Body Double (15 page)

D
arkness fell and Amanda watched the clock tick off minutes with a mixture of anticipation and dread. She and Joan had gone for a short walk that evening to the safe zone to finalize their plan. Joan had finally talked to Mark late in the afternoon and he had taken care of the helicopter. Amanda had the guard patterns down pat at the cabins. Beefy was the wild card. Joan had to keep him quiet until after they’d gone or they were all screwed and Amanda was dead.

Hell, they probably all were. Kunz wouldn’t allow a conspiracy against him to go unpunished. He couldn’t afford to open the door to rebellion within the ranks.

Amanda dressed in black: slacks and long-sleeved top, socks and shoes, and grabbed the scarf, again wishing she had her headgear. But she didn’t, and the scarf would have to do. She checked the front window and cringed. The bad news was the man who was standing guard wasn’t Gaston. Well, that was good news for Gaston. He could save his
skin. It was bad news for Amanda. This guard wouldn’t give her cover.

The worst news was she hadn’t seen this guard since he’d held an M-16 on her in the warehouse where she’d scarred Paul Reese’s face. She knew nothing about him. That made him extremely dangerous and her extremely uncomfortable. But there was no help for it. If he proved to be a problem, she’d have to eliminate him and remove the risks by whatever means proved necessary.

She checked the back of the house; saw no movement outside. Easing through the kitchen window, she dropped down into the shrubs beneath and paused in a familiar crouch, waiting for her eyes to adjust and for her ears to attune to the sounds of the night. She checked the sky. No moonlight. Finally, a break.

Hoping that would be indicative of the escape effort, she slowly made her way through the bushes and trees to the golf course. Hugging the edge of the trees, she stayed low to the ground and worked her way to the seventh-hole safe zone.

Joan stood waiting beside Mark, her arm around Jeremy, whose eyes sparkled with excitement. “Are we set to go?” Joan asked.

“I’m good on my end, so long as Simon is in place,” Amanda whispered.

“He is,” Joan told her.

Amanda nodded, then looked at Mark. “You set?”

“We’re good.” He nodded.

Amanda’s heart calmed. He had the chopper ready. “What about Beefy?”

“Beefy?” Joan looked confused.

“The guard who hit his head,” Mark said.

“He’s out for the night—maybe for the next twenty-four hours.” Joan swiped at her forehead, pulled Jeremy closer. “I had to report his accident to Mr. Kunz. But it’s okay. He wasn’t suspicious or anything.”

“How do you know that?” Amanda asked, bristling.

“He didn’t come to the clinic,” Joan said. “Whenever he’s uneasy about a development, he comes to the clinic. Instead, he kept me busy all day with some silly report.”

“Just in case, let’s not linger.” Amanda looked at Mark. “You get them to the chopper. I’ll get others and meet you where we met during the recon. Then we’ll claim the chopper and bring everyone on board.”

“Everyone?” Joan asked, her voice shaking.

“Everyone we can. As many detainees as we have room for,” Amanda said.

“No, Kunz will know.” Joan’s voice elevated a pitch. “They’re too closely guarded.”

“Lower your voice, Joan,” Amanda said. “Listen, I know it elevates the risks, but the ones we leave behind…” Seeing Jeremy, she hesitated.

He didn’t. “They’ll get dead, Mom.”

Amanda hated seeing a kid that little have the frame of reference to deduce such dark and ugly things. “He’s right. Before we can get back…. Mark’s been passing the word for the detainees to use the first opportunity to get out of the compound and head east. Tonight there’s going to be an opportunity. Our escape will provide them a little confusion cover. As soon as we can get Rescue here, they’ll pick the detainees up. But there will be a delay. And it might not be soon enough.”

Mark frowned. “It’s the best we can do, Joan. But taking who we can with us is better than leaving them here.”

“We have limited space on the chopper and no means to communicate outside. At least not at the moment.” Amanda’s emotions burst through and the old feelings induced by her father surged through her. Helplessness, outrage, praying for help she knew wouldn’t come in time to save her—all of it, in vivid, excruciating detail. Her heart wrenched, a tremor in
vaded her voice, and her stomach felt full of stones. “We’ve been detainees, and we’re feeling it, too.” She swallowed hard. “But a nation is at risk.”

“Yes, it is,” Joan agreed, a tear leaking from her left eye and splashing on her cheek. “I understand. Of course we have to take as many with us as possible. I didn’t mean to sound so selfish.”

“It’s okay,” Amanda comforted her. “We’re all scared, and we’re all human.”

Mark picked up on Amanda’s emotions and stepped closer, pulling her into a quick hug, and she felt their connection, pulled it close. His heart thundered against hers, and for the first time she didn’t feel vulnerable or afraid. She felt comfort. Reassurance. Shared pain. “We’re doing our best,” he whispered.

She dipped her head against his chest. “Sometimes our best isn’t good enough.”

He gave her a little squeeze, then looked into her eyes. “Sometimes it isn’t.”

His turmoil flooded her, reflecting all the conflicts gnawing at her inside, and knowing her feelings were shared calmed and stunned her. But she didn’t shun any of it. She needed that knowing to do what she had to do, and grateful for it, she grabbed hold and stashed it in her heart.

Mark stroked her hair back from her face. “Be careful, okay?”

“I will.” She stepped back. “You just jam that surveillance and run the loop feed of film for me.”

“Consider it done.”

Jeremy snagged Amanda’s hand and tugged. “Are you going to get my daddy?”

That surprised her. Jeremy had led her to believe that he didn’t know his father was here. “Yes, I am.”

He looked up at her, his eyes too serious and old for such a little boy. “Don’t let him get dead.”

Amanda felt a hard hitch in her chest. “I won’t.”

“Thank you, Amanda,” Joan said, tears shimmering in her eyes. “You, too, Mark.” She passed Amanda a syringe. “In case you run into trouble.”

“Is it lethal?”

“No. It immobilizes.”

Amanda took the syringe, slipped it into her waistband. “Thanks.”

Mark spoke up. “Amanda, go—22:15. Hack ten.”

She checked her watch. He’d need ten minutes to get the surveillance jammed and the loop of film running. Then she could move around more freely. Target time: 22:25—10:25 p.m. “Right.”

“Be careful.” He winked.

She held his gaze a moment, and then another. Some of the best promises were those made without words. “You, too.”

He guided Joan and Jeremy along the edge of the fairway toward the helicopter hangars. Amanda turned and headed down the course to get to the cabins where Joan’s husband, Simon, was being held prisoner.

Flat on her belly in the dirt, Amanda peered through squat, spiny bushes at the cabin. The guards worked their grids, moved predictably along their paths. Happy to see that, she checked her watch: 10:22. In three more minutes, Mark should have the surveillance jammed and the loop of film running so the monitor minders would consider everything normal. The guards walking the grid would be two rows over on the cabins. She’d have enough time to get Simon and the others out before the loop feed ran out and began repeating itself.

At that mark, the danger increased rapidly and it would continue to increase until the chopper flew outside the com
pound’s antiaircraft artillery firing range. How much Triple-A Kunz had available, Amanda wasn’t sure. If Mark knew, he hadn’t shared that information with her, but Amanda would bet Kunz definitely had more than enough to bring down one chopper.

She stole through the darkness, tree to tree, to Simon’s cabin. There were two windows in the back wall. She risked a glance inside. Two guards. Heavy arms. Simon was sitting at a rickety wooden table in the center of the room.

“No one is coming here.” Simon’s voice carried through the glass. “Can’t you at least go outside so I can get some sleep?”

“Shut up.” The larger of the two men walked from the back to the front of the cabin, then looked out the front window beside the door.

“I think we’re wasting our time, too,” the second guard said. “She’s asleep in her bed. You heard the report just like I did.”

The large man scowled. “We don’t get paid to think. Mr. Reese said guard him, so we’ll guard him.” Speculation gleamed in his eyes. “Unless you want to tell Mr. Reese otherwise?”

“No.” The second guard answered too quickly not to reveal his fear of Paul Reese.

Amanda knew then she could take them. She scratched lightly on the window, and then backed out of sight.

The large guard walked across the floor to the back of the cabin, looked out into the darkness through the dust-smudged window then stepped back away from it. “Did you hear that?”

“Yeah, I did,” the second guard said, sounding as uneasy as he looked.

Pulling a gun out of his shoulder holster, the large guard headed to the front door. “I’m going to check it out.” He motioned toward Simon. “Don’t let him out of your sight.”

Amanda watched from the corner of the cabin for the guard to walk outside. Moments later, the boards on the front steps creaked under his weight. He stepped down into the grass and, when he rounded the corner to the rear of the cabin, she approached the front door. Watching for a minimal-risk opportunity, she seized it, letting Simon catch a glimpse of her.

Picking up on his job in this rescue, he claimed the second guard’s attention. “I don’t understand why you’re all over me,” he said. “What’s going on? Is my wife in danger?”

“What detainee in this compound isn’t in danger?” The guard grunted. “Hell, yes, she’s in danger. So are you—especially if you don’t just be still and shut up.”

Amanda crept forward at the guard’s back, caught him in a headlock and twisted. He slid bonelessly to the wooden floor.

Simon paled. “Is he…?”

“Dead.” Experience had proven to her that there was no easy way to say it.

Simon recovered quickly. “There’s another one. He’s out—”

“I know.” Amanda motioned for Simon to get behind the door and stay flat against the wall. She put the dead guard in the chair Simon had vacated. “When he comes back, your job is to get out that door. Walk straight ahead into the trees and wait for me there.”

He nodded, blinking fast. He was a small man, very gentle and bookish-looking. “Watch out for Krebs—the other guard. He’s mean.”

She nodded. “I’ll be right there.” She lifted a fingertip over her mouth, shushing Simon, then snagged the dead guard’s weapon. He sat slumped over the table, as if he’d dozed off.

Krebs came back inside, shoving his gun into its holster.
He took one look at the guard seated at the table, and whipped the gun back out. Amanda kicked his wrist. The gun flew out of his grip, skidded across the floor.

He turned on her. “West.” A low growl ripped out of his throat. “I’m going to wipe the floor with you.”

Amanda smiled, stepped in. He caught her with a right hook that knocked her off her feet. She scrambled upright, took one to the ribs. Finally, he left himself open. Stepping in to close the distance between them and screwing up his swing, she straight-armed him, shoved the heel of her hand into his nose. Blood sprayed out and he bent double, cupped his face. Any more force behind the blow and she’d have driven bone into his brain and killed him. Instead, she took him down with a fast blow to the back of his neck that wouldn’t kill him but would leave him with a hell of a headache when he woke up. He hit the floor with a resounding thud just as Simon cleared the doorway.

She made sure Krebs was out, then injected him with the syringe Joan had prepared to immobilize. All too aware of Gaston’s remarks that many were in the compound under duress and not because they wanted to be working for Kunz, she opposed killing these men—except when given no choice. Some were fighting for their survival just as she was, but determining who worked for Kunz by choice, and who’d been drafted by him and had no choice, was a complicated process.

The first guard clearly had enjoyed flaunting his power over the detainees too much to be doing it under duress. She didn’t waste a breath regretting having to kill him.

Krebs sounded meaner but did what he did out of fear. His distaste shone in his eyes and in his moves. In all fairness, she couldn’t even take his hitting her personally. He struck out against the enemy to sustain life, unlike Paul Reese, who had hit her to punish her for defying him personally.

Double-checking her watch, she shoved Kreb’s gun into
her waistband and moved to the door. She had three minutes and then the perimeter guards would run a pass. The loop-feed time Mark had used to jam the surveillance monitors had elapsed. They’d either be repeating now or they would shut down and the monitor minders would see what was actually happening in real time. She didn’t know which was taking place, but either carried significant concerns.

She swallowed hard, steeled herself. She made her way into the woods to Simon. He sat stooped in the dirt. “Where are the others?” she asked. All the cabins were dark and empty.

“Gone. They moved most of them out today. A couple of choppers landed a little before two, I think. They loaded up quickly and took off again.”

A sinking feeling pulled at her stomach like concrete anchors. That must have been what woke her up earlier. Kunz knew she’d be planning an escape. She had anticipated that, but not that he would prepare so soon. “Gone where?”

“To one of his other compounds, I would imagine. He has several.” Simon rubbed his head. “Just before nightfall, Krebs and some of the other guards handcuffed and chained the rest of the detainees, and took them out of the camp. I couldn’t get to Joan to let you know.”

The sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach expanded and her chest went hollow. “Damn it.”

Simon blinked hard, squinted, having difficulty seeing in the dark. “There are two others still here.”