Читать книгу Deadly Contact - Don Pendleton - Страница 12

Their bodies chilled beneath their wet clothing, they climbed out of the SUV and crossed to the motel cabin Bolan had booked them into. The night clerk had viewed Bolan with suspicion when he had stepped into the office, muddy and wet.

“Heck of a night,” Bolan said. “Car skidded off the road into a ditch. Hit my head on something. Took me an hour to get it back out. Lucky for me she’s a four-by-four. Truth is, I’m too tired to drive any farther tonight. Wife is too. You got a double room with plenty of hot water?”

The night clerk looked the big man up and down, figuring he wasn’t going to throw him out. Not the size he was. When Bolan produced a credit card and handed it over, the clerk saw no further problems. He processed the card and gave Bolan the key to one of the empty cabins. In truth all the cabins were empty, Bolan had noticed, seeing the key board was full. The night clerk decided at least one cabin taken was better than none at all. It had been a bad day all-round, with the lousy weather and the forecast for possible snow sweeping down from the north. He blamed the Canadians for that. Why couldn’t they keep their damn snow up in Alaska, or wherever they stored it?

Bolan unlocked the cabin door and they went in. He dropped the bag holding his weapons on the floor. He closed the door and secured it as Dukas clicked on the lights. The room looked comfortable and the heat was on.

Bolan was ready to call in to the Farm and give them an update, but he pushed that aside when he heard subdued sobbing suddenly coming from Dukas. She had gone to stand at the window, leaning her forehead against the glass. He could see her shoulders moving as she wept, and he felt her anguish. Bolan crossed over quietly and stood behind her, resting a hand on her shoulder.

She turned to face him.

“This has been a nightmare. Things like this don’t happen to people like me,” she said. “I translate languages. I don’t kill people.”

“Circumstances sometimes don’t allow us the privilege of choice. I’m sorry you got pulled in at the deep end, Erika. You answered a friend’s cry for help, and now you’re caught in the middle. What happened back there—none of us wanted it.”

“How do you deal with it? How do you forget when it happens to you all the time?” Dukas knew the man who’d introduced himself as Matt Cooper was some kind of special agent who’d been sent by Barbara Price.

“I don’t forget,” he said. “I have my ghosts and they come back to visit me every so often.”

“That man was going to kill you. I saw that and I couldn’t let it happen. But—”

“You did what you had to. No guilt in that.”

“I took a life,” she said.

“If he had gunned me down, you would have been next. You defended your right to live. That’s a natural reaction.”

She stared up into his steady blue eyes, seeing not savagery, nor the cold heart of a merciless man, but the gaze of someone who carried compassion for those who needed it, and at that moment she was in need. She leaned forward, wanting his strength, and he slid his arms around her as she rested her head against his chest, holding him tight against her. Bolan could feel her trembling and he remained where he was, holding her until she had settled.

She took a deep breath, then she raised herself on her toes and kissed him on the cheek before letting go.

Bolan saw sudden concern in her eyes. “Erika?”

“You,” she said. “You’ve got a bad gash on your head. Where they clubbed you at Tira’s apartment. Remember?”

Bolan did, reaching up to touch the spot that was still bleeding.

“Told the desk clerk I hit my head when the car went off the road.”

“Go sit down. I’ll find something to clean it up.” She stared at him. “Do it.”

Bolan did as he was told.

She brought a towel from the bathroom and cleaned up the gash as best she could. When she was done she filled the room’s kettle and plugged it in the electrical outlet while she prepared coffee. They sat silently drinking and for a time there was a fragile peace.

Bolan found a pair of white bathrobes in sealed plastic laid out on the bed. He passed one to Dukas.

“Take the first shot in the bathroom,” he said.

“Don’t think I won’t,” she said.

Bolan pulled his cell phone from the pocket of his mud-streaked jacket and called Barbara Price.

“Run these names through the system,” he said to the Stony Man mission controller. “Billingham. Somebody important. Other is a perp named Kimble. I’d guess he has a rap sheet. I expect he’s no more than a hired gun. See what comes up.”

“Hey, how are you two doing?” Price asked.

“I’d say we’ve both had better days.”

“Any light at the end of the tunnel?”

“Still digging.”

“Erika?”

“They killed her friend Tira. Erika found her. She’s coping,” Bolan said.

“That translates as covering it up well,” Price replied.

“I’ve got it covered.”

“Look after my girl.”

“Yes, Mama,” Bolan said.

“I’ll call when we get something on these names.”

Bolan closed the phone. He could hear Dukas moving around the bathroom, and he thought about the remark Price had made about him looking out for the young woman. He was conscious of his responsibility for her. It was uppermost in his mind. Her safety was at the top of his list.

The bathroom door opened and Dukas appeared. She had changed into the bathrobe and looked slightly less stressed.

“All yours,” she said.

Bolan picked up Tira Malivik’s bag and handed it to her.

“Check it out,” he said. “See if you can find anything.”

She held the bag, hesitating, and Bolan could see the hurt in her eyes.

“It’s like invading her privacy.”

“No. It’s helping to find out who took her from you. She was your friend, and I don’t think Tira would feel you were doing anything wrong,” Bolan said.

Dukas opened the bag and tipped the contents across the bed. As she started to go through them she heard the bathroom door close.