Running from the Devil (31 page)

The entrance to the city began with twelve hundred stone steps. To the left, another flat stone had a crude map etched into it. Emma started her climb, moving as fast as she dared on the slippery stairway.

Her heart raced. Blood coursed through her veins at an alarming rate. She could hear it pulsing in her ears. She felt short-winded. She knew it wasn’t from the run, despite its grueling nature. She’d run much farther and faster before under worse conditions. It was the cocaine combining with natural adrenaline produced by the run that was overloading her system. Her nose started to bleed. Large dollops of blood fell onto the stones. She used the bottom of her shirt to wipe it away. She was halfway up the steps when the poison started to kick in.

It began with small convulsive movements in her leg muscles. Her right thigh began to twitch. Just a little at first. Within minutes, the entire length of her leg began to spasm. She struggled to control the leg in order to place it in front of her. She lost her footing on the slick stone. She tumbled four steps down. She rose again, fighting her convulsing leg in order to move forward.

She no longer heard the hounds howling behind her. But within seconds of having that thought came the beating sound of a helicopter’s rotors. She didn’t have to speculate as to its destination. She knew it was after her.

She made it to the top of the stairs and collapsed on the plateau. The Lost City lay before her. It consisted of several flat stones raised from the ground in staggered progression, each one covered in green moss. They looked like individual stages. Mist shrouded the area, clinging to the trees and drifting through the open spaces. She needed to find the leaves growing around the third platform.

She limped across the flat plateau. Her leg continued to spasm, flailing out of her control. She hopped on the remaining leg to the platform and the prize.

The plant was there. Several grew at the platform’s base. It looked like a common weed, with the exception of the small black berries sprouting from the top, like flowers. She fell to her knees. Her bad leg refused to bend, so she sat down, leaving it straight. Her leg bounced on the dirt as she sat there. Like it had a mind of its own. Emma did her best to ignore it.

She ripped two plants out of the ground, shook off the dirt from the roots, and shoved the plants into the tin bowl from her backpack. She hobbled over to the trees to find firewood. Her right arm started shivering, her biceps twitching. She used her left hand to collect the wood. The helicopter sounds grew louder, but whether they were close or still far, Emma couldn’t tell.

By the time she’d collected enough wood to build a fire, her entire right side was convulsing. Hopping on the left leg was no longer an option. She started to crawl back to her backpack and her pot, dragging her twitching leg in the dirt. Thunder boomed above her, the noise echoing through the trees. She fought down the panic that accompanied the sound. She needed to start a fire and make the antidote before the rains came and doused everything.

She piled wood in a small pyramid. It was damp, but so old and sun-dried that Emma didn’t think burning it would be a problem. She pulled dry grass from the base of the platform and tucked it around the wood. She fumbled in her backpack to find her silver lighter. She flicked the top open, but had a hard time focusing on the roller piece long enough to light it. After a couple of tries she managed to start a flame. Emma sat there twitching, watching the fire ignite. Shooting pains started in her right leg. Her right arm jerked up and down, and now her left thigh started to spasm. Only her left arm remained calm. She used it to pull her liter bottle of water from the pack, filled the pot with water, placed it on the fire, and sat down to wait.

By the time the water was near boiling, Emma’s entire body was jerking. She was sure she looked like a victim of St. Vitus’ dance. She focused on removing the pot from the fire to allow the liquid to cool. In her disintegrating state, this simple act became so difficult as to be impossible. She clenched her jaw to stop her teeth from chattering. After taking long, deep breaths, she managed to knock the pot off the fire without spilling its precious contents.

The thunder crashed above her now, interspersed with flashes of lightning. Fat raindrops began to fall. Through the noise she heard the helicopter approaching. Emma decided to drink the liquid hot. Once the muscles in her throat began to spasm, she wouldn’t be able to swallow. She put the scalding rim to her lips and drank. It burned all the way down. She drank half the pot. It took all her strength to hold it steady. When she was done she lowered it to the ground like it was fine china. She lay down by the still-burning fire while the rain fell and the thunder crashed.

The helicopter heaved into view, flying high above her head. A searchlight on the front raked over the Lost City. Emma curled as close to the platform as she could.

The helicopter began its descent. Although she still shook from the poison, Emma forced herself to rise. She didn’t have much time to accomplish what she’d come to Colombia to do. She shoved a hand in her backpack to remove the lipstick Mathilde had used. She swiveled it open and dropped it into the pot of antidote, neutralizing it.

Next she began to pull up the plants, throwing each into the fire. As far as she knew, these were the only plants like this in existence. Once they were gone, the ingredients for the formula would be extinct. No one would ever be able to make the weapon she had again. She pulled the last plant from the ground and threw it into the fire when the helicopter began settling onto a cleared space about two hundred yards from her.

52

EMMA WATCHED THE HELICOPTER TOUCH DOWN. HER MUSCLES still twitched, but the left thigh was already still. By no means could she walk, but she wasn’t getting any worse, either. Three men stepped out of the copter. Smoking Man, his bodyguard, and Gerald White, Emma’s boss.

Emma felt as though someone had kicked her. All the pieces began to fall into place. White was the one she’d told when she’d noticed the plant’s unusual qualities, White was the one she’d gone to when the strange man claiming to be from the Department of Defense came to demand the formula, and White was the one she’d consulted when she was deciding to fly back to Bogotá.

He ran to Emma. The still-beating helicopter rotors and crashing thunder drowned out any sound of his approach. When he reached her, he picked up a stick and used it to fish the still-burning plants from the fire. He managed to rescue a few scorched leaves and stems. When he was finished, he turned on her.

“Are you insane? Killing the plants! Do you have any idea what these are worth?” He looked at the fire. “You burned them all, didn’t you?”

Emma just stared at the man she’d grown to respect. “You told Mondrian about the poison.”

“Of course,” he yelled at her. “How the hell else do you think they learned of it? You were too stupid to see the value in what you’d discovered. Do you have any idea what it’s cost me to track you down?” White picked up the tin pot and fished out the lipstick. He shoved it under her nose. “Does it still work?”

Emma shook her head. He kicked her in the thigh before tossing the lipstick into the fire. He grabbed the pot, turned it over, pouring the liquid onto the ground. He flung the pot away.

“That was the antidote,” Emma said.

“Do you think I care?” White’s face turned a dark red as he raged at her. “Do you know how much a weapon like this will garner on the arms market? Hundreds of millions. And the uses! A female terrorist could be sent into Parliament or Congress, and with one application of lipstick wipe out an entire room. No bombs to carry. No chance to be caught at security.”

“She’d die on contact.”

“And the autopsy would show nothing.”

“Did you bring the plane down just to get to me?”

White snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself. I could have gotten to you every time you walked into the lab.” White leaned in close to her face. “I already have a buyer for this weapon. They were working up the hijacking for their own purposes. When you said you were going to Bogotá, we decided to kill two birds with one stone. It was an opportunity too good to pass up.” White blew on one of the still-smoldering plants.

“My buyers want some modifications. They want to punch up the residual effect, have the molecules travel much farther than ten feet, and to delay the direct effect on the user to give her time to slip away. I told them if anyone could do it, you could.”

Emma’s right arm stopped twitching. Her leg continued to bounce.

“It’s over now. I’ve burned the plants,” she said.

White laughed like a hyena. “You can’t possibly think that. You, of all people.”

Emma said nothing.

He leaned in to her. “I guess you’ll just have to make new ones.”

Emma shook her head. “How in the world would I make new ones without the original?”

“With your artificial chromosome technology, of course.”

Emma went cold. “With what? I don’t have the original plant’s chromosomes. The technology won’t work without them.”

White picked up some of the scorched plants. “With these.”

White waved over Smoking Man’s bodyguard. He turned back to her. “They don’t have the ability to reproduce, that’s true, but they’ll suffice as chromosome donors. You’ll just have to insert their chromosomes into a roomful of plants that can reproduce.”

“I won’t do it,” Emma said.

White stared at her. “Oh, I think you will. I promised these buyers a weapon, and if I don’t deliver, they’ll kill me. We have your Mr. Sumner. Rodrigo’s there. He’s twitching like hell, but he’ll live long enough to administer his unique form of torture. You’re going to watch. When he’s done, we’ll start on you. Don’t worry, we won’t kill you, we’ll just give you that added incentive to do what needs to be done.” He turned to the bodyguard. “Put her on the helicopter.”

The bodyguard hauled Emma to her feet, wrapped her arm around his neck, and dragged her to the copter. Her right leg still jerked out of control as it plowed through the mud. He hauled her into the copter, placing her in the back where the seats, if there ever were any, had been removed. He handcuffed her hands with plastic tie cuffs. White and Smoking Man took seats near the pilot. White buckled up, but Smoking Man didn’t bother. He crossed his legs.

They rose into the air. The lightning sparked all around them, followed by crashing thunder. The rain came harder, pounding on the helicopter’s windshield. Within minutes, it became a deluge. The rain hammered the sides of the copter while the wind buffeted the machine. They pitched and rolled through the night.

“Can we make it back?” White yelled to the pilot, who responded in Spanish.

“What’d he say?” White asked Smoking Man.

“The storm is bad. One hit from the lightning and down we fall.” Smoking Man removed a cigarette from his shirt pocket. He flicked on a lighter. Emma saw his grin by the lighter’s flame.

“You don’t seem worried,” White said.

Smoking Man just shrugged.

The rolling worsened. One flash of lightning lit the entire cabin. Emma thought she could hear the sizzling as it streaked by. The pilot swore in Spanish.

Smoking Man’s bodyguard clutched his stomach, groaning. The lightning illuminated the interior of the helicopter like a strobe light. Emma could see White clutching the sides of his seat. His knuckles went white. Smoking Man smoked. The tip of his cigarette glowed brighter with each pull.

Emma used her legs to brace herself against the metal side of the helicopter. Her left leg had ceased its twitching some time ago. Each time the machine bucked, her back slammed into a steel support. She could feel bruised spots along every inch of her spine. She wished with all her might that she was back on her swollen, blistered feet and working her ruined shins. Those aches and pains were more welcome than this. She railed at God in her head: You spare me from the plane crash and Rodrigo and poison only to kill me now? Some benevolent being You are. If God heard her, the only response was another boom from the heavens.

Lightning struck the helicopter halfway through their descent. One minute they were lowering in a controlled fashion, and the next they were plummeting downward. The pilot yelled an oath. Emma lost her grip on the floor. She skittered sideways until she slammed into the back of Smoking Man’s seat. The bodyguard muttered something that might have been a prayer, and White gave an incoherent yell. Only Smoking Man remained silent.

They landed with a bang, catapulting into the tree line. Emma heard the branches splintering as they plowed through them. The windshield cracked. The helicopter ground to a halt.

Emma lay against the sidewall, catching her breath. She watched the pilot shake his head. White slumped in his chair, breathing heavily. Smoking Man unfolded from his seat. He patted the pilot on the back. The rain poured down the sides of the helicopter, like a waterfall. Smoking Man leaned into White.

“You want to bring her now?”

“I want to get the hell out of this helicopter,” White yelled over the noise of the rain. “We’ll deal with her in the morning.”

Smoking Man gave an order to the bodyguard, who looked pale as death. The bodyguard staggered toward Emma. He pulled her back to a sitting position against the sidewall before handcuffing her ankles together with another plastic tie cuff. He followed White, the pilot, and Smoking Man out into the downpour.

Emma sat in the dark, dank helicopter thinking of Sumner. She pictured Rodrigo torturing him in front of her. The thought was unbearable. She tried to think of options. She could sabotage the artificial chromosome procedure. Deliberately arrange it so it would fail. White was a scientist, true, but only she knew how to insert the chromosomes. The process was tricky and prone to failure, even when she’d done it. White wouldn’t know she’d sabotaged the trials until the formula failed to work. At least she would have bought a little time to make an escape plan.

One thing Emma was sure of; she wouldn’t make the weapon again. If she and Sumner died for her refusal, then so be it.