Free Fall (12 page)

"You want me to go to jail for not signing a poorly drafted document written by some kid in my office about an investigation in which you have no evidence of wrongdoing? Jesus Christ, by this time next week everyone in the Bureau is going to have a copy of the document I destroyed."

"Would you step back, please?" Reys said. His calm had been restored by the intervention of his two bodyguards.

"What?"

"Step back away from the table."

Beamon took a deep breath and managed to construct a facade that would pass for outward calm. When he complied, Reys matched him with a step forward.

"You didn't let me finish, Mr. Beamon. If you agree to this, you'll retire with your full pension. If not, the FBI is willing to use whatever resources necessary to prosecute you to the full extent of the law. You'll spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on a defense. I understand that you lost most of your savings in the market crash. If you lose, you're looking at bankruptcy and a potential ten-year jail term. Even if you win, you're still bankrupt, but with no pension."

Beamon felt everything come crashing down on him. Twenty plus years sleeping, eating and breathing the FBI, and this is how it was going to end for him. He wanted to say something that would express that, that would let Reys know what the political machine pulling his strings had done. How he was destroying a man's life for nothing more than the off chance it might cool the heat a bunch of amoral political hacks had brought down on themselves. But what words could do that? In the end, he just turned away and started walking toward the door.

"Three weeks, Mr. Beamon," Reys called after him.

"I'll give you three weeks to make a decision. I think that's more than generous under the circumstances."

Uome ON, Tristan!"

"I'm trying!" His voice was strained and he was breathing harder than he should have been.

"Well, try harder!"

Darby stretched her arm further around his bare waist, attempting to support a little more of his body weight. They were both sweating profusely and he was getting more slippery with every step.

The forest had closed in quickly behind them and was becoming increasingly dense as they fought their way up the butte. The good news was that the thick foliage was reasonably effective at keeping them out of sight. The bad news was that it also hid the rocks and broken sticks that were strewn across the forest floor and tearing Tristan's bare feet apart.

"It's not much further," Darby said as the slope suddenly turned into a forty-five-degree ramp of slick leaves and loose dirt. It was what she had originally hoped for--the tougher the terrain, the better the odds in her favor. It had been a miscalculation, though. Tristan was fading fast.

It didn't matter, she told herself. They were outside, away from that house, and away from the sterile-looking freak who had been so anxious to have her tied to that bed. No matter what happened next, no matter what this was all about, they were better off out here.

The positive thoughts that she had forced on herself slipped away as Tristan's legs slowed and finally stopped. He stuck a hand out in front of him and fell against the steep slope.

"That's it ... Darb. I've ... I've got to rest."

"Now's just not a good time," she said, locking an arm under his and dragging him to the point that his knees actually made a trail in the dirt.

They made it about another four feet before she fell next to him.

"It's too steep and loose here, Twist. I can help, but I can't carry you." She pointed up the slope to a patch of blue sky framed by a stand of pine trees.

"That's it. That's the top," she said, having no idea if it was or not.

"We'll rest up there, Tristan. We'll be able to see better. Figure out what we're going to do."

He was still on his knees and sweat was running off his nose in a stream. His breathing had slowed a bit, but his recovery time wasn't what she remembered.

"You gonna throw up?"

He shook his head.

"Think they broke a couple of ribs. Can't hardly breathe."

When she reached out and brushed the darkening bruise on his side, he jerked away weakly.

"Doesn't look that bad," she lied.

"I doubt they're broken. You'll be okay. We'll slow the pace down a little. But we've got to keep moving. We've got to."

Tristan reached out and used her shoulder as a crutch to stand.

"Okay.

I'm all right. Let's go."

Darby scooped up a handful of dirt to dry the sweat from her left arm and then wrapped it around Tristan's waist. He managed to ignore the pain in his side and feet, and they started forward again.

What seemed like an hour was probably no more than fifteen minutes By the time Darby could clearly see the top of the butte, she was propelling herself by fear and force of will only. Every sound behind them kicked off rocks, creaking trees, the flapping of wings, became a running gunman gaining on them.

When the grade eased off a bit, she stopped and released Tristan's waist, instantly feeling the blood begin to flow back into her arm.

"You can make it the rest of the way, Twist," she said in a loud whisper.

"Just keep going. Come on. Go!"

He grunted loudly and started crawling up the butte, trying to keep his damaged feet from contacting the ground. Unburdened, Darby back tracked by taking long jumps down the loose slope, sending a small avalanche of dirt and leaves down in front of her.

She stopped behind a rock outcropping and peered down through the trees for at least a minute. Nothing. No sounds that didn't seem to belong, no motion that couldn't be accounted for by the wind or the natural inhabitants of the forest. The entire way up the butte, she'd felt like they had barely been moving, but in the end, everything was relative.

Realistically, they'd probably covered the terrain faster than ninety per cent of the population could.

The brief rest had been enough to return her to near full strength and Darby was able to propel herself back up the slope at close to a full run.

The patch of blue sky she had seen earlier actually did mark the top, and she came out of the trees into a small, flat, meadow. Tristan wasn't immediately visible, but the roughly foot-shaped blood trail he'd left through the brown grass was. She followed it fifty meters or so and found him lying on his back in a stand of tall weeds.

"Okay feel better?" Darby said, grabbing his arm and pulling him up.

A rush of air escaped him, but he didn't seem to have the strength to protest as they stumbled to a less exposed spot. When she let go of him, he crumpled to the ground, coughing violently. She knelt and gently scooped a hand under his right calf, lifting his foot for a closer inspection.

"Oh, Tristan," she heard herself say, and then instantly regretted her tone.

"Not... so ... good, huh?" he gasped out.

It wasn't. His foot was completely covered in blood. She wiped some of it away and sat quietly as the deep gouges continued to ooze and pump.

"It's always the silly things that get you, isn't it?" Tristan said.

He'd caught his breath a little and was trying to sound cheerful.

"Rappelling off the end of your rope, losing your goggles ... forgetting your shoes."

Darby began yanking at the straps of her sandals.

"Maybe we can make these fit you "

"Don't be stupid," he said, putting a hand on hers.

"My feet are twice as big as yours. Besides, the damage is done."

She looked into his face. He was still so beautiful. As near as she could tell, a unique combination of perfect features, perfect skin, perfect hair, and eyes that looked so soft no matter what the situation.

The day they'd gone their separate ways had been much harder on her than she wanted to admit, even to herself. She'd always known the day would come. Tristan wanted everything: freedom, adventure, money, love, fame.

But he'd never understood that none of those things came without a cost.

There was always a price to be paid.

"I'm so sorry, Tristan. This is all my fault. I ..." Her voice trailed off.

What could she say?

"Your fault? What are you talking about?"

"There was this plane in Laos. I think that's what this must be about.

An Air America plane full of heroin. I took a picture " To her surprise, he started to laugh.

"What are you "

"Darby ..." He reached out and ran a bloody finger gently down her cheek.

"I stole an old FBI file from the National Archive where I worked.

It has things in it you wouldn't believe. Things that could hurt destroy some of the most powerful people in the country."

It took her a moment to process what he was saying.

"You ... you what?"

"I stole it and stashed it in that cave near the Fisher Towers. That's where I'd been when you showed up at my apartment." He looked away and pretended to concentrate on one of the worst of the cuts on his foot.

"I figured I could sell it. To the press. I'd have been set up for life..." His voice got quieter as he continued to talk "I was going to find you. We could have gone anywhere we wanted, done anything.

Lived in four-star hotels instead of moldy tents..."

Before she knew what she was doing, Darby punched him hard in the chest.

He fell back into the grass, but not really from the impact. It hadn't surprised him.

"How could you have done something so stupid?" she said, grabbing both of his shoulders in her powerful grip and shaking him.

"Don't you know what people like that are capable of? We don't even count to them.

We're nothing. They'd kill us for nothing! What the hell were you thinking She froze when a shout drifted up to them on the light breeze.

It wasn't very close, but it would be soon.

Tristan heard the voice, too, but didn't seem to care.

"Sorry, Darb. If I'd have known ..."

She knelt and picked up one of his feet again, not listening to him.

The blood flow had slowed while he was lying down, but she knew that when he stood, it would start again in earnest. He was going to get light headed before long.

"Darby, I " He lost his voice when she wrapped his foot in the bottom of her shirt and squeezed down a little harder than she needed to.

"Forget it," he said, pulling away and leaving a large stain on her Tshirt. He struggled to his feet and started to limp toward a short, exposed ridgeline to the north.

Darby stayed where she was, glaring at him as he moved away. He'd only made it about ten meters when she took a deep breath and pushed back her emotions. There would be time to be angry later. Hopefully.

"Not that way, Tristan. We've got to go down the other side."

There was an obvious canyon running between the butte they were on and the one behind it. It looked remote, and she could see a stream running through it. They'd need to avoid roads, open areas, and other easy terrain where the men chasing them could move quickly. And they'd need water.

"You go that way," Tristan said.

"I'm going this way."

She ran up to him and grabbed him by the arm.

"Don't be stupid. We have to stay together."

He looked behind him at the bloody footprints he was leaving and forced a pained smile.

"Don't worry, Darb. I don't care how bad my feet are--I can stay ahead of those fat-asses."

She wouldn't let him go when he tried to pull away again.

"I've been in worse situations than this, Tristan, and I've never left anyone behind before."

"You've been in different situations than this, Darb. You've already saved my ass as many times as you're going to." He leaned forward unexpectedly and pressed his mouth against hers, then pulled away and began limping off.

"I'll meet you at Summersville Lake. Near Lactic Acid Bath.

Tomorrow or the next day." He paused for a moment and looked back in her direction, but wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Darby. I'm sorry."

Darby leaned forward and dipped the bottom of her shirt in the quickly moving stream. The tears finally started to roll down her cheeks as Tristan's blood was flushed from the material and swirled away over the mossy rocks and rotting logs. She fell onto the bank, closing her eyes and choking off her sobs before they got out of control. Tristan was on his own now. She had to concentrate on her own problems.

Judging by the position of the setting sun, it had been a little over an hour since she'd left him. There had been no shots, no more shouts, nothing. The men who had attacked them weren't close behind her; she knew that for sure. Without Tristan's weight, she'd run down the slope at a speed made possible only by the thousands of similar descents she'd made in her lifetime.

On a less positive note, though, she had no idea where she was. How long had she been unconscious in that van? Was she five hours from the New?