Page 86 of Exit Strategy
“What did your team do?” the woman asked.
“They fell back. I told them that if they didn’t hear from me before dark to go back, tell the Dragon that I was gone, and that Kurt was much more dangerous than we’d given him credit.”
“Big ugly RV, California tags?” the woman asked.
“Yes.” I sighed.
“Maryland Highway Patrol detained that vehicle this morning and arrested three people,” the woman said, holding up a phone. “Looks like you avoided being arrested.”
“Lucky me,” I groaned.
“So where are we going to turn her loose?” the woman asked.
“We aren’t,” he said. “She wants to talk to Kurt and came with what looks like good will. I say we take her to where he is, let them talk. Then we decide what to do.”
“Take her back to the house? That’s just walking an enemy through the front door,” she said.
“A potential enemy, but maybe not,” he said.
“She could cause problems.”
“Naturally, but she also knows that we are more than capable of handling ten of her own men, and that we’re professional assassins. Too much trouble is easily managed with a small caliber round, and a large plastic bag.” I shuddered because there was no threat, this was just a man talking about a regular day at his day job. He was a sociopath.Jesus, please help me get through this alive.
“I won’t cause any trouble,” I said. “I like being alive.”
“Alive is good,” he agreed. “We’re going to put a hood over your head. No reason for you to know where we’re going. You’ll be properly looked after when we get back to the house, and we’ll all have a nice talk, answer some questions, and have some cake.”
“Cake?” I asked, that seemed to come out of nowhere.
“He’s making the chocolate gateau,” the man said, and the woman seemed to beam with delight.
There was no point fighting them, as they pulled a sack over my head and put me in the back section of the Range Rover. My hands were still secured, and now I was cable tied to the cargo hooks. At least it was laying down, and my hands and wrists weren’t in such agony. We drove for a long time, leaving the park, then crossing the Chesapeake Bay Bridge again. The sound it made under the tires was familiar.
There was traffic.
Then a long stint on the interstate.
More stop-and-go as we exited. The vehicle pitched up, and I kept rolling back and thumping against the hatch as we climbed several hills.
Then a darker darkness as we entered a garage and the mechanical door slid shut behind us. I felt a moment of panic as both the man and woman left, shutting the doors, and leaving me in the back. How long would I last back here, tied with cheap pieces of plastic that I couldn’t break, and not having the strength of action movie conviction to do something like dislocate a shoulder or break the ties with a heroic bulge of strength?
The hatch opened, and I could smell the hint of sea air. We were near the coast, much closer than we were in the park. Strong hands moved me, cutting the cable ties, all of them. My arms were free, and fire lanced through my back and shoulders. I didn’t cry out. I wouldn’t give that level of satisfaction.
“So, this is the fearsome Madeleine Oberisk,” a man with an accent like Kurt’s said.
“Don’t underestimate her,” the familiar man said. “She can fight, and even odds, she could probably beat me.”
“That’s high praise,” the likely Englishman said. “Let’s get this ugly bonnet off of her.”
The sack came off my head and I blinked back the bright light of the garage.
“Hardly a proper greeting, but welcome to Indigo City, my dear,” the Englishman said. “Let’s get you inside, cleaned up, and we’ll have a little chat.”
“I want to talk to Kurt,” I said. “Where is Calanthe, is she safe?”
“Oh, in good time, yes,” he said. “And the wee lass prefers to be called Callie. She is here, safe, and quite comfortable. We have a lot to discuss.”
“Like what?” I asked.
