Deadlock

that had probably cost as much as Ferguson's entire pen¬sion would bring him. Was he jealous? Why not? Garrett had it all. He was dressed simply in jeans and a white cable-knit sweater, but he wore them with casual elegance. He was in his late thirties, tall and muscu¬lar, and he moved with the litheness that Ferguson remembered. His brown-black hair was clipped close, and his dark eyes dominated a face that effortlessly held one's attention. And, dammit, not only was he smart, he was more lethal than any man Ferguson had ever met. He'd even intimidated Ferguson on occasion. 'The Company could have stopped you from settling here, you know. All we would have had to do was drop a few words in the right ears. Criminals aren't welcome here in England. After all, you're a smuggler and a mercenary.'

'Am I?' He shook his head. 'I'm retired, Ferguson. And if you want to try to blacklist me with Her Majesty's government, go ahead. I don't care.'

He was telling the truth. 'I'm not threatening you.'

Garrett smiled. 'Not unless it would do you some good. You're not handling this well, Ferguson. I'm getting impatient. Get down to it.'

Ferguson pulled a file out of his briefcase. 'Emily Hudson, Joel Levy. Kidnapped two weeks ago by bandits in the Hindu Kush. We need to get them back.'

'And?'

'I need help.'

'Yes, you do. You'll be lucky if they're still alive.'

'Damn you, we've done everything we could to-' He stopped. 'You know the area, and you have contacts. I wondered if we could talk you into using those contacts to get us information about the bandits.'

'That's better. To the point and almost polite.' Garrett took a sip of his whiskey. 'They weren't taken by bandits.'

Ferguson stiffened. 'What?'

'There was some bandit involvement, but they were taken by for¬eigners.'

'The killings were done by AK-47s of Russian make used by the bandits in the area. The footprints by the trucks were made by boots that came from a village in those mountains.'

'Red herrings.'

'Then who?'

Garrett shook his head. 'Not bandits. Not Taliban. Not Al Qaeda. No one from the Middle East. Maybe someone English, Irish, Euro¬pean… I don't know.'

'Then who does, dammit?'

Garrett shrugged. 'I've told you all I could find out. I can con¬tinue to try, but it will take time. You don't have time.'

'But you could find out more if you were on the ground there?'

'Maybe.' He gazed thoughtfully down into his drink. 'Yes, prob¬ably.'

Ferguson wanted to strangle the bastard. 'You could find them?' 'Yes, I think so.'

'Then go in and get them,' Ferguson said through his teeth. Garrett leaned back in his chair. 'Are you ordering me?' 'You're damn right.'

'It appears the gloves are off.' Garrett's eyes narrowed on Fergu¬son's face. 'And you wouldn't do it unless you thought you could get away with it. You can't blackmail me, and you can't bribe me. I've put myself beyond your reach. What's left?'

'Jack Dardon,' Ferguson said. 'He's worked for you for the last six years, and you've been friends since the old days. You don't have many friends, do you?'

'Enough. Where's this leading?'

'We can't touch you, but Dardon has left a few strings that we can unravel. He evidently wanted to be independent and set up his own smuggling operation after you retired. We have information that would cause him a good bit of trouble with the Greek and Russian govern¬ments.'

'Evidence?'

Ferguson nodded. 'Affidavits, photos. Sufficient to put him be¬hind bars for a good many years. Would you like to see the file?'

Garrett slowly shook his head. 'I don't think you'd bluff under these circumstances.'

'No bluff. Go to Afghanistan and get Hudson and Levy out.'

'And you'll turn over Dardon's file and any hard evidence?'

Ferguson nodded. 'Dardon isn't important to us.'

'Except as a tool. We're all tools to you. I wondered what you'd come up with to tip the balance.'

Garrett's tone was without expression, and Ferguson had a sinking feeling that he'd failed. Garrett was going to tell him to go to hell. Maybe Dardon wasn't as good a friend as he'd hoped. There was no anger, no intensity, none of the ferocity that he'd remembered in Garrett.

'Don't doubt I'll do it, Garrett.'

'You probably would.' Garrett finished his drink and stood up. 'So I'll tell you what you're going to do, Ferguson. You call off all those Marines and U.N. forces who might fill me full of bullets. You make sure everyone knows I'm one of the good guys… in this par¬ticular instance. Your men stay out of the area. I don't want you any¬where near me unless I yell for help. And when I do call, you'd better come. It had better not be another Colombia.'

'I had no choice but to leave you there. You made it out okay,' he said. 'You're going to do it?'

Garrett didn't answer him. 'Get out, Ferguson.'

Ferguson repeated. 'You're going to do it?'

Garrett went over to the desk and scrawled a phone number on a Post-it note. 'I'm leaving tonight for Afghanistan. When I arrive there, I want to be told by my banker in Switzerland that they've received that file and any other evidence you have on Dardon.'

'Not until the job's finished.'

'It won't even begin unless you give over the file.' He handed him the Post-it. 'And I'll have Dardon at the bank to make sure that you've complied. Be certain you turn over everything.'

'And what if I don't?'

Garrett stared him in the eye. 'I'll come after you. You know how good I am. You sent me on enough missions.'

Ferguson quickly looked away. 'You may be getting the best of the deal.' He rose to his feet. 'I don't even know if you can find them.'

'I'll find them. I have a few leads.'

Ferguson's eyes widened. 'You lied to me. What leads?'

'None I'd turn over to you or the military to botch. One blunder, and you'd get them killed. Hell, 77/ be lucky if I can get them out in one piece. I have to move fast. I made my reservations for Kabul when I docked this morning.'

'You son of a bitch. You let me go through this, and you were go¬ing anyway?'

Garrett shrugged. 'I wanted to know what you were going to use to force me to go.' He headed for the door. 'I thought I might as well get something out of this mess besides the possibility of being chopped up and spread over that mountain range.'

'WE HAVE TO TALK, EMILY.'

She opened her eyes to see Staunton kneeling beside her. 'It doesn't do me any good to talk to you. You don't listen.'

'Then I'll do the talking, questioning actually, and you have only to answer.'

'I don't know where it is.'

'That wasn't the question.' He reached out and gently stroked her cheek. 'I've grown very fond of you in these weeks. I don't believe I've ever felt so… intimate with anyone. What a brave, lovely woman you are.'

She shuddered at his touch but didn't move. For the past few days he'd been touching her, stroking her, almost lovingly. She'd ignored it. She wouldn't be the one to suffer if she fought him.

Staunton sighed. 'Yes, it will upset me enormously if I have to hurt you.' Liar.

'But it will,' he said softly. 'I've been avoiding it by concentrating on Levy, but you just won't help me.' 'I can't