Ice Storm - Anne Stuart [21]
“You’re responsible for the deaths of thousands, probably tens of thousands. It will take me a long time to reach your level.”
“If I were you I wouldn’t even try. After all, there can only be one Butcher.”
“True enough. I have no interest in being the most dangerous woman alive.”
“My dear Isobel,” he said in that voice she could almost remember, “you already are.”
There was nothing she could say in response. She only hoped he was right. “I suggest you give me some warning when we’re about to cross the border. I like to be prepared.”
“It’s actually a lot easier than you’re expecting. Cigarette smugglers and poor families do it all the time. You just have to know the right route.”
“And you do?”
“We crossed into Algeria over an hour ago, dear Isobel. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“Don’t tempt fate. There’s always something to worry about.”
“Then that’s the difference between you and me. Worry’s a waste of time. You take what comes as it gets here.”
“And how are we going to explain our entrance into Algeria? I have passports for the two of us, but not for Jack the Ripper, Junior in the backseat. And they show us entering Morocco, not Algeria.”
“My contact has taken care of the necessary paperwork. I can get us out of the country. I presume you can get us into England, or I never would have contacted your people.”
“I can. But you’re taking a lot for granted. What if I came to kill you, not to rescue you?”
“Then one of us would already be dead,” he replied. “I’m a valuable commodity and, despite your personal distaste, you’re going to have to follow orders. I’m going to get away with murder and be handsomely rewarded for it.”
He was wrong about one thing. Following orders had never been a high priority with her, and she was now in the unfortunate position of having to issue her own orders. To decide between life and death. The Committee might want this man alive, and there was no denying the wealth of information he could bring them.
But she had killed him once. She wouldn’t hesitate to kill him again.
The sky was beginning to lighten, an eerily beautiful shade of blue across the mountainous landscape. They’d been descending for the last hour, and in the gathering dawn she could see signs of life in the distance. A small town, not much larger than the ruins of Nazir.
He didn’t wait for her question. “We’re meeting my contact outside the village. He’s got the paperwork and a place to change clothes before we meet up with our flight.”
“First of all, I don’t have any clean clothes. This will just have to do. And—”
“Sorry, princess,” he said, and her stomach automatically clenched. “You’re wearing a burka. Best possible cover. Good thing you’re not one of those lanky American women—you’d have a harder time passing. All you have to do is keep your eyes lowered and your mouth shut and follow my lead.”
“And are you wearing a burka as well?” she inquired sweetly.
“I’ll be a retired British Army officer and you’re my Algerian wife. Not the best possible scenario—most cultures don’t like it when you take their women.”
“Something I expect you’re more than familiar with,” she muttered.
“I’m a man of strong appetites,” he said lightly. “Anyway, Colonel Blimp and his wife won’t attract that much attention in this little village—they’re used to strangers. It’s a center of the smuggling trade.”
“And what are we supposed to be smuggling?”
“Mahmoud. The child sex trade is a very lucrative one, and beneath all that dirt he’s quite pretty. We could get at least one hundred pounds for him.”
She wasn’t going to show how sick she was. “Only one hundred?” she said. “Hardly worth the effort. Though it is a good way to dispose of him.”
“Don’t bother. You aren’t going to let me sell him, and I have no intention of unleashing him on an unsuspecting pedophile. Mahmoud would carve him into ribbons.”
“You almost convince me. But no. I hope your contact has a plan for his safe disposal, because he’s not coming to England.”
“Samuel will do his best. I think he’s got some Christian school