Dark Oil (28 page)

“I'd say so. To this extent, at least” She looked over at the huge bags of manure. “You like gardening?”

From the corner of his eye Jack saw a gardener cut right through one of the bags and dig into it with his bare hands. Others did the same.

Jack took Lara's hand, pulling her towards him. She tried to get her hand out of his, probably thinking he was being inappropriate, probably feeling flustered and worried, but
not for the right reasons. She hadn't seen what was happening and before he could tell her, the gardeners drew guns out of the dark brown mixture. Within seconds, a bullet cut through the air, whistling.

Others were fired and Jack threw himself onto Lara, pushing her to the ground to shield her body with his. He gasped as he felt a sudden jolt to his calf, the pain shooting immediately right up to his thigh, spreading like an uncontrollable fire. He was hit. He held back the swear words that sprung to his mind. There was no need to alert Lara or she might not concentrate on getting out of there.

“When I tell you, we run to the car.” He saw how she trembled, and squeezed her hand. “You're going to be all right.” He gazed into her eyes. “I promise you.” The stinging in his calf was intense, but he breathed in deeply, steeling himself. It was only his leg, not his head or his heart, and he could still move it so there was a good chance the wound wasn't deep. Besides, now was not the time for self-pity.

He glanced up at the gardeners. One was yelling orders, the others getting more weapons out of the bags. Over on the other side men were jumping out of the van that had come in under pretence of transporting food. It was clear it was an insider's job, otherwise these soldiers in plain clothing wouldn't have made it past the front gates.

“When I tell you, run to the car. Don't wait for me. Don't turn around. Just keep going until you're in that vehicle and tell the driver to put his foot down.” He looked behind him and saw some of the President's men appear at the sound of gunshot. The insurgents would be distracted. “Now!” he shouted, grabbing Lara by the waist and in one movement sweeping her right off the ground.

He was grateful Lara didn't question him. Jack started to lag and she ran ahead, probably assuming he was right behind her. He signalled to Martin, who was on his belly behind one of the giant pillars adorning the front of the building, that they would try for the car.

Suddenly, she stopped and turned to him, and seeing his was some steps away, came back for him, looking him up and down with bewildered eyes. “You're limping. . .you've been shot!” She grabbed his arm. “Put your weight on me. Come on.”

The lump in Jack's throat nearly stopped him from talking. She had come for him. But there was no time for feelings. He pleaded. “Go! Just go, Lara. I'll slow you down.” Gasping with pain he managed to add “Get to the airport. The passports. Ismael has them.”

“You took a bullet for me. I'm not leaving you.” She squeezed his hand and he knew she meant it. He could tell she wasn't going to abandon him, any more than he would have abandoned her. They would make it together or not at all.

He put as little of his weight as possible on her and pushed through the agony of his bleeding calf. Another bullet whistled past his ear, missing him by a millimetre or two. The driver was nowhere to be seen but thankfully had left the car open and the keys dangling in the ignition.

Jack threw himself onto the front seat, then slid across to the driver's seat, and Lara rolled in beside him.

“You can't drive with your leg like that. Swap with me.”

“I'm fine.” He wasn't fine at all, but he would manage. The pain was made bearable by the adrenaline flowing through his veins. And his weight was off his leg.

He could breathe easier now. It wasn't over yet, but they had some protection, they had a chance: a car, an open gate not that far away. The passports would be ready: he had
pulled a few strings to get his friend Ismael to hold them on stand-by when he'd heard from Oman there was an upcoming coup.

“Where's Martin?” Lara lifted her head off the seat just enough to peek through the window.

Jack glanced around, too, and through the rising dust and increasing chaos he saw Martin had moved and was now crouched behind the food delivery van, not too far away. “Stay down and hold on.”

The car's tyres screeched as Jack controlled swerving that would have caused most drivers to roll the car, but this one stayed firmly planted on the ground. They stopped so close to the van they nearly hit it. Without a word, Martin clambered into the back, his face white, his eyes bulging with fear.

Jack pressed the accelerator to the floor and, swinging the car around ninety degrees, headed straight for the gates. He heard the sound of an explosion and in the rear view mirror saw orange flames tinged with blue engulf one side of the palace.

A few men ran behind them, aiming their rifles at the car. “Stay down. They're coming after us.”

The speedometer went from zero to eighty in just a few seconds. Ahead was freedom and they were near, so near now, to salvation. Then Jack caught his breath, and it wasn't because of the burning sensation in his leg.

The iron gates had begun to move. Someone was operating them. Would they make it through? He wasn't sure. The words that crossed his mind at that moment, the words he couldn't utter, shocked him as they resonated in his mind. “I love you, Lara. I love you.”

He closed his eyes, his foot stiffening on the accelerator, and prayed they would fly through, out onto the road and to safety, before the creaking gates shut on them.

Lara heard a bang followed by the cold grinding of metal against metal. She knew the car had been hit although she had no idea where, as she kept her head down to avoid the flying bullets of the assailants of the presidential palace. The noise seemed to be coming from everywhere.

Jack had told her to stay down, but she couldn't help herself. She had to see what was happening. Her heart beating faster than she ever thought possible, she sat up for an instant, just long enough to take in the cause of the metallic sound. When she understood what was happening, she cried out in fear. The gates to the palace were crushing the car as they closed.

They were trapped. She didn't want to die here, in this God forsaken land, flattened by a gate. Or a bullet in her head. She couldn't bear to think of her family. How would her poor, sick mother cope? And Aunt Beth? Besides, Lara certainly wasn't ready for heaven, or hell, or nothingness, if that was what really happened to you.

“Sit in the middle. Both of you.” Jack was firm but incredibly calm given the situation and Lara wondered how he did it. He must have had quite some training in the army to be able to handle this kind of danger. It was lucky he had joined them at the last minute. No, it was a miracle, in fact, that his deputy Justin Meyer hadn't replaced him, otherwise Lara, Justin and Martin would already be dead, all three of them, or taken prisoners, brutalised, haggled over. . .she couldn't bear to think of it.

With Jack she felt they stood a chance. She scrambled over to his side. As she glanced up at him she saw a bead of sweat forming on his temple, the first sign of the feelings he must have been keeping a lid on. “Hold on!” he screamed above the screeching noise.

Lara felt the car reverse, then heard the revving and roaring of the engine. She looked up again and saw they were heading straight for the gates, which were now half closed, at full speed. She put her arms around her head and prepared for the crash.

A deafening clunk surprised her. She peeked through the windscreen and saw one of the gates had lifted off its hinges and was flying through the air. It came crashing down onto the car, denting the roof, then striking the side. The shock, combined with the movement of the car as Jack manoeuvred it as best he could, threw Lara about and she knocked her head on the dashboard.

Jack put his arm in front of her, gently pushing her back. “Are you all right?”

She wasn't. She was shocked by everything she had just seen. She was terrified they wouldn't make it out of there. Her head hurt, too, but not enough to worry her. There were still bullets flying behind them. “I'll be OK. Just get us out of here.”

Jack did as he was told, burning rubber as he sped through the opening left by the now unhinged gate. Within minutes they were down the street, the peaceful, green, tree-lined street. Laughter bubbled out of Jack uncontrollably, freely, without restraint. Lara could tell it was the laughter of an unexpected victory and it was contagious.

Lara felt the joy force its way up from her belly and she laughed, too. She checked the rear view mirror and saw no one. It looked like their attackers, now themselves pursued by those of the President's men who had remained faithful to him, had bigger fish to fry. “We did it!” she exclaimed, hardly able to believe it herself.

She put her hand on Jack's arm, squeezing it gently as a gesture of thanks. What she really wanted was to kiss him, feel his lips on hers and hold him against her body. It was nothing more than a moment of folly, a trick of the mind as relief washed through her. Besides, Martin was in the back—just as well. She settled for a compliment. “You did it. You saved us. You're amazing, Jack Norton.”

He looked into her eyes and for a second it would have been easy, so easy, to forget about Martin and what Tim had done to her, to forget about reason. It would have been easy to forget about everything but the man next to her who, somehow, whenever she least wanted it, made her tremble with the anticipation of pleasure.

She wasn't going to fall for his magnetism, though, wasn't going to find herself in a trap again, with another womaniser. She quickly took away her hand, bringing it to her stomach, not just to avoid lingering on Jack's arm and escape that burning gaze, but to try to calm the sensation of nausea that suddenly overwhelmed her. It had been a while since they'd eaten. That must have been why she felt so sick. She hadn't even realised how hungry she was until now.

Jack took his eyes off the road once again and turned to her. Although it was only for an instant there was something deeper about his gaze, something more meaningful in the way he smiled now. It made her want to take him in her arms and hold onto him.

She wouldn't, of course, she wouldn't—ever. She'd made up her mind about that. It was annoying that her body kept reacting to this man's charm. Granted, he'd just saved her life, but that didn't mean she had to repay him with sexual favours. This wasn't some Hollywood movie. More than that, she wouldn't give him, or anyone else, her heart.

Jack glanced towards the back seat. “Are you all right, Martin?”

“I'm alive.”

“Bengali's the traitor.” Jack was very matter-of-fact about it, as if he'd discovered hundreds of traitors before.

He was probably right, too. It made perfect sense. Bengali was the one who had brought them the news of their appointment with the President. Bengali must have been the one who had let government officials into the house to install cameras and phone taps.

Now that he was again in relative safety, Martin's voice and colour returned. “Wait ‘til I get my hands on him. I'm going to make sure he's arrested today.”

Jack shook his head. “No you won't. The way things are going there might not be any police to arrest him. In any case I'm not driving you back to the house.” Martin frowned. “What? Where are we going?”

“To the airport.”

Lara thought the airport sounded perfect, except it was Monday. “There aren't any flights out today.”

Martin's face grew red, the colour intensifying by the second. “Not only that, we need to discuss things first with Alan. I'm not sure he would approve.”

Jack looked at Martin in the mirror. “Discuss things with Alan? This country is falling apart. The danger in staying here is pretty obvious to me. Of course, Alan would approve. He wouldn't want us to stay if there's such a great risk to our safety, and anyway there comes a stage when it really doesn't matter if he disapproves.”

Jack's face had become pale and his speech was punctuated by deep breaths. Every now and then he bit his lower lip. “Are you all right?” Lara asked. She could tell he was in pain, probably more than he was letting on.

“I might need to drink a litre of vodka.” His smile was lop-sided. “Either that or get to hospital.”

Once again Lara had an irresistible urge to take him in her arms, to care for this man who had shown no hesitation in putting her life first. He had shielded her with his body from bullets, had taken a shot while he told her to stay down. If only he wasn't trouble, but Martin had warned her enough. Besides, you couldn't trust any man, could you? Tim had proved that point to her. She wouldn't make that mistake again.

Still, Jack had put her first, before himself, in a life and death situation. The least she could do was help now. “Let me drive. Please.”

He shook his head.

“
Please
.”

“I'm OK. We're nearly there anyway. And just in case someone starts shooting at us again, I'd rather be behind the wheel. No offence to your driving skills.” He smiled at her and she could see that it took quite some effort for him. “You OK? You look a bit white.”

Lara shrugged. “It's nothing. I'm hungry, I think. Beyond hungry, actually. I can get a bit—–”

Martin, as snappy as ever, cut her off. “We don't even have our passports. What makes you think they'll give them to us? And how do you think we're going to get out? We're not going to be safer at the airport.”

Jack ignored Martin's acerbic tone and answered as calmly as if the conversation had been about preparing a picnic or going to the movies. “I made arrangements after Oman told us there might be a coup.”

Martin showed no sign of relenting. “So we sit at the airport for two days until the next plane? Come on!”