Shattered Lies (Web of Lies #3)(7)
“You’re coming with me, ma’am,” he said through gritted teeth. The officer now looked curiously between them.
“No!” Tate yelled. “I will not come with you, and I demand you contact Humphrey Orville, the chief of staff.”
The man grabbed for her and the young officer, no more than twenty-two years old, pulled his gun as the EMTs froze in their progression toward her. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’ll need to see some identification.”
“I’ll have you fired for this. I’m CIA.” He flipped open his badge and the young man wilted.
“I don’t give a shit who you are. I’m not going with you.” There was something wrong here. The man was only looking at her. He wasn’t allowing EMTs to see her, and with her broken leg and a bullet wound, he’d have to carry her screaming out of here.
There was a commotion outside as cars scrambled back to clear a space in the street. Tate had never felt such relief as when she looked out and saw Crew Dixon, pilot of Marine One and member of their secret group, landing a military helicopter. Crew glanced around, his eyes locking on hers, and then to the man in front of her. Crew leapt from the helicopter, and the man lunged for her. Crew ran, Tate screamed, and the young officer fired.
4
Lizzy and Dalton were outside the embassy in Bucharest in the middle of the night when her phone rang. Lizzy looked down and saw it was Humphrey. In the span of one minute, everything changed.
“We have to get home now,” Lizzy said, hanging up the phone.
“What’s going on?” Dalton asked as he lowered his binoculars.
“Tate and Birch were injured in a bombing. Birch wasn’t breathing when they took him away, and then a supposed CIA agent tried to grab Tate.”
Dalton was already turning the car on. “Is she okay?”
“Humphrey said Crew has her. That’s all I know. He’s ordered us back to DC via the military again. He’s afraid our covers have been blown. He’s assessing and will call with any updates. Everything is on complete lockdown.”
The drive back to the airbase seemed to take forever instead of the few hours it really was. When they arrived, the sun was rising across the sleepy base. Dalton parked the borrowed car and stopped when they heard an alarm sound. Military personnel ran from the buildings in various stages of dress toward the water. With a questionable glances at each other, they followed the crowd.
“What is it?” Lizzy asked the medical team as they ran by.
“Bodies in the water!”
Lizzy and Dalton followed the crowd and stopped at the shore. Men and women were coming out of the Black Sea dragging two life preservers that lifeguards used. Slung over the long red foam were what looked to be the bodies of an elderly man and a middle-aged woman.
Dalton narrowed his eyes as his hand grabbed her arm. “Does that man look familiar?”
“No . . . wait,” Lizzy felt her breath come quickly as she pulled up her phone and searched for a name. “It’s George Stanworth,” she gasped.
* * *
Valeria heard them coming. She felt the vibration of the water increase as they got closer. When she had refused to answer Manuel’s questions the other day, they’d tied her arms and submerged her up to her neck in a large barrel and then put the lid on over her. There were holes for air, but since no light ever shone through, she guessed she was in the basement.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d been down there. Three days? Three hours? She didn’t know. What Valeria did know was that she was going mad. She was disoriented, exhausted, and only talking to herself had gotten her through it. But now was not the time to let one’s brain take the lead. It was time to let her instincts loose. It was time to make her move.
The lid was pried off as light flooded the room with a single flick of a light switch. Valeria went limp as the man struggled to pull her fully soaked from the water. Good. She didn’t want to use any energy, and she wanted them to use plenty of it.
“Ayuadame!” The guard yelled to the other to come help. It took them both to carry her limp body from the barrel. They were breathing heavily by the time they dumped her in the chair at the end of the long kitchen table.
Valeria’s gun was gone, but the knife strapped to her calf was still there under her waterlogged jeans. Valeria let her head fall back as she stared at the aged bronzed metallic ceiling fan. She heard Manuel slam his hands on the table and call her name. Valeria didn’t move.
“Get the bitch to sit up!” Manuel ordered. The men who had dragged her from the basement let out a sigh, but then shoved her up in her chair.
Seven men: two behind her with their hands on each of her shoulders, two on each side of the table, and Manuel at the head of the table sitting across from her.
Valeria groaned and let her head loll to the side. “Food,” she barely whispered.
Manuel chuckled. “I see you’re not asking for water. Get her some bread.”
A hunk of dried bread was thrown on the table in front of her. Valeria clumsily picked it up using only her teeth and dropped it to the floor. With a wail of frustration she ordered the men to pick it up. “Can you either untie me or make them feed it to me?”
Valeria looked at the bread, defeated, as Manuel stared at her. All was quiet for many seconds before Valeria’s hands were grabbed and the rope was cut. She devoured the bread, chewing loudly with her mouth open. Not only was she actually starving, but she had to put Manuel at ease.