Escape Out of Darkness

twenty-one

  Damn Mack, she thought sleepily, burrowing deeper into the pillow. He’s put the television on again. How did he expect her to sleep with all that noise in the background? Two heated male voices, arguing away …

  In English. Maggie’s eyes flew open. She was lying on the bed with the bedspread pulled over her, her brain still fuzzy with her exhausted sleep and the aftermath of her brush with death. The shadows on the wall were dark and ominous, the voices low and angry. Slowly Maggie sat up, peering through the dimly lit room.

  “You’re awake,” Jeffrey Van Zandt said flatly, moving into the light. “Your bodyguard here wouldn’t let me wake you up, and we’ve been standing here for half an hour making the most unbelievable small talk. How are you, darling?”

  The whole thing had taken on the quality of a nightmare, Maggie decided. There was Van Zandt, his preppy-perfect looks making him resemble a young William F. Buckley; that charming smile on his even, patrician features; his Ralph Lauren shirt faded to just the right shade; his linen trousers perfectly wrinkled; the sleeves of his well-tailored jacket shoved up his arms. It took an experienced eye to notice the bulge of a well-made shoulder holster under that jacket, and Maggie had experienced eyes.

  She tossed the bedspread to one side and swung her feet to the floor. A wave of dizziness washed over her, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten for almost twenty-four hours, but not a trace of it showed in her face. “I’m just fine, Jeffrey,” she said politely. “A bit tired, but then we’ve been running halfway around the world recently. You’ve certainly led us on a merry chase.”

  Van Zandt smiled, flashing all his orthodontically perfect teeth. “You’ve outdone yourself, Maggie. I never thought you’d get this far. I’m glad to see you’ve enjoyed yourself along the way.” His glance trailed down Maggie’s front, and her eyes followed his, noting that Mack had left her shirt unbuttoned.

  Mack moved past Van Zandt and sat down on the bed beside her, perfectly at ease. “We’ve had our moments,” he drawled in his raspy voice. “But don’t think you’re going to get much gratitude from either of us.” His eyes met hers for a brief moment, and one hand reached out and did up her buttons. The casual sexiness of it took her breath away, momentarily distracting her attention from Van Zandt. But then his hand left her, and the moment might never have existed. Except for the lingering warmth on her skin.

  Van Zandt shrugged, taking one of the chairs without asking and switching on the light. The bright glare only illuminated his bland good looks, and the nightmare deepened. “You win some, you lose some. Personally, I think Maggie looks a hell of a lot better than she has for a long time. You’ve been good for her, Mack. Much better for her than Peter Wallace.”

  “Why did you kill him, Jeffrey?” Maggie went straight to the point. “And what in God’s name do you want from us?”

  “I’m sorry about Peter, I really am. But he gave me no choice. I hadn’t realized Third World Causes was quite so efficient. He was able to trace the drug deal directly back to me. He made the mistake of confronting me with it, and I had no choice but to … uh, silence him,” he said delicately. “I had expected it would be very neat—the police would arrest Mack and Mancini would see that he came to a quick end in some Houston jail. I hadn’t counted on you, Maggie, I’m afraid.”

  Mack sent her a warm look that took some of the nightmare quality away. “That was a mistake on your part, Van Zandt. One should never underestimate Maggie.” And he reached out and caught her hand.

  Van Zandt’s lip curled, and some of the preppy charm faded. “True love is so inspiring.” He yawned. “And you just may get your chance to live happily ever after.”

  “That would be nice,” Mack said gravely. “You want to tell us how? What is it you want from us, Van Zandt?”

  “First of all, you can forget about Hamilton and the Company’s plans to trip me up. You’ll find that I have protection in high places, very high places indeed. If you handed me over to either one of those two gentlemen, I’d be out so fast your heads would spin. So don’t waste our time, okay, dearies?”

  “Jeffrey, all we want is for you to leave us alone,” Maggie said. “Call off all your nasty little friends, and Mack will keep his mouth shut. He doesn’t give a damn if the rebels and Mancini control all the drug traffic in the western hemisphere. Just call them off, and we’ll all be happy.”

  “They don’t control the drug traffic in the western hemisphere, Maggie,” Van Zandt said in a gentle voice. “A Belgian gentleman named Hercule Mersot is the head of a syndicate that runs seventy-five percent of the world’s drug traffic. Mancini answers to him, believe it or not. If the rebels want to deal drugs, they answer to him. And I, I must confess, answer to him.”

  “Now why am I not surprised?” said Maggie.

  “Because you’re a bright woman, my dear.”

  “And what does Hercule Mersot have to do with us?”

  “I’m afraid I’ve been greedy. You can play both ends against the middle for just so long, and then people begin to get suspicious. The Company is distressed with me, but I certainly won’t have any trouble placating them. The rebels are so deeply in trouble and in debt that they’re not worth worrying about, and Mancini will always listen to reason. No, my only problem is M. Mersot. I’m afraid he’s begun to suspect that I’ve been a little generous in helping myself to my share in certain deals. And he’s not a man who likes to be trifled with. So I need you two to take care of him.” He leaned back and smiled with the air of a man who’s explained a very simple problem to everyone’s satisfaction.

  “Are you out of your mind?” Mack broke in. “We aren’t hired killers. Why don’t you hire someone with natural ability? Someone like your good buddy Willis?”

  “Unfortunately, Willis is somewhere in Honduras,” Van Zandt replied, and Maggie breathed a small sigh of relief. She had no idea whether that misinformation would help her, but anything was possible. “And despite Willis’s many talents, he’s exactly the sort of man who could get nowhere near Mersot. Not to mention the fact that I wouldn’t trust him. No, I need two relative newcomers. People who would go about things with a fresh approach—therein lies the only hope of success. And that’s where you come in.”

  “Why should we kill him? Why don’t you do it yourself? Don’t you think they’ll suspect you’re behind it?” Maggie demanded.

  “I can talk my way out of anything,” he said with his usual overwhelming confidence, and Maggie almost believed he could. “You and Mack will be long gone—”

  “I’m sure we will,” Mack interrupted.

  “Living happily ever after,” Jeffrey continued reprovingly. “Mersot’s partners will have no idea that two innocent tourists could have gotten to the great Mersot, and they’ll be too busy fighting over control of his empire to dwell on it. It should all work out very well.”

  “And this Mersot lives in Switzerland?” Mack asked.

  “You got it. Halfway up the Jungfrau. You’ll have to take three cog railways and then hike across mountain meadows to get to his chalet, but you’re both strong and healthy.”

  “How does he get there?”

  “Helicopter. I think that might look a little suspicious on your part. There are a few roads that are passable this time of year, but the helicopter is so much more efficient. All you have to do, my dears, is go in there and kill him. He won’t give you any trouble—he’s a charming old man devoted to his gerbils. I’ll get rid of his armed guards for you.”

  “Decent of you,” Maggie said. “And what makes you think we’ll do this?”

  “Several reasons,” Van Zandt replied. “First, it’s your only chance to get me to call off my business associates. You might be able to avoid one set of them, but all of them together is rather more than even Maggie could fight off. And if Mersot has me killed, I won’t be able to help you.” He yawned delicately, like a cat. “And more important, you really wouldn’t have to make it back to the States before you met your long-postponed
fate. That little encounter with my Mercedes was in the nature of incentive.”

  Maggie just sat there, looking at him, her hand still in Mack’s. He’d boxed them in quite neatly, and they had no choice in the matter. One couldn’t reason with the Van Zandts of the world. It was merely a question of kill or be killed. And Maggie had no intention of being killed. She looked at Mack, a question in her eyes, consulting him. He knew everything she’d been thinking, knew and agreed. He nodded, once.

  “How?” she said to Van Zandt. “When?”

  Van Zandt smiled his smug little smile. “Tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” she echoed, shocked out of her acceptance.

  “Why put it off? Wouldn’t you like this all to be over with?”

  Maggie ignored the pleasantry. “How and where?”

  “I’ve written it all down. I even have train schedules, maps. Everything you might need. Mersot will be alone up there, the alarm system will be turned off. All you have to do is waltz in there and kill him.”

  “Sounds too easy to be true. How do we know you’re not sending us into a trap, with Mersot’s men waiting to pick us off the moment we come within range?”

  “Not a bad idea, but I could have taken care of you anywhere along the way. It wouldn’t make sense for me to import you to Switzerland just to kill you. Untidy, not to mention a little too spectacular. There are enough tourists around the Jungfrau to notice if someone opens fire.”

  “Why aren’t we reassured?” Mack grumbled.

  “Maybe because you’re sadly paranoid,” Van Zandt purred. “Take it or leave it, my friends.”

  “And if we leave it?” Maggie said.

  Van Zandt showed all his perfect teeth. “Then you’re dead. By my hand or perhaps by one of Mersot’s employees if someone happens to let him know you came to Switzerland to kill him. Or you may survive for a while until Mancini tracks you down. Whichever way, your days would be numbered. Far better to take a chance my way.”

  “And if we do this,” Maggie said, “what happens to you? Do you get away with all this?”

  “For a while. Unless the two of you decide to come after me. People are so unforgiving,” he said with a sigh.

  Mack smiled grimly. “They do have a habit of holding grudges,” he agreed.

  “I’m sure you won’t fall prey to such base emotions,” Van Zandt replied.

  “Trust me,” Mack murmured, and Maggie felt his hand tighten on hers. She squeezed back, in complete agreement.

  “We do have some sense, Jeffrey,” she lied with a charming smile.

  Van Zandt’s eyes were bright with cheerful malice. “You do,” he agreed. “But you’re tiresomely idealistic, darling, you know you are. I’ll have to hope Mack will curb your martyr tendencies.” He rose, slender, graceful, infinitely charming. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “You want to make sure we do it?” Mack questioned in a caustic voice.

  “Oh, I’ll know when you do it. The reverberations will be felt all around the world.” He smiled. “Good luck, my friends.”

  “Will we need it?”

  “Oh, I expect so, Maggie. I do expect so. Things are never easy.” And he drifted out the door with a gentle wave of his hand.

  Maggie stared at the closed door. “Should we go after him?” she inquired in a calm voice.

  “It wouldn’t do us any good,” Mack said. “He was right, wasn’t he? We don’t have any choice in the matter. Even if we could protect ourselves from some of the people after us, there’s no one who can protect us from everyone.”

  “No.”

  He let go of her hand, rising to pick up the packet of material Van Zandt had left them. “Do you think this is a setup?”

  “Undoubtedly. I’m sure he wants us to kill Mersot. I’m also certain he’s not planning for us to leave the chalet once we do so. In the CIA they learn to be as thorough as the Mafia. No loose ends.”

  “No loose ends,” Mack echoed, dropping the papers back on the table. “I guess we play this game to the end. You want to go out for dinner?”

  “No.”

  “Room service?”

  “No.”

  He turned to look at her, something in her tone of voice catching his attention. “What do you want then?”

  “You,” she said simply, and waited. He had every right to turn away, to turn her earlier refusal against her, to reject her. But unlike herself, Maggie thought, Mack hadn’t a self-destructive bone in his body.

  One moment he was across the room, abstracted, the next he was pushing her down on the bed, his mouth capturing hers in a kiss of surprising sweetness. “You know that I love you, don’t you?” he whispered against her mouth.

  She laughed, an oddly carefree laugh, given their life-or-death predicament. “I know, Mack,” she said, sliding her arms around his neck and pulling him against her. “I know.”

  * * *

  There was an odd, Twilight Zone kind of sense to their trip the next day. They followed Van Zandt’s directions dutifully, trying to blend in with the cheerful, smiling tourists, trying to come up with light conversation when both of them wanted to sit huddled with their own dark thoughts. They left their rental car at the train station in Interlaken for the first leg of their journey of death via Lauterbrunnen to the tiny, perfect little Alpine town of Wengen. And then on up, another seven miles to Kleine Scheidegg, to face the terminus of the cog railway and the advent of the worst part of their journey.

  Van Zandt’s maps were clear. Maggie and Mack had dressed wisely, with sturdy walking shoes, layers of clothing, and loaded guns. When they finally left the chattering merrymakers they sank into a silence that neither of them wanted to break. Somewhere deep inside, Maggie thought, she had to find the courage to face what lay ahead. It might be the murder of an evil old man, it might be Mack’s death and her own. She’d faced death before, without flinching. But somehow with Mack it was much harder. She didn’t want to die, and she didn’t want to lose him. More than ever she wanted to live, to love, to experience everything clean and joyous. But first she had to climb this beautiful, sunny Alpine meadow and head into a valley of death.

  Mersot’s chalet was a deceptively innocuous building, miles away from the center of the tourist activity, almost hidden by the overhanging cliffs of the Jungfrau. They followed sheep tracks, narrow, beaten little paths that provided dubious footing, and Maggie was almost relieved when they finally caught sight of the sprawling, Austrian-style building hidden against the cliffs.

  “That must be it,” Mack said unnecessarily.

  “Yes.” She rubbed her ankle absently. “Do you see anyone around?”

  “No. But they wouldn’t have to be out and about. I heard a helicopter earlier—maybe it was the guards leaving.”

  “Maybe. I wish I could trust Van Zandt to get rid of them.”

  Mack grunted. The brisk mountain wind was blowing his hair against his high, lined forehead, and his eyes were narrowed against the bright glare of sunshine. Somewhere along the way he’d lost his mirrored sunglasses and never bothered to replace them, and his eyes and his expression could no longer be hidden from her. She almost wished she could have sought the security of not knowing Mack’s doubts equaled her own. “The one thing I trust about Van Zandt is that he really wants Mersot dead. And we’re not going to be able to kill him if he’s surrounded by guards. He’ll have gotten rid of them. It’s up to us to make sure they don’t come back before we’re out of there.”

  “Are we really going to kill a stranger, Mack? He’s never done us any harm. …”

  “I don’t know,” he said grimly. “Maybe we can reason with him. But if worse comes to worst, we’re going to have to remember he’s behind an obscene amount of the drug deals in the Western world. You might be lucky enough never to have seen someone strung out on heroin. You might have even missed what coke can do to people. I’ve seen far too much of it. Any man who gets obscenely rich trafficking in other people’s pain and despair and death deserves what h
e gets.”

  “At your hands?” She couldn’t keep from asking.

  The look he gave her was one of exasperation. “No, damn it. Not if I think about it. The whole trick to this, Maggie, is not to think about it. Not to meditate on what we’re supposed to do—just go in and do it. If it’s my life or his, the choice will be easy. I’m just hoping it’ll be that clear.”

  It was a deceptively long distance, down across the remote Alpine meadow to the chalet, which seemed to grow larger and larger as they got closer. The barriers were more numerous—barbed wire, no trespassing signs in six languages, locked gates and electrified fences. They ignored them all, keeping at a slow, steady pace.

  They skirted the long, winding drive that led into an underground garage, keeping well out of sight of the windows. The security devices were as sophisticated as any Maggie had ever seen: heat and light sensors, microscopic trip wires, probably guards on the lookout from the charming gabled windows. But no one appeared from the depths of the chalet. Everything remained still and silent and deserted.

  They reached the north face of the chalet without incidence. According to Van Zandt’s instruction, it was the easiest side to penetrate. French doors led onto a terrace that no one used because of the sharp winds. It wouldn’t be locked. Once inside, they were on their own.

  Maggie stared at the door, the empty panes of glass winking in the sunlight. She was about to reach for the handle when Mack pulled her hand back.

  “I think it’s wired,” he whispered, his raw voice only a breath of sound in the wind. “Don’t touch it. We’ll look for another way in.”

  She nodded, moving back toward the edge of the terrace, when the sound of the dogs stopped her for a moment. She had a healthy respect for attack dogs, and the gun wouldn’t hold off a truly determined pack.

  “They’re chained up, Maggie,” Mack said, reading her hesitation almost before she felt it. “Let’s keep on.”

  She looked at him. They were almost the same height, his warm hazel eyes on a level with hers. A thousand things ran through her mind, a thousand things she wanted to tell him before it was too late.