Author's note: Thanks again for reading and for the wonderful reviews from Cherylann, ErinJordan, Paulina Ann, and EvergreenDreamweaver. I think chapter 11 was the hardest chapter of this for me, but the story didn't work without that scene. Won't say the rest is easy reading, but I like to have a light comment or two thrown in and the last chapter just didn't allow for that. Believe it or not, I'm mostly a smile on my face all day sort!
CHAPTER 12
"Why, exactly, should I believe that?"
"Mrs. Hardy, we've been over this. I know Fenton. He'd want you to help me out if you can." Elias Dahl tapped his foot impatiently, glaring at his subordinate in the corner more than at the detective's wife seated before him.
Laura, on the other hand, devoted none of her attention to where Nicolas Shuman lurked, having dismissed the strange little man almost as soon as they arrived at the embassy. His fidgety manner had only increased the moment Mr. Dahl met them at the gate, demanding to know what had delayed retrieving her from the airport. Nothing in the three days since had changed her mind about his uselessness.
"Mr. Dahl, I can't see what that has to do with anything. I have recounted every detail I possibly can of our stay on Ranei. I have done so politely and I think with a good deal of forbearance. My husband and sons are trapped there, and I would certainly provide any potentially helpful information whether you knew Fenton or not. I'd provide it if my family had never heard of the place. That said, I do not know a single other thing that can help you, or anyone else on that God forsaken island. Now, if you would kindly permit me to leave here, I will check into a hotel downtown until someone can tell me something about my family. Something you promised to do days ago, I might add."
"I cannot tell you what I do not know." Dahl stared at her, trying not to lose his patience.
"Odd, then, that you think I can." Laura raised an eyebrow at the man and rose, smoothing the navy skirt an embassy staffer had produced out of thin air. The accompanying blue oxford blouse was a bit loose on her petite frame, but it was clean, and after the last few days that pretty well summed up her fashion requirements. "If you'll excuse me."
"Wait." The man riffled through the folder of papers in front of him, extracting a single photograph which he handed to her. "I know these are horrible circumstances, but Fenton and I really have worked together."
Laura examined the photograph, her husband standing with the government agent before her, apparently in the lobby of a commercial building. "I still don't see the relevance. My husband's line of work brings him in contact with a number of strangers from all walks of life, so a photograph certainly doesn't assure me that the two of you are friends, or even that he has a favorable opinion of you. A photo of Fenton and Jimmy Hoffa wouldn't particularly surprise me."
Elias tried to soften his expression, appeal to the woman somehow. "We need your help. You were there during the takeover; we weren't. The details you can give us will assist in stabilizing Ranei. They may even help us locate your family."
"And to think the US intelligence community has made it this long without me. I'm not insensitive to the value of eyewitness accounts, Mr. Dahl, but I've told you everything I know, twice. This argument is ridiculous anyway. Everyone else on that plane is also a firsthand observer, and you've been willing to let them return home. You haven't so much as allowed me to call home. I realize Fenton's account might be more useful than most people's, but being his wife doesn't necessarily instill some sort of detection training by osmosis. Now for goodness sake, let the embassy process my travel documents so I can leave this building!"
So much for getting on her good side. "Mrs. Hardy, there's a certain validity to all of that, but there are angles here you haven't considered, and don't need to. Trust me on this one."
"What angles?"
"That's not important."
"Anything that involves my family is important. I need to make contact with everyone in Bayport, at least let them know where I am, and I need to find someone who will actually look for Fenton and the boys instead of spending their time harassing me."
Dahl swiped a hand down his face; unable to shake the feeling that he was wasting time. "Not yet. Look, at some point, we're going to be able to rescue your husband. When we do, he'll either want to return home, or go after your sons, depending on their situation at the time. I can't allow that. I need him to come here, which is going to be a whale of a lot easier to sell if you're here."
Laura snorted out a truncated laugh. "You know, you're the second one of Fenton's supposed 'friends' to try to manipulate him into something on this trip."
"I wouldn't call it that."
"What would you call it, then? Kidnapping?"
"That's inane. I wouldn't expect you to understand this, so you'll have to accept the necessity of it." She was really becoming annoying.
Laura widened her eyes another notch. "You wouldn't expect me to…. I'm not unable to follow your thinking, I just don't agree with it."
"Laura, please…"
"Don't you 'Laura please' me – It's Mrs. Hardy. In the unlikely event I decide I like you well enough for you to call me Laura; I'll be sure to take out an ad in the Times. I realize powerful men in your world choose their wives to look good in a photo op with the Ambassador or efficiently manage their French art collection, but when Fenton proposed to me he was a rookie cop who needed a vapid trophy wife like he needed a hole in the head. You'd have to ask Fenton what his criteria might have been, but let me assure you I am not a stupid arm decoration! I'm well aware you can't legally force me to stay here!"
Dahl opened his mouth to say something else, then reconsidered and closed it, storming out of the room with Nicolas Shuman in his wake.
The double doors didn't completely close on the rebound bounce as he slammed them, leaving Laura facing an embassy guard in the hall. She made a concerted effort to calm down, clenching and unclenching her hands. The young man never moved, but couldn't quite hide a small up twitch of his lip.
"What are you smiling at?" Laura's voice had returned to her typical calm, the question more teasing than angry.
"Not smiling, ma'am."
"Oh, I see that grin, corporal." Definitely back to teasing now - he couldn't be much older than Frank, and it wasn't his fault she was essentially being held here. On the other hand, if she got the chance to slip by him, she would.
"Just noting that you and your husband may be a good deal more alike than Agent Dahl expected. Although I suspect you would do fine at managing that art collection."
"Count on it."
The pair was still looking at each other when Mr. Shuman re-emerged in the corridor, a sudden eruption of noise trailing behind him. He started to walk past Laura when she stepped out to block his path, sensing the charged energy in his usual shuffling stride. The number of voices and barked orders in the suite down the way was definitely increasing.
"What's going on?"
"I don't have an answer for that, Mrs. Hardy. Return to your room and someone will update you."
"How about I'll return to my room if you give me a guess?"
Nicolas shrugged, deciding that might be the quickest way to get back to what he was doing. "Something is going on in Ranei. I really don't know what yet, but the reports are renewed military activity all over the capitol. Return to your room, Mrs. Hardy. Now."
Laura didn't bother to bristle at the 'now,' trying to decide just what this meant for the remainder of the Hardys.
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The window pane shattered, splattering shards of glass across the rattan of the table and into Fenton's hair. The detective had been transferred from the floor by the bed to one of the chairs a few hours ago, sitting sullenly as Cil arranged and rearranged a sheaf of papers. Supposedly, they were both spending the evening waiting on Clipboard. Waiting didn't involve Clipboard's threats, or Rao's punches, so Fenton had willingly resigned himself to it over the last day while the pair was noticeably absent. He'd worn the skin from his wrists and ankles trying to escape, but after the first futile hours on the day the buses left, that was more out of obligation than genuine hope. Well, obligation and as a way to distract himself from constantly thinking about Laura and the boys. It wasn't proving all that effective as a worry stopping mechanism, actually. A second shot through the window missing his head by an inch did a somewhat better job of diverting his attention.
Cil dove as the third retort sounded immediately after the first two, flattening himself against the wall beneath the window as he drew his gun, eliminating any thought Fenton might have had that his captor knew what the thunder was going on. Uncertain if the attack represented a rescue or a splinter faction of the rebels, the detective took the only option he had to protect himself. Lurching sideways as hard as he could, he toppled the chair, crashing it to the floor as Clipboard burst into the room.
"How many?"
"What, sir?" Cil cast a startled look at the other man before returning his attention outdoors.
"Idiot. How many men are outside?" Clipboard shoved Fenton's chair toward the more protected wall. "And like it or not, our prize here has minimal value if you allow him to be shot."
"More than I can count, sir."
"Utterly delightful." Clipboard moved to flank Cil at window, both of them alternating methodically picking off soldiers outside with ducking incoming fire. Once the older soldier had viewed the developing situation, he scooted along the floor to the tipped chair. A knife plucked from his belt made short order of the ropes binding Fenton.
"Come along, Hardy, you are with me."
Ordinarily, a list of Fenton's objections to that would have taken several days to compose, even with the gun prodded into the small of his back. Standing near a busted out window with half a platoon using the room for target practice, though, made it seem like the most charming of invitations.
The hotel lobby had been transformed yet again, this time filled with assorted rows of cots and crates of supplies. Small groups of soldiers scattered in numerous directions, clearly fighting more troops out on the grounds. Several men who seemed to be issuing orders peeled off to approach Clipboard as soon as he arrived. In spite of how he felt about the man, Fenton grudgingly admitted that Clipboard took the chaos in hand, quickly compiling information and spewing directives. Or at least that's how it appeared. Having no need to include him in the conversation, the combatants had reverted to their own tongue.
Fenton found himself tugged to the ground by one of the cronies, a set of handcuffs fastening behind him. Fortunately, the sheer size of the lobby kept most of the fighting away from the helpless detective, until the faction outside decided they'd had enough. Several small explosions shook the perimeter of the structure, raining down debris and setting the hotel ablaze.
Clipboard assessed the ensuing pandemonium at a glance, instantly changing tactics from defense to escape. A dozen corpses haphazardly decorated the floor, double that many men were injured beyond help. A shouting of names over the growing roar gathered eight men to his side, most sporting minor injuries. They might have forgotten Fenton there in the decision to leave the hotel to its fate, had a chunk of the timbered ceiling not chosen that moment to surrender.
"Ahhhgg!" Fenton tended to be reserved in the yelling department, but burning wood spearing your calf will alter that for the most stoic of individuals.
The sound drew Clipboard's attention his way and Fenton found himself half carried out a side hall doorway and tossed in the back of an open jeep. The noise of the engine was lost in the cacophony of weapons fire and the increasing blaze, both punctuated by screaming and collapsing walls.
"Abandoning your men?" Fenton forced the words out between shallow breaths, primarily trying to focus on something other than the soldier that was now prodding at his leg.
"Abandoning is a strong word, Mr. Hardy. Remaining in a burning building would seem to be of no benefit to our cause, would you not agree? Our forces will regroup from this setback, I assure you." Clipboard answered him from his perch in the front passenger seat, expression indiscernible in the waning light.
"Good, that was going to keep me up nights. Still, I doubt the injured you just left to roast will see it that way."
"Regrettable, but necessary." The militia leader surveyed the American's leg with a practiced eye. "I do believe your splinter is problematic, but not limb threatening, Fenton. When we stop, I will see about having it removed."
Thirty minutes later, a quartet of jeeps entered the modern east end of the capital, a district unrecognizable from the week before. Street lamps no longer lit the scene, the full moon providing more illumination than was perhaps desirable. Crumbled stone littered the streets; charred beams, bricks, and automobiles strewn like tinker toys among rubble that hid far more ominous glimpses of fabric and flesh. The few standing structures were adorned with broken glass and scorch marks, serving as oversized tombstones for the surrounding destruction.
Fenton sucked in his breath at the feel of it, the horrid vision combining with a fetid odor and the more distant sounds of human habitation. He'd seen it before. Years ago, before he was a father, before he was married, before he was a detective or even a cop. He'd been pretty damned determined to never see it again.
"How many?" Fenton unconsciously echoed the query from his hotel room.
"Pardon me, Mr. Hardy? How many what?" Clipboard's intellectual tone seemed completely unaffected by the carnage.
"How many people did you murder this week so you could turn the clock back a millennium?" The questioned was subdued, almost hushed.
"Murder, Mr. Hardy? Would you consider the soldiers of your own revolution murderers? I contest the application of the term, although it little surprises me from a westerner. To respond to your question; however, three."
Fenton shook his head, confident that was not the answer. "Personally, maybe. What about all the others?"
"Most of this city remains quite habitable; unfortunately this particular district had to be eliminated. The citizens are relieved to return to our traditions, liberated from influences imposed by imperialists."
"Save the rhetoric for someone who didn't watch you leave you own men to die." Intermittent machine gun fire cracked in the distance. "And I can hear how relieved they are."
"You are determined to maintain your narrow, negative view, are you? If you simply must regard me poorly, Mr. Hardy, then permit me to assist you in that endeavor. Whatever tally you have conjured for deaths on my head, be certain to add one."
The smug, predatory look on the soldier's face sent Fenton's heart to his toes. No, oh, no, no… "Who?"
"Your eldest son."
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to be continued...