onto the dirt floor, and pointed the rifle at the South Africans. “Drop your weapons. Now! Or you’ll all be dead in five seconds.”
The man with the shaved head slipped a pistol from his belt, bent over and placed it on the ground.
Conti took a few steps closer to the men. “Untie her.”
Mustache nodded and the stocky South African untied Jill’s arms and legs from the chair. She rubbed her wrists, then stood up twisting her neck from side to side.
“Pick up the pistol and come on over here,” Conti told her.
She bent over and picked it up, but instead of crossing the room toward him, she turned to her persecutor, her face only six inches from his. Before he could react, she brought the butt of the pistol up and under his chin, knocking him savagely backward to the ground.
“Jill. No. That’s not necess ….” Before Conti could get this out, she’d kicked the fallen man hard, first in the ribs then, when he tried to roll away from her, in the kidneys.
Finally, breathing heavily, she snatched her watch from the table, turned, and stalked across the room to Conti. As they all stood there in stunned silence, a thumping began to vibrate the metal roof of the hut. The mustachioed man’s grimace slowly morphed into a smile. Conti gripped and regripped the rifle in his suddenly sweaty hands, realizing a helicopter was about to land in the field next to the hut.
12.
“Let’s get out of here!” Conti grabbed Jill’s arm. “Nobody move! I wouldn’t mind shooting you all!” He kept the rifle pointed in the direction of the three men, pushing Jill toward the hut’s door. They slipped outside in time to see a black helicopter bounce to the earth in a fenced pasture behind the Quonset hut, then ran up a small hill next to the farmhouse, which led into a dense stand of woods. As they entered the trees, Conti turned and fired a few rounds into the side of the hut. The door, which had been cautiously opening, slammed shut again.
Jill was running on the path in front of him when Conti stopped, skidding on the gravel. “Wait. Forgot the pack. Got to go back.”
“No, don’t.” She clamped down on his arm. “They’ll kill you.”
Conti hesitated for a moment, then nodded in agreement.
Ten minutes later, they stopped and listened for pursuers. “I can’t hear anything except my heart pounding,” Conti gasped. “I think we’re O.K. for the moment.” They both collapsed to the ground. Just then, the helicopter flew low over the trees, circled, and headed off to the north. “I think they’re after bigger game.”
He leaned over, gently pushed back the torn shirt that Jill held tightly wrapped around her shoulders and examined her wounds. “Not too terrible. Nothing that requires stitches anyway. Does this hurt?” He pressed gently on her ribs.
“Ouch!” She flinched. Then she started to sob quietly.
Conti rubbed her shoulders. “That was quite a performance back there. I’ll never accuse you of being a Langley wimp again.”
She looked at him. “He was horrible, hurting me and laughing about it. I couldn’t control myself. I wanted to kill him with my bare hands.”
“You almost did. Impressive uppercut. Where’d you learn that?”
“Curves — the women’s gym in McLean. Better than the three-hour self-defense class we all had to take at the Agency. But I never thought it would feel like that.”
“Like what?”
Her jaws tightened. “So good.”
“What do you want to do now?” Conti asked. “We can get someone up here to get you out. Maybe they can get a copter. You’d be back in Rome in an hour or two. I’m going to make my way back to the trail and head north. Those monks are going to need help.”
“I’m going with you,” Jill replied. “I finally feel like a real CIA agent after twenty years. All I’d do back in Rome is worry about you anyway. But we’d better call Mobley and see what he thinks.”
She put a code into the watch/phone/GPS, then dialed a number
The man with the shaved head slipped a pistol from his belt, bent over and placed it on the ground.
Conti took a few steps closer to the men. “Untie her.”
Mustache nodded and the stocky South African untied Jill’s arms and legs from the chair. She rubbed her wrists, then stood up twisting her neck from side to side.
“Pick up the pistol and come on over here,” Conti told her.
She bent over and picked it up, but instead of crossing the room toward him, she turned to her persecutor, her face only six inches from his. Before he could react, she brought the butt of the pistol up and under his chin, knocking him savagely backward to the ground.
“Jill. No. That’s not necess ….” Before Conti could get this out, she’d kicked the fallen man hard, first in the ribs then, when he tried to roll away from her, in the kidneys.
Finally, breathing heavily, she snatched her watch from the table, turned, and stalked across the room to Conti. As they all stood there in stunned silence, a thumping began to vibrate the metal roof of the hut. The mustachioed man’s grimace slowly morphed into a smile. Conti gripped and regripped the rifle in his suddenly sweaty hands, realizing a helicopter was about to land in the field next to the hut.
12.
“Let’s get out of here!” Conti grabbed Jill’s arm. “Nobody move! I wouldn’t mind shooting you all!” He kept the rifle pointed in the direction of the three men, pushing Jill toward the hut’s door. They slipped outside in time to see a black helicopter bounce to the earth in a fenced pasture behind the Quonset hut, then ran up a small hill next to the farmhouse, which led into a dense stand of woods. As they entered the trees, Conti turned and fired a few rounds into the side of the hut. The door, which had been cautiously opening, slammed shut again.
Jill was running on the path in front of him when Conti stopped, skidding on the gravel. “Wait. Forgot the pack. Got to go back.”
“No, don’t.” She clamped down on his arm. “They’ll kill you.”
Conti hesitated for a moment, then nodded in agreement.
Ten minutes later, they stopped and listened for pursuers. “I can’t hear anything except my heart pounding,” Conti gasped. “I think we’re O.K. for the moment.” They both collapsed to the ground. Just then, the helicopter flew low over the trees, circled, and headed off to the north. “I think they’re after bigger game.”
He leaned over, gently pushed back the torn shirt that Jill held tightly wrapped around her shoulders and examined her wounds. “Not too terrible. Nothing that requires stitches anyway. Does this hurt?” He pressed gently on her ribs.
“Ouch!” She flinched. Then she started to sob quietly.
Conti rubbed her shoulders. “That was quite a performance back there. I’ll never accuse you of being a Langley wimp again.”
She looked at him. “He was horrible, hurting me and laughing about it. I couldn’t control myself. I wanted to kill him with my bare hands.”
“You almost did. Impressive uppercut. Where’d you learn that?”
“Curves — the women’s gym in McLean. Better than the three-hour self-defense class we all had to take at the Agency. But I never thought it would feel like that.”
“Like what?”
Her jaws tightened. “So good.”
“What do you want to do now?” Conti asked. “We can get someone up here to get you out. Maybe they can get a copter. You’d be back in Rome in an hour or two. I’m going to make my way back to the trail and head north. Those monks are going to need help.”
“I’m going with you,” Jill replied. “I finally feel like a real CIA agent after twenty years. All I’d do back in Rome is worry about you anyway. But we’d better call Mobley and see what he thinks.”
She put a code into the watch/phone/GPS, then dialed a number
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