I watched the doorknob turn slowly. My heartbeat was so loud against my rib cage that I had a hard time hearing anything other than the pitter-patter of my frightened and overworked heart. The doorknob moved slowly. Perhaps the executioners were just as hesitant as I was about my death. Who knew at that point? My only hope was that cute French guy had decided he wanted me to be the mother of his children and thus couldn't sit back and watch me die.
Okay, I know, I was grasping at straws, but hell, I was scared out of my mind.
The door finally opened a crack and when it opened all the way, I bent my head like a bull, barreled at the man in black, and knocked him on his ass. He scrambled up and shoved me against the wall before I could hit the second guy. I felt hot breath on the back of my neck and it stunk like….cat urine and musk.
Frightened, sure, I almost lost bladder control, but I was also a survivor.
He turned me around and stepped backward. "Miss Ford."
I spit on his face.
He wiped it off with the back of his hand and chuckled.
"You remember me then?"
I didn't say a word. I just glared. I had nothing to say to the man other than fuck off and die, but I figured that wouldn't go over too well and I wanted a quick and painless death, not slow painful torture.
Cute French guy straightened his overcoat and calmed his nerves by raking a comb through his thick black hair a couple of times. He had too much hair and to be honest, he seemed a bit vain for my tastes.
"Sit. Please." Smelly guy helped me to the bed. I hesitated, and then I sat down to save my energy for when I got to break his neck like a twig. I doubted that I could do it, but I sure as hell was looking forward to trying.
"Where's Bella?" My voice cracked when I said it.
"What did you do with her, you…" My blood boiled, my jaw tightened with indignation but I couldn't think of a word strong enough to describe how much I hated that man.
"The girl is gone and that's all you need to know."
"Where is she?" I screamed again, and connected my hands with his nose. This prompted a trickle of blood to seep down his lip and I closed my eyes a split second before Frenchy had me pinned to the bed. I kicked and squirmed, then resigned my fight when I realized that he was enjoying me squirm. Pervert.
"I'm sure Mr. Munson will be pleased at how concerned you are for the safety of his little girl. You must be quite a wonderful nanny…," his eyes narrowed on mine. "among other things."
I don't know why it made me nervous, but it did. It was the way he said it and the look in his eyes when he did.
"I'm sorry that this has to be goodbye," he said. I've always hated goodbyes.
"Wait," I kicked, screamed, and connected a kick to Frenchy's groin. He let go of his strangle hold on me and I sat up. "Please, just tell me where she is."
"I cannot."
He ever so politely bowed, curled a finger into his mustache and left me alone with Frenchy. Great. Cute guy was going to be the last person I saw before I died. I would have preferred to have an ugly executioner. It was somewhat unnerving to look into his crystal blue eyes and imagine him putting a bullet in my brain. He was too cute, not too cute to kick again, but too cute to be a cold-blooded killer. The second kick got him pretty good and had him grunting in pain. I left him breathless on the floor and I had gotten to the door when Bifocal Man grabbed me by the upper arm and pulled me into the hall.
The two men exchanged some banter, a couple of laughs, and lots of oh-la-las that I didn't appreciate.
"Let me go," I shouted when they lifted me into the air. I always used to make fun of women in movies, who kicked and screamed and shouted, 'let me go,' but here I was doing it. Like it was going to help.
The funny thing was that I absolutely, without a doubt, hated people lifting me into the air. I prefer to have my feet planted firmly on the ground. "Where's the girl?" I shouted and did my best to flail and writhe and then when I went limp, I fell through their grasp and hit the floor with a thud.
"Dammit !" I shouted, because then my knees and hip ached as badly as my cheek and kidney. "Just tell me what he did with her?" Dead weight is a lot harder to carry so I continued to act like an invalid.
Ignored again.
They said nothing and lifted me up. That time Frenchy tossed me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. We made it down the hall and almost to the elevator when I heard more voices. These voices weren't French; they were something that I didn't recognize.
Both my captors drew their guns quickly and shuffled me into a banquet room. The lights were off; old chafing dishes muddled the floor as well as chairs overturned onto the dusty tables. It felt sinister and eerie and well, a lot like a scary movie where someone chops the heroine into little pieces and stuffs her behind the walls.
"Shhh," Frenchy pressed tightly against my body so that I couldn't move and he and Bifocal Man looked wide-eyed at each other as they listened intently to the voices and footsteps coming down the hall.
I, of course, couldn't just sit there with my mouth shut. I bit into the hand that was covering my mouth and let out a yelp before Bifocal Man shoved his gun into my throat.
I'm sorry, but at that point, when I knew I was walking toward my execution, I could have cared less that he rammed a gun into my throat. I started to scream again and Bifocal Man whipped me around to face him and covered my mouth with his hand.
"Do you vant to die?"
I stared blankly at the man. What kind of a question was that? It was the second time in a week that someone had asked me that question and I didn't appreciate it. Besides, it was sort of moot point because they obviously already had designed and premeditated my death and furthermore, they probably already knew in which river they were going to toss my body.
"Those men vill kill you."
As opposed to the two dudes who were holding me captive in the ugly burgundy-colored banquet hall? I was beyond confused. I bit down and screamed as loud as I could.
Frenchy growled and took two shots, splintering the wooden door and we took off running. I dropped down like a limp noodle until Frenchy snagged me up and tossed me over his shoulder again. We ran down, up, and through the halls. Frenchy was in good shape. He only dropped me once when I covered his eyes with my hands and we smacked into a wall. We both fell like lead bricks and boy I was tired of him dropping me.
I swear to God, Bifocal Man almost shot me immediately. I could clearly see the rage in his eyes when he grabbed me and tossed me over his shoulder.
Shouting resounded from the hallway. I heard more shots fired and I thought for sure my time had come. We made it down three flights of stairs and into the parking garage.
Frenchy caught his breath and then tossed me up against a wall and spit at me while he insulted me in French. I think he was angry, but he could have been asking me on a date for all I knew.
With a loud screech, a big black sedan with tinted windows pulled up. It surprised Frenchy when it smashed into him and left him perched on the hood, gasping for breath and grabbing his broken shin. He cried out in pain and I took Bifocal Man by surprise with an uppercut to the chin. He immediately started bleeding because I think the cuffs must have gashed into his skin. I tried not to look. I grabbed the gun that had fallen from Frenchy's hand and narrowed in on Bifocal Man when he finally shook off the hit I gave him.
"Don't do zis. You don't understand. Ve are Interpol," he said.
The driver of the black sedan got out and pointed his gun at Frenchy.
I was confused. I felt frazzled and I didn't know what to do. I tried to think about what Secret Agent Man had said to me in Africa and about what Brick had said to me in Bosnia. Actually, nothing helped, I wasn't meant to choose who lives and who dies. Just give me a target far away and tell me to shoot. That was my expertise. I hated this up close and personal crap.
The man holding the gun to Frenchy got out and gave me a nod. "Thanks, Miss Ford, we'll take it from here."
Okay
, so I was caught up in something sinister, but my only hope of getting to Bella stood with Frenchy and Bifocal Man so I was more inclined to believe them over the new guy who did an awful job trying to sound American. It was almost as bad as Kevin Costner trying to sound like Robin Hood in that Prince of Thieves movie.
The driver moved around and pulled out a walkie- talkie. I had enough foresight to realize that was a bad sign.
"Don't." I moved my gun over and pointed it at him.
"Don't do it. Drop it," I shouted and he did.
He dropped the gun and the walkie-talkie, and sent me an evil glare, which I actually appreciated. I didn't want to kill someone who was smiling at me. My brain throbbed, as it never had before. "Where's the girl?"
"Ve don't know!"
So, Frenchy does speak English after all. "Please, listen to us. We are Interpol. You must trust us," he gasped breathlessly. "Just think about it."
Hmm. Trust. Then again, my gut was telling me that Frenchy and Bifocal Man were telling me the truth. There were many indications that led me to believe him. Like the fact that they tranqued me instead of killing me, and the fact that they fed us well and let us have Oreos for dessert.
I knew I didn't have much time to stand around and talk about this all day. I knew that I had already hesitated too long and Brick's husky voice broke into my train of thought. I really despised the memory of his voice, but there it was again. Yelling at me in my head that I hesitate and try to rationalize too much.
I had pretty much made up my mind, but when the driver of the sedan made a move for a second gun, I didn't hesitate and I shot him twice in the chest.
Bifocal Man looked relieved, grabbed Frenchy off the hood, and struggled to get him into the car while I tried to make sense of it all. Nothing about my life made sense anymore, but I thought I just made the right decision.
I cleaned out the driver. Took his wallet, his guns, his walkie-talkie, and kept my eyes from looking at the dark spot on his chest that was growing larger by the second. The last thing I needed right then, was to pass out and lose all composure in front of the Interpol dudes. If, in fact, they were who they said they were. I had many questions and not much time according to the shouts that sounded closer and closer with every breath I took. Bifocal Man grabbed my arm, tossed me into the passenger seat before he peeled out of the garage, and rammed the barricade that blocked the entrance to the underground parking garage.
The first few minutes, I just remained quiet and thought about what had transpired, then I started getting angry and not to mention scared. I raised my gun and pointed it at Bifocal Man as he veered through traffic in an urban part of Armenia. Again, I had no idea where anything was, or where he was taking me, but that time I could think and I felt better because I had a gun.
"Okay, so who are you and where is the girl?"
Bifocal Man drew in a deep breath, kept his eyes on the road and slowed to blend in with traffic. "Inspector Russo and that is Inspector Bellavia."
I looked back at Bellavia. He was white as a ghost and clearly in horrible pain. "We should get him to a doctor," I said. "By the way, who hit me in the face?"
"You fell and hit your head on the table after you were immobilized."
That was a nice way of saying that I was shot in the back with a tranquilizer gun as if I really were a great big bear.
"Honest," Bellavia gasped from the backseat.
"Okay, okay." I was starting to get a clear picture. I dropped the gun into my lap, but kept my hand on the trigger just in case my gut was trying to outsmart me. I had so many questions. "So DuLucere is Interpol?"
"Yah, he's head of Eastern Europe division."
"Why did he snatch Bella and me then? Why not help us get safely back to the States?"
They both shrugged. "Ve vere told to take you and the girl to the safe house and wait for instructions. Zat's all ve know," Bifocal Man replied, and I believed him. What else is new?
I dropped my head back on the seat and took a couple of deep breaths. I thought we were past the worst of it, and I thought they did, too. Russo and Bellavia remained calm until another sedan that looked identical to the one we were driving almost forced us off the road.
"Merde," Bellavia shouted, and rolled down the window just enough to begin shooting out the side. I think he might have hit one of their tires because the car lurched forward and bashed into my side once again. I think I screamed like a girl a couple of times, but I was scared and convinced more than ever that these bad guys meant business.
Bellavia kept firing away until his weapon emptied; he cursed some more in French and yelled something at Bifocal Man. Bifocal Man nodded and turned sharply, smashing the two vehicles together. I screamed some more and then ducked when I saw a gun pointed directly at me. The bullet bounced off the window and I felt invincible for a couple of minutes. It was somewhat cool. I almost flipped them the bird, but I had manners.
"Where's the girl?" I shouted between screams. "Who has her now?"
"Ve don't know. DuLucere took her after we immobilized you yesterday."
He did his best to drive and calm me down. I don't think he was lying at that point.
I tossed my gun back to Bellavia because I was too afraid to crack open my window. I didn't want to take a chance that an errant bullet would find its way into my head. He took the gun, did some more very creative cursing that sounded intriguingly sexy. If we were in bed and a car full of fascist thugs was not chasing us down, I might have felt warm and gooey.
Forget warm and gooey. I stared straight ahead at the brick median that was in our path.
I clearly remember saying, "Look out!"
***
When I opened my eyes, I was hanging upside down. The pressure in my head was tremendously agonizing. I turned slightly to the left and surveyed the damage. Bellavia was unconscious in back and, thank God, I had worn my seatbelt because he looked mangled. He moved slightly just as I unbuckled and dropped onto the shattered glass, so I was sure he wasn't dead.
To my sheer delight, the other car hadn't been as lucky as we had been and was already up in flames on the other side of the median. I managed to get out with only a few minor cuts on my hands. I was sure my head was bleeding but there was no way was I going to do something as stupid as try to look in a mirror. I heard some screeches, some sirens and then I crawled around the other side to help Russo since there was no way I could pull Bellavia from the back without the benefit of a hacksaw or those Jaws of Life things that I see firefighters use.
Bifocal Man was actually somewhat handsome without his glasses and that God-awful scowl that he always directed at me.
"Come on." I grabbed his hand and tried to wake him.
"Russo." I shook him and his eyes fluttered open. "Hey," I said with a smile. "Thanks for all that coffee you brought me."
He tried to smile. The sirens got louder and he closed his eyes. "Hey," I yelled and slapped his cheeks until he opened them again. I was oblivious to the blood because I focused solely on his eyes. "Aren't you supposed to be taking your wife to Italy?" I asked with a heartfelt whimper, and kept my emotions in check. Maybe I should stay home and raise babies.
"Tuscany," he moaned and then tried to smile.
"Send me a postcard." I grinned, and firefighters, paramedics, and Armenian police officers shuffled me out of the way. The entire debacle had my mind reeling and not to mention throbbing. Bystanders were shouting, cops were yelling at firefighters and everyone were just talking too damn loud.
The chaos that ensued was nothing short of a circus. Television crews had shown up, the paramedics bandaged my head and all I could think of was Bella.
Two men with long overcoats flashed their identification and had me by the upper arms before I had time to realize what was happening. They pulled me from the back of the ambulance. I kicked and screamed as loud as I could but again, they were stronger and taller and my feet couldn't reach the ground. The second car with the bona fide bad dudes in it let
out a high pitch squeal right before it blew up and jumped ten feet into the air. The screams from the crowd didn't help in my effort to draw attention to my kidnapping. Nothing helped me.
***
I wore a shroud again. Great. I had just escaped the bad guys, lived through a potentially serious car accident and this was the thanks I got. I could hear the hum of an engine. I could feel the bumps of the road, and I could smell really bad cigars. I coughed a couple of times under my shroud and tried to wriggle enough to see anything. All I could see was my scraped up knees and my shackled hands that were in my lap.
The journey to Where-Ever-Land was long, eerily quiet and tiresome. Mostly tiresome because I hadn't had any food and I really wanted to go home. Mostly I wanted to see Bella, but I didn't think that was going to happen. I hoped that she was safe and I prayed that Bellavia and Russo were on the level, but I knew nothing.
My head throbbed because I most likely had a concussion from the car accident. Add that to my other long list of ailments and I was just one big exposed boo boo. No one said a word on the way to Where-Ever-Land and that had me thinking bad dudes again.
When the vehicle finally stopped, I smelled the air and I didn't smell cat piss so I ruled out Interpol. I didn't smell cheap cologne, so that ruled out Americans, but I did smell cow manure. That could mean anyone at that point. Perhaps Old McDonald himself had joined the International ring of terrorists. Who the hell knows?
I blew out a breath and tried to rein in my emotions but it was hard. I was so tired that my hair felt heavy. Heavy, like there was a giant gorilla sitting on my head. I could barely move and they had to carry my lifeless body into what I was assuming was a barn because it reeked so badly of cow dung and moldy alfalfa.
"Miss Ford," an eerie voice bellowed in my ear. He sounded obviously foreign, but not French.
It was really starting to bother me that these mean and nasty Europeans knew my name. I didn't like it at all. In fact, I used to wait tables at a little place in Westport, and it bothered me when customers that I didn't know, called my name. And they just wanted more ketchup. Imagine what these guys might want.