Terror Stash (16 page)

“I have feet.”

“I got a good long look at the bottom of them just then, when you were lying on the ground. Good tread on those boots, by the way.” She dared to look at him.

Caden put his hands on his hips, considering her. “You’re a really crappy diplomat, you know?”

“You made me lose track of Ghenghis Bob. You want me to pin a medal on you?”

“You would have lost him anyway, about two hundred yards from here.”

“What does that mean?”

“Are you hungry?”

“Starving, but don’t change the subject. What do you mean I would have lost him? I was doing just fine to this point.”

He stood with his head down, as if he was listening. Then, very slowly, he turned on his heel. A full circle, back to face her. “I guess you are a diplomat, after all. You talk too much. Come on, I’ll buy you dinner. It’s too crowded here.”

* * * * *

Caden Rawn’s camp was two miles from where he had waylaid her. It was hidden in a deep gully. Over the years, trees had died and fallen, some of them across the gully and two of them close enough together that the gradual accumulation of shed branches and leaves had created a roof about four feet wide, stretching right over the gully. It was also an area of wattle and gum trees. No one could approach the gully without warning.

Right underneath the roof, Rawn had cleared a small circle in the dirt for a fire. Hanging from the underside of the roof were several shopping bags. He reached into one of them, withdrew a box of Redhead matches and set about lighting a fire, using a tiny collection of twigs and small branches.

He looked up at Montana where she stood calf-deep in dry leaves and patted the side of the gully. “Dig a little shelf for your ass and take a seat. It’s better than sitting in the leaves.” His tone was friendly and completely neutral, just as his manner had been as he had guided her to his camp.

Montana shrugged. “Why not just push all the leaves aside so you can sit next to the fire?”

“Yeah and anyone that swings by is going to know I’m here.”

“You’re expecting company out here?”

He blew gently on the pile of twigs and added a few more before he answered and when he did, he held up a finger. “One, the police are looking for me.” Another finger. “Two, I’m not the only one out here.” He stood up, reached inside another bag and extracted a can of French onion soup. With his other hand, he pulled out his hunting knife, flipped it over and caught it in mid-air, then hunkered down with the knife and the can and began to work at the lid.

She took a step up the side of the gully and worked her way under the roof, looking for a seat. An irregular row of small grass tussocks was the beginning of one. She dug deeper into the hill behind them, widening the seat, and settled herself down.

“Have you been following Abdul?” she asked.

“Trying to. Slippery sucker keeps fading on me.” He was concentrating on the can.

“You’re following him because you think he killed Rabbit?”

“No.” Short and flat with sincerity. She could see his frown even as he bent over the can. He looked up at her. “And not because I’m trying to find evidence that will prove I didn’t do it.”

“I know you didn’t do it. So does Steve. But neither of us can prove it.”

“I could have killed Connie. I had plenty of reason to.”

“Sunday night is the reason I know you didn’t.”

“I wasn’t talking about Sunday night,” he growled. “That stupid little shit trying to dump his hired guns on me pissed me off, but not enough to kill the runt. You roll with dogs like that, you end up with fleas trying to jump you, so I’m not going to complain about having to use flea powder once in a while.” He went back to levering up the lid of the soup can. “No, Rabbit and I go back a long way. Before your time.”

“Clearly. But Rabbit’s five fleas didn’t slow you down Sunday night. If they didn’t slow you down, not much else would. You could have killed Rabbit any time you wanted.”

“That’s right.”

“The
worst
time to kill him is straight after he sent five armed men after you. The cops put it together in five seconds. You don’t strike me as being particularly stupid. You wouldn’t set yourself up that way.”

He placed the can in amongst the flames, added more twigs and stood up. “Question is, who
did
set me up?”

“You don’t live here, do you?”

He spread his hands a little, to indicate the camp. “Here? No.”

“I mean Western Australia. People here know you, but say you haven’t been around for a few years. I’m figuring you live in eastern Australia, or another country.”

“Does it matter?”

“I just want to know why you haven’t run back there. The local cops know you from the last time you and Rabbit had it out. Now this. Yet you haven’t left town, which most sane people would have done straight after the bar fight.”

He stirred the soup with an old silver dessert spoon. “Why is that your business?”

She kept silent, waiting for him to look at her. Finally, he did.

“I’m not stupid, either, Caden Rawn,” she told him. “You elude the police, but you don’t leave town. You travel forty miles through the bush, which makes it look like you’re running away, but then you camp. What’s here that’s worth staying still and risking arrest?” She stood up, to bring her head level with his. “The man you call Abdul was in the bar Sunday night. He was directing the five fleas. One of the fleas gave him away. Now three of them are dead and so is Rabbit. I can’t prove it, but I think he killed all of them, or arranged their murders, and I think I witnessed him arrange the death of the other two, earlier this afternoon.” She frowned, recalling his stillness and the eerie sense of communication and the obeisance.

“Why would he do that?” Rawn demanded.

“Keeping his identity secret is more important than the lives of six other people.”

He crossed his arms, smiling a bit. “You know who he is.”

“So do you. You don’t have a name, but you know who you’re dealing with.”

“And you know that how?”

“Because when you hauled me off his tail, you told me you were following the money. You’ve been following him, too.”

He didn’t react immediately. Instead, he poured off some of the soup into a battered china teacup and handed it to her, along with the spoon. He stomped out the fire. With a ragged tee-shirt as a pot holder he picked up the soup can and sipped directly out of the can. After a few mouthfuls he looked at her.

“I can see I’m going to have to watch you.”

“I’m not the enemy. He is.”

“I don’t have friends.”

“I don’t want you as a friend, Rawn. You scare me and you know it.”

“I don’t want a partner, either.”

“And here was me thinking I’d have to disappoint you.” She put her soup down. It was too hot to eat. “I just need to know why you’re following the money man. Rabbit’s dead. It doesn’t matter who killed him, your mission here ended when he died. So why are you still here? Why are you following the money?”

“Are you proposing we exchange information?” He seemed amused by it.

“Hell no, I just want yours.”

“That’s not an even trade.”

“If I told you what I know, Rawn, I’d be guilty of treason.”

He put the soup can down, his gaze turned suddenly inwards. Montana had the sensation that he was thinking hard and deep, the wheels churning furiously. He finally looked up at her. “It’s not just the drugs. He’s a known and wanted terrorist.” His tone made it a statement. A conclusion.

He got to his feet, suddenly restless. “Al Fatah,
Hizballah, Al-Aqsa Martyrs Brigade
, Al-Qa’ida...no, the name doesn’t matter.” He was talking to himself, walking himself through it. Montana kept her mouth shut.

“...but you’re not intelligence or military, so why you? Why not a horde of NATO allied special forces....” He shook his head. “They don’t know.” He looked at her. “You didn’t tell them.”

“I did,” she said, as calmly as she could.

“They didn’t believe you. So you came by yourself.” He looked up at the sky, as if in disbelief, before pinning her with his dark gaze. “I’ll give you that, Montana Dela Vega. You have courage. What else you’ve got, we’ll figure out as we go.”

“We?” she said sharply. “I haven’t invited you along, Rawn.”

“I’m inviting myself.”

“Why?
Why
?” It was her turn to shoot to her feet. “What’s so goddamn important about this guy to you? First Rabbit, now—”

It fell together with an almost audible thunk in her mind. She was aware that her mouth was hanging open as she processed it. “It’s the drugs,” she said at last. “Isn’t it? The drugs. Rabbit was dealing. Hard stuff. He’s dead. You’re moving up the chain now.” She laughed a little. It came out dry. “Following the money. What is it, a personal crusade?”

“That is most definitely none of your business,” Caden growled.

“It is if you intend to tag along.”

“I don’t ‘tag along’ with anyone.”

“Fine. No problems. Want to point me in the direction I need to get back to Margaret River?”

He pointed. “That way. But it’ll be dark in an hour.”

“That’s supposed to scare me?”

“Jesus wept!” He crossed his arms, studying her. “If you’re so afraid of me, then why do you keep giving me grief?”

“Because you’re trying to tell me what to do.”

“Modern girl, huh?”

“No, I’m....” She frowned. Hesitated. “I don’t know what I am, Rawn. That’s the truth. I’m not even sure if I’m a State Department employee any more. If I’m not, it means what I’m doing here is likely to not only get me busted back to the States, but directly into a prison cell once I get there. I’ve been running on gut instinct and the proof meter is sitting on zero, so far. I have innuendo and logic, and a guy who called out in Arabic. That and my gut, and I’ve gone against every professional ethic and rule that I hold dear. So I don’t know much, but I do know that I have to keep running on instinct, not anyone else’s say-so. Not anymore.”

“You’re not going to tell me why, are you?”

“Are you going to tell me why?”

He didn’t move. He didn’t even blink.

“Well, now we’re even. We’re both facing jail time.” She sighed and pushed her hand through her knotty, tangled hair.

“And we both want Abdul,” Rawn added.

“Bob.”

“What?”

“His name, believe it or not, is Ghenghis Bob.” She grimaced and shrugged. “I don’t know. Some sort of Syrian joke, I’m sure. If he has a real name, no one knows it.”

“Syrian?”

“As far as anyone knows.”

He pushed at the ashes of the tiny fire for a moment and she could see his mind was in overdrive again.

She realized with a start that it was getting dark. That put it around seven-thirty or so, perhaps a bit closer to eight. Caden Rawn was becoming a dark shape.

Finally, he spoke. “I can find a way for you to get back in good with your bosses, and that’s key. You need access to the information you can get there.”

“What are you thinking?” she demanded, suspicion flaring in her.

He stood, staying bent over so his head didn’t hit the low roof, and stepped to her side of the gully. His shape, barely more than a dark silhouette in the failing light, settled next to her. “Are you sure you want to do this, Montana? Are you really sure?”

“Why do you ask? I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Here, but still not committed. Not with your bridges burned. Not yet.”

“I thought they were already blasted to hell. I fully expect to be escorted back to the States when I front up at the consulate.”

Deep silence. She could hear crickets.

“I’ll get you back in good with your boss. It’ll be like you never went away and you can keep it that way, if you want. Or you can keep following your gut and we see where it takes us. You won’t tell me why you started this, so you’ll have to figure out if it’s worth it.” His head turned a little, but there wasn’t enough light to see what his expression was. His eyes were dark orbs. “I think you already know this is no embassy tea party you’re into here. Who knows where it’ll go?”

She thought of Vinnie and her real parents, the ones she couldn’t remember. Then she deliberately recalled the terror and utter loneliness she’d felt, wandering the streets of Khafji until Vinnie had found her.

Once upon a time, she had believed the State Department would give her the chance she needed to pay back Vinnie, but after seven years, she had begun to accept that it would never happen.

If her gut was right about Bob, then wasn’t this the chance to pay back everything? She looked at Rawn, at his face silhouetted by the glow of the tiny fire. “I’m in. All the way.”

His big, warm hand slid up against her jaw, turning her head. “Brains, muscle and courage. Jesus.” He sighed. “Say ‘just this once’.”

“What?”

“Say it.”

She knew, suddenly, what he intended. “Don’t, Rawn. Neither of us can afford—“

His lips seared hers, stealing her words, her breath and all her resistance. She sighed into his kiss and his arms pulled her against him. The kiss deepened, the world fell away. She grew aware of her own arms, wound around his neck, drawing him closer. Encouraging him.

Warm weakness trickled through her, and a sweet thrill that thrust any coherent thought aside. For a moment she felt like she was falling, but the fall ended with her cushioned against his solid chest and shoulders. His hands plundered her hair, then slid down her back and cupped her buttocks.

With a groan, he ended the kiss and rested his forehead against hers. “Say it.” His voice was husky with arousal.

“Just this once.” Her own voice was thick and distorted.

“Okay. Just this once. All right.” He sighed.

Steve finally got out of the station around ten p.m.

He had clocked enough hours in the last four days to last him another week. He had happily stared down Borelli’s protests when he dared tell him he was going home. He wanted to get a solid eight hours’ sleep before dragging himself back in tomorrow morning for the ten a.m. shift.

His station wagon was out the back of the station, parked under the orange security light that flooded the area, but he stopped short six feet away from it, the keys he’d pulled out of his pocket hanging from his hand. His jaw dropped.