“Jesus. Carving initials on women...”
“Right across their chests. The ones who live never wear bathing suits or low cut dresses.”
Do they know I can hear them, Cilla thought. Feeling particularly vulnerable - as they obviously intended - with her arms and legs tied wide apart, she grasped at the idea that this was all for her benefit. A way to frighten her into doing...What? That was the ravine she couldn’t bridge. What use was she to them? No matter how she searched for a hidden asset, some reason for them to keep her alive, her mind kept sliding back to...“fun time”. She’ll be an amusement for a while. Then Gil will have his wish, and what was left of her dropped from the plane. It was not a warm room, but drops of perspiration stood out on her forehead and ran down her cheeks.
“...in the desert. I sent him plane tickets and a recognition code.” Cabral.
Desert! Damn, what had she missed?
“So you didn’t know him before?”
“Hell, he’s not my brother. My family’s all normal.”
The unconscious irony was probably lost on Crow.
The telephone rang.
“Shit,” whispered Cabral. The phone was picked up. “Carlos, for Christ’s sake, don’t call me on this phone! Scared the crap out of me. Use my cell. You made delivery?...Yeah, where did he put them?...Jesus, Carlos, you should have insisted he tell you. Never give anyone complete control. Even him...A big one?...More snow won’t hurt. The winds could slow us down though...Lucky bastard, here I am freezing my cojones.” The instrument went back on its cradle.
There was silence for a moment, then Crow, “The TV this morning showed troops hunting up and down rivers for those tanks.”
“They never read Lear.”
“Lear?”
“It’s the lakes that are important.” Cilla was aware on some level of a pleased chuckle in his voice. But her head wouldn’t clear, and the awkward position she’d been strung-up in was sapping her remaining strength. When she relaxed aching arms, the cord bit into her wrists cutting off circulation. Cramps were starting in her upper legs; her body was wet with strain. She closed her eyes, repeating the familiar mantra, Om namah shivaya, om namah shivaya. Gradually her mind receded, a combination of exhaustion and deep meditation. Blessedly, consciousness went.
Chapter 42
She woke with a start, realizing she’d been out for more than just a few minutes. Something brushed her hair and was tugging at her arm. A hand with a knife appeared over her shoulder! Frank! She tensed her muscles; almost could feel the blade entering her back. Suddenly the cord tying her right arm parted, and the knife was sawing the cord that bound her left. With both hands free, she started to twist her body around to confront her attacker when she heard the door close and feet on the stairway. Bending, through her legs she could see the room was empty. Her fingers refused to obey as she fumbled at the knots on her feet. Hurry. Returning circulation sent daggers up her arms, but she got her legs free. Who?
Crouching at the head of the stairs, on legs that wouldn’t yet hold her weight, she listened for sounds from the living areas, her mind racing from confusion, physical exhaustion, and hope. Finally satisfied, she tiptoed down the top flight. There was no one. All on the first floor? Or outside? What had to be Frank’s bedroom was the closed door at the end of one corridor. Someone wanted her to get...away? A trap maybe. For what purpose? Rubbing wobbly legs she forced her mind to consider. Could Crow have been so disgusted with Cabral’s description of Frank’s hobby that he sneaked back to set her free when the Nutcracker was out? Almost as unlikely as Cabral doing it himself. Then who? Frank? She had to get to Frank in any case, somehow make the monster tell her where Hudson was. She gazed longingly for a minute at the stairs down; freedom lay just beyond. Then shook herself and searched for a weapon. Nothing useful. A dull table knife would be no more effective than her hands, still aching like her legs, but their operation close to normal. Taking a breath, she quietly moved down the corridor to the North bedroom. Wasn’t that where the ghost dwelt? She remembered stories that the souls of those who had died on the mountain were in that bedroom. The knob turned easily; she edged it open. The room was empty, no sign of a ghost. There was a Bible on a shelf on her left. In memory of the departed? Or for them to read? Then she saw another door beyond. Again her muscles tightened as she slowly opened it. Beyond was complete dark, no window. She had to edge open the door all the way and let her eyes adjust to see in. It was a small bedroom, and empty. Damn. She stood, uncertain. Voices, coming from downstairs, made the decision for her; she ran back down the corridor and down the stairs, pausing at the bottom. The voices were coming from the other end of the building. She moved to the door she’d been brought in, grabbing her parka and gloves that had been thrown in a chair when they looked at her scar. How had Cabral known about that? When she opened the door to the outside, it was all she could do to keep the wind from blowing it wide. She shrugged into her clothes. Peering around the corner of the doorway she saw the helicopter, its blades winding down and two men standing outside it. Her quick glance told her they were neither Todd nor the wounded Kurt.
If she could just make it to the Observatory building! The helicopter was between her and...sanctuary. Or would even that substantial structure nestled in the northeast face protect her? They didn’t hesitate to kill; would they not just wipe out those inside? But if she could reach there unobserved and get to a telephone she could at least reveal the Nutcracker’s plan. They hadn’t dropped the pods yet; there was still time.
The two heading away from the plane decided it. She closed the door behind her and crept toward the chopper. She’d almost reached it when a figure came out its door! Gil. He saw her just as she did him, but he wasn’t expecting trouble; she was. With both hands she grabbed his parka close to the neck and, putting a foot in his midsection, fell backwards, sending him flying over her to land hard on the icy rock ground; his breath exploded out of him. She kept her hold on the jacket and used his momentum to flip herself over him, landing astride his chest. A side-of-hand blow to his already wounded neck, and he was still. Bouncing to her feet, she ran toward the Observatory as quickly as she dared, battling both strong gusty winds and icy, treacherous ground. She’d reached a grimy Snowcat parked outside the Observatory entrance, when the first shot came, ricocheting off the cat’s treads. Damn! She ran behind the vehicle, protected for the moment. Could she make it to a phone before...? Another shot. No way, she’d only get the staff killed. She climbed on a tread and opened the door. The key was in the ignition! She slipped behind the wheel and had the engine running almost without thinking; Snowcats were familiar vehicles to her, she’d often driven them at the ski area, grooming slopes and trails and transporting supplies. A pile of cross country skis and poles fell off one of the facing benches in the rear and rattled around the floor as she moved out. The Auto Road - used by passenger cars in summer but now under twenty feet of snow - was the only vehicle exit from the summit. Someone was shooting from beside the helicopter. The plane. It was still light; they could easily hunt her down with it. Slouching low in the seat, she brought the cat to full speed directly at the helicopter. A bullet buried itself in the seat beside her. Two more shots and the Cat was on the shooter. With a crunch, vehicle and plane collided. The helicopter was pushed into a tilt; the Snowcat engine died. Frantically she tried to re-start it. No. Another man came out of the Yankee building. Reaching behind the seat she pulled out a set of skis and poles and, with them in-hand, ran slipping and sliding over wind-scoured ice toward the stairs that lead to the parking lots and the Auto Road. Another shot, a pistol this time, she thought. Did the tipped plane put anyone out of action?