Torn Loyalties Page 8

  A thin mark defaced it. A tiny heart.

  Grant had lied, but his feelings for her were genuine.

  She looked back at the bare lightbulb. Use worry stone to break lightbulb.

  Under the edge of her slacks, she glimpsed his pink rubbing stone. Trust. He’d told her to keep it—and now she knew why.

  It and the medal gave her two opportunities to hit the bulb.

  Doubt crept in. What if this was a trap? It could be.

  Torn and confused on what to do, she tried to sort through and see the situation objectively, see paths to resolutions that left her and Mrs. Renault intact. There is no way.

  A verse from Isaiah drifted through her mind. I will go before thee, and make the crooked places straight: I will break in pieces the gates of brass, and cut in sunder the bars of iron...

  She repeated it inside her head over and again, just as she had when detained in Afghanistan.

  Calmer then, she checked Grant’s watch—10:45. Torn between staying and going, she didn’t know what to do, and she had just over an hour to decide.

  Since her return to the States, Madison had talked to God, she had prayed to Him, but she had refused to come to Him on bended knee. It wasn’t pride that held her back. It was anger. She’d trusted and needed Him and been faithful to Him, and yet in her darkest hour...

  She looked at that tiny heart scratched into her medal, and the truth hit her like a sledge.

  She’d survived. Against all odds, she’d escaped and made it home.

  During that entire ordeal, all along the way, when she’d hit a brick wall, something had happened. Some unseen door had opened, some stranger had crossed her path and done her a kindness.

  He’d been with her the whole time.

  Tears pooled in her eyes, blurring her vision, and fell to her cheeks. Why hadn’t she seen that? Why hadn’t she recognized His intervention?

  She knelt and uttered a plea for forgiveness, whispered the praise and gratitude now that she should have then.

  * * *

  At 11:30, Beecher appeared outside her cell.

  Emotionally exhausted, Madison lay stretched out atop the scratchy green blanket on her cot. She started to fake being asleep, but something warned her against it, so she looked over at him. “What is it, Major Beecher?”

  Did he have news for her? He hadn’t shared much in the past three days, just asked her what she wanted to eat or drink, and once he’d told her that Grant wasn’t on-site. He’d gone to the office for something. She’d taken that as he was out looking for information and, she hoped, for Mrs. Renault.

  “He hasn’t found her.”

  Madison sat straight up. “He hasn’t found whom?”

  “Mrs. Renault.” The skin between Beecher’s wide brows furrowed. Clearly he didn’t like what was going on here, but like Grant, he was powerless to stop it. “He just called. Her home was trashed. No sign of her.”

  “Where were Talbot and Dayton when it happened?” Madison asked, daring to frown. “I’d start looking there.”

  “Talbot was here, and Lieutenant Blake says Dayton was at Miss Addie’s Café.”

  “Did you ask Miss Addie?” Madison asked. Why Beecher was coming to her, she had no idea. If Grant had taken him into his confidence, he would have told her. He hadn’t, and that meant she had to be very careful about what she said.

  “Not yet.” He leaned against the bars. “Just wanted you to know.”

  “I appreciate it.” He’d worked with her several times. When a bomb had been planted in her office, he’d disarmed it. When the same man had planted another bomb at the local church during the children’s Christmas program, Beecher had disarmed it, too. He had the courage to put himself on the line. She’d personally seen him do it repeatedly. So what was he doing here? What was the unspoken message he was passing her? Was there one, or was this just an update because he couldn’t pretend he didn’t know her anymore than she could pretend she didn’t know him?

  “How can you sleep here with that light in your face all night?”

  “I can’t tell if it’s day or night.” Her heartbeat sped up. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t sleep much, anyway.”

  He glanced up at the bare bulb, and then back to her. “If you need anything, yell.”

  “Thank you.”

  He sent her a long, steady look, then nodded.

  Madison lay down and faced the back wall, then checked Grant’s watch—11:53. Seven minutes.

  Decide, Madison. Stay or go? She stared straight up at the grate, her portal to the duct, fully engaged in internal debate, torn on whom, if anyone, to trust.

  At exactly one minute to midnight, her debate on whether Grant or Beecher were helping her or setting her up took an unexpected twist.

  The lightbulb went out.

  * * *

  In the dark, Madison stretched to reach the grate. It wasn’t screwed in, just resting inside a metal-channeled frame. Was that a sign for good or ill? Unsure, she hoisted herself up, the sharp-edged rim biting into her hands.

  Finally she sat huddled inside the vent and gave herself a moment to let her breathing calm. Her hands were tender, and she’d nicked the left one at the big crease. She wet her fingertip on her tongue, and wiped at it, then headed right down the duct, praying she wasn’t making the biggest mistake of her life.

  Crawling on her hands and knees, she bumped into something—rope. It hung suspended from above inside the duct. Apparently this was where she was to go up two. She tested it for strength and stepped on something—gloves. Grant had to have done this. Sliding her hands into them, she let her fingers run down the length of rope and hit a looped knot. Excellent. She could hoist herself easily with this.

  Ten minutes later she came to a T in the duct—obviously the demarcation of the first level. An alien sound snagged her ear. Not crying exactly, but definitely a woman. Could it be Mrs. Renault?

  Knowing she should head on up to assure she didn’t miss the changing of the guard, Madison still couldn’t do it. If that was Mrs. Renault, she needed to know. Scooting left on all fours, she moved toward the odd sound.

  The duct was tighter here, the air moving through it blessedly cool. For that, Madison gave thanks. Closed in was hard. Closed in and hot would have been impossible for her.

  The sound got louder. Keening. She crawled over two grates, and at the third, heard the sound clearly.

  She bent low and peered down into a cell that looked identical to the one she’d been held in. A brunette in her late forties paced the cell like a half-mad dog, alternating between demanding she be released and screeching at the top of her lungs.

  A man strode down the hall. “Knock it off, Janet. That racket hasn’t worked for four months and it’s not going to work now.”

  Madison could see only his shoes, but she thought she recognized his voice. Blake?

  “Get away from my cell, Blake,” the woman he’d called Janet told him.

  “Lieutenant Blake,” he insisted.

  “I will not call you by a name reserved for honorable men.”

  “Oh, you will,” he said. “If you want to eat again.”

  “Why eat? Just means I’ll live longer stuck in here.”

  Definitely the same Lieutenant Blake who’d brought Madison here. And this woman was Janet. Grant had asked her about a Janet.

  “Fine by me.” A cold edge rippled through his tone. “Take yourself out. It’ll spare us the trouble.”

  Fading footfalls sounded—Blake walking away.

  The woman went silent. She waited a full minute, then looked up at the grate and whispered, “Who are you?”

  Madison was stunned.

  “I made enough noise to wake the dead to cover for you. The least you can do is tell me who you are.”
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  “Madison McKay.”

  “I’m Janet Hardy.”

  “Why are you here?” Madison whispered.

  “Sometimes it isn’t what you know but who you know.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “I had the poor judgment to make some phone call records disappear. Crazy as I surely am, I actually did it, and then it dawned on me what I’d done. I tried to make myself disappear, but I wasn’t fast enough. They got me.”

  Madison’s heart skipped a full beat. “The phone call to Brett Lund, the WKME station manager. You wiped out the records of who he talked to right before—”

  “He killed himself. Yes. Stupid, I surely am.” She let out a disgusted rumble.

  “Who made you do it?”

  “Got a written order for it. It was signed. I’m sorry to say I didn’t think much of it at the time so I just did it, and filed it. Blake—the jerk who just left here—came looking for the order. When I couldn’t produce it, he was pretty upset. I guess I misfiled the thing. Anyway, after that little run-in, I knew I was in trouble. So I was preparing to run, only Blake caught me and hauled me in for questioning. I’ve been stuck here ever since.”

  Blake worked for Talbot. So he’d been tying up loose ends and couldn’t because an order had been misfiled. No doubt he’d torn up every file cabinet in Janet Hardy’s office. “Did he find the order?”

  “If he had, I figure I’d be dead.”

  “Was Blake there for Talbot or Dayton?”

  “I don’t know.” She paused, urgency filling her stage whisper. “Someone’s coming. Go on and get out of here, but send back help.”

  Mrs. Renault. “Is anyone else being held here?”

  “Not on this cellblock.” She hesitated. “Madison, don’t forget me.”

  Hearing the pleading in her voice, Madison promised, “I won’t.”

  Madison began to move. She crawled down the duct back to the up chute, hooked her foot into the looped rope and then began hoisting herself.

  At the next landing she removed the gloves and set them on the floor near the rope, then at a grate leaned close to see below and stared right at a stairwell door. To the right, she felt a soft bundle—a military uniform.

  It would help her get past any guards, should she encounter them. Hopefully, they could be avoided.

  She tugged the pants and shirt on over her clothes and then moved the grate. She couldn’t leave it open. In the sterile corridor, not five feet down from the grate, she spotted a chair—obviously Grant had prepositioned it to aid her reach. She snagged it, replaced the grate, then returned the chair to its place and took the stairs up to ground level at a run, her heart pounding hard enough to crack bone.

  At the top, the stairwell ended at a door. She scanned for signs of an alarm, but saw none. Holding her breath, prepared for a blast of noise, she turned the knob.

  The door swung open and cold air gushed into her face. Fresh air. Thank You, God. She looked left then right and saw no one. Stepping away from the building, she craned her neck to look up at the roof. No soldiers. No one standing guard every twenty feet around the building’s perimeter or above. Odd. But she was on the back side of the building away from the roadways leading to it. Still, there should be guards. Leaving your back open? Not a proven tactical position. Grant must have done something.

  Think later. Move now.

  She made a beeline for the woods, running full out, and with two steps to go to the cover of safety, a man charged out in front of her. “Grant?”

  He snagged her arm, pulled her to him, wrapping her in a fierce hug. “Madison.”

  He was shaking hard. “What’s wrong?”

  “You have to go back.”

  “What?” She pulled away from him.

  “I can’t explain. But I’m begging you to trust me. You have to go back—now, before anyone finds out you’re missing.”

  Panic flushed through her body. “I can’t go back there. You know how hard being confined is—”

  “I do know, and I know this could end very badly. But if you don’t go back, I know it definitely will end badly. This is your one chance, Madison. Please.”

  “Beecher turned off the lights. Is he working for Blue Shoes?”

  “I can’t answer that.” Grant stroked her face. “Madison, we don’t have time. We just don’t. You’re going to have to trust me.”

  She stilled, looked up at him. Pale moonlight lit up his face. “I do trust you. I’m out here, aren’t I?”

  “Yes, you are.” He smiled, and touched a grateful kiss to her lips. “You looked at the medal.”

  “Yes.” Madison held a stitch in her side. “Oh, I ran into Janet Hardy.”

  “You know who she is, then?”

  “I do now. She expunged the phone records on Lund under a written order. Lieutenant Blake showed up wanting it. She’d misfiled it and was preparing to run when they hauled her in. She says she’s been detained here ever since.”

  Grant released her. “Beecher told me she was detained—that’s why I asked you about her. I didn’t know if she was connected to your cases.”

  “I wasn’t holding out on you. I just didn’t know who she was until she told me.”

  “You’ve got to get back.”

  She didn’t move. “It’s clear Lieutenant Blake is working for Blue Shoes. But is Blue Shoes Commander Talbot or Dayton?”

  Grant scanned the area. “I’m still vetting them both.”

  That was honest. She tiptoed, pecked a kiss on his lips. “I’m putting my life—and probably Janet Hardy’s—in your hands. Don’t make me regret it. And don’t linger. I’ve got to get out of here and find Mrs. Renault.” Madison frowned. “Or is she here, too?”

  “I’ve checked every cellblock. She’s not here.”

  “Beecher said her house was trashed.”

  Grant nodded. “I think that was just noise to cover her disappearance.”

  “Did you get everyone at the agency on it?”

  “No, I said the two of you went on a fact-finding trip.”

  She stilled. “Why?”

  “Don’t look at me like that, okay? The more people who know about this, the greater the odds are we’ll get neither of you out of here nor any of us out of this alive.” He frowned. “Madison, we don’t have time for this. You’ve got to trust me.”

  The pleading in his voice shot straight to her heart. “I do.” Something struck her foot. A stone. She kicked it away and looked back up at him. “If anything happens to me, I want your promise that you’ll keep looking for Mrs. Renault until you find her. You’ll never give up.” Madison’s throat went tight. “Promise me?”

  He clasped her arms, looked her right in the eye. “I promise.” He hugged her quickly, then turned her back toward the building. “Go, and hurry, Madison.”

  “The chair at the stairs.” She shot him a worried look. “I can’t put it back and get in through the grate.”

  “I’ll handle the chair. Be right behind you.”

  She nodded. “Be careful.”

  “You, too.”

  Madison ran back toward the building. When she disappeared inside, Grant pulled out his cell phone.

  A man answered. “Yes?”

  “She’s on her way back to her cell.”

  “Good. We’re ready, then.”

  “We, sir?” What did he mean, we?

  The line went dead.

  The question unanswered, Grant stowed his phone with a heavy heart full of fear, and ran for the building.

  * * *

  Madison dropped down into her cell.

  “Thank God.”

  Scared stiff at hearing another woman’s voice, she spun around. “Mrs. Renault?” She stooped, hunched down behind
the short brick wall.

  “Yes, it’s me,” she whispered. “Lower your voice.”

  “How did you get here?”

  “Special invitation. It came right after I demanded to know where you were,” she whispered.

  “Talbot detained you in my cell?”

  Metal clanked—a key in the cell door. “Renée? Where are you?”

  Talbot! Madison stood between them. “It’s Madison, Commander.”

  “Renée. Now!”

  She stood up. “I’m right here, Andrew.” She walked around the short wall and stood next to Madison.

  “Come with me. Both of you.” He opened the door.

  Madison moved to leave the cell, and Mrs. Renault shot out an arm, blocking her, squaring off on Talbot. “The spinner spins gold for whom?”

  Shock crossed his face. He didn’t move, just stared at her a long moment. Mrs. Renault didn’t flinch or speak, just held his gaze with her own, uncompromising.

  “Rumpelstiltskin,” he whispered in a faint voice barely recognizable as belonging to him.

  “Let’s go,” Mrs. Renault told Madison. “Andrew Talbot is innocent. Dayton is Blue Shoes. He killed David Pace and, I strongly suspect, Beth Crane.”

  “What?” What had just happened here?

  “Just move,” Mrs. Renault said, leaving the cell, urging Madison with her.

  They walked right past the observation desk she’d seen on her way in. Neither Beecher nor Grant was manning it. Talbot reached into the monitor, removed the disc and shoved it into his pocket. “Follow me.”

  He guided them through a series of tunnels that had more twists and turns than a pretzel. They passed at least a dozen doors, none of which were marked. Only by walking them many times could anyone recall the path.

  Finally he pulled out a key and opened a door. “Wait here a second.” He stared at Renée. “Do not move.”

  She nodded.

  Less than a minute later, he returned. “Come in.”

  He’d cleared...his office? He was connected directly to the Nest by a series of underground tunnels.

  Talbot closed the door and keyed the lock. “Stay put. Help yourself to whatever you find in the fridge.”