David Morrell - Burnt Sienna

But there was no sign of activity at the landing area. No guards converged; no one waited in greeting. Derek would long ago have heard the helicopter approaching. He would have had ample time to stop what he was doing and walk to the landing area to welcome him. But that isn’t Derek’s way, Potter thought, burning with resentment. No, Derek likes others to come to him . No matter how interested he was in what Potter had to report, he would never stoop to do anything that implied how dependent he was on Potter’s help. He had to treat everyone as inferior.

Except for the artist, Potter thought angrily. Oh, Derek was eager enough to make allowances for Malone all right. Potter had seen Derek order men shot for showing half the insolence that Malone did, and still Derek put up with Malone’s behavior because he wanted the portraits. Why Derek wanted the portraits so badly, Potter had no idea. If Derek felt like getting rid of his wives, fine. Take some snapshots for old times’ sake, then arrange an accident. But his obsession about the portraits was puzzling and dangerous. This morning, when Potter had made a preliminary report to Derek on a scrambler-protected phone, he had learned about the incident the previous night, about Malone’s disappearance and Derek’s suspicion that Malone had tried to find out what was in the Cloister. A false alarm, Derek had said.

Wrong, Potter thought. The incident had happened too conveniently while they were away. The explanation had been too complicated. Potter intended to conduct a painstaking investigation and trap Malone in inconsistencies. For example, if the artist had been suddenly inspired to do some late-night sketching in his workroom, he would have had to turn on a light, but had the guards been asked if any of them had seen that light?

I’ll expose the flaws in his story, Potter vowed. We should never have gotten involved with him. After we punished him for refusing to accept the commission, that should have been the end. I haven’t forgotten how he manipulated Derek into criticizing me at the shooting range. I’ve been made to look like a fool a dozen times over. Well, not any longer. Now it’s my turn.

As the helicopter set down, Potter released his seat belt and shoved the hatch open, eagerly waiting for the speed of the rotors to reduce so he could get out and find Derek. The whine from the spinning blades hurt his ears. The wind they created stung his eyes and ruffled his thinning hair. Then he couldn’t force himself to wait any longer. His short stature made it difficult for him to climb down, requiring a slight jump to the concrete pad. Clutching his briefcase, he bent his knees on impact. Despite his shortness, he took care to stoop as he ran beneath the spinning blades. Pressed down by the gust of the blades, he hurried toward the weapons-testing area.

But a noise behind him made him stop. A shout? Surely that isn’t possible, he told himself. As close as he was to the helicopter, the shriek from the rotors would have overwhelmed other sounds. And yet he was certain he’d heard a muffled outcry. Puzzled, he turned to look back toward the helicopter, and if he couldn’t have heard the shout, he was equally positive that he couldn’t be seeing the commotion behind him.

When Malone heard the approaching helicopter, his hand and the paintbrush it held froze over the canvas. A startled portion of his mind wondered if he’d had a stroke. Then his heartbeat lurched, jump-starting his body. He turned toward Sienna, who stared toward the windows and the increasing roar of the chopper.

“This is it,” he said.

She seemed not to have heard him. Mechanically, she put on her top but continued to stare distractedly toward the windows.

“Are you ready?” She still didn’t respond.

With growing unease, Malone set down his brush and walked toward her.

“Look at me.” He put his hand on her face, turning it toward him. “If we’re going to do this, we have to move now .” He no longer worried about hidden microphones. If this effort failed, eavesdroppers would be the least of his problems.

“I didn’t expect to be so afraid.”

“If you stay here, you’ll die. We can’t wait any longer. We have to move.”

The chopper sounded closer.

She studied him with an intensity that rivaled the way he had studied her for weeks now. Her eyes blazed with resolution. “Yes.”

She had followed Malone’s instruction and exchanged her sandals for walking shoes. Now she went with him to the doorway, watching the chopper approach the landing pad. Despite the distance, Potter’s pinched features were distinct behind the hatch’s Plexiglas. He seemed to be the only passenger. No one gathered at the landing pad. A few patrolling guards glanced in the chopper’s direction. Most went about their business.

Malone grabbed a sketch pad so the reason he and Sienna were outdoors would appear to be related to work.

The chopper set down.

They left the sunroom, crossed the terrace, and descended the stone steps toward the path to the Cloister.

Malone heard Sienna’s fast breathing. Then the rapid rise and fall of his own chest warned him that she wasn’t the only one in danger of hyperventilating.

A guard blocked their way. “You can’t go near the Cloister.”

“We need to speak to Mr. Potter.” Sienna motioned toward the helicopter, where Potter jumped to the landing pad and turned toward the Cloister and the weapons-testing area. “Alex!” The noise from the chopper would prevent Potter from hearing her, but the guard would think she was making an honest attempt to get his attention.

“We’ll lose the rest of the day if…” Sienna moved forward. “Alex!”

But Potter was hurrying toward the Cloister.

“Alex!” Sienna called again, moving more quickly forward.

Malone noted that the other guards, sporadically placed, weren’t paying attention.

“Alex!” Sienna ran now, Malone with her.

The chopper was only fifty yards ahead of them. The pilot had not yet turned off the engines. The blades continued to spin.

The guard behind them yelled something, his gruff voice obscured by the whine of the chopper’s blades.

Malone imagined him frowning, then unslinging his rifle from his shoulder. But would he dare to shoot? The chopper was in his line of fire. One of his targets was his boss’s wife. That would make him think twice. In the meantime, the chopper was closer, thirty yards now, but if Sienna was a target who would make the guard hesitate, Malone was another matter. He felt a spot between his shoulders get colder and tighter in anticipation of a bullet that would shatter his spine.

Racing to his limit, he strained to convince himself that his apprehension was baseless. The guard didn’t have a reason to assume the helicopter was their objective. Had any of them even been told that Malone had once been a chopper pilot? As far as the guard was concerned, the problem was to keep them out of a restricted area.

“Alex!” Sienna shouted again.

Another guard yelled a warning.

Twenty yards.

Amazingly, despite the noise from the helicopter, Potter heard the commotion and turned.

Despite his frantic emotions, Malone enjoyed a microsecond of satisfaction from the way Potter gaped. Then he and Sienna reached the helicopter. A guard raced toward them. As Malone grappled with the man, knocking him to the ground, Sienna did what she had been told. Never looking back, never faltering, she scrambled up through the open hatch. Immediately Malone lost sight of her as he raced around to the pilot’s side, caught the surprised man looking the other way toward Sienna, pulled his harness free, and yanked him out. He had a sense of guards racing in his direction as he surged up behind the controls, secured the harness, and increased power to the idling rotors. Seeing how the extra noise and wind sent Potter staggering back, Malone felt another microsecond of enjoyment, but then as he worked the controls, his sense of near victory turned sour when the helicopter struggled five feet into the air, sank back to the landing pad, rose awkwardly again, and veered, as if obeying its own impulses toward the château.