evidently as discouraged as she about the lack of information they'd gotten on Zelov. Perhaps even more disappointed. At least she felt as if they'd gotten a tiny insight into Zelov and what might be in the hammer. That insight was clearly not enough to satisfy Garrett. How could she blame him? Today he had learned one of his best friends had been killed, Irana was in dan¬ger, and his home on Mykala had been burned to the ground.
And it was all because he had linked himself to Emily and her search for Staunton. Of course, he was impatient. He wanted it over.
And Emily wanted it over, too. They had barely started, and she was already on edge and frustrated. The information about Zelov had given her a sense of overwhelming darkness and foreboding. Evil seemed to surround both the origin of Zelov's hammer and the horror it had spread down to this day.
But she couldn't be frustrated or impatient. She had to think clearly and without emotion. Tomorrow they would get on the plane, and soon they'd be able to take action, find answers that would lead her to Staunton.
Dear God, she hoped that was true.
GARRETT HUNG UP AFTER MAKING their flight reservations and sat looking down at the phone. Everything was moving. Irana was as safe as he could make her. Soon they would be on that plane to New York. Maybe he should just accept the status quo. God knows it was what he wanted to do.
But he couldn't do it. That was one of the mistakes he had made, and Karif had died.
God, Karif…
He blocked the wave of sorrow and regret that thought brought. Memories were the enemy. He had no time to grieve now. He had to be hard as a diamond to cut through the web in which Emily was en¬folding him. That shouldn't be such a stretch. When had he been any¬thing else?
Hard as a diamond.
NINE
'I'LL BE KNOCKING ON YOUR door in two minutes,' he said, when Emily picked up the phone over an hour later. 'Sorry if I woke you.
'You didn't wake me. I couldn't sleep. Is something wrong? Why do you want to-' But Garrett had already hung up. Emily had just gotten out of the bed and turned on the light when Garrett knocked. 'What is it? Why are you-'
'Your clothes.' He set the suitcase beside the door.
She felt a rush of relief. 'Oh, is that all? I thought you-' She stopped as she saw his expression.
'We have to talk.' He came into the room and shut the door. 'Re¬member, I warned you when we were on the helicopter that we had to find a place to talk.'
She remembered, but realized she had subconsciously tried to push that memory away. Now it was staring in her face. She mois¬tened her lips. 'This isn't about Zelov.'
'It might be. I don't know. You'll have to tell me.' He gazed into her eyes. 'You'll have to tell me everything, Emily. Every minute, every detail of that time with Staunton.'
She flinched. She had known it was coming, but the shock was still sharp. 'I don't remember every detail. Some of it is a blur.'
'I'll help you.'
Help her go through that hell again? 'I told you about the hammer. That's all that's important.'
'That's all that you remember that's important. There might be more. We'll dig it all out.'
'You sound like a dentist,' she said unevenly. 'Only you aren't us¬ing anesthesia, are you?'
'No.' His lips tightened. 'And I won't stop until it's over, no mat¬ter how much you're hurting. It has to be done. I've waited too long as it is.'
His expression was totally hard, totally without mercy, yet it was not without emotion. But she couldn't read what those feelings were. 'Your CIA man, Ferguson, wanted to debrief me, and you stopped him.'
'You were too fragile. I didn't want you to break.' 'Yet now you're going to do it.'
'If you break, I'll find a way to put together the pieces.' Dear heaven, she was afraid. 'I could say no.' 'Yes, you could.'
She closed her eyes, fighting the panic. 'No, I can't. Because you're right, dammit. I can't trust myself because I didn't want to do anything but shut it out. I can remember lying there in that hut and dreading going back to Joel. I tried to build a cocoon around myself, but it didn't work.' Her eyes were stinging as she opened them. 'It never worked. Staunton managed to rip it open every time. Yes, I might know something I don't know I know.' She drew a deep breath. 'I'm sorry I'm fighting you. I promised you I'd tell you everything, didn't I? And I will. It just came as a-I didn't expect it to be tonight.' She turned away. 'So let's get on with the debriefing. Or should we call it the confessional? That's what Irana would probably-'
'You have nothing to confess, dammit. You're not guilty of any¬thing.'
'I felt guilty. I couldn't help him. There should have been a way I could help him.' She tried to keep her voice from shaking. 'Shouldn't you have a tape recorder or something? Don't you have to take notes?' 'No, I'll remember everything.'
'Of course, you will. You're very clever.' She curled up in the easy chair by the window, tucking her legs beneath the terry robe. She was cold, terribly cold. 'And you'll see that I remember everything.'
'Yes,' he said hoarsely. 'Everything.'
'Stop towering over me. Sit down somewhere. Let's get this over with.'
He sat down on the edge of the bed.
She looked away from him and stared blindly at the wall beyond him. She could get through this. She only had to remember that she was doing it for Joel. That living through that horror again was the only way she could help him now. Just one more time.
'Where do you want me to start?'
'When you got off the plane in Kabul.'
'That far back?'
'Yes. I want to know every detail.'
'I'm not arguing. I'm just surprised.' But it was a relief not to have to dive into that day at the museum right away. 'We didn't actually go to Afghanistan to go to the museum. We were diverted by some high-up official in the central government, Aman Nemid. He'd grown up in the area and…' She kept talking quickly, feverishly, not letting herself see the direction she was going.
Until she was there, riding in the truck with Joel. Laughing with him, being teased about Springsteen, worrying about the weather.
She suddenly froze. It was coming. Just around the bend.
'Bruce Springsteen?' Garrett asked. ' 'Dancing in the Dark'?'
She wasn't really there on that road from the museum. She was here with Garrett. Keep it separate. 'I like Springsteen.' But she could go on now. Talk fast. Tell him about the overturned truck. Tell him about the blood running from beneath it.
Staunton standing there cradling the AK-47 in his arm. Talk.
Go numb. Don't think. Just talk.
For God's sake, don't think.
'I BIT HIS LIP AS HARD AS I could. He was bleeding.' The words were feverishly tumbling out. 'It felt good. I wanted to savage him. It didn't matter any longer. He couldn't hurt Joel. No one could hurt Joel any longer. He hit me, then he forced me out in the snow to go to Shafir Ali's tent. He was swearing and threatening, but it didn't matter. He couldn't hurt-'
'Stop it.' Garrett was suddenly beside her, kneeling on the floor before her. 'No more.'
'But I haven't finished. You said I had to tell you everything. I've got to finish. He took me to Shafir and told him to-'
'You're finished. It's over.' He grasped her shoulders and shook her. 'Shut up. Okay?'
She gazed dazedly at him. It was the first time she had looked at him since she had started. His expression was no longer hard; it was twisted with pain, haggard… 'Finished?'
