Читать книгу Take No Prisoners - Gayle Wilson - Страница 13

Landon supposed it must have been satisfying in some way to see the shock explode in those wide blue eyes as Grace finally realized who he was. He couldn’t think of any other reason for the brutal way he’d handled the revelation.

He knew he’d changed. And some of the differences were more obvious than others. That didn’t excuse what he’d done, but it might help explain it.

She so obviously hadn’t known who he was, despite the fact that he could have picked her out of any size crowd and at any distance simply by the way she carried herself. That hadn’t changed, in spite of the primitive conditions she’d been living in and his suspicion that she hadn’t had a real bath or a mirror since her capture.

Or maybe, he acknowledged, his response had been prompted by what he’d read in her face when he’d told her the pilot was dead. It was clear she’d been devastated, although, judging by the condition of the man in the back of the cave, she couldn’t have been surprised.

He had allowed himself a few seconds to wonder about her relationship with Mitchell before he’d forced his full attention back to the mission. Whatever—if anything—had been going on between the pilot and Grace, it was certainly over now.

His infamous luck had apparently held. It would have been hell trying to get the injured man out of the encampment and through the pass to where their transport was waiting. Thank God, Grace and Stern appeared to be in good physical condition, considering the circumstances.

“I hope you both ride,” he said, his gaze still focused beyond the entrance of the cave on the sleeping camp.

Deliberately he didn’t look at them. Nor had his comment been phrased as a question. He knew that Grace was an excellent horsewoman. If Stern couldn’t ride, he would have to manage the best he could.

It had been impossible to get any kind of vehicle to the plateau where their captors had set up their camp. That was the intent in choosing this location, of course. If Landon couldn’t figure out a way to get a truck or a Hummer up here, then neither could the Special Forces units who were searching the border for the missing Americans.

“I have ridden,” Stern whispered, “but…I’m afraid it’s been a long time.”

“Like riding a bicycle.” Landon had no idea if that was true, but there was no point in discouraging Stern. Not now.

He watched the silhouette of the guard assigned to the perimeter of the camp cross in front of the central fire. He was patiently waiting for him to reach the most distant point of his patrol before they made their move.

“We go to the right when we leave,” he instructed in a whisper. “Keep close to the rocks and watch your footing. Make any noise, and we’re all dead. The horses are in a rope enclosure about a hundred yards away.”

“Won’t they follow us?”

Obviously, the colonel hadn’t seen enough John Wayne movies. Their captors might try, but once he freed the horses, taking them along as they rode away, any tribesmen who followed would be doing so on foot.

“We take the horses with us,” Landon said, watching the steady advance of the perimeter guard.

He had already dispatched the one stationed at the entrance of the cave by the simple expedient of breaking his neck. Despite the obvious preparations the group had made for leaving the encampment, all of which he’d watched at sunset, the sentinels had been surprisingly lax.

Or maybe they were overconfident. After all, they had managed to avoid everyone who’d been sent to find them. Why should they believe that tonight would be any different?

“Now.”

As he whispered the command, Landon slipped out of the entrance. In a crouching run he headed toward the corral where the movements of the grazing horses had hidden his approach tonight.

The clothing he’d bought in a village more than a hundred miles away carried in its fabric the same smells as the robes worn by the men with whom those animals were intimately familiar: sweat, smoke and dust.

He hadn’t worried about Grace and the colonel betraying their presence among the horses. After three weeks of living in a cave, they, too, would undoubtedly smell the same to those sensitive noses.

Landon glanced back to track their progress. The flickering firelight, enhanced by shadows cast from the peaks surrounding the encampment, made it difficult to follow their movements. Which was exactly what he’d been counting on.

He took time to check the remaining guard, who, having reached the point most distant from camp, had taken the opportunity to smoke. Landon watched him raise the cigarette to his mouth, the tip growing brighter as he drew on it and then brought it down again.

He felt Grace ease to a stop beside him. He could hear her breathing, soft but irregular from the run she’d just made. He waited until Stern joined them, knowing it would be better if they made their raid on the horses together. Hopefully, by the time the sleeping tribesmen were aware anything was amiss, they would be mounted and away.

Hopefully.

“What about saddles?” Stern leaned across Grace to whisper.

He sounded worried, as he probably should be. Landon had anticipated from the first that the colonel could be the weak link in the escape, but after all, Stern wasn’t his chief concern.

He had known Grace could easily pull this part off. She had almost made one of the Olympic equestrian teams when she’d been a teen. He had remembered that when this rescue had still been in the planning stages.

Actually, he remembered everything she’d ever told him. That particular piece of information had been revealed in a conversation about their childhood memories. One they’d shared during a long rainy afternoon they had spent mostly in bed.

And of course conversation hadn’t been all they’d shared that day. Which was something it would be better not to think about right now.

“They leave them saddled,” he assured the colonel.

Most of the time that precaution made sense. It provided a means for a fast getaway, in a region that was rife with conflict. Although the soft saddles were probably like nothing either of them had ever ridden before, the fact that the horses were kept saddled was one of the things Landon had believed would make success possible when he’d come up with the idea to steal them.

He watched as the sentry’s cigarette was carried upward again. Then suddenly its red tip disappeared from sight. There had been no arching glow that would indicate he’d thrown it down. Apparently the guard had turned to look out over the sheer rock face that guarded the mountainside approach to the camp.

“Now,” Landon whispered, making his move toward the horses.

He didn’t look back, not even when he found the rope that had been stretched across the mouth of the narrow fissure where the animals were penned. Entrapped by that and the rock walls at their backs, the animals were effectively corralled for the night and yet ready at a moment’s notice.

The three of them were about to do exactly what Grace’s captors would have done if the camp had been raided. Once mounted, they would jump the low rope barrier and ride across the plateau and start down the steep, winding trail these same animals had been brought up only days ago.

As Landon moved among them, searching for the brown and white mare he’d chosen for Grace, the horses began to mill, trying to avoid the humans in their midst. He finally captured the mare, grasping her simple rope bridle to draw her with him. He turned, looking for Grace, and realized she was attempting to help Stern catch the lead of one of the others.

“Grace,” he hissed.

Unable to see the guard or his cigarette because of the press of horseflesh, Landon had no idea if anyone in the camp was yet aware of what was going on. With the noise the horses were making, however, he knew it wouldn’t be long before they did.

He dragged the mare over to where Grace was trying to control a big roan long enough to allow Stern to get his foot into the stirrup. The ineptness of the colonel’s technique was agitating the horse, making his task even more difficult.

“Here.” Landon attempted to take Grace by the elbow to direct her toward the mare. She resisted, jerking away from him almost angrily.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” he demanded. “Get on the damn horse.”

“When Colonel Stern’s mounted.”

Landon could tell by the set of her mouth that she meant what she said. He could argue with her until the camp was aroused or he could do what he should have done in the first place.

“I’ll see to Stern,” he snapped.

He pressed the mare’s lead into her fingers, which automatically closed around it. Then he took the roan’s bridle, pulling the horse’s head down firmly and holding it.

“Get up,” he ordered.

The older man made a valiant effort, eventually managing after another failed attempt to pull himself into the thin saddle. By then, Landon could hear shouts coming from the direction of the camp. Apparently the guard had finally finished his cigarette and figured out something was going on.

Landon flung the roan’s lead up to Stern. Without waiting to see whether the colonel would take charge of his mount, he turned to find Grace already in the saddle. In contrast to the roan’s restiveness, her mare stood docilely, having already acknowledged her control.

“You’ll have to ride through the center of the camp,” he directed, looking up into her pale face in the darkness. “No matter what happens to me or Stern, just keep riding. There are Special Forces units all over this area looking for you.”

“Aren’t you coming?”

“Right behind you.” As he made that assurance, he caught the stirrup of a bay that had been pushed against him by the restless herd.

“Can Stern—”

“I’ll take care of Stern,” he shouted, knowing by the commotion he could hear quite clearly now there was no longer any need for stealth.

“…to get separated.”

In the process of swinging into the saddle, Landon hadn’t caught the whole of that. It wasn’t important, he decided. All that was important now—

Directing his mount near the rear of Grace’s, he brought the flat of his hand down on the mare’s rump. He would never have done something like that if he hadn’t had complete confidence in Grace’s abilities. A faith that was clearly justified.

The mare surged forward, attempting to fight her way through the throng of milling animals. She approached the low rope at a dead gallop, and with Grace’s urging, easily cleared it.

Landon turned to search for Stern. He found the colonel still trying to get the roan headed in the direction of the plateau. He dug his heels into the flanks of the bay, urging him through the mass of horses, which seemed to seethe now with a life of its own. There was only one solution to the problem presented by the colonel’s ineptitude in the saddle.

“Hold on,” Landon yelled before he reached down and cut the rope barrier with the knife he’d taken from inside the belt he wore over his tunic.

He kicked his mount again, sending it thundering across the plateau and toward the tribesmen who were now stumbling out of tents and caves, weapons in hand. He glanced back to see the other horses following his lead, and Stern still miraculously astride the roan.

Ahead of them Grace had reached the center of the encampment. A dozen hands grabbed at her as she rode through the midst of her captors. Undeterred by their attempts to stop her, she, too, was urging her horse on, seemingly indifferent to the men who tried to slow her by throwing themselves in front of the mare.

Go on, Landon urged silently, his own mount racing across the open ground. Behind him he could hear the panicked horses pounding over the hard-packed earth of the plateau. They would provide a much-needed distraction, but he knew now there was too much distance between them and Grace.

He should have gone first. He should have left Stern to fend for himself and taken care of the woman he’d come here to find. He should have—

One of the reaching hands had locked around the mare’s lightweight saddle. Although the horse was still moving at a near gallop, the tribesman showed no inclination to give up his hold. He clung on the horse’s side, literally being dragged along the ground like an anchor.

And his grim determination finally paid off. He slowed Grace’s mount enough that another man was able to grab the stirrup on the opposite side. Instead of being dragged, he ran alongside the flagging horse.

Grace struck at him repeatedly, using the end of the lead like a whip. He refused to let go, despite several direct blows to the face.

Of course, if they allowed their captives to get away, the consequences would undoubtedly be severe, especially for those who were supposed to be on guard tonight. Tribal justice in this setting was both swift and harsh.

By now gunfire had been added to the shouts echoing off the towering rocks that surrounding them. Landon could only hope that the Afghans, surprised from sleep, were firing wildly rather than taking aim at the riders in their midst.

He glanced behind him again, realizing only then how close the stampeding horses were. Stern was still clinging to the back of his, but it was obvious that’s all he was doing. The animal was out of control, running wildly with the others.

Landon turned back toward the center of camp in time to see Grace being pulled off the mare. Although she fought desperately, she was overpowered by the three men who had surrounded her horse.

One of them grasped her from behind, his arm encircling her waist as he attempted to drag her toward the cave where Landon had found her. Once inside, and with the camp now fully aroused, Landon knew he’d never be able to get to her again.

Stretched low over the neck of the bay, he spurred the horse directly toward the man holding Grace. When he reached them, he pulled up, his mount rearing against the sudden sharp drag on the bit.

With the Glock he’d taken from his belt, he took aim, blocking from his mind the reality of how close that blond head was to the dark one of her captive. He fired just as the bay’s front hooves returned to the earth.

Without waiting for the man he’d shot to fall, Landon held out his hand, controlling his mount with his knees and thighs. Without hesitation Grace put her fingers into his.

At the same time she put her left foot on top of his boot, which was still in the stirrup. He pulled, and, as if this were a trick they’d rehearsed a thousand times, she vaulted onto the back of the bay, settling behind him.

As she did, the first of the panicked herd reached them, knocking down the other men who had helped stop the mare. Once more Landon dug in his heels, his mount mingling with the horses charging through the camp, flattening everything in their path. There was another wild volley of shots, but he didn’t look back, aware that because of her position behind him, Grace was exposed and highly vulnerable.

Aware also that at the other side of the plateau was that treacherous trail, part of which he’d explored last night. Steep and rugged, it was dangerous in daylight. To traverse it in the darkness, riding a horse that was on the edge of panic, would be near suicidal.

Near was the operative word, he decided, feeling Grace’s arms tighten around his waist. There was no limiting adjective involved in what would happen if they turned back now.

“Hold on,” he said unnecessarily, giving the bay his head as the horse began the plunge down the mountainside.