Iris Johansen: Deadlock

"And?"

"I need help."

"Yes, you do. You'll be lucky if they're still alive."

"Damn you, we've done everything we could to-" He stopped. "You know the area, and you have contacts. I wondered if we could talk you into using those contacts to get us information about the bandits."

"That's better. To the point and almost polite." Garrett took a sip of his whiskey. "They weren't taken by bandits."

Ferguson stiffened. "What?"

"There was some bandit involvement, but they were taken by for¬eigners."

"The killings were done by AK-47s of Russian make used by the bandits in the area. The footprints by the trucks were made by boots that came from a village in those mountains."

"Red herrings."

"Then who?"

Garrett shook his head. "Not bandits. Not Taliban. Not Al Qaeda. No one from the Middle East. Maybe someone English, Irish, Euro¬pean… I don't know."

"Then who does, dammit?"

Garrett shrugged. "I've told you all I could find out. I can con¬tinue to try, but it will take time. You don't have time."

"But you could find out more if you were on the ground there?"

"Maybe." He gazed thoughtfully down into his drink. "Yes, prob¬ably."

Ferguson wanted to strangle the bastard. "You could find them?" "Yes, I think so."

"Then go in and get them," Ferguson said through his teeth. Garrett leaned back in his chair. "Are you ordering me?" "You're damn right."

"It appears the gloves are off." Garrett's eyes narrowed on Fergu¬son's face. "And you wouldn't do it unless you thought you could get away with it. You can't blackmail me, and you can't bribe me. I've put myself beyond your reach. What's left?"

"Jack Dardon," Ferguson said. "He's worked for you for the last six years, and you've been friends since the old days. You don't have many friends, do you?"

"Enough. Where's this leading?"

"We can't touch you, but Dardon has left a few strings that we can unravel. He evidently wanted to be independent and set up his own smuggling operation after you retired. We have information that would cause him a good bit of trouble with the Greek and Russian govern¬ments."

"Evidence?"

Ferguson nodded. "Affidavits, photos. Sufficient to put him be¬hind bars for a good many years. Would you like to see the file?"

Garrett slowly shook his head. "I don't think you'd bluff under these circumstances."

"No bluff. Go to Afghanistan and get Hudson and Levy out."

"And you'll turn over Dardon's file and any hard evidence?"

Ferguson nodded. "Dardon isn't important to us."

"Except as a tool. We're all tools to you. I wondered what you'd come up with to tip the balance."

Garrett's tone was without expression, and Ferguson had a sinking feeling that he'd failed. Garrett was going to tell him to go to hell. Maybe Dardon wasn't as good a friend as he'd hoped. There was no anger, no intensity, none of the ferocity that he'd remembered in Garrett.

"Don't doubt I'll do it, Garrett."

"You probably would." Garrett finished his drink and stood up. "So I'll tell you what you're going to do, Ferguson. You call off all those Marines and U.N. forces who might fill me full of bullets. You make sure everyone knows I'm one of the good guys… in this par¬ticular instance. Your men stay out of the area. I don't want you any¬where near me unless I yell for help. And when I do call, you'd better come. It had better not be another Colombia."

"I had no choice but to leave you there. You made it out okay," he said. "You're going to do it?"

Garrett didn't answer him. "Get out, Ferguson."

Ferguson repeated. "You're going to do it?"

Garrett went over to the desk and scrawled a phone number on a Post-it note. "I'm leaving tonight for Afghanistan. When I arrive there, I want to be told by my banker in Switzerland that they've received that file and any other evidence you have on Dardon."

"Not until the job's finished."

"It won't even begin unless you give over the file." He handed him the Post-it. "And I'll have Dardon at the bank to make sure that you've complied. Be certain you turn over everything."

"And what if I don't?"

Garrett stared him in the eye. "I'll come after you. You know how good I am. You sent me on enough missions."

Ferguson quickly looked away. "You may be getting the best of the deal." He rose to his feet. "I don't even know if you can find them."

"I'll find them. I have a few leads."

Ferguson's eyes widened. "You lied to me. What leads?"

"None I'd turn over to you or the military to botch. One blunder, and you'd get them killed. Hell, 77/ be lucky if I can get them out in one piece. I have to move fast. I made my reservations for Kabul when I docked this morning."

"You son of a bitch. You let me go through this, and you were go¬ing anyway?"

Garrett shrugged. "I wanted to know what you were going to use to force me to go." He headed for the door. "I thought I might as well get something out of this mess besides the possibility of being chopped up and spread over that mountain range."

"WE HAVE TO TALK, EMILY."

She opened her eyes to see Staunton kneeling beside her. "It doesn't do me any good to talk to you. You don't listen."

"Then I'll do the talking, questioning actually, and you have only to answer."

"I don't know where it is."

"That wasn't the question." He reached out and gently stroked her cheek. "I've grown very fond of you in these weeks. I don't believe I've ever felt so… intimate with anyone. What a brave, lovely woman you are."

She shuddered at his touch but didn't move. For the past few days he'd been touching her, stroking her, almost lovingly. She'd ignored it. She wouldn't be the one to suffer if she fought him.

Staunton sighed. "Yes, it will upset me enormously if I have to hurt you." Liar.

"But it will," he said softly. "I've been avoiding it by concentrating on Levy, but you just won't help me." "I can't help you."

"I'm coming close to believing you, but my employer won't be sat¬isfied unless I tell him what I've done to you to verify that." His fore¬finger traced the curve of her upper lip. "So we have a choice to make."

"What choice?"

"I'm sure you've noticed that Levy is not responding to… stim¬uli. He's dying, Emily." "Yes."

"And that means that there will be no possibility that you'll tell me what I need to know to stop his suffering. I'll have no excuse." His fingers moved to stroke her throat. "So I decided to leave the choice to you. I can continue to rouse him to pain for another few days. I might be able to do it. I'm very good."

"Or?"

"Or I can spare him and switch my efforts to you. You know what that will mean. You or Levy. Decide."

Yes, she knew what that would mean. It was her turn. She had known it would be coming.

She moistened her lips. "Me."

He sighed. "I thought that you'd want to spare him. I want you to know that I'm going to regret what I have to do to you." She shook her head.

"You don't believe me? I'll prove it. I'll give you twenty-four hours before I start." He bent his head and kissed her lingeringly. "Do you know with women it starts with rape? Sexual violation seems to be the ultimate humiliation. But it also has to be brutal enough to bring pain. It would hurt me to be brutal to you in that particular act, so I'm going to turn you over to Shafir Ali the leader of my bandit friends. He's been very cooperative and needs a reward. He has no problem with brutality. I understand he beat his wife to death for not being sufficiently enthusiastic in the sack. He'll probably want to share you with his friends later, but tomorrow night he's going to de¬vote himself to you. I'll deliver you to his tent at exactly this time to¬morrow night." He kissed her again and rose to his feet. "You might spend the next twenty-four hours thinking about what Shafir will be doing to you. I'll go and tell Levy that he won't suffer anymore."