by Robert Crais
“Thomas?”
“I’m here, Chief.”
The boy’s voice broke up, salty with static.
“We’re almost there. Three minutes, maybe four. As soon as we get Krupchek, the firemen will come in.”
“It’s getting hot.”
“I know. Is Krupchek still in the bedroom?”
Talley wanted to keep the boy talking. If he was talking, he wouldn’t have time to think about how scared he was. Neither would Talley.
“He’s sitting on the floor by the—”
The cell line went dead.
“Thomas? Thomas?”
Nothing.
The boy’s phone had finally failed. Jones glanced over his shoulder at Talley, and twirled his finger. They were spooling up, getting ready to launch.
“Let’s go, goddamnit.”
Jones jabbed his finger at the window.
“Go!”
Jones went first, Talley giving him a boost up, then scrambling inside after him. The room was lit only by the low wall of flame that barred the door to the hall. The master bedroom door was only ten feet away. Jones shot the bolt on his MP5; Talley popped the slide on his pistol. They turned on their flashlights, then met each other’s eyes. Talley nodded. Jones keyed his mike.
“Now.”
Talley heard the sliding glass doors in the master bedroom shatter at the same time that the front door blew inward off its hinges.
Two fast shots came from the master bedroom. Talley and Jones charged down the hall as a third shot cracked in the bedroom, then they were through the door.
The bedroom was an inferno. The man who had shattered the glass doors was down, writhing in agony. Talley glimpsed a flash of movement from his right and saw Krupchek heave up from behind a Morris chair, chest bare and glistening, an angry, strictured smile on his face. Krupchek screamed, a high-pitched screech, as he swung his pistol, pumping out shots even as Talley and Jones fired. Krupchek stumbled backward, arms windmilling as he fell into the flames, thrashing and still screaming. Jones fired two short bursts into him and he was still.
They unstrapped their fire extinguishers as Jones’s other men cleared through the door, covering the room with their weapons.
Talley shouted, “We’re clear!”
Jones pointed at the first two, then the fallen man.
“You and you, him, out to the van.”
Talley blasted gouts of CO2 at the burning security door, and shouted for Jones to help.
“Jones! The kids are in here.”
Jones shoved the next man toward the door.
“The office is at the front of the house. Make sure the hall is clear.”
“Help me get these kids!”
Jones and the last man joined Talley at the wall. Their CO2 extinguishers hissed like dragons. The red walls turned black as the flames engulfing them died. Talley banged at the door with his fire extinguisher.
“Thomas! It’s me!”
The fire on the walls licked to life again, eating away the paint.
“Thomas!”
Talley fogged the door as it opened. The boy and his sister stood back, wary of the heat. Jones grabbed Talley’s arm.
“They’re yours, Talley. We’re getting the disks.”
Talley let them go. He blasted the walls around the door again to beat back the flames, then stepped through and took the boy’s hand.
“We’re going to move fast. Stay behind me.”
Jennifer crowded next to him, nervously peering around him into the room.
“Is he dead?”
Talley ached when he saw her. Jennifer and Amanda were close to the same age. They wore their hair in the same cut. He wondered where Amanda was now. He wondered if she was looking for her own monster.
“He’s dead, Jennifer. Come on. You guys did great.”
Talley hurried them along the hall, using the fire extinguisher whenever the flames crowded too close. He paused only long enough to switch his radio to the Bristo frequency, and called Mikkelson.
“Mikki!”
“Go, Chief!”
“The kids are coming out the front. Take care of them.”
When they reached the entry, Talley could see into the office. Jones and his men were searching Smith’s desk. Talley pulled Thomas aside out of their view, knowing that these were his last few moments to save his own family. The Watchman would know that they had entered the house. He would be calling Jones for a report, and he would be expecting the disks.
Talley bent close to the boy.
“Are the disks still up in your room?”
“Yeah. With my computer.”
Talley pointed at Mikkelson waiting in the cul-de-sac, and pushed the kids through the door.
“Go to her. Go!”
Talley waited to see that both kids ran toward the cars, then he slipped up the stairs. The air on the second floor was dense with smoke so thick that it choked the beam from his flashlight to a dull glow. He couldn’t see more than a few feet. He worked his way along the wall and found Rooney lying outside the first door. Red bubbles clustered on Rooney’s chest and mouth like glass mushrooms. Talley couldn’t tell if he was dead or alive, and didn’t take the time to check. He kicked Rooney’s pistol away, then looked in the first room long enough to realize that it belonged to Jennifer. He moved down the hall. The second room belonged to the boy. Talley found his computer on the floor at the far side of the bed. One disk sat on the floor, the other in a disk drive beside the keyboard. Talley held the light close to read their labels, his heart pounding, and saw that he had them—Disk One and Disk Two; the only leverage he had that could save his family!
“Talley!”
Talley jerked at the voice, then saw that Martin was standing in the door. Her helmet was cinched tight and her pistol was at her side.
“Did you find them?”
He joined her. The smoke was heavier now. Talley saw flames at the end of the hall.
“Where’s Jones?”
“They’re tearing up the office. They haven’t found the disks.”
“The boy had them in his room.”
Talley showed her the disks. He wanted to find a way out without seeing Jones and started for the stairs. Martin grabbed his arm. She brought up her gun.
“Give them to me.”
He was startled by her tone. He glanced at the gun, then saw that Martin was watching him with anxious eyes.
“What are you talking about?”
“Give me the disks.”
He glanced at the gun again, and knew with certainty that Benza owned her.
Talley shook his head.
“When did they get to you?”
She thumbed off the safety lever.
“Give me the disks, Talley. You’ll get your family.”
He knew that he wouldn’t. He knew that once Benza was safe, anyone who knew anything about Smith’s relationship to Sonny Benza would die.
Talley stepped back, holding the disks at his side. Once she had the disks she would kill him. It would be easier that way.
“Where’s Jones?”
“Still downstairs. He doesn’t even know.”
“What are you going to do, Martin? Tell them I was shot in the confusion? You going to blame Krupchek and Rooney?”
“If I have to.”
“How much are they paying you?”
“More than you’ll ever know.” She raised the gun higher.
“Now give me the disks.”
The flames crept up the stairwell at the end of the hall. Talley saw their twisting red glow through the smoke, and something moving in the glow.
“Give me the disks, Talley. It’s the only way to get out of this alive.”
A shadow lifted itself from the floor.
“Rooney’s alive.”
Her eyes flicked once to the side, then came back to him. She didn’t believe him.
“Give me the disks!”
Dennis Rooney lurched into the light, eyes glassy a
nd dripping with blood. He had found his gun.
“Martin!”
She turned, but not in time. Rooney fired before she could swing her gun to him. Something hard slapped Talley in the chest. The next bullet caught Martin in the thigh, and the third in the cheek beneath her right eye.
Martin spun slowly into the smoke as Talley drew his weapon and fired.
25
• • •
Saturday, 2:41 A.M.
TALLEY
The heavy bullet from Talley’s combat pistol bounced Dennis Rooney off the wall, leaving a gory smear of blood. Talley planted a knee in Rooney’s chest and knocked away his gun, but this time Rooney was dead. Talley listened for the sound of Jones’s team coming up the stairs, but he couldn’t hear anything over the crackling, snapping sound of the fire.
He radioed Mikkelson.
“You got the kids?”
“We heard shots!”
“Do you have the kids?”
“Yes, sir. They’re safe.”
“The FBI agents took out a wounded man. Three of them went to their van.”
“Ah, roger. We saw that.”
Talley’s mind raced. He had taken the offensive, and now he had to finish the assault. Time was his enemy. He had to take the fight to the Watchman and press his advantage.
“Get Jorgenson and Cooper. If Larry’s back, get him, too. Arrest them. Strip their radios and cell phones, cuff them, and don’t let them communicate with anyone.”
“Ah, arrest the FBI?”
“They’re not FBI. Arrest them, Mikki. They are armed and dangerous, so you watch your ass. Have someone bring them to the jail, but do not—I repeat, do not—let them talk to anyone: no phone calls, no press, no lawyers, nothing. Don’t tell anyone about this. Do you understand?”
“Ah, sure, Chief.”
“Stand by.”
Everything now depended on speed. The Watchman might learn that his people were being arrested, but his information would be spotty and incomplete; he wouldn’t know what had happened or why, so he wouldn’t act against Jane and Amanda until he knew the details. Talley was counting on that. He was betting his family on it. If Talley had any hope of saving his family, he had to do it before the Watchman knew what he was doing.
Talley pushed the disks under his vest and ran to the stairwell. The fire in the entry had jumped to the stairs and was climbing the walls. The smoke was a twisting orange haze. Talley crept down the stairs with his eyes on the office, then crossed to the door just as one of Jones’s men stepped out. Talley aimed at his face, touching his own lips to motion the man quiet, then stripped his pistol and MP5. Talley handcuffed him and pushed him into the office.
Jones was frantically searching the floor around the desk, his flashlight beam dim in the haze; the drawers had been pulled, their contents scattered. The second man was stripping books from the shelves. They both looked up when Talley pushed the first man to the floor.
Talley trained his gun on them. He no longer felt the fire’s heat; he was so amped on adrenaline and fear that he was totally focused on the two men in front of him.
“Hands on your heads, lace your fingers, turn around with your backs to me.”
Jones said, “What the fuck are you doing?”
The second man swung his MP5, but Talley squared him with a round, the heavy .45 punching through his vest. Talley had fired ten thousand practice rounds a year every year on the LAPD’s combat training range when he was with SWAT. He didn’t have to think about it.
Talley brought his gun back to Jones.
“Lace your fingers. Now!”
Jones raised his hands, then slowly turned. He laced his fingers over the top of his head.
“You’re fucking up, Talley. They’ve got your family.”
Talley stripped the second man of his weapons, never taking his gun from Jones. He tossed the weapons to the side, checked the pulse in the man’s neck, then went to Jones. He took his pistol and MP5, tossed them with the others, then ripped the power cord from Smith’s computer. He forced Jones onto his belly, then pulled his hands behind his back. He pressed the gun to Jones’s neck.
“Move, I’ll fucking kill you.”
Talley planted his knee in the small of Jones’s back, then tied his wrists. He wanted to get Jones out of the house, but he didn’t want to do it on television. He keyed his radio.
“Mikki?”
“Jesus, Chief, are you all right? We heard more shots.”
“Have the firemen move in, then roll your car to the back of the house on Flanders Road. Meet me there.”
Talley knew that the television cameras would be trained on the firefighters. He wanted everyone’s attention on the front of the house, not the rear. He didn’t want the Watchman seeing this on television.
“What’s going on?”
“Do it!”
Talley pushed Jones and the surviving man to the rear of the house. The fire was consuming the house; wallpaper was peeling off the walls and chunks of drywall fell from the hall ceiling. When they reached the French doors, Talley changed his radio to the Sheriff’s command frequency and told the officers on the back wall to kill their lights. The backyard plunged into darkness. Talley pushed the two men outside and hustled them straight to the wall. When the Sheriff’s sergeant-supervisor saw that Talley had two FBI agents bound, he said, “What the fuck’s going on?”
“Help me get these guys over.”
Mikkelson and Dreyer were climbing out of their car by the time Talley jumped to the ground.
The SWAT officers stared at Jones and the other man. Here they were, the backs of their vests blazoned with a huge white FBI, cuffed and dragged over the wall. The sergeant again asked Talley what was happening, but Talley ignored him.
“Martin’s inside. The second floor. She’s been shot.”
Talley got the response he wanted. The SWAT cops poured over the wall and rushed toward the house.
Talley shoved his prisoners toward Mikkelson’s car.
Jones said, “You’re finished, Talley.”
“I’m not the guy with his hands tied.”
“You know what he’s going to do, don’t you? You understand that?”
“I’ve got the disks, you motherfucker. We’ll see how much your boss wants them now.”
When Mikkelson saw the two FBI agents, she pooched out her lips in confusion.
“Jesus. Did I miss something here?”
“These people aren’t FBI.”
Talley pushed the first man into the backseat of their car, then shoved Jones against the fender.
“Where are they?”
“I don’t know. I’m not part of that.”
“Then where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“What’s his name?”
“It doesn’t work like that, Talley. He’s a voice on the phone.”
Talley searched Jones’s pockets as he spoke, and found Jones’s cell phone. He pressed star 69, but nothing happened.
“Shit!”
He pushed the cell phone in Jones’s face.
“What’s his number?”
“I don’t know any more than you.”
Talley kneed him in the stomach.
Dreyer said, “Holy shit.”
Talley slammed Jones into the car.
“You fucking well know his number!”
“I want to talk to an attorney.”
Talley kneed him again, doubling Jones over. Mikkelson and Dreyer squirmed uneasily.
“Ah, Chief …”
“These bastards have my family.”
Talley cocked the .45 and pressed it into Jones’s cheek.
“We’re talking about my wife and daughter, you sonofabitch. You think I won’t kill you?”
Talley wasn’t on Flanders Road anymore; he had stepped into the Zone. It was a place of white noise where emotions reigned and reason was meager. Anger and rage were nonstop tickets; panic was an express. He had been all day coming to
this, and here he was: The SWAT guys used to talk about it. You went to the Zone, you lost your edge. You’d lose your career; you’d get yourself killed, or, worse, somebody else.
Talley bent Jones backward across the trunk of the car. He had to reach the Watchman, and this man knew how. He didn’t have time to wait for the Watchman to call. He needed the Watchman off guard. Time was his enemy.
“He calls me. Just like with you.”
Talley’s head throbbed. He told himself to shoot the sonofabitch, put one in his shoulder joint and make him scream. Mikkelson’s voice came from far away.
“Chief?”
The white noise cleared and Talley stepped back from the Zone. He lowered his gun. He wasn’t like them.
Jones glanced away. Talley thought he seemed embarrassed.
“I don’t call him. He calls me, just like with you. That’s how they stay safe. Just hang on to the phone. He’ll call.”
Talley stared at Jones’s phone, then dropped it to the street and crushed it. He had the Nokia, but if it rang, he would not answer it. If the Watchman placed the call, the Watchman would expect him to answer. Talley didn’t want to do what the Watchman expected.
“Put him in a cell with the others.”
Everything seemed like it was ending even before it began. He couldn’t stop now. Once you breached the structure, you pressed on until the end. If you stopped, you died.
Smith would know. They trusted Smith with their closest secrets. It had all come back to Smith again.
“Where are the kids?”
“Cooper has them with the paramedics. They’re okay. We finally got the mother, Chief. She’s flying back from Florida.”
“Tell Cooper to meet me at the hospital. Tell him to bring the children.”
Talley wiped the smoke from his eyes as he looked back at the house. The fire was eating its way through the roof. Tongues of flame lapped beneath the eaves even as silver rainbows of water arced over the house. Talley could smell the fire on his skin and in his clothes. He smelled like a funeral pyre.