“Absolutely,” said van Hutten amicably. He rushed off and returned a moment later with a cold plastic bottle. He unscrewed the cap and put it to her lips.
Kira bolted up from underneath him—taking the chair she was tied to along for the ride—and angled forward, driving the top part of her head into his lower jaw. Van Hutten screamed in surprise and agony and staggered backwards.
The heavy chair now protruded from Kira’s backside like a wooden anchor. She turned and tried to whip the legs into van Hutten, but given she could barely remain standing, the move was awkward and landing a blow in this manner was hopeless.
Van Hutten was recovering his senses after her first blow, and Kira knew that if she didn’t connect with him in the next few seconds her small window of opportunity would be closed forever.
Out of sheer desperation, she turned her back to him and launched herself backwards, without regard for how she would land or the damage to her body this move would cause. This time the legs and bottom of the chair hit him squarely in the chest and head, and he was driven to the wood floor, dazed.
Kira’s reckless move took its toll on her as well. Bleeding from several shallow wounds and as dazed as her target, she forced herself back to life, drawing on her tremendous will, which had been further hardened by the many attacks she had sustained over the past four years. She fell to her side, taking the chair with her like a turtle with its shell, and twisted awkwardly until van Hutten was lined up, at which point she kicked him savagely in the face, driving him into unconsciousness.
Kira Miller gathered herself and tried to ignore the pain she was in. She took several deep breaths and willed herself to rise. Using reserves of strength even she hadn’t suspected she possessed, she slammed the chair into the brick fireplace wall over and over again, until it broke into small enough pieces that she was able to finally wriggled free, ignoring the stabs from several sharp splintered pieces of the chair that would have penetrated deep into her torso had she not been protected by the tough fabric of the straightjacket.
After several minutes of intense concentration, Kira finally managed to open the door, using her forehead, chin, and mouth, and escaped into the woods. Without the use of her arms for balance, maintaining even the slowest jog across the uneven terrain required all of her athleticism.
She focused her considerable attention on putting as much distance between herself and the cottage as she could, making sure she kept her balance. If she tripped even once, without being able to break her fall, the consequences would not be pretty.
39
Desh and Connelly approached the door to the cottage from opposite sides, slithering through the underbrush in military crawls, guns extended. Their practiced eyes could see evidence that the woods had been disturbed in any number of directions leading to the house. They neither saw nor heard anyone.
Griffin had found nothing that hinted at van Hutten’s motives, but he did learn the man had purchased a used van two days previously. This van was now in sight of Connelly, parked alongside the cottage on a thin gravel road, its hood propped open. Connelly slid up the side of the car and looked inside the open hood. Belts, hoses, and other engine parts had been torn out almost randomly. It wasn’t artful, but it effectively transformed the vehicle from a means of transportation into a lawn ornament.
Desh had progressed to the point where he could see the door had been kicked in, and he and Connelly came to the same conclusion at almost the same time: they were too late. But too late for what?
The two men continued on to the cottage, staying out of sight of windows, and rose on either side of the front entrance, where the door had been almost entirely ripped from its hinges. They strained, but couldn’t hear any noise coming from inside. Desh peered around the corner and then yanked his head back, not knowing what to expect.
No shots were fired in his direction and he had detected no motion whatsoever.
Desh motioned to Connelly and they both bolted through the opening, guns drawn.
The room was deserted, but several windows had been breached and glass was scattered like so much glittery gravel below them. To the right, near a brick fireplace, were the remains of what had once been a chair, but was now just a scattered pile of kindling.
They spread out and canvassed the room, moving as though expecting a trap to be sprung from any direction. Desh crept silently up to a couch and used his foot to drive it backwards.
He heard a groan of pain from behind the couch and had his gun on its source almost instantly.
“Anton?” he whispered to the man sprawled out on the floor in front of him, hogtied with plastic handcuffs. He had tape over his mouth and looked as if he had been used as a piñata.
Van Hutten nodded and then moaned in pain once again from even this tiny exertion.
Eliminated as a possible threat, Desh ignored him. Instead, he and Connelly systematically canvassed each room like the commandoes they were, making sure there were no surprises lying in wait.
Once they had assured themselves the house was clear, they returned to van Hutten. Desh rolled him onto his back and ripped the tape from his mouth. “What happened?” he demanded, keeping his voice to a whisper.
“I only wanted to stop the gellcaps, slow her down,” babbled van Hutten. “I didn’t wish her any harm.”
“What happened?” repeated Desh with such intensity his whisper seemed like a shout. “Where is she?”
Van Hutten shook his head, wincing in pain as he did so. “I don’t know. She—”
Desh slammed a large hand over the physicist’s mouth. “Whisper, or I’ll see to it that you never talk again,” he threatened.
“I don’t know,” repeated van Hutten when Desh had removed his hand, this time with barely enough volume to be heard. “She escaped.”
“How long ago?” whispered Desh.
“I’m not sure. I was just coming to when six men . . . six commandos . . . swarmed in here. They wanted Kira. I told them she’d escaped, and they tied me up and set off after her on foot.”
“When was this?” asked Desh.
“Five, ten minutes ago.”
Connelly knelt down closer to the physicist. “Did you capture Kira alone, or are there other players we should know about?” he asked.
“Alone,” mouthed van Hutten.
Desh considered. They had seen no evidence that the men who had raided the house had been opposed in any way. Perhaps the physicist had been acting alone.
Desh and Connelly traded glances that said, time to go. Desh replaced the tape over van Hutten’s mouth. “Wait here,” he said to the cherubic physicist. “When we get back, you’ve got some explaining to do.”
40
Kira saw movement off in the distance and instinctively ducked behind a tree. The absolute whiteness of her straightjacket—and the fact that she was wearing a straightjacket—stood out like a burning flare.
A young couple was hiking through the woods, both wearing heavy canvas backpacks. Kira breathed a sigh of relief. Finally. This was her chance. But if she didn’t play this right, she might spook them. A battered girl in a straitjacket in the middle of the woods? What’s not to trust? she thought, allowing herself a brief smile at the ridiculousness of her situation.