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“Up,” he commanded.
Marin slowly made her way up the first two rungs of the wide metal ladder. After the incident in the parking lot earlier, Yerik was clearly no longer underestimating Marin’s physical capabilities because he barely ceded her an inch as they climbed in tandem. Once at the top, Marin was hit with another wave of intense nausea at the heavy chemical smell rising off the water as the turbines stirred the contents of the tank. She dropped to her knees on the concrete, trying to catch her breath.
Yerik wrenched her up by the ponytail again and it was all Marin could do to keep from falling off the ledge as he led her around to the other side of the tank. The fire was blazing out of control in the distance, creating an eerie glow in the night sky, but the noise from the purifiers drowned out any accompanying sound from the flames. A blast of fresh air blew off the Potomac when they reached the other side and Marin gulped in a lungful.
He gestured to a metal platform that looked like a fire escape. In the dark, it was difficult for Marin to see down to the ground. She took the steps carefully, the two of them zigzagging their way down to the bottom of the tank. When Marin’s eyes adjusted to the blackness, she realized they were in some sort of courtyard created by the positioning of the four round water tanks. Yerik led them over to a shed directly in the center. He took his knife and jimmied the lock. Inside the small room was a row of blue jumpsuits, hard hats, and safety glasses.
“Get in,” Yerik ordered as he shoved her inside. “Put on a jumpsuit.”
He followed her into the shed, releasing her hand as he pulled the door closed behind them. An interior light came on just as the door shut. Marin sat down gingerly on the bench; the scrapes on her knees burned when she bent her legs. Yerik tossed a blue jumpsuit at her.
“Hurry.”
Marin’s fingers shook as she unzipped the garment. She paused for a breath trying to calm down. Yerik had said repeatedly that he’d keep her alive, but the syringe in his pocket—not to mention the nasty knife he held constantly—wasn’t very pacifying to Marin’s shaky nerves. She decided to try something she’d learned in high school psychology—become friends with her captor.
“Who is Elena?”
Yerik was visibly startled by her question. He paused in the act of pulling on his jumpsuit. Marin wasn’t sure, but she thought his icy expression might have softened a bit at the sound of the woman’s name.
“Get dressed,” he commanded once his stoic composure had returned.
She pulled one of the pant legs over her shoe before giving her tactic another shot. “She must be important to you to go to all this trouble,” Marin murmured.
He was at Marin’s throat in an instant. “She is very important! She is my life!”
Marin’s heart thundered in her chest as she stared into Yerik’s icy eyes. But the glimmer of dampness in the corners of them buoyed her to continue.
“You love her?” she whispered.
Yerik’s fingers twitched on her neck. He didn’t speak for a long moment. Suddenly, he released her, moving back across the shed to continue pulling on his jumpsuit.
“Your grandfather had better love you as much,” he said menacingly.
Sliding her arms into her jumpsuit, Marin continued with her questioning. Perhaps her captor would say something—anything—that would help her escape. “My grandfather loves me a lot. He’ll trade me for Elena. But why is your wife with the counterfeiters in the first place?”
He grabbed two hard hats off the shelf. “Elena is not my wife. She is my daughter.”
His words surprised Marin. She wondered how old Elena was. Her mind raced back to the earlier conversation with the Greeks in the warehouse. From what Marin could gather, Elena was the artist creating the counterfeit money. The same one Griffin was hunting for. Had the counterfeiters kidnapped her somehow?
“And she’s an artist?” Marin asked.
He nodded as he handed her one of the hard hats. “Very talented.”
“If she painted the forgeries in the White House, then, yes, she is.” Marin figured buttering him up couldn’t hurt. “I’d love to see some of her original work.”
Yerik faced her wearing a grim smile. “I know what you are doing, Chef. But you are not my friend. You are simply a means to an end.” He grabbed her wrist tightly. “We go back the way we came. Don’t try anything foolish.”
* * *
Griffin was still tapping the computer keyboard when an explosion nearly knocked him to his knees.
“Clear the area!” Agent Reynolds yelled. “That’s chlorine gas coming from the warehouse.”
The team from Homeland hustled the Greek prisoners into one of the vans. Adam and Leslie jogged to their vehicles with their teams to suit up in additional protective gear. Griffin followed reluctantly, panic gripping him as he imagined Marin inside the burning building.
“He’s creating a diversion,” Adam reassured him. He handed Griffin a rebreathing device. “He’s taken Marin somewhere else. It’s what I would do. Create a crowd and then disappear into it.”
After attaching his mask, Griffin checked the computer again. Still blank.
