The Tower

by Gregg Hurwitz

  She snapped his head all the way to the side with a right to the cheek. The pain compounded that of the earlier blow to his head, tearing through his temples and forehead. He clenched his teeth and shut his eyes to avoid showing how much it hurt. He made sure he loosened his features before he swung his head back to face her.

  “It’s too bad you don’t—”

  An explosion lit the house, sending glass and debris flying through the air. The agents flung themselves to the ground and ducked behind cars. Flames roared inside the first floor, quickly consuming the interior.

  Jade fell to the ground near Travers. She covered her face and he rolled beside her, unwinding the bandage from around her ankle. As he ran for the front door, he yelled over his shoulder, “Ambulances, fire engines, backup for roadblocks. Get ’em here now.”

  Several agents had caught up with him by the time he’d reached the front doorway. He peered around the corner, backing quickly out of the way. Pressing Travers’s bandage over his nose and mouth, he headed in.

  When he entered the foyer, he realized that the blast hadn’t reached far beyond the kitchen. He led the agents into the kitchen, shielding his face from the flames rising from the floor and table. A charred body sat at the table, completely engulfed in flames. The flesh was burning off the body, leaving only a darkened husk. The corpse was about Allander’s size and build.

  “Holy shit,” one of the agents yelled. He pointed to the pantry, where the door had been blown clear off the hinges. Three large metal drums sat dangerously near the flaming wall. GASOLINE was stenciled across them in red letters.

  “Move ’em out,” Jade yelled. “If they blow, they’ll compromise the crime scene. Move ’em. Now!”

  The agents ran forward and grabbed the barrels. They gasped for breath as they rolled them quickly out through the flaming kitchen.

  “And tell the fire department it’s a Class B,” Jade shouted after them.

  He stepped forward and stared at the body, the flames singeing the collar of his shirt and curling the ends of the bandage he held across his face. The body seemed grotesquely casual, as if it had just finished eating breakfast. The flesh crackled beneath the flames.

  Jade crouched and picked up a twisted piece of metal as Travers stumbled in.

  She buried her face in her sleeve. “Jade, let’s go. Get out of here.”

  Behind her, several firemen sprinted in with extinguishers. Clouds of smoke and Halon filled the air. One of the men doused the burning body with foam. There was no need for hoses.

  Jade raised the piece of metal, looking at the flap of duct tape dangling from it. “Basic microwave bomb. Open jug of gas, roll of aluminum foil, tape the door shut. Douse the kitchen and body, set the timer, and boom.”

  “Looks like our boy went out with a bang,” Travers said.

  Jade followed Travers outside, his eyes troubled. The front yard was clogged with agents, cops, and firemen. People sprinted back and forth, screaming into radios. The first few media vans had pulled up, and the reporters were putting the finishing touches on their makeup while their crews readied the cameras. Three ambulances pulled into the driveway, sirens screaming.

  Jade approached Fredericks, seizing him by the shoulders. “Get men throughout the house immediately to see what they can turn up. And I want the corpse to the lab to check dentals immediately.”

  Fredericks pushed Jade’s hands roughly aside. “Relax, Marlow. We have the body.”

  “We have a body.”

  “If that’s not Atlasia, you wanna tell me exactly how he slipped through the blast? Because I didn’t see many gaps in our coverage here.”

  Jade glanced over at the gasoline barrels at the edge of the woods. The agents had thrown them well clear of the burning house. “We don’t know that he didn’t—” He noticed that the red lettering across one of the barrels was smeared. His stomach lurched as he remembered the red he’d seen on Allander’s cuff—red that looked more like paint than blood.

  The cluster of agents watched Jade as he took a few steps toward the barrels. “They’re decoys,” he said.

  “What the hell are you talking about, Marlow?” Fredericks said. “We’ve got the body.”

  “The barrels are decoys.”

  “No, sir,” one of the younger agents said. “We rolled them out. He filled them only halfway, to leave room for the vapors and everything.”

  “They’re not full of gasoline,” Jade said.

  “What do you mean? What else would be in there?”

  “It doesn’t matter, Marlow,” Fredericks said. “We have the body.”

  Jade pulled his Sig Sauer from the back of his jeans and aimed it at a gasoline barrel. A female reporter screamed and three of the agents nearby leaped for cover, diving across the hood of a car. Jade fired and the bullet entered the barrel with a ping, sending a stream of liquid shooting into the air. He shot the barrel beside it and another fountain of water sprang up. When he shot the third barrel, there was nothing, just a dark hole.

  Jade glared at Fredericks. “There’s your fuckin’ body,” he said.

  Jade turned and looked across the front yard. There were over thirty vehicles parked haphazardly from the street to the driveway, and dozens of people were running around. He watched helplessly as an ambulance and two fire trucks backed out of the driveway and drove away. In the confusion, Allander had probably crept from the gasoline barrel and hidden in one of the vehicles. He would be long gone by now.

  Jade turned to face Fredericks, but Fredericks was still crouching in anticipation of the gasoline explosion. Travers was standing behind him, so Jade addressed her, ticking off the points by bending back his fingers. “Hold all these vehicles and search them. Send out an APB to SFPD ASAP, have them set up roadblocks on all streets leading out of here. Call the fire department, hospitals that dispatched ambulances, and news stations and have them radio any vehicles that we already missed and direct them back here or to the nearest police station. Call the police stations so they’re expecting them. Call headquarters and have them alert the agents at the Atlasias’ house. I’m guessing the body in there is Steve Francis’s parachuting buddy, so get that missing-persons list we talked about, interview the closest relative—scratch that—interview the friends of all males matching the demographic profile. Find out if any of them parachuted or knew Steve Francis.” Jade and Travers both stared expectantly at his next finger, but he couldn’t think of anything else. “Got it?”

  “Yes,” Travers said.

  “Oh, and Travers?”

  “Yeah?”

  Jade touched his cheek gingerly. “Nice right.” He turned and walked away.

  Travers glanced down at the crouching agent. “You can stand up now, Fredericks.”

  When Jade reached the barrel lying on its side, he picked up the lid and saw that a handle had been soldered on the inside so that Allander could hold it shut while he was being rolled out to freedom. There was a small puddle on the ground beneath the lid; Allander had also put water inside his barrel so the agents would hear it sloshing around as they rolled him out.

  Beside Jade, the other barrels still leaked water from the bullet holes. He cupped his hands in front of one of the streams, then brought them up to his face. No way Allander would have put explosive barrels on either side of himself.

  Jade rose and hurled the lid at a nearby tree trunk. He had ordered them to move the barrels out. He had practically freed Allander himself.

  Jade walked into the woods, cursing. Where would Allander go now? Back to Darby? After his failed attempt tonight, he’d know that security would be tighter. For the time being, Thomas and Darby were out of reach. Alex, the younger kid from the second house, was already safe, in witness protection.

  Would Allander try to establish a new base? Leave the area? What were his aims? Jade rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. Allander was obsessive, obsessive about finishing what he’d started. That was why he’d returned to Darby after all thes
e years. So many loose ends to tie up, Allander had said to Jade on the phone. Were there any other loose ends that needed to be tied up?

  Jade searched his brain for anything he could have forgotten. Allander had to have weaknesses he could use to his advantage. What was it Jade had told Travers earlier? I thought about the emotion that most overwhelms him. That’s his Achilles’ heel. His jealousy. Who would Allander be jealous of?

  Studying the leaves on the ground, Jade stepped between two trees and almost toppled over the edge of a cliff. He jumped back and gazed out across the forest below. The last hint of daylight shone from beyond the horizon, and highlighted the Tower against the backdrop of the sea.

  Of course. Claude Rivers. Claude, who had already raped his mother, if only her corpse. Claude, the only survivor of Allander’s rampage. Claudius, the fulfiller of Allander’s desires. The other loose end.

  Jade leaned over the edge of the cliff, peering along its curve. Its steepness lessened drastically to his left, and he thought he could make out a path zigzagging beneath the trees. A sudden concern washed through him regarding Claude Rivers and the guard on the Tower. He had no radio, and he’d lose too much time running back to the house and finding Travers or someone else to call over and warn the guard. He’d have to rush to the Tower himself.

  He turned back into the forest and ran for the path, crashing through branches and leaves. Even if Travers realized that he had disappeared and called in a helicopter, he would lose it under the cover of the trees.

  Just the two of us now, he thought. It’s what we’ve both been waiting for, isn’t it Allander?

  57

  ALLANDER gazed at the clouds rolling across the full moon and wondered when the rain would come. Now that he had the ground beneath his feet, he felt himself drawn inexorably toward the Tower. In a sense, he was going home, and that was what everything had been about.

  The Tower was not visible from any point within the forest, but Allander sensed its location as if aligned by an internal compass. He broke through the last line of trees and walked through the entrance to Maingate. Repairs were still underway, so the grounds were deserted, with only one guard out on the Tower. And one prisoner.

  It had been a mere ten days since his escape, though it seemed like years. No one would be on guard against Allander. They were only concerned with people trying to break out of prison; they would never think anyone would be so insane as to break in.

  Earlier in the day, Allander had left a bag of supplies hidden at the base of the small guard tower on Maingate’s grounds. He removed a dent puller and channel-lock pliers from the bag, and scaled the short ladder. The small window to the door was double-barred. Glancing out across Maingate and the ocean, he figured that the Tower was over a hundred yards away.

  Inserting the screw end of the dent puller into the doorknob lock, Allander carefully tightened the screw. Then, with a single jerking motion, he pulled the metal slide toward the handle. It gave, and he removed the entire lock assembly from the knob.

  He clenched the channel pliers on the dead bolt, twisting it with all his might until he felt the retaining bolts break. Then he removed a pick from his back pocket and, using a thick hairpin for a torsion bar, jiggled the dead bolt open. He whistled “Heigh Ho, Heigh Ho” as he worked.

  The lock on the weapons cabinet was easy, and he soon had the Win Mag .300 in his hands. It was a substantial weapon, laying heavy against his shoulder. He stepped out onto the deck, resting the gun on the railing. It was a bolt gun, holding four rounds in the mag but only one in the chamber.

  He saw the black dot of the guard patrolling out on the Tower and raised the gun, leveling the scope’s crosshairs on the back of his head. He squeezed the trigger slowly until he felt the gun jerk back against his shoulder. The bullet must have kicked wide because the guard never broke step. Allander ducked as the guard swept around the far edge of the circle and headed back, facing the mainland.

  Allander watched him through the scope, pausing to manually recock the gun. The wind gusted strongly, whipping his cheeks, and he realized that he hadn’t adjusted enough to take it into account. He peeked through the scope again, finding the back of the guard’s head. Taking a deep breath and aiming a touch to the left to compensate for the wind, he fired.

  The guard’s arms flared and he was down and out of sight instantly. Allander smiled and lowered the gun to the deck. He continued whistling as he descended the ladder, looped the weighty bag over his shoulder, and headed out to the dock.

  Jade ran off the path and sprinted through the rough terrain, cutting through the forest in the direction of Maingate. An incredible pounding started in his head as he ran along the top of a small ridge in the forest, carefully avoiding the forty-foot drop that sloped dangerously to a creek.

  He felt as if he was going into the twelfth round of a boxing match. The tender burn across his face, the bruise on his cheek from Travers’s blow, and the raised bump on his head took his attention in turns, each greater pain momentarily distracting him from the others.

  But he recognized his headache and knew it could not be blamed on recent injuries. The systematic thudding through his temples welled from something not entirely physical. He gritted his teeth and kept running, trying to ignore the needles of pain that his footsteps sent up the back of his neck. And as he ran, the furious pumping of his legs brought him back again to the terrible day of his frenzied childhood run.

  Moving swiftly through the foxtails and ignoring the blood streaming down his left cheek, the boy heard his name cried again: Jade. It was a doleful, wavering sound, and he ran more quickly, until his breath burned in his throat.

  The four boys had surrounded his brother in the clearing by Mr. Hollow, and one had already knocked him down. They tore into him, kicking him about the face, the head, the arms.

  Eenie meenie minie moe

  There was no sign of Allander and Jade moved faster, his run edged with panic as his feet expertly gripped the uneven ground, propelling him forward. He finally caught sight of a broken sapling just on the brink of the ridge and he ran past it, barely glancing down.

  Saliva drooled from his brother’s chin as he struggled to his feet.

  Catch a retard by the toe

  One hand went to the straw by Mr. Hollow’s cuff (a hand, I swear he thought it was a hand) and the other reached out toward the sun setting atop the rolling hills, showering the foxtails with orange. His mouth was awash with blood and spit and he opened it and screamed a word, one word, his last word: Jade—a sound that would echo in Jade’s memory for years.

  Make him holler blow by blow

  A fist closed the mouth as it yelled and Jade burst into the clearing as his brother toppled backward, his hands moving dumbly in the air, one holding tightly to a few loose strands of straw. He saw the panic in his brother’s eyes as he reeled backward and heard the crack as his head struck one of the jagged stones framing the site, and heard a grunt—a low grunt, like an animal’s—and then that was all, and he knew he had lost him. Then he was a whirlwind of knees and fists and elbows and he had lost his hat on the ground and he didn’t even know what was moving his body, but when he reached his brother there were four boys lying around him coughing blood and whimpering.

  Jade ducked and dodged reflexively, his eyes straining in the faint light to spot broken branches and trampled bushes. He rounded a tree at full speed and a jagged limb caught him across the left cheek, slicing along the line of his scar. Once again, he felt the hot blood oozing down his cheek.

  His focus on the path ahead was so intense that the cut barely registered. He came to a clearing and halted, unsure in which direction to continue. In the dim glow, he spotted a broken branch, and he sprinted past it, back on course.

  The boys were clutching their legs and stomachs, and tears streamed down their bruised faces. The boy who was Jade knelt down in the clearing and looked into the blank eyes of his brother. He felt the hole across the back of his head when he
put his hand there to hold him against his chest, and as he sat with his dead brother under the brilliant sun, he felt the blood spreading stickily through his clothes and across his stomach.

  Eenie meenie minie moe.

  Jade pounded through the brush. He felt exhausted, but also somehow purged. It had finally come flooding through him, and he realized for the first time that his brother’s panicked cries had long ago blended with the cries of other victims. Though Jade couldn’t save them all, he had spent his life making sure that they didn’t die on his shift, on his time.

  Fear had propelled him, whipping him: What if you’re not there, Jade? What if you can’t stop another life from slipping away? He had to oversee all things dark and dreadful—he had to reign over it all. Fear was his bedmate and his lover. Fear was his anger and his hatred. Fear was the burden he had carried ever since childhood, just as it was Allander’s.

  He felt as if he was stirring from sleep, lost in the aftermath of a dream. A few lingering cries still rang in his ears. He heard them behind him now, and he picked up his pace, feeling adrenaline pumping again and thinking of Claude Rivers and the guard ahead. He was sprinting so fast he couldn’t really see where he was going.

  Bursting into a small clearing, Jade whirled around, searching for signs of Allander’s path, desperately trying to remember in which direction the Tower waited. It was silent here except for the noise of his own labored breathing.

  He sensed that the ridge he was running was parallel to the Maingate entrance. He looked at the trees ahead, then turned and faced down the slope. From his angle, it looked almost impossibly steep. The creek running below wasn’t moving very fast, but it looked rocky. He glanced back up along the ridge, and suddenly realized he had to change direction.

  “The quickest distance,” he said in a low, growling voice as he stepped off the ridge.

  He tried to keep his feet ahead of his torso as the slope carried his body to a full sprint, but about halfway down, his shoulders passed his center of gravity and he tumbled over, hurtling out of control down to the river below. The thick weeds that ran along the creek slowed his fall before he crashed into the icy water, but since he couldn’t see it coming, he gasped at the shock. He pulled himself up, feeling heavy in his wet clothes, and sloshed through the creek to the other side. The pain of a thousand different bruises stung him, but as far as he could tell, he hadn’t sustained a serious injury. It took him a few steps before he could feel his legs under him again, and then he ran into the forest, leaving the creek and the ridge behind.