The Ugly Duckling (18 page)

“In the garden.” She frowned. “And you mustn’t blame him. He already feels bad enough.”

“I do blame him.” He moved toward the door. “But I won’t shoot him, if it’s any comfort to you. I’ll be right back.”

Phil seemed as despondent as Tania had said he was and stiffened warily as Nicholas approached. “I know. I screwed up. But I did keep an eye on her,” he said before Nicholas could speak. “I even slept in my car in the driveway.”

“
Slept
seems to be the operative word.”

Phil nodded glumly. “I didn’t expect it. She seemed so content with Ms. Vlados.”

Nicholas hadn’t expected it either. Not this soon. He’d thought she’d need time to recover from that traumatic visit to the cemetery. “Okay. It’s done. Have you tried to find her?”

Phil nodded. “Ms. Vlados said you’d deposited money for her at First Union under Eve Billings. I tracked her to the bank, where she made a withdrawal, and then to the train station. It was pretty easy. People remember that face.”

“What was her destination?”

“Preston, Minnesota. She got off there and hired a rental car. She dropped the rental car off at O’Hare Airport in Chicago. I haven’t been able to track her destination yet through the airlines. Those reservation centers like to keep confidential records, and it would take time to smooze around every airline gate at O’Hare to see if she’d been seen.” He paused. “Of course, if I had access to a computer, I’d find a way to tap into the airlines’ computer banks and—”

“She’s trying to leave a false trail. She wouldn’t use her name and she’d pay in cash. She had no valid credit cards.”

Phil grimaced. “Bad luck.”

“But she has a passport now.” He thought about it. “There may still be a way. If she had a definite destination in mind, she might have phoned from the house and made arrangements. Did she go anywhere she might have used an outside phone?”

“She and Ms. Vlados went to the supermarket, but I drove them and carried the bags back to the house. She didn’t make any calls.”

“Come on.” Nicholas strode to the house.

Tania met them in the driveway. “Well?”

“Phil needs a computer. Joel has one in the library, doesn’t he?”

“Yes.” She gazed at Phil skeptically. “But he babies that computer as if it were a pet puppy. He won’t like it if anything happens to any of his programs.”

“I’ll take good care of it,” Phil promised earnestly. “And I’ll need it for less than thirty minutes.”

“Joel’s computer will be in excellent hands,” Nicholas said. “Phil worships at the shrine of Microsoft.”

“Who?”

“Never mind. Trust me. Joel’s programs are safe.”

She shrugged and led them back to the house. She nodded toward a door down the hall. “That’s Joel’s study.”

“Do you have more than one telephone line in the house?” Phil asked.

Tania nodded. “Joel’s phone in the study and the house phone.”

“What are the numbers?”

She rattled off both numbers. “Shall I write them down?”

“No, I’ll remember. I’m good at numbers.” He hurried down the hall toward the study.

“What’s he going to do?” Tania asked.

“Tap into telephone company records and find out what numbers Nell called before she left here and to whom they belong.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“Yes.”

“What if he’s caught?”

“He won’t be. This is a piece of cake for him. Phil could tap CIA classified records and not be caught.” He changed the subject. “Where did Nell sleep? I want to see her room.”

“You won’t find anything. I’ve already cleaned it.”

“I want to see it.”

She led him upstairs and threw open the door. She watched him as he moved around the room. Checking the pad beside the bedside telephone.

“There wasn’t any note on the pad.”

He raised the pad to the light. No imprint. He went to the closet and opened the door. “You said she didn’t take any luggage?”

“A small duffel. What are you looking for?”

He rifled through the clothes. “Anything.” He closed the closet door and glanced around the room. A pile of magazines was stacked neatly on the shelf of the nightstand. “Were all those here when she came?”

“The magazines? Most of them. Nell picked up a few at the supermarket.”

He sat down on the bed and lifted the stack. “Which ones?”

“I’m not sure. I didn’t look at them.” Tania moved toward the bed and watched him leaf through the magazines. “The
Cosmo
is new. I don’t recognize the
Newsweek
either. I don’t see any other—What’s wrong?”

“I take it this is new too?” He pulled out a thin magazine from the bottom of the pile. “It’s not exactly what most hostesses supply their guests.”

“
Soldier of Fortune?
” Tania frowned. “I’ve never seen that magazine before. What is it?”

“A charming how-to magazine on the ways and means of becoming a mercenary. It’s practically the bible of survivalists and would-be mercenaries.”

“But why would Nell buy it?” Her eyes widened. “You think she wants to hire someone?”

“I don’t know what the hell she wants to do.” He started through the magazine page by page, checking each one for turned-down corners or written notes. He ran across nothing until he got to the list of want ads in the back. There was a slight crease in the middle of the page, as if it had been folded back.

“Have you found something?” Tania asked.

“A page that must have a hundred ads on it,” he said in exasperation. It was a mixed bag of personal ads. Ex-soldiers trying to contact old buddies, weapon sales. Why couldn’t the blasted woman have circled one of them?

“I think I’ve found it.” Phil stood in the doorway with a slip of paper in his hand. “Everything that popped up on the office phone looked pretty standard, but these three numbers on the house phone seemed weird.” He handed Nicholas the paper. “They’re all survivalist camps. One is outside Denver, Colorado, one is near Seattle, Washington, and the last one is just outside Panama City, Florida.”

“What’s a survivalist camp?” Tania asked.

“It’s a training camp for a group of people who think that eventually America will be attacked or become a police state and that they can survive only by being skilled with weapons and in guerrilla warfare.” Nicholas was running his finger down the column in the magazine. “It’s usually run by ex-mercenaries, Seals, or military types who want to pick up a few bucks training weekend warriors.” All three names were on the page, but there was no indication which one she might have chosen. “Which one of these camps did she call last, Phil?”

“Seattle.”

“You actually think Nell may have gone to one of these places?” Tania asked.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s a stubborn, stupid woman who’s trying her best to get herself killed.” And because he had opened his damn mouth and made her feel inadequate to the task she had set herself.

“I don’t think she wants to die,” Tania said quietly.
“Not anymore. She’s beginning to come alive again. And she’s not stupid. She must have a good reason for this. Is there great danger for her?”

“It depends on who’s running the camp. Some of them are farces, others are run by fanatics who have no compunction about driving potbellied stockbrokers into having heart attacks to ‘toughen’ them.”

“If they’re so macho, they won’t accept Nell.”

“If she’s lucky. But, thanks to Joel, Nell is a choice morsel and they may accept her for less than their usual reasons.”

“Rape?”

“Possibly.”

“Can you call these places and ask if they’ve seen her?”

“Membership is confidential.” They would all have to be checked out. Which was the most likely? Nell was trying to get away from surveillance. Seattle was the most distant and Seattle was the last number she had called. “I’ll take Seattle. Phil, you go to Denver.”

Phil nodded. “Shall I call Jamie and tell him to take Panama City?”

“Jamie’s still in London. Maybe we’ll get lucky.” He stood up and brushed a kiss on Tania’s forehead. “I’ll be in touch. I’ll check back if she’s not in Seattle and see if she’s contacted you.”

“Please.” Tania followed him from the room and down the steps. “I’m very worried about her, Nicholas.”

“You have reason to be.”

Obanako, Florida

“We don’t accept women in our training programs, little lady.” Colonel Carter Randall’s deep southern accent twanged unpleasantly on Nell’s ears. “So you can get your little feminist butt out of here.”

Nell brushed at the fly that had been buzzing around her face since she had entered the office. She was sweating and the humidity was like a slap in the face. Would it have endangered the man’s macho image to turn on the air-conditioning? “I’m not a feminist. Or maybe I am. I don’t know what that is anymore.” She met his gaze. “Do you?”

“Oh, yes, I know. We’ve had a few of those dyke broads come down here begging us to teach them how to be real men.”

“And did you teach them?”

He smiled nastily. “No, but some of the boys taught them how to be real women.”

He was trying to scare her. He was succeeding, but she mustn’t let him see it. He was the type of man who
relished domination. She asked calmly, “You raped them?”

“I didn’t say that, did I?” He leaned back in his chair. “But we have no quarters for women here at Obanako. You’d have to occupy a bunk in the barracks.”

“I’m willing to do that.”

“So were those dykes. They changed their mind after the first night.”

“I won’t change my mind.” She wiped her moist hands on her jeans. She was no longer sure whether she was perspiring from nervousness or heat. “Why won’t you accept women? Our money is just as good.”

“But your backbone isn’t.” His gaze lingered on her breasts. “We accept women … in their place. A woman should keep to what she does well.”

She smothered her resentment. She would get nowhere with this chauvinist bastard by getting angry.

But it might help if she could make
him
angry, she thought suddenly.

“I saw those big, strong men in the field outside trying to scale that wooden barrier. They didn’t seem to be doing too well. Are you afraid a woman could show them up?”

He stiffened. “This is only the first week of training. By the end of the month they’ll be over that wall in a flash.”

“Maybe.”

A flare of temper lit his face. “You’re calling me a liar?”

“I’m saying I have doubts that a man who can’t maintain discipline in his barracks can make soldiers out of soft recruits in a few weeks.”

“I have excellent discipline here in Obanako.”

“Is that why you permit women to be raped? That’s not military discipline, that’s barbarism. What kind of officer are you?” Before he could answer, she went on.
“Or perhaps you’re not really an officer at all. Did you buy that uniform in an army-navy store?”

“I was a colonel in the Rangers, you bitch.”

“How long ago?” she scoffed. “And why aren’t you still in the army instead of hiding out in these swamps? Did you get too old to cut it?”

“I’m forty-two years old and I can run rings around any man in this outfit,” he said through his teeth.

“I wouldn’t doubt it. Those poor bastards can’t even get over that barrier. It must make you feel very superior to know that you’re stronger than them.”

“I didn’t mean the trainees, I meant—” He broke off, struggling with rage. “You think that barrier is easy to scale? It’s thirty feet high. Maybe you could do better, little lady.”

“Possibly. We can only see. If I get over it, will you accept me into the program?”

His smile dripped malice. “If you get over it, we’ll all be very happy to accept you into our midst.” He stood up and gestured to the door. “After you.”

She hid her relief as she followed him from the office and down the steps. So far, so good.

Maybe.

As she drew closer, the wooden barrier loomed much taller than she had thought and appeared slick with mud from the boots of the men who had been trying to scale it.

“Step aside, men,” Randall said as he grabbed one of the ropes fastened at the top of the wall. He tossed it to Nell. “Let the little lady take her turn.”

She paid no attention to the hoots and grins of the men. She grasped the rope and began to climb. She realized at once it was a different proposition from clambering up the rope suspended from the ceiling of the gym. If she tried to use her knees, the rope swung
her against the wood wall. The only way was to use her feet as purchase against the wall and pull herself up.

Four feet.

Her soles slipped on the muddy surface and she crashed against the wall.

Pain.

Laughter from the men below.

Pay no attention to it. Hold on. Don’t let go.

She swung away from the wall and braced her feet against the wood again.

Seven feet.

She slipped again. The rough rope burned her hands as she slid down three feet before she caught herself.

“Don’t worry,” Randall called mockingly. “We’re right here ready to catch you, sweet thing.”

Laughter again.

Close them out. She could do it. Ignore the pain. One step at a time. Close it all out. There was only the rope and the wall.

She began to climb again.

Three steps up.

She slipped and rammed against the wall.

Four steps.

How many more?

It didn’t matter. You could do anything if you took it minute by minute.

It took ten more of those agonizing minutes before she reached the top of the wall and straddled it. She looked down at Randall and the men. She had to wait a moment before she could steady her breathing. “I made it, you son of a bitch. Now keep your promise.”

He wasn’t pleased, but he was no longer laughing. None of them were laughing. “Get down from there.”

“You promised to accept me if I made it. An officer always keeps his word, doesn’t he?”

He gazed coldly up at her. “Why, little lady, we’ll
be delighted to have you. We’re going out on maneuvers tomorrow, and I know you’ll just love that.”

Which meant he intended to make her life miserable. She started down the other side of the barrier. He was waiting when she reached the ground. “This is Sergeant George Wilkins. He’ll get your gear. Did I mention he doesn’t like the idea of women in the military?”