Volcano (14 page)

Joe’s brow was swept in amber-red, his temples and ears
streaking crimson. Somewhere in his eyes
was a question, a
question that Ana felt herself wanting
to answer...

Ana’s heart catapulted against her chest wall as she found
herself struggling for the strength to walk away, groping for the voice that
would say something- anything- that would give her the power to leave yesterday
behind.
 

“There a shower in this place?” she asked through the heat
weeping its way up her skin.

“Sure.”
 
Joe’s
said in a croaky whisper. “Back through the bedroom.”

“Joe,” Ana said, “I don’t know the whole story...”

Joe raised a single suspicious eyebrow.

“...
yet
. But I did want to thank
you. Thank you for whatever it was you had to go through to bring me here.”

“Ana, you don’t have to...”

He laid his hands on her shoulders and a current ricocheted through
her. And, in an instant, it was
him and her
and Costa
Negra all over again. But Ana couldn’t have that over again. Not now, not here.
Not ever, she reminded herself, breaking away. “Back through the bedroom?”

 
Joe nodded and
let out a small breath of air, but not so small she didn’t notice. “That away,”
he said, with a toss of his chin.

Ana headed for the bedroom, then stopped suddenly, whirling
on her heels, wanting to tell him- let him know- how much he mattered still,
despite what could never go on between them.

But he’d already disappeared, just as cleanly as a puff of
smoke above an extinguished flame.

***

Tom Mooney shut the file on his desk then reopened it,
thinking that would make things look clearer. But he still didn’t understand
what all this information meant.
A blueprint of the Neal
house?
Detailed information about their baby’s
whereabouts?
File numbers for surveillance tapes recording the baby’s
move from the Kane house to DIPAC headquarters in Central Virginia?

Tom slapped shut the file and slid it to the corner of his
desk, exposing the brown and beige map of the Rub Al Khali Desert that had lain
open underneath. He knew his nephew Joe was on assignment in Saudi. But what
was the fricking map for? And why the hell couldn’t Mooney remember?

Tom pushed back from his chair and stood, shaking his head.
He was probably dreaming this. It was all too surreal.
Absurd,
really.
Like someone had turned his goddamned life on a dime.

Too much had been happening lately that Tom didn’t
understand. And then, some days, he’d wake up and it’d all make perfect sense.
He’d been on his mission, fulfilling his god-given purpose to secure democracy.
Just at the moment, Tom couldn’t recall specifically what the hell that mission
was.

Didn’t matter, Tom told himself. Didn’t fricking matter.
Tomorrow, he’d remember for sure. Tomorrow would be a new day, a fresh start.
And the nightmare of this blackout would be over.

Tom walked to the back of his office and lifted the small
picture frame off the filing cabinet, wondering who the spiffy Marine was. And
why did Tom have the gut-wrenching sensation that the young redhead was in
danger?

***

Joe brought down the hatchet with earsplitting force.

Damn fool
, he cursed himself, setting up another
hapless log for assault.
Three years of waiting- for what?

Another thrust against the cutting stump sent wood chips
flying.

A woman who’d proven her love to another man?

A third log splintered in shards.

A man who’d been stupid enough to let her get abducted...

Joe stopped himself, realizing the absurdity of the thought.
Unless she was unconscious, nobody could stop Ana Kane from doing anything.

Joe laid the hatchet against the stump and pulled a kerchief
from his jeans to wipe his brow.

Damn hot for December. Damn hot, indeed.

But the scorching sunlight reaching its fingers through
morning branches had nothing on Ana’s dark eyes. Dark and filled with spirited
fire, Joe thought, tucking his sweaty rag back into his jeans. Just the sort of
hypnotic gaze that made a guy want to surrender state secrets.

All
around,
pine trees whistled and
fluttered with the morning breeze, small birds nesting on wavering branches. To
Joe’s left, at the back of the cabin, sparkled a glistening pond.
A pond that was probably barely thirty degrees and which Joe longed
to throw himself into still.

Joe didn’t know what it was about his past relationship with
Ana that had prevented him from moving forward. But he sensed in his gut it had
something to do with emotion. Most notably the fact that for the first time in
his life Joe had told a woman he loved her- and actually meant it.

And then, she’d shot him down.

Joe’s neck hairs prickled the low rim of his t-shirt collar
a split-second before he heard the footfall behind him.

Joe bent forward and reached for the axe just as a black
shadow fell across the log and a bruising weight crushed into his back.

Joe hit the ground in a sprawl then rolled to greet his
attacker, axe held skyward.

An oily-haired Oriental leveled a pistol at McFadden’s head.
“Say, bye, bye,” the bastard cooed.

Joe waggled the fingers of his left hand in a partial wave,
then
slugged the axe’s hammer head into the man’s groin.

The man yelped like a wildcat and doubled forward, a bullet
tearing into the dust between McFadden’s left leg and the stump.

Joe sprung off the earth and grabbed the crippled man by
shoulders, toppling him easily to the ground.

The man moaned and tried to buckle his legs against his
pain.

Joe grabbed the pistol-wielding hand and slamming it into
the earth until the man’s grasp broke free.

“Say, bye-bye,” Joe said, pressing the pistol to the
whimpering man’s temple.

It was then Joe saw the man was crying.
Jesus Christ,
real terrified tears.
And, he couldn’t have been more than twenty.

Joe pulled back the pistol, knowing it was a mistake.
Knowing the only way to completely ensure their safety was to take this asshole
out. But Christ, it was the fricking holidays.
At least, in
America.

“Tell you what,” Joe said, pushing himself to his feet while
keeping the pistol trained on the man’s forehead. “Because I’m such a nice guy,
I’m going to give you one more chance.”

Joe pumped the trigger and the man recoiled with a yelp as
his right
knee cap
shattered.

No,” Joe said, rubbing his chin, “make that two.”

A second sure-fire shot did away with his offender’s second
knee. “Now then,” Joe said with a pleasant smile, “didn’t that make the family
jewels feel much better?”

The man moaned as blood spilled from his mouth and he rolled
sideways, expecting the worst.

“Oh, hell no,” Joe assured him. “I’m not going to kill you.
Just gonna tuck you in the boat house over there, so you can’t make any more
trouble until I can call 911.”

But first
, Joe decided, gripping the pistol barrel in
his hand and whipping its butt swiftly across the back of the man’s head, I’m
going to put you out of your stinking misery for a little while so you’re
feeling no pain.

Christ, Joe thought, hefting the man’s limp form over his
shoulder and hauling it around to the other side of the pond like a heavy sack,
CIA man Joe McFadden was becoming fricking Santa Claus.

Mark picked up his car phone and pressed auto dial.

“Major Walker.”

“Carolyn,” Mark said, “just wanted to give you a heads up
I’m on my way to the DIPAC.”

“Now,
sir?”

“On my way generally means imminent,
Major
,”
Mark said, unable to resist the impulse to be smart-mouthed. Ever since his
encounter with that punching bag, he’d been itching to pound something further.
Something like a six foot tall Marine, to be specific.

“Yes, sir,” Carolyn answered, masking emotion like the good
solider that she was.

“Oh, and, Major,” Mark said. “Get packing.”

“For both of you, you and Isabel,” Mark added when Carolyn
didn’t respond.

“ASAP, sir?” Carolyn asked, apparently finally finding her
voice.

Mark checked his watch against the dash clock. “I’ll be
there in roughly forty minutes. You’ve got twenty to get home and back.”

Mark paused a moment for effect.
But also
to collect himself.
It wasn’t easy to mask his own emotion where baby
Isabel was concerned. Though he didn’t like to think about it, she was in just
as much danger as any other analyst’s child out there. Maybe more. “And
Carolyn, I don’t have to tell you how important it is to ensure things are
taken care of while you’re gone.”

Mark dropped his phone onto the car seat and steadied his
hands on the wheel, trusting Albert had gotten through to the DIPAC team and
set up the briefing. Mark wanted to be filled in on every clue, every single
detail of what had happened thus far while he’d been distracted in Washington.
Although they’d been getting regular reports, there was something to seeing the
information first hand. The farther removed you got from a situation, sometimes
the harder it was to analyze. And as the top information system process center
for Defense, the DIPAC was getting all key information first.

Though, to Mark, his own family’s
well-being
was of utmost importance, as a trained specialist Mark knew the problems with
Ana and Isabel were diversions.
Mere symptoms of the main
disease.
Unless the DOS could find a way to attack the root of the
problem, more people’s families than just Mark’s would be in danger.

As soon as they’d suspected the scare, the DOS had made
rapid moves to try to protect as many analysts as possible. Families had been
taken en masse to safe house locations around the globe. And the skeleton crew
of analysts that had remained on duty
were
ordered to
stay there and leave their stations only long enough to eat and sleep on a
rotated schedule in their own secured facilities.

The new measures had helped, but were implemented too late
to dissuade the initial desertion by the work force. Some analysts,
particularly the civilians, weren’t up to the task of endangering their
families. Their spouses were spooked, their children were crying. And home
computers were getting e-mail messages reporting the terrorists had gathered
facts on where and when every DOS analysts’ child went to school. That little
tidbit had been the straw that broke the
camel’s
back
for the last wave of deserters. And, as a father, Mark could certainly
understand that.

But what Mark understood even more was that he was in a
unique position to help stop this madness. And he was going to do his damnedest
to take care of it before one more person suffered from its physical or
emotional out-lash.

At least there was hope for Ana’s safety.
And
the assurance that his daughter Isabel was in the best of hands.

***

“Where’s the baby?” Carolyn demanded.

Marybeth Miller shook her head with a pained expression.
“The Captain said... I thought she was-”

Carolyn’s skin went slick with perspiration. “You were
ordered
,
Lieutenant, to keep your eye on the baby!”

“Yes ma’am,” Marybeth said, the color draining from her
olive complexion. “But...”

Carolyn thumped her bags down onto the floor. Twenty
minutes. Neal had granted her twenty minutes to go home and get what she needed
for her and Isabel’s indefinite escape. And Carolyn, wanting to cover her
bases, had been extra careful in leaving, not one but
two
persons in
charge of Isabel, one of whom now was clueless. “Who had her last?”

“Well, the nanny was giving her a bath-”

“The
nanny,
Lieutenant? Maria? Are you totally
unaware of our situation here or just deaf, dumb and stupid?”

Marybeth hung her head.

“Lieutenant!” Carolyn said, snapping her subordinate to
attention.

“Deaf, dumb and stupid, ma’am,” Marybeth answered through
tight lips. “But Major, Captain Peterson and I were with them every second. I
only left for a minute to...”

“To
what,
Lieutenant?”

Lieutenant Miller colored slightly at her temples and
cheekbones. “I’m on my period, ma’am.”

Carolyn drew a deep breath,
then
exhaled slowly. “Do you understand
where
you are and for
whom
you
work, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir... Ma’am. Major, ma’am.”

“Well then, fuck your period, Lieutenant!
 
What the hell you think happens when
you’re combat? The ladies take time out to powder their noses?”

“No, ma’am.”

“And Captain Peterson?”

“She, she was right here...”

“Dis
missed,
Lieutenant,” Carolyn said, barreling out
of the room.

Lieutenant Miller hurried after her.

Carolyn stopped mid-stride and spun in her tracks, settling
steely eyes on Marybeth’s unsteady gaze.

“I’m coming with you, ma’am,” she said, beating back the
quiver in her voice. “Coming to help.”

“Oh, you’ve helped plenty,” Carolyn said, pushing her aside.
“Out of my way, Lieutenant!
 
And get
on the horn and call security!”

Carolyn frantically searched the bathing quarters, the mess
hall, the suite kitchenette.

Nothing.

Blood pounded in her veins as she checked her
wrist watch
. In fifteen minutes, Mark Neal would be here to
pick up his baby daughter.
Holy Christ.
Not only would Neal have
Carolyn’s head on a sliver platter, she’d cut it off herself and hand it to him
if she didn’t find his baby.