56
Colcord opened his eyes and saw patches of gray sky above lashing treetops, wondering where he was and what was going on. His head pounded, and his body felt heavy and wet. He saw faces and heard voices, and he felt himself being lifted and carried inside, the sky replaced by wooden beams and boards. He struggled mightily to stay conscious, his mind a swirl of confusion.
His vision swam in and out as he tried to remember how he had gotten here. Jumbled recollections came trickling back and his vision sharpened. He had been worried about Cash—he had followed her out to Willy Grooms’s cabin—she was being shot at—he fired at her attackers—and then nothing.
Now his carriers dropped him down hard against a cold surface, and the pressure in his ligaments eased. He groaned and tried to sit up, but he was shoved back down and he felt his hands being tied. The sluggishness of semiconsciousness made him weak.
He felt warm wetness trickling down his forehead and into his left eye, and realized it was blood. His head—he’d been shot. Winged, maybe. Adrenaline pumped through him. With a cry, he tried to sit up, but ropes securing his wrists held him back down—painfully. He tried to move his legs and discovered they were tied down as well, so tightly he could barely move from his spread-eagle position.
Clarity crawled back, and with it, a realization that he’d been taken prisoner. He strained to look around. He was inside the Grooms cabin. There were four of them. One was huge, with long hair, a monster dressedin a camo rain jacket over black robes. His face was craggy and rough. A monk, apparently. He was standing next to a thin dry man with glittering black eyes, whose priest’s collar peeked above a down jacket. Colcord couldn’t understand what they were saying and realized, as his head cleared further, that they were speaking Italian. The priest was angry and seemed to be calling the shots—commanding the others in a powerful voice and making sharp gestures as he spoke. There was blood dripping from his arm—this was the man he’d hit. The injury looked like it was to his forearm and, unfortunately, not serious.
Straining against his bonds, Colcord tried to speak, but his mouth wasn’t working, and only a mumble came out. The rough rope dug into his wrists. He could see the storm had returned in force, sheets of water battering the windows of the cabin, and he realized he was tied down on the same table Willy Grooms had died on. He wondered if Cash had made it out. He hoped like hell she had. Maybe she would come back with reinforcements. Of course, by then, it would be too late for him.
He focused on the others, trying to calm his racing mind. One was a bald man with thick eyebrows on a shelf of a forehead. He was pacing from window to window, looking out into the storm. The other was a tall, lean woman with a scar that ran across her throat—as if it someone had once tried to kill her, unsuccessfully. She stood back, watching him with steady dark eyes. Both had the quick, practiced look of those with military training and were lean and athletic in different ways.
The woman said something in Italian to the priest. He clasped his hands behind his back and approached Colcord. “Where is it?”
Colcord stared. “Where is… what?” he said, managing to get the words out.
At this, the priest turned to the woman with the scar. “I’m telling you, he doesn’t know.” He turned back to Colcord. “I’m leaving you with my two compatriots while my monk friend and I track down Agent Cash. It would be in your best interest to answer their questions. You know better than anyone what happens to those who refuse.”
The priest turned and opened the door into the storm, the giant monk stooping to follow him, temporarily letting in the roar and tumult of the wind and trees.
The door slammed, and the scarred woman walked over to Colcord and stood over him, staring down.
He was alone with only two of them now. His mind began to race, his past military training kicking in as he weighed his options. If he hurled his weight to one side, he might be able to topple the table over. But that was hopeless; he’d still be tied to it. His sidearm had been taken, and he could see the two killers were both armed, guns in their waistbands. He would be shot before he could do anything. He had to stall them, somehow… if anything, to give Cash time to get away.
The woman smiled, and it was not pleasant. “One more time. The artifact,” she said in a slightly accented voice. “Do you have it?”
He shook his head.
The lean woman shook her head, straightening. “Does the big woman have it?” Her eyes gleaming in the twilight like those of some creature of the night.
Colcord knew that no matter what he said, they would kill him in the end. His only hope was delay. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his eyes glancing to the cabin windows. He wriggled his wrists again. There was no chance there: The ropes were tight and cut into his skin. He was finished; that was clear enough. He tried not to think about it. Cash might just escape them and survive.
The bald man stepped forward, fury playing across his features. “I’m telling you, he doesn’t know anything, and this is a waste of time.” He pulled out a gun and pressed it into Colcord’s ear.
Colcord had always wondered how he’d react in a situation like this. Now he knew. He was scared shitless. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of showing it, though. He took a deep breath to ease his quickening pulse, trying to clear his mind. He had to stall.
“Wait. Hold on. Are you asking about thealienartifact?”
“What do you know?” said the bald man. “Where is it?”
Colcord tried to think. Now the muzzle dug so hard he could feel it cutting his skin.
“Wait,” said the woman. “Not yet. There’s another question we need to ask.” She leaned over Colcord. “Where is Krikor Khachatryan?”
Jesus, Colcord’s head swam. Was that the guy behind Paradox, thatCash mentioned? Was there a reason not to answer, a reason to protect the man? He couldn’t think of one. “Portugal.”
“Portugal? Where?”
Shit, where was it? “The mountains.”
“The mountains? What mountains?”
The gun dug in.
“Give me a moment,” said Colcord. Where was it Cash had told him? He couldn’t recall. “I’m trying to remember.”
