Iris Johansen: Star-Spangled Bride

© 1993

Mekhit, Turkey May 9, 1983

The darkness was absolute, pressing down on her, taking away her breath.

Her hands clawed weakly at the block of concrete barring the entrance, but it was too heavy to shift. Why did she keep trying? She was going to die. Her throat was raw with screaming, but no one had heard her.

"Are you there? Dammit, answer me. Talk to me." A man's voice shouting, strong and angry.

"Here." It came out a hoarse croak. "Help me……"

"I'm trying to help. I've been trying since I heard you two hours ago." She could hear the shifting of concrete slabs. "Are you hurt?"

"I don't think so." It was difficult to tell. At first, she had been aware of pain, but time and terror had blurred sensation. "Arm hurts… a little. Why did the… parking garage blow up?"

"The entire world blew up," he said. "It was a seven-point-five earthquake on the Richter scale. The hotel collapsed. We've been trying to dig survivors out for the last eight hours."

Was that how long it had been? It had seemed forever, an eternity of forevers. An earthquake. Why hadn't that possibility occurred to her? Her first thought had been a missile.

"Is there anyone else there with you?"

"No." It was always her job to make sure the rendezvous was deserted. Evan said no one ever suspected kids. "I'm alone."

"You're fading away. Keep talking. What's your name?"

What was the name on her passport this time? she wondered hazily. Anita… Anita something. "Anita."

That seemed enough for him. "I'm Gabe. Can you tell me how close you were to the door when the quake hit?"

She tried to remember. "Close. I started running… I didn't reach it in time."

"How close?"

"Three feet…"

"Then we're almost there. Hold on."

How could she hold on when there was nothing to hold on to? Just darkness and the destruction around her. "Could you hurry? I'm… afraid."

"There's nothing to be afraid of."

A sudden flare of anger pierced her panic. "Not for you. You don't have a hotel sitting on top of you."

There was a moment of surprised silence and then Gabe chuckled. "Touche. It was a stupid remark. I must be getting tired. Of course, you're afraid. Try to get your mind off it. You're American?"

The passport said Spanish. "No."

"You sound American."

"Spanish. English mother."

"I'm American. Texas. I was born and raised in Piano. Do you know where that is?"

"No."

"It's a little town right outside of Dallas, almost like a suburb. Well, it used to be a small town. Now it's growing like a mushroom after a rainstorm. You're not talking."

"I'm listening. I can't do both."

A sudden rush of air touched her face as one of die blocks was shifted to the side and she saw the conelike beam of a flashlight through the narrow opening. Hope flared and she tried to wriggle forward. "You're here. I can see the light."

"I told you."

Then the sound of movement ceased and she heard low voices.

Something was wrong, she thought desperately. Nothing was happening.

"Anita," Gabe called. "We've reached some heavy metal beams barring the entrance. We have to go and get more help."

"You're going to leave me?" She couldn't keep the panic out of her voice.

"Only for a little while. I'll be right back."

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "It's all right. I'll be fine."

Another discussion and then Gabe said quietly, "It's okay. I'll stay." He thrust his hand through the opening. "Here, take my hand."

She reached out and his hand closed over hers in the darkness.

Strength. Safety.

Her heart stopped its frantic pounding.

"All right?" Gabe asked quietly.

"Yes." The hand grasping her own was big, powerful. She tried to identify the shape and textures of the anchor that was keeping her from the terror; light calluses on the ball of the hand and the forefinger, long fingers, strong tendons. Most of all she was conscious of the warmth and strength. "I'm sorry I lost it for a minute. I'm not usually this cowardly."

"You don't usually have a hotel sitting on you." Humor colored his voice as he repeated her words. "I thought we agreed you had a right to be afraid. I've been in better situations myself."

Her grip on his hand tightened. "It's just that it feels… like a coffin."

"You simply have to remember that it's not. In the daylight it would look like a rubble heap at the local dump."

Her laugh was half-hysterical. "And I'm part of the trash."

"No, you're not trash. You're a human being and your life is very, very precious."

He meant it. She did have value for him even though she was a stranger. The realization caused her rising panic to abate.

"What are you doing in Mekhit?" he asked.

He was trying to keep her talking, trying tokeep the fear at bay, she realized. "I was on vacation from school."

"School? Which university do you attend?"

"None. I'm not old enough."

"How old are you?"

"Fourteen."

"Then what in hell were you doing alone in a parking garage at three o'clock in the morn-ing?"

She couldn't think of a plausible answer, so she asked a question of her own to divert him. "Why are you here?"

"I'm a reporter and I was staying at the hotel. I was having a drink in the bar in the lobby when the hotel started shaking like a belly dancer. I was luckier than you; I made it to the street before it toppled like a house of cards. The entire town is a disaster."

Evan had been waiting in the car outside the hotel. If Gabe had survived, Evan was probably all right too. She hadn't really been worried. Evan always said he had nine lives and she herself had seen him use up at least three of them.

"I hear them coming. We'll have you out in no time." He started to release her hand.

"No!" She grabbed frantically at the lifeline he was taking away. "Don't go."

"It's not safe for me to-" He stopped and then said, "I'm not going to leave you." His big hand tightened around hers once more. "See, I'm right here and I'm going to stay here. Hold on to me."

That feeling of infinite safety washed over her again. Warmth in the cold. Safety in danger. Light in die darkness.

She would hold on to him.

She would hold on forever.

"It's too dangerous." Evan's gaze slid away from Ronnie's face. "Eve changed my mind."

"The hell you have." Ronnie Dalton smothered the spark of panic her father's words ignited within her and kept her expression blank. She knew Evan would pounce on any show of weakness on her part as an excuse to abandon the plan. He would respond only to absolute determination. "No way, Evan."

"Falkner's too hot to handle. You'll get us both killed."

"You're not even going to be there. You make the final payoff and then head for the border."

"That doesn't mean they won't come after me if they suspect I was in on it. These terrorists are not ones to fool around with." He frowned. "I don't even know why I let you talk me into this."

"For Lord's sake, we're Falkner's last hope," she said, exasperated. "The discussions have broken down and they'll kill him if we don't get him out of there."

Evan shook his head. "Falkner's too important for them to waste. The Red December would have everyone from the CIA to the Associated Press breathing down their necks."

"They've had them breathing down their necks for over a year and it hasn't bothered them. The Red December are fanatics. Who should know that better than you?"