Page 13 of Til the End of Time

  "You have great strength. Are you sure you aren't a gypsy?"

  "I'm not sure of anything. There are—"

  "Ho! Conal!" Paulo's shout interrupted her. He released her wrist. "Wait here." He agilely dodged his way through the crowd toward a canvas-covered truck carrying soldiers that was slowly negotiat­ing its way through the streets. "Stop, Conal!"

  The truck stopped and the passenger door of the cab opened. The dark, stocky man who leaned out to speak to Paulo looked vaguely familiar, Ales-sandra thought. She'd probably seen him at the base. She stepped back into the alcove of a butcher shop to get out of the crowd and leaned wearily against the wall.

  Paulo and the soldier spoke for only a few min­utes, and then Paulo was cutting his way through the crowd toward her.

  "Well?"

  "It's not good." Paulo's expression was grave. "We've won the war, but Naldona refuses to sur­render. His personal guard has barricaded his suite at the palace, and he has a hostage." He paused. "James Bruner."

  "James!" She straightened. "But he has noth­ing to do with this."

  "He's an American citizen. If anything happens to him, the United States government will be very upset. A brand-new republic can't afford to annoy a superpower."

  "But nothing could happen to James. He doesn't—" She broke off. As long as James was held by Naldona, anything was possible. "You said he was a hostage. What does Naldona want?"

  "A helicopter to take him to the airport. A jet to take him where he wishes to go from there." He hesitated. "And Sandor Karpathan."

  A tingle of shock ran through her. "Sandor couldn't give into a demand like that. Naldona would kill him. His men wouldn't let him do it."

  "Sandor is the Tanzar. His men will do as he commands."

  "No!" She drew a shuddering breath. Surely Sandor wouldn't do it. Yet who knew better than she how much he had already given up? Why had she and James even come to Tamrovia? It was her fault both James and Sandor were in danger, and it was her responsibility to correct that situa­tion. "Where is Sandor now?"

  "He is at the palace. His men have set up a position in the courtyard. Naldona has given him another six hours to make a decision before he kills Bruner."

  Six hours. She felt a surge of relief so great, her legs went weak. At least Sandor would be safe until she had time to figure out what to do. "Oh, thank God."

  "Conal is waiting in the truck to take us to the palace. Sandor has sent for more troops. I thought you would want to go with him."

  "Yes." She spoke abstractedly as she began to wend her way through the crowd. "Yes, I want to go the palace." The secret passage! She skidded to a stop. If Sandor didn't put himself in Naldona's hands, it was almost certain he would use the secret passage for a surprise attack. The action would put him right in Naldona's lap. But even if Naldona was surprised, it didn't mean there wouldn't be violence. James or Sandor still could be either hurt or ki— She mustn't think about what might happen. She had to decide what to do. What were Naldona's weak points? There must be something she could use. Women. His attitude toward women was—

  "Alessandra?" Paulo was gazing at her in puzzle­ment.

  She began walking quickly, almost running, toward the truck. "I need a weapon, Paulo. Some­thing that can be easily hidden."

  "A weapon," Paulo repeated slowly. "Now, I won­der why you need a weapon?"

  "This is my fault. I'm the one who has to straighten it out. Sandor could be killed ..."

  "You are going after Bruner yourself." Paulo's gaze was narrowed on her face. "The secret pas­sage?"

  Her eyes widened in surprise. "You know about the passage?"

  He nodded. "I met Sandor for the first time in that passage. It was a very interesting evening." He was silent for a moment. "I will go with you."

  "No, I can't have anyone along who might make Naldona suspicious. I've decided to try to play on Naldona's contempt for my sex. Judging by that flea-brained mistress he keeps, it's probable he thinks we have only one skill worth cultivating." She smiled crookedly. "I have to appear just as flea-brained and vulnerable. You have to admit you're not exactly unintimidating."

  "Who, me?" His teeth were bared in a wolfish grin. "I'm as gentle as a pussycat."

  "Well, I don't need a pussycat. I need a weapon."

  "You can't go alone. You are the Tanzar's woman. You would be a more valuable hostage for Naldona than Bruner."

  "I'm not the Tanzar's woman. I'm my own woman. But if Naldona thinks I'm Sandor's plaything, so much the better. He won't have his guard up."

  "I don't know ..."

  "It's the only way there's even a chance of there being no casualties." Her voice held a hint of des­peration. "Don't argue with me, Paulo. Help me."

  Paulo's gaze was fixed on her thoughtfully. "You will go anyway, won't you?"

  She nodded.

  "Then I will help you. What kind of weapon?"

  A miniscule amount of the tension left her. "A small gun, preferably. I hate knives."

  "We will see what Conal can find in the truck. Among an entire troop, surely we'll be able to find one small gun for the Tanzar's woman."

  "I'm not—" She stopped. What did it matter what he called her? Perhaps she was Sandor's woman. If love was the common denominator of possession, then Sandor was certainly her man. "Sandor mustn't know about this."

  He shook his head. "I can't promise. All I can guarantee is that you'll have a head start. It will be up to you to make the most of it. Conal is very devoted to Sandor, and I won't be able to keep him quiet for long."

  "I'll make the most of it. Thank you, Paulo."

  "You don't have to thank me. I would not let you go if I didn't think you had a chance. As I said, you are a strong woman." He smiled. "There are times when you remind me of my sister, Marna."

  "You have a sister here in Tamrovia?"

  "No, she and my tribe are in the United States right now. Zack Damon found them a fine, free place to stay until the end of the war."

  "But you didn't go with them?"

  "The hunting was better here. But now that Sandor has won his war, it may become very bor­ing. Perhaps I will go to this Montana."

  "The war's not over yet." Not while Naldona was still threatening Sandor and James. Not yet. But it would be over soon, if she had anything to say about it.

  She had reached the cab of the truck, and took Conal's hand and let him pull her onto the seat next to him. "I don't think we were introduced at the base." She smiled at him with dazzling sweet­ness. "I'm Alessandra Ballard, the Tanzar's woman, and I was wondering if you would do me a great favor."

  Alessandra turned the sconce, and the book­shelf panel swiveled open. She stood there in the passage, hesitating. No voices. She gave a sigh of relief. She had thought Naldona would take James to his own suite instead of setting up his head­quarters here, but there was no way of being sure. She stepped into the sitting room and turned the sconce on the wall to close the panel. So far, so good. The suite appeared to be empty. She moved silently toward her bedroom. She didn't have much time, but she couldn't convince Naldona she was a helpless sex toy while she looked more like a soldier.

  It took less than four minutes to change into a white silk blouse and baggy white slacks that hid the small pistol tied to her calf. She took down her hair and brushed it swiftly. She had no time for makeup. She didn't have to look beautiful, only womanly. Shoes. They had to be totally im­practical to blend with the image she needed to create. She stripped off her tennis shoes and socks and thrust her feet into high-heeled sandals. She gasped as her weight was thrown onto the ball of her feet. She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, waiting for the pain to abate to a point where she could block it out. She opened her eyes. Good heavens, she was pale. She couldn't worry about that now. She turned away from the mirror and walked slowly, carefully out of the bed­room and crossed the sitting room to the door opening into the hall.

  She managed to slip unnoticed out of the suite, but had gone only
a few yards down the hall toward Naldona's suite when she heard the cocking of a pistol behind her. "Halt!"

  "I'm halted, for goodness' sake," she said pee­vishly. She looked over her shoulder at the soldier holding the gun. "You don't have to threaten me with that thing. I'm frightened enough as it is. Where's Naldona?"

  The door to Naldona's suite opened. "Miss Ballard?" Marc Naldona stood in the doorway. "How nice of you to drop in. Would you care to tell me how you managed it? You and Karpathan appear to be escape artists on a par with Houdini."

  She waved her hand vaguely. "Sandor showed me a way from the terrace up a back staircase. I was too scared to pay much attention." She scowled. "I don't like being used as a pawn by the two of you. I'm an American citizen, dammit." "Pawn?" Naldona's dark eyes were narrowed on her. Cold eyes. "Why do you think Karpathan would use you as a pawn? He was quite defensive of you at Limtana."

  "That was before you burned his bloody castle. You would have thought that damn pile of wood and stone was alive. He turned into a raving maniac."

  "Really?" There was a flicker of savage satisfac­tion in Naldona's face. "He was hurting?"

  Damn him. She could almost feel the pleasure radiating from the bastard. She lowered her lashes to veil her eyes. "Bleeding. He went wild. Cursing you." She inserted a thread of indignation into her tone. "He even blamed me. What did I have to do with it? I couldn't help it if I got too tired to travel anymore that night. He was eager enough to drag me into the nearest bedroom. Now he treats me as if I have leprosy, or something."

  "How unfortunate. But that doesn't tell me why Sandor sent you into the lion's den." His lips twisted. "Or why you let yourself be sent."

  "Karpathan seemed to think another hostage might pacify you. I was certainly willing to come. James never treated me like Karpathan. James was always very kind to me. When you let him go, I want to go with him. There isn't any reason for you to hurt me now." She gazed at him limpidly. "May I see James?"

  He hesitated and then shrugged. "Why not?" He stood aside. "Come in, Miss Ballard, and join the party." He motioned to the guard, who lowered the pistol. "It's too bad you'll be of no use to me with Karpathan, but I still may find a way to improve my situation. Bruner is a very rich man, and I'll need money to make my exile comfortable. He appears to be very fond of you."

  "I know how to please a man." Alessandra en­tered the suite. "James and I understood each other." She glanced anxiously over her shoulder. "You didn't tell him what happened between Karpathan and me?"

  He shook his head. "Your little secret is safe for the moment. Perhaps it will remain so if you give me the help I need with Bruner." He nodded to the door of the bedroom. "He's locked in there. He'll be delighted that I've returned his little play­mate to him." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a key, and handed it to her. "Show him a good time. If Karpathan doesn't give me what I want, it may be the last one he has."

  "You wouldn't do that. We're American citizens." She strode confidently toward the bedroom door. "You and Karpathan will work things out and then James and I will leave here." She unlocked the door. "I've had enough of Tamrovia to last me for the rest of my life."

  Naldona strolled to the center of the room. "Amer­ican citizen. You say it like a magic incantation. It means nothing here."

  "Of course it means something here." She tossed her head. Lord, what a phony gesture. Next she'd be neighing like a Shetland pony. "Everyone knows you can't monkey around with Uncle Sam."

  "Alessandra!" James was sitting on the bed, and he jumped to his feet.

  "Oh, darling, you can't imagine what I've been through." She ran across the room and kissed him on the cheek. "Fires and that horrible Kar­pathan man and—" She stopped, her gaze searching his face. "You look tired. Are you well? Sit down." She pushed him gently back on the bed and knelt in front of him. "I shouldn't have left you. No one can take care of you the way I can." She smiled brilliantly into his bewildered face while her hand slipped beneath the edge of her baggy trousers to clasp the handle of the pistol. "But now I'm back, and I'll make sure ..." She drew out the gun with one smooth movement, turned to face Naldona, and finished the sentence. ". . . we both get out of here."

  The satisfied smile on Naldona's face vanished. "You're being incredibly stupid. I have thirty men down the hall. One shot and they'll be in this room in seconds."

  "That won't do you any good if the bullet is aimed at you. I'm a fair shot, and I won't hesitate to pull the trigger." She rose to her feet and met his gaze steadily. "You have a habit of underesti­mating people, Naldona. Sandor, James, me. Don't make that mistake now."

  He studied her for a moment before slowly shak­ing his head. "You're an excellent bluffer, but I don't think you're capable of following through on it." His lips curved contemptuously as his gaze moved over her. "You don't learn such strength of purpose in the bedroom. You'd be wiser to stick to whoring."

  James stepped impulsively forward. "Naldona, you son of—"

  "No, James," Alessandra said quickly. "It doesn't matter." She gestured with the pistol. "We're going for a little walk, Naldona."

  "You think I'm going to let you use me as a hostage? Absolutely not." Naldona's eyes glared fiercely into her own. "The only way to handle a bluffer is to call the bluff. Your bluff is called, whore." He deliberately turned his back and be­gan to walk toward the door. "I'm going to call the guards. If you give up now, I might let you live."

  Choice. Oh, Lord, she didn't want to shoot him. The thought filled her with cold horror. Yet if she didn't, he would call his men and any chance of saving James would be gone. His suspicions would be thoroughly roused and he'd be ready for Sandor's attack force. Sandor and Paulo, and no telling how many others, might be killed or hurt. On the other hand, without a leader, there was a strong possibility Naldona's men would surrender.

  "Stop, Naldona. I mean it."

  He didn't turn around. "Your voice is shaking. You don't like violence, do you? I enjoy it. I've acquired quite a taste for it over the years. Kar-pathan probably has too."

  "No." But Naldona was speaking the truth con­cerning himself. He did enjoy violence. The tor­ture squads, Limtana burning in the night. "I don't want to do this, but I will. Don't open that door."

  "A bluff," he said. He reached for the knob of the door.

  She pulled the trigger.

  "I guess you are angry with me, eh?" Paulo straightened, moving away from the boulder against which he'd been leaning as Sandor and his men came pouring into the cave. He glanced reproach­fully at Conal, who stood at Sandor's side. "You didn't wait very long before telling him. She's only been gone fifteen minutes."

  "Long enough to get killed. If Naldona has hurt her, I'm going to strangle you both." Sandor slipped behind the boulder and into the entrance of the passage. As he turned on his flashlight, his face was pale and more grim than Paulo had ever seen it. "I told you to take care of her. I wanted her out of the country."

  "She's a very determined woman. She had a right to make the decision for herself."

  Sandor was moving at a half trot through the passage.

  Paulo lengthened his stride to keep up with him. "Don't blame Conal. He was willing to try anything to save your neck." He paused. "So was Alessandra."

  Sandor's only answer was to quicken his pace.

  The first thing they heard when they exited the secret passage into the sitting room was the sound of a shot. The pounding of boots in the hall fol­lowed immediately.

  "Alessandra." Sandor tore across the sitting room and jerked open the door. "Oh, God, Alessandra."

  More shots. Voices lifted in confusion.

  The hall was crammed with Naldona's guards milling about, and the door to the dictator's suite was open wide. A man's voice rang out harshly. "He's dead, dammit. You have nothing left to fight for. Naldona's dead. I have to get her to a doctor."

  Her? Sandor took a step forward.

  Paulo grasped his arm and jerked him back into the sitting room. "You
're not thinking. They're like a flock of geese fluttering around a barnyard. You've got to get their attention and show them

  where the threat lies." He grabbed Conal's ma­chine gun and sprayed a barrage of bullets over the heads of the soldiers in the hall. The confu­sion doubled as they whirled to face the new at­tack. "That should do it." Paulo tossed the machine gun back to Conal.

  Sandor's soldiers rushed forward, and in min­utes Naldona's men had been subdued and Sandor was pushing his way into Naldona's suite. He cast only a cursory glance at Naldona's body, on the floor by the door. His entire attention was fixed on James Bruner and the still, white-clad woman he was kneeling beside. Alessandra.

  "Get a doctor," he ordered hoarsely, not taking his eyes off her. "Now." He walked across the room. He felt as if he were moving in slow motion. His voice also sounded distorted and far away to him. "She's been hit?"

  Bruner had unbuttoned Alessandra's white blouse and was using his handkerchief to apply pressure to a bleeding wound on her left side. "Yes." He glanced up. "Karpathan?"

  Sandor nodded as he dropped to his knees. Lord, she was pale. Her long lashes were dark shadows on her cheeks. "She's unconscious. How bad is it?"

  "I have no idea. I'm not a doctor." Bruner's lips twisted. "You never should have let her come after me."

  "I didn't let her," Sandor said dully. The blood was slowly seeping through her white blouse. "Where the hell is that doctor?"

  "She shot Naldona."

  "Did she?" He couldn't have cared less about Naldona at that moment. Sandor reached out to stroke the hair away from her face. His gaze sud­denly lifted, his eyes blazing fiercely in his pale face. "Who shot her?"

  "I don't know. One of the soldiers who burst in here after she shot Naldona. Does it matter?"

  "It matters." Sandor would get great pleasure from punishing the bastard who had hurt Ales-sandra. But he couldn't do that yet. Now he had to concentrate all his energy on saving her.

  "More violence," Bruner said with acid bitter­ness. "Won't you ever learn? You've nearly killed her. Alessandra hates war and violence, and you've caused her to shoot a man. If she lives, how do you think she's going to feel about that?"