this in the beginning.”

“Everything is much clearer,” Judith agreed.

“How about those two over there?”

Judith nodded, pointed to her left. “And those.”

“And the two a couple streets higher. To my right.”

“Try to fix them clearly in your mind. Things will look different from down below.”

They returned to the taxi, pulled the driver from his car, pointed, and explained where they wanted to go. He agreed with the genuine willingness of one whose fortune was assured.

The next pair of buildings proved to have roofs separated by a high wire fence. Alexis had not mentioned anything of the sort, so they merely noted the location and left that building for later. The following pair of buildings had cellars as empty as the first ones. The next set were located on a street so narrow the taxi was twice forced to backpedal in order to permit through traffic. No sunlight filtered into the manmade chasm.

Allison climbed from the taxi and said, “I don't see how you can keep up your enthusiasm for a job like this.”

“By having one in a thousand attempts pay off,” Judith replied. “Don't give up hope.”

The first cellar proved to be one vast chamber sectioned off by ankle-high concrete partitions.

The second building greeted them with a locked door.

Judith did not hesitate. She rang the top two bells, waited,
and when nothing happened took the next two in line. This time the door-speaker squawked. Judith put her face close to the box and said in English, “We're the Avon ladies, come to see if you received your samples this week.”

The box squawked and rattled and stuttered. “That's right,” Judith agreed. “A free car.”

Allison looked at her. “We're what?”

“These things don't work half the time,” Judith explained. “And I doubt seriously that anybody on the other end speaks a word of English.”

In reply, the buzzer sounded. Judith pushed her way inside, stuck her head up the stairway, and called,
“Shokran,”
thank you. She then guided Allison down the cellar stairs.

A leather-skinned Arab dressed in rumpled western clothes and sporting a three-day growth on his face rose from his chair as they stepped into view. He shouted vehemently at them and pointed back up the stairs. Judith started off in Arabic, but the man was having none of it. He started toward them, making sharp shoving motions at the air.

Allison took one step back onto the first stair and screamed at the top of her lungs,
“WADE!”

It was impossible to find a comfortable position.

Standing was hard, with his knee complaining louder the longer he remained on his feet. Sitting up was best, with his back resting on the wall and his hands drawn up into the small of his back. But that eventually grew tiresome. Then he had a choice of either lying on one side or the other on the cool, damp, and extremely hard floor, with his head at a downward angle on the floor. Lying on his back meant crushing his hands, and they were already numb from restricted blood flow. Lying on his belly meant mashing his cheek into the moldy concrete.

And his knee thundered painfully with every heartbeat.
Not to mention the agony he knew every time he knelt to drink.

The sound woke him from a fitful doze. For a moment he thought it had been part of a dream. He struggled upright, hoping against hope, opening his mouth to still the noise of his breathing.

There it was again. Shouting. Just outside his door. And then the shrill cry. It was her.

He stumbled to his feet, overturned his food, yelled, “I'm in here!”

“That's his voice!” Allison started forward, only to be slammed up against the wall as the Arab strong-armed her into the concrete. She felt the breath whoosh from her lungs by the force of his blow, and she thought her legs would give way.

The Arab snarled and reached inside his coat, then froze. Judith Armstead had two-armed a small blue-steel pistol directly up his nose. Her voice was as cold as ice.

The Arab hesitated. She snapped out a second command in Arabic, and he stepped reluctantly back.

“Take his gun, Allison,” she ordered.

With trembling hands Allison reached inside his coat, drew out the pistol stuck into his belt, and held it aloft with two fingers.

“It's not a snake,” Judith snapped. “Get a good grip on it.”

The gun was surprisingly heavy. She pointed it at the Arab's face, but found herself unable to hold it steady even with two hands.

“Go try the door.”

Allison sidled over. She saw Judith take one step back and motion with her own gun for the Arab to move to the wall. He did not do so fast enough for her. Again the whipping sound of her voice, and with a snarl of his own the Arab complied.

Allison released one hand from the gun and knocked. “Wade?”

“Is that really you?” The voice was muffled but clear.

She caught the sob that rose in her throat and fought it back down. Allison glanced at the bolt set at chest level in the door. “It's padlocked shut.”

“Tell him to back off and lie down. Then shoot the hinge,” Judith snapped. “And hurry. We're sitting ducks.”

“I heard,” came Wade's muffled reply.

“Here goes.” Allison aimed the gun and fired. The recoil popped her hands up over her head, and the boom reverberated like a cannon in the enclosed surroundings. The smoke burned her eyes. As soon as the ringing diminished she heard screams and cries from throughout the building. The Arab snarled a curse and started to move, only to find Judith's gun jammed into the nape of his neck.

She screamed a command in Arabic and then in English,
“Move!”

Allison hit the stubborn bolt with the butt of her gun. Then she grasped the door handle and pulled with all her might. The door groaned, then gave.

Wade stumbled into her arms.

“Out of the way!” Judith hustled the Arab over and into the chamber, rammed the door back home. She whacked the broken hinge back into place as much as she could, then took the Arab's chair and slammed it up under the handle. She yelled, “Let's go!”

They raced up the stairs as fast as Wade's injured knee would allow. Allison supported him with one arm; the other still held the pistol. They saw fingers pointed at them from the floors above, then just as swiftly disappear with a chorus of screams.

Allison threw open the outside door and rammed straight into the arms of Rogue Robards.

It was the only thing that saved them.

Rogue's startled pause at having an unknown woman suddenly in his arms gave Wade just enough time to shout, “It's him!”

Judith Armstead rammed the gun into his throat. “Barton Robards, you are coming with us. The authorities wish to speak with you in regard to charges of kidnapping, extortion, and the smuggling of—”

“No!” Wade shouted, surprising them all, and jostled Judith from behind, surprising them even more. Judith stumbled and lowered her gun a fraction.

“Run!” Wade shouted at Robards.

Rogue did not need to be told twice. He leapt from the stairs and moved so fast that he left behind only empty space.

Judith searched the empty street. “What the—?”