'I'm never mushy. I just thought…' Sheturned on her heel and headed for the front door. 'Oh, what the hell.'
'Be careful.'
She glanced over her shoulder in surprise. 'That sounds a bit mushy too.'
He shook his head. 'Purely selfish. I just hate funerals.'
Funerals, sentiment, and every other convention, including the responsibilities of fatherhood, she thought with a tiny pang. She quickly dismissed both the thought and the accompanying hurt. What was wrong with her today? She had no more need of a father now at twenty-four than she had when she was ten. She had been brought up to be completely independent of Evan and everyone else. That was how Evan liked it and that was the way she liked it too.
She saluted him jauntily. 'I'll try not to inconvenience you. See you next time.'
She didn't wait for an answer but quickly left the hotel room, cursing herself for the affectionate gesture that had embarrassed both Evan and herself. She couldn't remember the last time she had kissed her father. El Salvador? Probably not. Beneath that easygoing facade he was completely self-centered and found physical demonstrations unappealing.
Well, so did she. She didn't need any affection from anyone. She was just as self-centered and tough as Evan and she had reached out to him only because she was a little frightened about tonight.
Who was she kidding? She was terrified. Every argument Evan had used had hit dead center. If she was smart, she would abandon the plan, turn her back on Falkner, and get the hell out of Said Ababa.
The latest picture the Red December had released of Gabe Falkner rushed back to her. His broad face was thinner than before his capture, the flesh bruised, one eye blackened, his dark hair tousled. Yet despite the obvious mistreatment he conveyed the impression of boundless strength. He was staring into the camera with intimidating coldness and a recklessness that had caught her imagination. She had replayed the news tape dozens of times, and each time she saw it, maternal ferocity had surged through her. Blast it, a man like that didn't deserve to be used as a punching bag by those creeps. Even if Evan hadn't been involved, even if the opportunity for an Emmy hadn't beckoned, she would probably still be here.
Not because of any mushy feelings of nobility, as Evan had charged, but out of respect for an extraordinary man, her own professional ambition, and a certain amount of gratitude. If those reasons had been powerful enough to bring her to this point, then they should be enough to make her go through with the escape plan.
If she could just get over this damned panic soaring through her.
The Jeep containing Falkner and his two guards stopped at the top of the Street of the Camels.
Ronnie drew a breath of relief. Ten minutes late. She had been afraid they had changed their plans.
She edged forward in the alcove and focused her camcorder on Falkner as he stepped out of the Jeep. The light from the street lamp played over him. Lord, he was big. Almost six foot five and built like Schwarzenegger. The jeans and cotton sweater he wore were soiled and ragged, but they revealed the enormous strength and power of his thighs and shoulders. His hawklike features reflected the same toughness. She couldn't see his eyes from where she was, but knew they were a pale icy blue.
The guards were evidently well aware of that power because his hands were manacled and his ankles chained so that he could walk with only a shuffling gait. One of the guards said something to Falkner and then pushed him to start him down the street. Falkner turned and looked at him. It was just a stare, but the guard faltered and then started to curse as he prodded Falkner with his automatic rifle.
Great stuff, Ronnie thought absently as she continued filming. She could almost hear the voice-over-Falkner, dominant even in captivity.
The three men were heading toward her, their destination the house at the end of the block. She was located at the halfway point. Reluctandy she turned off the camcorder and put it in her camera bag.
The men were now a hundred yards from where she stood.
Bracing herself, Ronnie reached behind her, silendy opened the door she had previously oiled, and took the smoke grenade from her jacket pocket.
Fifty yards.
She cast an anxious glance at the second-story window across the street. Mohammed had betterbe as good a shot as Evan had said. He would have to pick off both guards within a matter of seconds to keep them from turning on Falkner.
Five yards.
She pulled the pin from the smoke grenade with her teeth.
The first shot!
The guard on the far side of Falkner fell to the ground.
She hurled the smoke bomb down the street.
The sickening
Billows of smoke suddenly obscured everything in the narrow street.
She darted out of the alcove. Her hand grasped Falkner's arm. 'Hurry!'
He didn't question her. 'Right.' He let her pull him into the alcove and through the open doorway.
She slammed the door, shot the bolt, and then moved down the corridor. 'Follow me. We have two minutes before the men from the house will get here and another two minutes before the smoke clears enough for them to start a search. There's a trapdoor in the basement that leads to a fruit cellar. I've cut an exit out of the cellar thatleads to a storm drain.' She fired the words as she hurried down a curving staircase, then into the basement. 'Can you manage a ladder in those chains?'
'I could manage to climb Mount Everest if it meant getting away from these bastards,' he said grimly, his gaze searching her blackened face. 'Who are you? CIA?'
They had reached the fruit cellar, and she led him to the cut-out exit. She shook her head as she started down the ladder. 'Later.'
'What's your name?' he persisted.
'Ronnie. Ronnie Dalton.' She waited for him at the bottom of the ladder and then played die flashlight on the drainage pipe. 'You first.'
He looked at the opening skeptically. 'It looks pretty small.'
'You'll fit. I measured it.'
'Very efficient.' He got down on his hands and knees and began to crawl through the pipe.
She waited until he was several yards ahead and then went in, shutting the camouflaged door behind her. 'Hurry!' she whispered. 'We have to be at the end of the pipe in four minutes.'
'And where does it exit?'
'Two blocks north.'
'You have a car waiting?'
'No.'
'Why the hell not?'
'Stop questioning me and move!'
'I'll move, but I'll be damned if I'll stop questioning you. This is my life and I'm not risking it for any half-baked plan that-'
'It's the only hope you've got,' she said in exasperation. 'I've got it covered. Trust me.'
'Under these kind of circumstances I don't trust anyone but myself.'
'Well, maybe it's time you changed. You didn't do so well getting away from them on your own. It's not- Why are you stopping?'
'I've reached the end of the pipe.' He moved cautiously out onto the street. 'No one in sight.'
'There will be soon. This entire area will be crawling with those scum once they radio for reinforcements.'
He stood up and reached out a hand to pull her to her feet. 'Then let's get out of here.'
She moved quickly ahead of him down the street, turned left and then right. She heard the jangle of his chains as he shuffled behind her. After the third block he muttered testily, 'Are we supposed to walk all the way to die border?'
'If I say so.' She turned left again, moved swiftly down the alley, threw open a door, and gestured for him to enter. 'In here.'
