Terror Stash (31 page)

“Daddy!” She turned back to the fence, but Vinnie was lying face down on the ground on the other side. She tried to go back, but more bullets were cracking past them, making the soldiers around her duck and try to drag her backwards.

A sob tore at her throat as she turned and sprinted for the building where more soldiers in fatigues stood waving her on.

Zigzag!
She jumped left, then right and with each switch in direction, her heart leapt higher and harder.

She ran straight into the soldiers’ arms and even when they picked her up and carried her inside the building, even when she knew she was safe, she couldn’t get her legs to stop running. It took a medic’s sharp jab with something on her thigh for her legs to stop twitching. Whatever it was stopped the twitching, stopped her screaming, and stopped her tears. Stopped her mind playing back the moment the bullet had burst out of Vinnie’s chest. For a while, anyway.

She didn’t get to drink Pepsi that day.

* * * * *

Montana took another bite of Caden’s slapped-together sandwich, but her mouth was dry from talking and it tasted like chalk.

Caden was staring at her. Then he rolled his eyes. “Vinnie-too,” he said.

“Vinnie-too was the first present his widow, Drusilla, ever gave me. She gave it to me the day she told me she intended to adopt me.”

“So you grew up as Montana Dela Vega.” Caden ate the last of his sandwich, deep in thought. “Why ‘Montana’?”

“The state Vinnie was born in. He couldn’t pronounce my name and said Montana sounded sort of like it.”

“You know your real name?”

“Montana is my real name. It’s the only name I’ve ever used.”

“But you were called something else, once?”

She nodded slowly. “I remember flashes of things. Lots of sounds. People talking. I remember being called
Mastaneh
. That’s what they called me. Whoever ‘they’ are.”

“Mastaneh.” He tried it. “Doesn’t sound very American to me.”

“And Caden is a fine Canadian name, too.”

He grinned.

She stepped closer to him, until her finger touched his chest, right over his heart. “That’s where Vinnie was shot. I saw the bullet go through him.”

Caden pulled up the too-small tee-shirt and looked at the scar there and the little square of gauze next to it. After a moment, he pulled the tee-shirt down again. “That explains a lot,” he said. He looked up again. “One day I’ll tell you the story of that scar.”

He straightened up and she stepped back again. “Do you remember why you were wandering the streets of Khafji at all?”

She shook her head slowly. “Not at all, but sometimes—” She felt her cheeks heat and slid her gaze away from him. “Sometimes I think I can’t remember because whatever happened, I was afraid of it. I was a coward. I blocked it out because I didn’t want to keep remembering it. So I conveniently forgot it.”

“You keep calling yourself that. Coward.”

“I am. I...I’m not good with people, with emotions. A computer I can handle, and the people on the other end of that computer. But put us in the same room and I...just can’t handle it.”

“You’re a diplomat.”

“Consular official and not a very good one, or they would have promoted me long ago. Nelson said—”

“What?”

“He said a lot of things, most of them not very nice. I’m not sure what I can believe about what he has said.”

“Including what he told you about me?” Caden guessed.

She grimaced. “Time to go,” she pronounced. “I’ll need twenty minutes to pack some stuff.”

“You get ten. I’ll help you.”

There was a bus bound for Margaret River, leaving from the Westrail terminal in East Perth at eight p.m. In the time between, they stopped at a late-opening chemist and while Caden waited outside, Montana bought him a pair of running shoes and an outrageously priced sweatshirt with a West Coast Eagles logo on it.

They caught the light rail train to the terminal in time to buy tickets. Because the bus wasn’t leaving the state or crossing any borders, they weren’t asked for ID.

The bus journey was a slow five hours. Caden slept for the first hour and ate enormously at every rest stop along the way. She knew without explanations that he was doing both to fully recover from the insulin shock as fast as possible. Comforted by the big body next to her, she spent the first hour thinking and dozing.

In Mandurah, they stopped briefly along the main street to pick up more passengers and in the window of an appliance store, a series of TVs were all playing the same channel, showing the late evening news.

Behind the news anchor, photos of wrecked buildings, distressed people, death, injury and carnage flashed upon the screen. Then a map of North America, with an arrow pointing towards the top.

“Christ on a pony,” Caden breathed, twisting his head to watch the store window as the bus pulled away from the curb. As the bus picked up speed, he swiveled back in his seat and looked at her. His eyes were wide.

“What is it?”

“Edmonton, Alberta. I couldn’t see enough to get details. Something has happened there. Something big enough to hit the news in Australia.”

She gripped his wrist. “Nelson said something about Canada’s priorities changing.”

He shook his head. “Next stop, we see if we can get a paper, something that’ll have details. Meantime, forget it.”

But there was a light in his eyes, a look, enough for her to ask hesitantly; “Edmonton was where you were born, wasn’t it?”

He took a breath. “Yeah, but I don’t remember the place. I’ve never been there as an adult. Forget it for now, or you’ll chew up juice you could use for better things.”

She settled back into her seat, her tablet PC open on her lap to the code module she was working on, but her interest had dwindled. She sighed and slid the stylus away. Who was she trying to fool?

She felt more than saw Caden’s quick glance at her. “Could I ask a question?” he asked softly. “If you had to name a single quality about Nicollo that makes you admire her so much, what would it be?”

Even though she recognized the question as Caden’s way of distracting her, Montana gave a small laugh and answered him truthfully. “Hell, that’s easy.
Nicollo was the ultimate influencer. She moved friends and associates to act despite a complete lack of personal power.”

“Is that how you feel? Powerless?”

“Not as powerless as she was.” She rested her head against the seat. “But I’ve done nothing useful with my life despite the little power I do have, while she managed to save an entire country.”

“I think you’re a harsh critic.”

“Yeah? I’m cooling my heels in a forgotten corner of the world known only to a handful of surfers. I have no real friends. My ambitions to help my country, to make a difference, are wasting away. If Nelson has his way, I’ll stay here until I retire. His preferred option is that I be sent back to the States in disgrace and kept out of harm’s way.” She rolled her head to look Caden square in the eye. “Any facts in that critique you want to argue with?”

“You underestimate yourself.” His voice was a low rumble.

“I can’t figure how you built such a high opinion of me.”

He was silent for a long moment. “I know you’re not fishing for compliments. You’re not the type. So that means you genuinely can’t see it.” He looked at her. There was no humor in his face, now. “You’re going to have to learn how to value what you are. To really know your own strengths and weaknesses. No one else will do it for you.”

“Like you?”

“You took a step down my path yesterday, when you pushed me out the consulate door. So, on this, you need to be as ruthless about self-assessment as me. Know your weaknesses. Know your strengths.
Really
know them. You have to do your best to fill in the gaps, because your survival will depend on it.”

She shivered. “Caden—“

He sighed. “Why now? Why start using my name now?”

“I know you now. A little.”

“That’s not it,” he said with complete certainty. He turned in the seat to face her properly, which neatly shielded them both from the people in the seats across the aisle. “You only started using my name
after
you found out about me—about my history. Most people run a mile when they catch even a glimpse of it. Why not you?”

“’Most people’?”

He paused, visibly debating something. “Women,” he said finally, flatly. “There’s two types of women. Those that think they like playing with danger. Those that don’t. Either type runs when they see me for what I really am. Except you. You kept pushing me away, until you learned the truth and suddenly, you’re helping me.”

“And you’re suspicious,” she concluded.

“Curious,” he amended. His thumb touched her jaw, stroked along it with the delicacy of a feather. “And perhaps...just a little bit hopeful.”

“Isn’t that a good thing, hope? Why does it bother you?”

“Because there’s one thing Bangkok taught me and that is never to hope. Expect the worse. Plan for it.” His black eyes seemed even darker as he pinned her with his ruthless stare. “I can’t figure you out, Montana. Not even now I know about Khafji.”

“Occam’s Razor. I am just what you see. You want depth where there is none.”

He smiled. “I don’t believe that for a nano-second.”

“That’s all there is, Caden. Trust me.”

He considered that for a moment longer, then tapped her computer. “Does that thing have chess on it?”

She nodded and pulled out the stylus again, trying to hide the queer little jerk of disappointment tugging at her. She didn’t want Caden digging around in her head. Did she?

They set up the end game they had been mentally playing at the consulate and played until the bus pulled into Bunbury for a twenty-minute break. While Montana bought food for both of them, Caden scoured the newspapers for sale in the next section of the store.

He was one of the last people to return to the bus and Montana had already eaten her way through half of the huge home-style bacon and egg burger she had bought, devouring it in big bites. The fries had slipped down in five minutes. It was the first hot food she’d had in over twenty-four hours.

But Caden’s face when he climbed back into his seat turned the food to ashes in her mouth. She swallowed quickly. “What is it?” she asked.

“No papers. No current ones. But they had a TV there and I got the highlights from the eleven o’clock broadcast. There’s been a terrorist attack in Edmonton. Some shopping mall there, they’re calling it the biggest in the northern hemisphere. There was a bomb, or maybe more than one, they’re still trying to sort it out. Hundreds dead.” He let his head fall back against the seat. “Christ, all the families out Christmas shopping...”

Montana licked her lips. “Al-Qa’ida had Canada on its hit list,” she said very quietly.

“Yeah, they were talking about that, too. But why Edmonton?” He frowned. “It doesn’t make sense. Why not Toronto, or Vancouver? There are more people there. Edmonton’s a little prairie city.”

“Well, now I know what Nelson was referring to. He said that Canada had just had its priorities shifted around. He must have already known about this.”

She handed Caden his burger and he held it in his hands, as if he were weighing it up. “They’re saying Al-Qa’ida, but I can’t get rid of the notion that this was somehow aimed at me.” He glanced at her quickly. To check if she were laughing? “Do you think it was Bob’s people?”

“How could it be aimed at you?” she said reasonably. “You were born there. That’s it. You don’t know the place, it doesn’t know you.”

But his question had prodded a memory she couldn’t quite reach.

“There’s a connection there all the same,” Caden replied. Again, the sideways glance, to assess her. “I’ve been to a hundred different cities all over the world. Some of them I love, some I can’t wait to leave behind. Lots of them are great places to visit. But none of them have a personal connection for me the way Edmonton does, despite the fact that I don’t remember being there.”

“Not even Singapore?”

“That’s just home.” He frowned. “Where is your home?” he said. “I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned.”

“Perth is home for me.”

“I mean, back in the States?”

She shook her head. “Nowhere. Not since Drusilla died.” What was it that was prodding her mind with a silent yell? She tried to relax, to open up so that the insistent memory would come to her.

Suddenly it was there. She sat up again. “Bloody hell!”

“Very Australian,” Caden observed wryly.

She looked around. There were too many people near them, so she leaned closer to Caden and lowered her voice. “In the cave, remember when the men walked by and I listened to what they were saying?”

He nodded.

“One of them was complaining about being stir crazy. The others pointed out that in two weeks’ time things would start to happen. The complainer bitched about that—something about they’d been telling them it would be two weeks for six months or more. They said it just to shut them up. The others came back at him with proof that he was wrong. They said...” She reached back into her memory for the exact phrasing, but it was choppy and faded now. “As far as I can remember, they said, ‘Nuri has gone. Muntasir. Rashad.’ Basically he was telling him he was full of shit.” She looked at Caden. “Nuri, Muntasir, Rashad. At least three of them have left those caves recently.”

His eyes narrowed. Montana got the impression that he was thinking very hard indeed, reaching for connections and conclusions.

“Even if they did head for Edmonton,” she added softly, “It doesn’t mean they went there because of you.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

* * * * *

Afterwards, he slept again.
He woke when they were still twenty minutes away from Margaret River and gave a huge yawn. “I’ll have a word with the driver.” He ambled down the aisle to lean against the front of the bus and chat with the driver.

Montana packed her computer away, anticipating his intention. As she finished, the bus slowed and pulled over to the side of the highway. The door opened with a hiss of hydraulics. Caden shook hands with the driver and motioned for her to get off.