Willing Hostage (31 page)

Sun on pink-red buttes … an eagle floating in lazy circles, his shadow diving off sandstone and crossing the water.

She noticed the spreading stain on Glade's bandages and tightened the tourniquet. If only she hadn't had to kill.…

At least there shouldn't be any goons left and she felt more confident with the river.… “Glade, I've revived enough to want to start hoping again. Is there really a chance for us at this ramp place?”

“Well … the agency will be watching the bureau. And the bureau will be watching the agency.…”

“Who will be watching out for us?”

“Swords, I hope. Leah, we're not going to meet a firing squad at Split Mountain Ramp. I've said I'd hand over the papers to Welker if he could prove something would be done about them and they wouldn't get lost in the paper mill. What Bradshaw will do at the final moment, I don't know. He's got orders to get those papers, too.”

“Why can't they investigate together? They work for the same government.”

“They want to use them as leverage. In case there's a scandal, both agencies want to know what's going on and whom to threaten in case their organizations get pulled into it … it's called information gathering, CYA.”

“And what can this Swords do?”

“He's the highest-ranking guy I know personally. He's also hard-core honest. Drives everybody nuts but he's powerful enough to get away with it. He can get us out of there at least. I'd rather be in his custody than theirs.” He lay back on the duffels. The dark brow had turned almost white.

“Which organization does he work for?” She reached around the Siamese to touch his cheek.

“Neither. He's part of a quasi-liaison group between the two, among other things. This group or committee was set up by presidential commission to coordinate the work of the two, but recently has been used to keep tabs on both the bureau and the agency.” He drew her hand down to kiss her palm. “He's not a sure thing, Leah. But Swords is better than nothing.”

“Does he really care about my elk and the places we've seen?”

“That I don't know.” And Glade slept through the rest of the slow-moving island-filled park.

He awoke to help her through the rapids that followed, seated on the floor of the boat and resting during quiet stretches. The interminable morning wore on.

“Split Mountain Canyon,” he said as towering walls moved in on them and he crawled onto the rim against her protests, almost toppling off more than once. A helicopter droned far above in a slit of sky.

Leah prayed to a faceless god called Swords. Cliff swallows flew about tiny holes far above. The red stain spread horribly across the bandages on Glade's arm.

“Split Mountain Ramp coming up,” Glade yelled back at her and fell into the boat.

They shot out of the canyon.

Chapter Thirty-seven

Hands pulled the boat ashore onto asphalt paving. Hands lifted Leah from it.

Hands helped Glade stumble up the asphalt rise.

Hands pulled duffels from the boat and searched them, pulled a sopping ball of fur from one and discarded it. Quite a crowd had gathered at Split Mountain Ramp to welcome them.

Leah faced Joseph Welker and Peter Bradshaw. She slipped a protective arm around the dripping, bleeding man next to her. “He must get to a hospital. The goons—”

“Where are the papers, Miss Harper?”

“Where's Swords?” Glade asked and then pitched forward, taking Leah with him.

More hands unscrambled their bodies and she was pulled to her feet. They rolled Glade over, tore open his shirt, and ripped the black plastic packet from his torso. Bradshaw removed the revolver from Glade's pocket.

Glade lay motionless on the asphalt, his eyes closed.

“Where
is
Swords, Mr. Welker?” Leah demanded.

“Apparently he's late.” Welker took the letters from their waterproof packet and rifled through them, looking at the bottoms of the pages as if checking signatures. He winced more than once as he read.

“A deal's a deal, don't forget,” Peter Bradshaw said and held out his hand. Welker divided the papers and handed over half of them. “You get copies of ours when I get copies of yours. And no substitutes, Joe.”

“What about the deal you made with Glade?” Leah said it overloud, hoping that one particular man at the edge of the crowd could hear and that the man was Norton, the reporter. He was the only one who looked like a camper.

Bradshaw rolled his eyes in disgust.

But Welker said, “I'm afraid this is a little more involved than I thought, Miss Harper. These things take time. I'm afraid immediate disclosure would be unsuitable at present, but I assure you that matters will be investigated—”

“In other words, you're not going through with the deal as planned.”

“There are extenuating circumstances here that.…” He continued with the meaningless jargon and wasn't even listening to himself as he glanced through the Enveco papers.

Leah caught a glimpse of the man in tennis shoes and rumpled sport clothes as he ambled off around the various cars at the top of the ramp and disappeared.

“Meanwhile, you're going to let this man lie here and bleed to death?”

“Of course not.” Joseph Welker signaled absently to two of his men who carried Glade to the top of the ramp.

Leah started after them.

“Just a moment, Miss Harper. I want a full report of what happened to the others on the river with you. We found Brian.” He didn't even look up from the papers in his hand.

“Warm Springs got Charlie, the goons got Brian, we got the goons, and there's a perfectly innocent woman with a badly wounded leg at Jones Hole, thanks to the goons. Put that in your damn file!” She turned away. “I hope those papers are worth the death count.”

“Miss Harper, Leah …” Welker began patiently, but Leah didn't wait to hear him out.

She stopped only to pick up a drooping cat. Goodyear had lost weight on the river.

Cal Wyndham met her at the top of the ramp. “What's happened to my brother? He looks—”

“Somebody shot him this morning.”

Glade lay on a picnic table. One of Welker's men cut away soaked bandages. Another held a thermometer in his mouth.

“It's clean. He's lucky. But he's going to need blood.”

Campsites, a few tents and campers. The outhouses here were fancier than those on the river and made of concrete blocks. Leah was beginning to dry, aware of the heat of the place.

“Who shot him? Why?” Cal hovered between Glade and Leah, his face red with heat and anger. “I wish I could understand some of this—”

“Cal, I don't think I could explain it right now.”

“First they tell me he stole something and then.…” He shook his head helplessly and stomped back to watch Glade being rebandaged.

Leah sat on a bench and stared at the paved parking lot that seemed to undulate in the sun. In front of it was a phone booth of all things … or rather a phone on a metal pole with plastic shields enclosing the call box. The man in the tennis shoes hung up the receiver and stepped away.

“I must call Annette,” she thought dumbly and started toward the parking lot. Dizziness overtook her and she leaned against a tree.

The tennis shoes blurred as they approached her. “Will Glade be all right?”

“I think so. Are you Norton?”

“Yes. Everything's taken care of. I figured he was unable to give any sign, but I heard your conversation. I put the call through just now. You've got three days. And”—he touched her arm—“thanks.” The tennis shoes hurried away.

“Don't mention it.” Leah slumped to the ground, her back against the tree trunk. Goodyear hunched next to her, eloquent bad humor on his chocolate face.

“Leah?” Glade called fuzzily from the picnic table.

But she couldn't get up to go to him.

Joseph Welker and Peter Bradshaw walked by, arguing in low voices, and stopped in front of her as a car drew into the parking lot. Two men stepped out.

“Mr. Swords …” Welker and Bradshaw said at once.

“Gentlemen. How are you?”

Leah stared at all the polished shoes milling around in front of her.

“I see you have everything under normally poor control,” Mr. Swords said. “Will he live? Who's this?” Soft watery eyes stared down at Leah.

“His current.…”

“Do I take her, too?”

“And me!” Cal's anger had reached his voice.

“And who are you?”

“I'm mad. Damn bunch of John Waynes around here. Nobody's taking my brother without me.”

“Hum, well it looks like we mustn't waste time.” Swords turned to Bradshaw. “I assume you have what you want. Kindly help Frank here transfer Glade and … his assembly to my car.”

“But—”

“Now!”

Arid, sun-bright scenery whizzed past car windows. Leah sprawled in a semisitting position next to Cal in the back seat, Glade's head heavy on her lap, his knees blocking the view on the other side.

She tried to focus on the face that turned to her from the front seat. The great god Swords was small, balding, and not particularly reassuring.

“Sorry I was detained,” he apologized. “Tell me what has that … creature got to do with anything?” He pointed to the blimp sitting sphinxlike on Glade's chest.

“He's my … our cat. Mr. Swords, we have three days to disappear—”

“I have just the place in mind … nice and quiet and restful and.… Frank, phone ahead for medical help, will you? There's a plane waiting not terribly far from here. Three days? Why? Oh, I see. The proverbial feces will hit the proverbial fan …
i.e
., the press. I'm sorry to hear it's come to that. You're sure?”

“Yes, it's done. A deal is a deal and they reneged so—”

“Now, now … don't take it so hard. I'll arrange for an extended stay … in a most healthful clime.”

“Leah?” Glade called again.

She bent over and kissed him and whispered. “We're with Swords now.”

“Good.” He relaxed and she combed dark curls with her fingers, but eyes filling with tears.

“You going to tell me what's happening?” Cal whispered, his hand balling into a massive fist where it lay over Glade's body. “I mean, is this guy all right? I didn't much like that last bunch.”

“Glade seems to think we can trust him. I hope so. Neither of us is up to another fight.” Leah hoped the whishing of the car's air conditioning covered the sound of her whisper as she tried to fill Cal Wyndham in on what had been happening. By the time she finished the car had pulled off onto a dusty track and stopped.

A wind sock flapped on a pole. A metal shed sat in a field where the sun had fried the tall grass to yellow. Two small planes sat in the middle of the field, one red and silver, the other larger and dazzling white.

On the fuselage of the white airplane in front of the wing a small painted gray heron stood serenely on one leg.…

Chapter Thirty-eight

Leah wallowed in self-pity. Goodyear sagged heavily across her aching arms. He was all done, too.

Sun and nausea and an empty stomach and another final failure made her lean against the car. “But that's an Enveco plane. Glade said you were one of the good guys.”

“Enveco? Oh, the heron. Don't worry now. They merely provided transport and a pilot in a difficult situation. There's nothing to worry about.” Swords loosened his tie, wiped his forehead and pate with an immaculate handkerchief. “I've never known such unabated sunlight.…”

“Is something wrong again?” Cal had an arm around Glade, who was managing to stand, at least.

“Cal, that's the company that sent assassins to kill your brother. We can't get on that—”

“Enveco? That's ridiculous. It's an old established American company … merely offered help in my time of need. I needed a small plane fast. One that could use”—Swords waved an arm at sun-fried grass—“primitive facilities.”

“What's the matter?” Glade raised a lolling head and finally took a fix on the white plane and the gray heron. “Oh, shit! Harry, I trusted you.” His tongue stuck drunkenly on the “t's.”

“Now, listen my friend, I'm a busy man. I agreed to get you out of this situation, throw my weight around … something I don't care to do often.” Harry Swords removed his suit coat. His shirt was damp already but he wore no holster under his arm. “I think you need medical attention soon and I for one am getting on that plane. If you don't wish to come with me you needn't.” And he walked off.

“Harry, Enveco was my cover company.…” Glade straightened, sweat dripping off the end of his nose.

Swords stopped, turned. “You didn't mention that. You merely said.…” He looked from Leah to Glade, his eyes widened. “So that's why they were so eager to lend me the plane … this is very hard to believe, you understand … even offered the pilot and Frank here … where's Frank?” He started back toward them and stopped. “Frank, put that away!”

“Everybody in that plane,” Frank said behind Leah. “Or she gets it in the back and anybody else next.”

Leah cried as she followed the others to the open door, where a face appeared briefly and then disappeared. The sound of the engine, the propeller beat dust clouds from the whipping grass, and Leah turned to see Frank's gun through tears.

She heaved Goodyear at his face and dropped to the ground in the same motion. She lay there waiting for the bullet.

But no shot was fired. Glade fell beside her and Cal's boots passed them both.

“What's happening?” Glade asked thickly.

“Your brother is swearing and jumping up and down on Frank.”

Cal swooped back and scooped Glade off the ground. A moment later he came back for Leah and lifted her to the plane.