Deception Island (24 page)

Gabriel charged in, followed by five men. He shouted a command and the overhead light buzzed and clicked on, bleaching the room white. Holly blinked, resisting the urge to bring her hands to her eyes. Birds squawked in the trees. It had to be near dawn.

Gabriel held a smartphone and was looking from it to the women, searching for something—someone. As he turned his back to her, Holly caught a glimpse of the screen—a close-up of Amina's face. Holly stopped breathing. As Amina shrank into the wall, Holly shuffled in front of her, wishing she could make her disappear.

He grabbed a woman sitting along the far wall, yanking her hair to force her face up, compared her with the photo and shoved her aside. One of the men called out from the back of the room, pulling another woman to her feet. He hauled her forward. Like Amina, she had shoulder-length black hair and wore a dirty yellow dress.

Gabriel pointed at the phone. “You?”

She shrank back, but the goon clamped a hand on the back of her neck, forcing her face to within inches of Gabriel's. Gabriel spoke to his men. Two looked from the screen to the woman's terrified face. They grunted in agreement. Gabriel fisted her hair and hauled her across the floor. Her legs bumped over the other women as they scrambled aside. Her scream echoed off the walls.

Holly sensed movement behind her. She grabbed for Amina. Too late.

“It is me you look for,” Amina said, standing, her chest heaving against her dress.

“No!” Holly shouted, as three men descended on Amina. Gabriel let the other woman go, and shook tufts of her hair from his hands. He spat an order, his face contorted. Holly stood, awkwardly, clutching her hands behind her. “I did it. I took her photo. She didn't know.”

Gabriel advanced and gripped Holly's neck, crunching her head against the wall. She jabbed at him, but her fist glanced off his stomach. He shoulder-charged her.
Boof
. As her lungs sucked in air, he punched her in the gut. Red-hot pain shuddered through her torso. She retched and vomit surged into her mouth. She let it go, channeling it into his face.

He released her. As she slumped to the floor, he staggered out the door, spitting out her stomach contents. Hate filled her chest. If that was the last thing she saw, she'd die satisfied.

Two men grabbed Holly's feet—one each—and dragged her out. Her spine bounced down the hut's concrete steps. She drew her arms over her head to protect her skull. No use pretending her hands were still tied. Her shaky vision relayed that they were doing the same to Amina behind her.

They shoved Holly onto a patch of wet grass, a boot shooting flames into her ribs. Amina skidded to a halt beside her. A dozen armed men closed in around them. Chamuel sliced a machete through the air in figure eights. Holly swallowed. Through the men's legs, she spotted folded white plastic, lit by a beam of light from the veranda. Another body bag.

Chapter 24

Holly grabbed Amina's shoulders. “You know what this means,” she whispered. “Your message got out. Help is on the way.”

Amina circled trembling arms around Holly. “Yes, this is good,” she squeaked. “This is very good. Excellent.”

An arm closed around Holly's neck and wrenched her back. Amina's wide, wet eyes locked onto Holly's as Bandanna Guy hooked back the woman's arms, pinning her. Holly felt the same happening to her. For Amina's benefit, she didn't waver her focus. She sensed the circle of men parting to let someone through—Gabriel, wiping his face with a handkerchief.

“Yes, you watch, American,” he said, his voice shaking with rage. “You did this.”

“People are looking for her.”

“That is why she must die. Followed by you.”

One of the men closed in on Amina. Holly smelled Chamuel's fish-oil breath.

“No! It was me who took the photo and posted it. She didn't know.” Holly tried to twist out of her captor's grip, but he jerked her back.

“Then her death is on your conscience.”

“Don't do this, you sicko!”

A tear slipped down Amina's cheek, but her lips set in a firm line. Holly's eyes watered as she thrashed. “No!” Through blurred vision she watched Chamuel lift the steel blade and slice Amina's neck. Oh, God. The woman whimpered briefly, then gurgled. Bandanna Guy released her, and her hands flailed at her neck.

No, no, no
. Holly's vision streamed with crimson, the color melting into the yellow. She yanked against her captor. Gabriel issued an instruction and the grip relaxed. Tumbling forward, she gulped in a breath and scooped her arms around Amina, pulling the woman's head and shoulders into her lap. Blood bubbled from the wound. She could do nothing but hold Amina's cheeks as they paled, the liquid seeping thick and warm through Holly's fingers and clothes.

“You did it, Amina.” Holly's tears dripped into the red river. “Help is coming. Hold on.”

Amina's eyes lost their focus. Her body fell from weak to limp, her head lolling back to reveal a yawning wound. Blood rushed out. Holly buried a yelp and wrapped her arms around Amina, kissing her forehead, cradling her head and neck. She was gone. And Gabriel was right—this was on Holly's conscience. Tweeting had been too bold, too public. What would Gabriel do now he knew people were onto him? Kill all the women?

A sob sounded from among the men. Holly jerked her gaze from Amina. One of the Lost Boys was crying?

No, not a soldier. Gabriel crouched on the ground, hands sandwiching Theo's pale cheeks, forcing him to look at the bloody scene. The boy trembled, his eyes red and haunted. Gabriel spoke in his ear in a soft, fatherly tone.

“You made him watch?” Holly cried. “You're even more of a psycho than I thought.”

Gabriel stood, holding the boy firmly by his shoulders. Theo dropped his gaze to the ground. Gabriel slid a hand under his chin and jerked it up. He couldn't see Theo had closed his eyes.

“I told him it was your choice the whore should die,” said Gabriel, “like it was your choice to kill his father. And now it is his choice to kill you.”

Gabriel held his palm out to one of the men. A handgun was slapped into it. Gabriel enclosed Theo's hands around the weapon, threading the kid's finger onto the trigger and pointing it at Holly. Theo's eyes flew open. The gun clicked as Gabriel cocked it.

“Do not worry, my dear. He has had some training. It should not take him more than six shots to kill you.” He stepped away from Theo, leaving the gun in the boy's trembling hands. “Woman!” he shouted.

Theo's translator shuffled into the circle. She swallowed, crossing herself.

“Tell him again that killing her will cleanse his father's soul and send him to heaven. That if he fails, his father goes to hell.”

“His father is alive,” shouted Holly, as the woman shakily translated. “You're a fucked-up whacko, you know that?” She should feel fear, but her body shook with anger. “A coward.”

Gabriel's face darkened. “The only coward is the man who couldn't kill you in the first place.”

He turned to the translator. “Tell him to do it quickly, before his father's soul descends. Tell him it will make the pain go away.”

“No, tell him his father is alive.” The woman hesitated. A man behind her planted a kick up her ass. She lurched forward and gabbled out the translation. Theo raised the gun and aimed it at Holly's chest, his downturned mouth trembling. Tears filled his eyes. The man behind Holly skirted out of the way. “Fire,” said Gabriel quietly.

* * *

Rafe navigated by tide and current to the first buoy—an empty white plastic container, with a rope trailing down to a crayfish trap. In the cage, a tangle of creatures clambered over each other, antennae waving. He turned inland, kicking for the far side of the rocks while keeping clear enough that a surge wouldn't smash him into them. He rose to the waterline, crocodile-like, and spun in a three-sixty. Nothing but sand, rocks, trees and sky. He pulled off his mask and spat out the reg.

Moving swiftly and silently, he stashed his wet suit and dive gear in the heart of a near-impenetrable banyan tree and stole a green T-shirt from a cabin that faced away from the others. His shorts would dry quickly enough. He stuffed pilfered bottles of water into his pockets, along with the iPhone and Makarov, still in their dry bag.

He did a creeping recon of the lodge—half a dozen huts and a simple communal eating hall. A woman swept a veranda with a broom made from twigs lashed to a pole with homemade twine. Two men bent over a gutting table, scaling and filleting fish as they chatted in their own language. No prisoners, no guns, no Gabriel, no Theo. Rafe's stomach tightened. If it was cover for a people-smuggling operation, it was good cover. He might yet be looking for a Windsurfer.

He crept through the coconut palms until he found the narrow dusty road that linked the lodge with the airstrip. He eyed up a dirty van parked in a clearing. The airstrip was a good ten kilometers away, but he couldn't risk the engine noise alerting the staff. His greatest advantage—his only advantage—was surprise. He could use a run, anyway.

He unfolded the dry bag and checked the phone for messages. Flynn was still trying to pin down his contact. Too late,
mon ami
. Rafe pulled out the gun and checked it.

Son of a bitch.

* * *

Holly eyeballed Rafe's son, willing his gaze to lift from her heart—where he was aiming the gun—to her face. “No, Theo.”

“Tell him not to listen,” said Gabriel. “Tell him she is possessed by the devil.”

Holly talked over the woman's translation, struggling to think of words Theo might understand.
“Non, Theo. Non. Papa...
ah...not
mort. Papa non mort.”
All wrong, dammit. What the hell was the French word for alive? The phrase
vive la France
sprang into her mind. Didn't that mean long live France?

“Tell him to do it,” hissed Gabriel. “His father descends to the devil while he waits.”

“Papa...vive... Papa...vive.”
Holly scrambled for the amulet under her T-shirt. She held it out to Theo in her bloodied hand, like a talisman. She pointed at his pendant.
“Papa mi amore.”
Shit, no, that was Spanish, or Italian, or something. There must be some French line she'd heard in a movie.

Theo's gaze fell on the amulet. He looked down at the stone on his own chest, rising and falling with his desperate breaths.

Gabriel yelled in Theo's ear: “Pull the trigger, you stupid rabbit.”

Theo's bewildered gaze linked with Holly's. She didn't dare blink.

“She is the devil! Tell him!” Gabriel jerked a hand to the translator.

“Papa mi amigo,”
cried Holly. Oh, God, that really wasn't right. Entirely different language. What was that Shakira song, with the title that was French for “my love”? One of her prison guards had sung the damn thing for a year.

“Mon amour!”
she yelled, over the woman's translation. That was it!
“Mon amour.”
She pulled at the amulet, as if the words were hidden in it.
“Papa est mon amour. Papa est vivant.”
Vive
high school French.

Theo blinked, as Holly repeated her shouts. She'd probably bamboozled the kid, pouring mumbo-jumbo at him like the possessed nutcase Gabriel was making her out to be.

“Mon papa est encore vivant?”

Holly didn't so much hear the faint words as read them on Theo's lips, and read the hope bringing life into his eyes.

“
Si
... I mean,
oui
...
Papa est encore vivant
.” God, that had better mean what she thought it did:
Papa is still alive
.

Theo's focus pulled back to the gun. He looked up at Gabriel, his hands shakily following the direction of his eyes until the barrel pointed at the warlord's face. A goon stepped toward Theo. Gabriel held up a palm, stopping the man, but keeping his eyes fixed on Theo.

“What did you tell him, you American bitch?”

“I told him his father wouldn't want him killing anyone.”

Gabriel looked at the translator for confirmation. She nodded briskly, lips tight.

“Tell him I am his father now.” Gabriel held his hand out for the gun, breathing heavily. “He belongs with us. He will have everything he needs here.”

The woman spoke quietly to Theo, her focus darting between him and Gabriel. Holly got the feeling she wasn't so much translating as giving a pep talk. She'd better be telling him not to shoot. Theo's hands were too young to have blood on them.

Holly's, on the other hand...

With all eyes focused on Theo, Holly slowly laid Amina on the ground and launched forward. Her hand closed on metal. Theo's grip loosened and she pulled the gun away, fumbling to get her fingers in the right places. Shouts pelted around. A figure flew at her. She stumbled backward into the gap the men had left and her assailant landed at her feet. They didn't need to know she'd never fired a gun in her life. Could she take out Gabriel? She aimed it at his chest. She just needed to pull the trigger, right? Gabriel had already cocked the thing.

Gabriel snatched the machete from Chamuel and wrapped an arm around Theo, holding the bloody blade at the boy's throat, shielding himself with the kid's body. Shit. She'd hesitated and lost her chance. In her peripheral vision, she counted at least three rifles trained on her.

“Go on, American. You want to kill him, like you killed his father? Or should I kill him for you? Your choice.”

Theo whimpered. Scarlet blood trickled down the blade, mixing with Amina's. Hot with fury, Holly tossed the gun at a goon's head. Another guy shoved her to the ground. Gabriel lifted the machete from Theo's throat and the boy ran to Holly, teeth clenched. She threw her arms over her face, bracing for a pummeling for grabbing his gun and wasting the opportunity—or would he attempt to finish her by hand? How far had his “training” gone?

He threw his skinny body onto her, threaded his arms around her waist and...hugged her. Oh, God. She froze, then wrapped him up, her arms overlapping his narrow back. If only she could cast a spell that would transport him to safety. She took a shuddering breath, her body aching with the need to protect this kid.

“
Papa est vivant, Papa est vivant
, Papa's okay, sweetheart,” she whispered, cradling his head. This was a precious part of Rafe—the most precious part. If she could safely deliver him to his father, any price she paid would be worth it.

Hell, if this was how protective she felt for the kid after just meeting him, she could only imagine the deep hole Rafe was in right now. He must be dying inside. No wonder he'd been wound so tight. She hugged tighter, as if she could bridge that gap between Rafe and Theo—yesterday she had been embracing the father, today the son. She felt like she had a stake in both their lives. How crazy was that?

“We're wasting time.” Gabriel gave orders to his men. A couple of them closed in on Holly and Theo, and yanked them apart. Theo's fingernails almost gouged Holly's arms as he tried to hold on. “Death is too good for you. I want you crying over that slant-eyed whore every day you're chained up for the rest of your miserable life.”

Gabriel relayed another order and a man began searching Amina—for the phone, no doubt. Holly yanked it out of the back of her underwear and threw it at Gabriel's head. She couldn't risk them searching her. It missed, dammit.

One of the men chucked the body bag to Bandanna Guy, who stood over Amina. He tore off her clothes, ripped out her small hoop earrings—taking chunks of her ears with them—and rolled her inside. With a zip, she was gone. Holly gripped clumps of grass. Inside, she screamed with rage.

Gabriel spoke, gesturing at the body bag. The helicopter pilot stepped up and lifted one end of the bag, shouting at another guy, who quickly took the other. How many white bags littered the ocean floor around here?

As they staggered away, Gabriel sought out Chamuel, giving what sounded like urgent instructions. Several men entered the hut, shouting at the women. They filed out, blinking. Devi stared openmouthed at Holly's blood-soaked T-shirt. A man shoved Holly. She took the hint and fell into line, frustration eating at her gut. What was the way out of this? At least five guns were trained on them. Would they all be executed?

“What are you doing with us?” she shouted at Gabriel.

“Moving my stock. Your training period is over. Time for you all to start paying your keep. If anyone comes to investigate your friend's claims, they will find nothing more than a modest tourist resort.” He gripped Devi by the scruff of her neck. “And from now on, every time you attempt to defy my orders, my American whore, I will order my men to kill a woman. You are worth a lot of money, but they are not.”