I froze.
What was that on the ground in the garden beyond the open gate? I reached over and pulled the binoculars from the side pocket of the driver’s door, sat forward in the seat and focused on the garden gate. The first thing that came into focus was the bottom of a pair of shoes. Women’s shoes or maybe sandals. The feet were small. I felt beads of sweat break out on my upper lip, even though a breeze came in through the open windows.
“Dear sweet Jesus.”
I looked around for Zach. He must have entered the house through the back door. He couldn’t have seen the feet from his vantage point because he had circled on the opposite side of the house from the garden.
I did a 360 degree check on the clearing where the house stood. It was clear only for about fifty feet on all sides then the forest took over. I couldn’t be sure if anyone was watching from the forest and was torn between whether stay put or go looking for Zach. Neither was safe, but I knew action was better for me, as opposed to sitting here wrapped in sheer terror. I picked up the gun and eased from the Rover.
The air was as tense as my tautly bunched muscles. It was quiet. No birds sang. Was that because someone was in the forest to disturb their singing? If they were still around would they try to kill us, rush us, overpower the Rover? Who were they? The unsettling image of terrorists crept into my mind, the black hooded variety.
What was I doing here?
I ran from the Rover to the shelter of the house and circled to the back on the side where the garden was. The house was typical construction for the region, stucco with red tile roof. Giant rose bushes lined the side of the house blooming profusely in red and yellow.
I saw the body stretched full length in the garden, like taking a nap. But a red stain on the head of the figure belied the image of a peaceful nap. Nausea welled up in my throat, but I kept going. I had to find Zach. A Mediterranean style arbor, slats of wood crossing open beams, covered the patio to the back of the house. The door to the house stood open. I drew near and peered in.
“Zach?” No answer. I eased a few steps into the kitchen.
“Zach?”
I heard footsteps overhead. Maybe the man of the house was okay, but why was his wife laying in the garden? There was only one pair of footsteps. If they weren’t Zach’s …
I peered up the stairs.
Zach crouched over a body at the top of the landing. I only saw the top of the head covered in thick white hair, stained dark red on one side.
“I told you to stay with the Rover.”
“Zach, there’s a woman’s body in the garden.”
“I saw her from the upstairs window. They’re both dead. Shot in the head at close range.”
He moved quickly down the steps, gun upraised, and brushed past me. Standing back from the window, he studied the yard and garden.
“Are you going to report it to the police?”
“I can’t, this couple isn’t really here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. This is a safe house. This couple doesn’t exist, so there is no one to report missing.
“What?”
He ignored my question. “I’ll call someone to dispose of the bodies later but for now, we get out of here. I’ll go first. If I draw fire, run out the front door in a zig-zag line to the Rover.”
He turned and his gaze held my eyes in a moment of connection, the connection we had had before this awful ride had begun. Those hard, dark eyes softened.
“If I don’t make it, leave in the Rover without me.” He grabbed my chin and held it. “Don’t play hero, okay?”
I nodded and before I could say anything he was out the door, gun in hand, running. A rifle cracked, and he dropped to the ground.
“Zach,” I screamed from the open door. “Zach!”
He rolled over and over into the cover of shrubs by the shed. “Get down.” His hand waved. “Get down. Go out the front door. I’m going for the Rover.”
Another shot cracked and hit the side of the shed above the bushes where he hid, and he returned fire. I stood paralyzed by the sound of the gunfire. It sounded like the shots I had heard fired at target practice. But this was not target practice.
I whirled and ran through the house and out the front door, propelled by some hidden banshee that shrieked inside my head to get the hell out of there. I ran for the Rover, dove and crashed into the passenger door as a bullet flew by my ear and ricocheted off the fender. I yanked open the door and crawled inside, slamming the door and cowering on the floor. A rapid exchange of gunfire heralded Zach’s approach to the Rover, and a bullet hit the driver’s side of the vehicle. Zach sprang in, turned over the motor and slammed the gears into reverse. The Rover squealed back through the clearing making a wide circle on two wheels, screeched to a halt, roared into forward and out of the clearing followed by a barrage of bullets.
I hunkered down on the floor and squeezed my eyes shut until we were out of the clearing and lurching down the rocky lane.
“Damn,” said Zach.
I opened my eyes and looked up at him.
“Another shirt ruined,” he said.
Three explosion holes on his shirt front marked the spots where bullets had hit.
“I’m glad I thought to put on a bullet proof vest today.”
Six
My pulse was hammering so hard in my head, I thought it would explode. I looked behind us but whoever had attacked made no attempt to follow. Our attackers had had no vehicle, or if they had, they weren’t using it to pursue us. I couldn’t believe Zach had put on a bullet proof vest in anticipation that our flight might involve gunfire. I was in way over my head. I should have gone to the Cypriot authorities. In hindsight, it would have been much wiser. Too late to think about that now, wasn’t it?
Zach’s sun-bleached hair was hardly ruffled, and beyond the holes in his shirt he looked like he hadn’t done anything more exciting than spend an afternoon at the racetrack. I had the uneasy feeling that Aunt Elizabeth and I were pawns in a game, and this game involved criminals. The man sitting next to me was a player in the game. The thought was unnerving, and my opinion of him underwent a serious overhaul.
He slowed the Rover to maneuver the ruts better. I thought my neck would snap in the attempt to get away from the so-called safe house, and my demise would involve a broken neck instead of flying bullets.
“Where are we going?” I asked when I had a chance to calm down.
Zach didn’t reply, his attention focused on putting distance between us and the flying bullets. He appeared to be scowling at the question and the answer to it.
“I’m not sure. I’m thinking,” he said, not taking his eyes off the road.
“Who were those people? Do they have names?”
“Max and Irene.”
“How could they not exist?”
“They decided long ago to go under cover and not come back. They led a simple existence, and they helped a lot of people in trouble. I’m sorry to see them go out like they did. They were the best, but they knew the risks.”
Like that justified everything. “I hadn’t bargained for running into bullets, but you had.” Truth be told, I hadn’t bargained for any of this.
Zach glanced at me like he didn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth and looked back to the road. We turned right at the end of the lane leading away from the safe house and headed higher into the mountains. In greater abundance were the tall, biblical cedars of Lebanon that I loved so much. Seeing them now brought me no joy.
“We’ll try to find your aunt,” Zach said. “Or would you like to tell me where she is?”
My mouth dropped open, and I looked at him in astonishment. “I thought you knew. Wasn’t that the bargain? That you would take me to her?”