On Thin Ice

  “Maybe. But I think you’ve got enough on your plate for now, getting those two gringos out of here and keeping away from the CIA. Where’d you leave them? Not at the American hotel, I hope.”

  “What kind of an idiot do you think I am?” He drained his glass of cheap whiskey. “I put them in a hotel down by the docks. The Santa D’Oro.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ.”

  MacGowan put the empty glass down. “Wrong hotel, eh?”

  “It’s Guiding Light territory. I thought you knew.”

  “It wasn’t three years ago.”

  “Times change.” Tomas’s face creased. “You need some help?”

  MacGowan shook his head. “Thanks to you I’ve got enough firepower to blast through Alcista himself. I better get back there.”

  “They may not have figured out who you are.”

  “Yeah, and pigs may fly.” Suddenly he remembered Sister Beth, looking at him after he told her he’d kiss a pig. Yeah, he was in deep shit there. Maybe if he saved her life again she’d overlook it.

  “Good luck, amigo. You’ll need it.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Beth woke slowly, her stomach clenching, and she lay very still. She hated throwing up, she’d do almost anything she could to keep from doing so, including not moving when she had absolutely no idea where she was. The room was dark and smelled like mold, and whatever she was lying on was lumpy and uncomfortable. She could hear a sudden burst of laughter, loud male voices talking in Spanish so fast that she couldn’t follow it. But then, with her brain spinning, she probably wouldn’t be able to follow English. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe through her mouth, slowly, carefully.

  Where was she? For that matter, where was Dylan? She should sit up, look around, but she was afraid if she did she’d end up hurling. She took shallow breaths and counted to calm herself, as she tried to piece together what had happened.

  They’d been drugged. That had become obvious in the last moments she remembered, as she crashed onto the table. Since she refused to open her eyes she had no idea whether she was still in the hotel room or if she’d been moved. She suspected it was the latter. The surface beneath her felt different, and the men’s voices came through an open door. It didn’t seem likely that people would be congregating in the hall outside her hotel room.

  Unless something awful had happened to Dylan. Her eyes flew open at that, and she had to shove a fist in her mouth to stifle her groan. The room was in total darkness, but there was enough light coming from the open door to tell her that this was another room entirely, and there was no sign of Dylan anywhere.

  Her veil was gone, and the front of the habit was open to the sultry air. Except that there was no opening at the front of the nun’s robes, and she reached up and found someone had ripped the dress open while she’d been unconscious. She lay very still, taking stock of her body. Her muscles still ached, her feet still hurt, and there was a new throbbing in her upper arm, as if someone had yanked her or even dragged her. But below the waist felt the same, thank God. No one had raped her while she was unconscious.

  Though if she was going to be raped, that was definitely the way to go, she thought, trying to be rational. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known Callivera was an unsettled country. If she’d wanted safety she never would have left Philadelphia.

  Words were becoming clearer from the rapid Spanish in the other room. There were at least three men, probably more, and none of the voices sounded familiar. There was no missing “La Luz” and the reverential tone, answering one question. Somehow they’d managed to catch up with them, and she was a prisoner once more.

  She felt despair bleeding over her, but she fought back. Giving up hope wasn’t an option. Not until she was dead.

  What had they done to Dylan? If he was telling the truth about his family’s abandonment then they would have no use for him. Had they left him behind? Had they killed him?

  And then a name came through the rapid Spanish that almost put the finish on her barely-controlled nausea. Alcista. The Bull. The rarely-seen leader of the Guiding Light, known for his insatiable appetite for food, drugs, and sex. And he was coming here.

  She started counting again.

  She remembered the stories now. The Bull liked sex and he liked an audience, that much she remembered. He usually stayed in the more populous northern part of the country, but the escape of three important prisoners was bringing him down south. The voices of the men sounded more excited than worried, like a visiting rock star was coming to town. If they’d been part of the rebel encampment they’d be a little more concerned about retribution.

  Concentrate, she told herself, her mind growing clearer, though the advent of Alcista was doing nothing for her stomach. She needed to find out what had happened to Dylan. And whether MacGowan had walked into a trap.

  For some reason she wasn’t particularly worried about MacGowan. If ever a man could take care of himself, MacGowan was that man. In fact, maybe she didn’t need to worry about anything. MacGowan would make sure Dylan was all right. MacGowan would rescue her. MacGowan . . .

  MacGowan was only human, even if he seemed larger than life. Father Pascal would tell her to be patient and kind, turn the other cheek, the Lord would provide. Father Pascal had been slaughtered for his goodness. Maybe she couldn’t afford to wait.

  She pushed herself up to a sitting position, though her arms were trembling with the effort and her stomach gave an unfortunate lurch before settling back down. The room was deserted – no Dylan - and she was sitting on a mattress on the floor. She drew her knees up and rested her forehead against them for a moment, taking in calming breaths. Her stomach seemed to have finally settled itself, and when she raised her head the barren little room had stopped spinning.

  There was a boarded-up window in one wall, and it looked as if the door had been ripped off its hinges. She heard another rough burst of laughter, and she cringed. It had been early evening when they’d brought her the drugged food, and she had no idea how long she’d been unconscious. Hours? Days?

  A squat figure appeared in the doorway, blocking out the fitful light, and it was too late for her to dive back down and pretend to be unconscious. “You awake, gringa?” he said in Spanish. “You won’t have too much longer to wait. Alcista is coming, and you’ll have a chance to see what a real man is like.”

  She couldn’t understand every word, and she hoped she was wrong, but the threat was very clear. “Where are my friends?”

  The man scoffed. “That kid? We left him behind. He’s no use to us. And your good friend left you. They tell me MacGowan knows better than to risk his life unnecessarily.” For a moment she didn’t recognize his pronunciation of Finn’s name.

  She didn’t bother arguing. She might imbue Finn with all sorts of noble qualities, but in the end he was a pragmatist and she was nothing but trouble. He would cut his losses and get Dylan out of there. There was nothing he could do for her.

  She swallowed, wishing she weren’t still wearing the torn nun’s habit. It was stifling in the airless room, and she wished she were wearing her own clothes. Callivera was a Catholic country, and the torn nun’s habit probably didn’t help. Then again, the Guiding Light was probably not big on religion, considering what happened at the mission.

  And she couldn’t let herself think about that. “What do you intend to do with me? My corporation will pay ransom, but not if you hurt me.” A lie. The Pennington Foundation would pay any amount of money to get her back, no matter what condition she was in.

  The man shrugged his heavy shoulders. “That’s not up to me. Alcista will decide, but I think he will want to make an example of you. You’re heard of Alcista, have you not?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I’ve heard of him.”

  The man’s laugh was low and evil. “Then you will know he is muy hombre, and he likes blondes. Someone like you, so fair, so superior, he likes to bring them down. Me, I’m thinking he will put on a good show for us when h
e gets here this morning.”

  Morning, she thought. So, maybe twelve hours or so since she’d been taken. MacGowan said the freighter was leaving at midnight. There was still time.

  Unless she’d been unconscious for so long that midnight sailing had come and gone, and she’d been left behind.

  “My people will pay more money if I’m returned unharmed.” It was worth trying again, but the man was unimpressed, and she heard voices in the background, laughing, calling out rude suggestions to him.

  “Maybe you get a taste of this once Alcista is done.” He cupped his genitals in a rough gesture. “He’s a man known to share.”

  Her stomach must have really improved, she thought distantly. She didn’t throw up at his threat. She sat up straighter. “I would like to speak to this Alcista when he arrives.”

  “Oh, you’ll get your chance, gringa,” he said with a rough laugh. “But I don’t know how much talking you’ll be doing.”

  He left her then, and she sank back against the wall, shivering in the stuffy air. If only there was a door and they’d locked her in, she could do something about the barred window, maybe find a weak spot to work the boards loose. She’d use her fingernails, her teeth, anything. Right now the situation was hopeless.

  What had they told her about rape? Were you supposed to fight back, or lie still? Did trying to empty your bladder or throwing up on the rapist drive them away or infuriate them to the point that they hurt you even more? Would he want her to scream and cry in order to get excited, or would noise bother him?

  It probably didn’t matter. She hadn’t heard much of Alcista, but his reputation for violence and rape was legendary. There was probably no way she could stop him.

  But she could endure. She could crawl inside herself and simply endure what they did to her, and when it was safe she would emerge.

  It might never be safe. There was a good chance she might die this afternoon. In which case she’d be safe inside that little world she created, and this time when the lights went out for good she wouldn’t even mind.

  “Do you need anything, Mr. Barringer?” Alice, the girl who had been his personal assistant for the last seventeen years, poked her head in the office.

  “No, dear,” he said. She was a homely girl, close to sixty if she was a day, and loyal to a fault. He only hoped her new boss would be as appreciative as he was. “I’m just waiting for a last minute phone call. You go on home.”

  Alice nodded, closing the door, leaving Barringer alone. He didn’t like to receive business calls at home, and he was waiting to hear from Sully. Once he had MacGowan, things would start to fall into place. He didn’t worry about how the missing Isobel Lambert would hear. He had no doubt she’d know sooner than the people in London. She’d been that good, and even in exile she’d stay connected.

  He looked at his watch. What was keeping Sully? He should have dealt with this by now. He had better things to do than stay around the deserted office waiting for a phone call.

  He didn’t even bother to consider what he might do if Sully failed him. In more than twenty years in the business Sully’s success rate was almost as high as Killian’s. He didn’t make mistakes.

  Odd, Barringer thought. He prided himself on his patience, and yet suddenly he could feel it beginning to fray. He glanced at the telephone, willing it to ring.

  Where in the name of all that was holy was Sully?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The waiting was the hardest part, Beth thought miserably. If she was going to be raped and murdered she just wished they’d get it over with. The notorious Alcista was in another part of the country, and it was taking him time to get there, apparently. No one bothered her again, though every now a then a different silhouette would appear at the broken door and peer in at her, but she simply stayed where she was, her back ramrod straight against the wall, waiting.

  To her amazement she even drifted to sleep for a bit. It was his arrival that woke her, the excited shouts of the men, the general backslapping and obsequious behavior befitting the rock star of terrorists. Most people didn’t even know what he looked like, she realized, but word had it that he wasn’t bad-looking. Maybe she wouldn’t mind it so much.

  Yeah, as if violent rape by George Clooney would be any better than violent rape by someone ugly. Rape was rape.

  Apparently a great number of toasts had to be drunk before Alcista would decide how to deal with her. She knew he came to the door to look in on her – she could see the swagger in his stride, the vanity in every ounce of his body. He turned away and made a filthy joke at her expense, one she only half-understood in his guttural, idiomatic Spanish, a joke the rest of the men found hysterically funny.

  She concentrated on her breathing. She’d been through pain before, she could tolerate that. And no one could shame her without her permission. She would survive if she could, die if she had to.

  The noisy conversation began to make a little more sense as she got used to the timbre of Alcista’s voice. He was not pleased with the men, that was one thing.

  “You have fucked this up, hermanos,” he said. “I had to finish the American boy and get Matteo to dump the body in the harbor. But what about the Englishman? Where is he? You just let him walk away?”

  A babble of excuses, which Alcista cut short. Beth closed her eyes, willing her breathing to stay slow and steady. She couldn’t think about Dylan right now, or she’d start screaming. She could only breathe. Survive.

  “Enough!” the man spat. “I have had word he’s headed north, to the capitol, hoping to get a plane out of here. I want three of you to go after him. Don’t come back without him.” There was a short burst of protest, one that halted quickly.

  “And the rest of you,” he continued. “We’ve lost three sources of income. Why are you sitting around drinking cerveza when you should be looking for new guests of La Luz?”

  “We’ve been awaiting your orders, Alcista,” one man was brave enough to say. “And you promised we could watch you deal with la gringa.”

  Alcista made a sound of disgust. “You think you deserve a reward? Get out of here, all of you. I’ll take care of her on my own.”

  There was a noisy scramble, the slamming of the door a number of times, and Beth held her breath, wondering if she had been left alone with the monster.

  Apparently not. “Why are you still here?” he demanded.

  “You told us to stay, Alcista.” It was the squat man; she could tell by his voice, and she wondered how many had stayed behind. How many would be watching. “Besides, we know you prefer an audience.”

  Silence, as if the man were considering this. “You can stand by the door if you like,” he said grudgingly.

  “Oh, no, jefe,” Squatman said. “There are no lights in that room – you wouldn’t be able to see her properly to enjoy her. And five of us cannot crowd into that narrow doorway.”

  “Are you really telling me how to do this, Teo?” The sound of Alcista’s voice brought chills to Beth’s skin.

  Apparently Teo was made of sterner stuff, though his voice quavered somewhat when he responded. “You told me you wanted witnesses, and that we might take a turn later if you were pleased and she was still . . .”

  Okay, now her nausea was back. She didn’t move. Breathe, she told herself.

  Maybe if she tried to run they’d shoot her, get it over quickly.

  “Do not tell me what I want. There are times when I want company, times when I want privacy. Just what does this gringa look like.”

  “She’s beautiful, jefe. Hair like silver, nice tits, a pretty mouth.”

  “And how have you seen her tits, Teo? Did you decide to sample her first?”

  Now Teo was sounding terrified. “No, jefe. We just looked, that’s all. To make certain she would be worth your time.”

  “If she has hair like silver she is worth my time.” She could hear his voice getting closer, and she gulped in air, afraid she was going to cry. The light was blocked, as Alcista t
he Rapist stood there, looking at her, a dark shape in the doorway. “You men make yourselves busy,” he said over his shoulder. “I will let you know when you can watch.”

  “Yes, jefe. Gracias, jefe.”

  He was coming closer, and Beth couldn’t help it, she scrambled back into the corner, trying to get away from him. He loomed over her, and she wanted to curse herself for a coward. She had planned to get through this with dignity, and here she was shivering.

  “Take off your clothes, gringa,” he said in a voice that carried to the next room. And then, inexplicably, in a soft voice, he added “please.” In English.

  She stared up at the figure in the shadows, her eyes widening with shock. “No,” she said instinctively, her mind reeling.

  “Then I’ll tear them off you,” the man announced in loud Spanish. “Don’t make this harder,” he whispered.

  She froze. It was MacGowan, she would know that voice anywhere, though he moved differently and looked like a stranger. He had a pair of sunglasses in his hand, his hair was tied back under a bandanna, and his face looked colder, crueler, indefinably different. But it was MacGowan.

  She was frozen. She couldn’t say a word, and he moved so fast she hadn’t seen it coming, catching the nun’s habit in his two strong hands and continuing the tear, ripping it down the middle. The fabric was old and frail, and it fell apart beneath his grip, falling down her shoulders, and she sat there in nothing but the tank top and panties she’d worn beneath it.

  He squatted down beside her, and she could see his face. His cold, brutal face and his unexpectedly kind eyes. “I’m sorry, senorita,” he said loudly. “But there’s no way out of this.” He added in that whispered English, “no way at all, Sister Beth.”

  “You tell her, jefe!” came a voice from the living room, and MacGowan snarled.

  “I can’t get rid of them,” he whispered. “I really am sorry.” He reached out and ripped the tank top in half, and she clutched at the torn cloth, holding it over her breasts as she let out a cry of dismay.