Her head jerked away. At once she realized what she'd tasted, and as quickly as she'd recoiled, her lips sought his fingers. She sucked them, stiffened, understood where the water had come from, and scurried past him to dip her face in the pool.
When Savage feared she'd drink so much she'd get sick, he gentry pulled her away. She frowned, then complied. He took his turn, lapping gritty water. Wiping his mouth, he scanned the dark hills and urged her forward.
8
A half hour later, they stopped on a crest that revealed the sea. Moonlight reflected off waves. The shore, where the yacht had foundered and the fishermen had gathered, was now deserted.
Savage edged to the right. Yesterday, the villagers had come from that direction. Their homes, he assumed, were also in that direction. A short while later, he discovered his assumption was correct.
Lights glinted from windows in a clump of a few dozen rock-walled huts. To Savage's right, two helicopters rested on a level stretch of shore, safely above the waves. Muscular men, wearing nylon jackets, holding automatic weapons, strode from building to building, patrolling. Some raised walkie-talkies, speaking insistently.
Savage kept scanning the village. On its left, a primitive dock was flanked by six powerboats, each large enough to carry a dozen men. Farther left, eight single-masted fishing boats rested on a pebbly beach. Those fishing boats are tempting, Savage thought.
And that's the point, he decided.
The choppers have guards.
The fishing boats don't.
The fishing boats are the trap.
Then how do we get off the island?
Five minutes later, he decided. Using gestures, he tried to tell Rachel what to do, but she didn't understand. After several attempts, he was forced to risk the softest of whispers.
“Follow this bluff toward the right. When you're past the village—fifty yards—wait for me. I might be quite a while. You'll hear shooting. Don't panic.”
“But …”
“You promised to do what you're told.”
She looked frightened,
He stared with disapproval, pointing insistently.
Hesitant, she crawled toward the right.
He felt sorry for her, knowing how frightened she was to be alone.
But he didn't have a choice. He couldn't let her stay with him. Given what he had to do, she'd not only be in the way; she might get both of them killed.
He waited till she disappeared into the dark, then concentrated on the village. To the left, the fishing boats beckoned. The trap was so obvious he had no doubt that hidden sentries guarded them.
The instant I show myself to try to reach a boat, I'll be shot. Maybe searchlights'll suddenly blaze to help the guards aim.
Let's find out.
He squirmed down the hill.
“I might be quite a while,” he'd told Rachel, but the need for silence had prevented him from elaborating. “Quite a while” might be hours. He had to move as slowly as shadows cast by the shifting moon.
After thirty minutes, during which he progressed no more than fifty yards, he stiffened.
A faint sound primed his reflexes. The subtle scratch of cloth against rock. Directly before him. Past a wall of boulders.
Savage gingerly raised his head.
A sentry sat hidden from the top of the slope, his rifle directed toward the fishing boats.
Savage thrust his hands down. Jerked the man's head back.
Twisted.
The brittle snap was too faint to cause an alert. The dead man slumped.
Savage eased over the boulders, collecting a .30–06 boltaction rifle with a telescopic sight. As well, he found a .357 Magnum revolver. The corpse's pockets held plenty of ammunition.
He grasped the weapons and veered around the boulders, returning up the slope. Other snipers hid nearby. He took that for granted. But the route he'd used to get here was safe, so he allowed himself to crawl a little faster.
At the top, he paused to verify that nothing had alarmed the village. The men down there weren't ducking toward cover or racing up the slope as if they'd been warned about an intruder. The first part of the plan had worked. And now? The second part was so risky he almost didn't proceed.
If it fails, you won't get another chance, he thought. But we can't stay here and hope they don't search the island again. The longer we hide, the more we'll lose strength without food. And maybe the next time they search, they'll find us.
Or Rachel might crack from the strain. She's almost at her limit.
It has to be now.
He'd told Rachel, “Wait for me. You'll hear shots. Don't panic.”
Damn it, Rachel, keep control.
He fired the .30-06 and darted inland. The rifle's report echoed fiercely.
Hearing shouts from the village, he pulled the trigger on the .357 and continued running. More shouts. He fired the rifle again. Two seconds later, the revolver.
The night became filled with commotion. Boots dislodged rocks as the guards charged up the slope from the village. He fired the revolver twice more, the rifle once, and altered his course, no longer racing inland, instead angling toward the left.
The shouts became louder, closer, the men about to crest the hill. Abruptly Savage stooped. Running in a crouch, he angled farther left.
The men scurried over the hill. A flare burst in the sky, lighting the area where he'd been shooting.
Savage stooped lower, racing harder, escaping the light.
He anticipated what would happen. The men—having heard reports from two different weapons—would assume that the shots had been exchanged between Savage and a sentry. They'd spread out, searching warily, proceeding inland.
In the meantime, Savage had to take advantage of their distraction. He rushed through the night toward the opposite side of the village, reached the hill, and looked for Rachel. Couldn't find her.
Moved farther along the ridge.
And recoiled as a shadow lunged.
He almost chopped with his callused fingers before he realized that the figure was Rachel. She trembled in his arms, but he didn't have time to comfort her.
On the shore below him, a helicopter's engine began to whine. Its rotors turned slowly.
Simultaneously, another flare burst in the sky, lighting the ridge on the opposite side of the village.
The search had become more intense, Savage concluded with satisfaction. The guards are spreading, progressing farther inland. They've ordered a chopper up. They want its searchlights to add to the flares.
Rachel hugged him closer.
Savage pressed his lips to her ear. “Don't panic,” he murmured. “Not now. Five more minutes, and we'll be out of here.”
He tugged her down the slope.
The chopper's blades spun faster, the whine more intense. Moonlight and the glow of instruments revealed the pilot through the cockpit's Plexiglas. A copilot ran toward the chopper.
Savage tugged Rachel harder.
The copilot opened a hatch on the chopper. About to climb in, he jolted back, then collapsed from the impact of Savage's rifle butt against his jaw.
Savage pushed him aside, dropped the rifle, and aimed the Magnum revolver into the cockpit, telling the startled pilot, “Get the hell out, or die.”
The pilot fumbled at his seat belt, pawed at the hatch, and dove toward the ground.
Savage scrambled inside, yanking Rachel after him.
But she didn't need encouragement. Breathing frantically, she shoved him. “Go!”
He slammed the hatch, ignored his seat belt, and pressed his feet on pedals while grasping levers. His training in the SEALs had not included choppers, but Graham had insisted that a protector ought to be skilled with aircraft. Not jets. They were too sophisticated to be mastered without lengthy intensive instruction. But prop planes—and basic choppers—could be learned during leisure hours in a matter of months.
Thank God, Savage thought, this isn't a military chopper. Their consoles
bewildered him. But this chopper was designed so civilians could shuttle tourists. Its controls were no frills, do-this-by-the-book-and-that-by-the-book, so simple they were elegant.
The whine of the engines changed to a roar. The rotors spun so fast they seemed stationary.
“Go!” Rachel screamed.
Savage pressed pedals, worked levers, and the chopper lifted. His stomach sank from the force. At once, his stomach soared, from excitement. They were free.
He guided the chopper up and forward, speeding above the moonlit waves. With a tense glance backward, he saw tiny figures rush down the slope, others out of the village, converging angrily on the shore. They raised rifles.
Swiftly gaining more distance, Savage saw their muzzles flash.
Too late, he thought.
He buckled his seat belt, turning to Rachel. “Get yours on.”
“I already have.”
“You're something else.” Savage grinned. “I have to tell you, I'm impressed. Not many …”
When she screamed, he couldn't help it. He flinched. Turning, he saw a pistol aimed at his head.
And beyond the pistol, he saw Akira.
9
“Let's not forget where we are.” Akira's eyes were as melancholy as Savage remembered, his English as perfect. “No, don't reach for your weapon. I'll shoot. You'll die. A helicopter needs constant guidance. Before I could yank you aside to grab the pedals and sticks, we'd crash. Then I'd die as well. But so would your principal.”
“How did—?”
“I thought to myself, the yacht broke apart on the rocks, but did anyone survive? And if they did, and since you once belonged to the SEALs—an expert in survival—what would I do in your place? Assuming I found an adequate spot in which to hide, I'd want to get off the island as soon as possible before I lost energy from thirst and hunger. No doubt you had a rescue team nearby. Probably on Delos. I found that helicopter by the way. So I reasoned further and decided you'd feel compelled to get to Delos before the rescue team gave up and left. In that case, what were your choices? To steal a fishing boat was obvious, and my principal's men dispersed themselves accordingly. Snipers were everywhere. But your reputation is based on adaptability. A diversion? A skyjacking? I balanced your options and hid in this helicopter. After all, what did I have to lose? A few hours of lying here motionless? I could do so for days. And here you are.”
“You weren't this talkative when we worked together at the Medford Gap Mountain Retreat.” Savage squinted back toward Akira's pistol. Shivering, he squinted farther back toward Akira's brooding eyes. The eyes of a man he'd seen beheaded.
“The mountain retreat? Yes, that's why I'm here,” Akira said. “It's why I stalked you. It's why I hid. I need to ask you a question. Why are you still alive? Six months ago, I saw you die.”
Shocked, Savage lost control of the helicopter. It tilted sharply toward the sea. Urgently he readjusted its pedals and levers. The chopper regained altitude. His chest relaxed. But his mind felt bludgeoned by Akira's startling words. “Saw me? But I saw—!”
“They're after us,” Rachel said.
With renewed shock, Savage twisted to stare behind him. So did Akira.
Now, Savage thought. I can grab his gun.
But his instincts warned him that Akira would never allow himself to be totally distracted.
“Good,” Akira said. “You defeated temptation.”
“How did you know I wouldn't try?”
“I counted on your common sense. But it's better if we all assume trust. As a gesture of my intentions …” Akira put the gun in a holster beneath his windbreaker.
At once the cockpit seemed less crowded.
Savage concentrated on the night behind them. “I don't see anything chasing us.”
“There.” Rachel pointed back to her left. “Lights.”
“From the powerboats?”
“The other helicopter,” Akira said.
“Jesus. Is it armed?”
“The men inside I'm sure have automatic weapons, but the helicopter's a twin to this one. It has no aggressive capabilities.”
“If it catches us,” Rachel said, “the men can open a hatch and fire.”
“But they won't.”
“How can you be sure?”
Savage interrupted. “The same reason they didn't shoot when we escaped from the mansion. They're afraid of hitting you instead of me.”
“That didn't stop them from shooting when we stole the helicopter.”
“I think they were so surprised they overreacted. Now they've had a chance to realize how foolish they were. If this helicopter crashes because of them, Papadropolis would cut off their …”
“Yes.” Rachel winced. “My husband's capable of anything.”
“So you're our protection,” Akira said.
“Our? But you're on their side,” Savage said.
“Not any longer. I arrived at the mansion the day before last. A substitute for a guard who was ill.” Akira turned to Rachel. “The moment I realized why I'd been hired—to keep you a prisoner so your husband could beat and rape you—I knew I couldn't in conscience remain. In fact, I had plans to rescue you myself. Since Papadropolis misrepresented the assignment to me—he told me he'd been threatened and needed a protector—I consider my agreement with him to be void.”
“Then why did you point the gun at me?” Savage asked.
“To prevent you from attacking. I needed your attention while I explained.”
“The lights are gaining,” Rachel said.
“They might try to force us to land. There's an island to the right.” Savage pointed at a hulking mass. Avoiding it, he increased speed. The engine roared so hard the fuselage began to vibrate.
The fuel gauge dipped toward the half-level mark. Savage shook his head. “This fast, we'll use too much gas.”
“At the rate they're chasing us, they're wasting as much fuel as you are,” Akira said. “I wouldn't worry. Their tanks were low to begin with. They'll soon need to head for land. Be calm. No doubt the two of you are thirsty and hungry.” Akira reached toward the floor. With a smile that didn't relieve the sadness in his eyes, he handed Rachel a canteen and a packet of sandwiches.
Rachel fumbled to untwist the canteen's cap and took several large swallows. She suddenly lowered the canteen and frowned at both men. “You're avoiding the issue.”
Savage knew what she meant.
Akira's sad eyes narrowed. “Yes.”
“What the two of you said sounded crazy. What did you mean?”
Savage and Akira didn't answer. Just stared at each other.
“‘I saw you,’” Rachel quoted. “At the dock, when we left the harbor, that's what you shouted,” she told Akira, bewildered.
She turned toward Savage. “And you yelled the same thing back to him … but the emphasis was different. ‘I saw you.’ Then it thundered, and I couldn't hear the next few words, except for ‘die.’ I remember I asked if you knew this man. You wouldn't talk about it. Then a short while later, you said, ‘God help me, yes.’ You sounded terrified. ‘I saw him die six months ago.’ But the wind was so loud I wasn't sure I heard correctly. It didn't make sense. Now this man says he saw you—”
“Beheaded. Savage, how did you survive?”
“How did you survive?” Savage asked.
“The sword sliced your head off. It rolled across the floor.”
“Your head stopped upright,” Savage said. “Your eyes blinked.”
“Yours blinked.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Rachel said, “I was right. The two of you are crazy.”
“No,” Savage said. “But since both of us are alive, it's obvious something's horribly wrong.” An unnerving rush of adrenaline scorched his stomach and made his knees shake.
Rachel turned pale and shook her head. “For God's sake, it's impossible. If neither of you is crazy, someone's lying!” The way she stared at Akira made it obvious she suspected the stranger.
Akira shrugg
ed, dismissing her objection, his sad gaze riveted on Savage.
“Once more,” Rachel said. “Listen to yourself. You claim you saw him beheaded?”
“That's absolutely correct,” Akira said, squinting at Savage.
“And you saw him beheaded?” Rachel asked Savage.
Savage nodded. A chill swept through him, as if he shared the cockpit with a ghost.
Rachel jerked her hands up. “I'll say it again. Since this can't have happened, it's a lie.”
“Do you trust me?” Savage asked.
“You know I do. How many times do I have to prove it? I swore I'd follow you to hell.”
“Well, that's where I feel I am. Because what you insist is impossible is what I'm staring at. I was there. I know what happened. I saw it. And Rachel, I'm telling you … think I'm crazy, I don't care … I'm telling you I saw a Japanese assassin cut this man's head off. It's been haunting me for the past six months.”
“Just as I've been haunted by you,” Akira said.
“What you say doesn't count,” Savage said. “Rachel and I can trust each other. But can I trust you?”
“A perfectly professional attitude. I feel the same way. I'd be disappointed if you weren't suspicious. What's more, I'd have to be suspicious if you readily believed.”
“Both of you are starting to scare me,” Rachel said.
“Starting to? I was scared from the moment I saw Akira at the mansion.”
“Imagine my own shock,” Akira said, “my refusal to accept what I saw, when you passed me in the car … when I chased you through the village … when I yelled at you on the dock.”
“None of that matters,” Savage said. “All that does is what I saw six months ago. That's what I'm sure of. It's not like you were shot in the chest and you seemed to be dead but afterwards a doctor managed to revive you.”
“So why am I here? How can I be talking to you?”
“Damn it, I don't know!”
“Stop it,” Rachel said. “I'm really frightened.”
“No more than I am,” Akira said. “How can I make you understand? Savage, for the past six months, you've been in my nightmares. While I convalesced …”
“From … ?”
“Bokken.”