Chapter 11
Harm had been awake for a little while when he heard the sounds of footsteps outside his makeshift prison. His head throbbed, sending red streaks shooting through the darkness surrounding him, but the pain had been receding by degrees until it was almost bearable. He heard a metallic rattle—a chain through the door, he guessed—and then a blinding shaft of light speared through the dark. He flinched, instinctively turning his head away.
When he turned back, a jumbled figure filled the doorway. It immediately resolved itself into two as Rupert thrust someone into the room. Harm's heart lurched. The new captive fell forward heavily, landing on hip and shoulder with a muffled cry of pain. Harm caught a glint of silver at the collar before Rupert's movements allowed the light to sweep across his captive's face. Mac looked up at him, her brown eyes wide and frightened. She'd been gagged and her hands bound behind her. Her pantyhose were gone, her bare feet tied at the ankle. No doubt Rupert had known the slippery hose would give her some advantage in trying to wriggle out of her bonds. Mac's uniform skirt rode unseemly high on her legs, and Harm caught a glimpse of the long, bloodied abrasion on one knee from the hard landing.
With a wordless growl Harm surged forward, yanking at his bonds, but the ropes remained tightly wound about his wrists and forearms. Whatever else Rupert might be, he was a sailor who knew his knots.
Rupert shook his head in mock exasperation. "You're a hard man to keep unconscious, Commander. I'm going to have to start bashing you over the head if you don't settle down."
Harm took the hint and went still. "What are you going to do with us?" he demanded after a moment.
Rupert shrugged, seemingly satisfied with his capitulation. "I haven't entirely decided yet, but I'm working on it." He grinned. "Don't worry, I'll let you know." And with that, he left, taking the light with him. Harm heard the chain rattling as he secured the door, and then the fading sound of his steps.
Eventually, there was nothing but silence and the faint sound of water lapping against the shore. Harm could smell the ocean—a comfortingly familiar mix of salt, seaweed and fish that had accompanied much of his life. As his eyes adjusted, vague shapes appeared out of the darkness. The adrenaline began to fade, leaving him lightheaded.
"Mac? Are you okay?"
Her reply was an unintelligible muddle around the gag, but even that was enough to reassure him. His relief soured almost immediately. "Good, then remind me to kill you once we get out of this."
"Mmph?"
Harm couldn't help but smile at the note of outrage in her voice. "You heard me. Listen, Sundance, you're supposed to get me out of situations like this, not join me in them." His humor faded as he leaned his head back against the pipe to which he'd been tied and closed his eyes. "Besides, my tactical skills go to pot when you're in danger." He snorted wryly. "As I'm sure you've noticed."
"Marm—"
At the warning note in her voice, he decided to drop it. "Never mind, Mac. Let's just concentrate on getting out of here. You don't by chance have some Marine trick up your sleeve for getting out of these ropes, do you?"
He heard a muted rustling as she tested her bonds, then her shadowy form shook its head. Harm sighed.
#
Mac prowled the expanse of ten-foot fence topped with concertina wire, searching for a way into the marina. Rupert—with Diane—had driven in through a cardkey operated security gate, making it impossible for her to follow in her vehicle. Every few steps she muttered another curse. The 911 emergency operator she'd talked to was probably still checking her identity. After that, she could hope for reinforcements, but by then both Harm and Diane might be dead.
I can't believe I was such an idiot! The bolt cutters, which resided in the toolbox with her tire changing and emergency roadside equipment, remained in the trunk of her Corvette. Beyond the fence, a number of buildings—more like sturdy sheds—marched in rows down to the water, where piers and boathouses intermingled. The marina housed several hundred boats, Mac guessed. They bobbed and swayed at their moorings in the gentle Virginia Beach tide. The security for a civilian marina seemed a little extreme until she recalled that they were in the same channel as the Newport News shipyards, where she knew the Stennis was currently in dry dock for overhaul.
Finding no better solution to her dilemma, she went back to the rental car and pulled one of the floor mats out of the front seat. She was going to have to climb the fence, despite the coils of razor wire. Hopefully the heavy rubber mat would be enough to keep her from getting too badly mangled.
Slinging the mat over one shoulder, she began to climb. The chain links dug into the joints of her fingers. She scrabbled for purchase with the thick toes of her boots, making the fence jingle. Reaching the top, she awkwardly braced herself, then slung the mat off her shoulder and through the coils. That cleared a narrow passage through which to thread her head and shoulders. A sharp barb caught her shoulder as she shoved herself forward. She gasped, wriggling to try to free the painful hook from her skin, but was unsuccessful. Finally, she gritted her teeth and let her weight carry her headfirst over the fence. The barb traced a line of fire across her back as she tumbled down the other side.
Mac tucked her shoulder as she fell. She landed hard, but rolled to her feet, catching at the chain links with one hand to steady herself. She flexed her shoulders to assess the injury. The motion burned, but she didn't think it was serious.
Quickly checking her sidearm, she set off in the general direction Rupert had gone.
#
"Where are we going?" Harm asked as Admiral Rupert jabbed him in the back with the muzzle of his gun. The weapon immediately returned to its usual position—pressed against Mac's temple. Rupert had the other arm wrapped around her slender waist, nearly lifting her off her feet with each step as he dragged her along. He'd crossed her ankles before trussing them, making it impossible for her to manage more than an awkward hop. Harm's ankle bonds resembled a horse hobble—a figure eight of rope that allowed him to move forward in little mincing steps.
They emerged from the storage building into a brightly moonlit night. Ahead of them, Harm could see a row of small boathouses that undoubtedly sheltered pleasure boats or perhaps personal watercraft. They weren't very big. Beyond them, the ocean lay black and mysterious, broken only by an occasional silvered ripple.
"Keep moving," Rupert said, poking him once more. Harm complied for lack of any better alternative. Mac's lack of resistance left him feeling deeply uncertain. He'd expected her to turn into a polecat as soon as Rupert freed Harm from the chair where he'd been bound, providing him an opportunity to catch the admiral off guard. But she remained docile through the entire process, and even now endured Rupert's rough handling with no more bravado than an occasional grunt of pain. Without her active cooperation, Harm didn't think they stood a chance of getting away. He could only hope she was trying to lull their captor into a false sense of security, and to that end he tried to keep an eye out, watching for the circumstances she would pick to make her move.
Their little caravan proceeded to the door of an older and rather rickety-looking boathouse, its boards warped and weathered. Rupert released Mac, allowing her to slump against the wall while he knelt to light a small kerosene lamp. Raising it awkwardly in his gun hand, he worked the combination lock that secured the door. Harm watched, memorizing the combination in case it might do him some good later on.
For a moment, he glanced past Rupert toward Mac, hoping to catch her eye, but her gaze was cast groundward. He growled to himself in silent frustration. Come on, Mac! What's wrong with you?
Rupert swung the door open. Harm was immediately overwhelmed by the thick chemical smell that rolled out of the building. Polyurethane. The owner of the boathouse must have been waterproofing recently.
Switching the lamp to his other hand, Rupert leveled the gun at Harm and gestured for him to enter. Harm did so, hearing the hollow echo as his shoes moved from dirt to wooden boards. The floor of the boathouse extended about eight feet past the edge of the water with a cutout that housed a small speedboat. The far wall had a large doorway cut in it for the boat to pass, which was covered by an ordinary garage door. The tracks arched over his head, with a garage door opener mounted just beyond. Harm wondered for a moment if Rupert planned to take them out and drown them.
He walked forward a few feet and turned, just in time to see Rupert shove Mac inside. She hopped once then fell headlong into him, knocking him off his feet as well. Harm landed on his back with Mac atop him. The rough wood dug painfully into his knuckles and elbows, eliciting a hiss of pain. He lifted his head to look at Rupert.
Highlighted by the light from the lamp, the admiral's face looked somewhat demonic. Then Rupert grinned, adding to the impression. "I gave up on the lover's quarrel idea, I'm afraid. Too hard to make convincing." He shrugged. "A tragic accident isn't nearly as poetic, but I'm afraid it will have to do. A shame you two had to pick such a dangerous place for some time alone."
With that, he raised the lantern, turning it on its side, then dropped it onto a small pile of open cans that sat just inside the door. The lantern's glass shattered. The flame inside guttered, but then flared as it touched the remaining waterproofing inside the cans. A brilliant flame shot upward like a torch. It transferred almost immediately to the nearby wall, climbing quickly toward the ceiling.
Satisfied, Rupert withdrew, closing the door behind him. A moment later, Harm heard a steady pounding at the base of the door and realized with a sense of horror that the other man had wedged something under the door to keep it from being opened.
Through her gag, Mac uttered a muffled squeak of pure terror. Harm stared at her, his shock giving way to anger. "Snap out of it, Marine!"
Harm raised his torso abruptly, dumping her off his chest. "Roll over, Mac. I need to get to the ropes on your arms."
She did so, while Harm struggled to mirror her posture and scoot close enough to catch the ropes in his fingers. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the flames spreading across the ceiling beams like some kind of malevolent creature. Smoke grayed the air, but so far it was thin enough down near the floor to allow them to breathe. Harm's lungs itched, though. There wouldn't be air much longer... that is, if the fire didn't get to them first.
The first stirrings of panic tightened his chest. He shoved it down, forcing himself to concentrate on the feel of the knots beneath his fingers. He was a sailor, too. He knew he could identify the intricate twists, and therefore undo them, if he could stay focused on the task. But the image of Mac burning to death kept creeping around the edges of his awareness, terrifying him. He eyed the slick fiberglass side of the boat where it disappeared beneath the edge of the planking on which they lay. The gap between the two was only six inches, but he suspected there was a little space on the other side as well. If nothing else, he and Mac could slip into the water to avoid the flames.
And then what? Drown? Mac couldn't walk—or swim—and without his hands free, he couldn't carry her. The boat door didn't quite go all the way down to the water, so he knew they could escape that way—if they could get out of their ropes.
The first knot gave way beneath his fingers and he crowed in pure delight. "We're going to make it out of this, Mac," he added, needing to hear the words as well. The fire had spread across the length of a second wall, sheeting it in orange. Luckily, it was the one on the far side of the boat, which shielded them from the worst of the heat, but he knew time was running out in a hurry.
"Marm?"
"Yeah, Mac?" He kept most of his attention on the knots. The second one started to loosen.
She sighed, sounding exasperated. "Marm, mimemotmap."
"What?" The second knot gave way. The third one, his fingers told him, was nasty. It was also the last. "Hang on. Just one more."
Flames covered the ceiling now, the crinkling, crackling sound loud enough to drown out the lapping of water directly beneath them. Harm's eyes began to tear. Behind him, Mac gave in to a fit of coughing as the smoke grew increasingly acrid. Bits of debris, much of it still burning, fell around them. They sizzled when they plopped in the water, and either died out or started a new little fire when they didn't.
"Aaagh!" Harm couldn't help a cry of pain as a burning fragment dropped onto his pant leg.
"Marm!"
Purely by reflex he rolled away, scrubbing his calf against the boards to extinguish the flame. As he turned back, he glanced down, but couldn't see anything except a charred hole and a glimpse of skin beneath. The spot throbbed to the frantic beat of his heart.
Well and truly terrified now, he grabbed the ropes binding Mac's hands and pried desperately at the last knot. The heat was stifling, searing his lungs with each breath.
"Mac, when this gives, I want you to get out of here. Forget about me." Dying wouldn't be so bad if he knew she was safe.
"Mo!"
"Yes! Don't argue with me. There isn't enough time!" And with that, he caught the proper loop of rope and pulled the knot free.
Mac sat up and yanked her hands forward, flinging the ropes away as if they were snakes. She immediately began to work on the ropes around her ankles. A sharp crack of sundering wood made her flinch, but she didn't look up as the far corner of the roof collapsed. The two adjacent walls began to lean inward.
Kicking, Mac freed her feet.
"Hurry," Harm urged her as she leapt to her feet.
Mac yanked the gag from her mouth, letting it hang around her neck. Another coughing fit grabbed her and she doubled over. She staggered forward a step, reaching out to brace herself against the side of the speedboat. It slid sideways about a foot, coming to rest against the far side of the cut with a shuddering thump that Harm felt through the boards beneath him. She leaned over the edge, reaching inside and rummaging around.
"Mac—" He didn't get any farther as he dissolved into a coughing fit. He curled up around the spasms, fighting to breathe.
When he came back to himself, she knelt behind him, a thick-bladed utility knife in her hand. He felt her sawing at the ropes, and winced as the blade slipped accidentally across his skin. But then the ropes parted, and all he could think about was getting away from the inferno that was about to engulf them. Grabbing the knife from her hand, he hacked at the ropes on his ankles. An inhuman roar and a sudden gust of hot air were his only warning that time had run out.
With reflexes born of many desperate situations, he grabbed Mac around the waist and rolled both of them into the water.