Tortured Spirits (17 page)

Maria dashed between trees, trying to get as far away from the soldiers as possible.

The helicopter's spotlight seeped deep into the woods, casting ominous shadows. Once inside the forest, the three
men fanned out, the laser sights on their machine guns scanning the woods.

Perhaps three hundred yards ahead of them, Maria hid behind a tree. Only when she reached inside her bag did she see how badly the thorns had scratched her arms and legs; a spiderweb of blood crisscrossed each of her limbs.

Training her binoculars on the soldiers, she grimaced. The glare from the spotlight reflected off the lenses, creating distortion. But she discerned enough to know the men wore night vision goggles. If she put too much distance between herself and them, they would be able to see her, but she would be blind. She had to stay within the illuminated forest.

Crouching low to the ground, Maria moved away from the men at a forty-five-degree angle. Her chest hurt. She had never been pursued by bad guys before. But were they bad? They were soldiers following orders, she reasoned. Soldiers who just happened to have mowed her stolen car with machine gun fire. Soldiers who had launched incendiary bombs at the highway ahead of her. Soldiers like those who had gunned down Humphrey and who had—

Don't think it!

—murdered Jake.

Fuck, yeah, they're bad.

The trees cleared and she stopped, her feet sinking in the soft embankment of a narrow river or deep creek. The current looked strong enough to carry her away if she gave it a chance, but she was a lousy swimmer. Still, if she could find something to hang on to …

She searched for a fallen tree limb, something that
would float and support her. Spotting what appeared to be driftwood, she lifted a small log into the light and inspected it. It would float all right, but she doubted it would enable her to do the same. The log broke in half in her hands even as she heard the machine gun fire, pulp assaulting her eyes. She dropped the log's halves and flopped to the ground. Fifty yards ahead, a soldier sighted in on her with his laser scope, which she didn't need her binoculars to see. With her elbows digging into vegetation, she gripped the Walther in both hands and took aim.

Intense red light filled her vision.

Fearing blindness, Maria shut her eyes and squeezed the trigger three times. The shots rang out one after another, and she smelled gunpowder. But she heard no scream. Opening her eyes, she saw a glowing red line arcing from the ground where the soldier had stood into the trees above. The beam did not move.

Leaping to her feet, she ran as fast as she could along the river in the opposite direction of the current and away from the remaining two soldiers. She didn't get very far before the sound of machine gun fire forced her to dive face-first into moist earth. Scores of rounds ripped into the trees around her. Wiggling like a snake toward a wide trunk for cover, she wished she had headed toward the man she had killed instead so she could have claimed his weapon.

The man she had killed.

Thinking about it, she felt no remorse. Maneuvering around the tree, she got to her feet and pressed her back against the trunk.

Silence.

A glowing red dot moved along the trees like a firefly. Then it appeared a hundred yards away: a footbridge spanning the river to the other side. If she could only reach it …

They'll cut me in half before I can cross it.

A twig snapped and a footstep fell. One of the soldiers had closed in on her. The red dot on the tree ahead told her he was approaching on her right side.

Holding her breath, Maria prepared to expose herself in order to shoot the predator. Then she saw another red dot on her left.

Damn it!

With no other choice, she broke into a run, zigzagging in a manner that allowed her to keep trees between her and the soldiers. Machine gun fire ripped the night, and she heard shots splintering bark. The footbridge drew closer: eighty yards … fifty … twenty … Maria ran out of trees for cover and hid behind the last one.

The soldiers stopped firing. The helicopter's spotlight barely reached where she stood, but moonlight gleamed on the river. She had gotten so close.

Sweat trickled down her face and stung her eyes. Her lungs felt on fire. Two laser beams sliced the darkness on either side of her, but one of them moved farther upstream, which meant she had a chance to take out the closer soldier. If she could get his weapon, she'd stand a chance of taking out the third soldier as well.

Maria waited, listening for the man's footsteps, but heard none. And then he stood right beside her in profile,
facing the footbridge, unable to see her because the night vision goggles limited his periphery vision. She could shoot him at point-blank range and steal his gun, but the shot would alert the remaining soldier, reducing the odds of her making it to the footbridge. Instead, she swung the butt of the Walther's grip into the soldier's nose, shattering it.

He uttered a startled cry, which she doubted could be heard over the distant drone of the chopper, and he dropped his weapon to reach for his nose.

Maria stepped before him and pistol-whipped his head. He sank to his knees, and she hit him again; this time he went down.

She scooped up the machine gun and ducked behind a different part of the tree to hide from the other soldier, whose laser beam continued to move away from her. She pulled the goggles off the man at her feet and wore them around one wrist like a bracelet. Then she ran.

“I guess you owe me something, all things considered,” Jake said.

Russel's face darkened a shade. “Don't kid yourself. In the course of defending Seguera in Manila, I was forced to take certain measures that became more public than I wished. As a consequence, I am something of a man without a country, which makes this country look not so bad in comparison. I have reason to believe my former colleagues in the CIA have been sanctioned to kill me on sight should I show my face in countries where I previously conducted
business. They really don't care what I do in this shit hole. I've always been a free bird, a wandering spirit. Now I'm as much a prisoner here as you are.”

“Let's trade places.”

“I don't think so. You've cost me in other ways, too. I had stock in Tower International. It's worthless now. And I held seats on the board of directors for White River Security and the Reichard Foundation, with which you became intimately acquainted. White River is in disarray; the FBI's going after them with everything they've got. The Reichard Foundation simply ceased to exist. All because those caesars met with a suspicious case of asphyxiation.”

The Order of Avademe.
Old Nick had belonged to their organization at one time. “The world is better off without them. The economy certainly is.”

“Don't tell yourself that you've changed anything. Their lackeys have splintered off into smaller groups and are quietly plotting to pick up the slack. The free market was never designed to be truly free. Guys like you are meant to sweat income taxes, and guys like me are meant to retire in mansions.”

Jake believed him. “Reichard and Taggert trusted you even though you worked for Old Nick?”

“They hired me to spy on him, which is why he put Kira in charge of the company. They were smart old codgers, but for my money, Nick was always one step ahead of them.”

“He made fucking monsters and you sold them.”

Russel snorted. “Nick's Biogens were no different than munitions or anything else I sold to countries like the
Philippines and Pavot Island.”

“Those things ate people!”

Russel choked back laughter. “You should see the things Malvado has harvesting his drugs.”

“And you work for him.”

“He's no worse than Nick was, and you worked for Nick. He's no worse than Reichard and his boys were, and you wanted to
join
their club. Spare me your high-and-mighty-white-knight routine.”

“Malvado uses black magic to rule this island. The population lives in fear. Aren't you afraid?”

“Uh-uh.” Russel reached in between the buttons of his shirt and took out a bronze medallion. “Recognize this?”

Jake stared at the amulet, with its carved figure of a hero wielding a sword against a monstrous demon. “The Anting-Anting.” According to legend, the Anting-Anting protected its wearer from demons.

“Seguera gave it to Nick. I took it off Nick's corpse and wore it when I killed Seguera.”

“How poetic of you.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I needed a cheap vacation.”

“And somehow you wound up eating dinner with a man suspected of belonging to a terrorist organization?”

“He was an artist. I paid him to draw a portrait.”

“Of whom?”

Jake held his tongue.

Opening the folder on the table, Russel took out a piece of paper. He turned it over, revealing the portrait
Humphrey had drawn of Maria. “I think this vacation has cost you a lot.”

Maria stormed onto the wooden bridge, her footsteps echoing through the night. Almost immediately, she heard a man shouting at her. Turning, she saw a red laser beam moving along the wooden railing in her direction. She ran. Halfway across the bridge, gunshots rang out behind her. Spinning on one heel, she saw the silhouette of the man she had taken the gun from aiming a handgun at her.

The red dot of the machine gun she now held found the man's sternum, and she squeezed the trigger, igniting the darkness with muzzle flashes. The recoil knocked her off her feet, which saved her life: machine gun fire coming from the direction of the other soldier decimated the wooden railing where she had just stood. Over the gunfire, she heard the man she had shot scream, followed by a splash.

Rolling over, Maria crawled across the rest of the bridge. Behind her, the man continued to scream and splash, thrashing around in the river. As soon as her raw palms slapped grass and dirt, Maria launched herself into the woods. Ducking behind the first tree wide enough to accommodate her, she peeked around it.

The soldier she had shot staggered around in water up to his hips. Half a dozen shapes as silver as the moonlight clung to him, and blood flowed from open wounds. He sank below the surface, which turned turbulent, and did not rise.

Maria's eyes widened.
Piranhas!

The remaining soldier ran to the embankment and stared at the water where his comrade had fallen. Then he looked straight at Maria and aimed his machine gun at her. She aimed hers as well. The man lowered his weapon, and his body convulsed. At first Maria thought the sound she heard over the river's rushing was sobbing. Then she raised the night vision goggles to her eyes and activated them. The world blossomed with bright green light, and she saw the man had doubled over with laughter. Lowering the goggles, she watched him shake his head and walk away.

What the hell?

Turning from the river, she entered the woods.

Jake tried not to react to the sight of Maria's portrait.

“You entered the country with Maria Vasquez.” Russel took a printout from the folder and held the photocopy of Maria's passport photo beside the drawing. “Quite a resemblance, don't you think? That terrorist had talent.”