Читать книгу The Serpent’s Curse - Tony Abbott, Tony Abbott - Страница 12

“I’m Sara Kaplan,” she told herself for the thousandth time. “I’m an American. I’ve been kidnapped. I don’t know by whom, and I don’t know why. I had no time—almost no time—to alert anyone. It happened too fast.”

She had rehearsed these words over and over so she could tell the first person she saw in as short a time as possible. But she hadn’t seen anyone at all since … since when? Since the hotel on the morning of her flight from La Paz, Bolivia, to meet Terence Ackroyd in New York City. She’d rehearsed that scene over and over, too.

A bright tap on the hotel room door.

“Just a minute!” she’d said.

Thinking it a hotel employee come for her luggage, she opened the door.

The man—broad shouldered, mean faced, in sunglasses—was on her in a flash. Hand over mouth, pushing her back into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. “Resist and your family will be killed. If they notify the authorities, you will be killed. Silence. Silence—”

She twisted away from him, threw herself at the bathroom door, and locked herself in. “Do not panic!” she’d told herself. Look around, look around. Her suitcase was in there. She’d been packing to return home. Her phone, her pocketbook, everything was there. No time to make a call. Futile to scrawl a message on the mirror—he would smear any message to illegibility.

Then, inspiration. The silliest thing in the world, but it made sense. Her charm bracelet. She slid it off, wrapped the skull in a stamp. It seemed idiotic, but Terence would recognize it. From his novel. The Madagascar Codex. No, The Zambian Crypt? The Zimbabwe—

The door split open on its hinges as she stuffed the bracelet into the lining of her suitcase and pinned it closed. The face above her was flat and brutal. The eyes … the eyes were invisible behind those black-lensed sunglasses. She was screaming now at the top of her lungs, and couldn’t imagine how she could not be rescued, when there came another thought: she was not screaming at all, but falling silently to the floor of the bathroom. There was a stabbing pain in her neck, and her cries, if they ever came out at all, were choked to silence. She stared up at the ceiling as she slipped to the floor, wondering if she would crack her head on the tiles.

Seconds passed. Minutes? Then there was the sound of a zipper coming from somewhere at her feet, and then flaps of black plastic were being folded over her face, and all the light was gone.

Darrell’s face came to her then, in a swift sequence of his ages from birth up to when she saw him that last morning in Austin. And Wade. And Roald. What would they … what would …

Then all her thoughts faded, and she fell away to a place of no dreams.

Nothing for hours and days until today. She was unable to move. There was a freshness to the air in the … what was she in, anyway? A bag? A box? There were tubes in her arm. She couldn’t raise herself or move her hands to find out. I’m in restraints. But there was air in there, so he wanted her alive, whoever he was. The man in the sunglasses … Zanzibar! That was it!

The Zanzibar Cryptex.

She wanted to scream that she was alive and being taken somewhere, but … The waves that had been falling over her became more rhythmic, and sleep took her, or what she thought might be sleep, but she wasn’t very sure of that.