Chapter 3 - Strength in Letting Go
Amanda stifled the sudden urge to beat the receiver against the dashboard. A couple of good, jarring whacks might help the connection. Of course, both Billy and Francine were unavailable, and Amanda didn't recognize the operator's voice. Perfect timing for training a new hire. Disconnected for the third time, she left the message on the voicemail Hot Line, which was accessed, like clockwork, every fifteen minutes. Of course, if the new operator was the one accessing it, there might be cause for worry.
There was nothing Amanda could do about it now.
She leaned back in the passenger seat and waited, staring at the pattern of the raindrops splattering against the windshield. Waiting--it didn't feel right, somehow, even knowing the reasons behind Lee's fears. What if something happened to him and she wasn't there? She weighed the reasons she should stay put against all the reasons to find him. It didn't take long.
She slid out of the car and started at the crackle of lightning slicing through the night sky, then flinched at the whip-crack of thunder one second later. The storm was closer now.
She reached into the back seat for her raincoat, and then froze at the unmistakable pressure of hard steel against her back. She was afraid to move, afraid to breathe, and an almost painful surge of adrenaline urged her feet to pound pavement. Before she could think of moving, her assailant gripped her arm and spun her around, shoving her against the side of the car.
Polina Khvostova brought the muzzle of the gun down to Amanda's chest. "You followed me here. Who are you, and what agency are you with?" she demanded, shoving the gun forward to punctuate each word. She used her free hand to frisk Amanda. "You don't carry a weapon?"
Amanda stayed quiet. The only thing she could do now was buy Lee time.
Grabbing her arm, Khvostova swung her away from the car and shoved her toward the docks. Amanda refused to panic. Billy would have her message in a few more minutes, and help would be on the way.
Thunder boomed, lightening jolted overhead, and the heavens broke. A stinging rain pelted Amanda, as she trudged ahead of Khvostova toward the yacht.
The storm was here.
Lee sidled along the railing, following the sound of a man speaking Russian, and then paused when another answered. Ah, two, at least. After complaining about the scarcity of good vodka and cheap women, they discussed their rendezvous with a soviet freighter waiting in international waters. They walked past his hiding place, and he pressed himself further into the shadows.
One man was short and wiry, the other large and meaty. He tried and failed to shake the incongruous image of Laurel and Hardy that sprang to mind--this was no comedy team. Their conversation faded when they stepped into the main cabin, and Lee considered following but decided he'd heard enough. He turned to slide back over the railing and froze.
Thunder rolled over the yacht, and the lightening burned the image into his soul. Khvostova had her.
She shoved Amanda up the ramp, stopping midway. "I know she was not alone," Khvostova shouted. "If you don't show yourself, I will kill her now!"
What choice did he have? None. Lee emerged from the shadows, holding his gun in the air. He knew how this nightmare would play out.
"Drop it overboard," Khvostova ordered. "Carefully, or she dies."
Lee's fingers tightened, and then he released his grip. The gun hit the water with a hollow splash, and he heard heavy footsteps behind him. He whirled to face the new threat, but there was no room to react. A flash of white, and a mountain hit him broadside. His head bounced on the unforgiving deck, and there was no comfort in his last thought before the darkness claimed him. He'd failed.
With Khvostova's gun providing the incentive, Amanda stepped onto the rolling deck. She stared at Lee, willing him to run, get up, or even move. Anything. She couldn't get to him, except through three hundred pounds of Russian muscle and several inches of steel. Lee didn't flinch when the sailor tied his hands behind his back, and he didn't resist when the "Mountain" tossed him into a small compartment below the bridge.
She was on her own.
The smaller of the two Russians smiled at her, but there was no humor in his empty, dark eyes. "I am Yuri, and the gentleman over there is Boris." The huge man nodded. Yuri continued, "We will be your--what you say? Ah, yes . . . your 'Cruise Directors,' for the remainder of your journey." He snapped his fingers, and Boris smiled, stalking toward her.
"I believe your trip will be short."
Panic rising, she looked for a way out, a weapon, anything at all. She had to defend herself, somehow. Boris approached, his hands outstretched, and she scuttled back until she hit the railing. There was nowhere to go. He wrapped his fist in the fabric of her shirt and dragged her up, until the tips of her shoes touched the deck. The cruel smile that stretched his lips did nothing to reassure her, and she grabbed his thick wrist with both hands.
"Who do you work for, little one, and who is your friend?" His stale breath choked her, and she wanted to close her eyes, to hide herself away from the pain she knew was coming. Desperate, she jerked her knee up, but he blocked it with his free hand.
Still smiling, he backhanded her, slamming her back against the railing and down onto the deck.
"Who are you? You will tell me, or you will die." Yuri's thin voice fluttered in her ears.
Lying on her side on the scuffed and filthy deck, she rewarded him with silence and concentrated on ignoring the ringing in her ears. A shadow blocked the moonlight, and she flinched, closing her eyes. But no new blows fell. Khvostova stepped over her and knelt, pulling Amanda's wrists together behind her back and tying them.
After a hurried discussion with both men in Russian, Khvostova bent down, her lips inches from Amanda's ear. "Say hello to dear Doctor Mueller for me." She stood, and her footsteps faded, as she stepped off the yacht and down onto the ramp.
Boris jerked Amanda off the deck. She tried to get her feet under her, but her wobbly legs didn't want to co-operate. He half dragged her across the deck and shoved her into the same cabin that had swallowed Lee. She staggered when the door slammed behind her. The room was sheathed in darkness, with a delicate sliver of new moonlight beaming through one tiny window.
There must be a break in the storm. A small, positive thing, but she grasped it. At the click of a padlock, her heart fell. No easy escape that way. So much for a positive outlook. Dizzy, she swayed on nerveless legs. What now?
A moan broke through the fog. "Oh my gosh." She dropped to her knees beside Lee's still form. "Lee, are you okay? Please . . . oh, please, come on . . . answer me." When he rolled over, she was rewarded with another groan.
Moonlight touched his face, and he blinked owlishly. "Mm . . . fine." He frowned and then tried again. "I'm fine, got a hard head. Amanda, are you all right? Did--did they hurt you? What happened?"
She turned her face away. "I'm okay--really. But my hands are tied."
"Can you get your hands where I can reach them?"
"I think so, give me a second." She flopped over on her side, swallowing a groan as her bruised hip scraped across the rough carpet. She couldn't give into that just yet.
Lee's cold hands gripped her fingers before working on the knots. "There. Ouch--got it. Now untie me."
As she fumbled with his ropes, a vibration resonated along the floor and up through her body. "Oh, no. We're moving," she said, hoping the deep thrum of the engines masked the tremor in her voice. It just kept getting worse and worse. What else could go wrong?
Lee nodded. "Yeah, I know." The last knot parted, and she helped him to his feet, or maybe he helped her, she couldn't tell. He grasped her hand and led her to the porthole. Turning her face to the dim moonlight, he trailed his fingers over the bruise on the side of her face, around the small cut above her eye, and across her split lip. His touch was painful and sweet. It was almost like he cared.
"Which one did this?" His voice was a gruff whisper. He pulled her into his arms and held her. Wrapped in his embrace, she felt protected, safe, and a little embarrassed. She needed to be tough, to prove she could be his partner. Strong . . . and . . .
But it felt so good.
"The big one. Boris," she said, her voice muffled in his collar. "The little one is Yuri."
"Boris and Yuri, huh? Even their names are clichés." A gentle finger under her chin tilted her face toward his. Lee's expression was almost tender, but there was steel in his tone. "Did they hurt you in any other way?"
"Oh, no. They just wanted to know about us and got a little upset when I wouldn't tell them. I'm fine. I was just afraid, and . . . I was just so worried about you." She looked out the porthole, so he wouldn't see that there were tears welling up behind her words. Her unruly thoughts didn't help, with one desperate scenario after another crowding to the surface. "This is really bad, isn't it? I'm so sorry. It's my fault. If Khvostova hadn't--"
"No. It's not your fault. If anyone's to blame, it's me. I shouldn't have brought you."
"Lee, maybe it's nobody's fault. Let's just . . . stop, all right?" She pushed away and folded her arms across her chest. The porthole beckoned--a glimmer of freedom--and she watched the silver-tipped swells slip by.
Lee reached for her and then stopped. Illuminated by the moonlight, Amanda's expression changed, from fear and hopelessness, to calculation. She stepped back and studied the window, and Lee waited. She had that look again--the one that surfaced just before she announced a hair-brained, but surprisingly effective idea. What was going on in that mind of hers?
"I could fit through there, I think."
He wasn't expecting that, and the pressure in his chest returned. It was getting to be a habit. "No way, it's too small. There's no way you'd fit." Her stubborn expression worried him. "Even if it was possible . . ." He peered through the porthole, looking up, then down. "This window overlooks the water--there's nothing under it, and the deck railing is what, four feet above? You couldn't even reach it, much less pull yourself over."
The water was moving so fast. Too fast.
She pulled him away from the porthole. "I can try," she said, almost to herself. "They're going to kill us anyway, just like Dr. Mueller. Khvostova said so." She reached, as if to touch his face, then stopped mid-gesture. "You can't fit through yourself, and, well, if I can get out, maybe I can find the key to open the door. I might be able to find a radio and call for help. I want to do something. I . . . I need to try."
He could see she was afraid, and he took her hand. She was so open, so honest with her emotions. Sometimes, he envied that. "Amanda, I won't be able to go with you, to help. I won't be there if--"
"I know," she said. "But it's the only way, isn't it?"
Think, Stetson, think. There had to be another way. What was he going to let her do? How could he? He was afraid to let her try it but more afraid to stop her. He'd rather die trying to escape, any day. How could he blame her if she felt the same way? And there was more at stake here than their lives.
"You just hold on to my feet," she said, and then shivered. "The water does look pretty cold." He heard a hint of doubt creep into her voice.
He turned her to face him and placed his hands on her shoulders. "You don't have to do this."
"Yeah, I think I do."
With Lee supporting her weight, she slipped first one shoulder, then the other through the small opening. After her shoulders were free, she began to wriggle and twist. Caught around her ribcage for a moment, she panicked when her breathing was restricted, then forced herself to relax and breathe out. Shoving against the bulkhead with both arms, she forced herself halfway through. Her hips were too wide. She squirmed sideways, slipping one leg forward and one back to change the angle. Just a little more . . . push a little harder . . .
With a 'pop', she fell through the porthole. She felt Lee's grip slip, but he grabbed her ankles, before they disappeared through the opening, and yanked backward. She dangled--head down--feeling the blood pound through her skull, and then dragged herself up, until she could dig her fingers into the sill. Lee's reassuring weight against her legs kept her from falling, and he helped pull her into a sitting position in the window.
She rested there--clinging like a barnacle to the side of the boat--until her heart ceased its wild fluttering.
Safe.
Well, she couldn't sit there forever.
"Lee, hold on, I'm going to move," was all the warning she gave him as she pulled her right leg out of his grasp. She was committed now, and she couldn't hold the awkward position for long. "When I say let go . . . let go."
She took a deep breath. "LET GO!"
Lee's comforting grasp slid down her left leg when she moved it to the sill and reached up, in one fluid motion. Her fear-slicked palms smacked the railing overhead, and then slipped when she started to fall back. With one last, adrenaline-drenched effort, she flung her arms out, flailing wildly, and managed to grab on. Terror lent her strength, and she jerked her body forward and locked both arms tight around the rain-slicked rail.
Amanda looked down--and wished she hadn't. The sight of the water rushing under her feet didn't slow the frantic beating of her heart, or stop her arms and legs from shaking. She closed her eyes and focused on breathing.
She was alive.
Wow.
His arms stretched through the porthole, Lee tried to support her. One second. Then two. Then another. And another. Heart pounding, he expected her to plummet past him, and he was afraid to breathe, afraid to break the spell that held her above the rushing water. Several interminable seconds passed, and he allowed his tight muscles to relax. Somehow, she'd done it.
Wow.
Her breathless voice drifted down. "I'm okay . . . um, you can let go now." His panicked grip had to be cutting off her circulation, so he forced himself to let go. When her feet left the sill, he looked out to see her slim form disappear over the railing. He stepped back and leaned against the sill, stunned that she'd done it.
And that he'd let her.
What had he been thinking? This was a mistake. He needed to move, so he paced back and forth across the small room, slamming his clenched fist into the palm of his hand in time with his steps. His tortured thoughts fell into the same rhythm.
Where was she now? What was she doing? Where was she?
