The Forty Column Castle (8 page)

“Zach?” No answer. I eased a few steps into the kitchen.

“Zach?”

I heard footsteps overhead. Maybe the man of the house was okay, but why was his wife
laying in the garden? There was only one pair of footsteps. If they weren’t Zach’s
…

I peered up the stairs.

Zach crouched over a body at the top of the landing. I only saw the top of the head
covered in thick white hair, stained dark red on one side.

“I told you to stay with the Rover.”

“Zach, there’s a woman’s body in the garden.”

“I saw her from the upstairs window. They’re both dead. Shot in the head at close
range.”

He moved quickly down the steps, gun upraised, and brushed past me. Standing back
from the window, he studied the yard and garden.

“Are you going to report it to the police?”

“I can’t, this couple isn’t really here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just what I said. This is a safe house. This couple doesn’t exist, so there is no
one to report missing.

“What?”

He ignored my question. “I’ll call someone to dispose of the bodies later but for
now, we get out of here. I’ll go first. If I draw fire, run out the front door in
a zig-zag line to the Rover.”

He turned and his gaze held my eyes in a moment of connection, the connection we had
had before this awful ride had begun. Those hard, dark eyes softened.

“If I don’t make it, leave in the Rover without me.” He grabbed my chin and held it.
“Don’t play hero, okay?”

I nodded and before I could say anything he was out the door, gun in hand, running.
A rifle cracked, and he dropped to the ground.

“Zach,” I screamed from the open door. “Zach!”

He rolled over and over into the cover of shrubs by the shed. “Get down.” His hand
waved. “Get down. Go out the front door. I’m going for the Rover.”

Another shot cracked and hit the side of the shed above the bushes where he hid, and
he returned fire. I stood paralyzed by the sound of the gunfire. It sounded like the
shots I had heard fired at target practice. But this was not target practice.

I whirled and ran through the house and out the front door, propelled by some hidden
banshee that shrieked inside my head to get the hell out of there. I ran for the Rover,
dove and crashed into the passenger door as a bullet flew by my ear and ricocheted
off the fender. I yanked open the door and crawled inside, slamming the door and cowering
on the floor. A rapid exchange of gunfire heralded Zach’s approach to the Rover, and
a bullet hit the driver’s side of the vehicle. Zach sprang in, turned over the motor
and slammed the gears into reverse. The Rover squealed back through the clearing making
a wide circle on two wheels, screeched to a halt, roared into forward and out of the
clearing followed by a barrage of bullets.

I hunkered down on the floor and squeezed my eyes shut until we were out of the clearing
and lurching down the rocky lane.

“Damn,” said Zach.

I opened my eyes and looked up at him.

“Another shirt ruined,” he said.

Three explosion holes on his shirt front marked the spots where bullets had hit.

“I’m glad I thought to put on a bullet proof vest today.”

My pulse was hammering so hard in my head, I thought it would explode. I looked behind
us but whoever had attacked made no attempt to follow. Our attackers had had no vehicle,
or if they had, they weren’t using it to pursue us. I couldn’t believe Zach had put
on a bullet proof vest in anticipation that our flight might involve gunfire. I was
in way over my head. I should have gone to the Cypriot authorities. In hindsight,
it would have been much wiser. Too late to think about that now, wasn’t it?

Zach’s sun-bleached hair was hardly ruffled, and beyond the holes in his shirt he
looked like he hadn’t done anything more exciting than spend an afternoon at the racetrack.
I had the uneasy feeling that Aunt Elizabeth and I were pawns in a game, and this
game involved criminals. The man sitting next to me was a player in the game. The
thought was unnerving, and my opinion of him underwent a serious overhaul.

He slowed the Rover to maneuver the ruts better. I thought my neck would snap in the
attempt to get away from the so-called safe house, and my demise would involve a broken
neck instead of flying bullets.

“Where are we going?” I asked when I had a chance to calm down.

Zach didn’t reply, his attention focused on putting distance between us and the flying
bullets. He appeared to be scowling at the question and the answer to it.

“I’m not sure. I’m thinking,” he said, not taking his eyes off the road.

“Who were those people? Do they have names?”

“Max and Irene.”

“How could they not exist?”

“They decided long ago to go under cover and not come back. They led a simple existence,
and they helped a lot of people in trouble. I’m sorry to see them go out like they
did. They were the best, but they knew the risks.”

Like that justified everything. “I hadn’t bargained for running into bullets, but
you had.” Truth be told, I hadn’t bargained for any of this.

Zach glanced at me like he didn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth and looked
back to the road. We turned right at the end of the lane leading away from the safe
house and headed higher into the mountains. In greater abundance were the tall, biblical
cedars of Lebanon that I loved so much. Seeing them now brought me no joy.

“We’ll try to find your aunt,” Zach said. “Or would you like to tell me where she
is?”

My mouth dropped open, and I looked at him in astonishment. “I thought you knew. Wasn’t
that the bargain? That you would take me to her?”

“I was playing a hunch. You said you would cooperate.”

“I was lying,” I said.

“So was I,” he said.

We bounced along in strained silence, me trying to make sense of the situation and
having no luck. My stomach had settled down enough that it began to rumble. I realized
I hadn’t had anything to eat. I fished in my bag for the sweet rolls I had bought
at the hotel. It wasn’t much, just two small rolls, but I needed something to settle
my stomach. I debated whether to offer one to my kidnapper, and my nicer side won
out.

“Would you care for a sweet roll?” I asked. It seemed an inane thing to be talking
about after the scene we had left.

He looked at me and half smiled. “Kind of you to share with me.” He took one. “Look
behind you and get a couple of bottles of water from the case on the floor.”

I added two bottles of water to our repast. He pulled open the console between us
and fished out two power bars and handed one to me. That completed the feast.

We munched in silence until I voiced my suspicion. “This is kidnapping, you know.”

“Hardly. I’m helping you get away from the Cypriot authorities so you can find your
aunt.”

What a lying son-of-a-bitch. I had had such hopes for Zach. Men were the same when
you peeled off the layers and got to the core, but this one was worse. He wore a bullet
proof vest and carried a gun.

I looked at the gun on the floor between us. His lay beside it. I thought of trying
to overpower him which was a joke, but what did I have to lose? I shouldn’t have been
so overt about looking at the guns. He picked up both and put them under his seat.
He possessed an uncanny sixth sense. I wondered if they taught that in law enforcement
school.

We jolted up over a rise and looked out over the forested mountains below. We had
reached the top of the mountain. Ahead lay a paved road that ran along the ridge.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“I’m not exactly sure,” he said. “But if my memory serves me well, we are not far
from the border of the Turkish section of the island. I think there is a small inn
along this road with some decent chow and a place to stay for the night.”

Food and bed were appealing, as long as the beds were in separate rooms. I wasn’t
in the mood for sharing one with a kidnapper. I might be able to get away if we had
separate rooms. The problem was where I would go. On foot I’d have to trek through
unfamiliar mountain terrain in flip-flops. To try to take the Rover would be difficult
unless somehow I could get the key. A drug in Zach’s drink? With what?

Isolated lights started blinking on along the forest ridges as twilight settled in.
We were almost on top of the lodge before I saw it. A solitary lamp lit a short driveway.
We pulled in.

I fretted that I might make the news, and someone at this inn might recognize me.
The lodge didn’t look like a place that got much traffic. I saw no satellite dish
or outside antenna that would indicate TV reception.

“I’ll wait here,” I said. “You see if they have any news of an escaped criminal tourist
and her niece.”

Zach laughed. “You’ll come with me. I don’t want you wandering off, looking for your
aunt, and falling off a cliff.”

I sighed, knowing I wouldn’t win this one.

The lodge was cut into the side of the mountain and had winding stairs leading up
to the front entrance. The structure had an alpine look with carved shutters and roof
trim and window boxes on the railings. Bright red geraniums bloomed in the boxes.

Zach steered me by the elbow up the stairs and into the front entrance. There was
not a soul in sight. We walked to the check-in counter. He tapped the bell, and we
waited. The room stretched the full length of the building. It was combination reception
sitting room with worn overstuffed chairs clustered around a fireplace that was not
lit and didn’t look like it had been in a long time. A solitary lamp burned on a pine
end table. The glare of a bare light bulb lit the check-in counter. The atmosphere
was on the cozy side of seedy.

A thin, wiry man limped down the hall toward us after Zach tapped the bell at the
desk again. He didn’t look Greek, at least not short and barrel chested but more Turkish,
taller and gaunter in the face. I didn’t think we had crossed over into Turkish Cyprus.
We would have had to cross the Green Zone with U.N. border guards.

The man greeted us in Greek. Zach responded, carrying an entire conversation in what
appeared to be fluent Greek. Surprise. There was no sign of TV, radio, or general
interest in life with the innkeeper.

Zach bent over the register. I watched as he signed Mr. and Mrs. Henry Dellinger.
Now we were traveling under assumed names. Mr. and Mrs. was not a good sign.

“I’d like a room of my own,” I said.

“No,” said Zach in a low voice. “Don’t try to make a scene.” He straightened and put
his arm around my shoulders. “You don’t think I’d let you out of my sight, do you,
my darling Claudie?” he whispered into my ear.

Chills pricked my spine, but it was fear not sexual excitement. The innkeeper watched
the little display of affection. The honeymooners.

“If you promise to be really good,” Zach said, “you’ll get a ham sandwich for dinner.”

I gave him a thin smile and patted his cheek, figuring I might as well keep up the
charade, if it kept the bullets from flying. I was definitely not partial to flying
bullets.

Zach pulled a wad of bills from his pocket and paid the innkeeper, who gave him a
receipt and the number of our room. I smiled as pleasantly as I could under the circumstances
to the gaunt-faced man. He must have honeymooners come by the wagonload. Zach took
my hand which made me jump, my nerves being just about shot, but he held on tight
and led me down the hall in pursuit of room 113.

In spite of everything his touch reassured me because a sense of being out on a limb
all by myself had set in. Even though I didn’t know whose side Zach was on, at least
he had found us shelter for the night. I worried about the bed arrangement. He could
have the floor I decided.

“What did the man tell you? He looked Turkish but he spoke Greek. What time is dinner?”

Zach laughed softly, almost a snort. “I didn’t exactly get the in-country report.
I just signed us up for a room for the night and arranged for some sandwiches, which
they’ll bring to our room along with a few Keos. For your information his Greek had
a Turkish accent.”

We stopped outside room 113 while Zach fiddled with the key to unlock the door.

“Where did you learn Greek?”

“In Greece.” He smiled down at me and pushed open the door.

A double bed. I held back but he put his hand to my waist and pushed me in. The room
was small with a tiny bathroom and shower. A window looked out on the road we came
in. We were two stories up on the hillside. There was another set of rooms under us
looking at the same scene. The double bed took up most of the narrow wall. With a
straight back chair and a lamp on a stand beside the bed, there wasn’t much sleeping
room for a person on the floor.

Zach stood in front of the window and seemed to be studying the lay of the land although
what he could see in the gathering dusk I didn’t know.

I cleared my throat. “This is not what I had in mind for sleeping accommodations.”

“I know,” he said, not turning around. “But it’s what we’re going with. I’m going
out to bring in our bags and lock up the car.”

He turned dark, inscrutable eyes on me. “Don’t try to take off. These are isolated
mountains. It’s cold up here at night even though it’s hot down at sea level. You
wouldn’t last long in that outfit.”

We both looked over my shorts and tank top.

His attitude was wearing thin. I was tired, hungry, confused, frustrated, needed a
drink bad and was beginning not to care about anything.

“I’m taking a shower,” I said with a look that dared him to stop me. I wasn’t concerned
what he thought at this point. “When you bring my bag in, leave it by the bathroom
door.”

I went into the bathroom and slammed the door hard, sharing my pent up frustration
with the wood door. Not that it mattered much to the door but that simple act felt
good. I couldn’t get the instant hot water switch to work so I bathed in a trickle
of water from the solar tank. At least the water wasn’t ice cold. Using the small
cake of soap, I washed my hair but had a hard time getting all the soap out. By the
time I was finished the water was cold. In a perverse way I was pleased he would have
to take a cold shower. Maybe it would calm him down.