Cut and Run Read online

  “No apology is needed. I understand.”

  Myra turned and headed to the door with a picture of a lady on it. Inside, she gasped. It was a tiny room with barely enough space to turn around. And it was filthy dirty. She longed for a medical mask. Well, she wasn’t here to use the facility; she was here to do something. She hung her shoulder bag on the nail on the door. She rummaged until she found the duct tape. She rummaged some more until she found the special encrypted phone she and the other Sisters carried at all times. Compliments of Avery Snowden.

  Myra pulled up her shirt, trying to decide if she should tape the phone to her back or to her stomach. It took just a moment to opt for her stomach. Quickly, she ripped off strips of tape, attaching them to the special phone. She wiggled and squirmed as she struggled to wrap the tape all around her waist. She patted the tape in place, satisfied that there were no bulges to be seen with the naked eye. If she had to go through a pat down, she felt confident since importance would be concentrated on her back and legs, and not her stomach. And if she was wrong, she’d know soon enough.

  Myra felt meaner than a one-eyed snake as she exited the filthy bathroom. She walked out into the early-morning sunshine to wait for her call to board.

  I’m coming, Annie. I’m coming.

  The pilot, his English heavily accented, smiled as he strapped Myra into one of the two passenger seats. She asked him if he had a cell phone that she could borrow to send a text to America. He shook his head and mumbled something about cell towers, airport interference. He threw his hands in the air and scowled. And that was the end of that.

  More than ever, Myra realized how alone she was at that moment. Her heart and her gut told her Charles would do something the moment he realized she hadn’t contacted him as promised. Enough time had gone by since her arrival to warn him that something was wrong on her end even with the six-hour time difference. She closed her eyes as she felt the whirlybird lift into the air.

  Behind her closed eyelids, Myra envisioned the girls along with Charles and Fergus in the war room, formulating a plan. Would he have called in the boys? Probably. The first thing he would do would be to ask young Dennis if they could use his private plane, which Dennis would immediately agree to. Maggie and Ted would be clicking away on their computers, trying to figure out angles. Jack would ask if they were all locked and loaded.

  Myra looked down at her watch. She took a deep breath and blew it out in a loud swoosh that went unheard over the noise of the helicopter. She had to believe that Charles would leave no stone unturned. Not even a pebble.

  She took another deep breath when she realized the helicopter was descending. She leaned forward to see the helicopter landing pad and almost choked when she saw a circle of men waiting to greet her. She craned her neck farther, looking for a sign of Annie. She blinked, then blinked again. Annie was not among the welcoming party.

  Myra took a page out of Kathryn’s playbook and cursed freely. “Son of a bitch!”

  Then she muttered under her breath, “I’m here, Annie. I’m here.”

  Myra waited in the open doorway for the pilot to exit the plane, so he could catch her as she hopped to the ground. She thanked him and nodded when he whispered in her ear, “Be careful, señora.” He was back in the helicopter and lifting off before Myra could gather her wits about her. Suddenly, she wanted to call the pilot back, to get back into the helicopter, but the moment passed. She wasn’t going anywhere.

  The five men who greeted her looked like Wall Street bankers, which confused her. She had been expecting thugs, hooligans. She clamped her lips shut and waited. One young man stepped forward and relieved her of her combination purse and rucksack. Another picked up her small suitcase.

  “Welcome, señora,” one of the Wall Street banker types said in flawless English.

  “Who are you? Where is Countess de Silva?” Myra asked, gratified that her voice was strong and forceful.

  “Names are of little importance. But if you insist on a response, consider my compadres and me the countess’s formal welcoming committee. The countess was not expecting you, but I’m told she always rises to the occasion. I would imagine she is in the outdoor solarium. And your name is?”

  Myra’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Like you said, señor, names are of little importance. Think of me as a neighbor stopping by for coffee. I was in the neighborhood and thought I would drop down for a visit.”

  “Ah, yes, American humor. Amusing, no?”

  Myra grimaced. She struggled to think of something Maggie would say. “Whatever floats your boat.”

  “Ah, another American witticism. Come. I will personally take you to the countess.”

  Myra decided she’d had enough. She clamped her mouth shut and trudged across the concrete and onto lush green grass to follow her welcoming committee to the living quarters of the old monastery. I’m here, Annie. I’m here.

  Myra stopped short when the small parade stepped off the lush lawn and onto the marble wraparound walled porch for want of another word. “I know the way from here, señor. I’ve been here before. I can find my way.” She hoped her tone came across as steely as she meant it to be.

  Obviously, it didn’t, because Mr. Wall Street prodded her arm. “Nonsense. The countess would never forgive me if I allowed you to intrude on her presence unannounced.”

  Kathryn’s playbook came into play. “Cut the bullshit, Mr. Wall Street. We both know who and what you are. And don’t think for a minute I missed those shoulder holsters you are all wearing under those expensively cut suit jackets. Now, where the hell is my friend?”

  Mr. Wall Street’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth stretched into a thin, tight line. “You are very observant. You Americans are extremely vocal, unlike us Spanish. Breeding and refinement are our mainstays.”

  Another page in Kathryn’s playbook turned over. “You’re a thug in a thousand-dollar suit packing a gun. You kidnapped the countess, and you have me under guard. Yes sirree, that makes you refined and well-bred. In America, we’d call you a glorified asshole.”

  Mr. Wall Street stared at Myra, who did not flinch at what she was seeing in the man’s eyes. She stood tall, but her insides were shaking like Jell-O. Kathryn would say stand up to them and never let them see you sweat. She felt like her underwear was drenched. “I’m not afraid of you!”

  “Then, dear lady, that is your first mistake.” He rapped sharply on a massive teakwood door. “Are you decent, Countess?” he called out. “I have someone here who wants to talk to you.”

  Myra strained to hear a response but could hear nothing. A feeling of déjà vu swept over her when her captor opened the door. Myra grew light-headed at what she was seeing, as time and her memory swept backward. She saw it all in a quick glance, Annie in a white robe, her hair in a coronet on top of her head, the television tuned to The Weather Channel. She stopped in her tracks to stare at her friend. Everything was the same except . . . except when she was here before, standing in this same spot, Annie’s eyes had been glazed and out of focus. Not so now. Her eyes glittered with hatred. Myra felt her spirits soar as her captor waited to see what would happen.

  Myra ran to Annie, her arms outstretched. Annie remained in place as she allowed herself to be embraced. “What the hell took you so long, Myra?” she hissed in her ear. Myra almost blacked out. She caught on immediately.

  “Oh, my God, what have they done to you?”

  “Why are you here, Myra?” Annie asked in a low, shaky voice.

  “Well, it is your birthday, Annie. We’ve never missed sharing each other’s birthdays. I came all this way to celebrate it with you. You could at least pretend you’re glad to see me.”

  Annie turned to her captor. “Can we have some privacy, please?”

  Without another word Myra and Annie’s captor turned and closed the door behind him.

  Myra started to babble and couldn’t stop because she was trying to figure out what Annie’s eyes were telling her. “When I was here the last time, we
went for a walk. Let’s do that now, Annie. If you’re up to it. We had such a great time back then. I am so glad to see you. Happy birthday, my friend. I bought you a lovely gift but left it home for fear they wouldn’t let me bring it on the plane. You are going to love it. What’s going on, Annie? Who are those men?”

  “Yes, a walk would be nice. I take a walk every day. Come along.”

  Myra gasped at how raspy Annie’s voice sounded. Almost like she didn’t talk much these days. Annie didn’t speak again until they were far enough away from the monastery that they couldn’t be overheard. She herded Myra to a stone bench at the foot of a fat, round tree that towered high into the sky.

  “Well, damn, Myra, it took you long enough. I expected you weeks ago. Do you have any idea what I’ve been going through? Do you? In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m being held a prisoner here. And now you are, too. Did they take your cell phone?”

  “They took everything I brought with me, but Avery’s phone is duct-taped around my waist. They didn’t pat me down. I don’t even know if it will work up here or not. And just for the record, Annie, whose fault is that? You left a note for Fergus. You wanted no interference. We all did just what you said to do, we left you alone.”

  “Yes, yes, but I thought after a week or ten days you’d ignore it all and come looking for me. I counted on you. I really did. Did you stop in the village?”

  “I did, and I did not leave a lasting impression. If it’s any consolation to you, those people abided by your instructions. You trained them too well. I just hope that Charles went into mission mode when I didn’t text him on my arrival. I do not know if help is coming or not. Is there any way to get off this damn mountain other than by helicopter?”

  “No, we’re too old to try climbing down. Even I know that. We’re stuck here.”

  “Who are these people? What do they want from you? The padre did tell me that they threatened to destroy the village. Is that what this is all about? You feel responsible for the village.”

  “Yes, but it’s more complicated than that, Myra,” Annie said wearily, her eyes filling with tears.

  “Looks like we both have a lot of time on our hands, so why don’t you tell me everything, right now. We’ve never kept secrets from each other, and this is not the time to start.”

  “Sometimes there are some secrets that are never meant to be shared, Myra.”

  “I’m a good listener, Annie. And you of all people know I am not judgmental. Talk to me,” Myra pleaded.

  “If I don’t, will you push me off the mountain like you promised the last time you were here?”

  “No, Annie. The reason is that I cannot imagine my life without you in it. It can’t be that bad. Talking things out usually helps. It’s cathartic to unload something you’ve been carrying around forever.”

  Annie wiped her eyes with the sleeve of the flowing white gown. After she took a deep breath, she stared off into space for what seemed like hours. Finally, she slowly began to speak, haltingly at first; then the words came faster and faster, like a runaway train going down the tracks.

  “Armand and I were like Romeo and Juliet. At least that’s how I thought of us. He was a count, a penniless one at that, but I didn’t know that in the beginning. The only thing he had inherited was this monastery. And that was the sum total of what he owned. It’s a place of sanctuary.

  “I thought that was so very romantic. We were already married before he finally told me that he was flat broke. But you know what, Myra, I didn’t care. I loved him, and I . . . well you know how much money I have. I was perfectly content to share with him. We were so happy.” Here, she paused before saying, wistfully, “At least I thought we were.

  “I turned over the shipping end of my business to him, and he turned it into what it is today. I can’t fault him for that. To be sure, he was away a lot. On business. I never once thought he would be anything but faithful to me. I had stars in my eyes and, to mix metaphors, could not see the forest for the trees.

  “I lived for the hours when he would return to me. Literally lived for them. The truth was that I had been a love-starved widow for more years than I care to remember.

  “Eventually, I got pregnant with Elena. Armand was beside himself with happiness. He started staying home more, started to send others to do whatever it was he had done on his business trips.

  “But when that happened, something happened to me. I wasn’t that lovesick widow anymore. I was about to become a mother. I started looking at Armand differently, letting my mind go back over the years before I became pregnant, and, finally, I began to put two and two together. When I did, I confronted him, and he didn’t deny his philandering during those long absences.

  “Spanish men are very emotional. He wanted to clear his conscience, he said, and I had to listen to it all. Do I have to tell you that I was sick to the depths of my soul at his confessions?

  “Mostly, I was angry at myself for being so stupid and gullible. After Elena was born, as soon as I was able to travel, I returned to Virginia, to our old homestead. That’s when you and I resumed our friendship. Our daughters became best friends the way you and I were. We both loved the whole idea.

  “From time to time, Armand would make an appearance to see Elena. And, of course, to check on our finances. I made sure when I returned that my assets remained mine and mine alone. In essence, Armand now worked for me, and he did not like that at all. Not one little bit.

  “The purse strings were pulled tighter. My people, Connor in particular, put Armand’s feet to the fire, and to keep him in the luxury to which he had become accustomed, he signed off on everything. He was nothing more than an employee, though one with way too many perks.

  “The only thing I had to promise was that I would take Elena to Spain every summer or until she no longer wanted to visit her father. That is exactly how the agreement was worded. I kept up my end of the bargain, and Armand kept up his.

  “The summer Elena turned nine, Armand showed up with a baby in a basket. He said his sister had died giving birth to the baby boy he had named Jonathan. He asked me if I would stay in Spain for a year until he could make other arrangements for the boy with distant relatives. The baby was sickly and never really regained any kind of robust health, even though we took him to the best doctors in Barcelona.

  “Armand never did find anyone willing to take Jonathan. I tried, God, Myra, I tried to love that child, but there was a disconnect somewhere in his brain. He would sit for hours and stare at the wall. He would scream and yell. He had to be spoon-fed. Every chance he got, he would try to do something to harm Elena. There were times he wouldn’t speak for weeks on end. Finally, I was at my wits’ end, and I told Armand that he had to get a nurse or a nanny for him. I flat out refused to care for him any longer the day he tried to set Elena on fire. I packed her up and returned to Virginia.

  “Of course, I had to explain to my financial people about the high medical bills, the nanny’s pay, and a host of other expenses. I guess I said something that put them on alert because they tried to track down Armand’s sister. Seems he never had a sister, or any other siblings, for that matter. The boy was Armand’s son by a lady of the evening was what came back in the final report.

  “I took Elena back to Spain the following summer as I had promised to do. By then I had decided that I was going to file for divorce. I told that to Armand, and he was not at all happy. That was the day he took both Elena and Jonathan out on the boat. Elena didn’t want to go. She cried. I made her go. I did, Myra, God help me, I did. I told her we would leave the very next day and go home to Virginia, where she would be with Barbara forever as her friend. I told her we would never ever come back here. My promise was the only way she would go on the boat with Armand. I’ve regretted that promise every minute of my life since then. How could I have been so stupid? I told myself Armand was her father, and that I had promised him I would bring her to see him every summer. I always honor my promises, Myra.

  �
��And that promise cost me my daughter’s life.”

  Myra threw her arms around Annie and hugged her tightly. “Dear God, how could you have kept that to yourself all these years? Oh, Annie, I wish I had known. I don’t know what I could have done, but I would have done something to help you. I understand how you feel. It never goes away. Never. We just learn how to deal with the pain and go on.”

  “Now you know why I stayed on the mountain following the boating accident. Guilt, my loss. Nothing mattered until the day you came here to get me. I will be forever grateful to you. Forever and a day, Myra.”

  “Okay, that’s the back story,” Myra said, her voice husky with emotion. “What’s this new story? Who are these people?”

  “Three of them claim to be Armand’s sons. The one who speaks English so fluently seems to be the one in charge. The others don’t speak any English at all. At least I have never heard them speak anything other than Spanish. They don’t realize that I understand Spanish better than I speak it. I let them think I don’t know what they’re talking about. The other two appear to be their friends. They all have guns. They want their father’s money. They say they are entitled to it.”

  “Okay, but I don’t understand. Why now? Why all these years later? What brought this all about?”

  Annie laughed, an ugly sound. “From what Enrico told me, he’s the one who speaks fluent English, they didn’t know about me until their mother passed away six months ago. Armand was always in their lives from the time they were born, but they were told he was an uncle. They grew up, Enrico said, in a fine house with servants, they were given good educations, all paid for by their doting uncle. He showed me a whole album of pictures from babyhood until the time of the boating accident. He did say that Armand traveled a lot and wasn’t always with them.

  “Everything they had, Myra, was paid for with my money. When I saw the pictures, I got so sick to my stomach that I threw up on the spot. He walked away but left the album to torture me. I fought with myself not to look at those pictures, but in the end, I did. As a punishment. There were dates and times written under the pictures. I was able to link the times to his extended absences. The three of them are avid soccer players. Enrico said that his father was very proud of all of them. They lacked for nothing except his name. They carried the name of their mother, Araceli.