Now You See Him(51)

"And instead she found you."

"Not exactly."

Michael smiled, and a small frisson of panic scampered down Ross's spine. "Why don't you tell me exactly?" he suggested.

"I had her arrested. I paid someone to plant drugs in her purse, inform the locals and let them do the rest."

"She's in a Spanish prison? For drugs?" His voice was cool and emotionless, and Ross wondered absently whether Michael was going to kill him.

"Yes." His voice came out nervous and high-pitched, but Michael didn't notice.

"For how long?"

"Two weeks."

"Get up."

Panic bubbled over. "Don't kill me, Michael."

"I wouldn't waste my energy. You're going for a boat ride, Ross."

"Michael…"

"Daniel Travers is waiting for us on his yacht. We'll sail up the coast to Mariz, and you will wade in with your full diplomatic regalia and get her out. Immediately."

"I can't. These things take time, Michael. You know how these foreigners work. Everything at its own pace…"

Michael leaned across the table and hauled him out of the chair, and it was all Ross could do to keep from babbling in sheer panic.

"Immediately, Ross. If you don't want to end up feeding the fish."

"I'll do my best. But it's going to have to be tomorrow. We won't even make Mariz until midday, and then everyone will be having their blasted siesta, and—"

"And you'll wake them up," Michael said with deceptive softness.

Ross looked up into the bleak darkness of his eyes. "And I'll wake them up," he said, trying to pull together some of his dignity. "Honestly, Michael, I had no idea you were so fixated on the girl. I expected you to be more professional about the entire thing. You know we have to make unpleasant choices for the good of the nation. She must have been some lay."

For a moment neither of them moved, and Ross knew with complete certainty that he was closer to death then than he had ever been in his life.

"We're going to Mariz," Michael said, his eyes narrow pinpoints of rage. "We are getting Francey released from prison, and then, if you're very lucky, I won't feed you to the bloody sharks. In the meantime, keep your mouth shut unless you've got something useful to say."

"Might I remind you that I'm your superior officer and I…" His voice trailed off as he got a good look at Michael's expression. "And I have nothing more to say," he finished lamely.

"Good," Michael murmured, suddenly affable. "Then I won't have to cut out your tongue."



It was dark and cold in the cell, but Francey had grown used to it. Used to almost anything. The company of rats. The taunts of the other prisoners. The touches of the guards' filthy hands pawing her, mostly for the amusement of their fellow workers. She'd been able to bear it without screaming, knowing the touches weren't going to go further.

But now she was no longer so certain. There was a new guard, one who didn't speak much, who'd already garnered a certain reputation. One who didn't seem to possess mercy, or sympathy, or even reason.

In the countless days since she'd been thrown into jail Francey had carefully hoarded bits of comfort. Whoever was behind her incarceration hadn't abandoned her completely. She knew the guards were being paid, knew that the intimidation and harassment would go so far and no farther. She was alone in the cell, while there were three and four prisoners in those nearby.

It was small comfort. The food, what there was of it, was inedible. The showers were cold and infrequent, and they made her beg for them. Keeping clean was the only thing that kept her calm. If they'd taken away the showers, the change of laundry, she would have collapsed.

Tonight, though, most of her hope had faded. The new guard, Juan, wasn't being paid off as the others were. Or maybe her mysterious benefactor-imprisoner had simply shut off funds. Juan's touches were brutal, direct and quite clear. Sooner or later she wasn't going to be able to keep away from him.

It had happened once already. She'd hidden in her cell, holding her ears, keeping her eyes tightly shut, while one of the female prisoners had been raped, with the other inmates cheering the action. The thought that sooner or later it would be her turn was the worst terror of her life.

She leaned against the hard wall for a moment, ignoring the danger of bugs. And then she hunched forward, huddling in on herself. Looking for Michael Dowd had gotten her into this mess, one she seemed incapable of extricating herself from. She needed rescuing, and there was only one man, unlikely as it seemed, who could do it.

"Save me, Michael," she whispered to the damp, cold cell. "For God's sake, get me out of here."